Square de la Tour St. Jacques
Built between 1509 and 1523, the tower is all that remains of the église de Saint-Jacques-la-Boucherie, Saint James of the Butchery, which served the wholesale butchers of nearby Les Halles. The tower stands 171 feet making a nice juxtaposition against the blooming trees.
(Why is Saint Jacques the patron saint of butchers when Couquille Saint Jacques is sea scallops? Someone has to ask these questions.)
Didn't get any information on this little monument in a small square adjacent to the river.
Ho-hum, just another magnificent building
You can't throw a rock without hitting a magnificent building around this place.
Looking further down the river Les Invalides and the Eiffel Tower.
Breakfast is at the Cafe Pont Neuf.
A Jambon et Fromage Omelet and a cup of café Americano (that means weak, wimpy coffee for Americans for those of you who don't speak French)
Only $19 American.
Up the street behind the café, the ubiquitous church.
On the way back I see another of those "roofed" BMWs, and next to it the latest "tricycle" mode. Two wheels on the front, both turn in tandem, but I gotta tell you, that just seems stone weird to this ol' boy. I can't imagine leaning into a turn on this thing, just as I can't on one of those big tricycles with the two back tires.
Up and down the stairs of the Metro (oh so many stairs...and oh, such a sore hip) and I return to the hotel, pack up, and catch the fast train to Nantes.
Excepting those who vote for the candidate I don't favor, I guess millions of people are generally correct. And millions think Paris is special.
Yes, I know a lot about it's history...and I know about the strong cultural bias the French have to "do it right"...and, I know that cities, like people often have multiple, complex personalities. I know it, but other than seeing the Louve and a couple of other sights, I was prepared to "see" Paris and move on with my (and Betsy's) life. Now I've been to Paris. I've spent a little time walking (on my sore leg) around the place. And I have to tell you, it is truly something special! You can't explain it, at least I can't. But it's a different place. There is something here that isn't elsewhere. It's a pulse, a beat, there is a life to the place that is unique. New York City has a similar feeling to me, but not the same. Knowing how I hate to march with the crowd, and "toe the line," I can't help it. Like everyone else, I love Paris.
I am coming back...hopefully next weekend. One couldn't see this place if he lived here five years, but you want to take a shot at it. I look forward to the Louve, of all places here. But I look forward to just Paris, as well.
Geiger's little counters - Some of my little observations as I travel through this world
American Obesity
I believe I have discovered the cause of American's tendency (see, I can be nice) to obesity. Lots of experts have examined the problem, and pontifications fall like small pebbles down a mountain top, but I've figured it out. It's the way forks (fourche) are used.
The French are two-fisted, dual-instrument kind of folks. They use a knife and a fork...and very differently from Americans. The fork is turned upside down, the tines facing downward with the curvature bending up, sort of like a runner anticipating the starting gun. Food is pushed toward the sharp ends of the tines with the flat of the knife blade, and, upon spearing it securely, the food is raised to the mouth and eaten. The fork and knife then return to the plate to begin their dance and journey upward again.
Americans do not do this. Americans turn the fork the other way, scooping with the sharpened tines as much material as is humanly possible upon the "bed" of the fork. This is then transferred to the waiting orifice for consumption. Surprisingly though, it is not the difference between the amount that can be placed in the back-hoe, bucket-forming curvature that matters. It's much more obscure than that, and now, after years of study and false leads, it falls upon an American living in France to figure it out.
The difference is in the assisting tool. We use bread to push the food upon the receptacle, and that is our downfall. Almost every mouthful is calculated to be accompanied by the ever-present, carbohydrate-filled, calorie-laden devil, bread. You can't eat a knife, but you can, and we damn well do, eat the bread. And that, my friends, is the problem.
Take the High Ground
On the train ride back to Nantes, we are passing miles and miles of French farmland. The land is very fertile and beautiful, reminding me much of the rolling hills of western Indiana and southern Wisconsin. It is generally flat, with hills sticking up periodically, occupied each and every one. As I watch I ponder the military axiom, "take the high ground." For years I thought it had to do with a defensive advantage, using the force of gravity to assist in battle. It's much easier to shoot arrows, roll boulders, pour chemicals, what have you, down a hill than it is to do it up a hill. That's what I thought for years. On this trip I think I see an alternative reason. It's because that's where the rich folks are...and they have all the stuff. On every major hill there's the remnants of a castle, church, or chalet, ancient or modern, occupying these lovely spots. So...it sort of falls to reason that everyone was trying to get up there and get at it. If they hadn't been there, there would have been no reason to make the attempt in the first place, and, therefore, perhaps, no war. At least on the hill, huh?
Okay, there you have it again. Another enlightening moment from your seldom awake and rarely cognizant correspondent. Bonne Journey.
American Obesity
I believe I have discovered the cause of American's tendency (see, I can be nice) to obesity. Lots of experts have examined the problem, and pontifications fall like small pebbles down a mountain top, but I've figured it out. It's the way forks (fourche) are used.
The French are two-fisted, dual-instrument kind of folks. They use a knife and a fork...and very differently from Americans. The fork is turned upside down, the tines facing downward with the curvature bending up, sort of like a runner anticipating the starting gun. Food is pushed toward the sharp ends of the tines with the flat of the knife blade, and, upon spearing it securely, the food is raised to the mouth and eaten. The fork and knife then return to the plate to begin their dance and journey upward again.
Americans do not do this. Americans turn the fork the other way, scooping with the sharpened tines as much material as is humanly possible upon the "bed" of the fork. This is then transferred to the waiting orifice for consumption. Surprisingly though, it is not the difference between the amount that can be placed in the back-hoe, bucket-forming curvature that matters. It's much more obscure than that, and now, after years of study and false leads, it falls upon an American living in France to figure it out.
The difference is in the assisting tool. We use bread to push the food upon the receptacle, and that is our downfall. Almost every mouthful is calculated to be accompanied by the ever-present, carbohydrate-filled, calorie-laden devil, bread. You can't eat a knife, but you can, and we damn well do, eat the bread. And that, my friends, is the problem.
Take the High Ground
On the train ride back to Nantes, we are passing miles and miles of French farmland. The land is very fertile and beautiful, reminding me much of the rolling hills of western Indiana and southern Wisconsin. It is generally flat, with hills sticking up periodically, occupied each and every one. As I watch I ponder the military axiom, "take the high ground." For years I thought it had to do with a defensive advantage, using the force of gravity to assist in battle. It's much easier to shoot arrows, roll boulders, pour chemicals, what have you, down a hill than it is to do it up a hill. That's what I thought for years. On this trip I think I see an alternative reason. It's because that's where the rich folks are...and they have all the stuff. On every major hill there's the remnants of a castle, church, or chalet, ancient or modern, occupying these lovely spots. So...it sort of falls to reason that everyone was trying to get up there and get at it. If they hadn't been there, there would have been no reason to make the attempt in the first place, and, therefore, perhaps, no war. At least on the hill, huh?
Okay, there you have it again. Another enlightening moment from your seldom awake and rarely cognizant correspondent. Bonne Journey.
Love the Geiger's Little Counters. I'm a fan! Keep 'em coming!
ReplyDelete