Curzon is a sleepy commune south of Nantes and about a thirty minute drive to the west coast of France. We arrived on a very cold afternoon and met our new hosts, Gil and Jacqueline. Jacqueline, originally from the UK has lived in France for many years and Gil, a retired French policeman, were going to Portugal for a holiday. They were very welcoming and we got to know each other over a few drinks around the fireplace in the lounge room of their comfortable four hundred year old converted farmhouse, where they live with their much loved dogs, Caramel – a beautifully well natured elderly cocker spaniel, Hortense, a prim and proper princess of a standard poodle and last but by no means least, Valentino – a grand, ginger, young and playful Russian, giant poodle.
Caramel 
Hortense 
Valentino
We were sure we were going to enjoy our five week stay looking after these pooches while enjoying fine French food and wine in the tranquility of a farming community, but first we had to drop off our excess luggage and drive on to Paris. It was only about a four hour drive but we wanted to stop somewhere overnight so we could arrive in Paris in the morning. I unfolded my trusty dog eared, torn map and noticed that the journey took us right thru ‘Le Mans’, but it wasn’t really far enough into the journey to stay overnight and, at best, I was only going to see some public roads with extra Armco, so after a drive around town taking in the sights, we kept going to a city named Chartres. We knew nothing about Chartres but chose it because it was a comfortable drive into Paris the next morning – and because I liked the name.
Linda had booked a room in a former monastery. A beautiful stone building in the old quarter of town that was accessible by cobblestone streets. The old town area was very restricted, we had to use an intercom to be granted access and had to wait for the retractable bollards to disappear into the ground so we could drive through! – I really don’t know how she does it!! The check in process was pleasant and the room was basic but more than adequate with a commanding distant view of the regional farmland – not too dissimilar to the drawings commonly seen of French wine labels. Our evening walk was brisk and we were spoilt for choice of restaurants. We were shadowed by the Chartres Cathedral, a grand gothic building that resembles the Notre Dame in Paris. Not wanting to choose a restaurant too close to the cathedral that are generally rated for location rather than quality of food, we strolled the cobblestone streets until we found a place that appealed to us, and we were not disappointed with the food or the service.
Chatres cobbled streets 
Chatres Cathedral 
Our drive into Paris was relatively smooth. We tried to avoid the peak hour traffic but I don’t think it really mattered – it’s bloody busy all the time! We said goodbye to our trusty ‘Dustie’ the Dacia that transported us trouble free through seven countries and over ten thousand kilometers, at a depot on the outskirts of Paris. We unloaded our lightened luggage and caught the train into town navigating ourselves to another one of Linda’s masterstrokes – a chic Parisian apartment just a stone’s throw from the Louvre and one block back from the banks of the Seine. If you looked up ‘traditional Parisian apartment’ in the dictionary, there would be a picture of our temporary abode. High ceilings with huge exposed timber beams, exquisite cornice and light fittings, creaking, sloping floors complete with period furniture and rugs. It was an Airbnb, and the girl that greeted us was delightful, providing us with all the usual tips of where to eat and drink like a local.
It was Linda’s birthday the next morning- I got to spend my birthday in Barcelona and Linda got to spent hers in Paris. We are loving this lifestyle – we don’t have to buy each other presents when we stay in places like these! However, I did buy some roses in the morning. The fact they came from the supermarket when I was picking up some fresh croissants shouldn’t take anything away from that at all!
We rugged ourselves up for a solid days walking. Linda wanted to find a restaurant we had dined in around the theatre district on a previous visit. We had been warned that the ‘Yellow Vest’ protesters would be marching along the Champs-Élysées between the Arc de Triomphe and the Louvre and that we should avoid the area. So we proceeded directly towards the Louvre! We weren’t going to let them spoil our day. If you haven’t heard of the ‘Yellow Vests’, they are a revolutionary political movement that demonstrate (at times, violently) for economic justice that began in France in October 2018.
It was Linda’s birthday and we were on a mission – a difficult one at that. Do you have any idea how many restaurants there are in the theatre district? We were being guided by a vague memory of it being on a corner but that didn’t narrow it down too much. Our legs were beginning to ache and it was so cold some of the puddles were frozen. “Let’s just pick a restaurant”, we snapped at each other. So we went into the next one that looked reasonable, but unfortunately it wasn’t as good as the one from several years ago – it never is, is it? And to make it worse, the pommes frites were so hard and dry, I broke a filling.
We enjoyed the afternoon aimlessly walking the streets just taking in the ambiance of one of our favourite cities. Our evening meal was a bit of an odd choice for our final dinner in Paris- an Indonesian restaurant that was highly rated and the lady that ran it was quite a character. The meal was good but the Bintang I ordered alone probably cost more than a meal for four in Bali!
That was our brief visit to Paris. We were to board a flight to Reykjavík in the morning for a two week look around Iceland in the hope of viewing the ‘Northern Lights’. We would be returning to Paris for an overnight stay before flying to Fes in Morocco. We have been to Morocco before for an extensive tour but we weren’t able to stay in Fes for as long as we wanted to so when we found some cheap flights to Fes, and we still had time to spare before going back to Curzon, why wouldn’t we go there for a week?
See you next weekend in Iceland.