Square du Temple

Now this garden has it going on, no doubt about it.  It gets to go in the book.  We walked up rue de Temple from the Marais, passing block after block of accessory shops; purses, luggage, beads, earrings, barrettes and hairbands; hairbands with rhinestones, hairbands with bows, hairbands with feathers, paisley hairbands, velvet hairbands; hairbands, nothing but hairbands and barrettes in every window – I love hairbands!

Then, abruptly there were no more hairbands, and the purses started, followed by a block of luggage, then jewelry . . . you get the picture.  And then it was suddenly all over and there, behind the trees, was a splendid park.  Who would have thought it?  Now this is what I’m talking about.  No more Parc des Buttes Chaumont for this girl, this is a pretty park.  We walked slowly through the green wonderland until Rob spotted the perfect little checkers table with two perched seats to sit and have our lunch and our creating time. 

I gasped with delight at our view of a charming little pond, surrounded by pink hollyhocks, (right up there with foxglove), red geraniums and white and yellow daisies.  Ducks glided languorously on the oh so still surface, circling around what appeared to be a lily pad, (or maybe just a tuft of leaves) in the middle.  Rob casually mentioned that he wouldn’t want to be a duck in Paris. 

This is what you would call a place of true gaiety; there were children everywhere, delightful children, much quieter than American children, and the Parisians were out in droves enjoying the lovely weather.  Parks, circuses and sporting events seem to draw in all of humanity; young, middle and old; black, brown, yellow and white; we’re all here soaking up the sun, (or shade), feeling lighthearted without a care on a summer day in Paris. 

It’s so important to play.  I’m definitely not one for spending my life working too much.  I like to think I’m a somewhat positive influence on Rob.  I just figure, I work enough.  How much is enough you ask?  Enough to earn enough money to come to Paris!

The Studio

We went to a very cool place for dinner that’s been on my list for two trips now.  The Studio is located in a courtyard, near the Pompidou, surrounded by tall buildings that house, I believe, every type of dance or human movement.  During our short time there, we heard the French equivalent of jazzercise type music, classical ballet music and the sound of castanets clicking from the west corner.  I stole upstairs to take a quick picture of the ballerinas . . .

The food though?  Not so good.  The new thing here seems to be a “club sandwich”, (perhaps originating at Breakfast in America?), so I thought I’d try one.  Can I just say that the French do not know how to do bacon?  Limp, greasy lardon on a club sandwich?  Non!  So I ate half of Rob’s chicken. (Generous man.)  He always gets the better thing; a true double Taurus.  But who gets a club sandwich for dinner in Paris?  I mean, really Karla!