Up early again.  Awake shortly after seven and gone maybe before nine.  Today I walk South again since North was a bit of a bust.  There’s another église.

Mostly on this walk I used my long lens (70-200 mm).  It’s a beautiful sunny day and there is a lot to shoot in this direction.  I get some good bird pictures but not the blackbird I was trying to get.  Also a beaver on the return trip.

The church is nice.  It’s Église Saint-Jean-Baptiste de Saint-Jean-de-Braye (Paroisse de Saint Jean de Braye) according to G.  There are some decorations for the holiday, of course, and there is a small group and an organist preparing for a show of some sort.  Gothic style, wonderful dais.  Worth the walk even if I didn’t get birds.

I make my way back.  This course along the river and along the canal is great.  Lots of people out jogging or riding or walking, but long enough that you only pass a person here or there.  Really wanted to shoot a blackbird but they kept escaping.  Did get some other birds and the aforementioned beaver.  Shot a short video of the beaver cleaning and preening.

Returned to the building just as R was rolling out and we passed on the stairs.  I went up for a quick shower and a rest.  After the shower though I thought I’d better get a chicken to have in my refrigerator for those times when I’m not eating with everyone else.  Just as I descend the steps there is Flo emerging from her apartment with Redbull in tow, heading for the vet.  He is in a rolling cat suitcase which is perhaps comfortable enough but the rattling cobbles make me laugh.  He is not amused.

The vet is nearby and the visit is short enough.  He becomes even less amused.  Flo had to chase him at home when he saw the cat-case, but when she moves to return him to the cat-case in the vet’s office he is all too eager to return to those familiar surroundings.  One vaccination down and a good enough bill of health.

As we return Flo and I stop at a shop to see if they have the poppy liqueur I bought previously.  They do not but they do have a very tempting chocolate bar with pistachios and caramel.

Back to the apartment.  We will eat later but I say good-bye to Flo at the door and go in search of a rotisserie chicken.  Under 7e for a whole chicken.  I look around for bread and cheese but we will shop again later so I just return with the chicken.

Up in my apartment I knock down half that bird and a bit of the red wine from the other night.

I read for a time and rest my feet.

R comes to prepare the apartment across from mine for his daughter (Lola) and her fiancé (Carlos).  Carlos is from Puerto Rico and so also speaks English and Spanish.  They get to sleep with the bunny.  I’m not jealous.

I did manage to get some mediocre pictures of the bunny.  He was not very cooperative.  Models can be such drama queens.

There was a problem with the electricity in that apartment but R flipped a breaker or two and the heater started working and we found a lamp that turned on so that’s probably good enough.  The bunny has insulation so doesn’t care about human-level cold.

We descend and meet Flo to retrieve the salmon smoked by a restaurateur friend.  We walk directly there but the restaurant is closed.  Instead we meander along the river and Flo tells me about le Festival de Loire, which happens here every other year.  The river and bank fill with boats and everywhere are people and food and drink.  This takes place in September.  Could be worth a visit!

Eventually we circle back around to the restaurant (Bangkok à Osaka) which is now open.  There we meet Ty and retrieve and pay for the smoked salmon.  He is wearing the best shirt.  I think to offer a trade but you can tell he’s not likely to give it up.

I am told it is a tradition to have a drink when they visit and I am not about to break such an important tradition.  Champaign and a nibble of those deep fried rice things found in Chinese restaurants, they have a name, and some of his excellent smoked salmon (lox style).  He also informs me that I have been forcing Flo and R to drink wine every night so apparently I am out Frenching the French.  What can be said when so much of it is so good?

Later Lola and Carlos arrived with R and we four talked in their apartment for a bit.  I showed them where the bunny was likely hiding.  Then back to resting my feet and reading until dinner.

For dinner it was Flo and Raynal, Lola and Carlos, Nina, Hugo (Flo’s son whom I had met on my last visit but he was only 14 then), Xavier, and myself.  Raynal had to cut a bit of board and extend the table (which ironically was cut down from its original size at the previous apartment).

Before dinner there was Champaign around the couch and chairs.  Mostly this time was spent with everyone listening in awe of R’s second daughter who spoke with great passion and speed none of which was available for my understanding.  It appeared only Flo was able to comprehend and communicate with her.

We had raclettes, which consisted of a couple of cheese and charcuterie plates and potatoes and gherkins and pickled onions.  The idea is like personal fondue.  Each person has a small wedge-shaped pan in which one places cheese, then this pan is inserted into a central electric heater thing which melts the cheese.  Pour that onto your whatnot on your plate and mix and match for goodness.

There was a wonderful white and red wine, of course.

