Paris - Day 3



Day 3 – Saturday August 28^th

The key to our hearts, if not to the city

Our destination today was a big flea market in the 14th Arrondissement (neighborhood) which is south of our hotel.  It looked like a fairly long walk, and Chris wasn’t feeling terribly swell, but since we hadn’t ever visited that part of the city, we decided – ‘hey, we have all day, so why not hoof it’.  Chris was sure her new Keds sneakers would be just the ticket for a day long stroll (wrong), and would certainly be better than her flip flops (oh, so wrong).  

We started by crossing the Seine at the bridge called Le Pont des Arts, or the Bridge of the Arts.  We saw it decorated with innumerable padlocks and wondered what the story was.  Using this as a good reason to approach a total stranger, Chris asked two fellows who were sitting on a bench in the middle of the bridge if they knew what the locks meant.

“Yes,”, one of them replied. 

Pause……

“Would you like me to tell you?”, he asked with a mischievous smile. 

“Why yes,”, she replied. 

So he proceeded to tell us that this bridge was a favorite meeting place for two lovers, who were also artists known for their edgy risqué style, Serge Gainsbourg and Jane Dirkin.  A fad/tradition began (about 2 years ago according to one internet source) of couples putting locks on the bridge as a symbol of their undying love.  Well, Jane and I said it was too bad we were sisters and couldn’t put a lock on the bridge. 

Our stranger said, ‘You love each other, right?”

“Well, yes, we guess we do at that.”, we replied.

“Then go ahead and put a lock on the bridge!” he urged.

“Well, ok then!”

That settled, we decided we had to be on the lookout for a store that sold padlocks before our trip was over. 

Our friendly stranger turned out to be a fellow named Jean who was enjoying the view from the Pond des Arts with a friend from South Africa whose name was unusual enough that I didn’t quite catch it for posterity.  Here, however, is a picture of the two of them.







Jane and Chris on Le Pont des Arts




Another type of  'Locks for Love'




Jane on Le Pont des Arts with some of the Love Locks

The Price of Relief

And so on to the 14^th A and the big flea market that was written up so appealingly in Frommer’s Paris book.  We knew it was going to be a long walk, but we weren’t sure just how far because the flea market was beyond the area of our map.  (I looked it up on Google maps after we got back home and estimate we walked between 4 and 6 miles – each way!)

We found ourselves in the St-Germain area when Chris decided she needed to find a little girl’s room.  But being disinclined to pay a euro to use the public potty, she made the seemingly rational suggestion of stopping for a cup of something hot which might settle her still-not-quite-right tummy.  That way she could use the café’s jeunne fille’s room for free.

Sounded like a good plan until we got the bill for our 1 cup of coffee and 1 cup of tea and found that they cost 5 euro apiece, or roughly 7 bucks a cup! 

It was, Chris is pretty sure, the most expensive piddle she’s ever taken.

Here’s an interesting store window we passed along our way.

How many stacking dolls do you count?



The Treasure Hunt

We continued our walk which took us down a street with lots of Frenchy type stores such as those filled with beautiful cheeses of all sorts, and those filled with beautiful chocolates and confections.  We stopped frequently to consult the maps posted on every bus stop and wrote down the street names we needed to find in order to get to our destination. 

I recall that Rue Didot was a common theme that day (pronounced Roo dee DOH).  We said it as often as we could.  Rue Didot, Rue Didot.  Rolls off the tongue in a fun way, like Walla Walla Washington or Fon du Loc.  Rue Didot.  Try it.  You’ll want to say it over and over again.

We passed the Gare du Sud (Southern train station) (jane is this right?)  which was chock full of folks of all sorts and sported a carousel for the kiddies.  At this point Chris’s feet begin to feel the first signs of the pedal  discomfort to come.

The 14^th A is quite a nice city neighborhood with a lot of ethnicity and a different feel from ‘Paris central’.  There was a lovely little bakery where we purchased and shared a tasty raisin filled croissanty type roll

A pretty architectural detail - one of at least a bazillion in Paris



3 layered buildings in the 14th A.

