rain pleasures

People ask me all the time -- so what do you do when you're in Paris? I haven't an answer. "It depends" is most correct, but when someone is genuinely curious, you don't want to dismiss them with an "it depends." So I come up with an improvised summary of things I've done at one point or another, making it seem, I suppose, that I fill my days with exploration, engagement, art, and fabulous food. And of course, all this happens, though in a small way rather than with a thunderous bang. Walking is tantamount to exploring. (A couple of years ago, I walked all the way from Le Baume (my hotel of choice) to Versailles. I explored alright!) Engagement? If the opportunity presents itself -- sure, happy to speak French with anyone. No guarantee that I will fully understand their response, but I try. Art? Paris is synonymous with art. Museum, though helpful, not needed. Fabulous food? Hard to avoid.

But let's not glorify my travels here. I come mostly because being here always feels great to me. I love my hotel, my room in it, the staff that greets me. I look forward to waking up close to the window that looks out onto a quiet street. And I love to walk down the five flights to breakfast downstairs. And I love reviewing the choices before me as I think about my day. 

I am never, ever disappointed.

There was a time when shortfalls and snafus and calamities were part and parcel of travel for me. I coped and survived and felt grand afterwards. I was curious about new places. Waking up in a new city got me out of bed quickly, so that I could go out and get to see it all in person. Train trips were fun, even long ones. New hotels meant new possibilities of finding something intimate and special. New foods to try, new museums to visit. 

These days, I feel less drawn to all that. Travel is more of a bother, and it is expensive, so it better be worth it. I better feel good about the places I visit. 

More and more, I feel just okay. One walk through Bergan and I'd seen all I want to see there. It's not Bergen, it's me. And this is the way I approach almost any city now: a day and I'm done. I'm out. Or, at least I wish I were out, heading back to Paris and my corner of it on the Left Bank. 

Of course it's different if I'm traveling with family or friends. Then it becomes a trip about something else, other than just me visiting another city or country. But in traveling alone, I prefer now returning rather than exploring. Returning to places that I know I love.

*     *     * 

I wake up to rain. Not a downpour, but definitely a wet day. This kind of pitter patter in Paris is just fine with me. It means that I will choose some downtime and in this city, in my room, I love downtime! To read, to write. To grab a coffee (in the past, it would be a glass of wine) in some cozy space at a cafe-bar.

It never feels or looks drab to me. Beginning with my room, my flowers this time -- forsythias, roses, mimosa, because they know I was drawn to mimosas on this trip.

Downstairs, in the breakfast room, in my usual chair, I linger. No need for eggs today. I know I wont be climbing mountains or going on long hikes.

And I start out even later than yesterday. Out by noon. 

 

(if she can manage three, I can manage two!) 

 

 

Where to? Well, I have a strong tug to do a walk around the perimeter of the Jardin Luxembourg. It's only one and a half miles long, and at my more leisure pace, it takes me just 45 minutes. I'm not competing with the others who do this loop -- mostly joggers, dressed to run, oblivious to the rain, to the somewhat chilly weather (Paris has been stuck in the 40sF/around 7C this week). 

It is, for me, a glorious walk! The thing about winter in Paris is that the city stays green, even in January. Sure, the deciduous trees are bare, but there is so much else here! And of course, the grass stays green as well. 

I miss this in Wisconsin -- that color of peace and tranquility. A park walk here feels as happy and refreshing now as it does in other seasons. Indeed, I'd say that summer is when things can get rough in Paris. The recent heat waves here are not comfortable, especially in a country that refuses to give in to air conditioning. (I hate air conditioning too, but on a hot and humid day, it's a lifeline to sanity.) 

In the afternoon, I go out again -- briefly, for a coffee and a snack at Cafe d'Auteur. I love the place because the coffee is fabulous and their baked treats, though few in number, are also unusual and delicious.

It's also a good place to contemplate the life of others.

 

 

To feel grateful for every good piece of luck you've had, because, well, others may feel especially worried or sad.

