After a lovely stay in St. Jean-de-Losne (in spite of the diver not coming up with a quick-fix to our thruster problems), we had to return to Auxonne and winterize Aleau. Schengen rules were about to kick us out of Europe. Again!
This time, we left Auxonne early enough to allow us a few days in Paris. We got a VRBO apartment in the Marais – our favourite arrondissement.
In St. Jean-de-Losne, when we only had to walk 20-metres from Aleau to a restaurant, I imagined that would be the shortest distance possible. I was wrong.
In Paris, we were directly across the street from a charming restaurant called “Le Bouledogue.” When I first saw the name, I thought it was just an attempt at humour, putting a French accent on the English word – bulldog. Then, I took out my trusty French dictionary and found out, yup, that is the real French word for bulldog. I learn something new everyday.
I watched one morning as the owner placed his bulldog (Okay, it’s not real.) at the front door. Then, he got a leash, attached it to the dog, and then, to the door handle. Once he was sure his inanimate dog wouldn’t run away, he got a stainless-steel bowl and filled it to the brim with dry dog food. Very thoughtful, but actually unnecessary. (Once again, it isn’t a real dog.)
That was in the morning. In the evening, on our way into the restaurant for dinner, I decided to get a nice close-up shot of the dog. The joke was on me. The porcelain dog had eaten all the food. The bowl, as you can see, was empty. Bizarre.
Jeannie tells me it was not the pretend bulldog that ate all the dog food the owner of Bouledogue put in the bowl. She says the food was put there for the pleasure of real, living dogs that were passing by. And here I thought…
Paris is a beautiful city to walk in. We got caught in the rain while out for an afternoon stroll. We took shelter under the awning of the café on the right in the photo below. I ordered Tarte Tatin and a hot chocolate. Jeannie passed on the Tarte Tatin – until she had a taste of mine. No matter how good your intentions, once you’ve had a taste of a French pastry, you cannot say no.
For those wishing something a bit more exotic, I mean erotic, a nearby pâtisserie was selling penis-shaped bread and pastries.
