Restaurant Petite Bois Vert (where’s Wally-ette?)
Well this sucks. Another 28 degree shorts and T-shirts day in France! You can feel the difference here, the closeness to the German border and not so far from the Swiss. There’s more sausage, raclette, beer houses and Swiss / German architecture; big wooden beams against white walls, wonky ready-to-fall over houses with timber or slate tiles rooves. But it’s not just that. In Paris you could eat or drink seemingly any where any time. Here there’s a German efficiency to it all. Lunch is between 12 and 2 and dinner is between 7 and 9. Miss that and too bad. We saw people walk into a restaurant, where we were happily engrossed in our salad nicoise and house wine, only to be turned away at 1 minute past two. “Sorry, finished”.
We climbed the cathedral today. A tight stone stair wound up inside the South East spire with views out over the town through stone slots – gargoyles ready to spew out rain water from the roof tops when the weather comes in. We reached the top between the two spires at midday – just in time to hear the bells chime. Not just this cathedral, Cathedrals Notre Dame, but all the churches in the village, taking turns to echo their hundred years old bell song through the streets and halls. At one moment a clear high tone in rapid sequence (like wedding bells) from the north was joined by a deep sonorous gong from the west that vibrated in our chests. People stood transfixed in the surround sound.
Last night, in the main square, under the careful watch of Notre Dame, a cellist played a beautiful classical piece in the glow of the twilight and around the corner, as we staggered back from peanut butter and Munster cheese, young couples had started to dance in the cobbled court; a kind of sassy salsa to a Latin number pumping out of a beat box. It was cool. They were dressed for it in dirty dancing, reveal all clothes and obviously knew what they were doing but it was playful and un-choreographed; you could see they were experimenting with different moves. Some of them probably needed to experiment in a room.
Today it was a sax player and a trombonist each doing their own heart felt rendition of the theme song from Titanic in different parts of town. The music (from the saxophonist) echoed up through the cathedral staircase as we spiralled down, and through a crack we saw a little girl in pink dancing to the tune way down in the square.
Now I sit in the court yard of hotel Swiss where we are staying. The bells have just chimed seven and Di has gone up stairs to ready for dinner. If I want to eat – I’d better haul arse…
…..Everywhere is full, in town, by the water, people out everywhere. Last night we booked and there was no need, tonight we didn’t book and there is no chance. We happen upon restaurant, “petite bois vert”, the little green forest, and are turned away but as we leave the maitre d’ calls us back. “Monsieur! My colleague tells me you were here yesterday and these people have just left – would this table suit monsieur?” “oui oui”, And so we sit beneath an ancient plain tree by the river and dine. Encoyable. (the maitre d’ used to work in Sydney)
Walking home through the park, men play boule, small groups sing and bash out tunes on guitars. The warm weather and holidays have brought all of Paris to Strasbourg. A quiet muscat outside Hotel Swiss in the cooling evening and we retire.