Paris Journal 2011 – Barbara Joy Cooley Home: barbarajoycooley.com

Photos and thoughts about Paris

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Tom was right. The Australian rider, Cadel Evans, won the yellow jersey via the time trials in yesterday’s stage of the Tour de France. Because today is the final day of this year’s Tour, the day the riders come to Paris, this means Cadel has virtually won the 2011 Tour. Will we go out and watch the Tour in person? No. I love to watch it on TV so I can see everything – most of all, the views of Paris from the helicopters. Tom sent a congratulatory email to his longtime friend in Australia, Bill Breen, who lives in Victoria. From this journal, I congratulate my friends John Darmody and Caroline Hoisington, who live in Sydney. This is the first time an Australian has EVER won the Tour de France! We ran into Maria, the gardienne (concierge) for our building, on the rue du Commerce yesterday, as we frequently do. She was walking with her daughter and grandbaby, Hugo, who was in a stroller. We’ve known Maria and her husband Manuel for about 13 years now. Like many Parisian guardienne families, they are from Portugal originally. We consider them to be good friends, addressing them on a first-name basis, but using the more formal “vous” because they sort of work for us, since we live in the building part-time. As it is in Germany, everything is a little more formal here in France – especially in Paris – than it is in America. The reality is, Maria and Manuel are gone to Portugal on vacation half of the time we are here. Nevertheless, we always give them a gift (some money) every summer before they go on vacation. In return, they give us a bottle of their own family’s Port. We give them a clean bottle with a stopper, and they fill it up. They must bring back a barrel of Port from the family farm every summer. It is very good Port. After we saw Maria, we continued on our walk up to the avenue Bosquet. The sky ahead looked threatening, but the wind was at our backs and we continued on. The wind changed directions. The rain started. We ducked into a very interesting shop with antiques and home décor items. It wasn’t raining too hard, so we went back outside and headed for home, umbrellas open. The rain increased. Lightening struck nearby, and thunder roared – but only once. By the time we got to the elevated train over the boulevard de Grenelle, we had to stop and wait for a while under the tracks. Some others waited with us. Finally the rain lightened up, and we went on just a little farther to the BNP Parisbas on the rue du Commerce. We like this bank’s ATMs because a couple of them are inside, in an entranceway with an automatic door that even opens when the bank is closed. In that comfortable shelter, we withdrew more euros at the rate of $1.43 per euro. Ouch. From there it wasn’t far at all to the apartment, thank heavens. But I was pretty wet. The rain had soaked through my jacket sleeve and even through my shirt sleeve. Once we were warm and in dry clothes, we watched the Tour’s time trial and then went out to eat. Since it was Saturday night, after all, we decided to have a very nice dinner at L’Épopée. This restaurant on avenue Émile Zola is somewhat expensive, but well worth it. The food is stunningly beautiful as it is served, and, most importantly, it is delicious and creatively prepared. First we were given a mis en bouche (pre-starter) which was made with diced, marinated but not cooked salmon and a light whipped sauce sprinkled with herbs. For a starter course, we shared a slice of country terrine that came with a smattering of delicate, dark and flavorful black morel mushrooms. My main course was swordfish brochettes served with a tart fine of finely cooked vegetables. Tom had some delicious slices of lamb loin (selle d’agneau) that came with tasty beans. All superb. For dessert we shared a rich, dark, warm mi-cuit au chocolat that came with a scoop of coconut sorbet – a chocoholic’s dream. We did not have a reservation, so we’d gone early to dinner to be sure to get a table. And so we were the first. The next two groups to come in were English-speaking, but he husband in the second group may have been a native Frenchman. The first group, four adults in their late 60s/early 70s, told the patron that they were Canadian. I listened to their voices and decided that no way were they Canadian. They were Americans, most certainly. Some Americans wrongly think that Parisians hate them so much that they better lie and say that they’re Canadian. I say, poppycock. If these Americans want to be treated better by the French, they need to speak more softly, say “please” and “thank you” more often, and always, always, always say “bonjour” (or “bonsoir”) at the start after entering a place. Parisians do not hate Americans. It simply isn’t so. If you notice the music that is played, the movies that are watched, and the brands that are popular, you’ll see: they love us. Last night, when the young patron asked where we were from, we said “Floride,” of course. We’re fortunate to live in one of the four States that seem to capture and light the French imagination: California, Hawaii, New York, and Florida. Often, Parisians get a dreamy look in their eyes when you mention one of these four places. “Ah! Floride!” the young patron responded, with a happy sigh. After a moment or two, the young man said he remembered us now, from the past couple years. The fifth group to enter was as Mediterranean-looking family who were given a nice table by ours. In making his way to the table, the father of this family greeted us with a friendly and respectful “bonsoir.” We smiled and returned the greeting. I don’t know if this gentleman always does this, or if he decided somehow that we were important because of the table we’d been given. Who knows. But it was nice. His kids were extremely well behaved. At home, we read in the evenings. I finished Hemingway’s A Moveable Feast recently, as well as James Patterson’s Now You See Her—a book I just could not put down. Now I’m reading The Shack, by William Paul Young. The latter two I’ve read on my Kindle, and the Hemingway book resides in the apartment along with about 10,000 others. Sign my guestbook. View my guestbook. Note: For addresses & phone numbers of restaurants in this journal, click here.

Sunday, July 24, 2011 View from the Pont de Grenelle, with the Allée des Cygnes on the left and the left bank on the right. Brochettes d'Espadon, tarte fine aux légumes, sauce thym citron at L’Épopée, a restaurant on avenue Émile Zola. Selle d'Agneau rôti et son jus au romarin at L’Épopée. L’Épopée’s mi-cuit au chocolat. Tom and his reflection pose in front of a gallery called Délire en Formation on the rue Guénegaud in the 6^th arrondissement. Below is another piece of art in that gallery’s window. ← Previous Next →