St-Germain-En-Laye, Tour de France, Bob & Maria

July 27

We woke up Sunday, eager to walk our first day in Paris. We expected Kim, Gerald and Mom at the apartment as soon as they could make their way to the apartment after flying in from their Ireland tour - nominally around 11:00 - so that we could take the RER to St-Germain-en-Laye to see where we lived in the early ‘60s. We had an invitation from Bob & Maria to show at 1900 for supper at their Place Republique area apartment. Because we were leaving Friday, and a day of our Paris time was committed to the Château de Versailles, this was the best option without disrupting other days.

Lynda and I set out to walk les Champs-Élysées, only to find that barricades that had been assembled for the final day of the Tour de France substantially disrupted its navigation. One of the policemen said that they expected them to arrive around 1530, and that the race ends with 8 trips up and down the Champs and its lower extension rue de Rivoli. We ended walking the entire extent of the Champs, beginning at Place de la Concorde and including sections parallel to it because of the barricade blocking. Our walk included walking completely around l’Arc du Triomphe.

We returned to the apartment to find that the 3 had arrived minutes before. After a quick greeting and game plan that included returning in time for the Tour de France, we set out.

It was clear already that fatigue was setting in with me, evidenced in mental errors or lack of preparation. We learned in the process that, when one purchases an RER ticket, its related subway usage is included (requiring the retention of the ticket). The RER cost is dirt cheap - 3.5 € to Versailles, and time something like 45 minutes.

When we arrived at St-Germain, we had made pretty good time, nonetheless, and stopped to have lunch in a little souvlaki-type place, just opposite the Château de St-Germain. I hadn’t anticipated the difficulty of finding someone able to direct us and hadn’t printed a map to enable me to sort it out. It became clear upon talking to a taxi driver, who was unavailable, that the directions weren’t that easy. I, therefore, stopped at a café on the south side of the same circle to confirm my understanding. The bar tender kindly directed me to a table. We conversed in French and, when he didn’t recognize the street name, he was able to enlist a huge map book from an adjacent table. At some juncture, as he was explaining directions, he switched to English. Although I didn’t say anything at first, I was puzzled because I thought I was picking up an Australian accent, which would be highly unusual. Finally, when I said he sounded like he had an Australian accent, he said it was because he was Australian. When I asked why he hadn’t spoken French when he knew I spoke English, he said, “Because I live here”. C:

Some several streets later, we came across a young couple on the street. It became immediately obvious from his accent that he was Dutch, which then led to a conversation as to how I would be le to recognize the accent so quickly, why I knew a Dutch phrase and many swear words, and why we were in town.

Finally, we arrived at our old house, which is 9 rue Lamartine. I rang the bell and, initially, the female respondent didn’t want to enable us to view the outside because the owner was away. A man then came out, introduced himself as the son-in-law of the owner (since 1980) of the house, and was very gracious in allowing us to walk around the house and see its changes, most particularly the elimination of the boules pitch out back in favour of a glass patio.

This is on a hilly section, which, with the long walk, gave Mom some difficulty. Gerald and I ended up rejoining the young couple, which were still on the same corner as they were maybe an hour earlier. All of a sudden, after a long chat, we realized the other 3 were no place to be found, and I feared they had turned in the wrong direction an were lost in the warren of streets. Back I go (RUNNING), only to find them camped on a bench.

By the time we approached the centre of town and a café, Mom wanted to take a break. With Tour de France arrival deadline approaching, I left them and returned by RER. Initially, there was so much congestion against the barricades on rue de Rivoli that I couldn’t get close, but relocating to rue Gambon resulted in my ultimately being against the barricade and carrying on a chat with a couple of French fellows who were previously unknown to each other. The pack’s first arrival was much later than originally anticipated – something like 1745.

We got away maybe 15 minutes later than intended to visit Bob & Maria. Surprise guests were Jerome’s good friend, Karim, and new wife and baby. We had a great time that included a neighbour’s dog regularly humping a large ball and their own tiny dog doing huge vertical jumps. Maria had prepared a fabulous meal of a shrimp and seafood dish and pork with a fruit glaze. Lots of laughs and a late return accompanied by Bob to ensure beating the 0100 metro closing.