Trick or Treat!

Happy Halloween! We definitely had one, digging into our treasured box of Pierre Marcolini chocolates, brought back from his Paris shop:

From the bottom, clockwise, we have: Amandine Marcona (sugared Marcona almond with a hint of lemon, coated with milk chocolate), Caraïbe (Blend of different origins, 66% cocoa), Cabosse (Blend of beans of different origins, 64% cocoa), Violette (Pure square chocolate infused with violet), Quatre Épices (Brittany caramel with salted butter and four spices), and in the centre, Thé Citron (Ganache with Earl Grey tea and fresh pieces of lemon and lime peel coated with dark chocolate): definitely a grown-ups' trick or treat . . .

Big Veg

Bob and I met at Waterloo station this afternoon and walked to the National Theatre to check out their exhibition of entries to the Landscape Photographer of the Year competition,

then we walked along the Thames for a bit,

and wandered up through Covent Garden, where a display of several pumpkins and squashes weighing over 900 lbs each had some passers-by doing double-takes. At first I didn't think they were real, but plaques beside each monster proudly proclaimed weight, location grown, and growers responsible, so these were the real deal!

The Jolly Butchers

When I first saw this shopfront, I had no idea what type of business it was, but Beaucatcher is a hair salon:

(I still don't really understand the name though--is a new hairstyle supposed to catch you a new beau?) On an equally random note, for some reason the scrap of paper remaining on the left-hand door here intrigues me; I don't know what it was originally, but the leftover bits look like the profile of a cute, running cartoon character:

The last street photo for today is of a faded neighbourhood tile mural that I've never quite been able to make out:

Apparently, the extremely faded lettering at the base of the panel reads, "The Duchess of Devonshire canvassing the jolly butchers for their votes for Fox," and the candidate in question, Charles James Fox, ran in the general election of 1784, winning narrowly thanks to campaigning by the Duchess. The relevance of such a mural in Stoke Newington, when Fox's riding was Westminster, was lost on me until I learned that the building on which the mural stands used to house the Jolly Butchers pub, and that the Duchess used to canvas butchers in Fox's riding, kissing them along the way. What a strange story and tenuous connection to the present-day mural--I wonder how old it is?

Pax

Beautiful fall colours continue to adorn the urban landscape,

and this door also brightens up its street with interesting lettering that proclaims "peace" in Latin:

A = ER

I've long meant to photograph these charming murals that adorn a primary school up on Stoke Newington Church Street, and finally remembered to do so tonight, fittingly while I was on my way to the grocery store to get ingredients for supper.

When I got home, I started assembling my purchased ingredients into my favourite Bolognese sauce. The most disturbing thing about the tins of tomatoes I bought isn't their name,

but the fact that I didn't notice this particular spelling of "better" until I opened the tins and added the tomatoes to the sauce. At the grocery store, I just noticed these tins were no-name brand, saw they were much cheaper than the other choices, and thought that they were indeed a better buy!

I'll Just Connect You

This small bridge over the canal in Paddington Basin may not look like much,

but it actually does something quite amazing--unfortunately, we just weren't here at the right time to witness its surprising metamorphosis! After following the canal for a bit, we wandered through neighbourhoods, passing these humble council-flat balconies,

which reminded me a bit of the lofty auditorium boxes at the Royal Festival Hall. Outside of Notting Hill Gate tube station, the eyes of this metal elephant were spinning furiously in the wind,

and when we noticed this BT (British Telecom) employee at work on this nightmare of wires, we were amazed that anyone in this city is actually able to get a working telephone line!

Shrubbery

We're trying not to dwell on the fact that our five days in Paris were filled with beautiful autumn sunshine and our welcome back to London has thus far been a picture of cloud, rain, and wind (albeit with much warmer temperatures than in Paris), but let's just say that London doesn't seem that happy to have us back. Nevertheless, we had a good walk around the neighbourhood today, doing some errands, but also exploring a tiny bit of Islington very close to home that we didn't really know existed until now:

St. Paul's Shrubbery is a tiny gem of a neighbourhood park, hidden away behind a busy street, and apparently serving as a habitat for quite a few birds as well as hosting music festivals during the summer.

A strange feature of the park is this empty concrete fixture, perhaps a disused swimming pool? It's a shame that it couldn't be converted for another use . . .

