Up and at ‘em early to run along the Seine down to the Eiffel Tower and back. Pretty majestic morning with the sun peaking over the top of the Lourve, melting away snow cover along with other dedicated runners sharing the same brisk air, watching every step on the icy walkways. Back to le flat for the last time- Michael and I drank cappuccinos, showered, packed our bags (Luigi gained some weight) and bid adeu to our temporary little hacienda. We grabbed salads at a nearby café and said our good-byes on the metro at Chatelet. I was off to Bercy to board the train to Dijon, and on my way, I concluded that each metro line is not only color-coded, but they each have a certain stench:
-The 14 (Bercy- leaving Paris) smells like baby wipes and egg salad that sat out on a picnic table all afternoon. In July. In Tuscan.
-The 4 (St. Germain- home, Clignancourt-market) smells like orange zest, perfumeries and fresh baked croissants.
-The 11 (Belleville- coal turned diamond) smells like Heineken burps, lamb curry and muddled mint.
-The 1 (Lourve- iconic, Hotel de Ville- shopping) smells like cotton candy, hot dogs and an ice skating rink.
-The 8 (Saint Denis- black market for apparel) smells like b.o. drenched pleather, Jack Daniels and Stetson cologne.
-The 7 (Opera- designer central) smells like caviar, champagne and Italian leather.
-The B (coming to Paris) smells like fear, curiosity and Chinese food.
-The C (lost & Versailles) smells like coal, graffiti and Chinese food.
I love the music that is frequently heard throughout the metro as well… Bavarian men’s string quartet, students from the local music conservatory, French pop version of Jason Mraz and Jamacan drummers. Eclectic, soulful, happy musicians doing what they love in the poster schlepped, spray paint covered, underground maze.
On the train to mustard county, the sight of sunny, green vineyards and small towns dotted the countryside as I drifted to sleep, only to wake up to a winter wonderland that I was not excited about. It is cold and snowing in Dijon. And slippery. Case in point: in my search for Hotel de Victor Hugo, I was crossing an intersection with Lu and Roo of course, and slipped and fell on the ice. Kids at the bus stop were rolling with laughter, old ladies looked on with concern and couples passed me pretending to see nothing. I felt like a turtle on it’s shell trying to flip over- 3rd grade come rushing back… great start. After asking locals and looking for signs to my hotel (of course I don’t have a map or a street name… good one Whit), I (luckily) came across it an hour later. Needless to say I was freezing, tired and hungry (shocking, I know). It is quaint little place, looks like an old mansion- very clean, quiet and modest. I’ve decided Burgundy will be my “vacation” time… sleep in, chill out, see what I want, if I want, when I want. Especially in this weather, I have no desire to ice skate anywhere.
After camping out in the hotel for a few, I made the executive decision to check out the city and find something to eat. I made a promise to myself that if I decide to eat out at a restaurant, I have to order something I’ve never tried before and completely exotic. Hello Le Germinal. This place was covered in frogs, from the tacky ceramic chimes décor to the cartoon etchings on the windows… Whelp, here goes nothin’! I asked for an English menu so I knew EXACTLY what I was getting myself into… I found the craziest variety of proteins and omegas possible and ordered Paella de la Plazza. Thirty minutes later, a huge cork bowl/platter of rice arrives covered with salmon, scampi, cuttlefish, prawns, mussels, chorizo, gambas, rabbit octopus and FROG LEGS. Note that each of these crustaceans/mammals/amphibians had all their major body parts- bones, toes, eyeballs and brains. The 3 different types and sizes of shrimp were good- the small guys I ate with the shell, the big’ons I ate sans shell, head and antennas… Cuttlefish tastes like the bottom of an oil drum- pass. Mussels, salmon and chorizo were bomb. The octopus was really good and rubbery. And the frog legs were really quite good! They turn a pale yellow color when cooked, and you eat them like wings. They have tiny little bones and a scallop texture that pulls apart like chicken. I figured the rice, green peppers and onions would help cover any weird textures or taste, but it was a fabulous dish!
Not THE most exciting day, but after going hard in Paris for 10 days, I need a little R&R. I’m sure people at home want to slap me right now… More from Dijon tomorrow- Au revoir!
No comments:
Post a Comment
Note: Only a member of this blog may post a comment.