“Whoever does not visit Paris regularly will never be elegant” Balzac
OK, OK, I’m tryin’ here! It takes a lot of visits to infuse this California chica with some French sophistication.
Just to share…this was from my French keyboard. à ç ^ è é § ù µ ¤ Couldn’t resist. Neither can I resist Paris…such a cliché to love Paris, but voilà! C’est moi. Un grand cliché. I was a walking corn-ball, as first I went into a fromagerie and chatted in my guttural French with the cheese man (and bought deee-lish French cheeses), then chased down another walking cliché in the form of a lavender seller and followed him until his forward momentum ceased and I could buy, yes, you guessed it, French lavender! After which, embarrassingly enough to admit, I rang the bell at an artists’ studio, he came down, and voilà! I now have French cheese, lavender and mini paintings in my sac. Mon Dieu. Somebody stop me!
Thank goodness for good Parisian coffee because it is to this I owe my changed mood from the morning. I was in a bit of a funk, blaming Paris for not being Sevilla. I mean, when I got settled in my hotel at 2am, of COURSE I went out onto the streets to soak it in. But, alas, there are no siestas in Paris, and the sun is not so strong as to require the people of the city to stretch their legs when the sun is set… and the only other locos on the streets were derelicts and drunks. So, I went to sleep at 3:15 and got up at…6:30! To help my temporary roommate get her 6 months worth of suitcases to Gare du Nord on foot. It’s easier than lugging them up down and up the stairs of the metros, believe me. We had shared that experience the night before! So, this could also have contributed to my stupor. A perpetual sleep-deprived state.
Of course, once at the station, I couldn’t conceive of returning for sleep. I was in Paris! And for only one day. One glorious gawking day. She is so good to me…she even gave me the classic cloudy day, with sun patches breaking through the clouds over the Seine. I never tire of this. I made sure not to be ambitious, and NOT to visit what I call the Big 5 (Eiffel Tower, Notre Dame, Sacré Coeur, L’Arc de Triomph, Champs Elysee – ok ok maybe 6, with the Louvre!) and I was rewarded…
Sacre Coeur
I made my way to Montmartre and the Sacré Coeur. So pretty in early light. I hunted down one of the two still existing windmills (or, moulins) that at one time covered the knoll of this quarter. The Moulin Rouge is so named. Snapped obligatory pictures of that as well. And the sex museum…they’re trying to rival Amsterdam, I see, just from their window displays. I’m sorry to disappoint, but this is a family blog, and I shall be omitting the pictures of the, um, interesting chair on display here.
Around 2 in the afternoon, I made my way slowly back to my room, but not before buying the quintessential baguette and some fresh fruit from a street stand. All of these encounters in my new French, which is now laced with a Spanish accent. Actually, they loved it…it made me seem so dang “international”. After a picnic in my room I took a tiny little nap. Popped up out of bed, went to Trocadero to get “my” boat, a leisurely putter along the Seine, but of course first I had to gawk and take the inevitable photo in front of La Tour Eiffel…
Snapped some pictures from under her “skirts”, got on my boat…soaked it all in. Got off at Notre Dame, went in and was treated to organ music and singing, which was a first for me at Our Lady. Went around to see her beautiful flying buttresses at her rear… stunning. She’s all cleaned up and looks ready for company. So many times previously she has been smothered in scaffolding. This is why it’s nice to return to these places, and capture rare naked bits!
I wandered over to Rue St. Germain, called my honey, had a nice late dinner, strolled over to visit Les Trois Mallets and decided I needed a buddy to go down in to Le Cave where Ana and I had danced on tressel tables in our heyday. I walked around and enjoyed Paris at night. Plaza St. Michel, with my favorite fountain, Notre Dame lit up in all her glory, the Seine, the riverboats with laughter floating up, Hotel de Ville. Parfait. Until, those clouds I mentioned earlier? Well, they opened up, and everyone – yes EVERYONE – immediately caught all the cabs, and as it was past 11:30, there were no metros! I even stood out directly in the rain, away from the shelter of the awnings, to get the jump on the other Parisians vying for the taxis because I had to get up at 4am to catch my flight! I was thoroughly drenched. One such Parisian took pity on me, the drowned mouse – as he told me I was not going to be able to get a “libre” cab – and directed me to a bus which got me closer to my hotel. From there, I did flag down a taxi and successfully logged 1 hour and 45 minutes of sleep before my return trip.
Back home and sleeping just fine now. Not any closer to elegance, so I’ll just have to return to Paris. Those bags under my eyes? A permanent fixture, I think. But how much nicer to attribute them to adventuresome travel than to my milestone age, n’est ce pas?
(All photos by G. Stark)
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