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...
