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Published: April 30th 2011
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Day 15: Paris – Master, Montmartre, mmm
After three days of foot-pounding the pavements, and having seen all the must-sees that we had in mind three days ago, we were able to sleep in and then spend some time updating photos and this diary. We headed out for a substantial brunch, intended as our only meal before a special farewell dinner we had planned for day’s end. In the afternoon, Helen took the option for further rest while I headed out to a couple of final destinations.
The San Francisco Book Co. is a small English-language second-hand bookshop a short walk from our hotel (we’d already dropped in to Shakespeare & Co.). There I found and promptly adopted a beautifully produced facsimile edition of Emily Dickinson’s Master letters, the kind of thing you could never do on a Kindle. From there I headed over to Montmartre for a look at Sacre Coeur and the artistic quarter. It was as well that Helen didn’t attempt this – the “Mont” in Montmartre is very real. I decided that a photographic view of the church from the bottom of its steps, halfway up the hill, would do just fine. The square in
Montmartre was prettily dappled by shadows from the low sun, and crammed with a diverse company of artists selling their work and practising portraiture on willing passers-by. Very Parisian.
We had been so taken with our lunch at Aux Anysetiers du Roy (see Day 12) that we felt it was a suitable menu for our farewell dinner in this fabulous city. We were not disappointed – this is just wonderful food cooked and served lovingly by staff you can talk to (in either language). We would willingly have paid much more. Personally, I would urge anyone who reads this and goes there not to miss the house special cassoulet (and crème caramel – H.). One more walk back to the Hotel Diana, passing en route under the gaping, oblivious Notre Dame gargoyles, again to sleep through the muted clamour of Rue St Jacques and then take our leave.
Day 16: Paris-Barcelona
Terminal 2B at Charles de Gaulle airport is so far from the train terminus it deserves another stop to itself. Leg-weary from the walk, we were grateful for another leg-room bonus – with EasyJet you pay for the priority, which we were happy to do.
At Barcelona airport, the hire-car designated for us was not as generous to the lower limbs, and I persuaded the Europcar attendant with a combination of English, sign language and Spanish (the latter restricted to very few words) to let me try another one for size. The VW Polo was more accommodating, and we set off intrepidly to face Barcelona traffic.
As it turned out, the traffic was less of a problem than inadequate directions to our hotel, and so by the time we arrived there – only a couple of kilometres from the airport – we had acquired a working knowledge of a much wider section of the road system. Once there, though, our one-night-only splash on a fancy hotel (Renaissance Airport Hotel) proved worth the money. We’d booked a “deluxe” room for an extra $25; it featured the biggest bed I have ever slept in. The staff were generously helpful with advice on transport and what to see in the scant four or five hours we would have in the city proper. And a beautiful old place it is, too, with a maze of narrow streets to get lost in, a cathedral with a peaceful green courtyard
within it, and the Picasso museum to show how well the old boy could really draw and paint before he started doing those funny things.
After another heavy pedestrian session, the late hour induced us to forgo the bus in favour of a cab back to the hotel. The Barcelona-Real Madrid match was on the radio, and a real thriller, rather like our taxi-ride, as the distracted driver zoomed us through streets fortunately emptied by the pull of the telecast. We climbed gratefully into the aforementioned bed and called out goodnight to each other across the vast expanse of linen.
(More photos – scroll to bottom of page)
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