Day 20: New Uniform

I started today with a simple goal: buy the best baguette in Paris. For 2011 the winner of best Baguette de Tradition in Paris was Pascal Barillon at 6, rue des Abbesses. This morning I got up bright and early, went for a long run to work up an invigorating peckishness and took the train down to Montmartre to buy my baguette. All the way there I dreamed of that first bite into freshly baked baguette, feeling the savory crust shatter in a cloud of yeasty aroma and exposing the soft, almost chewing gum-like interior (sorry, Lindsay). I dreamed of it when I stepped off the metro, and all the way up the 115 steps (CAUTION: EXERCISE CAUTION) to get to the above ground.

Holy shit how many marches!?

Incidentally, here's a picture of what the boulangerie that makes the best baguette in Paris looks like when it's closed:

Above: Fuck

So that's pretty annoying, but at the same time I can't get too upset. After all, it's a big deal when a bakery in Paris tries to close down for vacation. How big a deal could it possibly be, you might say, surely the boulanger just puts up a sign and hops in his Smartcar? Not so, O pitifully under-informed reader. You see, bakeries in Paris are subject to the infamous Lois du Pain, which stipulate among other things the lower limits on the amount of freshly baked bread that must be available within the city at any one time. As a consequence, only so many bakeries can go on vacation at once, and in order to do so a bakery must first ask for permission. From the state. To go on vacation.

French people take their bread really fucking seriously

Okay, noted. August 6th. I'll be back. Anyway, I'm here, might as well climb a tree.

So obviously I took about a trillion pictures of and around Montmartre, simply because it is one of those things that exists to be photographed. I won't bore you will all that nonsense, but you should have a listen to some of the street music I heard in the alley by the cathedral. In particular you should listen what has to be the Frenchest moment of of my trip, if not all of time: listening to a dude with a moustache and overalls play La Vie En Rose on an accordion, outside of Montmartre. Kind of one of those "is this even really happening?" moments.



Montmartre itself doesn't have that much lasting appeal, but I highly recommend walking around the neighborhood and into as many stores as you can. Yes, you will visit into some crummy, overpriced clothing stores and some offensive tourist traps, and yes if you try to buy lunch you will be charged 15 euro for a coffee and an omelette. In particular, you might run into this shop:

Oh hello, now just what the fuck are you?

My journey is complete. I'm leaving Europe.

Basically yes, I do support your devotion to creepy nightmare sculpture, especially when you make the choice to situate it in the middle of one of the most touristed places in the world.

Anyway, eventually you'll have to leave Montmartre, and as usual the best option is the Metro. Just try not to fall on the tracks and die horribly. On the other hand, do try to listen to some folk music while you're down there.

Oh that looks bad.

Anyway, something wormed its way into my brain and made me decide that it was time to buy some new clothes. Probably it was something lying at the intersection of A) how much it sucks doing laundry twice a week and B) having to stare a well-dressed French people all day. Fucking bobos. Now, I ended up going to the Marais to satisfy my sartorial needs, which I certainly don't recommend if you don't want to wade through tourists all day or spend your life savings on a cravat. But if you do decide to brave the Marais, definitely try to make it to La Petite Place on the corner of Rue du Parc Royale and Rue Elzevir. Actually that whole area, within about a block or so, deserves a look, with plenty of cafes and stores that have the upper-shelf patina of the Marais but without the noise, crowds or pretension.

Oh, and in case you're curious, here's my new French uniform, courtesy of the Marais. Yes, those are maroon fucking pants. No, I don't know what I was thinking.

Man, is it ever hard to come back to Montreuil after a day in the Marais.

Above: The most beautiful thing in Montreuil