Easter Weekend, the Saturday part

Saturday morning was leisurely for us – it usually is unless Susie has an early class.

Anyway, we had big plans and needed to gather our strength and our wits for the rest of the day.

Yesterday, during the presentation session at Le Cordon Bleu the new director of the school had introduced herself to us and as we were chatting about one thing or another (but of course always about Paris) when we mentioned to her that we were thinking of going to the Bois de Vincennes on Saturday, she suggested we go to the Bois de Boulogne on the other side of the city, the western side. She thought we should go to either the Parc des Princes in St. Cloud to see the Grand Cascade (the Big Waterfall) or to the Parc de Bagatelle in the Bois de Boulogne the huge forest on the western edge of the city. (photo: Nope, in fact this is the waterfall in the Parc de Bagatelle.)

Ok, we thought that's a plan; and we decided to do both.

So, after coffee and breakfast Susie and I headed off for the Bastille. We took the no. 5 Metro to Austerlitz where we changed to the no. 10, getting off a stop later at Jussieu in the 5th arr. to pay a quick visit to Pascal Pinaud's pastry shop on rue Monge and to say hi to Misato.

The place was crazy busy with Easter trade and the shelves were packed and stacked with chocolate Easter eggs (like virtually every other pastry shop in Paris it seemed).


We stopped ands chatted for a just a few minutes -- they were up to their necks in orders and we didn't want to impose -- before heading back out the door and down rue Monge toward the river and the Metro.

After leaving the shop we got back on the no. 10 at Cardinal Lemoine. We took the train to the very end of the line, getting off at the Porte de Boulogne. After a 10-minute walk west, crossing the Seine a second time (the first by metro) we found ourselves, in a rather awkward fashion, stumbling into the Parc des Princes (also called, I believe, the Domaine Nationale St. Cloud). The more we walked into the "parc" the fewer people we saw; just the occasional runner -- and thought this was odd. A gorgeous Saturday on a holiday weekend in a parc just on the outskirts of Paris. Hmmmm.

We pressed on. The space is heavily forested but near the river is a man-made series of waterfalls called the Grand Cascade. Well I'm here to tell you it wasn't very "grande" at all. I'm sure at one time it had been a very handsome bit of sculpture and was probably most impressive with water cascading down the various channels, making for an impressive finish into a series of pools below.

But today it was very different. There was no water running -- nor had there been for some apparently -- and what water was in the pools at the bottom was quite stagnant.

Still, it was a very nice spot and so we sat on a bench in the shade, soaking in the quiet of being in Paris.

We finally had enough of the quiet in Paris, at least enough of St. Cloud. We soon returned the way we came, re-crossing the Seine and then decided to roam our way along the river up to the Bois de Boulogne and the Parc de Bagatelle.

We walked for what seemed like two days and nights, although in fact it was probably less than an hour before we reached the Hippodrome du Longchamp. This is the racetrack where we spent a wonderful afternoon in the fall of 2007 with our friend Diane -- losing not too much money and having a glorious afternoon enjoying the hats, the people and, of course, the horses.

Anyway, we were now seeing the track from a different point of view, from the far side, across the racecourse from where we had sat that afternoon in the grandstand; an oddly curious feeling.

We continued strolling and strolling, through winding lanes, past lakes large and small -- curiously the lac superieur is much smaller than the lac inferieur. Well, inferieur or not, the latter was another place worth exploring: lots of walking along the lake as well as places to sit and enjoy the people rowing boats -- you can rent large rowboats -- and just a relaxing place to spend a hot summer day I should think.

We finally reached our objective, the Parc de Bagatelle and walked through the impressive grille, or iron gate, and entered a world of peace and harmony.

Although there were numerous strollers like us in the parc, one didn't feel the press of humanity so common in a large city during holiday.

And something else: if you look to the west halfway up a distant hillside you can just barely make out a US flag flying, and below you can just see the top of a memorial. This is in fact the American National Cemetery at Suresnes. Originally commissioned during the First World War for soldiers who died in Paris hospitals, it contains the remains of 1,541 US soldiers from both world wars. (photo: the top of the memorial is just visible above the large building in the center bottom of the photograph. Trust me it's there.)

The flowers were starting to bloom and the peacocks were going about their lives oblivious to the people standing right next to them, camera in hand. They are indeed awesome creatures, capable of making the most plaintive crying sound.

After wandering our way around the parc, no plan in hand but feeling our way down the winding lanes and through the hedgerows, themselves opening one world after another, we ended where we began, at the entrance. (Perhaps like life?)

So we set off for the nearest metro, in this case the no. 2 at Porte Dauphine, which we reached the following week -- well OK so it took maybe an hour or so. But I did break my pedometer record that day (more than 32k steps) so we did walk a ways for sure.

And it wasn't over yet.

We took the no. 2 to the Arc d'Triomphe and strolled down to the Place d'Alma, where we stopped at one or favorite lounging spots, the Cafe Gran Corona to sip a glass of champagne. After catching our breath we walked across the street and took the no. 9 Metro one stop to FDR, changed to the no. 1 and got off at St. Paul. We were on our way to a small gallery "Arte et Societe" on rue Pont du Louis Philippe; a friend of Misato's was exhibiting there and the reception was that evening from 4-7.

As we walked down rue Frederic Miron we popped into one of the more unusual food shops, really much more than food, "Izrael's". This is also one of Clotilde's recommendations and we could easily see why: if they don't have it you probably don't need it. This is one place worth a stop -- and it's located right in Marais.

Around the corner we found the gallery just before 7 and after a quick peek inside we learned that little of the woman's photographs were on display. It was a group exhibition the rest of which held little appeal for either of us.

So off we went to close out the evening with a dinner in the 10th (another Clotilde suggestion), at a neo-bistro place called "Urbane."

Even though it was nearly 8pm we were the first to arrive. This seems to be a particularly unique American condition, and while we have long since stopped apologizing for it, we still find it a curious thing indeed.

Frankly I think we could wait until 10pm and still be the first people to sit down for dinner in Paris. My guess is somehow all Americans in Paris are being closely tracked (probably by satellite) and no one in France goes out for dinner until the word is passed that it's OK, "the Americans have just sat down so you can all go out now."

Early or late the food was wonderful -- we each had the formule: Susie had a whitefish (merlu) for her plat and I had rumsteck and gilled polenta. Scrumptious! for dessert Susie had a custard tart with red prune syrup and ginger and I had apricots wrapped in phylo and deepfried with Thyme ice cream. Quite an incredible meal to be sure.

We paid the bill (a custom appreciated by the restaurants in Paris as elsewhere) and walked down Avenue Parmentier to rue General Renault and home.

Wish you had been there – you’d probably be tired too but what a day!

Steve