travel

There is this wonderful children's picture book about Paris called "Everybody Bonjours." I bought it a while ago for Snowdrop, though perhaps she's too young to look at it just yet. But in anticipation of her future travels, I thought she might enjoy a preview of what's to come.

...Because it must be strange to a young one who comes to this city to realize that you cannot hide from the politeness of others. When you enter someone's space, they're sure to find you and offer a chipper "bonjour!" expecting you to do the same. It would not be over the top to throw in a few more greetings and certainly in leaving, especially at this time of the year, you want to say more than au revoir and merci. Bonne fete de Noel or bonne annee (or both!) are de rigeur!

This morning, I take a predawn walk (that's not that early here: think between 8 and 9) to the River Seine. Bonjour, bonjour Paris!

The awakening of this city is especially lovely. Streets are often wet from a night wash. The cafes catch the regulars who stop quickly for an espresso and a greeting. Bonjour, bonjour -- ca va?

The Odeon Theater:






A bakery about to open. Devoted completely to the best possible brioche.






Oh, how sublime to be part of this one last time!






I walk onto the Pont des Arts (the bridge of art, how appropriate!) and I look west, toward the Louvre...






... catching that proud tip of the Eiffel Tower. Bonjour!






The stunning view is, of course to the east where Paris wakens to a new day, a beautiful day.






The barges cut a swathe of ripples in the water. Bonjour barges, bonjour Paris. Comment est votre jour jusqu'a present (how is your day so far)?






I linger perhaps a tad too long. It's beautiful here and a feeling of calm slowly takes over. Thoughts of hurry dissipate.

My favorite bakery. The usual fare with a holiday addition.






The prettiest cakes.






Even as I walk back toward the hotel, I walk the pace of those around me: deliberate, but not aggressive.

Well, eventually one must look at a clock. My flight leaves just after 1. I have enough time for a lovely breakfast...






And then, clinging to bundles, packs and my suitcase, I make my way to the Luxembourg Gardens.






Bonjour, bonjour! Sing that song every day, sing it strong! (Oh! The first winter flowers are starting their bloom!)






I catch the train thinking I have plenty of time. Four hours until take off! (The current advice is to arrive at the airport at least three hours before departure. The lines at passport control are very long.) And then I remember that this is the trip that has travel hiccups throughout.

Indeed. The train stops and the dreaded words come forth: there has been a serious accident at one of the stations. I heard that before, on my October trip. It cost me hours of lost time. This time it's worse. After making a valiant effort to tally forth, the train engineer tells everyone it's no use. Find alternate means of getting to the airport.

In life, money cannot buy you good health. Typically, it cannot buy you a good job, though opinions vary on this. But it can buy you transportation to the airport. I team up with two Frenchmen -- a surly one and a clam one and we pile into a taxi (and there were too few of those around) and half an hour later we are at Charles de Gaulle airport -- where the lines are long, but not too bad. After all the controls and checks, I even have time to sit down and exhale. My shopping bag, reinforced by a huge Pylones sack, purchased for 5Euro here is holding its own.

I'm on my way home. All those bonjours... Soon it will be time say hello to my beloveds at home.

last day

Eventually, there is always that last day in Paris. This one comes at the tail end of a very good trip, filled with people, places, ideas, impressions. I learned a lot, I walked the old, the new, I was impressed by something other than my own back yard.

I feel refreshed.

Ah, but there is one final day of walking. Not done yet! Let's head out together one last time.

First, though, a decadent breakfast consisting now of croissants, pain au chocolat and, at the last minute, thrown in by the breakfast staff, a croissant almande -- because surely they think Madame Guest is awfully in need of that buttery pastry, having crinkled her nose the first day, when the croissants were all gone.






The day is gray, but not cold. So where to?  Everywhere and nowhere. Some vignettes for you, all from my ramblings on the left bank.

 A street corner that I pass more than once each day:






A waiter on a break:






I imagine the text message from this next guy reads something like this: how many baguettes did yo ask me to bring home??






The cake I'd buy, were I buying a cake at the Bon Marche food halls:






Flowers, just because:






I'm looking for gifts at the Foucher chocolate shop:






The houses of Rue l'Universite:






I finish shopping (balancing who gets what and for how much, so that no one is treated less well than the other is such an art!) and then I just walk and engage in the act of thinking. It's amazing how clear the head can become if you're moving one foot in front of the next, keeping an eye toward the traffic and the window displays. (Oh! A mirror!)






Eventually I think I should eat a light lunch. I pass this very tiny place (Le Petit Jacob) that seems to specialize in savory tartines (open faced sandwiched) and wine by the glass. I pick the tartine with goat cheese, cucumbers and fig, spread on thin slices of toasted bread. With a cabbage salad. Very good!






I see that these two are enjoying the same thing...






Out again, still on the Rue l'Universite (which, to my knowledge, no longer has university buildings anywhere near it):






And then I'm back at my hotel.

After I dump all my parcels and fret for two minutes about how I will pack it all into my tiny suitcase (in the end I decide that carrying a stuffed shopping bag on board, however weird and awkward in normal times, is not completely off-kilter in the holiday season) -- I set out again, this time in the direction of the park.