For dessert there was a spiced bread and compote de pomme and the chocolate mentioned above and eau de vie de poire.

Eventually the night ends and Lola, Carlos, and myself ascend to our apartments for sleep.  I already told you I’m not jealous they are sleeping with the bunny.  On an inflatable mattress.  On the floor.  In the bunny zone.

Up before eight but needed a shower and so didn’t leave until closer to nine.  It’s been rather frigid here, very close to zero (32f).  Also I lost my wool cap somewhere along the way, presumably when it wasn’t so cold and I wasn’t wearing it every day.  So today I must get a new cap and maybe some laundry.

Flo said yesterday she knows a shop where I can get one, so I send her two texts (about the cap and about doing a load of laundry).

I’m not clear how much adding a cap is going to help since it’s my hands and face that are bearing the brunt of this cold weather, but it surely won’t hurt.

While I am out taking pictures and today wandering northward, Flo sends me a text about the shop to buy a new cap and to say laundry is a go.  Google Maps fails to offer the correct location so I return to Flo’s and start my whites in a bowl of bleach water, and Flo gives me the address for the shop so I can fetch a cap while my whites soak.

Leaving my camera gear with Flo I make my way across town for the ten minute walk to Celio.  Sure enough they do have a small selection of caps.  I end up getting a dark green cap and a dark blue scarf.  That should help even though it will do nothing for my hands or face.  And I head back to Flo and my laundry grabbing a sandwich (on a small baguette, poulet mayonnaise which also has sun dried tomatoes) along the way.

I drain the bleach water from the whites (two shirts, a hand towel, and a handkerchief) and toss those into the machine with all the socks and such.  Mostly socks.  That’s the one item you can’t bring enough of for a long trip.  Gotta have fresh socks every day!

Flo is working but also perhaps she is making compote de pomme.  We talk while she prepares apples but she has to get back to work so I come upstairs, eat my sandwich, and write this part.  Now I will walk some more and take more pictures.  The light is not as good today as it was yesterday but we’ll see what comes.

Picked a destination and made a long walk.  Figured I would head North since yesterday it was South.  There is a church amidst some woods some distance and I’m good for a long walk, especially since yesterday was light.  It’s about an hour forty one way.  I’m guessing, with photographing, it’s maybe a five hour voyage.

As predicted the light is nothing to write home about.  Yet here I am mentioning it for all the world:  mediocre light.  These things happen.

Walked through and out of the city, then through a more rural area spotted with farms, industry, and residential areas.  A lot of wide-open spaces and freshly plowed mud.  From Maps you might expect to see a giant park in this area but there is no park but a lot of farm land.  It’s a nice country walk.

Nearer the church there is a small park and I spend a small amount of time there recording and shooting.  It’s very tranquil.  The creek that runs through the park has man-made banks typical for this area, and apparently habitat for beavers.  I did not see a beaver unfortunately.

Left the park and made my way toward the church.  Pretty easy to site since it’s much taller than anything else in the surrounding area.  Shoot some pictures from the outside and rattle the door a bit.  Closed.  Apparently Wednesday is not a good day for god.  Shoot some more pictures and begin the return journey.

Returning goes by really quickly, at least in part because I’ve already shot my way through here.  But when I get back to cross the bridge back into the old part of the city I hear and see a glorious bit of water fowl:  a blue heron (l’héron bleu).  I do snap a couple in-flight pics with my 28-70 mm but that’s too far away.  I swap in the 70-200 mm and shoot some pics as the heron stands around and looks with disdain at the other water fowl.

It goes like this, with him occasionally eating a small fish, for half an hour.  Some people from time to time stop to see what I’m doing standing in the middle of the bridge with this giant camera.  Mostly my fingers solidify.  Half an hour and that fucker can’t be bothered to do more than cloak himself and preen a bit.

Finally though he makes a bit of noise and I grab a few pics as he flies under the bridge.  By now I’m completely frozen.  Pack up the backpack and make a beeline for the apartment.  Also I have to pee.  I hope these pics turn out worth while.

Anyway, back here and writing this latest bit.  Dinner tonight with F&R will be blanquette de veau.  A sort of stew I would guess made with veal and cream and mushrooms.  First, though, we will visit a small market or maybe a farmer’s market nearby for some supplies.  Hmmm… maybe twenty minutes?  I’m almost thawed.

Flo came up because it was time to feed the rabbit but there was no bunny sighting.  Also the lights in the friend’s apartment were not working for some reason so that probably didn’t help.

We then went down and departed for the shopping.  Bringing a little bag and cart device, which you have probably seen being dragged along behind some old people, we walked to the local open-air market.  We expressed pity for the cold workers all day out selling vegetables and meats and eggs and such.  One woman who currently had no customers was huddled around a small heater, seemingly content.

