The guy noticed I was taking a picture right as I got the shot.
Fresh fruit!
The cheese guy remembered me from last week too!
Anyway, after buying but NOT eating my farmer's market spoils, I headed over to the tramway to go to Bibliothèque François Mittérand. When I got there, there was no assistant to help me check out my book. The security guard who sits at the bottom of the escalator for no reason at all (you need a library card to get into that area and a book/reserved spot to go any further) explained to me that no one was there, and that no one was coming. They were en grève—on strike. Who goes on strike at a library? How much work to the library workers actually do anyway? They just walk from one end to another getting books for the people who are doing work. Anyway, I went over to the do-it-yourself computers. The first two were out of order. The next two wouldn't read my card—errors. The fifth finally worked, and gave me an appointment for 17h (5:00pm) and reserved the book.
So, I headed over to the bookstore to meet Macs, on the bus 89, one which goes back and forth between my two favorite places in Paris—the Panthéon and the BnF. I got there early, read a bit of my Italian book until Macs arrived, and then we headed over to Berthillon. Macs just got to Paris a few days ago, and has been unlucky meeting up with people given his lack of a French cell phone and French rendez-vous habits (they often reschedule things at the last second, which doesn't work well if you don't have a cell phone or internet access at all times). But, we managed to find each other and Berthillon was only a short walk away. I got figue (fig) and sésame, the combination was a bit peculiar, but both were delicious! We ate our ice cream next to a building where there used to be a salon that Proust attended regularly. Macs studies Paris in French literature, so I figured I'd show him some sites that I found interesting (that, the rue de la femme sans teste [the street where there is a decapitated statue of a woman, which is why the old name was "street of the woman without a head"], and the Italian bookstore in the Marais!). Strangely enough, he didn't know any of them. Next, he'll have to give me a tour.
After that, I took the bus 89 back to the BnF for my appointment, only to learn that because of the grève, the order was never actually placed. There was no communication whatsoever between the computer and the people who fetch the books and the people who actually hand you the book. "Okay," I said, "Can I order the book now? I have time. I can wait." And they explained to me (because apparently I still didn't understand) that I wasn't going to be able to do any research today. Ridiculous. Do these strikes ever accomplish anything? When the métro is on strike, they just cancel one out of every four trains, as if a minor inconvenience to commuters will change their wages.
So, I went home, dropped off my research stuff, and went to meet Mélanie for crêpes at Montparnasse. We went to a cute little crêperie called Chez Jeanne, and I got one with smokes salmon, zucchini, and some kind of delicious soft cheese. Afterwards, since we weren't hungry enough for dessert crêpes, we went to Amorino (Mélanie's favorite ice cream place—an Italian gelateria) and I got a very small one with vanilla/fresh cherries, and amaretto. Not quite Berthillon, but still delicious!
I got home right as it started raining (actually, I was turning onto my street when the rain began), and now I'm actually happy the nice weather is on strike too—it'll give the apartment a chance to cool down. The French don't believe in air conditioning either...
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