Is it more joyous? Lively? Throbbing with late afternoon life? Not exactly, but I have to admit that I am influenced in my view of it by the fact that (almost) nothing is blooming. (Exception: the icelandic poppies above). I don't know if they planted the winter flower beds too late, or if somehow they didn't take, but this may be the only time I have ever walked through the Luxembourg Gardens where there isn't a bloom visible on any of the beds (even in the winter, the flowers survive the gentle frost that never seems to be deep enough to kill them off). So it feels kind of somber for that reason alone.

But, I watch a group of boys play soccer and a few little girls whiz by on scooters and both those acts get a big smile out of me, so I'm thinking perhaps the park hasn't succumbed to a Parisian malaise after all.

And in fact, it's hard for a person popping in for just four days to really feel the pulse of the city. At times I think that nothing has changed -- it should surprise no one that life does continue, after all. Here's a photo taken while passing the Cafe-bar Madame:


 


At other times I think that everything has slowed down somewhat. Certainly at my hotel, at least half the rooms stand empty. Street life is vibrant, but am I imagining it, or does it all seem more subdued? In Paris, there are always a great many Americans, but this time they're fewer in number. I'm not hearing our language quite as often as I typically hear it.

Oh, but it's easy to see such things and to misinterpret them all. Maybe we're all just not traveling so much right now. Or maybe we're getting in our cars more, now that the price of gas has plummeted (something that has not resulted at all in cheaper overseas airfares).

One more shopping moment: I stand in line at the Hermes bakery, If I were buying a cake, I'd buy this one, with the fraise de bois on top:






But instead, I just pick up three very exotic macarons:






Outside this rarefied and refined pastry store, a woman stands with her dog. They both look very tense. Maybe they've been stood up?






It's dusk outside. People (including these two girls -- sisters? friends? I don't know...) pick up the pace.






Here's a very content looking mother-daughter duo, reminding me that very soon I'll be seeing my own daughters (and granddaughter)!






Let me end this day with the familiar: a dinner at Pouic Pouic. Because a chef may change there, the dishes may be seasonally adjusted, but it really is much the same each time I am in Paris, and that is such a very good thing right now. Here's Anissa, the manager and Benjamin, the chef, whose girlfriend hovered tonight in the sidelines. Or maybe that was his sister. There are certain things one just cannot ask.






I walk home (yes, it is home for me), past the same bars and the same lights and it just seems to me (perhaps because I want to see it that way) that everyone has now returned to a state of near normality.






(Equal time! If earlier in the post you saw Cafe Madame, around the corner from my hotel you'll see Bar Monsieur. It's very popular.)






Yes, all quite normal. So that Paris can continue to be this place of magic that draws you in, reminding you that it's okay to want to be happy in life.

fitting in

Not everyone has to fit in. Ed is a fine example of a person who doesn't worry about such things. Me, I waffle. At home, if fitting in means sacrificing those parts of me that come from my childhood in Poland, then I don't want that compromise. But when I travel, apart from making that obvious statement of carrying a visible camera (but it's small!) and apart from always being alone (something that seems to draw attention, especially in eateries), I do not want to stand out.

Here, in France, I have additional challenges. Things get dicey when people engage me in conversation. I sound good. I have lived between several countries all my life and this has made me very sensitive to the music of a language. When Patrizia corrected my intonation (not once, but twice!), I could have hugged her. It's that detail that matters to me.

But by no means can I coast on music alone. Take yesterday. I entered a small store to browse and madame, being, as all French are, very attentive to the customer, admired my small camera. She was really curious, but me, I was getting increasingly anxious. There would come a time when I would not be able to explain some finer detail of its mechanism (she seemed to know a lot about cameras).

And then abruptly, she said: sorry, but you live in France, n'est pas? -- as if it suddenly struck her that I didn't. The image she had created was wrong -- in need of adjustment.

At such times, I just want to run and hide. Yes, I sound authentic. Get me going and I'll flow as gracefully as the River Seine. You'd think that my cousins were French and that I'm used to bantering away over Sunday dinner with them. But there will always come a moment when I will draw a complete, total, foggy blank. Someone will use words that I'm clueless about and I sheepishly admit to not understanding and then will come this awful pause, when the speaker will not get why I don't understand. What don't you understand? Ah, perhaps they were mumbling, perhaps I am hard of hearing. They repeat the sentence and of course I'm still totally clueless and so then they say things like -- but but but you speak so well! (meaning: How can you be so dumb as to not understand?) And I don't know how to explain that it's the music thing. That it comes from traveling all my life and being an immigrant -- all this is too much for, say an exchange in a store and so I retreat, blushing from the scarf that suddenly feels too hot around my face, while madame just keeps saying "but really, you speak so beautifully..." and by now I am completely mortified, music be damned. I feel like I am a total fake.

This happens all too often. I live through that feeling of being a fraud again and again. Who are you? -- people ask me, sometimes kindly, sometimes bluntly. French? No, not that. German? You look German (gee, thanks). Never American. They never ever guess American and Polish is out of the running and so I think -- who am I to them? To myself?  Fitting in is elusive.