And just as back home, one errand leads to another. I walk past a pastry shop and pause for a few minutes thinking -- I haven't photographed "cakes that I like" lately...

 

 

 

And I stop at a drugstore, because their face creams here are heavily regulated and many of the ingredients found in our creams are banned here. So, a nice basic face cream -- I go for one that has something to do with vineyards. If I can't drink it, I can at least slather it on my face. 

 

 

 

Next stop, this candy shop:

Why? Not for chocolate (though I'm offered a sample and I don't refuse it), but for a pack of hard candies. My cough, though better, is still with me and sucking a hard candy is often a nice balm. Yes, we have hard candies back home, but again, they have dyes and stuff that you wont find polluting their edibles here. So, a nice inexpensive sack of raspberry boiled sugar.

And finally -- home. 

Yes, were I in Paris for only two or three nights, this kind of approach to visiting the city would make little sense. But five night? It's perfect for me.

 

*     *     * 

In the evening  I head out to a restaurant again only a block from my hotel. I saw it on my walk down from the train station and it looked nice. A newly opened bistro. I booked a table.

The place has a very poetic name -- Bistro des Poemes -- and yes, I admit it, there's a certain charm to the name and that does appeal to me. Call it marketing, but at some point you do have to pick an eatery out of millions of acceptable ones. Might as well do it for its name. And really, this bistro does more than slap on a good name: it organizes poetry nights, where authors read their poems. Too, it invites guests to scribble a verse as they sit down for the evening. They select good ones to post on a blackboard. 

I am not a poet (though of course, everyone is a poet to a degree). But I love simple poetry of the type that Oliver or Szymborska wrote and there have been years when I found great comfort in reading such stuff. So here I am now, in a poets' bistro.

It's classic French fare. I order mushrooms with the usual spices, a bit of cheese and then for a main course -- sea bream, a Mediterranean fish. The portion is huge! This isn't the first time I've been given a big plate of fish on this trip. Are the French mimicking us in portion size? More likely a good preparation of this fish requires working with the entirety. 

 

 

It's tasty. Well prepared. They did not have a N/A beer or wine and I refuse to substitute that with a fruit juice, but it struck me that I could ask them to keep down the St Germain to just a drop in a Spritz. It worked! Almost no alcohol and an appropriate accompaniment to the dinner.

But would I return? Well, there seemed nothing "poetic" about the bistro, so I suppose there's a note of disappointment there. On the other hand, if I'm looking for simple good food and dont want to go far -- I'd come back. Maybe. 

And home once more. Two more nights in Paris, then home for real.

with so much love...

 

Monday walk

A break in the showers. Indeed, it's looking good out there in Paris land!

 

 

 

I go down to breakfast slowly and on the late side. Whereas at home, Henry and I are crunching away at 7:30, here in Paris, I'm oblivious to schedules, to routines, all of it. 

Big breakfast again. Even though I don't need it. 

Then in my room again. Definitely a slow start to the day. I don't leave the hotel until 11. 

But where to? Aren't I going to stop by any museum, in this city of great art?

I am not. There is no special exhibition that draws me. I considered going to one anyway, but felt some relief when I saw it was closed today. So, no museums this time. Think of it this way: how often do you go to museums in your home town? Maybe several times a year. Surely not every day! That's the way I feel about Paris. Sometimes I have an urge to revisit one, or I take in a special exhibition, but on most days, I treat Paris as if it were my home. I take care of Paris stuff. I visit parks, shops, bakeries sometimes (again, not every day). I'll pause to watch and listen. Maybe at a cafe, maybe for lunch. I take it in. 

So what direction for today? Well, I do want to check out Smith & Sons book shop, in part because Snowdrop wants a book from here, and she's not good enough in French for it to be French, and in part because I like the store and I like the route to get to it.

 

(friends cross paths, pause, kiss, dogs bark greetings) 

It's about a 40 minute walk. Smith's is at the far corner of the Jardin Tuileries, so yes, I have to cross the river to the Right Bank.

(On the Left: Musee d'Orsay, Eiffel Tower...)

