Paris Journal 2009 – Barbara Joy Cooley Home: barbarajoycooley.com
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Surprise after surprise
yesterday. First surprise was that the
packet we were waiting for from New York arrived earlier than expected. Second surprise was that these three
chapters of copyedited manuscript were in good shape, as they should be at
this stage. This instance of things
being as they should be was the result of people having done what they should
have done all along the way, and people not doing what they should not do at
this point. The next surprise wasn’t so
surprising given the first two surprises:
Tom was able to complete the work on these pages all in one day, in
time for us to take the packet up to FedEx in the 9th
arrondissement to have it shipped out to be back in New York this morning. We took the metro because the
sky threatened to rain and because we didn’t want to rush. Upon exiting on the east side
of the great church Madeleine, we easily made our way around to the rue
Tronchet and headed toward boulevard Haussmann. We took a little detour that I
could not resist. I’d noticed that
there was supposed to be an L-shaped shopping arcade connecting rue Tronchet
and rue de Castellane. We found it,
and found that it has not been treated properly over the years. Partly neglected and partly remuddled, the
arcade could be so much nicer, we thought. The next surprise was the neighborhood
we found when we exited the arcade on the rue Castellane. Like the arcade itself, it has potential,
but is underutilized and underloved right now. We quickly examined the buildings, looked
in the shop windows, and glanced at the menus posted in restaurant
windows. Even though the quarter was a
bit neglected, prices in the restaurants there are somewhat high – it is the
8th arrondissement, after all. We went up the small rue
Greffulhe and turned right on the rue des Mathurins to come back to the last
stretch of the rue Tronchet. There is
a fabulous looking bakery at the corner of the rue Tronchet and boulevard
Haussmann. But we did not enter it; we
had to send the packet to New York. There was an entirely different
staff in the FedEx office: three men,
none of whom we’d seen before. A man who looked like he could
have been a native Hawaiian immediately exchanged bonjours with us and
offered to help. My French was quick
yesterday. I said we had documents to
send to New York. He pointed us in the
direction of the computer terminal, whereupon I said, in French, “but it is a
French keyboard,” and shrugged my shoulders in an apologetic manner. No problem. He understood that problem completely. He gave us the familiar airbill form to
complete using the old fashioned ballpoint pen so we wouldn’t have to
hunt-and-peck on a strange keyboard.
Tom asked him for extra forms “pour la maison.” He gave us some, and went farther – he even
gave us two extra FedEx envelopes to take home with us. And so the packet went off to
New York, with the assistance of the three friendly men in the Paris FedEx. We weren’t in the mood for the
Triadou Haussmann brasserie afterwards; we just felt like wandering the
streets of Paris. We went back to the
curious little neighborhood we’d quickly visited several minutes earlier. We went through it again,
slower this time. The Théâtre des
Mathurins is in the middle of it on the rue des Mathurins, overlooking the
rue Greffulhe. A four-star
hotel of the same name is also on that street. I guess the reason the
neighborhood is so pricey is that there is so much fashionable shopping
nearby. We wandered in a zig-zag manner
through interesting looking little streets
and visited the intersection of the rue de l’Arcade and the boulevard
Malesherbes, a place where I wanted to linger the last time we went to FedEx
but we didn’t have time. I was right – the reason that I
was attracted to that place on Malesherbes is because it has towering plane
trees. We wandered on until we landed
on the rue Faubourg Saint Honoré (talk about fashionable shopping!) close to
the Elysées Palace. We decided to walk down the rue
de l’Elysée, along the east side of the palace, to the lovely park on the
north side of the Champs Elysées. We
were surprised to see real townhouses on this street, across from the Elysées
Palace. Originally each townhouse was
just one home, I’m sure, but now there is a shiny brass intercom with several
individual buttons by each front door, indicating that each townhouse now has
several apartments or offices in it. We crossed through the lovely
park and the Champs, deciding to visit the café in the museum at the Petit
Palais. It was a little before 5PM,
and the museum closes at 6. There was
just enough time to have refreshments and see a few paintings. Even though admission is free
in the permanent collections of this museum, one must still get a ticket from
the desk just across the magnificent lobby from the entrance. I went up to the gentleman at
the ticket desk and in my very best French (some days are better than others)
I said hello and asked please for tickets for two people for the permanent
collections. He was so pleased with my
manners and my French that he responded in a super polite and nice way, and
told me that my French is “pretty.” Just like the title to that
hilarious David Sedaris book, Me
Talk Pretty One Day. I guess the
day has come when I talk pretty. The weather had improved
immensely, and we found a table in the shade in the gorgeous garden in the middle
of the Petit Palais. I secured the
table while Tom went into the café for refreshments. He was just in time; the café closes at 5. There were Americans in line
ahead of him, speaking nothing but English, and the young man and woman
running the café were able to deal with that.