We bought vegetables and eggs, visiting three different stalls.  After that we walked to a different apartment Flo rents out for AirBnB.  The most recent resident had left some stains and a broken bit of trim or molding.  Then we walked back to chez Flo for dinner.

As mentioned dinner was blanquette de veau and it was simple and delicious.  Since the zombie outbreak it has been popular to buy a dinner from a restaurant, retrieve the meal in sealed containment (a jar in this case), and reheat it sous vide style (no precision required just warm enough for eating).  This was done tonight.

I should try to make this dish but getting veal in Ballard could be challenging, you know, evil and all.  Did I mention a government official of a particular city has banned foie gras on the grounds it is animal cruelty?  Even in France ignorance abounds.

We had tiny chocolate cakes (like little lava cakes) and some compote de pomme (like chunky apple sauce) for dessert.

We also had an excellent chardonnay with dinner but I forgot to take a picture of the label.  Or two.  Maybe two.  Anyway, that was this day done.  Off to bed.

Woke early but tried to get the Internet working again. Failed again. I think the button needs to be pushed in the other apartment to sync this extender with the main device. Someone will come later to help, the daughter of the owner I believe.

Since Flo is working from the office today I make a move for the river and start taking more pictures. There is a group of ducks and maybe geese that I disturb and shoot for a while.

As I follow the river East I encounter a simple lock and one end of a canal that run parallel to the river. I realize I can cross to the median or far side of the canal and do so to continue East. I find several photo-worthy spots and even descend to the river level via a staircase set in the outer wall of the canal. At this point the river is at least fifteen feet below the level of the canal. I’m not clear why this canal is here running along next to the river but I suspect it is to accomodate deep vessels all year long.

Eventually I begin to wonder if there will be another way to get back to the mainland and ask a guy walking past. He points to a small bridge on approach and that will take me back over. I do cross back over because Flo has texted me to say I should meet V at 14:00 about the Internet. I still have time to wander but probably best not to be trapped on the canal.

I walk along the road which runs again parallel to the river but this time it ascends above the river and the canal and the walking paths. A small compacted dirt tract with fancy houses to my left and river views to my right. It’s no difficulty to guess these are expensive homes for the area.

Walking along with my hands on my face to warm it some, a couple passes the she informs me that the wind is coming from the East so it is on my face now but will be at my back when I return. We chat briefly. They have friends on Long Island from whom they have just received an American style Christmas card along with a letter detailing their last year of events. They ask if this is a normal thing for the US. I say that it’s less and less so for the (in particular for the inclusion of the details) and that it may be a stronger tradition in the East due to longer family traditions there. “It hasn’t been that long since we had wooden sidewalks in the West.”

I make my way eventually away from the river and back into the city streets and back again to the West, back to the old Orleans where I am staying. I will rest for a time; V should be here within the hour.

Turns out it’s the daughter of V.  We cannot get my device working but I connect to hers instead (from which this repeater gets its connection).  Good enough.  Now you can read my insane ramblings once again!  Or just these travel posts.  Whatever.

There is a dinner planned for tonight at a restaurant.  I think there will be many people but I haven’t been keeping close track.  I should probably eat a little something now though.

I did eat some bread and cheese and organized my thoughts here in this grand apartment.  About 18:00 Flo informed me they would return to the remodel to sell some more of the old fixtures and such at 19:00.  About that time we did exactly that.  We sold the water balloon (hot water tank) and a sink with its cabinet and a piece of wood and a shower door.  They are rich in environmental protection!  Nothing goes to the landfill.

After that we went to dinner and met friends (Alain and Hélène) from my previous visit.  At that time they ran une gîte, which is like a special sort of rental property for weekends or holidays where you likely get several rooms and space to do this or that.  Anyway, it was one of my favorite days with a grand table and many friends and food and wine.  Today though we are merely five at this restaurant with classic French dishes.  I start with pâté de canard, of course, and then move to bœuf bourguignon (basically beef stew but, you know, more elegant!).  For dessert I have mousse chocolat.

There is a dessert of pineapple and chocolate sauce which I just can’t get my head around.  Two of us did order and love it and I did try it, but still it remains elusive to me.  I may have to investigate this further.  Can I make something of these two ingredients which appeals to me?  Challenge accepted!

After dinner it’s back to bed for everyone.

Get up and make sure everything is charged and packed for train travel.  Clean myself up and walk to a different brasserie called Brasserie Izem and get two good looking items:  paris-brest and tarte à la rhubarbe (et poire).  May as well indulge for this last morning.