(in the park: man pauses, sits down and studies a music score...)

 

 

Outside the park, I enter a rather touristy area. I come across a souvenir shop. With Eiffel Towers!  There you have it, Sparrow. I bought you one with sparkly stones. 6 Euro for a piece of junk, but hey, you are so worth it, my boy!

 

And now for the book shop. What? It's closed? Oh for Pete's sake! I was sure it would be open on a Monday. I look closely at the hours. Ah. It will open at 12:30. So in 45 minutes. I may as well hang out on the Right Bank until then. I don't want to repeat this particular hike at another time.

Oh, the Right Bank! I'm not completely opposed to walks there, but it is a different Paris for me. And this particular area -- between the gardens and the Opera -- has all the highest end designer shops.

Here's how bad it is -- in my entire one hour walk through it, I came across not a single small cafe to pause for a cup of tea. It's all high end stuff.

We all have items that we covet (except for Ed who covets nothing) and admire, stuff we can't afford, but it's usually stuff that's just a little out of reach. Not completely from a different planet. And I'm not one to put down other people's luxuries, but still, I have to wonder, who buys this stuff, and why?

Designers have to design. Yes, I understand. But with the expectation of a sale? In a shop? Along the Rue Saint-Honore? Well, who am I to judge. I just spent a lot of money on the adoption fees for another stray dog.

With my hour on the Right Bank, I decide to do a stroll by what are in fact incredibly beautiful places. Like the Place Vendome. And the Opera.

The first is lovely, but marred, I think, by all the black limos and the Ritz Hotel presence. Though I suppose Napoleon wouldn't have minded either one. There he stands, proudly looking on.

The old Opera is under renovation and it just adds to my grumblings about this side of the river. (In fairness, I like the eastern and northeastern arrondissements of Paris, also on the Right Bank, just fine. These central ones are just too commercial. Overwhelmingly so.

Back at Smith's I pick out a couple of books, enjoying the serenity of the store and its book loving customers.

And now I'm in a hurry to cross the Gardens again and head back to the Left Bank.

The thing is, if you cross the river right from the Gardens, you're going to wind up awfully close to Rue du Bac. This is the street where you'll find Cafe Varenne. I have been going to it for lunch (or dinner occasionally) on every visit to Paris for literally a quarter of a century. I am that bound to it. Yet this time, I waffled. I dont like doing things just because I have always done it that way. If Varenne wasn't going to be on my path, then I was actually prepared to (gulp!) skip it on this trip. And now here I am, on Rue du Bac, toward the tail end of the lunch hour. As if someone was shaking a finger at me, saying "Oh no you don't! Varenne is your sacred stone! I am going to place you there so that you wont be able to resist it!"

I eat lunch at Cafe Varenne.

(the tail end of the sacred lunch window at a very popular restaurant...)

And I am shocked, shocked to see for the first time a female waitress! How times have changed...

I order the fish soup and it is amazingly good. And yes, there stands a glass of wine, which I'd ordered, and then proceeded not to drink.

From there, it's just a hop skip to the department store again. Why go there? Well, much as I do not buy things for myself and especially for the house anymore, I am getting an IKEA loveseat that desperately needs  some color. It was on sale and came only in the color I would call "bland." Wouldn't it be nice to get a colorful pillow cover from France for a throw pillow? That would count as a very useful souvenir. And I find one I like. You don't have to say it -- I do know that the dogs will chew off those dandly things at the corners!

Here's the problem: it's an unconventional pillow size. Why buy a pillow cover that then wont fit any of my pillows? Madame asks me -- do you want the pillow with it? 

A pillow? In my one medium suitcase that already was pretty full and now has to have added books, clothes for kids, an Eiffel Tower, and lots of chocolate? Oh, but look madame, it is quite compressed out of the box! Well why not! 

I also purchase at this beautiful store a comb made of gold. 

Or it might as well be made of gold for the price they set on it. It's tiny and plastic and I need one just that size. So, a pillow and a tiny comb for me. I'm feeling very splurgy. Good thing I cut my trip short by two days.

