We had dinner last night at a restaurant down the road from our apartment that first opened in 1686, “le rendez-vous des Arts and lettres”. Not sure we fitted the bill completely but it was a good night. Sharon was certain, she could feel it in her ancestral bones, that Boswell had dined here, maybe at our table. I had beef cheeks, Tom, as recommended by you and Sharon, the trout washed down with a bottle of Alsace reisling. That was after a heavy day on “le Tour de Paris”. These bikes are great but because there is so much to see the k’s just go by. A stop here and there in a park for a rest and a feed, and a bit of sight seeing, and we are off again. It sure beats walking! We ended up over the river in an area called Passy, not too far from the Eiffel Tower and decided to stop at a corner cafe for a coffee and beer. Shortly after the drinks arrived, a road machine came down a nearby street and began tearing up the bitumen spewing oily fumes all around. Not long after it worked its way down the end of the road away from us so the noise was bearable, much like the trains at home, two men pulled up two metres from us and pulled a man hole cover away, slipped on rubber gloves and descended into the dark. The gloves were so they didn’t have to touch the stuff that was making the smell coming up from the bowels of the city. Ohh! La La!
St Martin Canal
True to our word, we had a leisurely day out, albeit one that required a ride of probably 15 km around three major roundabouts. Sharon is getting better as she managed to get three quarters around Place du Bastille before losing her nerve and diving for the safety of the pavement, By the end of the week we’ll be pedalling around the Arc du Triomph! The bikes are great. However, after hiring a couple, I set off only to look behind and see Sharon pushing hers along the road about 100 metres behind me. When she caught up, she told me the bike had no chain. The St Martin Canal was interesting, working with locks in operation. We had lunch at a cafe then ambled along its banks. People were fishing, sunning themselves and gawking, as we were. Later, we spent an hour or so on the grass of an elegant square in the grounds of a 400 year old hospital just up the road. It was a real oasis in the middle of a mostly modern hospital, but a short walk through an arch, led us to a hectare of green lawn, paths and shady tress. So we sat, read, drew and wrote as we promised. We pedalled back along the Seine, saw a crashed cyclist with a bleeding head, Latin dancers getting close, people waltzing to piano accordians and guitar and a serious competition of boules under the shady trees on the bank. A good day.
At the Opera
We had a day on the bike and foot again and eventually found our way to the Palais Garnier, the home of the French Opera -a magnificent staircase and hall of chandeliers. One of the boxes was open for us to view the main concert hall and for a brief moment thought I was in the shower and Sharon had to stop me before I burst into song. Later, we stumbled onto the Madeline church which is like a great Greek Parthenon minus the rubble. A musical programme was being held at 8 by Les Violins de France, so we took the plunge. They were terrific, playing some recognizable adagios and finishing with Vivaldi’s Four Seasons. We, (male talk for I), took the wrong turn out of the metro on the way home and ended up going for an extended walk through the city in the evening twilight, which I didn’t mind but Sharon’ knees suffered. Today being Sunday, we are planning a day of rest taking a gentle ride to the Canal of St Martin, take a seat, watch, write, draw, read and relax. Yeah, right!