Having eaten those I will now make my way to Gare Austerlitz to get the train to Orléans.

Getting to the train station was nothing but a half hour slog, carrying all that poundage of nonsense that represents a lived life. Or at least a life lived by some sucker who insists on carrying three glass lenses along the journey.

The train station was, as usual, confusing. The first ticket machine I tried didn’t like any of the cards I offered it. I went to a different machine, finally buying the ticket for the train which way back when was seven minutes away. Then I turned to realize there was no signage and about where platforms were or how to ready the fucking ticket. Time is not your friend.

I find the first person to ask and picked a person who was likely deaf. He wasn’t able to speak but those subtle vocalizations of one who can’t hear them, so using a variety of gestures and a lot of pointing he walked me through using the data on the ticket and a reader-board to figure out which platform. Great. Fantastic.

Neither of us knew where platform five would be. But this guy, quickly becoming one of my favorite people ever, continued to drive me along as we sought out platform five. Rolling around one last corner, my new friend very excited as we neared the truth of this miniature destination, there was a gate agent closing a gate but asking if I was after this train. I asked if it was for Orleans and yes and hustled through the gate and down the platform to the first available entrance to the train. Feeling like OJ, obviously.

Onto that last car in the train and, selecting the last berth, joined the sole person working on his laptop in a birth built for six. Now I can relax for an hour. But I still pulled out Google Maps to follow the journey.

The train rolls through the countryside, passing farmland and industry and windmills and a lot of terracotta tiles. I alternate between reading and snapping random pictures of nothing in particular. Looks like the train must average about 80mph (it’s about an 80 mile trip which takes about an hour).

Orleans is the last top for this line. I exit the train and make my way toward Flo’s address. That’s another half hour slog. Is everything in France a half hour apart? I sit on my bag out in front of 11 blahblahblah and text Flo via Fb “I’m on the sidewalk”. She responds “which one?”. The one in front of 11 blahblahblah. “Didn’t you get my message? I moved to 1 blahblahblah.” Oh. So that’s a fifteen minute slog. I guess not everything is half an hour apart.

Finally I see here name on a buzzer and she buzzes me in and calls out from above. I make the vertical slog and we baissou and make our greetings. She quickly tells me everything I need to remember but will forget for the next several days. I will meet her new husband at dinner and he speaks no English. The kids, the plans, all that. Yes, yes, I understand. More stairs to get to the top floor where I will stay. Three windows, interesting views, and what can only be described as palatial accommodations where I have a full bed and a private bathroom with shower. I have a kitchen. Will I use a kitchen? Probably not. But I have one now! I’m sitting at a four-top tall-stooled table writing this now, watching the pigeons out the window on the neighboring rooftops strutting with blissful attitude. The world is their toilet.

And now I have had my first real shower since leaving Seattle. Some lady and I could dance in this shower. I feel good. I may take a bit of a walk before Flo finishes working, take some pics or just wander. Maybe a bit of both. She’ll finish at 18:00 and there is an appointment with a remodeler at 19:00. I must return between that time so we can go together. I think this means I’ll see a remodel in progress here. Cool.

It is now the next morning and I will recount the remainder of the day.

I made another photographic walk and eventually made my way back here to meet Flo. We talked until 19:00 and then descended to the street to await her husband. He was late and ran up with the parking pass.

The area is surrounded by retractable posts in the street where you scan a pass and the post lowers. We scanned the pass to allow the person buying a piece of furniture to enter, but the post didn’t lower. Not understanding how the system worked, I watched the driver then drive into and move the post out of alignment and the whole system was fucked.

R arrived to see the scene and kicked the post back into alignment, but the system insisted all was fucked. So the driver went off to park elsewhere. As we were talking the post magically lowered itself! Eventually the system sorted itself.

So we sought out the new set of apartments Flo has purchased. There are three floors (not the ground floor) consisting of one apartment each. The first floor is a one bedroom, the second floor has the same footprint but the living room and bedroom are combined for a large studio, and the third has a roof deck within that same footprint (I think also a studio). We only looked at the first floor (the piano nobile) since that was the only currently unoccupied. It needs a lot of work.

Anyway this person bought a set of drawers (after assisting R in removing a large particle board shelf from a wall) and R helped him take this back to his car (wherever that ended up). When the second person arrived intending to buy a table like for a living room but was also tempted by the shower door and the medicine cabinet. In the end, just the table. So close!

We returned to chez F&R for dinner. We had a dish of green lentils and pork. Since Flo doesn’t eat pork she didn’t eat any of the pork from the lentils, instead eating some different pork which was apparently less porky. The pig is a great and mysterious animal.

