The other Sunday after a delicious lunch of cauliflower dill soup that is always comforting and warms my tummy and a little siesta, I felt I wanted to get out and take a really long walk, hoping to hit the park and then the Fête du Pain at Notre Dame. We started walking towards 
Luxembourg garden, which always makes for a nice Sunday stroll through one of Paris’s prettiest parks.
Upon crossing Blvd Montparnasse, the Closerie de Lilas , Hemingway’s old haunt was lovingly adorned with magnificent pink hydrangea. Their large green shrubbed and flowered enclosed terrace remains popular to this day for drinks and dining.
Just beyond is the largest and most beautiful fountain of Luxembourg, Le Fountaine L’Observatoire tucked just inside the southern entrance of the gardens. Dedicated in 1874, green marine turtles were each gushing clear blush gray sprays of water toward horse figurines and small dolphins. The prettiest sculpture though is the four nudes supporting a canopy representing the four parts of earth, Europe, Asia, Africa and Americas.
Human bodies in various degrees of undress were laying out on the grass medium soaking up the sun as they always do, with lots of kids scurrying around.
Just wanting a quick rest before we continued our walk, we spotted a sturdy green wooden bench. I figured out pretty quick why that one was empty, because adjacent to us was a little boys soccer game, with hoots and yells, then one little fellow shouting and crying his lungs out.
Nothing like at little noise to get you up and going again in hope of finding a more peaceful spot around the main central pool surrounded by flowers. Approaching the gate of the central section, I noticed that there was not anyone in this part of the park!
The familiar blue uniformed gendarme at the padlocked door said that the central part of Luxembourg was closed for a commemoration. He didn’t elaborate which one, but I found out later it was to celebrate the abolition of slavery presided by the prime minister Valls, sitting in for President Hollande, who was in Guadeloupe. 
Walking towards blvd Saint Michel, the rows of chestnut trees in full bloom were gorgeous. We were tempted to pick the large multi tiered pink orange blossoms, except we were in full view of policemen guarding the whole area.
Due to the high terrorist alerts in place, the police were also blocking the entrance onto Blvd Saint Michel, redirecting pedestrian heading north up Rue Saint Jacques.
I did not mind , because I love walking up Rue Saint Jacques which is the oldest roman road of Paris, that for many years during the first few centuries, was the only way south towards Orleans and beyond. It is still narrow with a quaintness about it, lined with interesting old buildings and shops.
Before long, we had crossed over the Saint Michel bridge, landing directing onto the parvis of Notre Dame, where a vast white tent was holding the Fête du Pain, an annual event I like to go to. I never tire of seeing the bakers in their white pants and aprons, and floppy hats, forming the long baquettes by hand.
Some of the older ones had pink cheeks and plump bellies, but there were a quite a number of thinner young bakers strolling around, as the profession attracts many youth, and now women, who with a lot of talent and luck can rise to rock star like fame and fortune here.
Children had been invited to participate and the little cherubs all looked adorable each patting and rolling out their dough. One beautiful little girl in particular was so patient and intent with forming her dough just right.
The pervasive smell of buttery wheat breads baking in the ovens is something extremely comforting to me. Bakers wives dressed in blue aprons assisted in passing out samples and selling the various breads and pastries hot out of the oven.
Every year there is an award for the best baguette of Paris held separately, but during this festival, they were holding contests for the best bakers of the surrounding departments of Ile de France and for the best baguette and croissants of France!
Bread has always been sacred here in France and certainly the baguette is a veritable French symbol. Bread is such an ancestral and visceral part of French culture.
During the middle ages, bread was literally the staff of life and provided the majority of calories for subsistence. Therefore any deprivation of, or rising prices often precipitated uproars and bread wars. By 1900, each French person consumed almost a kilogram of bread daily, and although the consumption has steady gone down, the quality of bread has gone up.
A revival of old ways of making bread, circa 1784 has taken over the market, called baguettes de tradition, which have longer fermentation of dough and rising times and using naturally selected yeasts. The best bakers use ancient varieties of wheat usually specifically ground to their needs by special stone ground flour mills.
Le baguette tradition has a very crunchy golden brown crust that is supposed to crackle and sing! Inside, the crumb should be pale yellow cream colored, not white, with large holes dispersed throughout, called alveoli, and give off a complex smell of grilled wheat with buttery overtones.
That is why the baguettes to be judged, are sliced length wise as seen in the photos to verify the crumb.
Although by law, a baguette can only be made with flour, yeast water and salt, the baker must adapt the fermentation times and to some degree amount of water and baking each day depending on weather conditions.
Rising bread is a living mass of yeast cells and flour that an artisan baker has to manipulate with great care, skill and accumulated knowledge that can be gained only by much experience! Every batch of dough can be as different as the day it is baked.
Considering the sacramental aspect of bread used in religious ceremonies, it was more than appropriate to have the fête du pain located in front of Notre Dame rather than Hotel de ville as it has been in previous years.
While there, they announced that the bakers Mass would be held that evening starting promptly after vespers. This annual mass is a very old tradition throughout France.
There is always something special going to mass at Notre Dame, not only for the exquisite beauty, but I love the old stones and the sweet energy that I feel surrounding me. The dimly lit cathedral touches and inspires your soul with awe despite the ever presence hum from masses of tourists walking around.
Vespers always precedes the 6:30 pm mass on Sundays and it is a good time to hear the oral chants and prayers that begins with lighting the incensor, set before the altar. You have a better chance of getting in the front row pew and besides, I like to be up front, close to the billowing smoke of the incense that calms my mind and bring a touch of solemnity.
The grand organ suddenly starts with a magnificent lurch of sound that you can literally feel vibrating throughout the church. The soft angelic voices of the choir and soloist in their bright blue robes starts and leads us in prayerful verses of praise.
We had to give up our front seats and move back a few rows as the front ones were rightfully reserved for the bakers and wives. Leading the procession was white robed ladies with round white bakers hat, followed by their accompanying small band in green jackets and then the bakers.
Cardinal Andre Vingt Trois preceded and was the celebrant of this special Mass in honour of these wonderful bakers. The presentation of hosts and wine was carried in by the bakers and wives who brought several baquettes placed vertically against the altar and baskets of little breads were lined up in front to be blessed.
Exciting the church after the mass, took a while because of such a large crowd of people, which is fine for me, as I like to touch the cool stone pillars. The early evening sun was still high and bright against the blue sky, making my eyes squinch due to the glare after being in the candlelit cathedral.
I thought it was a very sweet gesture for the bakers wives to pass out those blessed pain au laits to those of us leaving. I ate mine slowly in much appreciation, as I walked to the metro Cité.
Parisians are very lucky to live in a city with so many extremely talented bakers who get up way before dawn to start their doughs each mornings, while most of us are still in deep REM sleep. I really admire their talent, dedication and knowledge.
I do not eat as much bread as the average person here, but when I do, I want the best. Fortunately my neighborhood has several winners of the best baguette of Paris, so I am never deprived of the finest.
Blessings to all the hard working bakers here, who by and large are humble about their achievements. They all deserve our acclamations for baking the most delicious baguettes and bread on earth!
For those who would like a glimpse of this special mass, here is an edited first part in a previous year by a courageous you tube filmer, who either had permission, or was just to0 discreet to have been noticed, because our attempts were met with verbal opposition.