Visit to Gare de Lyon Train Station (June 11)

6/11/17

Visit to Gare de Lyon (Train Station) and 404 Moroccan Restaurant 

Reed has a talent for research and unearths interesting places, sight, apartments to stay (like this on at Marais Terrace), restaurant to dine at and the list goes on. He reserved our housing from VRBO and other computer resources, with Rick Steves as his guide in many instances.

Reed located “Marche Bastilee,” a Parisian marketplace in the 11^th Arrondissement, near the columnar Bastille monument, marking the place where the Bastille prison was stormed in the French Revolution. We used Google maps to find our way, slightly further north on our Right Banks dised of the river. I immediately purchased an XXXL vest with many pockets—a sort of hunter’s vest or fisherman style vest, similar to the one Reed received from his Uncle Jimmy. (I gave it away in Sada—with the zipper installed on “wrong” side for American men causing me to go through gender crisis every time I tried the thing.) Oh well, let’s cost it 10 euros wasted, or given to charity.) Reed got some veggies from one of the vendors. I found the marketplace to be a charming, bustling affair with attractive women, a feature you find almost anywhere you look in Paris.

Next we got on the #1 Yellow Line to go to Gare de Lyon train station, the place where we depart for Barcelona on Wed., June 14. The train station has impressive, cavernous size and serves many thousands dail—all pulling valises or carrying backpacks. Reed wondered if we could check our bags—but I doubt it. I get the feeling this place is a fast-paced, no frills travel environment.

I approached 2 rail employees. They didn’t speak English but one asked me, “Habla castellano?” Wow, that worked. Did he think I looked Spanish? Who knows? In any case he said that the AM train for Barcelona leaves from Hall 1, the very place where we were standing. (This proved incorrect as our train left from Hall 2.) I felt relieved—our research mission to Gare de Lyon was accomplished.

Reed and I entered the neighborhood adjoining the train station. Once beyond the immediate vicinity of the station I felt we had reached an actual Parisian neighborhood, not like the idealized postcard of a neighborhood you get with Marais—which, believe me, is a lot of fun, filled with people of style, stylish cafes streets lined with beige, stone-walled apartment buildings and grillwork balconies—not to mention the world class museums nearby and the fabulous Notre Dame cathedral a few steps away. But back to the Gare de Lyon neighborhood. We ate at a quirky Chinese restaurant that was probably not cool enough to survive in Marais. We sat by a window/door that opened to the street. The pace seemed a bit more relaxed just a few miles from the center of town. The change of pace was nice and we had a relaxed conversation—reassured that we had learned more about the train station (for our upcoming bullet train journey) and had used the Metro with a bit more confidence.

The evening rolled around and Molly announced we would go to “404”—a Moroccan place Reed unearthed in his Top 38 Parisian Restaurants. Luckily we were early enough—8:30 PM—to get in without a reservation. The cognoscenti eat there at 10:00 PM. We got a table in somewhat tight quarters in a corner of the dark, heavily North African ambienced restaurant. All we needed was Humphrey Bogart to show up and commence to insulting Peter Lorre. Our group of four (Reed, Molly, Dana, John) seemed content that we had achieved something special—the “we’re not in Kansas anymore” vibe, in any case. Actually in our case “we’re not in Sacramento anymore.. or we’re not in Austin, TX anymore…” 

Our waitress, a slender Moroccan girl, had wonderful bone structure, high cheekbones and delicate wrists. You almost had to be that size to get between the tables. I liked the Moroccan salad and eggplant (almost a puree) appetizer. Look at me, sounding like a foodie! I am predisposed to liking Middle Eastern fare. My DNA Ancestry says I’m 10% Middle Eastern. Turns out my lambe meatballs with couscous came with all these delicious vegetables cooked in a great sauce. Reed admitted my entrée would be his choice on a future visit. (Actually we returned 3 weeks later and I ordered it again. He did not.)

The walk to the “404” from Rue de Rivoli took us past the Pompidou Centre. The streets felt lively for a Sunday night but a bit more airy and spacious than some of the nearby twisting lanes you get through much of this part of the city. There is a Walker Evans exhibit at the Pompidou. Reed and I realized our Paris hotel reservation for the one night return to Paris—on July 4—is in this cool part of town.

Wrote these last two entries on June 12. Mona noticed I sounded congested on my phone call home—and she correctly anticipated me getting a cold. Too many nights of fitful sleep has probably worn me down. The rigors of travel have taken a toll, especially on digestion. I’m glad we tot this far and Reed has experienced Paris (as I have) and been introduced to a new world. I sense a feeling of accomplishment—probably for both of us.

Travel day—6/11/17