I walk home the usual way, past my favorite shop where she makes lovely pieces of jewelry. Here's a pair of earings that tempted me! 

Would you say I have dogs on my mind? So long as you're asking (!) -- I'm getting good reports on Henry now, especially from his time with other dogs. Here's a photo they sent me today:

 

 

 

Finally, at 5, I open the door to my sweet room at the Baume. And on my computer, I find a message from Three Little Pitties Rescue -- the organization that finds homes for some of Houston's homeless dogs. They checked my references, they checked my standing in the community (!) and they approved me! No small thing -- they had rejected two applicants for her already, based on the FaceTime meeting alone! I don't know why I'm good in their eyes. Maybe the pooch said to them after the FaceTime -- this one. I want this one! She spoils her dogs! 

I go to dinner just around the corner from the hotel. The restaurant is called Setopa and it serves modern Korean food. This is a cuisine that is an almost complete blank for me. 

(2 grilled shrimp with a delicious sauce, a bowlful of vegetables that are just out of this world, rice with a crunchy topping and kimchi)

And yes, it is quite excellent. I'll go so far as to say it was the best Korean food I ever had, but of course, I've had very little Korean food in my life so don't go by that alone. Trust me though: if you're in Paris, you'd do well to consider eating here, even if you think that when in France, you should eat French foods. This place is memorable! [Make a reservation. Setopa is very popular with a younger crowd, looking very much like they're from the universities around here. I am sure I was the oldest in the room. The smiling dotty grandma, out partying for the night!]

with so much love...

living with change

If you have read the last handful of posts, you'll know that once I return home from France, I plan on making some adjustments to the way I do things. For one thing, I'm about to move again. From your perspective, this may appear huge. From mine? Well, I've lived with changing my home address all my life. Usually there was a potential benefit and not a small risk to a move (when I insisted I wanted to live in the city of Warsaw as a 3 year old rather than remaining in the countryside, when I moved to the US, temporarily, at age 7, when I moved back to Warsaw at age 13, when I impulsively accepted an au pair job in New York at 19, when I moved to Chicago for grad school at 21, when I moved in with my soon to be husband after just three dates, when he and I moved to Madison two years later, when we moved to Milwaukee as I chased a higher paying job, when we moved back to Madison when I realized that it was cutting too much into my time with the kids, when I moved out of our suburban home to live on my own in a smaller space after nearly 30 years of marriage, when I moved in with Ed, when I moved out of the farmhouse). Ed, on the other hand, sits on major decisions for a long time and sometimes he just can't move ahead with them at all. Talk about consequences! I've been warned all my life against making major changes quickly, because of possible negative unanticipated consequences, and here I am, watching Ed so often remain immobilized, refusing to acknowledge that there may be negative consequences if he doesn't in the end make a decision. 

In other words, life is full of unanticipated consequences. Most people fear the ones that come from acting quickly. I am much more afraid of the ones that come when you do not act fast enough. (That's true in terms of moving, but also with respect to health issues, kid care, you name it. "Wait and see" doesn't hold much water for me.)

I hadn't discussed my February plans with anyone really. I told my daughters and Ed about them and gave them a chance to react, but that was it. Why not toss these ideas around with my friends? Because I know what it looks like, and I know what they'll say. Protecting me from my own blunders. It's what friends do of course. And yet, no one knows my everyday as well as I do. My emotions, my movements, my reactions -- they're in my head. When I finally posted my impending move and dog plans, I got quite the feedback from some of my friends. Alarms sounded. And I listened to their concerns and I thanked them for thinking of me and I went ahead with my plans anyway.

I'm not a person who only wants affirmation. That one is sitting in the White House right now. He does things based on his gut feeling, with consequences to everyone on this planet. Big gut, little feeling. My world, by comparison, is a grain of sand lying at the bottom of a vast ocean. Whether I move and/or get another dog will impact me and the dog. That's it. Possibly also Ed who would have to listen to me sort out the issues that may arise. Maybe a few others who'll want to know. And if I ask for help, Ed'll be the one I'll turn to, only because he is less busy with daily life. My daughters and friends are all on a treadmill. I live in a small world these days.

