Day Four – Madness in Montmartre (not really though)

Paris Christmas 2009
December 27th 2009 - January 3rd 2010

Day Four – Madness in Montmartre (not really though)

Jamie rudely awakened me at 10:30am this morning. Apparently the small child somewhere downstairs woke her up, but how that is my problem, I’m not quite sure. Either way, we got up and got ready, the acrobatics required to have a shower in the smallish shower stall a good way to limber up in preparation for the day.

First mission (after the initial coffee mission of course) was to find the Metro station up the street – Couronnes. It was an interesting walk – the further up Rue Jean-Pierre Timbaud we walked the more Islamic it seemed to get – someone recently pointed out that the upper part of JPT is one of the hotbeds of Islamic fundamentalism in Paris and I can see it...

We took the metro to Chateau Rouge in the hopes of having a quiet lunch at a restaurant that Jamie had read about in the Green Guide for Paris – Aux Negociants. Unfortunately Aux Negociants no longer seemed to be there – only the second time the Green Guide had ever led us astray (the first was a rather disappointing dinner in St Remy in Provence – food was dubious, super-tight t-shirt and jeans on the waiter was even worse...). The only option was to walk up the hill to Sacre Coeur to continue our tour. Why they insist on putting interesting things on the top of bloody steep hills is beyond me.

So we had to stop for a bit when we reached the top for me to stop sweating – no one wants to see that. Feeling fully prepared for what was about to befall us, we headed towards the thronging crowds around the church and main square at Sacre Coeur. Maybe it’s because most of the non-touristy stores in Paris are closed between Christmas and New Years, but Montmartre was more crowded that we’ve ever seen it before.

We rather quickly ducked into La Mere Catherine just off Place Du Tertre for a slightly overpriced lunch, made up for in a small degree by the entertainment provided by the table next to us. We spent almost the entire lunch trying to work them out – two older extremely posh German ladies, an older either French or German gentleman dressed to the nines, complete with designer sunglasses indoors (think Vegas lounge act from the 70’s), and a slightly younger EXTREMELY loud American gentleman wearing far too much gold in the form of massive bracelets, rings, and necklaces (think New York Mafioso from gangster films from the 70’s), all speaking English and German interchangeably. Very odd.

Having come to no firm conclusions, we paid our bill and loaded up our cameras. We spent a good hour or so wandering around the top of Montmartre taking photos and being generally entertained by the antics of tourists and touts trying to part those tourists from their money. Somewhat uncharacteristically, even I was accosted by an overly enthusiastic and aggressive twit trying to convince me that what my life was missing was a shitty bracelet which he was prepared to make for me on the spot.

We made our way down the precipitous steps in front of Sacre Coeur and towards the Abbesses metro station, being briefly waylaid in a convenient and most agreeable wine bar/bistro just down the street (La Sancerre). A pichet of quite tasty wine and several dozen sneaky photos by Jamie later, we stumbled back to the metro station and took the short trip to Jules Joffrin metro station, at which Jamie had heard of a market street – Rue Du Poteau, and specifically a shop that specialized in rotisserie meats (meat on a stick, the ultimate delivery system for food).

The street, as market streets go, was a bit disappointing. There were a few shops, including the rotisserie shop...a couple of bakeries, a few fruit and veg shops, some cheese shops...nothing to go out of your way for really. On the other hand, the people in the Charcouterie where we bought some roasted potatoes and carrot salad were incredibly friendly, and the selection of rotisserie meats at the rotisserie place was impressive – we picked up two rabbit legs and two chicken skewers, all for €12. For comparison sake – yesterday we got ½ a roasted chicken for €6, whereas a whole chicken at this place was €6.

It was only 5:00 and we weren’t ready to head back to our place for dinner, so we ducked into Cafe De la Place just across the road and had an unbelievably good bottle of Lussac St Emilion in a very nice cafe, with a friendly waiter to boot. We spent an enjoyable while sipping wine, chatting, and watching the people of the 18th walk past (and stand in a hugely long and slow moving queue over the road in the bank).

As we were sitting, the heavens opened and it began to pour. We ran across the road to the metro, managing to stay slightly dry. By the time we got back to Couronnes metro station it was raining even harder. We ran for the Marche Franprix just opposite to stock up on essential supplies for dinner (okay, just wine, but still essential), then back to our garret. We both got absolutely drenched from the knees down, despite the umbrellas – I’m not sure my shoes are ever going to dry out. Into every vacation a little rain must fall I suppose...

Day Three – Photo Ops, Anyone?

Paris Christmas 2009
December 27th 2009 - January 3rd 2010

Day Three – Photo Ops, Anyone?

