From the Faroes to Paris

This morning we managed to squeeze in a couple of short walks around Sandavagur and made time for two sensational cinnamon rolls from Fiskastykkið. I mentioned we had lunch here the other day and the food was right up there with the best we have had in 4 weeks of travel. There's a couple of pics below that illustrate how the weather gods smiled for our last day in the Faroes. You can see from these pics that you don't have to go off the beaten track in the Faroes to encounter things of beauty

We then jumped on the Atlantic Airways flight to Paris, although not before my power pack was pulled over at security for extra inspection. Two hours and 30 minutes later we were touching down at Charles de Gaulle Airport. Paris was the first foreign city I visited, way back when, and I never tire of the city or its inhabitants; more on that last observation later.
Charles de Gaulle has always been a tired airport, but they've done plenty to get it ready for the upcoming Olympics. The signage to the RER into the city is still a little iffy and the 'helper' at the ticket machines was exquisitely dressed, like any good Parisian, but I'd give him about 4/10 in the service ratings. By chance we caught an express train into the city and it seemed remarkably uncrowded for peak hour in Paris on a Wednesday. Although we did have a pigeon for company in our carriage. See pic below for evidence. As it turned out the 1st May is Fête du Travail (Festival of Work) and given that the French love some good old fashioned labour activism, it's a public holiday, hence the empty carriages.

We found our way from the RER station to our hotel pretty quickly. I've stayed at the Hotel Marignan in the Latin Quarter for the best part of 30 years. It's a one star hotel in a quiet street and it's probably not to everyone's like, but in my opinion it is quintessentially Parisian and great value for your Euro! It's been owned by the one family since the 1950s and has great heritage as well as wonderful atmosphere.

After doing some urgent washing (if you go the Faroe Islands be aware that they have no laundromats on any island) we headed out to dinner to a great little Lebanese joint barely 10 minutes walk from the hotel. The Savannah Cafe has been in rue Descartes since the 1980s and much to my regret, tonight is the first time I have eaten there. The food is super fresh and Richard the owner is one cool dude. A charismatic Lebanese Frenchman with great taste in music, although we could have done without the Van Morrison.
We then eloped for a post dinner drink to an old favourite, Le Melocoton, which is just down the road from the Savannah Cafe. ON their Facebook page, Le Melocoton calls itself a 'cool, shabby-chic bar with low lighting & posters on the walls, serving classic cocktails & beer.' That description is pretty accurate. It's also very reasonably priced and if you haven't had too much to drink, walk down and enjoy your booze in the 'petit caveau'. It's an old cellar that wouldn't past muster if put under serious scrutiny by OH and S experts, but they only care about safety, rather than atmosphere and sometimes poor risk management and great atmosphere go hand in hand.

Parisians are a complex group of people; aren't we all. They have a reputation for being off handed and abrupt at times. My ticket assistant mate at Charles de Gaulle today was a case in point. He looked the goods but offered little in the way of help to someone dealing with a ticket machine that probably should have been decommissioned 20 years ago. When we alighted at St Michel RER station, much to my frustration, the ticket machine wouldn't let me through the gate. I might add the paper tickets they use here haven't changed in 30 years. Anyway, here I am stuck behind the barrier, separated from my better half, thinking I'm stuck in SNCF limbo land for the rest of my days. Just as I'm losing faith in humanity, a lovely Parisian commuter rescues me by tapping a very 21st century card on the gate and bingo I'm unleashed. When we went for our drink at Le Melocoton, the barman told me that they didn't accept cards for purchases under 10 Euros. We then handed him a 50 Euro note which he couldn't change. I was a bit embarrassed at this stage, but he politely pulls out the credit card machine and wouldn't accept a tip. Just when you think you have these guys worked out!