I also know Henry with far greater detail than what I would include on Ocean. I have studied and watched this dog obsessively for the past three months. I know his every reaction, the drift of his eyes. I am not distracted by anything or anyone. When he is with me, my eyes are on him. And when he is not, my eyes are still on him: for instance, I see on the webcam that he really wants to go outside. He can't because of the weather right now. He's moping. At night, he'd rather be with me. I'm told he took apart his bed out of frustration. They moved him to a smaller room, which, I think will be better. He wont be isolated. He'll be near other dogs.

Nothing is predictable, but you really should act with the best information available to you at the moment that a decision must be made. I've done that. I'm ready to roll with it. I have the stamina, and the optimism this kind of step requires. And yes, I am perfectly comfortable with living with change. All my life I've accepted it as a very workable alternative to living with a fraught and tense status quo.

 

Good morning Paris! I am ready for a stay here that feels good and requires not much of me. First thing this morning? Well, I accomplish the change in my return that eluded me last night. I'm skipping a trip to the Champagne countryside and am returning a couple of days earlier than originally planned. I could have gone to Champagne just for an overnight, but right now,  I like the idea of just staying in Paris. For five nights instead of four. My room at the hotel is perfect for this period of transition. Paris, le Baume, they're all great for upping my levels of dopamine, serotonin and endorphins -- aka the happy hormones.

I go down to breakfast. At my favorite table. Yes, I consider this breakfast the bees knees. I added eggs again in case lunch proves to be of the light and unhealthy kind again.

Going up in the elevator, I notice that my face scar may be mistaken for a laugh line! Clever surgeon!

Confirmed in the bathroom mirror.

 

 

 

And then I sit back and make a list of all that I must consider. For Paris, for the days after my return, for Henry, for the move, for the new dog, for the grandkids. That last one is a tiny bit funny. I had asked the big two what they would like from Paris. (I dont need to ask the Chicago girls nor the youngest lad in Madison because the Chicago girls will like most anything (for a while anyway) and the youngest lad will likely ignore everything, so I'll take my chances with those three. But Snowdrop and Sparrow definitely had ideas. Sparrow tells me he really would like a small Eiffel Tower. For your room or for the Edge? -- I ask. For the Edge. But Sparrow, we have two there already. I know. It's the only toy I want. In addition, I would like some clothes and maybe something sweet. This is 100% Sparrow talking. And Snowdrop? Caramels. She wants their salted caramels. Skip the clothes, she likes her American oversized sweatshirts. And toys! -- she says. I explain the futility of that idea, given that she rarely plays with any of them, with the exception of the Danish mice and the American Girls dolls. Okay, then books! I'd gotten her some previously unknown to me British graphic novels from the big Parisian bookshop Smith's.. Maybe I'll go back there and hunt around some more.

And the list for things to do once I get home? Oh so long! Here's an important item: I want to get rid of more stuff from the Edge apartment. Each move should make me smaller, don't you think? If I haven't used an item at the Edge, shouldn't I toss it? I'll look through everything once again when I get back. 

 

I go out for a walk. 

Where to? Well, it's about to rain, so nothing too ambitious. I do the loop that I so often walk when here. To the Bon Marche department store and food halls, then back to the hotel via the Jardin Luxembourg.

I know by now every shop along the way. Every possible display that I may want to admire. Not to purchase anything, but to take in what's happening in Paris right now. 

I do have my camera and occasionally I do use it, but it's very haphazard. In iffy weather, picture taking takes the back seat. Though I have noticed that with this trip, I am paying attention to people with dogs and to older people (who at this time of the day are, in fact, the ones with dogs). Older people in France and in Italy have fascinated me for a while, but these days of course, I do it because they are me, or I am them, except dressed with much less flair and panache.

