Rue du Chemin Vert

Hello,

Whenever I visit Michel for tea or to talk about music, I get off at the métro called "Chemin Vert" (Green Way/Path).  In Paris, street names can change every few blocks.  Since I always go west to visit Michel, I was curious about the road going east, the road that was apparently once a nice country pathway, or right of way for the public.  Today was the day.  I won't pretend this is exciting stuff, but it is part of the real everyday Paris, freed from tourists (save one).

You emerge from the métro and see (of course) a restaurant.  Typically, these establishments are allowed to claim a significant portion of the sidewalk permanently, build sturdy glassed-in extensions, and add room for possibly another dozen customers.  Hopefully, they pay for this privilege.  The rooms are heated and often air conditioned or open for breezes.

This is the entrance/exit for the métro, nicely marked, usually well-positioned on the sidewalk, visible.  By comparison, I find the subway stops difficult to spot in New York City.

The street signs are usually a combination of green and dark blue, giving both the name of the street and its district.  Each district/arrondissement has its own city hall and mayor, so Paris has 20 of each, plus one overall. 

Notice the sticker with the international sign for falling rocks.  If you look closely, you will see that people are falling, and the sticker indicates that human rights are tumbling.  This refers to the workers' current rotating strikes which affect primarily the trains at this time.  But stay tuned.  These folks know how to strike.

I was intrigued by this machine.  It looked ancient.  Since it was being hauled, I could not determine its utility.

OK, so this is a bad photo.  Even so, I wanted to honour this very kind lady somehow.  She saw me taking photos and stopped to talk, asking where I was from, how long I was staying, etc.  She has seen a brochure on Canada and would really like to visit it someday.  We had such a lovely chat (well, I mostly listened and agreed), but I did not have the heart to ask to take a photo of her face.

Initially, one thinks, "Ah, what a nice park between two roads, right in the middle of a boulevard.  Well, it's a bit more complicated than that.  At this point, the canal runs directly under the park for perhaps a km or two.  This stretch is a green space with many benches and playgrounds.

If you click on the photo, you may be able to tell that these gals are eating plain baguettes for their lunch.

The Rue du Chemin Vert then descends a bit.  I'm guessing that much of the area along this stretch of the canal was built up, literally the ground made higher.  

The bicycle paths are all over the place and heavily used.  Unlike many of Vancouver's, these bike ways have cement dividers which clearly signal to both cars and bikes which part of the road is to be used by whom.

I first wondered why these gals were staring at me, and then realized it had little to do with my handsome features.

I'm glad they kept the facade of this bakery, even though it is now a dress shop.

I was struck by the fancy clothing stores in a somewhat less-than-fancy area.  The approaching girl likely doesn't shop here often.

This shows the road's layers:  sand/cement, granite stone cut like bricks and then laid out in beautiful patterns, and finally tarmac. 

I must see if I can find any music by this band on YouTube.

Children still get around on their little scooters with amazing efficiency.  They are so safe and enable children to keep pace with parents.  However, grownups are increasingly turning to motorized scooters, just larger versions of these little things.

Now I know where to get my nails done.

This piano was cut in half, top to bottom.  (The result of a bad divorce?)

Some paint jobs are costly, others are free.

As you know by now, I enjoy graffiti (thanks to Jesse).  This involved two artists.  The first did the stencil (on paper? I forgot to check) and the second an ink drawing which cleverly transformed the meaning of the man's expression.

Tomorrow is a rehearsal day, so I don't know what will happen.  Janice's laptop seems to be completely unwilling to go to local wifi after she upgraded the software.  We phoned the store in Burnaby (Canada) where we bought the machine, and they transferred us to India.  You can well imagine how helpful that was.  She tried to sell us a new laptop!

Bye for now,

Evan
P.S.  Sorry, Brother Bruce, still no food porn.

Our first days in Saint-Maurice and Paris

Hello,

Our initial six days have been both uneventful and a bit frustrating.  Wifi here seems to come and go at will.  Today (May 30th) is the first time I have been able to get on wifi on the laptop since Sunday morning.  Goodness knows the Bloughs have tried everything they can think of, and poor Orange has received numerous phone calls and delivered a new modem.  Fortunately, we found out that Janice can access the library catalogue by using my iPad.  Unfortunately, every time she needs to add an accent to a letter, she must remove the keyboard and use the virtual keyboard on the iPad.  She could use a French keyboard, but there are so many letters in different positions that touch typing would be impossible.

