Once again trying to avoid the ultra-touristy sections of Paris, we made our second trip to the northeast of Paris, this time to check out the Canal St. Martin. I should've known that getting off at a metro stop called Stalingrad would present us with a fair share of sketchiness:
The other day, I discovered a brilliant plan. At the beginning of each outing, I find the closest convenience store and purchase a large bag of generic madeleines for the girls. I call them "energy muffins" and each time the girls get whiny, complain, or say they are bored, I offer them one. The heavy, buttery, sweet goodness not only fills them up, but more importantly, it shuts them up. Everyone wins:
Just as I thought we would never emerge from the thick cloud of shadiness in which we found ourselves, it quickly dissipated when I spotted this man carrying something familiar--a Giant Food bag! I had to stop him and say hello.
We had a lovely chat for about 10 minutes. Although he is French, he lives in D.C. most of the year and works for the State Department. Since I know that can be code for other "jobs," I will not reveal more about him. However, he did tell us that the Frenchies LOVE our Giant Food bags and he always brings them as gifts for friends when he comes to Paris. I was literally speechless when he told me this.
Next, we located our first stop: Le Jardin Villemein-- a small park with two nice playgrounds:
Although the plan was to visit more of the Canal St. Martin area, it was just too hot and we decided to head home. We stopped for lunch, still feeling a little fried:
However, we regained enough energy to scale a church facade:
And check out the interior. Saint-Paul Saint-Louis Church in the fourth arrondissement. It was cool, it was quiet, and it was the perfect place to relax for awhile. The girls and I were quite happy to hang out...
Until a half-naked homeless man asked us something in French. At which point I used my Paula Deen voice to say "We don't speak French y'all" and we scooted out of there...
Back to Monoprix and I convinced the girls that we really should buy "Qui Est-ce?" ("Guess Who" in French):
With this heatwave, I have been playing my own version of "Guess Who" on the metro. It's called "Guess Who Has the Worst B.O," and once we figure it out, we move as far away as possible.
We took a break from games to visit our Notre Dame playground and endured a petite dust storm:
And got some holy dust in our eyes:
Then it was back home for dinner, and back out again for some Berthillon. The girls requested we eat by the river:
Eliza points out those crazy people sitting up high on the edge of the bridge. We have a brief discussion about survival of the fittest and the declining French population:
Being in journalistic mode, I felt it was my obligation not to intervene in the following sequence of events:
On numerous occasions, the girls have asked to sit on the edge of the quai. And since Kenny is gone and I don't fancy rescuing them from the majestic sewer that is the Seine, I always say no. However, some gendarmes were steps away writing a ticket to the sweet Indian man who sells Heineken beers on the river's edge, apparently illegally. I figured if they French police were vigilant enough to catch him, they were game for a water rescue...
Which fortunately was not in the cards for us tonight...
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