leaving Paris

It is our last morning in Paris. Our flight leaves blissfully late -- in the afternoon, so there is no rush. I'm up a few minutes earlier than usual, but that's because I want to walk at a slow pace. Oh, it's not much of a walk, that morning stroll for the croissants, but I want to savor it. Not because I'm going to miss Paris, but because I'm going to miss Paris with my family.

It's not a simple wake up for the neighborhood. I smell the smoke. There's a fire in one of those old buildings and the streets are shut off to traffic while the firemen with their firetruck (so much smaller than ours back home!) do their work.






I watch for a minute. It's all so quiet, really. It mustn't be a threatening fire. A handful of neighborhood people watch, but most go about their business. Like these guys -- one munching on a pain au chocolat from Paul's, the others just keeping him company. That's a phrase that should forever be attached to France: people keep each other's company.






For the visitors and cafe habitues -- it's too early. Just before 8, the tables are set, but no one is sitting down just yet. (Here's a cafe with a somewhat different sidewalk decor.)






Alright. Time to head back, croissants and pains au chocolat in their little paper sack, still warm, always delicious.

One last view down the street that I've followed to the bakery... It's a pretty set of blocks.






Inside our apartment, no one is stirring yet. But Paris isn't sleeping anymore. There is that morning hum. People attending to their daily stuff. Kids, escorted to school... (I have to believe this mom or, horrors, grandma?? -- is on her way to work after the drop off. You do not dress this well for school drop off! Do you??)






And now the young family is up. Snowdrop is so excited for breakfast and I just smile and smile at her love of this routine which, of course, is such a grand routine in my book!






The parents finish packing. Snowdrop knows we're leaving. She keeps herself busy, but her talk is all about the airplane, the airport, the whole travel shebang. (But when asked at the airport -- are you excited to be going home? She blurts out -- I want to stay here!)

Finally. Suitcases out, we leave the keys on the counter and shut the door behind us. The little one does her last walk down the spiral staircase...






... and we begin our rather long walk to the Luxembourg train stop. (Ah, here I am again, photographing my goodbye to the gardens which, heretofore, will always be in my mind Snowdrop's Luxembourg Gardens. I note the chestnuts that bordered the statue have been cut down. They weren't thriving. I suppose it was a necessary step.)





From here, we'll catch the commuter train to the airport.

I so applaud the decision to take the train! It's nearly a half hour walk to the train station and we have way too much luggage, as happens when traveling with a young one, but the train is always my way in and out of Paris -- both for its cheapness and for the speed. Oh, it brings up the usual Paris nuisances: we have to navigate lots of stairs with suitcases and a stroller. But we're game! And once we're on the train, slowly, the cars empty out and we sit comfortably for the 35 minute ride to the airport. And Snowdrop is so excited to be whizzing along on the railway tracks!






The airport is for once really tame. I do not know why. I've caught this flight before and there would be tumultuous crowds. Not today. We zip through passport controls, zip through security and I think by the time we're by the gates, everyone wonders why we're here so early (a whole hour before boarding). Because you can't assume it'll always this easy, of course!

(Walking to the gate...)






And now the boarding begins. Snowdrop just loves to look out and admire the airplanes. And I admire her. Last year, she was grand for a while, but by the time we were done with the check in procedures, she dissolved into a mess of tears. Not this year. No, not this year.






The flights are the best kind: uneventful. I volunteer to sit with the little girl after the first hour, thinking she surely will sleep, as it overlaps so much with her bedtime. But after a brief nap, she remains awake, at times half watching the movie Frozen, at other times munching snacks  and chatting up gaga. Isn't that we all do when we travel with family? A little of this, a little of that and before you know it the eight or nine hour flight is behind us and we're killing time at the next aiport and then finally you're home.

I am convinced Snowdrop has the travel gene. Her dad has it, her gaga has it. Her excitement is, of course my excitement. And so Paris now has her mark all over it. My best buddy made sure of that.

Paris, with family, continued

I'll try to be low on words today. Just pictures. You're welcome! (wink)

A morning walk to Buci Street, watching Paris get moving again after a very long weekend of closed schools and quiet streets.






At Paul's the croissants and pains au chocolat just keep on coming from the ovens. Always warm, always delicious. They must sell thousands of them each day.






Things I wish I had taken the time for: popping into this new neighborhood darling: a pastry shop that sells only choux pastries (cream puff type, only small). Closed today.






Snowdrop is just waking when I return. She discovers a good view out a heretofore closed window.






And she discovers how delicious apple juice is in France. She never drinks juice at home, but here, we indulged her.






