Thursday, September 25, 2014

Coulomierres or Etampes? Whichever leaves first.

I check my budget; it goes well, I have €40 per day left in hand, and that's after tips, laundry, and my ticket to CDG on Monday.

The breakfast verandah is full (I see from my window), so I complete another web page and upload it, take breakfast, ask to have the lamp in my room fixed, and head off via Daumesnil to Bastille and then Gare de l'Est. I love the unique smell of rubber that greets me as I descend into the Metro; it is fine powder drifting off the rubber tyres of the rains.

Another word for my anti-beggar spiel “Lingo”.

As we pull through each station I reflect on the signage in the metro and on the streets: white enamel on blue enamel, quite distinctive, and once your brain is used to it, it stands out just when you want it to.

I love too the chorus of “Click” at the top and the bottom of each set of stairs, the sound of extensible handles being snapped into place at the start and end of carrying a rolling suitcase.

An Arabic woman makes her way slowly down the train from carriage to carriage; we can hear her from three carriages away. She carries a baby in her arms and chants “I'm sorry to bother you”, “Good passengers”, “Help me please”, “I have no money”, “Give me money, please”. The sound is quite medieval and reminds me of the Taize chants we learned back in 1979 at Taize itself.

She reaches the end of the train and starts her way back. No one looks at her as she arrives, but we all steal a glance once she has passed us.

My theory is that she is Grandma, and is supposed to be baby-sitting her grand-daughter at home, but once mum and dad have headed off to the office, grandma dons the costume from the Old Country and heads out to make a bit of cash on the Metro. I wonder if mum and dad know that their baby is a money-making prop?

And so to the beautiful facade of Gare de l'Est. As I cross the street – against the light but then there's no one coming – a motorcyclist speeds towards me signaling that he would turn right. Strictly speaking he has right of way, but also strictly speaking he isn't allowed to run me down (“Think of the paper-work!”) so I do what I've learned seems safest. I stop dead still, and the only muscles I twitch are those to wave him through. He acknowledges with a wave of his hand (which, strictly speaking, I'd rather didn't leave the handlebar) and we are both happy.

I have a definite feeling that motorist of all ages and both sexes are NOT out to get me; they are just like me, they want to get to where they want to go, and stopping dead still carries the message that I am not going to move, so YOU can base good decisions on that. It works every time. So far. Parisian drivers are not rude; they are practical. It seems necessary in such a crowded city.

Oh yes: Coulomierres or Etampes? Whichever leaves first, right? Turns out that the train for Provins leaves in 2 minutes from quay 20; that's a great deal, so I make my way down the platform, just past the half-way point and hence into the second 5-car unit, when a buzzer sounds which I assume means departure is imminent. I quickly open a door and hop aboard and spread my things out in opulence.

The train is non-stop to ..., I thought the announcement said “Tournan”, and we quickly pick up speed. By the time we reach the Peripherique – about 4 minutes – we are going so fast that I can't make out the station names, so I spread out my 1Km map and work out where we are from over- and under-bridges. The Marne confirms my location.

After four minutes, too, I start to wonder if I have leaped aboard 1st class in my haste; not until I reach Provins and ask a cleaning lady do I learn that there is no 1st/2nd class on these trains any more. (I got caught by surprise the day of Mountbatten's death, I was so engrossed in reading the newspaper!).

We FLY through Gretz and make our first landfall at Verneuil. Nangis looks big enough for a walk-around, too.

I spot two workers; you never see a single worker; there is always a lookout, standing staring down the tracks. This one has a sack over his shoulder, and poking out of it a brass cornet, I kid you not. He really can toot on his horn to warn his buddy whose ears, I guess, are attuned to his buddy's cornet.

We sigh into Longueville and sit there for about twenty minutes, perhaps waiting for another train to clear the line. Franglais Joke: We wait for a long while in Longueville. Hah hah.

A guy about my age walks through the train inspecting the seats, including the seats in the glassed-off area behind me. Trawling for belongings that have been left behind?

