one last day

This isn't the first time that I loaded a trip with hefty decisions, and spent time thinking not just about the pleasures of my surroundings. I think if you clear your head of the mundane stuff that keeps you busy at home, you open yourself up for weightier contemplation. Meaning of life (always that)! Should one remain married (thought about and discussed that one on a train ride from Krakow)! Should I respond to a Match.com email from Ed (decided in Vienna)! Should I sign off on a condo (Geneva)! And now -- should I move out and get a second dog. Decided and set in motion in Paris.

But all that notwithstanding, I still live and breathe this city. It is with me, it is within me. I take each moment here casually but seriously too. Every walk has meaning for me. Every encounter is special. When I am home and am waiting for my return visit here, I often think -- how will it feel to wake up in that bed by the window? How much pleasure will that walk down that block bring? Will I feel the serenity that I seem to always find in the Jardin Luxembourg? The souvenirs from Paris are those thoughts, those recollections that add fuel to my everyday back home.

Today, I have yet another perfect wake up. I open my eyes, check the time, smile, sink back into the pillows which always seem that much softer, more luxurious than those back home, and I doze off. Wake up again, doze off again until I feel ready to climb out of bed.

True to predictions, it's gray and a bit damp out there. Not bad. No heavy downpours, like the one a year ago that flooded the metro system. No paralyzing snow like that which grounded my daughter an me here one very cold December. No heat wave that turned the cheeks of my youngest grandchild red as beets one July afternoon. I'm good with clouds. Walking weather!

But first, breakfast. It's more crowded this morning, so I have to retreat to a different table. Same delicious stuff.

I return to my room. Down using stairs, but up in the elevator. It has a mirror which I always have to face, tempting me to do this:

 

 

 

My room: such a happy place. A spot on the couch, next to another window. There's never a reason to rush. I soak in the loveliness of my surroundings. That they always have such a hypnotic effect on me is in large part the work of the management here. Madame Sylvia who runs the place and whom I have known for decades now, is the real motor behind the hotel. Nothing escapes her. Honestly, the place is not in any way less perfect than a five star hotel. She sees to it. All with a warm smile. Every time I see her, it's like running into a very good friend.

It is Mme. Sylvia who suggested that I check out a fairly new shop on rue Madame. It's called Marin Montagut. How to describe it! You might get more of a sense if you click on the website. Hand crafted artifacts and souvenirs from this area of Paris? Maybe that.

It's a short stroll to the store. Familiar blocks for me, but as usual, the people, mostly Parisians, are what makes the walk so interesting. Here's something that I find curious: women and men, but especially women wrap themselves in thick scarves the minute the temperatures drop to autumnal cool. As if their throats would suffer without layers of wool around them. But come winter, they ignore caps and hats. Today is a mildly cold day -- just above freezing. Very few are wearing any head cover. Here, I'll show you:

 

 

Naturally, I have to shed mine as well. I'm not going to stand out!

On my way I pass something I never noticed before: right across the street from the Jardin Luxembourg there is a dog park. A real Parisian dog park. I'm not sure Henry would get the exercise he needs here, but at least he'd make friends. (Mme Sylvia suggested that I teach my dogs French commands. Great idea!)

 

  

 

The Marin Montagut store itself  is beautiful. 

 

 

 

Your perfect spot for browsing. For admiring all that is French. 

I limit myself, really I do. But wouldn't a second pillow cover be just the perfect thing?  Or maybe this plate?

 

 

 

From there, I meander along the streets of Paris. Less familiar ones, and some of the same ones I seem always to get to. 

(always the tight seating... you have to like the proximity of your neighbor)

(beautiful bouquets)

 

 (you know fruit pastries always catch my eye; these are especially original...)

 

 

I'm carrying stuff that's a bit awkward -- that's the excuse. But really, why should I even look for an excuse. As I reach Rue du Bac, I want to hop on the metro. The line here doesn't really take me any closer to the hotel, so I transfer to the next one.

And then I am where I want to be -- in my room. But not for long. I decided I would eat lunch, at Treize au Jardin. It's a funky place, right across the street from the Jardin Luxembourg, and I have always really liked their healthy food choices. A veggie soup and a kale salad today. As always, totally delicious.

But for coffee, I go elsewhere. To this place, L'Arbre a Cafe, on the other side of my hotel. I've always thought that espressos at cafe-bars here are worse than the average espressos you'll now find in the U.S. On the other hand, in these emerging real coffee shops here, their coffee is much lovelier, with a good selection of coffees with notes that don't get lost even for a latte drinker like myself.

Back at the Baume, I run into Mme Sylvia again. I tell her that her shopping suggestion lead me now to worry if I even have room in my suitcase for added items. That I added a bag, just in case. There's a lot of laughter among staff here. Mme Sylvia brings it out of me, of others. She, of course, knows all too well about Henry, and the new-about-to-arrive dog. She asks if I have checked out Moustaches, a pet store right on the Boulevard St Germain, maybe a five minute walk from where we are?

I have not! But I will now! 

(on the way there, I see this  woman, who does wear a cap, though I dont think it's for reasons of warmth)

 

 

 

I dont need any more sweaters for Henry and I figure that he can share the ones I have for him with his new sib, but what I find absolutely irresistible  are the toys and treats.Macarons? For dogs? (These are made with salmon...)

Ha! Even the poop bags here are pretty!

I return to the hotel with one more bag, and one big smile.

 

In the evening, I'm not really hungry for a big dinner. And so I go to Les Editeurs. I like the place for its atmosphere (full of bookish people!) and for its almost impersonal service. No one cares what you order. I dont feel I should be loading myself with food just because it's the dinner hour.

 

 

Te place is always full, for breakfast and for dinner. I think of it as a meet up place: colleagues, friends, parents with an older son maybe...

 

 

 

 

I order fish again. I'm really in the mood for it on this trip!

 

And now I am back in my room, in this lovely hotel...

 

 

... for one last evening of contemplation, reading, writing of course, and, unfortunately packing for my trip tomorrow.

My next post should be from the Edge.

with so much love...