Today the weather forecasters said rain. I am extraordinarily lucky that all my days have been rain-free thus far and since I had a museum in mind for this Paris sojourn, I thought -- what better time for it!  Walk walk walk until it starts to rain, then hop on the metro and continue that way.

And so I leave with a packed umbrella and my old camera ready to be tucked into my jacket in case of a sudden downpour. Off I go to the Musee Marmottan -- the place you would go to if you needed a fix of Monet paintings (and I can always benefit from such a fix), but this month you would especially make the trip if you wanted to see their special exhibit (never before shown in France) from the Hahnloser collection: Renoirs, Manets, Cezannes, Van Goghs, lots of Bonnards, Matisse -- all titled Les Temps Enchantes.  Who would not want to see something referring to an enchanted time!

I had once timed the walk to the museum at 90 minutes, but that was without pauses and diversions and detours. And so there you have it -- a day of walking again, but this time toward the far western parts of the city.

But first, breakfast, with all the proper croissants and pain au chocolat this time.






And off I go. No rain yet? Thank you!

I pass the Parisian version of power walkers.






I pass window shoppers.






I pass store displays that are so incredibly artful!






And of course, the pastries of the season -- just beautiful!






All of it -- inside and out -- so very pretty.












Again and again, I am dazzled by how much attention is given to the visual detail in daily life. How women and men take care with appearance.






Me, I was raised as a femme moderne. In my generation and in the places I lived, you cared more about what went into your head. Work on your smarts, have a good heart and you're set. Forget about beauty: if you pay attention to appearance, you're playing into the hands of those who wish only to stare at you rather than value what's inside. That's the way we talked (while secretly loving dangly earrings and lipstick and permed hair).

It is said that the French function in separate, gendered spheres. And this may well be true. But I'm wondering these days if in our own sacrificing of a preoccupation with appearance, we also sacrificed attention to form and art and all the rest of the adornment that makes life exquisite rather than just livable.

I was especially drawn to these thoughts as I looked at the collection of paintings from the Hahnloser family. He was a Swiss ophthalmologist who obviously made money. In our times, people who make money seem to buy expensive property. The more noble give money to charity. But Hahnloser along with his wife, bought a rather modest villa and covered every wall with paintings of their contemporaries.

This is the collection that I saw today. Magnificent, yes of course, but also leading me to wonder: are we a greedier generation? Do we even care enough about art to sustain it?

Oh well, maybe it's good that we don't fuss about the visuals. Preoccupation with adornment comes at some cost after all. I was thinking about this as I waited once again for the woman who was conducting a sale of a Snowdrop outfit to finish wrapping the package. Such care she took! Every crease just so, the ribbon tied neatly, the extra sticker, the tuck, the fold... All fine, unless you're the person standing behind, waiting to complete your own purchase, as the seller fusses and frets over the proper shape of a bow.


After my museum visit (sorry, no photos allowed), I pause for a lunch. Honestly, I just am starved for some vegetables and so when I see a cafe bar with a salad of arugula, artichokes and parmiggiano on the menu, I do not hesitate.






The museum is in a tony right bank neighborhood -- not my favorite by any means, even as I admit that the 6th arrondissement, where I usually hang out, is no poorman's land either. But there is at least a youthful presence to the 6th, possibly because of the proximity of the university.

Let's get back to the left bank then.

I pass the big Rue Cler market...


 



I stop in stores with children's clothing...






I watch kids return from school...






Yes, children. Isn't that what catches our collective eye? They'll solve all the world's problems, no?





Sigh...


I absolutely have to include a photo of the Eiffel Tower -- probably the most photographed structure in the entire world. And yet, every time we walk by it, we can't help but raise our cameras in a salute. Here's my tribute to it:







Finally, in the evening, I have reserved a dinner at yet another new place for me. It's called Clover and it's just a short twelve minute walk from where I'm staying.

It's raining outside now. On the upside, have you noticed how pretty the wet sidewalks are in Paris at night?


'



And the lights! Oh, the lovely holiday lights, rain or no rain!





As for Clover -- I had a feeling I'd be rewriting my list of favorite three restaurants from this trip and yep, sure enough, Clover (with its open kitchen and exquisite food) will make that list.

Maybe it's that it is the most artsy of all my eating venues in Paris and today I am so contemplative about art. Typically, I don't go for showmanship in food, but I have to say, Clover is clever. A scallop sizzling on a hunk of stone from Paris? Clever.





I have one other comment about my dinner (apart from the fact that it's great -- really great): weirdly, I had on my right an American couple with their grown daughter and on my left a French couple with their grown daughter. The differences between the two were astronomical! There is no judgment in the way I would experience either, though the American side was perhaps ten decibels louder than the French side, but honestly, each family had its quirky habits. But both were gracious and appreciative of the kind staff and the great food. Still, cultural differences there were. Aplenty.

But, that's okay, right? Would you really like the world to be composed only of people just like you?

There's no moon tonight. But wouldn't you like to believe that nonetheless it looks down brightly over all of us tonight?

... while the horses on the carousel go round and round...