moules et trains

by jemma margaret

After a leisurely, cloudy afternoon we returned to the inner walls to find what had been advertised as ti’punch–a drink that probably has origins in the triangular trade–rhum, sugar, and lime. After a substantial period of wandering, we ended up deciding to return to our prior lunch locale.

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This time we sat outside and played gin. Madeleine got to try a ti’punch and I had a kir breton (which I now know is apple cider with cassis).

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When I went in to pay the proprietress asked “qui a gagné?” and after a necessary repetition for understanding I explained that I had, but that it was my sister’s first time playing.

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We were glad to have made prior reservations at our moules frîtes destination, as tables were quickly filling up. We shared a half bottle of muscadet and each chose a set menu. I (not on purpose) had the gizzard salad, moules marinieres, and two scoops of ice cream for dessert. Madeleine had the boudin noir with apples and the moules crèmes. Both came with fries.

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Madeleine patiently opened all her mussels, and after devouring mine rapidly I was left watching her eat. We shared dessert, choosing a scoop of salted butter caramel and pistachio. Surprisingly, we appeared to be the only English speakers in the establishment. Overall, Madeleine and I were very impressed at how the Malouins continued speaking French with us, despite our quiet and muddled attempts and their very probable English fluency.

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That night we watched an episode of the Simpsons in which Homer raises a lobster.

This morning, which feels like a long long time ago, I failed at a morning run trying to get into town (the bridge was up) and then attempting a nearby park (opens at 8). At an earlier hour than usual we walked for the last time into town and had some pretty delicious coffee at an ice cream parlor (the outrageous sundaes were tempting, but a bit too enormous for after breakfast).  At the mini underground grocery store we bought some fruit and bottled water, and the cashier gave Madeleine a rose (for mother’s day?).

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Both our trains arrived on time, but our second train did not travel with très grande velocité, and consequently we were 90 minutes late. By a stroke of luck, there was some free internet before the train left the station, so we were able to notify our airbnb host of the delay. All worked out fine, and we are safely installed in apartment #3.

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Arriving in Paris on a Sunday is not a good idea. Especially after 1 pm, when many of the grocery stores closed. Fortunately, we aren’t too far from Chinatown, where we picked up a strange assortment of dumplings and vegetarian options. View to a Kill (dubbed into French) is on tv and we’re drinking rosé. Tomorrow, back to work!

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