Heather in Jardin des Plants.

Plaque on the wall of a
primary school near
our place.

We have had seven days in Paris now, less if you take out the first day which was spent in a haze and daze of recovery from thirteen hours 'no-sleep'.  We have joined the other millions of tourists visiting famous hotspots: Notre Dame, Tuilleries, Champ d'Elyssee, Arc de Triomphe, the Marais, and today Sacre Coeur and Montmartre. The place is so impossibly beautiful that it's almost too much. Every time you turn a corner there is another stunning vista, another artfully created avenue of trees receding gorgeously into the distance, another outrageously ornate facade. Because of the plan by Baron Haussmann in the nineteenth century most of the buildings are only about six or seven floors high – very civilised, many have window boxes, and they are topped with row after row of chimney pots. Montmartre where we were today has pretty cobbled lanes, too narrow for motor vehicles, (but French drivers still inch their way in) and steep sets of steps including, of course, the 'Amelie' steps à la Audret Tatou, which sweep up to the stupendous building at the top of the hill - Sacre Coeur which surprisingly was not started until 1875 (only surprising because everything else seems to be at least seven or eight hundred years old). But everywhere the tourists kind of eating the goodies they have come to see.  We too, though of course we are a better class of tourist.


Mark arrived yesterday which was great. It was lovely to see him and not only because he has been here five or six times so knows it quite well. We went to a restaurant called Les Elles in Rue Ferdinand Duval where his abode is, sort of French Vietnamese 'fusion' which was great. A very personable and out-there maitre de was pleased to see us and to learn from where we came though her demeanour changed when Mark said he ate kangaroo. She was scandalised despite Mark saying there were 60 million of them and they were a pest. She said her son cuddled a fluffy kangaroo when going to sleep.  We responded with force-feeding geese and viande de cheval but to no avail. Later the chef, Christine, came out and did a very presentable haka and said "All Blacks", before kissing us on both cheeks.

H in the middle of mock orange.

It is spring and everywhere is fragrant. Heather has had her head in mock orange bushes in several places and her jacket is stained with yellow pollen from it. There's also a type of jasmin with few flowers but overpowering scent and it is everywhere. Elder is also in abundance and is just finishing flowering - think of all the elderflower champagne! We went to the Jardin de Plants which was a blast with every conceivable growing thing you could think of including hebes and pittosorum. There was also a 'menagerie', strangely old-fashioned, but they did have snakes - pythons, boa constrictors etc which was a blast. There were lots of school groups and once again I had to pinch myself when I thought "isn't it impressive how well those kids are speaking French!"

Notre Dame from the Seine.

Greenery on houseboat.

The compleat tourist!

There is music everywhere, in the Metro, on the streets. Last night we heard a great jazz band in the square in Montmartre, called the 'Riverside Shufflers'. Sometimes on the Metro you have to walk miles through tunnels to change lines and as the strains of a Basque band fades away, around the corner you hear classical guitar, then an accordion and so on. They even play on board the trains, today we saw a trumpeter and then a flugelhorn (perhaps?). There are also many beggars including one just around the corner from our boulanger which is a bit guilt making. She sits on the footpath leaning against the breadmaker's wall. She is maybe North African, about thirty and looks at you with sad eyes. Heather has got to know her by giving frequently and she smiles at us now.


I can't get over the Paris street life. It's Thursday night. We have just had dinner with Mark in his flat on Rue Ferdinand Duval in a Jewish area on the edge of the Marais district. We went shopping for dinner at 6.30pm and there were people everywhere: in the cafes, on the street, chatting in squares. I went out again an hour or so later to get an onion that Mark had forgotten and it was still roaring. Now we have just come home on the Metro around 10pm, it is still light, the cafes are still full and people are chatting in that very intense French way and having fun. The metro was crowded and friendly and felt completely safe. Teenage girls even stood up to give us their seats. Ah Paris!!

The Riverside Shufflers.

Trumpeter on the Metro.

Gold USB drives in jewellery shop.