Of course there was wine, a couple different bottles (and one bottle which R opened but insisted was vinagre though we all agreed it would still be good for cooking) and cheese (probably a Camembert and some emmentaler).

There was a moment of panic because there was no bread. R was inspired and ran to the kitchen. I told flow about my loaf of travel bread (don’t judge me) which was excellent if a little squished. She suggested we wait until R had made his attempt first. He did manage to return with a number of points of toast, presumably from some secret French bread stash.

We talked until Flo wanted to sleep and I climbed the stairs again.

I cannot get the Internet working here. The name listed on the wi-fi device never appears on the list of available networks, neither for my phone or my lappy, so I can’t connect. I’ve even tried using the reset button. No love. So all this is being typed into my text editor and will be posted… sometime?

Like the next day in fact.  In the afternoon.

One night my feet will murder me in my sleep.

Up and out early again.  This time I have a detailed walking tour arranged in maps.  First stop le Monument aux morts de la Grande Guerre then into the grounds of la Cimetière du Père Lachaise.  For Americans this cemetery is most famous for Jim Morrison but there are a lot of important folks here.  But even without all the famous folks this place is pretty amazing all on its own.

I wandered for all of half an hour when my camera card was full.  Damn.  Back to chez Fred to unload the card.  So there vanishes an hour.

Back at the cemetery, wandering again, I meet a couple of ladies who appear to be holding a map of said cemetery.  Turns out these charming Germans are merely holding a map of France.  We talk for a bit and they tell me which direction for the revolutionaries and for Jim Morrison.  They return to Frankfurt tomorrow.  We part.  I head off ostensibly toward the revolutionaries.

Before long a gentleman asks me for help.  He is looking for Morrison.  He’s from Toulouse.  There’s an application called CityMapper which knows where certain tombs are located.  I install the application and he and I go off in search of JM’s tomb.  The application gets a bit of taking used to but once managed works like a charm.  We find Morrison, then we locate (in no particular order) Chopin, Proust, Gramme (guy invented the dynamo, c’mon), Piaf, maybe some others.  On the way Patrick points out other important French historical figures.

Finally we part.  He’s going back to Toulouse tomorrow.  At this rate Paris will be empty by Tuesday.  We exchange contact information for when I return to Toulouse (it can happen).

Then I head back to chez Fred.  Mostly to use the toilet since it’s on my way.  Then I trek toward Le Centre Pompidou.  There is a really long line to buy tickets so I buy one on-line and zoom past all that.  The gallery arrangement is not very clear.  With admission you get up to floor four.  On the first floor (above the ground floor) there is a small temporary exhibit (actually two next to each other).  Then you go back down to the ground floor to ascend to the first floor on the other side so you can get stopped at the entrance to go back to the ground floor to check your pack at the opposite wall of the entrance to the building.  Then you can go back up to floor one on that other side and then take the outdoor escalator you entered beneath to go all the way to six.  But that’s a mistake because that’s a special exhibit and you don’t really want to go see that anyway.  What you want is on four.  Didn’t I already mention that?  Pay attention.

On hour you get to see many different modernists.  This is right where I want to be.  Lots of good stuff on this floor.  This is where most of my time was spent.

From there staying inside the museum you can descend to three.  This is the contemporary art.  Most of this is not very compelling.  Even the interesting installations are just making statements and have failed to deliver a narrative or an emotional impact.  In time some of this will rise past the critics (probably stuff that has struggled to get museum time if history guesses correctly) and make an impact, but very little of what I’ve witnessed of this new lot seems particularly worthy.  Don’t make statements; make art.  The statements will make themselves.

Back out into the cool fresh night air with my pack once again in tow.

I get over to 59 Rivoli but they are just closing.  Damned card.

Absolutely famished.

One last sight to see.  I make my way to the narrowest street in Paris:  Rue du Chat-qui-Pêche.  It’s located adjacent to a group of streets with a boatload of restaurants.  I check the G and don’t like the nearby choices and instead select a pizza place some distance off, Pee and Bee, and head there.

Glass of Montepulciano to start.  Then a ham and mushroom pizza.  They are having trouble with the outdoor heaters so after the pizza I go inside and crash on this broad couch.  I have today’s special dessert, which is some sort of honey cake with a poached pear and a glass of too-sweet limoncello.  Kinda wanna just curl up on this couch for a nap.

Anyway, I do leave and head back to see old Fred one last night.  And that’s me here writing.

Busy morning with a late start.  Well, not that late.  And I suppose not that busy.

I got up and got myself cleaned up and went out the door before Fred was up.  Just me and the cat walking into the morning courtyard.

