There are several cliches about visiting Paris that never get old for me. A Nutella crepe in the Jardin de Luxembourg. Reading a book on the stone steps circling the Roman arena. And taking a leisurely boat ride up and down the Seine, eyeballing all the monuments perched on the banks.

Despite the great fame of the Bateaux Mouches, they are a fairly recent phenomenon—post WWII—and, for the most part, run by a mere 4 companies.

A new outfit has emerged with a welcome addition to the flotilla. The Capitaine Fracasse was conceived to provide a better level of cuisine than you get on the usual rubber-meat cruises. (The name, which translates to “Captain Smash,” comes from a 1961 French comedy starring Jean Marais.) The ambiance is likewise more salubrious; fewer tourists and more French nationals on board. My recent trip on the Fracasse happened on a rainy night just before the presidential election. I figured the boat would be all but empty, but it was mobbed, with a line patiently waiting on the dock on the Ile de Cygne in the 15th arrondissement.

Once we boarded and took seats in the genteel dining room—wood paneling, maroon carpet, soft lighting from sconces—a hush filled the room. Even without opening your eyes, you knew this was a local crowd, because no one was squealing or yelling.

“What’s the hardest thing about taking people up and down the Seine on a boat?” I asked Olivier Jamey, the honcho of the operation. “Well,” he said politely, “taking people up and down the Seine on a boat.” He explained that the Seine, seemingly placed by God to delineate and accentuate Paris’s beauty, is in fact a rushing monster, perilously shallow here, narrow there. Low bridges are no easy task to clear at high tide.

The cruise guest isn’t aware of this. You simply glide at a pace ideal for gawking.

A 3-course meal on the Fracasse goes for 50 euros, about what you would pay in a decent restaurant. Just as my eyes feasted on a cafeteria of sights, my palate tasted 5 different mini-appetizers, including salmon, foie gras, and a terrine. The main course I chose (veal) was a typical meat-and-potatoes affair; nothing to write home about, but on the other hand, food that is edible at all on a Seine cruise is noteworthy. (The meals here are, exceptionally, all made the day of the cruise, ON the boat.) Dessert was a multi-faceted, cafe gourmand affair, with a basil-accented ice cream, some kind of square tart/cookie thing, and—right when the Eiffel Tower appeared, larger than life and bringing tears of joy to my eyes—a ganache of chocolate. Corny? Absolutement. But how sweet it is.

P.S. If you’re a real foodie, try the Paris en Scene cruise, with a meal on Sundays by Michelin-starred chef Tateru Yoshino (pictured at right).

Handbags and pendants made from vintage elements found in Paris flea markets. Price range: $29 – $55. Click here to see the collection and shop online.

Paris as you have never seen it before. Three minutes of drop-dead beauty.

Need to fall in love with Paris all over again? (After more than 2 weeks straight of rain, most Parisians do.) This video, made by teo couch-surfing American travelers, should do it. (Thanks to Land of Nod, the production company, for the tip.)

Globalization has made it harder and harder to bring unique gifts from France to friends and family. Laduree macarons? Available in the US now. Mariage Freres tea? High-end gourmet shops carry it. Diptyque candles? The company is now owned by Americans. So I was tickled to find something today at Franprix that you’d never find in the States: Montelimar Nougat ice cream! Now if I could just figure out how to transport it…

“Casse-toi, pauvre con”
(Throwing Nicolas Sarkozy’s famous expression—”Get lost, loser”— back at him.)

“Carla Bruni just changed her Facebook relationship status to ‘It’s complicated.’”

Here’s a sampling of online front pages from 8:30 the night of the election (Sunday May 6). Liberation has the best headline, riffing on a lyric from the French national anthem. Sarkozy’s unpopularity has led him to be one of the very few examples of an incumbent not being reelected. Even popping out a baby, which appeals to sentimental types, couldn’t help. His last-minute courting of the National Front backfired when the right-wing party’s leader, Marine Le Pen, declined to endorse him.

Though it is good news for the left, my far-left friends remind me that Hollande is so center-left as to have opinions not so indistinguishable from many of Sarkozy’s. “He won by not being Sarkozy,” an American journalist observed. Also, one Communist friend told me, many of the European countries in financial crisis are led by Socialists. So…not to rain on anyone’s parade… but plus ca change, plus ca might be the same merde.

On a morning last week, I dropped a receipt that had a package tracking number on it. This was inside the post office on rue des Boulets in the 11^th. Returning in the afternoon, I asked if anyone had found it. No one had, but an employee asked me to stop by the next morning so I could speak to the person who had shipped my package. “I don’t suppose you could look in your records and just give me the tracking number,” I said. She looked at me like I’d grown an artichoke on my face. Normal. I didn’t bother returning the next morning. But then I received a letter in my mailbox today. In it was the receipt. Not only had it been found, but someone at the post office took the time to track the paperwork (my address was not on the receipt) and mail me the receipt. Sometimes Paris can surprise you.

The small but powerful Helmut Newton exhibition at the Grand Palais is a eye-opener, and not just because of his favorite subject matter, bodacious naked ladies. The show includes portraits of the famous and infamous, groundbreaking fashion photography, and perhaps most surprisingly, some sentimental images.

Tidbits:
Born into a Jewish family in Germany in 1920, he fled encroaching Nazism at 18, landing in Australia, where he joined the army, gained citizenship, and eventually married an actress.

He said he was not an artist but rather a hired gun.

He kept handcuffs and chains in his car trunk for impromptu photo ops.

He didn’t manipulate his photos digitally.

His big nudes, made in the 1980s, are based on identity photos of German terrorists.

Newton died in 2004 after crashing a car into a wall at the Chateau Marmont hotel, his longtime temporary residence in L.A.

His ashes are buried next to those of Marlene Dietrich in Berlin.

Anyone else feeling it? With 2 weeks straight of rain, and no end in sight, this umbrella could be the next fashion trend in the French capital. [via Dangerous Minds]