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Apr. 7th, 2002 10:49 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
quislibetBlah. An Unpleasant Mystery Smell in the refrigerator has survived a Complete Cleaning of the appliance's interior and the Casting Out Into the Outer Darkness of any foodstuff even slightly past its prime. What gives?
A busy day today, which is why I therefore must take time to begin an account of our trip to France.
March 26-27: Boston to Reykjavik to Paris
A crowded and painfully cramped flight in two hops. We did some guide-book skimming and settled on more ideas for things to do that we would probably not have time to accomplish. The movie, "Murder in a Small Town" with Gene Wilder, looked vaguely interesting but not interesting enough to prevent me from trying to sleep. Unfortunately there were plenty of other aspects of the flight that prevented me from trying to sleep. At Keflavik we were pleased to note that they had, since last year, added covered walkways from the planes to the terminal, and so we did not have to walk through wind and snow (for there were wind and snow). I ate some Icelandic yogurt and a cinnamon roll from the Logan Terminal E Au Bon Pain which I had, of course, purchased a few hours before. I did not, however, eat them in the right place in the airport -- I noticed signs too late that said one should not consume food or beverages outside the restaurant area -- but no trouble came of it. On the flight from Iceland to France they served some mystery breakfast that looked like soggy breaded chicken and included a broccoli floret. J. tried hers and it turned out to be some sort of omelette, which she did not finish. I handed mine back unopened -- for in any case I had just eaten.
As you can see, an exciting flight. I never did get to the novel I had bought at Logan, the one that turned out to be somewhat tedious BDSM faerie porn with tentacle sex and blood-drinking; that avenue of pleasure was to remain unexplored until the return flight.
We landed Wednesday around noon and reached our hotel near the Place de la Bastille by 2, pleased that we sort of remembered the way by Metro. (This time I knew to retrieve my RER [greater-Paris-area commuter train] ticket after feeding it into the machine at the airport train station, since you keep it in case they check for it on the train and anyway it includes a Metro ride; last year as the train approached I, realizing my mistake, had to dash back upstairs hoping -- as turned out to be the case -- that it had been left where it was. But I digress.) Tired, hungry, and caffeine-deprived, I was revived by lunch at a random brasserie near our hotel. We wandered the Marais, ate tasty tarts from a bakery near the Place des Vosges, bought finger puppets for J.'s niece, &c. We failed to find "Edemonium," a goth store in the Marais we had visited last year, but so it goes. Eventually it seemed a good idea to get back to the hotel, drop off our purchases, and freshen up for dinner. On the way we walked down the club-, bar-, and restaurant-lined cobblestone rue de Lappe, for which we were rewarded by the sight of a man in a kilt sitting in a bar called "Les Sans Culottes" ("The Pants-less"; in fact, as we observed over the next day or so, the city was swarming with kilted Scotsmen; I am led to understand it was soccer-related. Unfortunately we didn't get a chance to check if they ever went to that bar in great numbers.) We ate dinner at Le Zygotissoire, or maybe that should be plural or otherwise re-spelled, a five-minute walk from the hotel; it was as good as we remembered.
March 28: March, Muse Carnavalet, Catacombes, Shopping, An Unexpected Walk (part one)
We started the morning with tasty croissants from a bakery near our hotel on Ledru Rollin, which we ate surreptitiously at our outside table at the apparently trendy Cafe Pause nearby; we remembered that the cafe had excellent coffee but mediocre pastries. Thursday and Sunday mornings there is a massive outdoor market on the Ave. Richard Lenoir off the Place de la Bastille; we had seen its Sunday incarnation last year. Here it was Thursday morning and we were scant blocks away, and our route to the Muse Carnavalet would take us through the market. Our breakfast ended up with a second course: a baguette, small cheeses, and a bunch of grapes that tasted like roses. J. bought a small backpack for a day-bag and took some pictures, including one of a rotisserie man with an enormous handlebar moustache who for some reason asked us if we were from Boston. After wishing that it made sense for us to buy fresh produce, we went into the nearby FNAC, your basic large CD store; I was hoping to find the new Mediaeval Baebes CD, which the band's website had suggested was going to be spiffier in the European version, but without success. J. stocked up on chansons from the 30s and 40s, and I bought what would be the first (for this trip) of many Breton music CDs. (I scanned the electro/industrial section and realized that most of the CDs I wanted were available slightly cheaper in the US.) We decided that, despite our convenient nearness to the museum that was next on our agenda, we were equally close to our hotel and laden with CDs, and acted accordingly.
The Muse Carnavalet eluded us at first -- I was reluctant to trust my direction sense enough to take us the right way but, alas, trusted it just enough to suggest that J. was wrong about which way to go -- a manner of behavior I cannot recommend. The Muse itself is a "history of Paris" museum that begins with an exhibit of old house and shop signs, from the days before numbered buildings, when you told people that you lived on the Rue Whatsit just above the sign of the rotting monkey. (Or monkeys, plural: a grotesque tableau of four small taxidermied primates in dapper outfits making glass objects -- the fangs, the terrible fangs! [except for the one in the bonnet whose snout had rotted away].) Then, more period rooms than one can comfortably enjoy, especially if one's taste does not run to gaudy furniture. The best part was the art nouveau jewelry store, set up in one room complete with external facade.
Then we took the subway train to the Empire of the Dead.