We started the day with an alarm at the ungodly hour of 9am – a full lie-in for some people, however we’re on vacation with a large supply of wine and scotch, it seemed early enough for us. We did our usual morning routine, featuring me sucking down large amounts of fresh coffee and water trying to work out why I had an upset stomach, extreme sensitivity to light, and a pounding headache – I blame something I ate, as is so often the case.

After a quick stop at the cash machine up the road, we finally met Dave, owner of the garret room we’re staying in. Dave is a quiet-spoken, extremely friendly American ex-pat who’s made his living in Paris with his wife Aralynn for the last 23 years. We sat at the little cafe over the road (L’Autre Cafe) and enjoyed a good chat and a cup of espresso (Jamie even had one, despite what it does to her – she gets the jitters for HOURS).

Next was a wander through the market on Blvd Richard Lenoir – I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, even in winter the French markets make the British ones look sad and pathetic (no offense to any Brits out there, but it’s true – the fruit and veg on offer at the market today in the middle of winter is amazing, and we’re firm British farm market shoppers!). We picked up a half a roast chicken and a little bit of rabbit terrine for me and headed back to the flat, ready for all 101 steps.

We dropped off the food, had some more water, and headed for the Metro at Republic – not the closest we could have gone for, but it wasn’t raining much yet and we wanted to enjoy as much dryness as possible – we didn’t quite make it before the skies opened up. Fortunately we’d both brought umbrellas and managed to stay somewhat dry, although I’m not sure my shoes will ever be the same.

We got off the metro at Chatelet and managed to find exactly the wrong exit for what we were looking for – we were on a mission for soupe a l’onion, Au Pied de Couchon was the location (yes, for those trying to translate, that’s the foot of the pig....mmm...pig feet...). After far too long of wandering around aimlessly (when will Jamie learn that I’m ALWAYS right?!?) we found the restaurant and were led to the 2nd floor for our lunch (3rd floor for our North American friends) – I can tell you the stairs seemed a really long way for some reason.

Lunch was excellent – onion soup with a good half inch of melted cheese never fails to hit exactly the spot, wherever that spot happens to be. The good half bottle of wine we had with it seemed to take the edge off the headache as well, which is surprising considering I was positive it was due to a mild case of food poisoning.

We were doing really well until the table beside us all ordered the andouillette sausage plate. I had a brief yet memorable run-in with andouillette in Rennes a few years ago, and while I agree that it tastes fantastic, there is just something about the odour that turns my stomach (for those uninitiated in the glory that is andouillette – it’s basically sausage made out of the lower intestine of a pig. I don’t care how much you wash it, there’s an odour. I’ll leave the rest to your imagination).

Post lunch we embarked on a photo contest to see who could take the best “people” shot. I firmly believe that I won, however Jamie may dispute that as she took some fantastic photos. We started by walking down Rue Montorgeuil, on which we entertained ourselves trying to work out how to pronounce, as well as trying to take a photo of a French-looking person walking out of a boulangerie holding a baguette – harder than you’d expect.

The photo contest took most of the rest of the afternoon and took us from Les Halles all the way over to the Left Bank and a little wine bar we’ve been to in the past (Bistrot des Augustins) where we enjoyed a Kir for Jamie and a well-deserved Ricard for me (apparently my accent is appalling to the French, and they can never understand when I say Ricard, even though when they say it, it sounds the same. And I’m pretty much bilingual!).

We’d had enough walking for the day, so decided to take the trusty number 96 bus home – conveniently departing from Rue St Michel and dropping us off a few blocks from the Marche Franprix where we stocked up on chicken stock, couscous, gavottes (the most glorious of the French biscuits, you must try them if you ever see them), and of course, more wine.

We made our way back to our little garret and it’s 101 steps and settled in for a night of photo editing, roast chicken and couscous eating, and jazz-listening-while-beveraging. A more Parisian evening I couldn’t imagine.

Day 1-3 Pics

Day Two - Footsore

Paris Christmas 2009
December 27th 2009 - January 3rd 2010

Day Two - Footsore

We managed to sleep in this morning to the blissful hour of 10:30! The bed in our little garret is fairly comfortable - a little soft for me but heaven for Jamie (my parents forced my brother and I to sleep on plywood for the early part of our lives, at least in my memory...thus my preference for a harder mattress). Dave (owner of the flat) called at 9am to arrange to meet tomorrow morning so that we could pay him (yes, the keys were left for us, we haven't paid anything other than a deposit).

