Paris Journal 2010 – Barbara Joy Cooley Home: barbarajoycooley.com

Photos and thoughts about Paris

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Yesterday, when I wrote that “the little piece of rolled up carpeting in front of the drain on the curb in front of the fountain . . . is one of many used throughout Paris by the ‘little green men’ who wash the streets and sidewalks,” I did NOT mean that they use the carpet to scrub the street. I meant that they use the carpet pieces to block water so that it will temporarily NOT go down the storm drain, and they can use the water instead with their mops to clean the streets. When they’re done mopping, they move the carpet roll away a bit so water can drain, but they leave the carpet nearby so they can use it next time. Now that we have that clarified, I want to share a precious moment having to do with another green man. The Parisians use “les petits hommes verts” to refer to the full-size men in green uniforms who clean the streets and who pick up the garbage and recycling. When they refer to “l’homme vert,” however, they are talking about the truly small green man, the one featured in the pedestrian signal lights at crosswalks. When the light shows the green man walking, it is safe to walk across the street in the crosswalk. When the light shows a little red man standing, it is not safe yet to cross the street (theoretically, anyway). Well, about thirty of us pedestrians were waiting to cross the busy intersection at the boulevard de Grenelle and the rue du Commerce last night at about 9:15 or 9:20PM. We all waited for the green man to shine. When he did, fortunately none of us moved too quickly. A city bus – one of those double-length ones with the slightly flexible joint in the middle – came zooming off the boulevard, turning left, right through our crosswalk. The bus driver ran the red stop light – griller le feu rouge – in a dangerous and illegal way. As he passed before me, I saw that his window was wide open. I was perfectly positioned to scold him. I said, loudly enough for him to hear, “TSK, TSK, TSK.” He heard me, and evidently this phrase works in French as well as in English. He immediately made a dismissive gesture toward me with his right hand as he used his left hand on the steering wheel. What a cowboy. He stopped the bus so that its back end was right at the crosswalk. The thirty of us crossed the street, trying not to breathe the exhaust. None of us were impressed by the cowboy bus driver. We were pretty disgusted. But I know he was embarrassed because I’d seen the look on his face, even as he made the dismissive wave with his right hand. I hope someone at RATP sees this and gives that driver another scolding. We were walking home from dinner at La Gitane. I decided that we should dine there because we’d not been there yet this summer. What a great decision that was, because it evolved into the best dinner we’ve had in some time! Hats off to chef Yves Pellion. Fortunately, we arrived at a bit before 8PM, because I’d not made a reservation. One SHOULD make a reservation here, particularly for dinner. During the course of dinner, the restaurant filled up, almost entirely with French people. There was, however, one table of seven Australians who were already eating and drinking there when we arrived. Tom and I started by sharing a dish of six escargots, cooked in their shells in hot butter with garlic and herbs. Absolutely delicious! I ordered the raie, which is skate or ray. This is a wonderful fish, with soft, delicate, tasty pure-white flesh that is more like sole than sole is. I don’t know why we don’t seem to serve it much in Florida. The fish was perfectly cooked in butter and lemon, with a delicious coulis of chopped tomato, cilantro, and other herbs on top. Heavenly. The side dish that came with the ray was spinach. I forgot to mention that the server brought not just bread, but also butter, to our table. I put some of this French butter on the hot spinach, and it was oh soooo good. Tom had a tasty steak with béarnaise sauce, along with yummy, hot fries. We shared the fries and spinach with each other. The Australians kept on drinking after they ate. They were getting louder and louder. Madame la Patronne seemed to be very concerned that they might be disturbing the rest of us in the resto. These wild Australians are nothing like my fine, refined Australian friends with whom we will soon be dining. A group of four young people entered a bit before 9, and Madame could not put together a table of four for them. They graciously decided to wait outside, until a table was available. Actually, I think they all wanted to smoke first anyway. We asked for our check sooner than we normally would have so that Madame could then combine our table with the one next to us to make a table of four for those young people. The Australians became louder and more boisterous. I was worried that Madame and the server would lump all of us English speakers in one category. It is hard for them to tell an Australian from a Brit from a South African from a Canadian from an American, Fortunately, using a Capital One credit card is a strong sign that we are American. That card is used by many Americans who travel because there are no international service fees added to each charge. Our server brought the credit card machine, and while we waited for the receipts to print out of it, the Australians erupted with another big outburst. I’m so glad they weren’t Americans. I would have been mortified. After the outburst, I said to the server, “Bonne chance avec les australiens.” (Good luck with the Australians.) She thought that was very funny. She laughed. And the point was made – we are not Australians, and THOSE people are. Sign my guestbook. View my guestbook. Note: For addresses & phone numbers of restaurants in this journal, click here.

Thursday, July 29, 2010 Walking along the Seine on a sunny Sunday. The Seine is still a hard-working river, with barges moving freight. A big group of cyclists coming into the Champ de Mars, near the Eiffel Tower. A sign in the Champ de Mars, that says: Thank you for preserving the beauty and cleanliness of this place for walking and leisure. Here, each day, 38 gardeners and maintenance workers as well as 17 receptionists and security guards from the Paris city government take care of this Parisian garden. Thank you to Cynthia, who identified this flowering shrub from July 18, from the Square Saint Lambert. She says, “I'm 99% sure it's a Yellow Bells (Tecoma stans in Latin). It's native to the southern U.S. and Central America and it used to be lumped in with a large, amorphous group of trumpet vines. I think I've seen this plant ‘trumpeted’ in Parade magazine mail-order ads as a showy fast-grower that will impress all your friends!” ← Previous Next →