First I went to la Musée National Picasso-Paris.  Long been a fan.  Pained a version of Tete d’homme au chapeau and a favorite of his called Le Déjeuner sur l’herbe (not knowing at the time he admired it), so this was a delightful morning in a museum.  Surprisingly sparsely attended for a Saturday.  Good choice.

From there I took a short walk to the former home of Victor Hugo to see his apartments, some of his art collection, and lean of his life and style.

I walked back out into Place des Vosges and into the bright sunny day.  Shot some pictures of the fountains earlier but wanted to get some with this sun.  So I made a quick trip back to grab my big lens and returned to the park and shot many pictures of the fountains and grounds.

After that I walked back over to Passage du Chantier to take pictures.  I had found this passage last night but was without my camera.  Then back here to type this out before thinking about food.  How generous I am!

Knocked out a shower and washed my hair.  Fresh clothes make the man fresh!

Only one more full day in Paris.  Decisions to make for the remaining time.  I can relax when I get to Orléans.

Fred is doing laundry (or at least he has ventured out to retrieve the load from the laundromat).  He wants to come with me to Chez Paul for dinner (another of his recommendations).  I’m looking forward to it, not least of all because I’m famished at the moment.

And oh yes Chez Paul was worth the time.

I started with rillettes de lapin au romarin, spécialité after an aperitif of sweet white whose name I have forgotten (reminded me of ice wine actually).  Followed that with steak au poivre flambé Cognac, monté au beurre, gratin dauphinois and a Côtes du Rhône.  Finishing with l’indétrônable tarte tatin, crème fraîche and an Armagnac.

Such an interesting space.  There are four different dining areas over two floors.  Probably a bit of a servers nightmare.  When we arrived it was essentially empty.  When Fred left (he ate dinner essentially before I was done with my rillettes) it was just starting to gain a population.  When I left before ten it was in full swing.

Returned here to find Young Fred passed out on the couch, smoked completely.

Woke early today and was gone before eight.  Had a bit of trouble locating the Metro entrance at Bréguet–Sabin, and once I did find it there was no ticket machine.  So I walked to the next Metro stop at Place de la Bastille and ducked underground to get the five heading South.

Leaving the Metro at Place d’Italie, I walked toward the area of Butte-aux-Cailles.  This area has a reputation for street art.  First though I hit a little bakery and picked up a brioche with marrons (chestnut cream).  Think of it like a cream filled pastry injected with something like marzipan but with a texture similar to apple-butter.

Then I meandered and shot and meandered and shot for better than an hour and a half.  I also spent some time sitting in Square de la Montgolfière, recording bird and city sounds.  A bit later than hoped, I then made my way to the Catacombs.  But first I nabbed a ham and cheese sandwich at that same bakery, Lorette Gourmet Bakery, again.

Ate half the sandwich on my way to the catacombs.  They require advanced ticketing, so I bought a ticket on-line after sneaking away to use a public toilet.  Met three travelers from North Beacon Hill standing in line.

Once in the building we descended more than 100 steps down a spiral staircase.  Seriously, one of the weirdest things you’ll ever do.  You do the same up at the end.  Just a long spiral without landings or passages, just steps.

Took about two hours to get through the whole thing.  I was not in a hurry.  I stopped at one point to record some dripping sounds where water is seeping through the limestone above the catacombs.  You can see tiny stalactites forming on the ceilings.

Exiting the catacombs I made my way to a train station to grab the B back North to find Chez Georges.  When I arrived I asked for a table if that were possible as it was quite close to closing (14:00).  They seated me at first in a small lone table, but rethinking things he then asked if I’d prefer something I didn’t catch and then he brought me into the larger dining area and squeezed me in between two couples at a long line of tables.  He didn’t want me to eat alone.

Chez Georges serves pretty classic French fare with an extensive wine list.  I was tempted to get a carafe from Pomerol for $140 but opted instead for a chardonnay as that would pair better with the escargot and the sole meunière.

I chatted up the couples on each side.  Each had something to say that might help my dining experience.  Each also appeared to have spent many previous engagements at Chez Georges.  Experts, yes, but also familiar.

The food was amazing, of course.  The escargot was surprisingly well balanced and the waiter said it was best with the bread.  She was absolutely correct.  She also recommended the chardonnay.  Sole meunière is essentially flour dredged sole poached in butter (they say pan fried but…).