Our Paris Adventure: Day Five

The end of a trip is a strange sensation; we're lucky that we always feel like we're leaving a place too soon instead of being more than ready to leave, come departure day. Still, that's the positive side of the fact that today was our last day (well, morning really, since our train left just after noon) in Paris and our time here went too quickly, as usual. Ah well, it's a good excuse to come back, right? We started wandering around the city this morning, with no particular destination--we just wanted to get one last feel of Paris before we left. There's no better place for that than near the Seine, and we browsed at a few riverside book stalls

before crossing the river

into the left bank,

where we passed some dogs on their way to looking their best,

as well as a building that apparently used to hold another branch of our dinner restaurant from last night.

Grand buildings and dogs being walked: it's morning in Paris!

We guessed correctly that we wouldn't end up having time for a leisurely lunch before we headed to the train station, so we stopped at this branch of the fantastic Eric Kayser bakery to pick up another formule to eat on the train.

Before we knew it, we had less than thirty minutes to get back to Christina's to pick up our suitcase--just enough time to get a photo of these great dogs waiting inside a grocery store,

walk back to the right bank

(again with dogs as company),

say farewell to the Seine,

the Île de la Cité,

our neighbourhood this time around,

and our breakfast spot,

and get ourselves down into the metro

for the short trip to the Eurostar terminal. With Eurostar check-in being as quick and easy as always, we found our seats, settled in, and pulled out of Gare du Nord right on time.

It wasn't long before it was time for lunch, and the people sitting around us who had bought lunches of boxed sandwiches and packets of crisps from the Eurostar canteen gave us a few envious looks when we pulled out our beloved formules.

The bread was heavenly, as were the fillings, and dessert didn't disappoint either. I savoured my fig and pistachio treat

and Bob polished off his oozing circle of dense dark chocolate with barely enough time for me to have a taste.

We were soon back in London, and had a few minutes to marvel at the stairs that wound around this tower in the distance, as our train stopped just outside Battersea for a bit before we were cleared to pull into Waterloo station.

One bus all the way home (we didn't want to tackle the stairs in the tube with our now significantly heavier suitcase!) and we walked in our door and decided to do our best to remedy the fact that in our rush to catch the Eurostar, we didn't have time to linger over one last Paris coffee at a typical sidewalk table. Bob went back to his brewing duties and whipped up two lovely lattés. In an effort to combat immediate Paris withdrawal, I completed our treat with tiny squares of chocolate (a traditional accompaniment to coffee in Paris) from that wonderful French institution, Monoprix, and we sat sipping our coffees, already reminiscing about a city that we love more with each visit.

Our Paris Adventure: Day Four (23 October)

Our routine this trip was to have breakfast in the boulangerie a few doors down from Christina's apartment before setting off on our day's explorations, and what a delicious routine it was!

We wandered through Tuileries Gardens

and crossed the Seine on our favourite pedestrian bridge, Passerelle Solferino. A gorgeous bridge from any approach, my favourite way is to walk up from beneath

and emerge onto the top level with its lovely view of the Seine.

In warmer weather, these benches would be filled with picnicking crowds, but it was kind of nice to see a quieter side of the bridge this time.

Our left bank destination was practically at the foot of the bridge. No, we weren't here to see this dog, although he was nice;

we were here for this elephant!

Okay, not exactly, but we were outside the Musée d'Orsay, and since it was our first time visiting this popular museum without a museum pass (which lets you skip the regular line at most of the museums, churches, and attractions on the pass), we had to wait in the long line that filled the museum approach (where this elephant sculpture was). If we visit Paris again without buying a museum pass, I'll remember (and share the idea with you!) to stop by the Orsay the day before to buy a ticket at the advance ticket office, which had absolutely no line today, but from which you couldn't buy tickets that were valid for the current day. Considering the crowds, we were happy it only took half an hour to get inside, and once we entered the museum, we remembered how much we love this fantastic place.