As we have our priorities firmly in order, we first went on a mission looking for the Monoprix to stock up on wine, champagne, scotch, and some food if there was any room in our bags. It turned out not to be too far, maybe a 10 minute walk from the flat. There were a surprising number of gypsys and other assorted homeless people asking for money and selling magazines - the neighbourhood seems a bit down and out, I wouldn't have expected so many. We also dodged more little puppy landmines on the way there and back than I've seen in the entire rest of the time I've been in Paris - 5 previous trips combined! Don't know what it is about the 11th, but there is some poop out here.

The Monoprix was, as is expected, wonderful. Someone once mentioned that it's a budget french grocery store, but it certainly puts the British grocery stores I'm used to to shame (well...Tesco's and Sainsburys...it might rival Waitrose). We picked up supplies for the week and walked back to the flat, mentally preparing ourselves for the 101 stairs. Being on the sixth floor didn't seem like such a big deal when we booked the place, but after going up and down them a few times, it was becoming a bigger deal...I don't think my Dad could've handled it (he has a bad knee).

We unloaded groceries, had a quick bottle of water, and headed back out looking for a recommended restaurant for lunch. It was a bit of a farther walk than expected. We eventually found L'Estaminet up on Rue Oberkampf and sat down for our meal. The cafe is small and a little shabby looking - typical workingman's parisian cafe complete with jazz on the stereo and a zinc bar top. No printed menus, just blackboards around the place with today's selection. They had a reasonably priced set menu for €12.50 for an entree and a main. Jamie went for the lentil and escargot soup, I started with an assiette du cochonaille - both were MASSIVE. Jamie's soup was very tasty and my giant plate of mixed pork products was fantastic - two type of sausage, bacon, terrine and gerkins. We were both a little full by the time we'd finished all that, then they brought our mains. We both had the trio de grillades - three types of grilled meat and a giant serving of chips. After we'd gotten through the chicken breast, duck breast, and little steak, neither of us were sure we would be able to move.

Rather than walk back up the 101 stairs, we decided to see how far of a walk it would be to Opera. It's quite a ways as it turns out, although an interesting walk. The 11th is a vibrant little place - loads of kids and families, it seems like an area that people actually live in, rather than a tourist trap like the Latin Quarter, St Germain, or even the Marais. Maybe not as glossy and polished as those parts of town, but full of character, and a whole lot cheaper!

The area around Opera and the massive department stores Galleries Layfayette and Printemps were PACKED with people doing their post-Christmas shopping. After a brief stop in Printemps for me to use the bathroom (the flat has one of those electric bogs, I'm afraid to use it in case it explodes) - a bit expensive at €1 but worth it in the end.

We were feeling a bit parched at this point, so found a conveniently located cafe not too far from Printemps but far enough to be slightly away from the hellish crowds. We had an overpriced 50cl of not too bad wine and watched the shoppers do their thing. There are some very interestingly dressed people in Paris this time of year – it’s about 5 degrees Celcius, but you’d think we were above the Arctic Circle the way some people had kitted themselves up.

Post beverage, we walked to Madeleine to see the fancy-pants shops around it and possibly have a LaDuree macaroon – the queue was huge so we immediately gave up that plan. Instead, we kept walking down to Place de la Concorde and then through the Tuileries. By this time, our feet were starting to get a bit sore, so we braved the metro system and headed back in the direction of our flat.

We’d never actually been to Bastille, so we got off the metro and took a look around before walking back towards ours. I’m not sure what I was expecting of the Bastille area, but not what it turned out to be – seemed very quiet and sedate other than a fairly large group of kids on rollerblades and skateboards.

Even the walk back up to our neighbourhood was not what I was expecting – every other store seemed to be either a bathroom showroom or a store where one could buy a motorcycle helmet (if you’re in the market for either, Avenue Richard Lenoir at Bastille appears to have just about the best selection in the known universe). We stopped in a little U-Marche to pick up some nibbles for dinner and found our flat – the 101 stairs seemed a lot farther this evening after our epic walk than it did first thing this morning. I suspect we’ll both be a bit sore in the morning.

This evening’s plan includes some wine, maybe a beer, and our picnic dinner while we listen to our classic jazz on the computer. After dinner we may head back downstairs for a nightcap at one of the many cafes and bars, if we can handle the thought of having to come back up the stairs.

Paris for Christmas 2009

Paris Christmas 2009
December 27th 2009 - January 3rd 2010

Day One - Arriving

After much concern about the Eurostar, we made it to Gare De Nord without any incident at all. Weeks of poor weather had actually shut down the service for a few days, stranding thousands of travellers just before Christmas - evidently it was the wrong kind of snow, after 15 years of service. Either way, both Jamie and I slept pretty much the entire way, both of us falling asleep as we pulled out of St Pancras in London and only really waking up for the annoying Australians in front of us getting very excited and loud while talking about cricket.

