I see dead people! And other diversions...

Today we go to Le Panthéon, originally a church dedicated to Sainte Geneviève, the patron saint of Paris (more on her later). Since the revolution, it's been a secular mausoleum containing the remains of distinguished French citizens. It's façade is modeled on the Pantheon in Rome, which seems like cheating to me, but there you have it. It was raining again, so as the French stole from the Italians, I'll have to steal from Wikipedia to show you what  Le Panthéon looks like. 

It was cold and damp in  Le Panthéon and there's really only one thing of interest in it to me, the Foucault pendulum, which is where ol' Leon first hung his orb to demonstrate the rotation of the earth. Sadly it is on loan to the Children's Early Learning Center in Bugtussle, Oklahoma (or something like that), so we had to make do with the crypts.

Now this is sort of a weird thing. If you are really hot stuff, if you're really the bees knees, the French will stick you in a 1x1x2 meter concrete box and store you in a large tomb with other French hot sticks, all naturally temperature-controlled comme une cave à vins naturelle, which I guess is high honor indeed. The most interesting people there that day, other than Claudia and yours truly, were Les Curies:

I think it's nice that the French are stand-up enough to highlight her maiden name, since she was really a product of a strong Polish education and upbringing, and not actually French:

Now, about that Sainte Geneviève . So it turns out that one of the many things Sainte Geneviève did was to somehow turn back Attila the Hun when he attacked Paris in 451 AD. Old Genny is still protecting Paris. Remember the photos I showed from yesterday, when the sun was setting? To the left was a beautiful, tranquil scene of the Seine and Notre Dame. To the right was a rainbow over the Pont de la Tournelle. That monument on the bridge, standing like the statues of Isildur and Anarion at the Gates of Argonath warding off the evils of Mordor, is a statue of Sainte Geneviève.

Downstream of Sainte Geneviève (to the left) we have the warm and wonderful architecture of the Old Paris. Notre Dame, the old buildings of Ile de St. Louis, the classic architecture of the Latin Quarter, and many old squares:

Upstream of Sainte Geneviève, we have the horrible blocks of concrete, glass, and steel of the 20th and 21st centuries. And quelle horreure! Building cranes! This "invasion" runs right down to the Pont de la Tournelle where Sainte Geneviève stands guard, holding back the barbarians as she did over 1500 years ago.

Or something like that... Fun fact: that statue of Sainte Geneviève was sculpted by the same guy (Paul Landowski - another Pole!) who did the Redemption Jesus in Rio de Janiero:

That last photo is stolen from Wikipedia. The others were taken from the window of our apartment. 


On the way to hunting lunch, we saw reminders of how different the French are. How many run-of-the-mill neighborhoods have their own celestial observatory?

And though all the graffiti is annoying, there are some nifty bits of art. I thought that this use of a sidewalk grate was original:

But on to the important stuff -- Lunch! We chose the Brasserie Balzac. I have serious concerns about the personal philosophies of Camus and Sartre, but hey, who are we to second guess their taste in fine dining establishments? We had a real old-fashioned waiter with white shirt and black vest, finished off with a trim little handlebar mustache. He also had a sense of humor. I ordered andouillette sausage, to which our waiter waggled his eyebrows, twitched his nose, and said "vous connais 'andouillette'? Oui?" Thinking he was asking if I understood that it was going to be spicy, I confidently answered "Oh, oui, je connais andouille ." Note the difference in spelling...

OK, look up "andouillette sausage" in Wikipedia. No wait; let me help you. The operative sentences include:

Andouillette sausage is very different from the American andouille sausage...

True andouillette will be an oblong tube...possibly 7-10 cm in diameter, and stronger in scent when the colon is used...

...true andouillette is rarely seen outside France. [They have a ] distinctive odor related to their intestinal origins and components. Although sometimes repellant to the uninitiated, this aspect of andouillette is prized by its devotees. 

Andouillette is often described on French menus as AAAAA; this acronym stands for the Association Amicale des Amateurs d'Andouillette Authentique, roughly translated as the Amicable Association of Admirers of Authentic Andouillette.

Here is our diminutive waiter gleefully preparing our lunch at tableside. I swear the guy was chuckling so hard his body was shaking:

And I am here to tell you that the very best AAAAA andouilette sausage arrives at your table with a certain je ne sais quoi, a certain parfum de la barnyard. Highly, as they say, prized by our good friends at the Amicable Association of Admirers of Authentic Andouillette! Whew-wee-boy! But, with enough of the hottest mustard I have ever tasted, I was able to wash it all down with a good red wine. 

Claudia had a pork chop. 

If there was ever any doubt as to who the smart one is in this couple d'amoureux...


We wandered on, and then, as though we needed more food, we found the best creme puffs eva! La Maison du Chou is the shop and it's on Rue de Furstenberg in the St. Germaine quartier. The owner's wife, who looks tres francaise (wink-wink), is actually from Wichita-by-God-Kansas (Wichita has a river, just like Paris does. Right Mac?). When we told her we are from Atlanta, she was so excited to discuss the fact that Wichita State had made it to the Final Four! Woo-hoo! We were happy for her.

We then spent the rest of the day shopping in Sainte Germaine district, dodging downpours, and generally wearing ourselves out. And I kept belching something that just did not seem quite right.

Happily, we recovered enough to have yet another great dinner at a local restaurant - literally in the same building as our apartment (well, affixed thereto), Chez Rene. Sadly, no photos, but I had a great rabbit and Claudia had beef bourguignon. Though the meal was outstanding on it's own, the delight of the evening was the octogenarian who ordered beef bourguignon but was served coq au vin. "This is coq au vin! Chicken! This isn't beef bourguignon! I'm old enough to know chicken from beef! I  can make coq au vin any old time I like at home. What I ordered was beef bourguignon!"

I swear she was THIS close to yelling "WHERE'S THE BEEF!" But much to the disappointment of her fellow diners, the waiter (apologizing profusely as he HAD made the mistake), brought her her beef, TOOT SWEET.