Eventually I pick up s few items of clothing for four kids. The fifth one gets a toy because thus far, I found nothing special for him. The winter sales are on, but as in the US, stores are pretty low on stock right now. And toys are on my list in any case.Three birthdays coming up in Spring. I address most of them.

I switch my attention to the Food Halls. This is where I pick up foods for me (chocolate and raspberries from Portugal because I am craving more fruit and I was curious if there is a taste difference) and for people who I think deserve a little reward back home -- Calissons, because they are the sweet from Provence and I was in Provence and I didn't buy them there thinking -- I can always get them in Paris (they're dainty little cakes made with melon, orange peel and crushed almonds). Other chocolate. Other sweets. Grownups get edibles. It's a safe bet and it doesn't contribute to the planet's trash buildup.

 

 

 

I spent enough on the kids that I find it to be worth my time to do the "tax free" forms (food doesn't count for this). While up there in the administrative heart of the department store, I pop into an office that deals with customer issues.  I have a shopping points card for the store (you get discounts) but the clerks can never find it in the system when I forget to bring the physical card with me (as I did today). I want to know if we can fix this. The absolutely lovely woman locates the mistake, with persistence of course -- it took a while -- and she issues me a new card and explaines that I alternate too much between French and English. Stick with one! (I must have once said that you spell my name C - A -M - I - C, using the French pronunciation of the letters, leading them to write it down as C -- A -- M -- E -- C.) While all this was taking place, we chat. Somehow, I managed to bring Henry into the conversation. She'd asked if I live in France and I said no, indeed, I'm returning home on Thursday in part because of my dog, because you see.... and I gave some details of his special needs. She is blunt - so why don't you bring him with you next time?

I'll just leave you with that sincere query! Can you imagine Henry in Paris? In a hotel? A restaurant? Doesn't it just make you chuckle?

I go down the escalator, again, noting the dogs, small ones, calm ones. It seems to me that they all tune out Paris to survive Paris.

 

 

 

(A pause to pick up lunch: I want to try a slice of this apple rhubarb cake at a local bakery...)

(I also see a bread stick labeled "sportif." I buy that as well. Let it not be said that I eat only rich and sweet foods in this country!)

A walk back through the wet Jardin Luxembourg. Beautiful as always.

 

 

 

 

 

I come back to a room full of flowers! Oh the staff at the Baume! They treat me as if truly I were in their circle of good friends.

 

Toward evening, I get a message from the Camp telling me that Henry is adjusting very well now. What a relief! And I also get a (planned) call from Sarah.

Sarah is the coordinator for pet adoptions from Houston Texas. She and I corresponded about a certain dog that caught my eye. (Barrelled me over is more accurate.) We talk about her. For a long while. She's interviewing me, I'm getting more info. This is followed by a FaceTime with Trina the foster parent and, too, with the dog herself! Oh technology! I can meet my new dog from my seat at the Baume! The Texas organization I'm working with is amazingly careful with the placement of their pooches. Given that this is my second adoption, I see what's involved and I understand what's at stake.

Dinner? At Marcello'. I believe I got the recommendation of this from my hotel's newsletter. I know I read somewhere that they may very well have the best pasta in all of Paris. I order one with clams and yes, it is exquisitely delicious. 

 

(they didn't have NA beer, but they had a moctail that mimicked a Spritz) 

 

The walk home is chilly and damp. And yet, I pass a couple sitting outside, deeply engrossed in a conversation (actually I can't tell their gender but they look so calm, so engaged in life...).

 

 

 I wish this for all of us -- that level of engagement, of concern...

with so much love... 

to Paris

I slept well. You know how when you are mega tired, it often takes longer to unwind and your sleep is then interrupted? I think in the last couple of days, I wound myself up so much that I went beyond tired. I was out by midnight and didn't wake up until after 8. Amazing. (Or, is it that I skipped my lunch coffee, only because there was no place or time for it? One can never be sure as to the causes and effects of these things.)

Looking outside a side window, I see it again -- that St Paul de Vance skyline. 

Looking toward the front big window, I can just catch a strip of the Mediterranean.

