I had forgotten, when I rashly predicted fibre content in this post, that there was still considerable cycling to get out of the way. My window for sewing/knitting excursions whilst we were in Paris was very small.
First there was the 6 hour drive (the other half of the sock and the start of the next one). Next there was the very exciting finish of the tour on the Champs Elysee. I would like to say that this was really worth watching in person - the atmosphere was terrific, there were thousands of spectators, but you could only see the riders if you a) stood there from 6am in the mornning to get a barrier spot or b) had a step ladder. Our group had a step ladder,used in turns, but I did not use it. I felt that this would be unfair to the spectators whom were not mentally planning their trip to the fabric district in Montmarte instead of attending to the sprinter postitions in the last lap.
We had a terrific celebratory dinner at a nearby restaurant, all except my husband, who was charged 30 euros for his pre- ordered vegetarian dinner consisting of a plate of overcooked green beans and cabbage ( the entree was okay - fresh mozarella (it had a French name, but it was mozarella to me) and tomato salad). I saw my hopes of post tour nice dinners out rather than bread and cheese in the room go up in smoke whilst watching the poor guy eat his meal. I thoroughly enjoyed my pate fois gras followed by salmon and potatoes gratin - 25 euros. Trena is right, some of the French seem to hate vegetarians.
The next morning was the last gasp of cycling. First there was a track standing exercise - staying still on the bike and remaining upright. I was not skilled at this. Then there was a dawn ride around Paris.
This was nearly as terrifying for me as the pack riding - I am not used to cycling in city traffic, nor over cobblestones, but fortunately the French drivers seem very aware of cyclists, and certainly give them a lot more room than do the drivers in Australia.
No one seemed to pay much attention to red lights or traffic signs at this hour of the morning. I found this disturbing.
After seeing plenty of tourist hot spots,
I was tortured by a ride through Montmarte. We rode past lots of shops with signs saying tissue, all closed of course (that was the torture - and the hills and the cobblestones). Unfortunately for me the object of this excursion was not reconnaissance for fabric hunting, but the view from the Basilique du Sacre Cour.
I carefully noted the relative position of the train station and Tissue Riens for later use.
Self Stitched September
Vogue 2925 (oop) Wool Flannel jacket
Vogue 7903 blouse - cotton shirting
BWOF 4-2009 trousers - cotton gabardine.
Things I have learned already from Self Stitched September
1. I should wait until my daughter emerges from the shower rather than asking my husband to take photographs - that is, if I want a flattering photo. I do. I told you, I am vain.
2. Although leaving the house with wet hair works for me from a time management perspective, as it is dry by the time I get to work, it is not a good look for photographs.
3. These trousers are currently ill fitting. I am not really keen to make a lot of trousers at present, as the 6 hours per day average exercise during my trip is not sustainable in my real life, and my former proportions are likely to re-establish themselves with depressing speed.
4. I need some new work shoes.