Tune in next time to learn how I got some real-life perspective on my AD&D game.
A busy day today, which is why I therefore must take time to begin an account of our trip to France.
March 26-27: Boston to Reykjavik to Paris
A crowded and painfully cramped flight in two hops. We did some guide-book skimming and settled on more ideas for things to do that we would probably not have time to accomplish. The movie, "Murder in a Small Town" with Gene Wilder, looked vaguely interesting but not interesting enough to prevent me from trying to sleep. Unfortunately there were plenty of other aspects of the flight that prevented me from trying to sleep. At Keflavik we were pleased to note that they had, since last year, added covered walkways from the planes to the terminal, and so we did not have to walk through wind and snow (for there were wind and snow). I ate some Icelandic yogurt and a cinnamon roll from the Logan Terminal E Au Bon Pain which I had, of course, purchased a few hours before. I did not, however, eat them in the right place in the airport -- I noticed signs too late that said one should not consume food or beverages outside the restaurant area -- but no trouble came of it. On the flight from Iceland to France they served some mystery breakfast that looked like soggy breaded chicken and included a broccoli floret. J. tried hers and it turned out to be some sort of omelette, which she did not finish. I handed mine back unopened -- for in any case I had just eaten.
As you can see, an exciting flight. I never did get to the novel I had bought at Logan, the one that turned out to be somewhat tedious BDSM faerie porn with tentacle sex and blood-drinking; that avenue of pleasure was to remain unexplored until the return flight.
We landed Wednesday around noon and reached our hotel near the Place de la Bastille by 2, pleased that we sort of remembered the way by Metro. (This time I knew to retrieve my RER [greater-Paris-area commuter train] ticket after feeding it into the machine at the airport train station, since you keep it in case they check for it on the train and anyway it includes a Metro ride; last year as the train approached I, realizing my mistake, had to dash back upstairs hoping -- as turned out to be the case -- that it had been left where it was. But I digress.) Tired, hungry, and caffeine-deprived, I was revived by lunch at a random brasserie near our hotel. We wandered the Marais, ate tasty tarts from a bakery near the Place des Vosges, bought finger puppets for J.'s niece, &c. We failed to find "Edemonium," a goth store in the Marais we had visited last year, but so it goes. Eventually it seemed a good idea to get back to the hotel, drop off our purchases, and freshen up for dinner. On the way we walked down the club-, bar-, and restaurant-lined cobblestone rue de Lappe, for which we were rewarded by the sight of a man in a kilt sitting in a bar called "Les Sans Culottes" ("The Pants-less"; in fact, as we observed over the next day or so, the city was swarming with kilted Scotsmen; I am led to understand it was soccer-related. Unfortunately we didn't get a chance to check if they ever went to that bar in great numbers.) We ate dinner at Le Zygotissoire, or maybe that should be plural or otherwise re-spelled, a five-minute walk from the hotel; it was as good as we remembered.
March 28: March, Muse Carnavalet, Catacombes, Shopping, An Unexpected Walk (part one)
We started the morning with tasty croissants from a bakery near our hotel on Ledru Rollin, which we ate surreptitiously at our outside table at the apparently trendy Cafe Pause nearby; we remembered that the cafe had excellent coffee but mediocre pastries. Thursday and Sunday mornings there is a massive outdoor market on the Ave. Richard Lenoir off the Place de la Bastille; we had seen its Sunday incarnation last year. Here it was Thursday morning and we were scant blocks away, and our route to the Muse Carnavalet would take us through the market. Our breakfast ended up with a second course: a baguette, small cheeses, and a bunch of grapes that tasted like roses. J. bought a small backpack for a day-bag and took some pictures, including one of a rotisserie man with an enormous handlebar moustache who for some reason asked us if we were from Boston. After wishing that it made sense for us to buy fresh produce, we went into the nearby FNAC, your basic large CD store; I was hoping to find the new Mediaeval Baebes CD, which the band's website had suggested was going to be spiffier in the European version, but without success. J. stocked up on chansons from the 30s and 40s, and I bought what would be the first (for this trip) of many Breton music CDs. (I scanned the electro/industrial section and realized that most of the CDs I wanted were available slightly cheaper in the US.) We decided that, despite our convenient nearness to the museum that was next on our agenda, we were equally close to our hotel and laden with CDs, and acted accordingly.
The Muse Carnavalet eluded us at first -- I was reluctant to trust my direction sense enough to take us the right way but, alas, trusted it just enough to suggest that J. was wrong about which way to go -- a manner of behavior I cannot recommend. The Muse itself is a "history of Paris" museum that begins with an exhibit of old house and shop signs, from the days before numbered buildings, when you told people that you lived on the Rue Whatsit just above the sign of the rotting monkey. (Or monkeys, plural: a grotesque tableau of four small taxidermied primates in dapper outfits making glass objects -- the fangs, the terrible fangs! [except for the one in the bonnet whose snout had rotted away].) Then, more period rooms than one can comfortably enjoy, especially if one's taste does not run to gaudy furniture. The best part was the art nouveau jewelry store, set up in one room complete with external facade.
Then we took the subway train to the Empire of the Dead.
Tune in next time to learn how I got some real-life perspective on my AD&D game.
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Date: 2002-04-08 07:16 am (UTC)Oh well. Probably won't be getting the sequel.