The Western European Blitz: Day 7 - Exiting Barcelona
September 27th
And on the 7th day they rested. On a train. Through the French countryside. Oue oue!
Before the train, we start the rebuild (packing our bags) process from La Tornado de McPhee. Marga and Josep have given us too much space to spread our fury and clutter and clothes.
Crisis averted though. The flat looks passable as if humans had stayed there. We head out for lunch with no plan in particular but a short window before the train.
We end up at Marcat del Ninot. Its a suggestion Josep gave us when we arrived. Its a bustling market with a number of different permanent food stands. The stands ranges from fresh fish, fruit, meat, booze, and cafés. Outside there are small stands selling goods. We stop quickly at a used book store for a couple of gifts.
Barket is a fast paced breakfast bar. We grab two seats directly in front of the food display. No menus here. Just point at what you want. “ Uno or dos? Tres, Porfavor.”
“Oh dos Cervesas while you’re over there porfavor.”
We point to basically everything in the display and it comes to us quickly. The two women behind the bar are a formidable team. We embark in a couple classic Spanish sandwiches, empanadas, fillet of fish, and to top it off she threw a creme de Catalonia pastry in front of us. It was a fine send off.
There is no drama getting to the train. It’s a 10 minute walk so we roll our luggage through the street. It’s a jam packed train. The Friday express to Paris is apparently popular. Who knew. One woman from Dallas, Texas who ends up sitting behind us has six pieces of luggage! Everything is bigger in Texas. She ends up bending the ear of her neighbors about how her 11 dogs, or how ever many she claimed to have, are god’s gift to earth and she just loves em to death. Bless her heart. The luggage crisis is straightened out by a young train attendant and we’re off.
It’s nice to sit and let someone else decide where we will go next. The neighbors of Mrs. Dallas start chatting. They are young and loud which Ingrid loves. It makes her eaves dropping much easier.
We find out two are young Germans on holiday before school starts up. One is an Indian student traveling Europe checking off almost all the boxes. Then there is a quiet French girl that stays out of most of the conversations and drinks quietly in the corner.
They are fun to listen to. The conversation bounces between learning about each other’s and different cultures to the best 36 hour raves in Berlin. The Germans end up departing somewhere around Montpelier while the other two accompany us to Paris.
The French country side is dramatic and beautiful. I’m not sure why exactly, but our minds drift to WWII and a realism settles in for a moment. I think this is the part of travel I relate to or grab hold of the most. The idea of how many people have walked the same footsteps through so many versions of history.
Paris Gare de Lyon is Penn Station with less tall boys and no pizza. We have to weave through luggage, tourists, and Parisians a like. It seems like we find the back exit down some steps into a quiet plaza minus a group of young boys rough housing. It’s Friday night and there is a stir in the air. Lets grab an Uber.
The Cluney Hotel is small ity bity thing tucked next to the University of Paris Sorbonne. I don’t know if they have codes in Paris, but this elevator aint passing any if they do.
The room is a bed, toilet and shower. It’s all we need. We won’t be here much. However, the window shutters open out to the street boarding the University giving us a literal window to the lights and sound of the city. The brisk air is revitalizing so we take off into the night! (Well I’m revitalized by the air, Ingrid throws on every layer she has.)
Crepere de Arts is a recommendation that hits the spot. I talk Ingrid out of two crepes and we settle on one Nutella and Banana. The restaurant is a narrow flowing white stucco type design. The tables are tucked in what seem like little caves in the wall. The seats are a part of the natural interior. We tuck in tight next to a molded horse head and devour the Nutella and Banana crepe.
The cloudy sky and light from the city make for a beautiful night. Crossing the Seine we spot Notre Dame and then to our left The Eiffel tour sparkling. It’s a busy part of town. We’re rolling down Rue de Rivioli looking for our first Brasserie.
The street is vibrant like Barceloña, but it a different setting. The bars line the street on either side. It’s not a series of corner cafés or tiny holes in the wall like in the Gothic Quarter. Non the less, this is clearly Paris. The fashion statements are out tonight. Ing finds us a table outside to take in the sights and soup. There are many sights and the French onion is warming up all the right places. We enjoy our first bottle of French wine and continue the bread and cheese rampage. We slowly digest the evening.
It’s a peaceful walk back to the hotel. Tomorrow Paris is a Half Marathon.
Is this not the most French guy you’ve ever seen?
