Late on Thursday afternoon (12.30 am at home) Kent sent a
text with the sad news that my godmother had died. While Ches had a good night’s sleep, I woke at
midnight (8.00am Sydney time), gave up and read from 2.00 to 3.00 dozed to 5.00
and read to 6.00 and then decided a workout in the gym might do me some good. Then began 7 hours of frustration as I tried
to call A Vanda’s daughter back in Sydney.
My computer won’t allow me to log in to the hotels Wi-Fi, the hotels
telephone wouldn’t allow international dialling, my mobile also couldn’t
connect to Australia. 24 hours later we
have established that, we needed to provide the front desk with our credit card
details to access the phone, the company programmes on my computer won’t allow
me to access sites with certificates the regard as “dodgy” and the kicker … to
use you mobile phone to call home, you key “0061” as the country code … not “61”.

We had a walking tour of the Left Bank and Notre Dame booked
as part of our cruise package, so we headed off at 9.00. Our French guide was excellent and we had a
good three hours walking many of the streets we had seen on previous visits ,
but with his commentary they came alive.
It had never occurred to me before however he explained that while we
had Flower Power and Woodstock in the mid 60’s, (Paris had a revolution with
the students leading the way. There are
now no cobblestones in the road at the front of the Sorbonne, as they were dug up to throw at the police. They now also only pay between E300 and
E3,000 per year in University fees.

Anyway, despite the fact that organised tours aren’t really
our thing, it was a pleasant three hours.
It culminated with Notre Dame and Ches’s need for a pitstop. Why would we be surprised that there was a 15
min queue for the ladies and so I suggested I buy a coffee at a nearby café and
Ches could use their toilet. Most
expensive pee in Paris. E5.40 ($7.90)
for a cappuccino and the French version not a patch on an Australian let alone
Italian and they put chocolate on the top (Arrgghhhhhh!). Meanwhile, another couple from our group came in and used
the toilets without buying anything, defying the Gallic waiters disdain. They are an American couple who retired to
the Whitsundays 15 years ago, live on their yacht and sail down to Sydney every
summer. They will be an interesting couple to get to know
better on the cruise.

With the walk finished, we elected not to bus back to the
hotel but to spend the afternoon walking the right bank, specifically to visit
a chocolate café ( Jacques Genin 133 Rue de Turenne) we had read about. Actually, we started out backtracking to find
a Rugby shop that the bus had passed on the way out in the morning. Found it and bought a Stade France rugby
top. Why? It is white with the traditional hot pink
floral design that has made Stade France the fashion rugby club of the world.

We spent the next couple of hours wandering the narrow streets
between Hotel de Ville and Gare de Nord.
I continued to amass shirts as we wandered (Sale time in Paris with most
shops 50% discount). Cheryl amassed steps that would allow her to indulge
in chocolate with minimum guilt. Tell
them all about it Ches ….”Mid-afternoon we reached the holy grail where we were hanging out for their
apparently famous caramel eclairs. Quelle tragedie….no eclairs today madame! (Are
you, dear reader, detecting a pattern here of thwarted ambitions in Paris?) We
had no choice but to settle for one of their equally famous mille feuille (see
photo!!) and a cuppa. Tres expensif but
fabulous. They fill them to order so
they don’t go soggy and instead you take your time to wade through acres of
flaky pastry.”

On the return walk, we made the mistake of taking the street
that has almost nothing but wholesalers.
In every other window Ches saw things she wanted to buy, only to find
that they had minimum purchases of E300.
We finally reached the metro at Hotel de Ville, with the temperatures
having climbed into the high 20’s and a beautiful blue sky during the
afternoon. We returned to the hotel to
get ready for dinner at La Fermette Marbeuf, our favourite restaurant in Paris.

Ches and I started with a pink champagne. Actually we were railroaded into it by the maitre
d’ who insisted that it was a Spring tradition.
I could have sworn that it was already Summer however we deferred and upon
being handed the menus discovered that we were about to consume E42 in two
flutes. A maître d’ who feels the need
to sting diners isn’t a good start. We
tried to engage him in conversation about the décor. We could have sworn that the Belle Epoch wall
panels had been back lit. He responded
dismissively with all but the tradition Gallic “bouf” and a flick of his
chin. At that point we decided he could
take his tip out of the cost of the champagne.

Not to worry, he couldn’t and wouldn’t spoil the occasion. We ordered a bottle of Baron Philippe de Rothschild
“Mouton Cadet” which had us legless by the end of the meal and almost
everything was hilarious. Ches advised
that we should leave a good 24 hours before writing this entry as it probably
wasn’t as funny as it seemed at the time.
There was Rhiems and reams of material.
In summary, Ches said we were as silly as wheels.

We had the tasting menu of amuse bouche of spiced tomato
with cheesy crumb, House Foie Gras, Lobster Bisque, Salmon Salad, Duck Breast
and their famous signature Grand Marnier Soufflé which as you can see from the
photograph was ginormous and stopped Ches half way through.

Ches has denied me Pavlova all my life, she will not deny me trying to duplicate this soufflé
at home.

When we left the restaurant at 10.10, it was still light and
we staggered back up Rue Marbeuf and down the Champs Elysees to the metro and
home.