New Year's Day is always quiet. Here in Paris is no exception. However, lots of tourists (like us!) were out and about doing nothing. We were out of the apartment by noon, took the Metro to Pigalle----looks less like "pig alley" than in the past---and rode the little Monmartrebus up to the top of the hill. The day was very sunny, but windy, and everyone wanted to see the view on a clear day.
We walked down the steps and around the neighborhoods. Our friend, Roth, recommended a restaurant, Le Sancerre, so we found it and stopped in for late lunch. It wasn't anything special, but, you know, every meal can't be wonderful. We walked all the way to Opéra, caught the 27 bus to St. Michel and walked home.
I spoke with Michael and Doug using the Quick Cam---what astounding technology---and then read for a while.
The New Year's Eve chicken was the best chicken I've eaten in a long, long time. Absolutely delicious. Normally, I only eat fish or beef here in France because the chicken I've eaten before was awful. As tasteless as the others were, this was superb. So we enjoyed leftover chicken on fresh French bread. Yes, the bakeries are open. (They were open on Christmas Day, too.) No respectable Frenchman can be expected to do without fresh bread. I believe this was a lesson learned by Marie Antoinette many years ago.
Jeff wanted to go to the movies tonight, but last time we looked out it was raining again. And colder. I lost my umbrella last night, and I'm a bit like a cat anyway: I don't like getting wet. So I think we are chez nous tonight. I finished Snow and I'm now reading Three Junes by Julia Glass: an OK book, but I wouldn't recommend it to anyone.
A slow, lazy day. Home beckons but not for another few days.