So when Tom came up to the counter, the man just assumed he was faced
with another English-only patron, and said to him, “We’re closing up, so it
is now or never.” Tom replied in
French, “Ah, maintenant ou jamais.”
That startled both of them in a pleasant way. Tom made his selections then said to the
young woman, “Dit le corbeau, jamais plus.”
She was amused. The French love
Edgar Allan Poe. So Tom was smiling as he
brought the little tray out into the garden where we enjoyed “afternoon tea”
in a glorious setting. Having talked pretty and had
tea, we went into the galleries and looked at artwork, fine little tables,
and porcelain until it was time to go.
Don’t miss this museum; not only is it free, it has some lovely things
in its collections and the building has been masterfully restored to
splendor. For a change, we walked part of
the way home along the right bank on the Cours Albert 1er, away from the
automobiles and shaded by an allée of tall trees. Somewhere in the middle of this is a statue
of Lafayette with his head up in the trees; the statue was a gift to France
from the schoolchildren of the U.S., as a thank you for Lafayette’s help with
our revolution. At the Pont de l’Alma, we
crossed and continued along the Seine on the pedestrian way until we were in
front of the Musée du Quai Branly. We
cannot resist the garden at the Branly, so we went through it and then
crossed through the Champ de Mars and headed for home. We were footsore, and so
required a bit of a rest and foot soaking (for me) until we could muster the
strength to go out for dinner. We
decided, since we will be moving to the older side of the left bank this
weekend, that we better go to the new place, Le Granite, again. Fortunately, the local people
have now discovered the place. There
was a group of three persnickety older ladies seated near us. Then there was another couple like us, but
French, and a table of seven people. A
handsome older middle-aged French man sat out on the terrace. The persnickety older ladies
ordered the tartare de boeuf, upon
which they insisted on putting all kinds of condiments including
tabasco. When the server later asked
them how it was, only one of them said it was okay or good, and the other two
screwed up their noses and shrugged. I
guess they didn’t like it. But we did well. We shared a starter of foie gras, which was a good idea.
It would have been too much for one person, for certain. Then we each had an aumonière. First we had to
ask la patronne what is an aumonière? She described it. It involved a white sauce and bass, which
sounded pretty good to us, so we went with that. An aumonière is a pouch, or purse, and in this case it was made of
the thinnest filo pastry I’ve ever seen.
Inside was the bass, sauce, and slices of roasted leeks. It was yummy, and very filling. I could not finish mine. When we finally rose to leave,
we paused so that we could say goodbye to la
patronne. She indicated that she
wanted to talk with us, setting her tray aside and extending her hand to
shake ours. She smiled brilliantly,
and asked if we were on a sejour in
Paris. We explained that we live here
for three months every summer, to escape the humidity of southwest Florida
and to be in the beautiful city. We also explained that we would
be moving from the 15th to the 6th this weekend. So I hope she doesn’t expect us to show up
every other evening for dinner. But if
we did, that wouldn’t be a bad thing.
We like Le Granite very much. We said our friendly goodbyes,
went home, and slept extremely well. |
Friday, August 28, 2009
Decorations
on the fence at the École Militaire.
Haussmannian
building that I like on the avenue Félix Faure.
The
Place de la Concorde.
Le Baiser, or The Kiss, by Rodin,
near the Orangerie in the Tuileries.
Just another lovely
government building in the 7th arrondissement. |