After he is gone I get up to stretch my legs. Now I can explain the sound that seemed like a dunny-door banging in a gale. There is a dunny in the carriage. In the hand basin is a cigarette stub. There is worse but I need not tell it here.

After 20 minutes the horn sounds and we start moving again – backwards! Are we heading back to Paris? No, the train reverses up a spur to reach Provins. When we leave Provins I must remember to sit facing backwards in the rear car if I want to sit forwards to Paris and get there in the first car!

I leave the train at Provins, check out the bus timetables, but fall back on my original plan to walk each town. Next time I'll tackle these country buses.

Close by the station I am delighted to spot the signpost for the Bureau de Tourisme. I follow the signs which take me through the old quarter, and just for the heck of it I ask a young woman along the way. I should have clued in when she asked if I had a car. It's up the hill to high-town (well-named IMHO) and then past the biggest church up there, and out the far side of the square.

Well that is easy; the big church can be seen for miles. I head up the hill, through the square, check out the big church (built in the 1170s or thereabouts) and wander a bit more. The place is full of tourists so I decide to escape.

Down a side street a lady runs a store that sells honey and pollen; I am tempted to buy some pollen to give myself breathing room on the TTC, but she gives me directions, which are later confirmed that the tourist office is so far on the other side of town that it is OUT of town, about as far away from the railway station as you can get and not be back in Paris.

What are they smoking out here? You need a cross-town bus just to get a map, but by now I have pretty well figured out the town, so the heck with a map.

The hill down is just as steep; no wonder all the creeks run through the bottom of town.

I compose a lovely little poem in French: “Dieu merci! C'est tout en bas d'ici”. Not bad for a 68-year old foreigner.

I stroll through the old lower town, buying a demi-baguette and a bunch of sweet grapes (I'm so unoriginal!) until I realize I haven't seen a sign for La Gare, so I ask a young guy crossing the street. He's German, speaks no French, but English is OK, so he sets me straight on La Gare. He also sets me straight that I say Danke Schön and HE says Bitte Schön. We Auf Wiedersein each other, I cross the street and there is the sign for the station.

I missed my train by quite literally less than a minute, so I've typed this up while waiting an hour for the next train. Four charming high-school girls chatted me up in the station, so we spoke French. I asked them the word for lazy and one of them responded with a word that started in “F” and a cheeky grin, so I hauled out my dictionary and looked it up. It doesn't start with “F”, it starts with “P”. Yet another woman trying to lead me astray …

We leave Verneuil at 15:33 and arrive at Gare de l'Est at 16:12

But once we picked up speed I began to think that I'd not swiped my ticket at Provins, and have a tremor of panic.

I exit the station and walk five minutes until a #38 goes by me; two minutes later upstream I am at the stop for the #38 which has to go to Porte d'Orleans, right? Because its second digit is “8”.

The bus arrives, I jump on board and about a half an a hour later we have almost cleared Chatelet les Halles. We make slow progress up the hill of Boul Mich and break out into the dense traffic at Denfert Rocherau.

The #38 was delightfully slow; I amused myself by reading the street names for each cross-street and seeing how many brought back memories.

I showed my Parisienness by tapping a guy's hand to let him know that his shoulder-bag had fallen open. Strangely, it is people out in the country, where it is very safe, who have taken the trouble to let me know that my bag is open; I tell them there's really nothing in there – a bottle of water, a bag of grapes, an old newspaper; truth is the real valuables are in a bag inside my trousers, strapped to my waist, but I'd sure miss my beige coat, cap, camera and cell phones.

Good too to arrive at Port Royal from a different angle from yesterday.

We reach Porte d'Orleans at last. The bus makes a quick tour of the back streets behind a street janitor truck and I make my way on foot through Montrouge to the Cafe L'Orleans something or other, 79 Avenue Pierre Brosolette, corner of Boulevard Gabriele Peri, where I take a €2 coffee when all's said and done, watch the buses, and sit still for twenty minutes.