We get ready to go out.






Waiting patiently for us...






So happy to hear that the merry-go-round will be in the morning part of this day!






But first, mom pauses in a dress store...






How many times have Snowdrop and I crossed the river to ride round and round in that Tuillerie Gardens carousel?






She spies it, runs to it...






Hurry up, gaga and mommy!






We have extra tickets today. Determined to ride the girl out. I can't even begin to list what she chose. For sure airplane and motorcycle, and this chariot, with mommy.






I have the luxury of sitting it out and just waving madly each time she spun around. (A timed release selfie.)






You'd think she had enough of spinning. No. She wants to pop into the playground and do this.






Each time you visit a place, you learn something new about it. I had no idea that they used goats at the Tuillerie Gardens to cut grass!






And how this girl has grown in Paris! Her behavior, her expectations, her understanding and cooperation have just been soaring. People always notice and respond with encouraging praise.






After lunch (at Cesar's again, because there were free tables and the pizza is good), I take her to the grocery store: we're short on milk. I charge her with the task of getting us some.






Walking home now, but with a stop at St Germain des Pres. A side chapel:






... and up those circular steps to our apartment.






Cherries made into earrings!






Evening. At once lovely, because it's less hot, but too, nostalgic, because the hours are quickly ticking away. We return to Madison tomorrow.

We do not do anything that you would call spectacular and exciting. Unless you're me: in my view, a stroll through the Jardin du Luxembourg is spectacular and exciting.

This is the first time that the entire young family comes along to the park...






Snowdrop so wants to go on the swings, but for some inexplicable reason, they're closed. Oh, the disappointment! And oh, the recovery! (We go to the playground instead -- a first for her daddy so she gets to show him around her most favorite corners.)






Other kids in the park...






Hurrying now, because we have a dinner reservation...






Alright, dinner. Now, this is a curious thing because I am the one who has been reticent about taking the little one out to special restaurants. I worry too much about how it all will play out. But my apartment owner suggested a really spectacular Italian place where the owners are especially kind to families. (Ciasa Mia in the 5th)

We go.

Oh, it's work. I spend a goodly amount of time drawing pictures for Snowdrop of scenes from our days together. Upside down. I'm not especially great at art, but still, she loves these sketches!





And when her pasta dish arrives -- tortellini stuffed with fish in a broth with asparagus -- she is the perfect diner, enjoying every last morsel.

The owners, whose son is just five days younger than Snowdrop, are impressed. Sure, their kids eat good foods, but to sit through a very late evening meal for two hours and be content? This is unusual.





And we all beam and Snowdrop beams and we leave with smiles and kind words, but I want to say that this is travel with a child: you work hard to make her interested and happy, but then the child works even harder at adapting, learning, fitting in.

Yes, Snowdrop has grown hugely in Paris. And so have I.

(Tomorrow we travel. I'll try to post, but we do not return home until very late. In any case, my next post will be from Madison.)

Paris, with family, continued

It rained last night. The streets are now fresh and clean, as if those little electric trucks that sweep Parisian cobblestones had all gone out in the middle of the night, wiping the city of dust. But the sun is out again and we're promised one more very warm day.

On my morning walk to the bakery, I make a quick list in my head of needed items. I should stock up on fruit. Sundays and Mondays are tricky days here. Many grocery stores are closed on one or the other. The big produce market on Buci is open today, it'll probably be shut tomorrow. I get a handful of apricots and of course the berries and cherries.

And I think -- for me, this is probably the best part of breakfast here right now. The south of France apricots are deliciously sweet, the strawberries lack that toughness that commercial berries in the US tend to have. The raspberries are so delicate that they melt in your mouth, without falling apart first in your little box. Fruits here are beastly expensive compared to ours, but the flavors are without match. (By comparison, the croissants and pain au chocolat are coming up close in taste to the French stuff in many American bakeries.)






(Here's someone who either has a houseful of guests this weekend or is picking up bread for his corner bistro, with pains au chocolat for the staff to keep them happy.)







As I walk back with my own purchases, I admire the blocks to my left and right. It's amazing how the buildings are not at all uniform and yet they all work well together.






(This is the restaurant that's part of our building. The sunny tables are in demand in the cold season. Not so much today.)






(Which would you reach for first, the fruits or the bread products?)






(Snowdrop reaches for the breads, but eats fruits first.)






(Fooling around on my bed...)






(In France, it's Mother's Day today! Snowdrop gives her mom a snuggle hug.)






And what does a Parisian family do on a Sunday, especially a warm Sunday, especially one which coincides with the Fete de Maman?

