Paris Journal 2010 – Barbara Joy Cooley Home: barbarajoycooley.com

Photos and thoughts about Paris

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Tom realized he was in the same position as Sally Jane in regard to his prescriptions – a few pills short of what he needed to finish out our stay. So before dinner, we went to the closest pharmacy. Since it was a Sunday, the pharmacy was closed, as I expected it would be. But posted on the pharmacy’s windows is supposed to be a notice that shows the customer which neighborhood pharmacy IS open on that day. The chart was there, on the window. I had thought, pessimistically, that it probably wouldn’t be. But it was there, consisting of two whole pages in a grid form. Each box of the grid listed about four Sundays of the year, and beneath that list was a list of neighborhood pharmacies open on those particular Sundays. It looked like all the pharmacies in the upper part of the 6^th arrondissement were included in this matrix. Such organization and cooperation! I located the box that included September 26 and had to memorize the four or so locations listed that were supposed to be open. Neither one of us had a pen or pencil. The first choice was a pharmacy located farther up the same street, the rue de Seine. Sure enough, when I looked up the street, in the not-too-far distance I could see a flashing neon green cross – the standard sign symbol for pharmacies in France. We walked the three or four blocks to get there and sure enough, it was open, had no customers in it, and the lone pharmacist stood at the counter waiting to help Tom. All Tom had to say was “Bonjour, s’il vous plait” as he placed his empty, labeled pill bottle on the counter before the pharmacist, who looked at the label and said “Bonjour, oui.” He disappeared very briefly into the back room and emerged with a little box that held a bottle containing 28 of that particular kind of pill. Then Tom pulled out his second empty, labeled bottle, and said simply “aussi, s’il vous plait.” One again, the pharmacist said “oui.” I was amazed at the minimalist nature of the conversation thus far. Here it became only slightly more complicated. Tom said, “combien?” because he wanted to know the price. The pharmacist said “sept, quatorze, et vingt-huit,” meaning that these pills came in packages of 7, 14 or 28, and he was asking Tom how many he wanted. Tom didn’t understand because he was using “combien” to mean “how much,” and the pharmacist was using it to mean “how many.” So I answered for Tom, saying “sept” for seven. The pharmacist explained that the first kind of pill only came in bottles of 28, but the second kind came in these different-sized packets. Tom’s two prescriptions are common ones, and evidently the same name is used for them in France as in the U.S., which is often not the case. So there was no need to look up anything on the computer or in the PDR. This pharmacist did ask Tom for a photo ID, which is something the pharmacist in Lectoure said she would do, but never did with Sally Jane. But it may be that Sally Jane’s credit card is the kind with a photo on it. Once again, no prescription was required. It may be that the empty, labeled pill bottles are considered to be enough proof. Whatever the case, it is very easy, evidently, to deal with this kind of problem in France, and not so easy for European visitors in the U.S. The 28 pills of one kind and the 7 of the other only cost about 20 euros altogether. This is perhaps cheaper than these things are in the U.S. We’ll have to check on that after we return. We said our thank you’s and goodbye’s after we paid for the easily obtained prescriptions, and went in search of dinner. Life is good in France. Last night we were delighted to find, once again, that we like the Terrazza Saint Germain, an Italian restaurant on the north side (rue Clement) of the Marché Saint Germain. The Terrazza and the pub next to it were open on a Sunday night even though the entire Marché (both the food market and the shopping center) was otherwise closed. In my errands earlier in the day, as I walked through the drizzling rain and cold, dank air, I had noticed that the Terrazza was open and that the specials of the day at the Bistrot de la Grille Saint Germain also looked good: aile de raie, and souris d’agneau. But we opted for the Terrazza because we knew it would be easier to get a lighter, healthier meal there. Terrazza opens onto the street as well as into the shopping center (when the center is open). On the street side, it has a sizeable-enough terrace, part of which is under cover of the old stone arcade that makes up the outer edge of the Marché. But on this inclement evening on the rue Clement, nobody was out on the chilly terrace. Inside, the dining room was inviting, and very casual. The entire, sizeable kitchen is visible from the dining room. Even though the resto is not that big, there were seven or eight people working in it. I think that must be because of takeout/delivery orders, especially for pizza. I also wonder if this kitchen makes flatbread for other restaurants. Most of the kitchen staff were speaking Italian to each other. The Terrazza makes its own pizza dough and flatbread, the latter served in long thin slices instead of baguette slices with the dinners in the dining room. It is very good. We each opted for sautéed veal scaloppini, which is very lean, and vegetables (green beans and broccoli) instead of pasta or potatoes. Tom’s veal (escalope de veau cuite à la poêle avec vin blanc, crème et jus de citron frais) was cooked in white wine and came with lemon and capers, and mine was pizzaiola, which means roasted tomatoes and olives (no cheese or heavy sauce, thank heavens), herbs and finely chopped onions, all cooked together. So dinner was lean meat and a big pile of veggies – really good. And the service was friendly. Each year for the past few years we forget about the Terrazza until it is almost time to leave Paris. I don’t know why we do this, because the Terrazza is good, and it is a nice break from traditional French food. Sign my guestbook. View my guestbook. Note: For addresses & phone numbers of restaurants in this journal, click here. And here’s the 2009 Paris Journal.

Monday, September 27, 2010 Part of the ceiling of the Galerie Viviene. Postcards at a bookstore in the Galerie Vivienne. Tom said, “Look, there’s our ancestors!” I replied, “No, that’s just your side of the family.” The same bookstore. Charming, eh? ← Previous Next →