Above and below, two perspectives on a pretty view from a pedestrian overpass in the 14th A.

L’ARRIVEE!!

When we finally got to the flea market at around 1:30, the vendors were already beginning to pack up. 

Nooooooo!!!!! 

Not after we’ve walked so far! 

Not after enduring Chris’s ever increasingly sore feet. 

Not after reading in Frommers that the market was open until 4:00, for Lord’s sake!

But alas, ‘twas true.  They were packing it in.  Still, we each managed to find some treasures that made the trip worthwhile – in Chris’s case, little Lord of the Rings figures she hadn’t seen before – in Jane’s case little naked ceramic ladies (don’t ask).

And so we headed toward home with Jane’s new treasures packed not nearly well enough to ensure their safety from breakage, in Chris’s fretful opinion.

Visiting the Dearly Departed

We planned to visit the Cemetery Montparnasse on our way back, but stopped for a drink along the way to give Chris’s protesting feet a rest.  We talked with two fellows at the next table who were from the West Indies.  One of them was wearing an Obama T-shirt, and learning that we were Americans, inquired what we thought about our black president.  And so we chatted a bit about that. 

Jane thought they were hot for us.  Chris said, if that was true, then hip-hip-horray, cuz that just doesn’t happen to her so much anymore.  But before finding out for sure, we opened our umbrellas, bid them a bon jour and made a hasty retreat – well, as hasty as Chris’s feet would allow at any rate.

Cemetery Montparnasse was quite nice, and would have been even better if Chris hadn’t needed a wheelchair by then.  She enjoyed the view from a conveniently located bench while Jane perused the aisles for Saint-Saens.  We didn’t end up finding either Saint-Saens’ or Brancuzzi’s graves but we did find Sartre’s along with many others who had wonderfully beautiful monuments, as you can see.

View through the doors of a typical shrine or sanctuary building on an individual's grave.  It's no bigger than an old fashioned closet - maybe 5 by 5 feet.



Above and below, two views of a monument we found particularly engaging.  Look at the beautiful tile work at the top.

From the outside, looking into another individual's little shrine building.  The door has the ironwork.  The stained glass is at the back of the shrine.

Just love this one

'Can I get you some chicken soup?' Jane asks.

Above and below, two views of this monument to beat all monuments.  But then Paris's cemeteries are full of monuments to beat all monuments.   



A Rash Decision

The rest of our return trip to the hotel Chris endured by making it from resting point to resting point.  One such resting point was the Jardin du Luxembourg, a beautiful park with many flowers, fountains and – most importantly – chairs for temporarily crippled tourists.    

Beautiful details, and showing the typically wonderful weather we enjoyed during the trip

Above and below, Jardin du Luxembourg

Une jeune fille consulting map in the Jardin



Your guess is as good as mine.

That evening we had a fabulously good meal consisting of a yummy chicken club and marvelous risotto with veggies at a famous eatery called Les Editeurs near the Jardin and in an area known historically for its book publishers.  Chris’s tootsies enjoyed the respite more any anyone else.

When at last we arrived back at the hotel and got into our jammies, we noticed that Chris’s calves sported a very red and fevered rash.  The pictures don’t quite do it justice, but suffice it to say it was a really weird phenomenon.  The rash was only on the part of her legs where her socks lay, so we can only figure it was a reaction to something in the sock material.  The rash persisted for most of the rest of the trip, albeit in a diminished state as the days passed.

Eeeuuuwwwww!!



American vs French sensibilities

It’s interesting to note a very different sensibility in what one sees along Parisian streets vs American streets.  Even in avant garde NYC, I’m pretty sure you won’t see post cards sporting full frontal female nudity along every tourist route.  And buttocks and boobies abound!  Oh, I suppose we Americans think about them as much as the next guy, but we don’t usually have to worry about our 4 year olds asking, ‘Mommy, what is THAT?” while we are perusing the post card racks.

And what is this thing they have with portrayals of public peeing?  I don’t get it.