Well rested, we braved the hordes at Gare de Nord - neither of us have ever seen it so busy! We had to buy tickets for the metro, however the ticket machine didn`t seem to want to take credit/debit cards (we have British cards, so there shouldn't have been issue - seemed the whole system was down). Jamie cleverly discovered that the little shop next to the ticket machines sold carnets of 10 tickets for the same prices as the machine, with the bonus of not having a massive queue.

Two changes on the metro and more stairs than I care to think about, we made it to Parmentier metro station in the trendy (think up and coming trendy, rather than already there trendy) 11th arrondisment. Our garret flat was a short walk from the metro station, even with our giant suitcases - it seems that winter packing is much heavier than summer packing.

The flat turned out to be at the top of 6 floors - 101 stairs, if you're wondering. I think Jamie almost died. I, on the other hand, am extremely fit and sporty, and was fine. The flat is tiny - maybe 150 square metres in total, but only 200Euro/week, which is hard to argue with. It has everything you'd need - a bed, a small kitchen, a TINY bathroom, and a few windows (plus wifi, which is always a good thing). It seems to be in a good neighbourhood - loads of little bistros and cafes, a place that it seems that Parisians actually live in, rather than the tourist-infested Latin Quartier or St Germain.

We dropped off our bags, shared a glass of champagne with the wall (Jamie discovered that the table is a bit tippy - alcohol abuse if you ask me) (champagne thoughtfully provided by Dave and Aralynn who we rented the flat from). A brief peruse of the neighbourhood guide and the green guide and we felt ready to hit the streets. A few minutes walk brought us to the Republic, where we found both a bank machine and an Alsatian restaurant for some onion soup and a tarte flambe (we spent last Christmas in Strasbourg, so this seemed appropriate). Unfortunately both the soup and tarte flambe were average at best, although the alsatian wine was excellent (Tokay pinot gris) - sweet and flavourful for a pinot gris.

Full and happy, we walked down Rue St Martin towards the Seine, checking out the windows of mostly closed restaurants and shops on the way - it's amazing how much of non-touristy Paris shuts down on Sundays, especially at Christmas. We ended up at the sparkly Hotel de Ville, fully decorated with lights, a skating rink, and two carousels. Over the river and past Notre Dame, we ended up walking through a full-on protest, complete with flags, French riot police (I think the French do riot police the best - fully done up in shoulder pads, shin pads, helmets, batons, and shields...they could be playing ice hockey!). We were going to go to a cafe that we've been to the last three times we've been to Paris just behind the fountain at St Michel, however the music from the protest van (they really get organized here) was far too loud, so we went a few cafes back and found a convienient window seat and a glass of wine (okay, a pichet, but who's counting).

After a bit of wine, we wandered up the road to Chez Calde on Rue St-Andre des Arts. I'd like to say that we had a good meal, but we didn't. Apparently, it has been recommended on Trip Advisor, according to the sticker on the window. It had great potential - good decor, sort of attentive service, let down by pretty crap food. Jamie had the cassoulet, which was surprisingly bland and had the most hideous toulouse sausage I've ever seen. I ordered the steak with chips and peppercorn sauce - a Parisian classic that should be hard to screw up. They served me the wrong dish, with a far cheaper cut of beef than I'd ordered, soggy roasted potatoes, and onion gravy. I got the chips replaced first, then the sauce. Clearly a bag sauce special rather than real peppercorn sauce the way it should be done. Just after I'd had my meal fixed, a girl at the table behind us had exactly the same issue - clearly having steak on the specials and a slightly different steak on the a al carte menu was a bridge too far for the kitchen.

Before dinner, we'd noticed that the 96 bus went from St Michel to Republic/Parmentier, which was perfect for us - a direct bus rather than changing metro lines several times. We crammed into the crowded bus and enjoyed the slightly scenic route back to the Eleventh. We braved the 101 steps up to the flat to grab our books, then back down and across the street to L'Autre Cafe for a final glass of wine (okay, bottle, but who's counting?). We ended up not reading at all, spending our time engaging in our favourite passtimes - people watching and talking (and drinking). While we didn't eat there, the food looked and smelled AMAZING. Unlike the Latin Quartier and St Germain, I think we were probably the only tourists in the place, which was nice.

After our wine, we came back up to the garret, full, happy, and tired. Tomorrow I think we're going to try to find a market, which evidently may be a mission on a Monday, and hopefully take some photos of the Christmas lights on the Champs Elysees if the weather holds out.