Wrapping up things at the CMP

[Evan writes:]

Neal and Janie drove Tom and Bonnie to the airport yesterday morning (Sunday, good traffic), but the previous evening, the six of us went to La Bolée d'Avor, a crêperie on Rue de Paris in Charenton.  They make crêpes the way they do in Brittany, even though by now most of these cooks are from India.  They also offer a number of good cidres from Brittany, which one drinks from red cups.  We sampled both the dry and the sweet, and both went well with the food. 

The photos make the savory buckwheat crêpes look small, but each was filled with meat, cheeses, etc., depending on what was ordered.  They are truly filling.  Notice the healthy salad on the side, something I might not have remembered to order on my own.

I just had to end with a crêpe flambée.  It burned quite some time, long enough for me to whip out my phone for a photo.

Later, on Sunday, the Bloughs and we returned to Saint Eustache to hear another organ recital of Bach, Reger, and a long work the organist improvised (three movements).  The French organists are particularly well-known for their improvisations, and this one was spectacular, running through at least some of the instrument's 120 ranks (at least that's how many stops I counted from where I sat).

After the concert, we skipped Mass and headed out for dinner at a nice little café where we were able to sit at two tiny round tables on the sidewalk.  We have eaten here before after a recital, so we knew it was a good choice.  The street was largely for pedestrians, though cars were allowed (if they dared), and rented bikes and scooters zoomed around most alarmingly or carefully, depending on the driver's personality.

We then walked from Les Halles back to Hotel de Ville to take the métro (No. 1) back.  On the way, I noticed a van in which lots of scooters were being gathered from here, there, and everywhere for recharging and repairs.  It is quite the industry.

When you need to check your email and no bench is available, just take a seat on the curb, why not.

Janice has finished cataloguing another 125 books and is basically caught up, possibly for the first time in 11 years.  This is partly because fewer books were ordered since this year's CMP budget is being stretched by the renovations, but the books selected are very interesting.  I put them in call-number order on the library table so that shelving is easier for Janice.  She likes to do the shelving to make sure that the call number makes sense, catching obvious discrepancies.  

Stuckey Stuff

[Janice writes:]

Tom and I are first cousins. His father and my mother were part of the family of nine children of Aaron and Sarah (Eicher) Stuckey.

On June 2, 2019, 27 of the 40 first cousins met, to share memories of their grandparents and aunts and uncles. Tom and I are some of the older ones, but even we have fewer memories of our ancestors than we would like to have. There are almost no memories of our great grandparents. On the Eicher side, they died when our grandmother was 3 years old, and on the Stuckey side our great grandfather (John P. Stuckey) died in 1921, and our great grandmother (Anna Lugbill) died one month after the oldest cousin was born. The Sauder Village in Archbold has the "Stuckey farm" which is a replica of our great great grandparents' farm, but it can only reflect an approximation of what it was like. Even more remote is knowledge of what the Stuckeys did in France.

Being in France over the years has made me curious about the Stuckey's time here. They lived in France for about 100 years, after leaving Switzerland because of their Anabaptist religion. Our ancestor, Christen Stucky [sic] was in France with his two, probably younger, brothers Nicholas and Bénédict by 1744, when he signed a lease for a farm at Wintzenheim (near Colmar), but Christen was likely in France earlier. According to an article by Robert Baecher in the 2006 issue of Souvenance anabaptiste, the three brothers may be descended from Christen Stucky from Diemtingen, Switzerland, who died before 1729. Our Stuckey line goes like this: Christen, Benedict, Pierre/Peter, Peter, John P., Aaron. I wouldn't want to lose the wives' names: Lugbill and Luginbuhl, Yoder, Hochstetler, Richard, Eicher, Staufer, Schlatter, Klopfenstein, and Graber. Oops, we also have Eicher and Stuckey featured on our grandmother's side. That's known as pedigree collapse.

Here is the mill that Pierre/Peter leased from 1806 or 1807 until 1832 when he left for Ohio. It was quite a landmark, but in December 2017, much of it was destroyed by fire. It is the Moulin de Notre Dame, near Lure in the Haute Saône region.

So much for the genealogy lesson for today!

Le Bar Belge

[Evan writes:]

This brief blog is for brother Bruce, who still has fond memories of his business trip to Brussels some years ago.

The painting finished, some of us decided to meet at Le Bar Belge for dinner, 97 Avenue du Général Leclerc, Maisons-Alfort, which is a 21-minute walk from the Centre, across the bridge where Janice's and Tom's ancestors traveled when going from eastern France to Ohio.  Sadly, they knew nothing of Le Bar Belge.  This is quite the establishment, offering Belgian beers and cooking. 

Let's begin with the menu, the beer menu, that is.  There are more than 300 beers listed, but about 14 are no longer on offer.  I noticed that they are not getting the best beers from Austria and Canada, but people generally prefer Belgian beer anyway.

Here is a closeup shot of the abbey beers from Belgium, beers whose recipes go back to monastic days.  You usually order by number (far left column) or by name, but the waiters have to ensure that understand which beer you have in mind.  The number immediately following the name of the beer (in this case, the abbey) gives the alcohol content by percent.  The two columns on the right give the size and price. 