We've been to a lot of Paris museums (some free, many courtesy of the museum pass--which I highly recommend, by the way) and I'm always impressed with the variety of museums this great city contains, but admission prices would keep me away from return visits to many places that I thoroughly enjoyed, but to which I don't need to return. However, there are certain exceptions to that for both of us, and we'd happily visit the Pompidou and the Orsay on every visit to Paris. Now you're probably wondering about the obvious museum missing from that list, and while the Louvre is a must-do for a first and even a second Paris trip, once you see the bits of art in its collection that appeal to you, there are many other small (even unknown to the non-Parisian) museums and collections scattered all over the city that are literal treasures, so explore and be amazed! We spent about two hours in the Orsay today, and if you've been there, you know that's hardly any time at all. In many instances, we walked into rooms that we remembered from previous visits, but we also found many clusters of rooms that we didn't remember, so it was a nice combination of revisiting old favourites and discovering new ones. As I took photos, Bob teased me that I would probably take the same photos as last time, and although that happened a few times (especially with Pierre Bonnard paintings and Art Nouveau furniture), I recognised some of my previous favourites and tried to take as many new photos as possible. We started with a stroll through the always impressive sculpture hall, where Gustave Deloye's Saint Marc

and Ernest Hiolle's Arion assis sur le dauphin

were strangely reminiscent of one another. I tried not to linger for too long in one of my favourite areas, the museum's beautiful Art Nouveau collection, and stopped in front of this gorgeous bedroom set, one that I don't think we saw last time. While the bed was the first thing that caught my eye, in the end, it was the mirror that impressed me the most:

We didn't stop to eat in the restaurant, but a lot of people were getting an early start on lunch in the lovely room:

I was disappointed that the museum's balconies were closed (seemingly for the entire "winter"), since it was a beautiful, clear day, but the views were still impressive through the locked doors; Sacré Coeur was as breathtaking as ever, on its Montmartre perch.

We wandered through the numerous gallery rooms--more like dodged, actually, since the Orsay was way more crowded than we've ever seen before, especially the Impressionists' wing, which was like an art moshpit! My favourites of the day included Raoul Brandon's Immeuble de rapport, 1 rue Huysmans, Paris: Vue composite,

Ferdinand Hodler's Le Bûcheron,

Vincent van Gogh's Chaumes à Cordeville,

Roses et anémones,

La salle de danse à Arles,

La chambre de Van Gogh à Arles,

and l'Hôpital Saint-Paul à Saint-Rémy, Claude Monet's La gare Saint-Lazare,

Les déchargeurs de charbon,

Le Pavé de Chailly,

and Grosse mere à Etretat,Edouard Manet's L'asperge

and Clair de lune sur le port Boulogne,
Gustave Caillbotte's Toits sous la neige,

Paul Cézanne's La pont de Maincy près de Melun,

Maximilien Luce's Le Louvre et le Pont-Neuf la nuit, éventail,

Edouard Vuillard's Femme de profil au chapeau vert,

Charles Lacoste's La main d'ombre,

Jean-François Raffaëlli's Les invités attendant la noce,

and finally, my regular favourite, Pierre Bonnard: La partie de croquet,
Le corsage à carreaux,Portrait de Vuillard,and Sous la lampe.By the time we left the Orsay, it was time for some serious snacking! We walked over to Poilâne to get a few treats and a loaf to take home. Although this bakery has been on my list of places to visit since our first trip to Paris, for some reason we didn't make it to this temple of bread until today. The shop has a feeling unlike any I've been in, with the old-timey lack of cash register,

back room featuring a bread chandelier and paintings of bread covering the walls,

and a signature loaf (the Poilâne), adorned with the initial P and sold by the kilogram, which means you can buy an entire loaf or any portion you like, down to a single slice.

(Poilâne also has a London shop which I've not yet been to, and they use all-French ingredients to replicate the Paris loaves onsite. I'll have to check out that shop, although I am very afraid of how much their London prices may be.) We walked toward Luxembourg Gardens with our goodies, admiring this lovely building along the way:

It was another sunny day in the gardens

and we ate our treats with sunglasses on, feeling lucky to be here.

We watched these men struggle to launch their very strange boat,

but since they seemed to be having some difficulties, we decided to walk around and check on their progress in a few minutes. Even in October, the gardens are gorgeous:

We returned to the boating pond to see that they had successfully launched their ragtag vessel:

We left the gardens and started walking in the general direction of home, during which I spotted another hand like the one from yesterday,

a financially savvy squirrel,

a lovely country door in the heart of the city,

and this obediently waiting pup.

