Buns2025: Day 9 – Paris

Soundtrack: “Red red wine”, Neil Diamond

Last full day in Paris, a day to madly run around the Ile de la Cite mostly.

The sore throat turned into an irritating dry cough without much effort, certainly not helped by it being pretty frigid cold (daytime temps hitting a balmy maximum of 6 degrees) plus never being more than about 1 metre from someone smoking.

Time for evaluating a couple of stereotypes. Does everyone in Paris smoke? Pretty much. Certainly more than many other places I’ve been. Vapers carry a powerbank so they can recharge their suckers. Smoking seems to be banned from inside public buildings, so every doorway is crowded with them. Folks are lighting up the second they clear the Metro, one guy even stopped right in front of me before the gates to light up. Welcome to Paris, the passive smoking capital of the world.

Stereotype 2: Parisiens are rude. Yes and no, they can’t queue to save their lives, don’t wait for you to get off the train before barging on, and customer service staff aren’t always the friendliest, but on a global scale they don’t seem to bad. Hospitality servers have been okay with my limited French, while also having good English that they haven’t minded using. Museum folks have been generally pleasant. No one I’ve encountered has been overtly rude. I wouldn’t say they tend to be the sort whose face lights up when a new customer walks in, but given these folks are probably suffering extreme nicotine withdrawal they are okay. There are rude assholes everywhere, Paris included.

I dragged myself out of bed early, aiming to get an early breakfast at the restaurant on the corner before seeing all the things. I could smell croissants the minute I awoke. Unfortunately that was within the hotel, as the restaurant wasn’t getting croissants delivered until 8am, but they gave me fresh, slightly toasted baguette with butter and jam, and coffee, which hit the spot.

First up was Saint Chappelle, the place with all the stained glass windows. Yes, it’s tall, and has a lot of stained glass windows. It also has a lot of security as it’s within the justice precinct, there’s one queue for tourists, and another for lawyers and police and folks on official business. The gates are guarded by tooled up policefolk, it’s always a little intimidating standing next to a uniform toting an automatic, finger just away from the trigger, trained to put 6 new holes in me before I can blink. I know it’s the privilege of living in Australia. Once inside Saint Chappelle i could admire the windows. Built as a royal chapel, it’s certainly the kind of place I can imagine nobles and generations of Louis’ spending their Sunday mornings. Over the years there have been restorations and revolutions, but what stands today is definitely worth a visit.

I’d booked a joint ticket that included the neighbouring Conciergerie, though managed to misinterpret the directions so spent a few minutes wandering around the court complex between the two. Fortunately I didn’t blunder into any court rooms or secret chambers. The Conciergerie started as a medieval barracks, then grew into a banquet hall, before subsequently being turned into a courthouse and prison. During the revolution anyone who was anyone spent time there, often on their way to the guillotine. Marie Antionette did time here, cell has been restored, and there’s plenty of information on her final trip to her execution. There’s also the garden where women prisoners were permitted to visit, and a display of the role various women played in the revolution, many of whom subsequently ended up incarcerated here. Amazingly, the place was a prison until 1934, before parts were subsequently turned into a tourist attraction.

Just the other side of the Seine sits the famous bookshop Shakespeare and Company. It’s actually the second bookstore to have this name, the first operated until it was shut down in the early 1940s, then the new one which opened a bit later. It still has a fabled history, being one of the only English language bookshops in Paris, all manner of literary types have frequented the place over the years. And while Parisiens aren’t the rudest (see above) they do obviously get lots of tourists coming in so have banned photos being taken inside the store. Heaven forbid people take pictures of books. As it’s still a functioning bookshop the stock is a mix, there’s a large selection of lost generation writers; sections on philosophy, poetry, gender; even an okay selection of fantasy and science fiction. I came away with Zelda Fitzgerald’s Save Me the Waltz (after having recently read how F. Scott was apparently a total dick, lifting parts of her diaries and other writing and putting these in his work), and Sinead O’Connor’s Rememberings ahead of heading to Dublin tomorrow). Maybe more bookshops should become tourist attractions.

