our london adventure: Our Paris Adventure: Day One (9 April)

This was our first time taking Eurostar since it moved to St Pancras station, and we were delighted to find that our early-morning bus ride to the train was even faster and easier than it was when Eurostar left from Waterloo station. Extra satisfaction came from knowing that this would be the cheapest of our Eurostar journeys thus far (£90 return for both of us, all in), and we didn't even have to choose the least convenient trains to get that fare, although we still left at the up-with-the-foxes hour of 6:30 A.M. today (we've left London as early as 5:30 A.M. to get the £59 return fares which are usually the cheapest Eurostar offers).

That extra hour coupled with British Summer Time meant that we sped toward Paris in misty, frosty daylight:

Two hours and twenty minutes later, we were in Paris. Every time we use Eurostar, we're always amazed at how easy it is to end up in an entirely different country, which definitely can't be said about the numerous hassles of bargain air travel. After leaving our bag at the hotel, we started wandering, filled with the excitement of being in Paris so suddenly. Before we knew it, it was time for lunch, and since we happened to be nearby, I steered us toward just the place. Cuisine de Bar and Poilâne are next door to each other, with the former serving a stellar lunch formule (which Bob repeatedly reminisced about during our subsequent days in Paris) that features tartines (open-faced sandwiches) made with the latter's remarkable bread.

They don't take reservations, and we were lucky to show up right at the beginning of the lunch service--we had our pick of tables, but by the time we left, the place was completely packed with smiling tartine-lovers. This was our first time in Paris since the smoking ban in restaurants and bars took effect a few months ago, and I'm delighted to report that it's made an already dreamy city even more heavenly. I can't describe the freedom of being able to go into any place we want and not having to turn around again after being crushed by clouds of smoke. Our previous strategies in dealing with the notorious Paris smoke were to eat early (but this wasn't always successful, as Parisian diners seem to smoke before and after each course), eat on terraces (even in February), aim for those valuable places that either had non-smoking sections (these were often tables where ashtrays were removed moments before we sat down, effectively reducing the non-smoking section to a table or two, surrounded by smoke), or search out places that actually upheld a no-smoking policy (something that was incredibly rare). These considerations often meant that we bypassed tempting-looking, postage-stamp-sized neighbourhood eateries that were awash in smoke--but no more! In a city as dominated by food as Paris, it's wonderfully liberating to enjoy the atmosphere of a tiny room, elbow-to-elbow with the locals, and not even think about smoke. As I said to Bob before we left London, Paris might just be dangerously perfect now . . . . Anyway, back to Cuisine de Bar: the simple, open kitchen belies the wonders that come out of it, and the servers were extremely friendly and patient with those of us who had just stepped off the Eurostar and were readjusting our brains for communicating in French!

The formule starts with a tasty salad and your choice of beverage (wine, mineral water, pop). A small slice of Poilâne bread hints at the next course.

We had a tough time choosing our tartines, and when they arrived, they were even prettier than they sounded. Bob had the prawn-guacamole tartine off the menu,

while I chose the tartine du jour, which makes my mouth water as I remember it:

The formule is capped off with an amazing espresso accompanied by a petite cuillère Poilâne ("a small Poilâne spoon"), a butter cookie that you use to stir sugar into your coffee. The cookie is called a puniton ("punishment") in honour of the grandmother of the bakery's original founder. With a stern face, she would call her grandchildren over, seemingly to punish them, but at the last minute she would open her hands to reveal tiny butter-cookie treats!

I don't think I can think of a better first meal in Paris--wait, except for the same meal, with dessert--the puniton doesn't count, does it? I mean it is a spoon, after all. We didn't go far for our dessert, taking a few steps over to Poilâne, where we shared two apple-based treats. The chausson aux pommes didn't last long enough for a photo, but the tartelette did:

I can't describe how buttery and flaky (did I mention buttery?) this tiny apple tart was. It's the kind of dessert that makes you feel like you need a bath afterwards--and that's not a complaint. Full of energy after our amazing lunch, and with the same problem that we have every time we come to this fantastic city (Where to start?), we began wandering through the left bank toward the Seine.

