Z awoke at five to ask for water, and I never quite got back to sleep. I rose about seven, got dressed, did some preparation, and set out to see if I could find breakfast. It had rained overnight but had cleared up, and clouds alternated with clear sky. Though the clouds would threaten throughout the day, the rain would hold off until we were at dinner.
The croissanterie on Auguste-Blanqui had a sign "Ferme vacances", so I walked down to the boulangerie artisanale called Le Grenier a Pain on rue d'Italie that I had noticed on the walk back from the Thai restaurant. It didn't open until eight. I bought a copy of Liberation (odd, how in 92 I read Le Monde every day, in 96 I couldn't afford the time to read, and now I was reading Liberation!) and perused it until the shop opened.
I returned and made enough noise making coffee to get everyone else up. We had croissants, pains aux chocolat, a pain aux raisins, and an unusual brioche pistache, as well as the last of the breads from Poujauran. Down into the subway, where we purchased our Carte Orange weekly passes, it being Monday morning. 82F for unlimited travel within the city on subways and buses, one of the great bargains of our time.
After the wearying museum day, it was time to indulge the kids, and we went to the Jardin des Plantes. They skipped through the rose garden smelling the flowers, and then through parts of the main garden asking about plants. When they tired of this, we went into the Grande Galerie de l'Evolution, the former Zoological Museum.
This was essentially a stuffy (both literally and figuratively) traditional collection from a museum of natural history, but placed in an iron-and-glass halle with a four-story central atrium. The exhibits, instead of being in rows of cases, were grouped and artfully lit, and speakers piped "nature" noises and ambient sounds, rising to crescendi and falling again. Videos were playing everywhere, and touch screens led one through multimedia experiences. It didn't quite fool us, but it was an improvement over the way things used to be, and the kids were engaged by it at least for a while.
When they got hungry, though, we left, and walked up rue Linne to a boulangerie/patisserie called Gerard Beaufort, recommended by Patricia Wells (as were most of the patisseries and many of the restaurants we went to). We bought two baguettes, and a selection of pastries: a pomme normande for A, a tall chocolate religieuse for Z, a financier for N, K, and I to share. Returning to the Jardin des Plantes, we found a low wall overlooking the alpine garden, and had lunch. I had packed chunks of Salers and Ardigasna brebis (sheep) cheeses, which I put into slices of baguette. The kids loved it, and loved even more the pastries -- Z got totally messy, but continued to eat with as much dignity as she could muster.
We walked up rue Jussieu, past the 70's-fortress-like Universite de Paris, and onto the Boulevard Saint-Germain. Meandering through the east side of the Quartier Latin, we fetched up in Square Viviani, where I pointed out the oldest tree in Paris, and that reminded the kids that they should see the hotel where Linnea (a fictional character in a popular childrenŐs book) stayed when she came to visit Monet's garden. The Hotel Esmeralda was just opposite, and Shakespeare and Company just around the corner, which amused the kids but couldn't hold their interest for long (ours either, compared with Berkeley bookstores, and why would a visitor to France care for an English-language bookstore, anyway?).
We went into Gibert Jeune -- I wanted to buy an up to date Michelin plan, as mine, eight years old, had "secteur en travaux" marking several key spots. K perused travel books, and N looked for kid books -- in vain, as they seemed to have only bandes dessinees.
So we decided to take the disappointed tots to FNAC Junior, which was down near Montparnasse. It was one subway ride away from Saint Michel, a stop called Vavin. K recalled that he stayed near there with a youthful N in 1967, and in fact, FNAC Junior turned out to front on his favourite square. We bought a few books for the kids, and more importantly, they got a lot of time to leaf through books. Out again into the sunlight, and down to the Raspail stop, from which we could catch a subway straight home.
It was about five; though we had promised the kids a visit to the nearby Parc de Choisy, they forgot about it while playing at tour guides. "The next train stop is Censier-Daubenton," I heard A say, naming a stop on line 7.
At six-fifteen we went back into the subway to head for the Bastille stop, and killed time walking around Place des Vosges (less crowded, but still patronized, and pleasant) before our 7:00 reservation at Baracane. I had a great meal there in 96; this one was still good, though marred by the English being spoken all around us, including by our server. "What are confits?" I heard a feminine voice ask, and a confident male voice replied "Innards!" (incorrectly, needless to say).
Three of us took the 135F menu de marche, with a plat for the kids. Starters were a tarte of fresh sardines and tomato confit, and salade quercynoise with preserved duck hearts and gizzards (which the kids loved); main courses were cassoulet, confit de canard (both better than the Thoumieux versions) and cotes d'agneau for the kids, unfortunately not ordered "bien cuit", so they found it too chewy. But they persevered, and earned dessert. Z had a chocolate mousse with chocolate tuile mostly to herself, N and I had clafoutis aux abricots (uncommonly light), and A had pound cake served with fruit compote and whipped cream, quite a subtle dessert for a child, but one she enjoyed.
It was raining hard as we finished (the bathroom was outside, necessitating some exposure to the elements) but it slackened by the time we finished paying, and it was an easy walk to the Bastille metro stop and a quick ride home. I read the kids the next chapter from "A Children's Homer", amused by the references to the Paris who stole Helen, and they fell asleep quickly and without incident.
In the evening, K and N chatted while sitting on the sofa or at the dining table, while I unplugged the TV and plugged in the Newton adapter, attached the portable keyboard, propped the Newton up on the telephone, and typed travel notes. The TV was never turned on, though at one point the kids drew a picture on a piece of paper, propped it against the couch, and played at "watching TV". I would have liked to have had a radio, though, just to get a sense of what people were listening to (probably Ricky Martin).