My dad and his partner arrived on Ascension Thursday by car. They had visited family in Germany before coming to us, so the trip wasn’t as long as it sounds. For the record: our address doesn’t appear to be in his satnav, though you can find us on google maps. They both had been to Paris before, so there were no urgent tourist needs to take care of, just a couple of days exploring.
I suggested the fabric stores that are on the was to Sacre Cœur. Sacre Cœur is one of the things Gergö hadn’t yet seen, and Greta sews and does upcycling. Besides there is a street with lots of guitar shops nearby that my dad was going to check out in the meantime, accompanied by Gergö, who still claims he really wants a trumpet.
We had impressed our visitors with the cheese selection and resulting smell of our fridge, but on our wander around Paris, we smelled a fromagerie with even more impressive stuff, sitting outside in a showcase. We were all convinced that most of these wouldn’t/couldn’t be sold in Austrian cheese stores.
After an extensive stroll through Paris we had a little rest in jardin Luxembourg and afterwards walked to the quartier latin by way of the Panthéon. It’s a couple of streets surrounding a square with street musicians. Every place is full of tourists looking for food and beer.
Last time Gergö and I visited the street we went to a Chinese restaurant that serves noodles. The ones that are made by pulling and rolling dough. You can have them in a soup or fried. That’s it. You choose an entrée, and what kind of meat you want to have with it (or the vegetarian option) and that’s it. Like a lot of places it was tiny and full. To my surprise we were sat between two sets of French people.
When Gergö and I went there last time, we decided for our next visit we were going to try either the Armenian-Persian restaurant or the Afro-Caribbean place. The Afro-Caribbean place had outdoor seating, so we went for that. In a long standing family tradition we all ordered different kinds of dishes to get a maximum of tasting options. I think all of them contained peanuts. The waiter impressed us with his english skills, but wouldn’t tell us the secret ingredient to the coconut pudding.
It’s something that Greta dearly misses from Austrian patisseries, but that I proudly showed of in my regular café: You can order a café or thé gourmand and get your hot beverage with a selection of tiny cakes or pastries. No need to choose a single one, you can try them all. It was the only time she took a photo of her food. Dad asked if I’m embarassed by this behaviour, which seems odd, seeing that he claims to read my blog…
I have no shame whatsoever where photos are concerned. I only hold back if there are signs.
For Saturday we went to the great big flea market of st ouen. They both had been before, but with a group of friends who claimed to know their way around but actually didn’t. So they mostly saw the stalls selling cheap t-shirts and jeans, and not the actual flea markets.
We went to marché Dauphine, which has the Ufo, the antiques, the books and music and vintage clothes. It’s all very pricey, but interesting to look at. Also, there’s a Lucky Luke cardbord cutout.
We wondered about this item for a while:
One guess was that it’s for combing raw wool. It turns out, that when I go to this market with serious looking grown ups, the dealers don’t just grumpily ignore my presence. A very friendly antiques vendor explained that the tool is for making latex balloons. There are lots of small colour spots all over the wood from the balloons and it’s coated in the powder that is used to keep the latex from sticking.
Marché Dauphine is more for looking, marché Vernaison across the street also has antiques, but more small stuff, more junk. It’s easier to take photos, too.
We didn’t buy doll parts, but Greta found a silver spoon she is going to forge into a bracelet. It’s the third time I visited the market and I still haven’t schlepped home any furniture, I’m really proud of myself. I bought linen trousers though, on my way out. The vendor never even interrupted her phone call, even while she was trying to upsell. It was impressive to watch.
My dad wanted to leave really early on Sunday, so they’d manage to avoid the traffic jams they encountered on their way to us. The plan was for them to get up at the ungodly hour of 6:30 (I think, my brain refuses to memorise these times) and to leave right away, getting breakfast on the road. I really wanted to say goodbye and make coffee for Greta. She is not a morning person and it seemed the least I could do, if she was going to have to get up at this time.
At some point in the night I woke up and was convinced I had overslept and they were up already. Even though it was still dark outside. Well, how would I know if it’s light or dark at 6:30? I was so sure of having overslept though, that I didn’t even check my phone for the time. I staggered into the living room, only to be told to go back to sleep by my dad. Next time I woke up it was because of the alarm my dad had set. I can inform you that it’s light outside in May at 6:30. But I don’t know what to do with that information, to be honest.