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Dave: We walked about the neighborhood, now intent on
finding a cafe for dinner. It was almost 5pm and we had somehow
missed both breakfast and lunch. We found a small grocery, and noted
it to buy more bottled water (Eau) on our trip home.
We snapped pictures of French signs, then found a block with a
bakery, butcher shop and restaurant (Pattisserie, Boucherie, Cafe).
We were were tired and hungry and the host sat us at a very small
table in the farthest uncomplimentary corner he could find. Others
were seated with street views and in areas with slightly more space,
but we sat and conversed, totally ignored, in the cafe's "Side
Pocket". Jesse looked at me and started his stopwatch. At three
minutes we agreed that we would be spoken to by five or would take
our Euros elsewhere. We were ready to eat three meals between us, but
that was not our fate. At five minutes we sternly arose and prepared
our response when encountered the gibbering host, but no. We put on
our jackets, and picked up our backpack and plainly strode though the
cafe and exited out the front door. Oh well. Our departure didn't
even raise an eyebrow.
Overcome with vengeance, I looked about to find the most
objectionable place to spend my Euros, supporting some business that
the local residents might resent, but there were no McDonalds or
Quick burgers present. As we strolled back toward Notre Dame (and the
Metro) Jesse proposed buying sandwiches from the bakery (just as we
watched them being whisked out of the bakery's front window at 5pm).
Finally our path crossed a Chinese / Thai restaurant, that
seemed about as anti-Frog as you could get within reason.
They had just opened (now at 5pm) and no god-fearing Frenchman would
be eating dinner for another 3 hours. It was perfect! We were offered
a table on the sidewalk, but took the one inside directly in the
large window. We sat and rested our legs and enjoyed soup and dinner,
with Eau and Jus d'Pomme. We left a large tip when we rose an hour
later, with enough energy to make it back to the hotel. |
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Dave: After dinner, we walked back to the small
grocery, and decided it best not to haul heavy water and juice
through the Metro back to the Marriott. Instead we hit the Metro
station and, in 20 minutes, were back at the Place de la Defense. Of
course, to change Metro trains required that we drag our tired legs
up one flight of stairs then down another two and across a half mile
walkway (how French!), so we were glad we weren't hauling heavy
provisions, too
When originally looking for the Marriott at first arrival, I had seen
that an "Auchon" was located somewhere nearby. From my
trips to Houston, Texas I knew of the Auchon supermarket chain and
had researched their Texas super-center on the internet (out of
curiosity). It would be a good plan to buy some beverages, and
possibly a small dessert, then retire to our room to view the France
vs Belgium soccer match that we had learned about from the noisy fans
at the Eiffel Tower this morning.
A map directed us to Auchon, but in total Frenchness, we were routed
a long circuitous route to arrive at the hidden shopping center that
was just a few dozen paces from our original location. We grabbed a
hand basket, and made many choices, including juice and soda, lots of
water, and a few custard treats for the soccer game. We also picked
up some fruit and cookies for snacking and on the train to
Luxembourg. Like any super-center, there were over a dozen open
checkout lines, and we chose the one with a woman with a large cart
over the other lines where many people had half full carts. We
chatted and watched everything going on.
The woman separated her purchases into three distinct sets, and this
took extra time, the other lines were complete, and people that
arrived as I was watching had finished and been on their way. Behind
us were several customers, including two guys getting beer to go
watch the game. The woman's escapades became unreal. We were first in
line, so we were uneager to get in a new line, although many at the
back of our line moved and I watched as they checked out and were on
their way.
After her huge load of groceries was finally scanned and bagged, and
as the woman's two small children fussed and crawled and walked
about, she produced some "script" money, probably the
French equivalent of food stamps. They would not clear the cash
register. The poor clerk (a lanky twenty-ish young man from India)
apologized in French, and continued to page his supervisor. The
matronly woman (in universal grocery store green vest) finally
arrived, taking documents, then left, then returned, then called
somebody on the intercom, then left again. Our line was huge, and
only the first three of us stayed the course as all the other rats
deserted this ship.
The young woman at the next check out signaled that she was finished,
turning away new customers as they sought her ever shortening line,
and eventually asking the man at the end of her line to turn away
others as she was due to close. Of course this was all done French,
but between "Ferme" and "Si Vous Plait" and hand
gestures, you could easily see the drama. She finally turned off her
light, and our young man called her. "Can you help these two
men", again with "assist" and "deux hommes".
"Non" she said without emotion hold up her hand and closing
her eyes to show her eyelids. Her day was done, and customers can go
to Hell! How French
Our Indian helper was apologetic, again and again, as 10, 15 and 20
minutes elapsed. It was a bad omen when the French woman, third in
line that had been chatting and snarling to our checker, snarled,
snorted and turned on her heel for another line. Sure enough, we (and
the two guys with the 12 pack) watched her check out and go,
muttering and snarling over her shoulder.
Eventually, the woman's "script" was refused, after three
visits of the matronly supervisor (who had stopped working on her
problem to help the other teller balance out her cash drawer), and
after she had produced her passport (marked Cameroon), and dutifully
explained herself to three different Auchon people. Out of the blue,
she reached into a envelope in her purse and produced a wad of bills,
Euros of different denominations. She counted off one hundred, two
hundred, fifty, seventy, etc. My mind flashed to the thought that she
had in that moment decided to buy groceries with her rent money as
her two and three year old children fussed and rocked and sat on the
floor near the checkout. I was so glad that I had not added any
emotional pressure to her horribly spiraling day. |
Dave:
After our stop at the Eiffel Tower, the bus and its recorded
descriptions seemed a great place to rest our tired legs and learn
about the city of Paris. We stayed aboard by the Hotel des Invalides
and the Ecole Militaire (Military School) made most famous by
Napoleon. We rode by the Musee d'Orsay and jumped out at the Louvre
It was impossible to comprehend just how TIRED our legs and feet
were. Mine were aching and, at early afternoon. This was no time for
us to visit the immense Louvre Besides, we still hadn't eaten lunch!
