Wanderings in Paris

"Not all those who wander are lost." JRR Tolkien

But sometimes those who wander really are lost. But lost is a somewhat vague term. For instance, on Saturday, after being shooed out of the apartment I decided to meander along the canal for a bit. I had absolutely no idea where I was headed...I believe southwest was my general direction. So I was lost in the sense that I didn't know exactly where I was or where I was going to end up. But I didn't have a particular destination in mind so I wasn't lost in the sense that I should have been elsewhere. I actually stumbled upon a really cool Brocante that just happened to be passing through. I spent well over an hour leisurely walking through the stalls, examining the little treasures, and intently watching people. After the Brocante I continued to walk away from the apartment and conveniently ran straight into a set of stairs leading down to the metro. Had it not been for my dying ipod and freezing extremities, I probably would have continued. A five minute metro ride later and I was back into familiar territory.

Earlier on Saturday I met Carolin and Emily at the end of line 4 so we could go exploring Les Marches Aux Puces, which are French flea markets (and one of the few phrases that actually directly translates...The Markets of Fleas). The market we found ourselves, however, was not the one we had anticipated. Instead of antiques and interesting trinkets, we were met with dirty men selling knock-off purses, shoes, perfume, boxer-briefs, and everything in between. Not quite what we had envisioned. And since we found ourselves in the ever-charming north suburbs (that was sarcasm by the way), we decided not to wander too far. We eventually found what we were looking for and spent a good amount of time pouring over the stands that housed all sorts of knick-knacks..some junky, some with historical relevance, some fascinating, and some just plain creepy. Around two hours at Pt de Clgnancourt was about all we could handle for one afternoon.


Saturday night I had an amazing dinner with Gabi's parents who are visiting for the week. It was the first truly fabulous meal I've had in Paris for this trip at least. We started off with a few appetizers, croustillant de tomates et mozzarella, and les escargots. For the main course I had a veal chop with roasted garlic, roasted tomatoes, potatoes, and a wonderful oil based thyme sauce. For dessert we all split three of the dishes--a warm apple tart, some sort of baked chocolate amazingness, and a meringue dish with a vanilla almond cream sauce. And of course wine and baguette throughout the whole meal. The whole affair lasted well over three hours--Gabi and I didn't make it home until after midnight. A delicious, typically European meal if I don't say so myself.

Sundays here always start in a very lazy manner for me. I normally have some trouble dragging myself out of my red wine-induced coma, especially when I know I'm waking up to instant coffee and soggy cereal. As of 10:30 all I wanted was to crawl back into the warmth of my bed and do nothing all day long. I attempted to download the last two episodes to Sex and the City, but to no avail. I paid $2 per episode to only listen to the dialogue, no video. But then Carolin texted me. I took these two events a signs that I should actually attempt to do something with my day. I did some homework and then began the trek to go meet Carolin.


We were in search of a mural by Keith Haring that is painted on a staircase at a children's hospital somewhere between the 7th and 15th arrondissements. We found the mural and found ourselves in an area of Paris that neither of us had ever visited before but one with spectacular views of the Eiffel Tower. Since I've tried to neglect acting like the tourist that I am, I hadn't taken the stereotypical pictures of La Tour Eiffel quite yet. But we decided to roam in the general direction of the tower with the notion that we would stumble across a coffee shop of some sorts. The thing about the Eiffel Tower is you never know how far you actually are from it. It towers (ha) over all surrounding buildings so no matter where you are in the city, it always looks relatively close. So we wandered towards it and then of course ended up in a heavily touristy area with no chance of finding a good cup of coffee for under 5 euro anywhere. So we decided to walk away from the tower, away from the other tourists, and away from the gypsies waving tiny Eiffel Tower replicas in your face. The key to dealing with these men is to never under any circumstance make eye contact. They will swarm to you like pigeons (another thing I was eager to escape from).

Finally we found a brasserie that looked free of English speakers in a quieter neighborhood. We had another great meal and shared two salads. Both came with fresh slices of baguette and a house dressing. Mine had shrimp, grapefruit, pineapple, avocado, and tomatoes on it. Carolin's came with potatoes, hard-boiled eggs, avocado, haricots verts, peppers, and tomatoes. They were both delicious and of course we had to have our coffee after the meal. We did as the French do and took well over an hour to finish our tiny cups of espresso and got lost in conversation.