Laissez Les Bons Temps Rouler

Ainsley arrived on Saturday morning and brought even more adventure to Cergy Le Haut. That morning, we explored the pâtisserie, Show Gourmand, which I think I shall adopt as my French Georgia's. Even though it's without Caesar and Danny, the ladies who work there are very nice and the coffee is fine. Don't get me wrong; nothing at Show Gourmand will compare to a Caesar cappuccino on a crisp Fall morning, but I think it'll do for now.

I took Ainsley on a tour of town and was disappointed to discover that what I thought was the Garage du Pain is actually La Grange à Pain. Wait, I just looked this up and it seems to translate as "Barn to Bread" or "Barn of Bread." Disappointment has vanished. I think we can all agree that Bread Barn is even better than Bread Garage.

After a quick nap, we decided to explore the outskirts of town. We opted for a faraway green space that, on the map, appeared to be a park in Cergy St. Christophe. We walked for about 30 minutes and came upon said "park." Now, perhaps this is what the architects envisioned this park to be:


But really, it's a horrible place that looks more like this in the harsh daylight:

Apparently, the park was built in 1975 and was supposed to channel the grandeur of Paris and serve as a replica of the historic axis of Paris, the Louvre and the Grande Arche. I had to translate that explanation so take it with a grain of salt.

The park, L'Axe Majeur, does overlook the Oise river and onto Paris, but yikes, what a vast space of grodiness! That's right, I'm using the word "grody" here. The area of town that surrounds the park is dirty and run down and the park itself is empty and has no green, except for some sort of communal farming project. Seriously, I felt like I was walking through the aftermath of some fallen communist regime. If we had stayed for 5 more minutes, we probably would have seen tanks rolling through with soldiers handing out stale bread and Hershey bars.

After vowing to never visit this place again, Ains and I decided to head back home using a different route because why ever would you want to actually know where you are going? An hour later and we're in a tiny village called Vauréal with no hope of ever getting out.

Of the transportation situation in Vauréal, Wikipedia writes, "Vauréal is served by no station of the Paris Métro, RER, or suburban rail network. The closest station to Vauréal is Cergy - Le Haut station on Paris RER line A and on the Transilien Paris - Saint-Lazare suburban rail line." A quick look at the bus schedule also told us that no busses would be serving Vauréal until September 9th. I guess the one bus driver was on holiday?

Luckily, Ainsley had the good sense to ask two different people for directions. Unfortunately, they both agreed that walking back to Cergy Le Haut was the only option. Directions went something like this:

La-bas, c'est un rond-point. Allez à gauche et montrez. Puis, y'a un autre rond-point et allez à droite.
Over there is a roundabout. Go left and climb. Then there is another roundabout and go right.

Each time the word "rond-point" was spoken it was accompanied by a swirling of the finger so that it seemed that Ainsley and I were going to have to enter some human pinball machine.

Just as we reached the first rond-point, which also happened to be the place at which we took our wrong turn and walked past the HUGE MAP, a taxi emerged from the hilltop. I was so tired. I thought it might be a mirage. It was all I could do to say feebly, "Ains, taxi." Fortunately, Ains spring into action and flagged him down. Saved by the taxi! It was still a 15-minute drive back home. Au revoir, Vauréal.

Quick showers and a sip of Coke Light Sango (yuck) and we were off to Paris's Butte aux Cailles quarter for dinner at Les Ouiseaux de Passage. Once in the city, we caught a taxi and I tried to give the address, "Rue Barrault et Passage Barrault" It was useless, however, because by this time I had completely lost my voice due to the cold.

Ainsley stepped in and said quite clearly, "Rue Barrault." Still, no look of recognition on the taxi driver's face. "Barrault!" I wrote it down and showed it to him. "Oh, Rue Barrault! It's Barrault, pas Barrault." Really, this is what I heard, and the dirver was adamant about the whole thing. I'm thinking to myself, "I'm just . . . not . . . getting it. How is what the driver said any different than what Ainsley said?"

Regardless, we got to 7 Rue Barrault to find Les Oiseaux de Passage closed. Oops. Oh well, so we wandered up the cobblestoned street and happened upon a fantastic Italian restaurant called Les Cailloux. There, Ainsley had the most brilliant idea. "Let's not catch the 12:00 train," she offered, "Let's just spend the night in Paris at that hotel we passed! What do you have in your bag?" Between the two of us, we had enough make-up and toiletries to make ourselves look halfway decent the next day.

So after a wonderful dinner, we booked a chambre at the 2-star TimHotel. I guess roof and walls gets you at least one star. Still, it was just magnifique for what we needed. We checked the room to make sure it was acceptable and headed back out for some cocktails at La Folie En Tête bar. Not five minutes later, we had made 3 new French friends and were having a grand time.

This morning, we awoke and went out to explore Paris for a bit. We had a long long breakfast and then walked around a few neighborhoods. After a visit to the Fragonard Perfume Museum, which appeared to be the only thing open on Sunday, we headed back to Cergy Le Haut for a rest.

Oh, I'm tired just reading this! Must get dinner and get to bed so I'll be rested for the first day of classes tomorrow. Bonne nuit!

Ainsley’s Visit