After dinner I was offered the dessert menu.  I was already talking about the dessert that both couples had already ordered and received:  baba au rhum.  Basically a yeast sweet bread of some sort soaked in rum and eaten with crème fraîche.  The couple to my left (young and successful, apparently, or just posh) had ordered two but only she would eat the baba, so she insisted I try the other as it was her favorite dessert.  So no dessert menu ever arrived.  The couple on my left agreed it was their favorite dessert as well.  I have to admit it was pretty amazing.  I’m sure I tasted cinnamon but was repeatedly assured none was added (probably a flavor coming from the rum instead).

Finish that meal with a bit of eau de vie de poire.  About as good as it gets.  The woman to my left, a radio journalist who was now committed to a tipsy broadcast, and I talked for a bit before I departed.

From there it was off to la musée des Arts et Métiers.  This is a museum for industry and technology I suppose.  They have a great collection of machines and inventions.  There are also a handful of automatons and the like (all the way down to music boxes).

Back here to chez Fred to type all this.  Maybe I’ll find a bar shortly but it’s Friday so it will be different.

Fred arrived before I left and also wanted a drink.  We walked around a corner to a place that had grown during his tenure in this area from a small bar taking over the two adjacent storefronts to be pretty sizable today (Pause Café).  We had some Ricard and pommes frites, then returned and to crash.

New neighborhood, new direction for walking.  Stopped at the Italian themed Pizza Pino for steak and fries.  Though the french do have the word rare, you’ll want to use saignant for meat doneness.  They will be pleased both with your knowledge of this word as well is your appreciation of properly prepared meats.  It came with a pepper sauce and a gorgonzola sauce.

I did a bit of writing and relaxing and chatted with the waiter.  We talked about the different French accents and how some people were much easier for me to understand than others (not necessarily according to regional accents).

Then why not some dessert?  They have a special dessert item which combines la crème caramel, la mousse chocolat, et une glace with une tasse de thé.  I chose Earl Gray and stracciatella.

Eventually I made my way back to chez Fred but immediately turned toward La Musée Carnavalet.  This is a free museum of the history of Paris.  You’ll want to give yourself at least a couple of hours to see this one.  I arrived at 16:30 (half an hour before my ticket time) and they booted me at 17:30 (half an hour before closing, and this was not enough time to see but one and a half floors.  On the plus side, returning another time would still be free.

Back again to chez Fred for a bit of chit chat and a puff and some boxed pizza (seriously good bake yourself pizza).  Then out for another walk.  Even though this has been a very casual day I still managed to put in 15k steps.

I decided to revisit La Fontaine and ordered the a combination plate they offer with cheeses and cured meats and pâté.  In spite of being 12.90e it was impressive in size.  And of course it was amazing.  Also put down a couple of glasses of an amazing rosé Corse.

Then back again for more discussion with Fred before crashing.

Bit of a lazy morning since night before last was a short sleep.  Up late last night after moving house and up at eight this morning after a good night’s sleep.  Spent time writing up yesterday’s adventure and setting up all the charging and clothing and bathroom things so they are easily accessible again.

Ok.  Took a seven hour walk today.  Just got back to rest my bones before I venture forth again in search of dinner.

Walked toward the Bastille along the Promenade Richard Lenoir.  From there you can duck down into a small canal and through a tunnel to walk along the Seine.  Followed the river path up to Point Louis Philip and Point Saint Louis to cross the river and have a look at Notre Dam.  Completely cordoned off of course.  Still much work to do there.

Continued on crisscrossing the Seine at least at Point d’Arcole and Petit Point Cardinal Lustiger.  Wandered South past Saint-Étienne-du-Mont then over to meander within the Jardin des Plantes.

Leaving le Jardin I snatched a quick sandwich from  Délice Jussieu, which is near Fontaine George Cuvier, and then skirted Sorbonne Université Campus Pierre et Marie Curie intending to cross at Point de Sully.  However, when I passed Institut du monde arabe I saw that the walk on this side of the river had more to offer.

Instead I walked down through Jardin Tino Rossi which includes Musée de la sculpture en plein air.  Captured a recording of a lone blackbird singing against the backdrop of the orchestra of the city with sirens and motorcycles and passing conversations.

Crossing instead at Pont d’Austerlitz I made my jagged way back into the Eleventh and my newly adopted home.  Disburdening myself of my camera gear, I prepared for a dinner trip.  Said preparations consisting essentially of not carrying a bunch of heavy glass.

We walked all of two minutes across the street to a place called Fréquence.  Probably be considered a hipster bar back home:  a wall of vinyl and a pair of turntables are the only music source, mono-directionally frozen clear ice cubes (cut from blocks), and a dedication to precise technique at the bar and in the kitchen.  The music centers around reggae and maybe seventies-era soul.

