So after my previous post, I got dressed in my sweater and scarf, hid my cash in three different places (don't laugh, at least I didn't hide any in my bra), and set out with my DSLR and Lonely Planet guidebook for a walk around my neighborhood.
The safe route would be to follow the one B took me through on our way to dinner near the Opéra Garnier on Thursday, but I sidetracked and found myself wandering streets and passing by rows and rows of cafes and chocolatiers that finally led me to Gare du Nord, one of the train stations frequented by travellers. I then headed to the Opéra Garnier and blindly walking past the massive Galeries Lafayette, my shopaholic soul found home. Across the street from a double-storey Zara were Mango and H&M, side by side.
Needless to say, I visited the boutiques in succession, and emerged from H&M an hour and a half later with what I deem are essentials. A jacket for 30 euros, 2 tees for 4.90 euros each, and a pair of sandals for 7.90 euros. I was extremely disciplined, trust me.
My stomach started growling sometime in the midst of my shopping trawl, so I decided to take the same route back to one of the cafes I'd spotted earlier. I must have missed a turn (or two) somewhere, because landmarks started becoming extremely unfamiliar, and I found myself in a strange but charming part of the city.
The weather was chilly but nice, and I didn't feel the need to ask for directions yet, so going by pure instinct, I walked, and walked, and walked for almost two hours. By then, my feet were aching and my hunger had become a gnawing numbness (most of the cafes I passed by seemed expensive, and I had spent most of the cash I'd brought out at H&M haha).
I was just about to succumb to approach the nearest person with a "Excusez moi Madame/Monsieur, parle le vous Anglais?" when I spotted a street sign that said "Gare du Nord". I headed in that direction thinking that returning to the station would give me my bearings back, but a few fumbled turns and I found myself back in the area of our Poissonniere apartment. Talk about luck, and perhaps my inner undiscovered compass. Haha!
It was almost 5:00 p.m. and a good number of the cafes were closed (they close after lunch and don't open till dinner), so I settled at Deli's Cafe around the corner of the apartment, where the charming proprietor proposed (through gestures mostly as he didn't speak much English) that I get the 5 euros set meal consisting of any sandwich of my choice, a drink and a dessert.
So I dumped my bag on the counter and nursed my feet while munching on a toasted ham and cheese sandwich and sipping from a can of Coke light with lemon. Despite my prior hunger pangs, I could barely finish the sandwich nor the drink, not to mention the generous slice of lemon tart on the side.
B sms-ed me at the very same time to say that he'd be back in 30 minutes, and as I had the keys, I figured I'd wait at the deli instead of lugging my stuff up all six flights of steps and coming down to open the main gate for him and climbing up those steps again.
At about 5:15 p.m., the proprietor started clearing the food from the display counter. Thinking it was a cue for me to leave, I asked him in a mixture of gestures if he was closing, but he assured me that I could stay, and instinctively bagged up my untouched lemon tart. Ten minutes later, the counter was devoid of food and I stood up to check with him again if he wanted me to go. He gave me a wink and patted my shoulder, and settled me back at the counter seat with a complimentary cup of fruits. I was absolutely charmed. I think I shall brush up on my French and head back there one of these days.
At night (or what still seemed like the early evening because of the late sunset), B and I took the metro down to the Latin Quarter, where the Notre Dame Cathedral overlooked the Seine River.
Dinner was at Le Petit Pont (loosely translated as The Small Bridge), a cosy restaurant bar with live piano music.
After, we took our stuffed bellies for a walk around the Seine River, but I lasted long enough only to take a couple of shaky shots. Having acclimatized to Singapore's searing heat, my scarf and new jacket offered me little protection against the chilly winds. It felt like the Indian winter all over again, but in a much prettier city this time.
The Seine River.
The Notre Dame Cathedral. Would you believe that it was past 10 p.m. when I took these shots? The sky was still the blue of a robin's egg.
We hid in the warmth of Amorino, an Italian gelato shop, and ate ice-cream. The irony, I know. The biscotto flavor I had was fantastic, but neither B nor I could finish our small scoops. There's something in the Parisian air that counters hunger, me thinks. Explains the book "French Women don't get Fat" perfectly. It's not a diet trick, it's the city!
After we were sufficiently warmed, we crossed the narrow street to Caveau de la Huchette, owned by the family of B's friend and ex-roommate, Ben. Ben didn't speak much English, but I like him. The jazz bar/club was housed in an old cave, and it was delightful watching the many couples of all ages dance the rock and roll to the infectious music of the live band.
We would have stayed for the last set, but we had to catch the metro before it ended, and we were both red-eyed and exhausted. And we didn't even dance! Haha.
Now this post took way longer than I'd expected. I'm going to wake B up to go to the food market at Mouffetard!
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