We had a peek into the beautiful Musée Carnavalet, the museum of Paris, which we've visited twice before. This time we didn't go inside, but were just curious to see the amazing garden in its fall colours:

Another cute pup

and we were home! Whenever we're in Paris, we always see people emerging from heavy double doors, and get a glimpse of the buildings' inner courtyards as the doors swing shut. It's been a strange little dream of mine to be the person entering and exiting from just those sorts of doors--it's just an everyday sight that seems so Parisian, so dreamy. Well, thanks to Christina and Paul, that's one dream that I've now experienced! I got a bit of a tingle every time we walked through their fantastic street-level doors:

Of course, I had to quickly shake that tingle off every time because once we were through the courtyard, we had to climb the stairs to the apartment door. The number of stairs wasn't an issue, but the incredible degree to which the narrow stone steps slanted was! Ah, but that just made the experience all the more Parisian . . . :-)

After a wee rest at home, we left the apartment for another break--this time with coffee--at a place just down the street,

which gave us enough renewed walking energy to return to our random explorations of Paris's endlessly entertaining streets. I loved the understated appeal of this key (which, strangely enough, looks exactly like our London flat key!)

and, this being Paris, we stopped to drool over many a window full of chocolates before the night was through.

But travellers cannot live on chocolate alone, as hard as it may be to believe, so we went in search of a proper dinner--our last one of this trip, since we were leaving tomorrow. We found just what we were looking for in Chartier, established in 1896

and still drawing substantial crowds for its working-class, traditional food, served in an historic building that holds more than 300 diners at a time. We were a bit worried when we arrived to find an enormous line,

but we didn't have to wait for long because waiters kept coming out of the restaurant, asking people how many were in their party and whether they wanted smoking or non-smoking--and apparently, a non-smoking table for two was just the ticket, since a waiter plucked us out of line when about twenty people were still ahead of us. Our atmospheric night at Chartier started as the waiter led us through the revolving door--he rushed through at lightning speed, and we did the same,

emerging into an enormous room full of clanking cutlery, talking, and the overall hum of hundred of meals being prepared, served, and consumed at once. The room was gorgeous,

although I'm disappointed that I didn't get a photo of the wonderful numbered wooden cubby holes that filled many of the walls of the room. Apparently, regular customers used to have their own napkins, which were stored in these individual drawers until their next visit! Except for the gorgeous room, Chartier is the very definition of no-frills: we shared our small table with three other women, with whom we chatted a bit in French (they didn't speak any English and kept apologising, to which we repeatedly insisted they stop apologising!), bumped elbows more than a few times, and stored our coats and bags on the storage bins above our heads that looked like they belonged more in a train than a restaurant. Our waiter hurriedly took our order and our simple, delicious food arrived very quickly. I had a paté to start,

while Bob had a lardons (thick-cut bacon) salad.

Next up was my roast pork with Brussels sprouts (the sprouts were even more incredible than the roast, bursting with flavour and the salty yumminess of the pork)

and Bob's lamb chops (very tender) and fries:

Dessert was a pear tart for me

and a chocolate mousse for Mr. Chocoholic himself.

I decided to finish with a coffee, but Bob's a bit more sensitive to caffeine than I am, so he passed on another coffee so close to bedtime.

Oh, remember when I mentioned Chartier being no-frills? Well, each time we ordered something, the waiter would scrawl it down on our paper "tablecloth"--on the left are the names of our dishes, and on the right are their prices. At the end of the meal, the waiter plucked his pen out from his pocket and did the math longhand, right on our table!

Our three-course dinners, including half a bottle of wine for Bob and coffee for me, came out to just over 40€ (CAD$55) total--a bargain by Parisian standards and definitely a rarity for the atmosphere of the night. Bob's parents gave me some money for my birthday, to put toward a meal and/or something else birthday-y, so we decided that Chartier qualified as a great reason to have a meal on them! So thanks Bruce and Dianne, once again, for a great food experience-- we owe Chartier to you. As we left the restaurant, a group of people rushed past us toward the revolving doors, muttering that they hoped they weren't too late,

but a waiter coming out of the restaurant to put up the closed sign told them that last orders were at 10:00 P.M. (it was now 10:20 P.M.)--the sad group walked out onto the street with us, disappointed at missing out on dinner and trying to decide where else they could go. After our great night, I felt bad for them, but lucky to have spent an evening time-travelling back to "the best place to feel Paris," as it says on the Chartier website. In the metro station afterwards, we passed by this mural, Cascades de temps (Cascades of time),

which was a fitting bon nuit (good night) as we left our meal steeped in history and headed for home.