Mothers Day in Paris

Dear Mother,

Yesterday was Mothers Day in France, so it is about two weeks later than in Canada (somehow, I managed to miss both of them . . . can this be my Mothers Day card for you?)  We celebrated by taking an all-afternoon walk in the 13th arrondissement, a quiet residential/hospital area which almost never sees tourists.  Janice purchased a book on private gardens created in the city by individual apartment dwellers or by groups of people interested in transforming dismal tiny areas into spaces covered with green.  So she had located some on maps that interested her.

We started out by taking the usual métro (c. €1.12/ride).  The underground is shaped much like the tube in London, with rounded sides which are slowly being refurbished throughout Paris in white tile.

More and more stations have signs predicting when the next two trains will arrive.  The signs also remind us of the final destination for trains using this platform (Etoile) and the local time. 

The blue signs with white lettering (other than "sortie", exit) identify the station in which we are standing, something we check faithfully before getting off a train.  The large bill boards are always colourful, artistic and engaging, even if I have absolutely no interest in seeing that particular exhibit, movie or product.  The two off-yellow signs below the Daumesnil sign give a subway map for all of Paris and possibly a local street map orienting us for when we emerge from the underground.  

The trains are generally well cleaned and have something coating the surfaces which makes removing graffiti possible.  The seats are generally hard, and the those by each doorway can be raised or lowered, depending on how crowded the train becomes.  I am impressed by how orderly everything is and by how generous people tend to be, though young people are not likely to offer a seat to elderly people the way they do in Vancouver.

Our train crossed the river Siene by bridge rather than tunnel, so I quickly pointed and shot on automatic.  You can see that the sky was perfectly blue--and we really, really need rain.

We got off one stop before Place d'Italie and started walking, looking for a place to have a nice little Mothers Day lunch.  After looking for more than 20 minutes and finding absolutely nothing open, I muttered something about our surely being the only two souls in all of Paris unable to find a restaurant on a Mothers Day.  The area had been transformed into many horrid impersonal apartment towers for untold thousands of people, but nothing was open--not a grocery store, bar, shop or café.  It is likely a section catering to less wealthy Parisians, so it is frankly good not to spend all of my time downtown where all the wealth is localized.  We finally found a promising street and a single grill that was offering a Mothers Day special, so we got a nice table just inside, where the floor-to-ceiling glass doors were open to the warm afternoon air.  After the meal, our waitress offered to take our photo and gave the mother of the family some long stemmed red roses.

We started by sharing a lovely dish of diced avocado and diced salmon, which we spread on bread.  It was perfect for the warm day.

I had wanted the Mothers Day special (duck breast) but was surprised to learn that it was only for mothers!  Other people had to order from the carte, or pay half again as much (forget it).  Hopefully, fathers will get their turn soon.  So I "settled" for some lamb chops done with a nice sauce and some rosemary, along with cooked potatoes which were then roasted in butter/oil.  You can see the token veggies!

Meanwhile, the much honoured mother got the duck breast special, all of which was remarkably similar to what I had, except for the meat and price.

"The view from our table was nice, and traffic was quiet.  Another couple came for lunch at about 1:45, but otherwise, the place was essentially deserted.  A few people walked by after a late church service, mainly Africans dressed to the nines.

I wanted to look at the inside of an interesting parish church, but there seemed to be a baptism underway in the afternoon, so I quietly left.

By early midafternoon, the local Sunday market had closed and city crews were cleaning up.  I followed the little green truck which used water pressure to clean the sidewalks of debris and sticky juices.  Large trucks then came to pick up empty cartons and debris.

As we descended the little hill, we caught a glimpse of the Panthéon, and also got a glimpse of the above-ground subway train track we had just used.

I entered one parish church, but people were talking quietly and I did not want to disturb, so I just took a picture with the little camera on the sly from the back of a side aisle.

I did like the stained glass in the door window.

One small intriguing street had some cleverly spray-painted art on plaster walls.  Jeff seems to be a local artist, working by commission.  I noticed that graffiti taggers left his work alone, which was nice.

I will let Janice write about plants and parks, but I enjoy seeing trees form tunnels of light.

I will soon head downtown for more photos, destination unknown . . . I simply cannot make up my mind.  So I will just see what happens.  On the way, I usually stop at the local bakery to get a sandwich, which they heat in the oven for another 3-4 minutes, toasting the baguette and melting the cheese.  That will keep me going for another six hours.

So, until next time, love from us both,
Evan