Chapter Eight: Looking Carefully In Both Directions In Paris

Mai Tai Tom Stays On Track Through Belgium, Paris and Strasbourg

Chapter Eight: Looking Carefully In Both Directions In Paris

Day Eight: “Forever”, Now We Know Where To Stand, “That’s Not Our Hotel”, Hell On Wheels, Navigating Navigo, Red Lights Are Only A Suggestion, Trucker’s Route For Dinner, “Um, We’re Still Here” and Saved By Natalie Wood (or was it Katherine Ross?)

On the taxi ride to beautiful Antwerpen-Centraal, where we would catch the train to Paris, the subject once again came up about all the construction work being done in the city. We asked our driver how long it has been going on and how long it might be until it was completed. His simple answer to both (somewhat in jest), “Forever.” 

In Brussels, we needed to change trains, and in all our train journeys throughout Europe, we’ve always faced one conundrum … where to stand for the correct carriage when the train arrives. We were standing near a couple, so I asked casually if there’s a way to figure that out? He pointed to a nearby monitor that showed exactly where we needed to be. Was that something new, or have we just been stupid for the past three decades? Don’t answer that!

In any event we were on our way … sort of. First, the train was delayed for about 45 minutes. Once underway, we made a few unscheduled stops in the middle of nowhere, and the only thing we could understand was something about a problem with the track. Eventually, we chugged (although I guess trains don’t chug anymore) into Gare du Nord.

We took a taxi to our hotel in the 11th arrondissement, and I quickly made my way to the front desk, where I chatted with the concierge. After a minute or so I got down to business and told her the names I had reserved the two rooms under. In a very friendly manner, she told us we did not have any rooms reservations for us. Tom panic ensues.

Fortunately, she immediately realized I might be an idiot. “Where are you staying,” she asked? When I answered “Boutique Hôtel Mareuil,” both she and the bellman both started laughing (a response I have received on too many occasions). She added, “You’re in the wrong hotel. This is Ginette à la Folie.” Sigh, not even close.

By that time, my traveling companions had already figured out my error, and in an attempt to make me feel not quite so stupid, the bellman, “Don’t worry, this happens all the time.” Before I could dig a bigger hole, he picked up a bunch of our bags and carried them next door to our hotel. I ran into him a few times in the next five days, and we always had a chuckle. If Ginette à la Folie is as good as the people I met, then check it out.

Meanwhile, now inside the correct hotel, the also very nice people told us our rooms weren’t quite ready. But before heading to lunch they showed us the cool wine machine they had in the lobby where individual glasses of wine are chilled in tubes.

Tracy whisked me away before I spent the rest of the afternoon wine tasting in the lobby.

Near Le Mareuil was memorial to those who served and perished in both world wars.

The hotel recommended the nearby Mon Coco République for lunch. As I was starving, the cheese raviolis in a basil cream sauce hit the mark. The interior of the restaurant was, shall I say, revolutionary.

Danger was now only moments away. Our goal was to navigate to the nearby Place de la République to check out a métro Navigo Pass. When the green walk sign came on, we ventured onto the street, but not very far. Stepping back quickly, we narrowly averted disaster as a bicyclist blew through the light. It would be a common occurrence for the next five days and nights.

For seemingly 75 percent of bicyclists in Paris, a red light seems like only a suggestion. Numerous times during the week, we saw people (and us) nearly get creamed by bicyclists who disregarded the lights. One guy had to pull a lady backward one evening or she would have been splattered. Missed her by a matter of inches.

[Full disclosure and last time I will bring this up: I’m not a big fan of bicyclists … our neighbor was hit in Berlin, severely injuring her, and worse, my cousin in Seattle was killed when a bicycle struck him as he picked up his mail. Bicyclists in our area constantly run red lights and stop signs, so we are aware to be on the lookout for those that disregard the laws of the road.]


After crossing, we made it to what Kenny Loggins would call The Danger Zone. Navigating across Place de la République, we found it should be called Place de Hell on Wheels. Attempting to get to the métro station in one piece, we deftly (or as deftly as we could) dodged scooters and skateboarders (don’t kids go to school here). There must have been two dozen or more young skateboarders careening around the area. At least I got one photo during a lull in the action.

Finally inside the métro station, we were shown a number of possibilities, and as we tried to decipher which one to buy, a man came over to assist and said since we were going to be here until Sunday, get the Navigo Semaine, but would need small copies of our passport pictures to get one. We decided that was the way to go, and we’d be back later with the photos.

It was getting late, so we strolled toward the Canal Saint-Martin, where Tracy and I last ventured on our “ill”-fated 2014 trip.

I had heard this was a regular stop for many.

We only walked a short distance along the 4.5 kilometer waterway, and checked out some locks and bridges along the way.

Since this is a hip area, it was not surprising we ran into a cool cat.

We checked out a restaurant  I had reserved for Friday night

It turned out to be our favorite meal in Paris on this trip.

