Lunch in a French Creperie

We touched down at the L'aeroport de Charles de Gaulle as scheduled. The sun was out! But the air was still cold. I was jumping around to keep warm, but I think I was jumping around because I was itching to interact.

We're in France!

I was so excited to put my language skills to the test. I read every notice, every sign I could see, to gauge how much of it I understood. I realized that I could understand, even just a little, and I became more eager to talk.

We walked to the train station and took the RER from the airport. It was a slow train, passing through sceneries of concrete and metal crane lifts (whatever you call them), and stockyards and fences and graffitti-ed walls. A young fiddler tried serenading the passengers for some loose change but everyone minded their own business, pretending to not see him, but enjoying the few pieces he played.

We stopped at the Chatelet-Les Halles Station. The gentleman at the airport information counter told us we were in luck because our hotel was very near the Metro station. So we alighted the train, and with my elementary understanding of signs in French, followed the signs to the way out. We walked for about 5 minutes underground, crossing rail exchanges, cafes and newstands. By this time I was getting crabby because I was hungry, felt a bit harassed and tired. I was so thankful when we saw the way out to Chatelet. We got on the stairs, hauled our bags up the steps and then emerged from the caverns of the underground onto the pavement, greeted by a most beautiful, magical scene: a gray mid-morning, a crisp breeze and a gentle spray of water coming from an old, ornate fountain in the middle of a square, beside which stood a newstand. Some people were seated on benches and a smattering of pigeons took spots in the middle of the tiny plaza. A slight, warm buzz started in the pit of my stomach moving up toards my throat and breaking my face into a smile.

We were here! We ARE here! Paris is absolutely gorgeous! Benc and I stood in the square with our mouths open for a few seconds, marvelling at the scene. A strong wind suddenly blew and we were reminded of the cold. We quickly realized we had to find our hotel. And you know where we found it? A few yards away from the square, a stone's throw, a spit's trajectory from where we stood. The Hotel Victoria Chatelet. It was a charming hotel, with our own shower and toilet, and a working heater! Hahahaha.

AH! It was time for le dejeuner. We walked down the street of our hotel and found a small creperie open, and we had two galettes and a toddy wine and water for lunch. Toddy wine is a hot white wine with a slice of lemon. I took a sip. And another. Then I wished I hadn't, because a few minutes later, I started to get woozy. So Benc said we'd go have coffee some place else (we decided to splurge that day, hehe). So we went out and around the creperie and came onto what looked like the main road with stone bridges crossing a river. The main road??!! I thought. A river? Then this must be The Seine! And oh my, it was! We lived right off the River Seine. And the nearest bridge to us was the Ponte Neuf. Ooooh I was getting more dizzy.

We walked slowly past flower vendors and herb shops and pet shops, all displaying their wares on the sidewalk. On the other side of the street were souvenir salesmen with their Eiffel Tower replicas, watercolor prints and whatnot. We finally stopped by a friendly-looking cafe where an equally friendly-looking waiter smiled and spoke to us. In my halting French, I asked if I would like two coffees. The waiter cocked his head and smiled. Yes, he said in English, you may have coffee. He welcomed us inside and showed us the menu, described their special desserts in English and got them for us. And they were good! I was pleasantly surprised that they spoke to us in English. I was expecting, like many people told us to, that they would be rude to foreigners. It was so not true! They were, like us, appreciative of our effort to speak French. And when we faltered, they helped us out by speaking in English. And smiling as they did.

By this time, my head was really pounding so I requested that we go home and sleep. I felt so bad but I promised my husband that if I could get just an hour's sleep we could go exploring. So we got into bed and I was unconscious the moment my hair detected the pillow.

I came to suddenly. I looked out the window and it was dark. DARK! We had slept almost six hours! I remembered jsut then that we only had four hours' sleep the night before, since we woke up really early in the UK to catch our early-morning flight. I groaned in guilt. We missed a whole afternoon! But then again, Benc said, our bodies needed the rest. Tomorrow was another day, after all.

It was 9 pm. I wondered where we could get dinner. We went down to the reception and asked the attendant if there were places open. He said, the French usually have dinner late at night and that this was a perfect time to grab a meal. We thanked him and headed out. It was COLD! We walked quickly down to the creperie but it was closed. Further down though was a brightly-lit restaurant called the Vieux Comptoir where the menus were posted outside their cafe. I tried to understand what was written on the colorful chalkboards but was having difficulty. Even so, we decided to try it. A nice-looking young lady seated us and gave us each a menu. Benc and I turned our menus over and over several times, consulting each other on terms we did or did not understand. Suddenly a tall, Robert Downey-looking waiter appeared beside us, and said, "Bon soir. What would you like?" He helped us out by describing their specials. He looked like he was singing an aria when he spoke, while his long fingers tried to convince us to orer a plateful of dried sausages and a meal of a side of beef and mashed potatos taken with a Beaujolais.

Power of suggestion, maybe, but I'm glad we ordered what he recommended. The wine was wonderful! Sweet and robust, perfect with the sausages and beef. (Incidentally, yes, I decided to eat meat while in Paris and Italy. I just had to. Enough said.) There was so much that we wrapped up the remaining slices and took them back with us to the hotel (the nice waiter offered to wrap it up for us, mind you). We sat around and sipped our wines some more and observed the people in the restaurant: all young, yuppie-looking, smokers, hearty eaters. Wine drinkers. The attendants in the resto looked like they were the owners. They had about a dozen tables and there were only two people serving, one at the cashier...but everyone got what they ordered, and the attendants even had time to chat with their patrons. The French lingered. They lingered over food, wine, conversation, company. Taking in the finer things in life. Enjoying the moment. It was refreshing.

We left the Vieux Comptoir stuffed and happy. It was still cold but our bodies could stand it now. I couldn't wait to get into gear and start exploring the next day. I promised to get up early so I wouldn't miss another moment. Ah! Paris. C'est magnifique!