I start to think that if I did this trip again, the proper way to do it would be to suss out the towns like Persan-Beaumont, Rambouilett and so on, find the cheap hotels, and book three or four nights in a row, then check out, zoom into Paris in the morning, zoom right out again to the next town, spend three nights there, then in-and-out of Paris, rinse and repeat.

I jump aboard the proper bus, the 194 back to Fontenay aux Roses and as we climb the hill, slowly, it doesn't look at all as I remember it. A new LRT track is being prepared, so one-third the street on the eastern side is given over to parking and deliveries, one-third is the new track, but with no vehicles operational, and the remaining third, one lane each way, is for moving vehicles. This must make every day a snail's pace, but once the LRT is operational there'll be fewer buses in the roadway.

I walk around Fontenay, making my way down hill; I remember the uphill climb from the RER last week, so downhill should work! Once I'm in the station I open my money bag to extract a €20 which I know I'll need for dinner, and discover to my great surprise that I still haven't broken this morning's €20, so there's a good dinner tonight!

The RER takes me to Denfert-Rocherau, and I transfer to line 6 to Daumesnil and find a new place to eat. The sign includes the word restaurant, but here are two clues (1) a board outside advertises “Happy Hours” and (2) only one table is occupied. Still, how bad can it be, eh?

Answer: it was pretty good; prompt service by both waiters, and a lovely meal of veal and rice with vegetables (carrot and onion). Substitute chicken for veal and make the rice brown, and it is exactly what I would make for dinner at home. €15 was overpayment, but I felt good about it all. I walked home.

I'm not sure why I feel apprehensive about choosing a place to eat. In every place I go (and there are literally thousands in Paris alone), they want me to choose THEIR place, and I have no trouble understanding what's on the menu tonight, or ordering a la carte, or paying, or asking for water. Once I get inside everything is wonderful, but I can pass twenty places and not go in.

I'm drinking at least a 26-ounce bottle of water (“carafe d'eau”) at dinner each night, a result of spending the day racking up 15,000 steps in the open air, no doubt.

“Fair crack o'the whip” to add to my beggars chorus.

Christopher Greaves Paris_HPIM8530.JPG

Just another day in Paradise. Paris-dise?

Christopher Greaves Paris_HPIM8531.JPG

It really is hard to get lost in the Paris Metro; every sign conforms to the standard. If you have been looking for line 8 you'll find two signs, together (or at least, side-by-side). Each sign is titled with the terminus of the line. This sign is for line 8 if you are heading in the direction of the Balard terminus.

You are at Bastille. The next station will be Chemin Vert. And so on. If you are heading to Republique, it's only another four stops, so don't tunnel into the middle of the car, stay closer to the doorway and start moving after three stops, sort of thing.

And alongside the name “Republique” is a list of numbered and color-coded lines that intersect at Republique.

I love this!

Christopher Greaves Paris_SR098644.JPG

My early-morning (for me) panoramic shot of Gare de l'Est.

Christopher Greaves Paris_HPIM8532.JPG

Here I am on the platform at Gare de l'Est, a.k.a. Paris-Est. I've followed the overhead signs that tell me what Quai, and when I reach the train ON that quai, these newer carriages confirm that the terminus of this line is – Provins!

Christopher Greaves Paris_HPIM8533.JPG

Fold-out tables. Great!

Christopher Greaves Paris_HPIM8534.JPG

Lots of space.

Christopher Greaves Paris_HPIM8535.JPG

I'm going to love this particular trip!

Christopher Greaves Paris_HPIM8536.JPG

To the left of the no-smoking symbol is the “cell phone asleep, please” symbol. By the door (look immediately above the leftmost hand-rest) is the yellow “cell phone awake and active” symbol.

Christopher Greaves Paris_HPIM8537.JPG

Here's a better view of the yellow “cell phone awake and active” symbol.

