Sunday Morning in the latin Quarter

Bells undoubtedly pealed in neighborhood churches on Sunday morning, but they were far enough away to be unnoticed in our depth of sleep.  Miles that had passed under our feet and considerable enjoyment of the previous evening's company, not to mention a late night at the computer chronicling the day's events led to this traveler enjoying a quiet morning of sleep until well past 9 am. And given the obvious enjoyment at the start of the preceding evening, as this photo by Dougie Souness documents, you can imagine how much fun we were having by the time our dinner ended!

But, with some coffee to clear the cobwebs and an hour or so to catch up on correspondence, we were ready to try out another of Catherine's suggested local cafés for le petit déjeuner.  The Delmas Café overlooks the Place de la Contrescarpe right on Rue Mouffetard, and having been through the area the previous day on our way to the Pantheon, we knew the way, and shortly were enjoying a café crème while watching the noticeably lighter foot traffic along the street.  I surmised that many residents and visitors start slowly on Sunday mornings.

Once again, Catherine's recommendation was an extra-base hit, and we shortly were enjoying the sight and imminent savory reward of this:

Not a bad way to start the day;  the orange juice is freshly squeezed, the garden greens are crisp and fresh, and the hollandaise prepared just as French cuisine requires.  You can't really discern through the water glasses, but the plate I was facing differed only by the substitution of smoked Norwegian salmon for the crisp bacon. 

As we enjoyed our breakfast, this was the view our table overlooked:

Hard to beat.  With fresh fruits and vegetables on our mind, we stopped for a moment in the adjacent épicerie, or grocery store, to see how the produce compared with that we encountered in the Friday market.  

As you can see, even here the produce was very appealing, but not needing yet to restock, we ventured further into the store just to see what was there.  Yes, Virginia, there are Coco Puffs and Sugar Pops in France!

Continuing down Rue Mouffetard, shops still slowly opening for business or perhaps staying shut for Sunday were far less thronged than on the previous day, and since by now it was close to noon, we wondered where everyone was.

As we walked down the street, faint strands of music from ahead started to reach our ears, and as the Rue opened into the Place St. Médard, we discovered where all the local Parisians had gathered.  There, much like we had seen in Place Monge the previous Friday, a marché had been set up, and enthusiastic shoppers busily filled string sacks and cloth bags with provisions for the coming week.  But the most enthusiastic crowds gathered around an open area to the side where a chanteuse was belting out a popular French song accompanied by two accordion players. It was a scene straight from  an archetypal French movie set.  Two couples danced a lively step in the open area, while smiling onlookers with photocopied lyric sheets sang along and generally cheered their encouragement.  

A small group of what appeared to be a formal audience sat on folding chairs in front of a colorful banner identifying the venue as "La Guinguette de le MOUFF'".  That being beyond my meager French vocabulary, I did a quick Google search and discovered that guinguettes were popular local watering holes in 18th century hamlets outside the city limits where, being removed from taxing authorities, alcohol was considerably cheaper than in the city. They were especially popular on Sundays, and Parisians would make excursions to tie on a cheap bender and have a good old time, dancing and singing.  No alcohol was visibly present here, but the spirit was infectious, and it was with some difficulty that I resisted Annie's urges to join the dancing.  Mostly, looking at the older of the two couples dancing, I knew instantly that my skill level was definitely not up to the local standards, and besides, watching was way more fun! Check it out:

 As the song ended, the sound of church bells filled the square, adding an echoing celebratory coda to the festivity of the early afternoon.  It was another truly unforgettable Paris moment.