Paris calls forth the predictable comments from visitors: the city is beautiful but crowded. The art is fabulous but the lines are long. The food is great except when it's not. The waiters are rude to those who do not speak and act like real Parisians.
It's not hard for me to come up with examples affirming these stereotypes. But these are not my complaints. My experiences usually run in the opposite direction. Even though it does take some engineering to sidestep the unpleasant aspects of being in a city that draws upwards of 40 million visitors each year. Think of it! 40 million! (Others argue that the number is inflated since it counts the number of hotel and other accommodation arrivals. If you have repeat visitors like me, you're counted multiple times.)
Honestly, staying where I do, at my beloved little hotel le Baume, I feel I am in the heart of a quieter, gentler Paris. Indeed, Bee, like Ed, commented how utterly silent our street is during the day (and of course at night). With a park just up the block, I feel it's easy for me to exhale here. Cities don't excite me anymore, but Paris, in this gentle little corner, does play magically with my senses.
* * *
We meet up for breakfast downstairs.
And then we set out on our morning walk. This is our sunshine moment. And it shows!
To the Sorbonne, to the Pantheon, to the Luxembourg Gardens.
And all around the park, because after all, it's not that big and the weather is so perfect for it.
The sunshine, on our backs as we wipe down the dew soaked chairs and sit facing the flowers, is sublime.
From there, we walk (by chance) past Parisienne, the bakery that won (a couple of years ago) the prize for the best baguette in town. We buy just half of one, to try. Mmmm...
And now we're just a couple of steps from the big department store, where we go in just to smell the perfumes.
I tell Bee that Ed isn't smitten with perfumes and she asks -- what about you?
It's one of those frivolous things that I secretly love and that I have no room for in my farmette-kid centered life.
Or do I? I think about this for a good while longer.
We stop at another bakery-lunch place where the emphasis is on organic, fresh, honest. (As if other places don't push those three food values!) A salad, a croque monsieur (grilled ham and cheese) and we're done.
And now it's time to return to the hotel for a brief rest.
* * *
In the late afternoon, I pop out for a second to a pop-up store that popped onto the scene just recently (across from the Luxembourg Gardens). A half dozen artisans selling their stuff under one roof.
Once again I notice (and don't buy) the perfumes. I give my head firm shake and my hand a gentle slap and move over to the table where a woman sells printed sweatshirts. For the kids. Three. One with bees, one with bears, one with a whale. You're free to guess which kid gets which design!
* * *
And now comes the time for our grand museum experience: Bee and I are heading out to the Musee d'Orsay. We both love it, we both want to return to it.
Here's the thing: even though it's October, even though it's evening, even though we have easy access with advance purchase/annual pass, it's crowded. Not less, not more than it was when I brought the kids here in August and Sparrow rebelled, leading me to take him out of the stroller and put him on the floor where he raised hell for a good part of the Impressionists. Crowded. (At least I wasn't worrying that someone would inadvertently step on my grandson today.)
(View out a Museum window. Lovely, no?)
I become selective in what I choose to admire. (Every grandchild of mine has to admire or at least contemplate this incredible Monet. Snowdrop has seen it several times already. Sparrow -- just once, and only off the floor, looking up. Primrose? Soon, I hope!)
Some stuff is accessible. I love that! (Don't get me started on what's going on with the cats back home!)
Other paintings -- not so much.
And the special exhibit on Degas and his infatuation with theater and especially dancers? Uff! (We know this statue well down at the farmette: she stands proud and tall in a snow globe, only perhaps one hundredth the size of the real deal!)
(A girl and ballet: it's a fascinating love affair.)
(Randomly, a mirror.)
I didn't fight the tumult. Indeed, later, when I sat back and considered the whole experience, I have to say I was happy to have seen the crowds. Art still matters. People brave the craziness to inspect it. There's hope for this planet.
* * *
Out again, Bee and I walk the narrow streets of this artsy neighborhood. There is this store with tablecloths. On my small list of things to perhaps accomplish during this trip is the purchase of a table cloth for the now expanded table in the farmhouse kitchen. For the big meals, when we all come together. Should I take up Bee's time for this project? On an impulse, I open the door and we go inside.
And she helps me pick one out. And so now it's extra special because it comes with the approval of someone whose opinion matters to me.
Our dinner choice for today? I suggested Cucina Mutualite. It's a little funky, it's Ducasse (know your French chefs!), it's modern and sweet. A bit of Italy, a bit of France. Not too expensive.
We eat well. A risotto with spinach and girolle mushrooms -- how can you lose on that!
When evening becomes night, we walk home. The streets never grow quiet in Paris, but they grow quieter. No need to rush. No need to think about what's next. Save the planning, the high energy for tomorrow. Tonight, all we have to do is walk home.