Christopher Greaves Paris_HPIM8539.JPG

We swan across the Marne.

Christopher Greaves Paris_HPIM8540.JPG

Not a good shot. The SNCF has been through here like a tornado; all the scrub is down and cleared away, but the three-inch diameter trunks are shredded, not cut. They must have some giant weed-hog mounted on a rail-wagon.

Christopher Greaves Paris_HPIM8541.JPG

We flash past farmland.

Christopher Greaves Paris_HPIM8542.JPG

And into heavy fog. Only two pylons show in this photo; I could pick out a third with my eyes.

Christopher Greaves Paris_HPIM8543.JPG

The fog is lighter on the SW side of the track.

Christopher Greaves Paris_HPIM8544.JPG

The outskirts of the oil refinery.

Christopher Greaves Paris_HPIM8545.JPG

What is an oil refinery doing out here, miles from any sort of deepwater port?

Christopher Greaves Paris_HPIM8546.JPG

It really is a refinery.

Christopher Greaves Paris_HPIM8547.JPG

It is marked so on my 1Km map!

Christopher Greaves Paris_HPIM8548.JPG

Heavy trucks and vans barrel along the D619 road out of Nangis.

Christopher Greaves Paris_HPIM8549.JPG

And Nangis boasts a sugar-beet factory. This big brown heap is beets!

Christopher Greaves Paris_HPIM8550.JPG

In Nangis station, when you stand behind the yellow line to let the high-speed trains through, you don't have much space.

Christopher Greaves Paris_HPIM8551.JPG

On many trips out of town, in all directions, we passed fields of maize. I didn't realize it was such a popular crop.

Christopher Greaves Paris_HPIM8552.JPG

Acres of it. A-maize-ing!

Christopher Greaves Paris_HPIM8553.JPG

This ploughed field caught my eye. After the regular ploughing the farmer has made strips about 20 metres apart across the regular furrows. Why?

Christopher Greaves Paris_HPIM8554.JPG

I forget what town this is, but we were well elevated when we came to it.

Christopher Greaves Paris_HPIM8555.JPG

“... nestled against the side of a wooded hill ...”

Christopher Greaves Paris_HPIM8556.JPG

Our line is at the bottom; it doesn't show the reversal out of Longueville, but we can see that we don't pass through Tournan.

Christopher Greaves Paris_HPIM8557.JPG

A view of the toilet compartment.

Christopher Greaves Paris_HPIM8558.JPG

Ugh!

Christopher Greaves Paris_HPIM8559.JPG

We wait about ten minutes in Longueville.

Christopher Greaves Paris_HPIM8560.JPG

This is the door to what I thought was a first-class compartment. I'm still not sure why this end of the carriage has a glass door.

Christopher Greaves Paris_HPIM8561.JPG

I finally work out the coins. The €2 and €1 are brass with a silver centre. The brass-only coins are all fragments of a euro.

Christopher Greaves Paris_HPIM8562.JPG

The return train from Provins slides in and past us while we wait.

Christopher Greaves Paris_HPIM8563.JPG

Then we are off along a section of single track.

Christopher Greaves Paris_HPIM8564.JPG

A big church is always a good sign. If nothing else it makes a handy landmark for orientation.

Christopher Greaves Paris_HPIM8565.JPG

Off the train, back on firm ground. Now to start exploring.

Christopher Greaves Paris_HPIM8566.JPG

The train leaves every hour throughout the week. I like the regularity. I know that if it is, say 50 minutes past the hour as I walk back to the station, I have time for a coffee. No matter what hour of the day it is.

Christopher Greaves Paris_HPIM8567.JPG

Hooray! There is a tourist office.

Christopher Greaves Paris_HPIM8570.JPG

I follow the signs along the narrow streets, looking for the tourist office to claim a map for my navigation of the town.

Christopher Greaves Paris_HPIM8571.JPG

Passageways lead off to the left and right.

