Our ancient little apartment is in a part of town that was
originally a swamp – the meaning of Le
Marais. On our first full day, Dennis suggested a route that would cut
through the neighbourhood between The Bastille and Paris City Hall to introduce
us to the area. Lovely.
Not sure why Dennis is posing with snacks from the plane
other than his love of all things edible. We're in the right town now.
Our little kitchen and tables.
The doors on the left lead to a little outdoor space.
No view, but great air flow.
An extra little futon, now the "clothes closet."
Great Parisian style bath.
The wood ceiling beams are huge and ancient.
Hard to believe all the apartments had fires going back in the day.
Another window opening on to the other courtyard a storey below.
We walked - well he walked and I limped - for several miles, by
brasseries, cheese, vegetable and pastry shops along Rue de Rivoli, then cut up
through what turned out to be the stylish gentlemen’s shopping area – even by
Guy Laurent’s atelier! I love my husband, but of course had to explain who Guy
Laurent is, because Dennis’ personal style is more about comfort and affordability.
We paused to take a break under a statue of the Turenne Enfant
and decided to search out Le Marché des
Enfants Rouges that Dennis discovered on line. It has been in operation for
400+ years and is rumoured to be the oldest market in Paris. The story is that the children wore red because they were a charity
cases. So glad that poor people don’t have to wear a state sanctioned colour
anymore. The market swelled with fresh food made to go, or to eat at plentiful tables,
beside displays of fresh everything! The most popular restaurant stall (judging
by the line up) was Moroccan food, go figure.
The Turenne Enfant
Artist's wares at the entrance to Le Marché des Enfants Rouges.
What are these amazing flowers?
Flan being cut to order to take home.
Moroccan was the most popular food.
This will always be my favourite counter.
Dennis wants one of everything.
Cooking many things to order at the same time. The line was long.
A random French man eating random French food.
I like the back wall of this restaurant.
As I walked and snapped pictures in the market, a gentleman turned
at his table, puffed out his chest and offered a smile gesturing that I should
take a picture, I laughed and snapped, and his tablemates advised me he was a
famous French actor. Ever the Canadian, I smiled and thanked them and moved
off, sorry to have disturbed this famous person’s lunch with his friends,
without finding out anything about what he’s performed in, or his name. No
journalist, me.
Okay, who enjoys foreign films? Who is this?
Anyway, now he's my best friend in Paris.
While we picnicked in a park on delicious little bits from a gourmet
grocery, we discovered we were just a block or so away from the Musée des Arts et Métiers, basically an
artfully displayed story of French inventions. The exhibits start in an old
church building with Foucault’s pendulum and transportation and continue to rocket
engines and the Velib bicycle rental program. It is surprising how many things it
seems creative French minds have invented. The three that I could understand
best were the pendulum, the bicycle, and the sewing machine. Dennis relished
all the motors, wheels, cogs and circuits of the other displays. The Statue of
Liberty, at human size, stands in front of the museum, to remind everyone that
France is good at giving iconic presents.
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