They surely go to the park. So you'd think we'd be off and strolling in the Luxembourg Gardens with the rest of humanity, but in fact, we choose a different venue: the little Parc Boucicaut (right by the Bon Marche department store). Our host recommended it to me (he has two toddlers himself). It's quiet, it's pretty, it has a small (free) playground. And it has a lovely little merry-go-round.

What a great surprise for the girl who loves merry-go-rounds! This one truly is small, but on the upside, the rides are shorter so you can have more of them. And she travels solo, while her mommy and I sit back on a bench and wave.







Her choices are predictable. Car, helicopter, train, truck.






How can going around in a circle make anyone so happy?

We stop at the store across the street where she tries on sunglasses. I love these...






... she has her own ideas: blue! - she tells me. Oh fine.

And then we're back in the park where she does a little bounce here and there on the various kid playground bouncers.






(There is a slide, but these days, Snowdrop just likes to climb up and climb back down again.)






And now it's time for lunch. We choose a local creperie on Buci Street.






She is not an indiscriminate eater, but she does occasionally surprise us with a passionate love of unusual foods, like today: a crepe with blue cheese and prosciutto.






Walk home...






Afternoon. I could go out while Snowdrop naps. ("To nap" means to rest and she does that, but it takes her FOREVER to fall asleep here. Today she hit a record, finally dozing off at 5 p.m. How are you supposed to adjust for that one?) I don't go out. I talk to Ed, I go over my photos, I think about the last day in Paris (tomorrow).


Just after 6 p.m., I wake Snowdrop. We have one important thing to do! (Important to her, that is.) The merry-go-round in the Tuilerie Gardens!

Her mom is worn out. Her dad has work to do. I tell them -- it's me and Snowdrop! We'll see you at dinner!

(She looks way serious here! I made her pose by the flowers. She's not a kid you should ever ask to pose. She's best left alone to her own devices.)






At the merry-go-round I see that she has settled in to her Paris life. She loves the ride alright, but she is spinning all the while. I can hear her thoughts! "Great. I'm sitting in the train car. But gaga should sit next to me just in case, or else another child might come and take this seat. Okay. That's safe. But what next? I see that little monster child clamoring to get off his ride. I wonder why he is doing that? Is there something wrong with that ride? Does he want mine? Well now, I can grab the truck next time. But oh! Did I forget to ride the airplane??? Gaga! I so wanted to ride the airplane! And the horse! No one is claiming the horse"






It took a week for her to feel like she isn't an outsider. It would take an adult more than a year to get to the heart of a place and make it one's own. But a two year old? I can see it so clearly! It's all over her face and so much in her words jumbled up with the thoughts that lie behind them!

Look at that dog, gaga! That's a Paris dog! Can I have some water? (she knows she can have it because there are men selling it everywhere in the Tulerie Gardens, so she doesn't have to feel desperate.) We are going to dinner? In a restaurant?  Pasta? Yes, I want that. Thank you! (Can you say it in French?) Merci!

We are at  Les Editeurs and it is perfect for us on this night. For one thing, it's cool. The French wont sacrifice the outdoors to air conditioning, so they oftentimes give you both: from some place inside, cool air comes in, but the windows remain wide open so that you are at one with Paris.






We have a complicated meal of many courses, many requests for many types of water and wine and who knows what else. Snowdrop sits through all this at first coloring, then eating, then showing her impish self to the couple not too far from us -- an older pair of Parisians. She smiles, she wiggles, she watches.

I say to them -- she is just two year old (Snowdrop always looks twice her age because of her incredible height). They retort -- oh, but she is just so magnificent! The way she tried those escargot, her eating, her drawing -- she is just wonderful!

So there you have it. We ought to go home first thing tomorrow morning, because we will have ended then on this high note (I've already forgotten that night of the dinner in the restaurant in our building...). The French (if I may generalize) are so persnickety about restaurant behavior and I understand that: the consumption of food is as big a deal here, in the same way perhaps that baseball and football are back home. Sure, they don't say "go Packers!" and "Yay Yankees" (or their equivalents) every time they sit down to eat, but they ask for respect for this obsession that they have with food (and oh, what a lovely obsession it is!) and clearly Snowdrop has delivered.

I tell you, we should just go home.

But we don't go home. We walk back to the apartment (which, I suppose, Snowdrop does regard as home) ...






And I offer her leftover strawberry cream cake, because I have enough of Ed in me that I don't want to waste it and she has (I'd like to believe) enough of us in her that she also doesn't want to waste it)...






Good night, good night. Happy week ahead to all!