Back on the Place de la République we were able to take a couple of photos not showing skateboarders or being run over by them.

When we finally checked in, we asked the desk if they could make copies of our passports for the Navigo Card, and they went a step above and carefully cut our pictures out so they could fit. Since I nearly flunked kindergarten because of my lack of scissors’ motor skills, that made me happy.

Weeks before our trip, I had made reservations at a restaurant I had really wanted to dine, the pretty-looking Le Vieux Bistrot on Rue de Mouffetard. For some reason, a few days before leaving for Europe they emailed me and said they had to cancel our reservations with no explanation. That was very disappointing.

So instead, I reserved an establishment in the 11th that was known for serving up “disappearing French classics” that were once popular at truck stop restaurants. Talk about switching gears.

Departing from the nearby Oberkampf métro, where we bought paper tickets (we’d get the Navigo pass tomorrow morning), we took the short ride to Voltaire (the station, not the philosopher). We stopped out onto Place Léon Blum, named after the three-time Prime Minister of France. The area was pretty lively. We walked the neighborhood, there were lots of shops selling produce, fish and other items.

One place really took the cake.

We passed some busy cafes, and our eyes fixated on an unusual truck making its rounds.

Finally, we reached our restaurant, Aux Bons Crus (54 Rue Godefroy Cavaignac).

I had read a little about what the Les Routiers sign meant. When truck drivers were on their route many years ago, these “Les Routiers” places were built near the highway, and served home-made dishes. As their website stated, Les Routiers label indicted “an institution known to lovers of good food for its ‘lip-licking’ stops scattered along the roads of France. As the motto says: “A stop at a trucker’s is the assurance of a good, inexpensive meal!”

I had read some fantastic reviews of Aux Bons Crus, which helped me choose this restaurant after the other one bailed on us. It’s a small restaurant with red and white tablecloths (photo from later in the evening). It looked very Parisian.

We, of course, were one of the first ones seated by a host that I would describe as quite unfriendly and even rude (Tracy called him “surly”). We sat for nearly 25 minutes as other patrons came in, got their water, got their menus and some actually received food before anyone had bothered to stop back by our table.

I’ve been to Paris at least a dozen times, and this was the first time I had what is categorized the “stereotypical rude French experience.” Had this been at home, I think we would have left after 15 minutes, but now it became sort of a game, and we just wanted to see how long our solitude would go on. It got to be rather humorous as others were served food, while we didn’t even have a menu or water.

Could anyone or anything salvage a half-way decent experience? Surprisingly, the answer was “yes.” A server finally rescued us, and she was very friendly with quite a beautiful smile (not that I noticed, of course). Kim said she reminded him of a young Natalie Wood, while Tracy said she looked like Katherine Ross. In any event, she made us (sort of) forget our rude introduction here.

The dinner was good, but certainly didn’t live up to the hype I’d read before leaving. I had the rump steak with béarnaise and mashed potatoes, Tracy the omelette mushroom special, while Kim and Mary tried the chicken in a mushroom cream sauce special with frites. Coupled with some wine and good service from our server, the night turned out to be better than I thought it would be after the first half hour.

Every other person who worked there was very cordial to us, so I don’t know what the first guy’s problem was, but que sera.

On the métro ride back home Tracy got a kick taking photos of us looking like Coneheads. It looked like my forehead had taken Ozempic. Wine is a dangerous thing …

 … as was one last bicyclist (ok, that’s it … really) on the walk back to our hotel.

Tomorrow, we would get back on track for a busy, busy day in Paris. Navigo card in hand, we left early to the Place de la Concorde and made a quick stop in La Madeleine, which looked a little spruced up from the last time we were here. After breakfast at a chic spot, we took a tour of a palace that opened in 2021 after years of renovation. Wow!

Then we’d stroll through the Jardin des Champs-Élysées over to the Petit Palais: Musée des Beaux-Arts de la Ville de Paris, which amazingly we had never visited on any of our trips to Paris. Kim and Mary then went to to see the Musée d’Orsay, while Tracy and I took the long walk over to see some couture, however the only Dior we got into on this day was a café for lunch.

For an early dinner, we dined at a restaurant/brasserie that was frequented by the likes of Ernest Hemingway, Picasso and Gertrude Stein.

We made it early, because we had 8 p.m. reservations at a building that supposedly has the best view in the entire city of the Eiffel Tower.

Chapter Nine: Tours & Detours In Paris

Day Nine: Straight Out Of Greece, The Barefoot Contessa’s Favorite Breakfast, Emily In Paris Bed?, Neoclassical Splendor, Fantastic Audio Guide, Le Notre Strikes Again, Belle Epoque Beauty, Detour After Detour, Museum Not In The Bag, Selfie Capital Of Paris, Almost Dior, Dining With The Authors, Ugly Building and “Impressionistic Haze”