It’s the final countdown
The main reason we turned left was that it was getting toward or had even passed lunch time and left was the direction of a much more commercial area. Even better, it allowed us to descend the ‘mountain.’ We turned onto rue des Écoles and I spotted a place I’d read about on one of the two ‘locals’ websites I frequent. It’s called BIA or Breakfast in America.
In addition to the recommendation from that site, it had surprisingly good reviews on both Yelp and Trip Advisor. So in we went. From the booths and stools to the menu to the decorations, it was pure Yankee kitsch.
As for my meal, I think I had a veggie omelet with slightly overcooked fries. But I was hungry and this made the food quality irrelevant even if it was far from the quality of meal we’d come to expect in Paris.
A Little Father Christmas in May
After lunch we continued wending our way back toward the river. When we reached Boulevard Saint-Germain, we turned right since turning left would have had us more or less retracing our steps. When we reached Pont de Sully we met the hiding in plain sight Jardin Tino-Rossi (Tino Rossi Garden).
I describe it as hiding in plain sight because although it stretches for nearly a kilometer between Pont de Sully and Pont d’Austerlitz along the Rive Gauche, it’s certainly not a spot sought by tourists and apparently it’s most frequented by locals only in the evenings near the small amphitheater where, from June until the end of August, as described by parisinfo.com, “hundreds of dancers gather spontaneously at the Jardin Tino Rossi, just below the Institut du Monde Arabe. With salsa, tango, traditional Breton dancing, rock, etc., there’s something for all tastes!”
In addition to providing some green space and some interesting fauna (Oriental plane trees, willow, cherry, magnolia, even a palm tree or two, plus any number of flowering plants), the garden has a playground and several convenient spots to simply stop and sit along the river and watch boats cruise by if you’re so inclined.
Perhaps more interesting is a sign near the entrance that labels it as a musée de sculpture en plein air (open-air sculpture museum). While I won’t comment on the quality of the sculptures, I will say that the park also seems to be somewhat hidden from whatever department in Paris is responsible for maintaining them. Some had pieces broken off and others are defaced by graffiti.
I couldn’t learn why (beyond simple recognition) the garden is named for Constantin (Tino) Rossi. He was a French actor and singer who appeared in 31 movies (according to IMDB) and released more recordings than I care to count. He was active in both mediums as well as live theater, operetta, and television from the 1930’s into the 1970’s and he died in 1983 at age 76. According to Wikipedia, this recording
is the best-selling song in French history. You can see the rest of the photos from our walk in this album.
When we reached the end of the garden and trundled our way up to Quai Saint-Bernard, we again had a choice. We could heed the alluring call of the Jardin des Plantes (with the Paris Zoo and several museums) on our right or we could make for the Pont d’Austerlitz and cross it to reach the Quai de la Rapêe Métro for a ride back to the flat. The map below approximates our walk to that point in the day and
extends it a bit to reveal our choice. Because we’d been wandering somewhat aimlessly, the 7.3 kilometers shown almost certainly understates the distance we’d actually walked, but even if it doesn’t, we were both ready for a rest.
Wrapping it up – the last supper and my flight home
It wouldn’t have been a terribly long walk from the Quai de la Rapêe Métro to our flat (a bit over a kilometer as I look at it on Google Maps) but Pat and I were both tired and a short Métro ride was the best and most appealing solution. We relaxed for a few hours before setting off for dinner.
Pat had to get up at a ridiculously early hour (I think 04:00) to meet her taxi to the airport so we decided have another early dinner. This meant finding a place that offered service continu and neither of us really wanted to return to La Favorite. Just a few hundred meters from our door we found the Caffe Boboli which describes itself as “a Marais Café with an Italian soul.”
It was probably about 18:30 and at that early hour we were the only diners in the restaurant although someone came in for some take-away and another couple came in about halfway through our meal. I can’t put my finger on a reason but I thought the service was a bit indifferent. As for the meal – I had penne with tuna, capers and black olives – it was adequate and satisfying if not particularly transporting. Perhaps because it was governed by circumstances, it our last day hadn’t been the ideal ultimate culinary experience in Paris.
My flight left in the afternoon so by the time I awoke Tuesday morning, Patricia was long gone. I set out for the airport earlier than I needed but that turned out to be a fortunate choice because of delays I encountered at the airport.
Like most airlines, Air France allows passengers one personal item and one carry on. However, unlike most airlines in my experience which have either a weight or size limit for each carry on, Air France’s limit applies to their combined weight. That limit is 12 kilograms so while my bag weighed in at 11.1 kilos, when I added my briefcase, the combined weight came to about 14 kilos and they required me to check my bag. I wasn’t the only person caught in that little trap and the wait in line left me considerably less time to reach the gate than I’d expected.
Of course, that concern became misplaced when the flight was delayed. Because my checked luggage effectively negates the time I save passing through Customs and Immigration with my Global Entry permit, I projected that the 45-minute delay meant I’d be riding through the middle of rush hour more than doubling the travel time from the airport to my house. On the other hand, at least I didn’t have to deal with another strike canceled flight.
Once on board and in the air the flight home was uneventful. As I had on the flight to Europe, I watched three movies on the flight back to the States. I remember only two of them – The Post and a documentary about the street cats of Istanbul called Kedi and Lady Bird.
After the expected long drive, I arrived home but had little food in the house and felt too tired to even muster the energy to open and heat a can of soup. Neither did I want to drive to one of the local dives. So, after five days of dining in Paris where even the less than memorable meals were quite good, my first meal back in the states was a Domino’s pizza delivered to my door.
And there you have it. I was home and, judging by the affection he showered on me, my cat Zicomo was happy to see me.
I hope you’ve enjoyed the journey and have been by turns, entertained, educated, and amused and that you look forward to joining me on my next adventure wherever that may be.