When we passed by this entrance, we decided to see where it took us,

and were very pleased to find ourselves in the Cour de Commerce St André, a rather secluded passageway

that contains several private courtyards and an assortment of shops, including the oldest café in Paris, Le Procope, which opened in 1686. Not only was Procope the first place in Paris to serve coffee (as it has done to the likes of Napoleon, Balzac, Voltaire, and Rousseau), I later found out that it also houses Voltaire's desk and a postcard written by Marie Antoinette amongst its relics. You don't even have to shell out to see the interior, as Procope apparently opens its doors to tourists from 3-7 P.M. each afternoon. (How many cafés do that?)

As we walked, all sorts of details jumped out at us--even door handles can be works of art!

Voltaire was looking a bit creepy here--maybe he was just tired and in need of some coffee while sitting at his desk at Procope--he apparently drank forty cups of coffee (mixed with chocolate) a day!

The Insitut de France governs five learned institutions, including the Académie Française, whose forty members for life focus on setting and maintaining standards for French language use, sometimes fighting a losing battle against English words like "weekend" and "email" creeping into everyday use.

Any wanderer in Paris is likely to quickly come across several of these charming, green fountains along the way:

Englishman Sir Richard Wallace (he of London's wonderful Wallace Collection) donated fifty of these fountains to his adopted city of Paris in 1872, with the aim of providing clean water to Parisians in an aesthetically pleasing form. I don't think you can make out the stream of water in my photo, but it falls from the centre of the dome, amidst the four supporting figures. We crossed the Seine

and found ourselves on the western end of Île de la Cité, where tranquil Place Dauphine dates to 1609:

Over on the eastern end, Notre Dame never fails to impress.

A golden star in front of the cathedral marks France's "Kilometre Zero," the starting point from which all distances are traditionally measured. I had to wait for quite a while to get this simple photo, because people seem to like standing directly on the star while gazing at the cathedral!

Although much attention is rightly lavished on the figures that grace Notre Dame, I love the doors--so monumental in size and sturdiness, yet covered in delicate decoration.

Strangely, there wasn't any queue to enter the cathedral (I don't think we've ever been there when there hasn't been a queue), so we walked on in for another peek.

We continued walking east,

crossing over to the tiny and atmospheric Île Saint Louis, which always feels like it belongs to another century.

There are several well-known hôtel particuliers on the island (which aren't "hotels" in the English-language sense, but instead grand, detached, private mansions), of which Hôtel de Lauzun is one.

Built in 1657,

I think it's the only building I've ever photographed for its drainpipes!

(Apparently, the fish were 19th-century additions.) Having reached the eastern tip of Île Saint Louis, we backtracked across the island in search of our beloved Berthillon ice cream (which somehow, very WRONGLY, we only ended up having once on this visit)

and returned to Île de la Cité to have a peek inside its hospital, Hôtel Dieu, founded in 651, and still located at its original site at the centre of Paris. The expansive courtyard was a new discovery for us and while we were there, many people walked in from the street to enjoy the tranquility.

We finally managed to tear ourselves away from the magic of Paris's islands, and headed back to the hotel to check in. After two previous visits where we stayed in hotels that had ideal locations, but were a bit, um, "quirky" in their amenities, we decided to try Priceline this time, opting to stay a bit further away from tourist central (in a city as tiny as Paris, it hardly matters, and we were still just a few minutes' walk from the Latin Quarter), pay the same as we had in the past, and hopefully gain some elbow room and lose a few of our previous hotels' quirks. Although the room lacked that certain Parisian charm we'd always experienced to some degree in the past,

the room's hallway alone (it's about the same length again around the corner to our door) was probably about the size of each of our previous Paris hotel rooms, so we were definitely more comfortable than ever.

Add in free wireless internet in the common areas, an extensive, inclusive breakfast buffet (which would have cost us half the price of the room again if we had paid for it), and a bathroom that was actually a room rather than a closet, and we were pretty pleased. While it wasn't especially luxurious, in the cut-throat world of Paris hotels, it definitely made for our most comfortable stay. Anyway, enough about the room, and back to the city: one quick metro ride later (Paris is so small that it's only about a minute between stations), we picked up where our strolling left off, just across the Seine, on the right bank. The pedestrianised market delights of Rue Montorgueil always make for a great stroll, even if you're there to window shop rather than feast.

Founded in 1832, L'Escargot Montorgueil has fed the likes of Marcel Proust, Salvador Dali, and Jackie Kennedy.