Christopher Greaves Paris_HPIM8572.JPG

This is a medieval town, and some of the buildings appears to have retained their medieval structure.

Christopher Greaves Paris_HPIM8573.JPG

Here's another one!

Christopher Greaves Paris_HPIM8578.JPG

Several creeks run through this part of town; I think this is the Voulzie.

Keep your eye on that wooden door off to the left, but enjoy the flowers.

Christopher Greaves Paris_HPIM8579.JPG

The other side of the bridge is just as lovely.

Christopher Greaves Paris_HPIM8580.JPG

Now! About that door. What a pleasant spot to sit at, at the start or end of the day.

1- The Voulzie at Provins

2- The Voulzie at Provins

3 -The Voulzie at Provins

Christopher Greaves Paris_HPIM8581.JPG

Up the hill I go, still looking for the tourist office.

Christopher Greaves Paris_HPIM8582.JPG

Over 800 years old.

Christopher Greaves Paris_HPIM8583.JPG

Looking back as I continue to climb.

The young lady chatting on the phone was hopelessly out of breath.

We can't talk and run or walk-uphill at the same time. Talking is interrupted breathing!

Christopher Greaves Paris_HPIM8584.JPG

Looking across the valley to the old abbey.

Christopher Greaves Paris_HPIM8585.JPG

A zoom shot of the abbey.

Christopher Greaves Paris_HPIM8586.JPG

And a bit of information about it.

Christopher Greaves Paris_HPIM8587.JPG

Another view across the valley; I took this photo as gag shot. Away in the distance is a tower. I was going to pretend it was dear old Eiffel again.

Christopher Greaves Paris_HPIM8587a.JPG

You do see what I mean?

Christopher Greaves Paris_HPIM8588.JPG

Keep on up the hill; the tourist office can't be far now.

Christopher Greaves Paris_HPIM8589.JPG

The couple passed me on the way down and have realized that they've left the car keys in the restaurant; now they have to climb the hill a second time.

People don't use the footpath unless a car is coming; the roadway is smoother and easier to walk.

Christopher Greaves Paris_HPIM8590.JPG

Think “Romeo and Juliet”!

Christopher Greaves Paris_HPIM8591.JPG

Keep on up the hill; the tourist office can't be far now.

Or did I say that a few hundred metres ago. Remember that landmark church we saw on our way into town? We are almost at it, that's how far we've come; and remember, we crossed streams, and they are always at the bottom of the hills, right?

Christopher Greaves Paris_HPIM8592.JPG

I think that this is Orphans Street.

Christopher Greaves Paris_HPIM8593.JPG

Some sort of bush, looking parasitic on the wall.

Christopher Greaves Paris_HPIM8594.JPG

I'm STILL not at the top of the hill; I STILL haven't found the tourist office.

Christopher Greaves Paris_HPIM8595.JPG

But I have found a map, so I'll take a photo for use as a reference.

Christopher Greaves Paris_HPIM8596.JPG

Now you know why I don't buy ice-cream. It's $3 a single scoop.

Christopher Greaves Paris_HPIM8597.JPG

Some more half-timbered structures.

Christopher Greaves Paris_HPIM8598.JPG

I walk around several squares, most of them are lined with high-priced bucolic cafes. I steer clear of them.

Christopher Greaves Paris_HPIM8599.JPG

I am heading back down hill. Have you noticed that I haven't reached the tourist office yet?

This grassy knoll struck me as a lovely place to eat a lunch of shrimps, cheese and grapes, if only I'd bought some as I walked through the lower town.

Christopher Greaves Paris_HL088611.JPG

As I stop to take a photo a fire-services van comes bleep-bleeping up the hill. I wonder if yet another old fart has had a heart attack after climbing the hill in search of the tourist office.

Christopher Greaves Paris_HL088612.JPG

A view off to the left-hand side. I think I walked up the hill past those houses some fifty feet below me now.

Christopher Greaves Paris_HPIM8600.JPG

This is just me trying to keep track of where I've walked around town.

