That is Jayne's choice of title, for what will probably be, our penultimate post. And it's brilliant, had me laughing until I cried. I'll publish the last post (did you see what I did there?) from Sydney on Tuesday to cast the final verdict on China Southern. And the title, I hear you ask? Well, may you think it refers to travelling home, but it doesn't really. Parisienne's are an interesting lot. We discovered last year that they are not exactly revered by the people in the provinces. Nor is Paris life. There are a multitude of reasons for this, the crowds, the traffic, the noise, the affections. What affectations? Well, since I was here last year the way one pronounces oui in Paris has morphed from 'we' to 'way'. Who'd have thought that a dialect would evolve so rapidly? Not moi, but there you have it. At first, Jayne thought it was the young and trendy, but no, it was just about everyone. So, how do you fit in in Paris, just say 'way' to everything.
Paris: Marche du Puce and stuff
The kids were heading out early today to go to the Louvre and we were a bit rusty from our late night at Jules Verne. Breakfast shopping was just for us. We thought we'd head across to Richard Lenoir markets just in case they were open because we saw a bongo drum there that Cait wanted to buy. No luck, they were not there today and the Bastille was a little too far to walk. We are beginning to suffer from all the walking and being on the go all the time.
We went to the boulangerie I used to visit last year when we stayed in Oberkampf a much preferable area). Breakfast secured we stopped for coffee on the way home.
Stupid comment of the day: that girl has nails like hundreds and thousands. How do you suppose she does that? Painting dots? How about false nails? Thanks for laugh over coffee Jayne.
We visited the Marche du Puce markets last week because according to one of our guide books, they were open on Monday. Technically, they were and you could enter each market area, but there were so few shops trading. Anyway we made the trip back to day to finalise the purchase of some gifts for the people we've left behind in Australia. In a beautiful piece of work we snared a bongo drum (get it? well they're both in the percussion family) before we reached the main markets. Then straight inoto the Biron area, the shop we wanted was open, they had the vintage champagne glasses we were after, 19th century, lovely. Purchases made and home again.
We have to be on way by 8am tomorrow, so with the kids out of the way, we thought we could make best use of the time by beginning to pack. All the clothes in one bag and all our purchases and odds and ends in the other. Totally organised for the morning departure. So, what to do now? I know, we can enjoy our last bottle of champagne and watch Le Tour. Excellent idea, if I do say so myself.
The young tourists arrived home earlier from the Louvre than we thought. The packing and reorganisation continued. The stories of the day were swapped. Then our last dinner in Paris. We are heading home tomorrow and Steph and Stuart are London bound.
There is an Italian restaurant on the Place that we have not eaten at yet because it doesn't open until 7pm and we usually eat earlier, as in lunch. On our last night we thought we'd wait out the extra time and eat there. Therefore the evening commenced at a cafe on the Place. Much like last evening there was another protest. No one really cares, except that they make a lot of noise. I'm not entirely sure what this one was about, I counted at least 8 different flags and the speakers weren't happy with the French President Mr Hollande, but I guess if they were that unhappy they could return to whatever country's flag they were standing under. Or not. Is that a bit redneck? I've been getting a lot of sun lately in the neck region.
Drinks at the cafe, with the cacophony of the protest. Unlike yesterday, there would have been no more than 50 people, but they were loud. Despite this we settled in for drinks. Stuart ordered a beer, although I believed it was a girlie option he went with it. A beer, tango, twist. It didn't have the fruit, but it looked like a beer fruit punch and apparently tasted the same. While we were wasting the afternoon a man came prancing down the street, replete with a massive set of white headphones, winking at unsuspecting cafe patrons and kissing the hands of women who were on their own. What the?
The protest still in swing, we drifted down to the Italian restaurant and thought an inside table might be better. Air conditioning and the protestors muffled, nice. Dinner was OK, although my debit card wouldn't work, so we resorted to ... cash ... shocking, I know, they didn't take Amex. See if I'll be back there in a hurry.
And so dear reader, we are all happily back at the apartment at 9 o'clock and this is where this post concludes. Until I am back in the land of Oz ...
In the night, while you were sleeping, this humble little travel blog achieved 5,000 hits. Thank you for your interest.
The kids were heading out early today to go to the Louvre and we were a bit rusty from our late night at Jules Verne. Breakfast shopping was just for us. We thought we'd head across to Richard Lenoir markets just in case they were open because we saw a bongo drum there that Cait wanted to buy. No luck, they were not there today and the Bastille was a little too far to walk. We are beginning to suffer from all the walking and being on the go all the time.
We went to the boulangerie I used to visit last year when we stayed in Oberkampf a much preferable area). Breakfast secured we stopped for coffee on the way home.
Stupid comment of the day: that girl has nails like hundreds and thousands. How do you suppose she does that? Painting dots? How about false nails? Thanks for laugh over coffee Jayne.
We visited the Marche du Puce markets last week because according to one of our guide books, they were open on Monday. Technically, they were and you could enter each market area, but there were so few shops trading. Anyway we made the trip back to day to finalise the purchase of some gifts for the people we've left behind in Australia. In a beautiful piece of work we snared a bongo drum (get it? well they're both in the percussion family) before we reached the main markets. Then straight inoto the Biron area, the shop we wanted was open, they had the vintage champagne glasses we were after, 19th century, lovely. Purchases made and home again.
We have to be on way by 8am tomorrow, so with the kids out of the way, we thought we could make best use of the time by beginning to pack. All the clothes in one bag and all our purchases and odds and ends in the other. Totally organised for the morning departure. So, what to do now? I know, we can enjoy our last bottle of champagne and watch Le Tour. Excellent idea, if I do say so myself.
 |
| From our favourite champagne house. |
The young tourists arrived home earlier from the Louvre than we thought. The packing and reorganisation continued. The stories of the day were swapped. Then our last dinner in Paris. We are heading home tomorrow and Steph and Stuart are London bound.
There is an Italian restaurant on the Place that we have not eaten at yet because it doesn't open until 7pm and we usually eat earlier, as in lunch. On our last night we thought we'd wait out the extra time and eat there. Therefore the evening commenced at a cafe on the Place. Much like last evening there was another protest. No one really cares, except that they make a lot of noise. I'm not entirely sure what this one was about, I counted at least 8 different flags and the speakers weren't happy with the French President Mr Hollande, but I guess if they were that unhappy they could return to whatever country's flag they were standing under. Or not. Is that a bit redneck? I've been getting a lot of sun lately in the neck region.
Drinks at the cafe, with the cacophony of the protest. Unlike yesterday, there would have been no more than 50 people, but they were loud. Despite this we settled in for drinks. Stuart ordered a beer, although I believed it was a girlie option he went with it. A beer, tango, twist. It didn't have the fruit, but it looked like a beer fruit punch and apparently tasted the same. While we were wasting the afternoon a man came prancing down the street, replete with a massive set of white headphones, winking at unsuspecting cafe patrons and kissing the hands of women who were on their own. What the?
The protest still in swing, we drifted down to the Italian restaurant and thought an inside table might be better. Air conditioning and the protestors muffled, nice. Dinner was OK, although my debit card wouldn't work, so we resorted to ... cash ... shocking, I know, they didn't take Amex. See if I'll be back there in a hurry.
And so dear reader, we are all happily back at the apartment at 9 o'clock and this is where this post concludes. Until I am back in the land of Oz ...
In the night, while you were sleeping, this humble little travel blog achieved 5,000 hits. Thank you for your interest.
Thank you for yet another great travel blog Brad (&Jayne & Caitee)
ReplyDeleteLove mary