Oct 24th: Friday — Vendredi.

On the Seine

Feeling sore and weary from the time change and travel, we nonetheless were anxious to get out into the city.  We had a scheduled visit Notre Dame for the late afternoon.  We first achieved the most important of tasks and that was to locate a coffee shop that would henceforth be “our” coffee shop.  That is, they would provide the high level of quality caffeine necessary to our survival as sensate beings.  Fortunately we found Chaize a two minute walk past the cemetery gate on the Boulevard De Ménilmontant (which was Boulevard de Charonne and which will turn into Boulevard de Belleville and then Boulevard de la Villette, all within a mile or so, as the French apparently like to have as many people’s names on the boulevards as possible.  The changes usually involve a right turn which allows the names to become “rues” so that the Boulevard de Charonne becomes Rue de Charonne and so on.)  It is important to use Google maps if you don’t know your way.  Either that or appreciate being lost which also has its charms.  The one actual folding map we have out of the Frommer’s book we brought along doesn’t begin until way down by the Bastile, so our neighborhood and most of the walking we will do to get into the main part of the city requires some virtual visits.

At Chaize we are served by and taught a little French by the lead server at Chaize — Julian — who is appreciative of my efforts at French and becomes our teacher and guide going forward.

Our first effort at being tourists was to stroll into the Cimitière du Père-Lachaise, previously referred to, the entrance to which is maybe a hundred yards from our building’s front door.  The cemetery is filled with many crypts and graves, some centuries old, some as recent as grandmère’s fatal bout with COVID.  Many prominent humans are interred here and there and folks get maps des mortes and wander through the mausoleums, and family crypts to locate such expired luminaries as Chopin, and others mentioned in the previous post.  There are loud ravens squawking in the trees to give it the Edgar Allen Poe touch and the marble and stone statuary and stained glass reliquaries line cobblestone paths called “Chemins.”   We ambled through some of the chemins and dipped in between the graves on little side paths and found our way to Jim Morrison’s resting place. This is like a little colorful party for one tucked behind and amidst others less celebrated, but probably a lot more French.  We found Abelard and Heloise which was fun for a closet medievalist who has actually read their letters and appreciates the tragic romance of their 12th century lives.  However, we couldn’t linger longer and headed back to the apartment to ready ourselves for the trip to Notre Dame.

Broke on Through to the Other Side

Abelard and Heloise are NOT here, but the memorial is. They still can't be together.

We decided to walk there and found the Rue de la Roquette which does not change names along the way but took us straight to the Place de la Bastille where we switched to the Boulevard Henri IV and on to the Seine and our meeting place with a guide for what was promised to be a “small group” tour with maybe some kind of special entrance and visit.

We have finally reached the edge of the Frommer's map. Place de Bastille.

The whole Place de Bastille monument. Just a whatever in this town.

However, it turned out to be no more than following a Frenchman of 60 or so from a meeting tree through the same line as every other pilgrim and tourist which winded through police barricades and into the church, around the circuit of chapels and artwork, relief sculptures, candles, gazing up at stained glass marvels and soon back out into the large square out front where he bid us adieu and was gone.  Say what?

Outside of Saint Severin church, just another 13th century church amidst the creperies  in the Latin Quarter

Previous to the tour, we had wandered the Latin Quarter, feeling like the tourists we are — strolling past Shakespeare and Co book store — and with Kathy craving a crépe we located a small place along some cobblestoned street and ordered up some cappuccinos and savory crépes; though, since my French is still minimal, I ended up with a gratinade which was a baked dish of chicken and ratatouille covered over with browned cheese.  All of it excellent, and followed with a crépe of homemade chocolate sauce and strawberries.  Time grew short and we headed for the tour.  A little confusion in locating the meeting place, but there was the tree and there was Pierre.

Exterior of Notre Dame

Along the way, Pierre showed us Notre Dame from the outside and gave us some primer on gothic architecture, then forced us to follow him through the church, made all the more difficult because he was rather short and hard to see in the throngs we were amidst.  “Over 20,000 people visit Notre Dame every day!” exclaimed Pierre and looking around at the crowd, it seemed that was an under count.  Our small group included a humorous woman from Brooklyn named Effie and a youngish married couple from Dublin.  Effie was shorter than Pierre and could never see him and guided herself by watching for my head as we wended our way along with the clockwise movement of the crowd.  Every now and then Pierre would halt and show us some thing or other which we could plainly see for ourselves and his knowledge was not much more than we could have gleaned from a small brochure or a bit of wikipedia.  I had visited Notre Dame one late afternoon in 2018 so it was interesting to see it again after the fire and the restoration, especially the whitened stone throughout which had been a dingy gray for centuries.    

To add to the color was an intermittent "Shhhhh!" from a female voice as if Our Lady really wanted us to remain reverent as we herded around the chapels.

In any case, we could have stepped out of the crowd and let Pierre move along by himself at any point in our “tour” and we would have been the better for it.  At the abrupt end of the tour, Effie turned to us, as Pierre hurried off, and asked what we thought about the tour.  We agreed that it sucked and was a waste of money. Still in all, the place is pretty impressive, inside and out.

The stained glass was prevented from burning or melting in the fire due to five hundred years of gunk.

10th century relief sculptures arrayed the length of both sides of the pews.

Side chapels donated by wealthy folks who get to be interred in the church itself. Standard in these churches.

Effie said this was her 26th visit to Paris and that we should “savor it.”

From there we turned for home and let the Rue de la Roquette bring us back to our neighborhood and feeling triumphant and tired, we stopped at “our” bistro, Le Nouveau Carrilon. 

By the way, the walk along Rue de la Roquette is a feast of what makes Paris great.  All along the several miles of walking are countless places to eat, drink and be merry.  Every block has a patisserie or a boulangerie, a bistro, cafe or any of a thousand other varieties of food and drink.  It is hard to imagine that the Parisians are able to support such a parade of places to dine, but every place seemed busy and bright.  The streets are packed with little cars and bikes and scooters all zipping here and there, but all with a certain finesse and politeness that ensures no one gets run over or even frightened.  Some honking, but mostly efficient busy-ness.

Another of the many views of the Seine

Friday ended with a return to the apartment where we finished off our bread and cheese and sausage and some of the wine.  Tomorrow would be Versailles.