Christopher Greaves Paris_HPIM8601.JPG

The west end of the “college”.

Christopher Greaves Paris_HPIM8602.JPG

Inside the college; this is the huge church we saw from the train.

Christopher Greaves Paris_HPIM8603.JPG

Clean lines, and quite an impressive structure for its age.

Christopher Greaves Paris_HPIM8605.JPG

The stained-glass windows were blown out by a fire.

Christopher Greaves Paris_HPIM8606.JPG

See it? “Joan of Arc was here”!

Christopher Greaves Paris_HPIM8607.JPG

One of the “newer” stained glass windows.

Christopher Greaves Paris_HPIM8610.JPG

The text describes each panel of this window. Now I know how to say “Kneeling, with a shovel in his hand”.

Christopher Greaves Paris_HPIM8615.JPG

I descend by a different route. Through the alley you can just spot a red bollard that I walked past on my way up the hill.

Christopher Greaves Paris_HPIM8616.JPG

Two more churches.

Christopher Greaves Paris_HPIM8617.JPG

My mistake! THREE more churches.

Christopher Greaves Paris_HPIM8618.JPG

Another shortcut down the hill.

Christopher Greaves Paris_HPIM8619.JPG

These towns are great towns for adventure when you don't know them; always another narrow lane leading to a local resident with either a dog, or a basket.

Christopher Greaves Paris_HPIM8620.JPG

So it's back to “low town” and part of the shopping arena.

Flower baskets line the sidewalk.

Christopher Greaves Paris_HPIM8621.JPG

The town hall, naturally.

Christopher Greaves Paris_HPIM8622.JPG

There you go: you get a fresher-than-fresh baguette for €0.80 - about a dollar - keep you going all day.

Christopher Greaves Paris_HPIM8623.JPG

More shops, and the valley wall as a lovely backdrop.

Christopher Greaves Paris_HPIM8624.JPG

Sure! I'm still keeping track of where I am, but look at those lovely beams.

Christopher Greaves Paris_HPIM8625.JPG

Another group of half-timbered houses.

Christopher Greaves Paris_HPIM8626.JPG

Or did I already photograph these? I've been led in circles in this town.

Christopher Greaves Paris_HPIM8627.JPG

At last – someone I'd not heard of before.

Christopher Greaves Paris_HPIM8628.JPG

Right after I asked the German guy for directions, I nearly walked into this signpost.

Christopher Greaves Paris_HPIM8629.JPG

Now a PINK half-timbered house is different, you must admit.

Christopher Greaves Paris_HPIM8630.JPG

Check the date-stamp on the photo and watch the train depart. I now have an hour to myself.

Christopher Greaves Paris_HPIM8631.JPG

Bye-bye train!

Christopher Greaves Paris_HPIM8632.JPG

Oh well, we can study the switching arrangements at the other end of the platform.

Christopher Greaves Paris_HPIM8633.JPG

My train awaits. No longer do we use hooks and chains and buffers. These devices are closely-coupled.

Christopher Greaves Paris_HPIM8634.JPG

Even though I didn't get as far as the tourist bureau on the outskirts of the far side of town, I found a map in the bloody station just as I was leaving. Aaaaargh!

Christopher Greaves Paris_HPIM8634a.JPG

Here's the station, my walk (approximate) and the tourist bureau, out of reach of every visitor!

Christopher Greaves Provins2.png

A more detailed view of my walk up, and down, the mountain.

(Movie) Trucks on the D619 while we speed back to Gare de l’Est

Christopher Greaves Paris_HPIM8636.JPG

Remember the challenge of standing behind the yellow line? Well here's a handicap.

Christopher Greaves Paris_HPIM8637.JPG

Many of the stations deserve prizes.

Look at this well-trimmed hedge at Verneuil-l'Etang.

Christopher Greaves Paris_HPIM8638.JPG

One of the advantages of carrying my net book with me is that I can check up on the 9MB Transilien map.