We had Old Fashions, one of the best I’ve had.  Confident in their solid position in the community, they don’t project much from the street.  With the blinds pulled it’s difficult to tell whether they are open from the street.  No flashy signage.  Maybe that’s just the Wednesday personage?  The music, the food, and the drinks are all worth your time.  And the people are charming, friendly and knowledgeable.

We ate a plate of gyoza and something resembling popcorn chicken in appearance.  Both were exceptional preparations accompanied by exquisite sauces.  The fried chicken bits, or the sauce, were even a bit spicy (the French using cayenne outside Louisiana?!).

Seriously fun to have a perfectly clear ice cube.  Is it worth it to order blocks of specially frozen ice and cut them into drink-sized cubes, to shave them and rinse them in particular for each cocktail?  I’m happy to pay someone for such a simple pleasure.

Back across the street to crash.

Sleep is for the weak.  Up at eight to pack and prepare to move house.  The plan is lunch at Le Petit Canard (with my baggage) and then make my way across town to the next AirBnB.  Plus I suppose some other stuff.  We’ll see how much time I have to complete this post or what else I do after moving anyway.  I’m sure it’ll be fine…

Writing the next morning after setting up my charging station here at the second AirBnB.  This place is Fred’s actual apartment.  He is sleeping in the other room.  His cat is sleeping on a chair in here.  Another small Parisian apartment but palatial compared to the last one.  No complaints; just statements of fact.  I’m just a guy with a suitcase; my space requirements are minimal.

So, I packed up in the morning yesterday and arranged all of my things so I was ready to vacate AirBnB One.  Then I went for another photo walk.  I ended up back over at Bar le Paradis talking with David over another hot chocolate.  I asked and he said no problem for me to leave my bags there while I went to lunch.  Even though this probably meant a little more walking with the bags, I figured I’d rather not have them with my while in the restaurant.

I quickly went back to the AirBnB and gathered my baggage and trekked back to Bar le Paradis.  Stuck them into a small closet housing the spiral staircase leading up.  Then off to lunch.

I arrived right on time.

I hope to visit this restaurant again.  It’s a farm-to-table centered around the humble duck.  The place is packed full of duck tchotchke.  More importantly the food is to die for.  They have a couple of different fixed price options and you can also order from the various menu items.  I took the large option so I could really dig into the duck they offered.

I started with some foie gras, which came with toasted wheat, baguette slices, and both date and onion jams.

Second course was sliced duck breast with a mushroom sauce, served with green beans and mashed potatoes with chestnuts and nutmeg.  I have never had more tender duck breast.  The mashed potatoes were amazing and have inspired me to try some new things in that area.

For desert was crème brûlée.  The crème was soft and creamy and the brûlée was as thin as you can imagine (maybe a bit thinner).  Delicate and perfect.

There were three wines.  I’ll have to pull the name of each (of two) wines from my photographs.  The proprietor also gave me a small glass of plum liqueur.  I can pull the name for that as well.

Then I made my way back over to Bar le Paradis to fetch my baggage.

While there I pulled the photos I’d taken of David and the bar and sent them to him.

Next I made for the Metro station Barbès–Rochechouart to catch the four to Strasbourg Saint-Denis to catch the eight to Ledru-Rolin and up to the street again.  A quick walk and I’m at AirBnB Two.  Fred is great.  We smoke copious amounts of quality imported weed and talk about all the things.

He has a meeting to manage at 17:00 so I prepare myself for a taking a walk.  I bring my recorder to capture street sounds.

I wander a while using my usual style which might be called Ooh, Shiny.  I just pick a direction and when I see something I adjust accordingly.  Pretty sure I’ve walked in a lot of circles due at least in part to the erratic street structure (compare to a grid) but that’s ok.  There’s still a lot to see.

Eventually I come to a place called La Fontaine and drop in for a Ricard.  Talk with a journalist working in global politics.  He is very polite talking with me in my meager French (I’m greatly limited by a small vocabulary).  He is with two friends and they all live nearby.  I bid my adieu and walk for a while again.

I come to another place called B B O Bar.  And drop in their for another Ricard.  I sit next to two women speaking maybe German or Swedish.  I never figure it out.  But they are deep in their conversation so I move to a table near some folks speaking English.  One is from NZ and the other is Italian.  A Spanish couple they know arrives and joins them. We talk for a time.

During this time Fred has finished his meeting and we have texted about what to do next.  He says he is cooking if I can bring a bottle.  So I make my farewell from these fine companions and head back to see Fred and fetch a bottle in the way.

Fred and I eat cauliflower he has prepared with butter and pepper and a bit of fine ham.  This and that bottle of rosé.  Fine simple meal with a fine companion.  Up too late to write last night.  So here I am writing and charging all the batteries this morning.