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.