A Drink at Au petit fer à cheval

On the first day of June the heat went up, the Parisians came out and flocks of tourists appeared carrying bags.

The heat took us to the Jewish Quarter and Au petit fer à cheval (The Little Horseshoe) our favourite bar.

Boubat cried out when he saw us, then shook our hands firmly and bade us sit.

We apologized for the take-out latkes clutched in our hands. He said, "Pas de problem," one of my favourite French phrases, and went to get our drinks.

We settled in to enjoy the sultry evening.

Boubat put a dish of complimentary tapeade on our table. Later he brought a small bowl of potato chips, hot out of the oil.

We fell to talking to a family from New Zealand who gave us advice about which parts of Greece to visit (Thessaloniki, if we like cities -- we do, Milos and the Halkidiki Peninsula). Greece was their final destination after Paris.

We were regaled from the other side by a boisterous party of Icelanders, celebrating a birthday.

They kept Boubat busy opening bottles of champagne and contributed to the noise of the street with extended speeches and noisy apologies for their noise, 

while the bar regulars looked on with amused indifference,

or wicked glee (note little horseshoe-shaped bar).

We were feeling gleeful ourselves by this time, having ordered a second round of drinks. 

We eventually strolled home with our blood filled with good French alcohol and our hearts in bloom..