This morning, Yves told us that his pastor friend, Richard, sometimes goes to a square in the 13th arrondissement to get water for his coffee from a special fountain. It is supposed to be the best water in the city. We located the place on the map and I took off. Two métro lines later, I arrived at Place d'Italie, one of the larger traffic hubs in the city.
I got out my trusty smart phone and waived it at the sky, from which it picked up the information it needed and told me where north was (our tradition compass is broken). I was then able to take the correct road, one of 8 fanning off the hub. I walked for a few blocks, enjoying the sunshine and good weather, and stopped to watch some people play Pétanque with metal boules (balls). We play the same game at church retreats, but sadly on grass instead of on hard, rough ground. You toss out a little ball, and then take turns tossing larger balls. You score as in horseshoes. If someone hits the target ball, well, the target just got moved--live with it! One can spend hours with this sport, and it is especially enjoyed by adults. You toss underhand, and when you toss, the back of your hand leads so that you get lots of backspin. You usually want the ball to stop quickly, otherwise the rough terrain will cause the ball to turn, goodness only knows where. It is a game of luck which requires considerable skill.
I never see older women (my age) play, but the younger generation is introducing gender equality into what was previously a game strictly for men.
This is the same photo, enlarged a bit so we can (sort of) see the ball in the air. The photo doesn't show it, but the tosser has great form.
The next photo is an enlargement of the first photo in this series. If I hadn't stopped to watch the Pétanque, I would have missed the fountain altogether. It is the set of four pipes surrounding the water-blue sign. This was the very Place Paul Verlaine I wanted to find, a very modest little park which one would hardly notice.
People come here from all over the city to fill bottles with the water (I forgot my bottle!) The water is supposed to make the very best coffee imaginable. I tasted it, and must say that it does taste very fresh and pure. The source is apparently more than 600 meters deep (1,800+ feet), so it has not been touched by modern sources of pollution. I took a photo of an older woman filling many bottles. She put them in her large plastic shopping bags which would then be carted back to her place. Once you taste this water, you don't want to drink any other water, it is that good. I hope to return, bottle in hand, and see if it improves my coffee.
This little neighbourhood was once an enclosed village lying well outside the walls of Paris, It was known as La Butte aux Cailles, and was along the Bièvre River, which is now entirely underground. Cities do such things, repeatedly. Anyway, in 1860, the village was incorporated into Paris proper, and Haussmann, who was entrusted with remaking Paris, also turned his attention to this area. His plans called for the destruction of thousands of little homes throughout Paris, making possible the construction of the grand boulevards for which Paris is now famous. Among other things, he was concerned about supplying water to the various parts of the city. In 1863, he authorized digging a very deep well which was to get water for the 13th arrondissement (to the south). They got pretty far, but were stopped by the fighting in Paris in 1871, known as the Paris Commune, a sad time when France lost to Germany, and Paris lost to France! That was a complicated story, but the French national army wanted some canon(s) Parisians had purchased themselves for their own defense; the army was not amused, etc. Complicated enough to stop the digging, but it was completed later.
All water pipes need to be cleaned out, and these are no exception to that rule. Every decade, the fountains are turned off for maintenance.
The brick building behind these signs is a swimming pool filled with this pure water.
I got back by about 7:00 p.m., in time to join Janice in preparing dinner for Yves. My veal roast worked, and his Camembert cheese was perfect. I asked about putting cheese in the refrigerator. He is a true Frenchman and never puts cheese in the fridge, an especially not Camembert. He said that possibly a blue or Roquefort cheese would be cooled, but otherwise, room temperature, always. We do the same in Vancouver, and it makes all the difference.
Enough for today, with love from us both,
Evan
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