France 2008 - Arles, May 14

Arrive at 6 pm, try to use the bathroom at the train station and both are out of order. The map says we are very close but we get a cab anyway because we aren't sure and we have to pee. Should have gone on the train but the toilet there was in a horrible state. Turns out it is less than a 10 minute walk away (we checked it later) but anyway, we had to pee.

We checked into the Hotel du Musee and get a much bigger room than the closet where we stayed in Paris our first night. Very picturesque, lots of plants in open courtyards, overhanging rambling roses on the exterior stairs on the way up. No elevator but we only have to walk up two flights.

We stagger out to get a real dinner, as we have not had one of the prix fixe menus we have heard about and we missed lunch effectively and are starving. We walk around a fair bit and get disoriented. We choose a place that turns out to be a 5 minute walk from the hotel, when we eventually finish dinner and return to our room. It is on a street (Rue du Docteur Fanton) we realize has three very nice restaurants in a row and later, we try them all. This first night however, we are still new to France and to Arles so we choose one, "Les Oliviers Sont Bleus", based on the plants shielding the patrons from the traffic, which thankfully is light.

The menu has two sides: one says "Carte" and the other "Menu 25 euros", so we figure it is the prix fixe. There are two sections on the prix fixe and each section has about 7 or 8 items on it. We try to translate all the different items to figure out if they fall into a class and eventually decide that you choose one section or the other and get all 7 items. This sounds extravagant now, but at the time, we had just finished reading Peter Mayle's book and he talked about the many course dinners and how the Provencals love their food so we figured 7 items for dinner wasn't a stretch. I also think we were still suffering from jet lag.

Both sections have a "tartare" item of which I am wary - one is thon or tuna and the other is beef (cut by hand, "hache la main"). I have eaten beef tartare once and prefer most meat cooked to break down the fibre. When the very young (and we later discover, Italian) waiter comes to ask for our order, I point to the top section on the prix fixe and say, "je voudrais cet chose" and Peter says, "le meme pour moi". We also order an Appellation controle Minervois, a blend of Syrah and Grenache grapes, for only 17 euros, a bargain!

Our food comes, starting (we think) with some cold layered vegetables (I identify zucchini and eggplant) with brie in the layers and diced red pepper in the sauce. we later realize this is the Terrine de Provencal vegetables. It is accompanied by a mix of lettuce and other leaves in a nice vinagrette and slices of baguette. After we do everything but lick the plate and scarf down the dozen black olives that were on the table when we arrived, we wait with anticipation for what we think will be the second of the many dishes but nothing happens. Eventually a young female waiter brings us the dessert menu and now we really get confused. The dessert menu says "6 euro" and we look at each other and say, "wait a minute! We paid 25 euro for some limp eggplant and now we have to pay 6 euro for dessert?"

We get the waiter's attention and try to figure it all out. It turns out (of course) that you choose one item from the top section - that's your appetizer - and one from the second section - your main course. Then you also get dessert included in the 25 euros. We felt embarrassed but for some reason the female waiter seems even more embarrassed and Peter said she turned quite red. We then order something from the main course part of the menu and I cant even remember what we had but I do remember it was tasty.

At this point, we notice the couple beside us is watching us, amused because we don't seem upset about any of the mix-up. We try to explain that we were confused (we don't know the word for that) and then Peter says in English, "I'm sorry, I didn't get the memo!" This cracks us up and we have to take some time to compose ourselves. For all that we may have seemed like idiot tourists, we had a fun time in spite of it.

They turn out to be an older couple from Switzerland, touring the area on bicycles. She speaks English, French and German but he mostly just speaks German but understands French. He speaks German to Peter who understands it perfectly and we women round things out with French and English and so we manage to have a polyglot conversation that is a lot of fun, even if tiring. We finally finish our dessert (creme caramel, I believe, what else?) and stagger back to the hotel with turns out to be completely quiet and dark, in total contrast to our Paris hotel. Small screaming birds (swifts or swallows) wake us up at about 4:30 am when the sun starts to make its presence felt.

France 2008 - Paris, May 13

Still the afternoon and fading into evening:
In retrospect, our first day in France was totally successful. After we arrived, we got on the right train, made the right connexions ('correspondence'), walked short distances, found the hotel first try, had beer. At 4 pm we got up after a much needed nap and set out to see what see could see. Our hotel was on a tiny street called Rue d'Austerlitz, off the Rue de Bercy. We oriented ourselves using the Rue de Bercy and headed west toward a canal off the Seine, between the Boulevards Bourdon and de la Bastille.

We saw lots of activity and canvas awnings lining both sides of the canal but when we went to walk down what appeared to be a sort of flea market lining the canal wall, a man stopped us and asked for 8 Euros each as an entrance fee. I still don't know if Peter was acting innocent or jet lagged or just being provocative but the first word out of his mouth was, "Pourquoi?" and this just cracked up the entrance guy. He said the equivalent of "Good one!" and let us in for free. I have no idea if this tactic would ever work again.

It turns out it was like a flea market and everybody in there was selling something, from paintings to books to huge pieces of furniture.

Here I am, pretending to look at picture frames. Every tenth vendor had their dog with them, some snoozing in little baskets under tiny cafe tables.

Later, we walk further west, into the Marais district and have a beer at a cafe, to rest and look at the map. We finish our very small draft ('pression') beers (at 250 ml, not very big at all) and continue on, just looking at things. Finally, we stop at yet another cafe, this time for a glass of real French wine (not to be confused with that stuff we get at the LCBO). It sounds like all we're doing so far is drinking but don't forget we were terribly dehydrated on the flight over.

We people watch and develop our theory of the Parisien. Peter takes a photo of a woman with a small black dog of indeterminate breed and she comes over to chat with us. She only speaks French and so we have a real conversation entirely in French with a real Parisienne. It turns out she is from Normandy, but she has lived in Paris for the last 30 years so I count that as being Parisienne. We are amazed by how our French comes back to us and how we are able to make ourselves understood. If Peter can't think of a word, sometimes I do or we just describe whatever it is in other words. No one seems to mind that we lapse into English in order to think through what we want to say and then launch back into high school French. We speak slowly, with a smile, make an effort and are rewarded by Parisiens being nice to us.

Finally, it's time for dinner so we find a place that looks inviting and have something light - not a whole three course meal or anything. It's still light even at 9 pm. I don't remember where we walked exactly but we ended up walking alongside the Seine. Apparently we walked fairly far west because when we turned to walk home, we were past the Ile Saint-Louis (the one without Notre Dame) and so we stopped there for coffee and dessert. And met an American woman artist who struck up a conversation with us, which was quite friendly. She was from New York City but spent a lot of time in Paris. She wondered where were we from since we seemed to be mangling both English and French (not what she said! but what I felt was happening). We told her it was the jet lag and we were Canadian, so that explained a lot.