Guess which beer was mine . . . none of this 33cl stuff for me.

Janie had moules/mussels, one great big hot bowl of mussels done in white wine, butter, and onions with a rich cream with garlic sauce liberally poured over everything.   As I recall, there was a full inch of the delicious nectar at the bottom of the pan.  Then . . . then, once you have finished your mussels, you are politely asked whether you might like to have a second helping (at no extra charge).  We were told that some guys get three bowls!

I had a Flemish Flammenkueche, which is very similar to that which is so popular in the Alsace.  This had crème fraîche (I make it by adding a bit of yogurt to rich cream and letting it sit at room temperature for 24 hours), a bit of fromage blanc (white cheese), lardons (diced thick bacon), and chopped steak (hamburger but absolutely no fat).  I found it went down nicely, especially with the second beer.  

We're going back . . . soon.

Fête de musique 2019, Paris

[Evan writes:]

Throughout France music is celebrated on the solstice, June 21st.  The official sunset was several minutes before 10:00 p.m., the weather was ideal (c. 20C) with no rain in sight, it was a Friday night, just perfect.  I packed my camera bag, took the métro to République, walked north toward Gare de l'Est to visit a church I had not noticed before, and then slowly meandered south, to Saint Eustache, then over to some bridges.  But by 9:00 p.m. I finally realized that I was almost too tired to put one foot in front of the other--I had forgotten to eat supper (hard to imagine).  So I headed home.  When I saw the final climb of 21 steps at the métro's exit, I thought, "Well, pilgrims used to crawl, so I'll make it one way or the other."  I made it, and was in bed shortly after sunset, legs aching from 17.5 km of slow walking.  Here are some photos of the evening.

I started by heading toward the canal, where many people were enjoying the sunshine.  This store front is clever.  It is a shoe shop.

Now I'm basically lost, but sort of heading south.

I found the Église Saint-Laurent in the 10th district.  A Mass was about to commence, so I had time to take only a few photos.  My initial impression is that the exterior is more interesting than the interior, but I still have Laon in my mind.

The occasional street person can be found, though this is more common in the larger cities in the States.  These chaps accumulated quite a collection of items.  I wondered whether some will possibly be sold or traded.  There is a flourishing black/underground market among immigrants and street people.

My ears perked up when I heard a brass band playing energetically.   So I followed the sound and found this small group of amateurs who played, danced, sang, and just had fun in general.  Their enthusiasm was infectious and bystanders were enthralled.

Less than half a block up the street was this tiny alley, well-lit, possibly an ancient right of way that is still maintained.  I saw quite a few people take this shortcut.

Many bookstores wheel out boxes of less expensive books.  I bought a novel about a photographer.  I figured, 'who could possibly be more interesting?'

We were now well into Happy Hour (5:00-8:00), that time when you start to close the day with a little something to make you--happy.  By 8:00, most restaurant kitchens are ready to go, some earlier; tourist areas have learned that some tourists even want to eat by 5:00.  Partly, they are simply exhausted, ready to sit and eat, before being revived for another several hours of walking.

The King George pub attracted more French patrons than British.  I thought a beer might be nice, but the pub was so busy that I would have needed to stand, and drinking by myself while standing is not a high priority.

Yes, I took this only because of the sign, "Brides to Be".

Electric scooters are ubiquitous, and dangerously driven.  French children grew up riding their tiny scooters to and from school.  They are superb navigators.  But add a good strong battery, no helmet, and adults expecting to move with traffic = trouble.  Some people are hoping that legislation will catch up with this new development in city transportation. I sense that these Chinese scooters have overtaken the rented bikes, which can be picked up almost everywhere in Paris.  But you have to park those bikes in special places, whereas you can walk away from your scooters absolutely anywhere in Paris, anywhere!  You can drive these scooters on the roads, on the bike ways, and if those are clogged, on the crowded sidewalks.  Legislation is coming, I hope.

These two young people are checking their GPS to see which way to go.  Believe me, I understand.

Another small group of musicians had gathered and were pumping out amplified music on some minor street that is largely residential above the stores on ground level.  This pedestrian street was ideal for families with young children, who felt right at home.  Remember, apartment dwellers do not expect children to have play areas covered with lush grass.

These three enjoyed swaying with small small dance movements while hearing the music.  The man kept fanning himself and drinking water.

In my youth, those pants would not even have been donated to the Thrift Store.

I finally made it to Saint Eustache, which was offering music performances for 36 hours straight.  I should have checked the schedule because the organ was not being featured.  Instead, there was a rock band (I don't know the various terms for bands, nor what they differentiate).  The basilica had 'band lighting' and amplification, the place was packed, and there was a long line of people waiting to be admitted.  I had come just in time, but left after taking a few shots, willing to make room for others.

Not everybody was listening intently.

I then came upon a small group of people singing along with some instrumentalists.  They had access to the music texts by searching on their smartphones.

The sun was going to set in about 45 minutes, but I was tired, so I took a few more shots and headed back to the métro.

On the way back, I peered down on hundreds of young people enjoying their picnic suppers while seated on the broad sidewalk and the (by now closed) street which runs down along the River Seine.  

I slept well.

Janice adds: Evan's feet looked terrible--very swollen and red  :-(