At this point in the street, I'm usually too mesmerized by the sweet temptations of Stohrer to notice anything else, but this time I was able to forget about butter and sugar just long enough to notice the intriguing relief above the entranceway to the building next door: a globe surrounded by symbols of the arts.

As an aside, the brown Histoire de Paris explanatory sign in the photo is another common sight in Paris--they're great for brushing up on your comprehension of written French! After a brief browse in Stohrer (my butter and sugar memory came back), I decided to give another Montorgueil pâtisserie a try.

Well, if it's their specialty, we have to try it, right?

Pavé loosely translates as brick, stone, or slab, and in this case, the shop seems to be making a reference to the cobblestones that line Rue Montorgueil. However you translate it, the pavés were delicious: dense, rich truffles, laced with hazelnut crunch. I'll take a cobblestone any time! Since we only bought one tiny pavé each, we also picked up another treat, walked a few steps, ordered coffees at a café, and dug into our opera--no, not that kind of opera. This kind is much, much better: alternating thin layers of coffee-soaked almond sponge cake, chocolate ganache, and butter cream, topped with a chocolate glaze. Mmm!

We continued up the street,

finally reaching the end and walking in whatever direction we thought looked interesting.

The bland entrance to Passage du Grand Cerf

didn't do the lovely interior justice.

One of Paris's famed shopping passages, Grand Cerf was originally built in 1825 and underwent faithful restoration in 1988. The design-oriented shops looked interesting, but by now it was around 6:30 P.M. and almost all of the shops were closed. When we reached the end of the passage, we crossed the street and continued walking through another passage, which supplied us with a not-so-useful weather forecast:

It wasn't until we exited this second passage that we found out its name:

More wandering took us past a lively neighbourhood spot

and this strangely named shop:

Of course, once we had a closer look in the window, the name made perfect sense.

Another window we passed featured the age-old struggle between dog and shark:

We had a look at the current exhibits at the Maison Européenne de la Photographie, which usually charges 6€ admission, but is free on Wednesdays from 5-8 P.M. It was our first time in this venue for contemporary photography, and although the large galleries weren't filled with brilliant pieces on this visit, the space is fantastic, and I'd return if the shows were more my style. I thought this mural in the stairwell was quite nice, especially in its creation of the illusion of a double handrail as I climbed up to the next floor:

After all of our eating today, we wanted to have a small dinner. Good thing L'As du Fallafel was nearby! Last time we were in Paris, they were closed for renovations, so we didn't have our usual Paris falafel fix, but this time, they were open:

We spent the rest of the night wandering around, still in a bit of disbelief that we were in Paris, enjoying the sights all around us.

This brilliant trompe l'oeil was one of my favourite artworks of the trip, mostly because in the dimming light, down the narrow street (that obscured the unpainted edges), it really did appear at first to be a neighbourhood café closed for the night.

The Olympic torch relay passed through Paris two days ago, amidst demonstrations, protests, and clashes between China- and Tibet-supporters. During our visit, we spotted numerous Tibetan flags hanging in continued protest.

The fountain outside Saint Sulpice looked lovely with the church behind it.

Although we've been at this intersection many times, I guess we're usually on the other side of the street, because neither of us remember seeing this interesting fountain before:

The sculpture/ fountain isn't set off from the rest of the sidewalk, so if you aren't paying attention, you could be strolling along one minute, and find yourself in the fountain the next! Entitled Embâcle ("ice jam"), the sculpture was given by the province of Quebec to the city of Paris as a representation of the breaking up of ice in the spring waters off the coast of Quebec. Apparently, the fountains shoot quite high in the summer months, soaking the entire area in dramatic fashion. Some nearby shop windows featured some strange images, including an army of wrestlers being walked by a fashionable woman

and this robotic dog bouncing his head from side to side as he read the newspaper (and presumably the books as well). Apparently, he's a bilingual puppy, since the paper's in English and the books are in French!

As we approached this building, one glowing purple window came into view, and then another, and another, and . . .

The gate said it was the location of a social sciences university, but that definitely doesn't explain this amazing display. I tried to find out more information online, but I'm still stumped.

I love looking into Paris shop windows--you never know what you're going to find! This appears to be a rather solid-looking lock that's lost its door . . . .