Breakfast -- simple but near perfect. (Missing: fresh fruit. An apple would have put it at 100% for me.)

I've met the two dashing gentlemen who seem to run the place. Or at least assist Ann who may well own the Villa and be their mother. I can't figure it out and I'm here for such a short time that I wont try. In any case, they were all lovely and sympathetic, not charging me for the missed night. They all remind me of the characters in the art in my room, which I'll show you because it's so appropriate for my stay -- the rain! The umbrellas!

And now to Paris. It is strange, I know, to be flying there. I always take the train. Why wouldn't I -- it's fast reliable comfortable and it bypasses the whole airport scene. But this time I went with the free for me flight (gotta use up those miles!). It's also a question of time. I'd have to backtrack to Marseille and change there. To arrive in Paris at a decent hour, I'd have to leave early. Too early. 

So I catch a ride to the airport. And then my flight to Paris.

In all these movements by cab, encounters with various French people along the way, you may wonder if anything has changed in their attitude toward Americans. My sample is so small right now that I hate to pass judgment, but I'll tell you this much: for me, it feels like things have changed. In my past visits here this year, people were eager to engage. To voice their opinion. To question American support for our current administration. This time I am met with avoidance and silence. Politeness supreme, but there is also that refusal to talk about it. As if doing so would be too painful, both from the economics of it and the emotional charge. To me, it feels like they've given up on trying to understand, because after the last escapades, there's nothing more to say. We know what's at play. Best not to put it into words. I'll let you know if perhaps I just stumbled on the wrong sample of people. Paris may be different. 

 

The flight is on time and easy. I take the train to the city and walk past the Jardin Luxembourg down to Le Baume.

And oh, am I glad to be at this hotel, in what I love to think of as "my room." 

I have gone through so many residential changes in these years, with more to come, and yet, here in Paris, Le Baume has been my home for more than twenty years. The stability, the feeling of familiarity and kindness of the staff, knowing every detail here and liking it all -- this is exactly what I need right now. I have no desire for adventure in Paris. I just want to take each day at a time and run with it as the mood dictates. I can do that here like nowhere else. I am immensely happy to be back.

Immediately I head out to the park. Why? Because Paris is sunny today. It may well be the only sunshine I'll get on my trip. I want its glow and uplifting brilliance. Too, in January and especially on the weekend, the park really does belong to Parisians. (Not exclusively -- there will always be visitors here, even in late January.) If I want to feel myself to be here, in this city, then walking the boulevards of le Jardin Luxembourg is the way to do it.

It is so crowded with seemingly content people that I have to smile. Even at the height of the tourist season, it's never this packed. Of course it's full of strolling people, wouldn't you go out on a warmer, sunny day, after a blast of winter? (Paris had snow last week. Today it's 48F/9C.) Not a single chair is empty. No problem, people find ways to relax and face the sun.)

 

 

 

 

  

 

I've skipped lunch again, deliberately this time. My hotel is next to a shop selling teas. I buy packets of hibiscus-red fruits, including strawberry. At le Baume, I pick up a warm almond croissant -- they put these out for you in the late afternoon. Delicious!

 

 

I unpack. Here for four nights (with a brief trip after to the country, to another familiar place, for a forest walk). Tonight, I'll do nothing unusual. (Perhaps all the time I'm here I'll do nothing unusual.) Indeed, I even go to the restaurant that I've adopted as the easiest and most comfortable meal for me -- at Seulement Sea. So yes, seafood once again. And then home. You have no idea how good it feels to be returning late in the evening to Le Baume.

Later still,  I sort through the puzzle of my return. Just to make things more complicated, I want to see if I can come back a day earlier. There are technical reasons for it. Of course, given the storms pushing through the US, everything for this coming week is booked solid. And still, I make the effort, giving up only late into the night. I write about this because I have long understood that in travel, nothing is set. You can move things around some of the time. And I always try, if it strikes me that a change may be for the best, though as tonight demonstrates, sometimes you just cannot do it. Still, I think you should try and not rest with something you think may not work as well as you had hoped.

 

with so much love...