Our initial days were spent in Saint Maurice, going to the market Friday morning.  We needed the walk, since the plane landed at 9:20 and we arrived at the Centre about 45 minutes later.  It was so good seeing the Bloughs again, after a year, and as they say, we look at home here.  This is our 10th spring visit, so it does indeed feel familiar.

So familiar that I did not bother to take any photos until one or two occurred to me on Sunday.  I have kept up on the processing, which is easy enough if few photos are taken and if there is no wifi for blogging!

I'll add a few simple photos and see if the blog entry can indeed be posted.  I continue to be intrigued by the former carriage entries into buildings.  The streets in Paris are fairly far apart, which means that houses both face the street and have ample room for a courtyard, stables, etc.  Now that horses are no longer in vogue, cars take up some of the space, but I find that quite a few buildings do not allow cars unless there is underground parking, and that is expensive.  This is true where my friend Michel lives.

I am also intrigued by what people wear.  This lady is walking in Charenton on market day, returning toward Saint Maurice.  She is quite the personality, with tattoos on her right arm, and a wonderful glove visible on her left.  There seem to be some gypsy elements in her costume, which is nicely colour coordinated.

Last evening (Tuesday), Jesse and Rapti (dear friends from Vancouver) invited us to dinner at La Brasserie Flo a wonderful Alsatian restaurant several blocks from their AirB&B in the 10th arrondissement.  With a bit of walking, we were able to get there by using 'our' métro line.  After going through a lovely bottle of Vieux Chateau Palon, Saint-Emilion 2014, we walked to the Flo.  As each plate declared, Floderer was established in 1918, so it is now 100 years old (established one year before Dad was born).  We approached it through a somewhat unpromising narrow alley, where several fellows were sitting/snoozing.

As we got closer, the alley picked up a bit more class, a few tables were being set out for the evening, and the graffiti provided a bit of Parisian colour.

The restaurant is old-style, with old wood paneling (which I now wish I had photographed up close), white table cloths (always a sign that food will cost more), a long brass bar going across the windows, providing a place where gentlemen can rest their hats (those were the days), and great brass hooks for coats and jackets.

We were the first to arrive (which essentially almost screams "We're tourists!"), but the table was ours for the next three hours.  While staff continued getting ready for the evening, Jesse and I decided to take a photo of the impressive Italian music box from 1901.  Staff claimed that it works beautifully, but without demonstrating.  Since everybody was rushing around, we just looked and imagined.

It is wound up by hand crank, and several gadgets apparently let one select one of ten songs of the time.

The photo of the "Programme des Airs" is nearly impossible to read, but it gives a sense of being respectably old.  Our son, Aaron, inherited his Great-great grandpa Stover's music box, something that intrigued me when I was in grade school, lived next door to my Grandpa Kreiders in Wadsworth, and could occasionally play it.

Our meal was not photographed, but included three courses from a set menu.  I had foie gras (why not), pork shank with lots of skin/fat, and an opéra (chocolate layered cake).  Back to the pork shank.  Although the waiter did not know any German (no German in an Alsatian restaurant?), Jesse and I were quite sure this would be like Schwein Haxe, and it was identical.  Served on a bed of wonderful choucroute (sauerkraut) done with a touch of curry, I was in heaven itself.  I initially wished that there was more, because once you set the bones aside and the skin, there's not much left.  Then I noticed that Jesse had eaten every single morsel of the crisp skin, so I tried just a bit.  Well, the heavenly choirs were now alive with their "Gaudetes" ('rejoice').  Janice tried a bit and her eyes opened wide.  She liked her salmon, but every single restaurant in Greater Vancouver offers salmon, even some pubs, so why bother with it in Paris?

So I'll close with a photo of Rapti and Jesse, and an unknown (local?) gentleman who I enjoyed watching from the corner of my eye as he sat at a table in the next room.  The restaurant was packed by the time we left (10 p.m.)  I have no idea how people can stay up that late, tucking into heavy food, get sleep and show up for work the next morning.  This was a Tuesday evening, for goodness sake.

Janice has checked/approved the some 30 books Yves worked on this spring, so I gave them cards and labels.  Now she is into cataloguing herself.  The proofing helps her get back into the French way of cataloguing, something she can do even when slightly groggy.

All for now,
Evan