Philippe, Ann, Didier, and a drummer

Philippe is a formerly homeless man from the neighborhood.  Last year, we noticed that he was looking better, dressing better, and was furnished with a wheelchair.  He was evidently no longer homeless; he seemed to have been given some kind of housing right in his usual corner of the neighborhood.

The Rue du Commerce at the Place Yvette Chauviré (Place du Commerce).

Usually we'll see him sitting near the entry to our favorite bakery, on the Rue Fondary near the Rue du Commerce.  He likes pizza, so on a few occasions, Tom has purchased a slice of pizza for Philippe along with the baguette for us.

We always say, "Bonjour, monsieur," to Philippe, and he pleasantly returns the greeting.  But we don't really know him; he's just a friendly acquaintance.

Fun fabric in a shop window on the rue de l'Abbé Groult,
featuring buildings in Nice, I think.

This year, I've seen him on our street on a couple of occasions, sitting in his wheelchair not far from the entrance to our building, facing in the direction of the Rue du Commerce.  The second time was yesterday, as I was returning from my walk.  I said bonjour as usual, and then he said something to me in a garbled French.  I told him I didn't understand. 

Then, using is hands, he mimicked the motion of pushing a wheelchair, and he asked me to push him to the corner of the Rue du Commerce.  And so I did.  He thanked me profusely.  On the busy Rue du Commerce, one of his longtime friends will see him and push him the rest of the way to the bakery.  He doesn't mind if it takes a while to get there; this is how he spends his day, and he enjoys it.  He clearly likes interacting with people.

A station for refilling water bottles at the top of the hill in the Passy neighborhood.

Now I know what to do when I see Philippe near our building's entry.  He's going to need an electric wheelchair.  He just doesn't have quite the strength needed to roll that chair very far.

Philippe is a name that was introduced to the Western European royal families by Ann of Kiev, one of my ancestors, who was summoned from the Ukraine to marry King Henry I of France after the pope rejected his other choices because they were too closely related.

Philip, or Philippe in French, is a name of Greek origin, meaning "loves horses."  I guess Ukrainians are into riding horses.  Ann chose this name for her first son, who later became king. 

Ann had a younger son whom she named Hugh, who became the count of Vermandois by marriage. He's my  25th great grandfather.

When Ann first moved to France (in the year 1051), she hated the food.  Fine French cuisine had not yet been invented.  The Ukrainians were way ahead on the food front back then.

Ann would have loved the dinner we had last night, I think.  We walked for a half hour in cooling evening air to dine at Le Tipaza on the Rue St. Charles, one of our favorite places.  It features North African cuisine.

Tom waits for his dinner at Le Tipaza.

Le Tipaza's decor is beautiful -- special tiles and plaster moldings, elegant stone and deep mahogany, mysterious paintings and white tablecloths, servers in black-and-white, real cloth napkins, elegant pressed glassware . . . I could go on and on. 

We were warmly greeted and shown to our regular table.  How do they remember this from year to year?  Tom ordered succulent grilled lamb chops, and I had a traditional tagine that was served flambée.  Exciting, and delicious.

Looking up at the ceiling at Le Tipaza

Today, Maria the Cleaner came to clean, and so we cleared out for a few hours.  We walked up to the 16th arrondissement to visit the only open air (and some indoor) market that is supposedly open on Mondays.   Several web sites indicated that this Marché St. Didier would be open today (although perhaps only the indoor part).  But when we arrived, only the flower shop and one fish monger were open.  The rest of the place was closed up and seems to be undergoing much needed renovation.

In fact, the Marché St. Didier looks decidedly dumpy compared to the shopping mall that has been constructed across the street from it.  The anchor store for that mall is an absolutely HUGE Casino grocery store -- like a Whole Foods on steroids.  I think it has done the little Marché St. Didier in.

Grotto with waterfall in the Trocadero.

Tom was very hungry, and once again we were struck by the relative dearth of restaurants in the 16th.  So I pulled out the smartphone and looked at The Fork app to find a decent place near us.  Aha.  A restaurant called La Place Longchamp was hiding around the block from where we exited Casino's mall.

It was only about 12:20, so we had no problem getting a table.  But the place filled up quickly, almost entirely with locals, except one other American couple that just wandered in.  They were clearly on vacation, and they spoke no French.  Our server, whose English was limited, nevertheless did a very fine job of making those two Americans feel welcome.  Bravo, young woman!

Tom's beef carpaccio and my salad were good, but the crême caramel that we shared for dessert was heavenly -- light, rich, creamy, and bright, all at the same time; it was the best crême caramel I've ever had.

We turned back toward home but aimed for the Trocadero instead of the Passy metro stop in the vicinity of the Wine Museum.  On the Trocadero we heard a fantastic young percussionist (probably a Hispanic American) who was sitting on the ground, playing pots, pans, and cymbals, at a pace that Tom couldn't imagine keeping.  That was fun!

As we crossed through the area at the base of the Eiffel Tower, I was really annoyed by the  scammers who kept interrupting my conversation with Tom by coming up to me, in my face, and asking me if I speak English.  One of them even tried the ring scam on me.  I am so insulted that these people think I am so stupid.  Finally, one came up to me and I said ''Go Away!" so loudly that I even scared Tom, who wasn't expecting it. I was in mid-sentence, after all, talking about something completely different and innocuous.  My outburst felt involuntary.  I surprised myself.  The scammer vanished.

I'm going to avoid that area at the base of the Eiffel Tower as much as I can.  It brings out the Constance D'Arles in me.  Look out!

The rest of the walk home was quiet and uneventful, as it should be.  I especially liked the pause we took in the Place Dupleix.  That is such a lovely neighborhood!