Another advantage is that since I have the carriage to myself, I can play classical music on the way home.

Christopher Greaves Paris_HPIM8641.JPG

Check out the conversational nooks on the newer trains.

Christopher Greaves Paris_0925141634-00.jpg

And here we are heading down Rue Beauborg.

Christopher Greaves Paris_0925141701-00.jpg

It's hard to see, but we have crawled up right behind another #38, the streets are so crowded. You can see his bus number just below and to the right of the red blob on the panel behind our driver. The first bus is essentially creating a path for the second bus.

The Parisian bus drivers cope with far worse conditions than Toronto drivers; it really is a bit of a free-for-all here at first sight, but after a little while you realize that the locals do follow rules, even when the rules are to break the rules that are legal. In the end, it works.

Christopher Greaves Paris_HPIM8646.JPG

We past Pompidou centre on the way home. The net is in place to catch pigeon poop.

Who would have thought that pigeons would find the Pompidou structure a great place for hanging out; and hanging out droppings?

I mean, that’s about as strange as the Scarborough LRT being caught in snow in wintertime, right?

Christopher Greaves Paris_HPIM8647.JPG

The suspended sheets are extensive and, no doubt, expensive.

Christopher Greaves Paris_HPIM8648.JPG

Of course, when it rains, everything gets wet, and poo liquor can fall on you if you walk under the nets.

Christopher Greaves Paris_HPIM8650.JPG

Back at Porte d'Orleans, I take another shot of where my office building used to was.

Christopher Greaves Paris_HPIM8651.JPG

Then it is a short stroll into and through Montrouge again.

Christopher Greaves Paris_HPIM8652.JPG

Almost all these bikes are out on loan. I have a vague idea that my Navigo card helps me to use a bike, but I'm not sure enough to try it.

Christopher Greaves Paris_HPIM8653.JPG

Over the peripherique; it's no different from walking over the DVP, really.

Christopher Greaves Paris_HPIM8654.JPG

But the sound barriers have much more class ...

Christopher Greaves Paris_HPIM8655.JPG

... and stretch away, golden, into the golden sunset.

Christopher Greaves Paris_HPIM8656.JPG

I recognize the three cranes from last week.

Christopher Greaves Paris_HPIM8657.JPG

The buildings are clean, looking healthy.

The sky remains blue right up until dusk.

Christopher Greaves Paris_HPIM8659.JPG

More beautiful buildings, more beautiful sky.

Christopher Greaves Paris_HPIM8660.JPG

And so to Avenue Pierre Brosolette and the new streetcar tracks running down the centre of the road.

Christopher Greaves Paris_HPIM8661.JPG

One last look at Chez Philips.

Christopher Greaves Paris_HPIM8662.JPG

Then it is down the hill into the Fontenay Aux Roses RER station.

(A year or so later ...) Note the mural painted on the northern end of the building that acts as a divider between the upper street to the left and the descending street to the right.

Note in the mural the dividing fence.

Now look at the dividing fence in my photo.

The building painted in the mural to the left of the solitary vehicle is the same building that is now adorned with the Green Cross!

Christopher Greaves Paris_HPIM8663.JPG

If this wasn't Trevor's building, it could have been.

Christopher Greaves Paris_HPIM8665.JPG

Thankfully, I'm going down these hills, not up them.

Christopher Greaves Paris_HPIM8666.JPG

I love the complimentary colours on this building.

Christopher Greaves Paris_HPIM8668.JPG

Here's the doorway in better detail.

Christopher Greaves Paris_HPIM8669.JPG

I'm getting close to the RER station and everyone is out getting healthy.

Christopher Greaves Paris_HPIM8670.JPG

And here we are at the RER.

Christopher Greaves Paris_HPIM8671.JPG

The station at Fontenay aux Roses really does have a fountain, sort-of, of roses.

Christopher Greaves Paris_HPIM8672.JPG

And after peak hour, trains run into town only every twelve minutes!