Restaurant Le Procope is the sort of place one goes to splurge a little on traditional French food. Napoleon allegedly dined there, and when he forgot his wallet left his hat instead. Upstairs there are a number of neat historical items including a desk of Voltaire’s, and a note written by Marie Antionette. They sit on display, almost unremarkably, hundreds of folks must pass them every day going to the toilet without giving them a second glance. Speaking of the toilets, the gents is balloon-themed (the large people-carrying variety, not a colourful birthday party). Lots of balloon art and light fittings. My entree was onion soup, as I wanted to try what a more upmarket variety tasted like. Unsurprisingly similar, though with a lighter broth, almost like a chicken stock rather than a hearty beef. Still wonderfully onion and cheese on toast. Plat was the revolutionary beef dish, a fillet de boeuf atop more shredded beef, in a rich gravy, with a slab of foie gras on top, and a side of dauphinois gratin. I don’t have enough French to really say how good this was: decadent, rich, perfectly cooked, and incredibly satisfying. The medium rare fillet was just right, tender, almost buttery, the foie gras creamy, and the shredded beef full of flavour. I succumbed to the chocolate-coffee tartlet for dessert, and it was divine, covered in a crunchy praline, a rich and decadent filling. Not having packet a hat, I fortunately had my wallet.

After a quick trip to drop off my shopping, I headed back to the Ile de la Cite to tick Notre Dame off the list. My first thought was that it was smaller than I imagined, sure there’s a pointy spire but the front two towers aren’t overly intimidating. Before getting to the cathedral, I headed down into the foundations, where excavations have revealed the history of the site going back prior to Roman times. Back on the surface, I’d planned to wander through the cathedral for a while before my booked time to climb the tower, but as there was a long queue I headed around the side and joined the climb early. At 424 steps it seemed like it might push me, but the climb is broken up into stages. There’s a section of narrow stone which opens out into a souvenir shop and diorama illustrating the climb, then a section of wooden steps that eventually lead outside, where we paused while waiting for the previous group to descend. Then there was the final push of maybe 150 stone steps to the top. Even with the cold, and the wonderful cough, I was not overly short of breath, which allowed me to appreciate the view. Heading back down the path crosses over to the other tower, and includes an opportunity to check out some of the bells, including the second largest bell in France that rang for Napoleon and is still ringing today (the other old bells were melted down during the revolution).

Next stop was a river cruise to celebrate the release of this year’s Nouvelle Beaujolais. It’s a French thing, started because some winemakers were told they weren’t allowed to do something, so they went ahead and did it. So on the third Thursday in November, a new batch of Beaujolais is released, and the people rejoice and drink and have river cruises. And because it’s France, the wine cruise also had a children’s price. I don’t know if the children also got to drink, but I wouldn’t be surprised if they were (and were given a free pack of cigarettes too). The Beaujolais was good, definitely young so full of fruit flavours, no tannins, certainly not as sharp as I would have expected. Next was a slightly older wine, still technically a Beaujolais due to region, but referred to as a Brouilly, hints of tannin, lots of red fruit flavour, very drinkable. Final wine was the Morgon, the oldest, richer, full bodied, not as heavy as big Australian reds, also very drinkable.

From Beaujolais to Cabaret, Madame Arthur’s Cabaret was established in the 1940s, and has produced some amazing drag performers. The show changes weekly, new performers, new themes, completely different styles, so one week it could be more dance and performance, another week more singing. The Queens of Drama was a singing spectacle featuring Bili L’Arme A L’Oeil, Grand Soir, Pierre Et La Rose, and Androkill, with some acting and dance thrown in for good measure. A little avant garde, lots of French songs, and a little detour into”I Will Always Love You” (Whitney style). Another show where I understood almost nothing yet enjoyed everything.

As Madame Arthur’s is on the edge of the Pigalle district, famed for the Moulin Rouge, I took a quick wander along the main street to the red windmill. I also popped into a McDonald’s, and can indeed confirm there is no Quarter Pounder on the menu, but there is a Royal (not a “Royal with cheese” but a Royal Cheese, Royal Delux, and Royale Bacon). The area is otherwise full of bars, restaurants, dubious establishments likely with overpriced drinks and underdressed women, and sex shops. Aside from one or two bars, the area didn’t seem very busy, maybe Thursday just isn’t a huge party night, everybody home with their Nouvelle Beaujolais perhaps.

Tomorrow I bid au revoir to Paris, and head to Dublin for a weekend of music and whiskey.