October in Paris

There was a burst of sunshine this morning and this time, it stayed with us until evening, when the last swaths of gold, dappled by pink puffs of cloud faded beyond the horizon. A day of brilliance. A day for which we can only be grateful.

These are the last hours that I am with Bee, my Warsaw friend, in Paris. We have a plan alright, but as before, we do not rush into it. Breakfast is first and it's a leisurely breakfast. (As always in France, I consume a lot of breads. Would I do this if I lived here? Would oatmeal be a thing of the past? Does anyone here not have a croissant or chunk of baguette for breakfast?)





We head out. Across the river again!

(Don't let the clouds fool you! They are a tease. Weak and wimpy. They quickly recede.)





We go to the Musee l'Orangeire in the Tuileries Gardens. I understand it's undergoing a renovation, but the important stuff is on full display.

This is the important stuff!





Monet's Waterlilies.





(Is it in the entirety, or in the detail?)






Eight long panels, filling two large rooms.






People come from far and wide to admire them...






You can't start too young...






You're never too old...






If you're not charmed by them, then you're tough! Really tough!






True, there is more to the Museum than just Monet. Here's a canvas with a picture of a spoon. Bee and I are in its reflection!






Alright, we did not take those quite seriously. But other canvases do draw you in.






Immensely.





It's a beautiful way to cap our explorations of the city's art treasures.

As we walk out (into that sunshine!) Bee gently suggests that you cannot visit Paris without taking a walk down the Champs Elysees. I'm a fan of democratic processes, so we brave the commercial nonsense and the tourist onlsaught to walk along this grand boulevard.






I have my 'musts' too: if you're going to photograph this city during your visits, you must include at least one grand view of this iconic tower:





And now it really is lunch time.

Back to the Left Bank. We're close to the Rue Cler Market with its oh so traditional Market Cafe Restaurant. Hey, when in Paris,  shouldn't we do that, which we never do at home?  For us, this means eat red meat!




(a charcuterie platter, followed by steak frittes)





After lunch, Bee suggests we do a selfie with the Eiffel Tower in it.
I say -- I know the perfect place for it! The view of the Tower is splendid!

We walk to this "perfect place" and take the picture. In case you want to know, the Tower is right behind our heads. Selfies are weird that way!






We take a meandering route along the more quiet streets of the city. A pop into a store, or two, or three and finally, in the late afternoon, we're back at the hotel.

We rest for a few minutes. Bee asks if I know that old Russian custom of sitting before travel. I listen as she explains it. (Read about it here.) We sit.

And then I walk Bee to the train station, where she catches the RER commuter train to the airport for her return flight to Warsaw.

(As we walk together for this one last time, we notice the steady stream of people, all heading to the gates of the Luxembourg Gardens.)





It's an incredible day! 68f (20c) with stubborn sunshine! A day that you cannot take for granted. Parisians have, I'm sure, read the forecast. It'll rain all day tomorrow. Why not push the park outing back to this exquisite late October Saturday?

I say good bye to Bee. That's hard. Friends who live nearly 5000 miles apart are keenly aware of how precious and rare time together can be. Three days, fully in each others company, in Paris or anywhere else on this vast planet, does not come easily. We had our time. We are so grateful for it!


She gets on the train, I go up the stairs, alighting in Paris once more, as if I had just come from the airport myself, only I have no suitcase, no backpack even. But I do have my camera. And it's clear that the most incredible Parisian sight on this late afternoon is the tableau before me: a sea of  humanity, out en masse to enjoy the beauty of this grand park on the most sublime autumnal day.






Even then, it's not impossible to find a quiet corner in the park...






Around the pond, the crowds are thick though. And why not? You can only smile when you look up and  see this good use of a beautifully tended public space!






Out on the streets once more, I pop into a few kids stores, I pop out again and I'm astonished to see how dark it is already. Tomorrow at 7 pm it will be pitch black. And wet! Tonight, the skies are ablaze with pink!






Bee and I had eaten an enormous lunch. I know I just want a good salad for dinner. Where to go? Oh, that's easy: Les Editeurs. It's in my neighborhood. It's solid. I have fond memories of dozens of breakfasts here and, too, a memory of several family lunches, to say nothing of my recent dinner there with Sparrow and Snowdrop.

A kir vin blanc, a salad with two or three prawns for good measure, a Badoit mineral water.






And now I am back in my hotel room, wondering if my wee suitcase will close (it always does!), and thinking about how important it is to sometimes make an effort, and how immensely glad I am that Bee made an effort to come to Paris to spend time with me here.

the other side of the river

The River Seine cuts the core of the city in half. Many cities have rivers that set neighborhood boundaries, but for me, Paris is like a different town there, on the other side of the river. If I'm visiting for just a couple of days, I rarely cross over. There is plenty here, on the Left Bank that keeps me busy. But staying just a few days longer pushes me out. And so I suggest today that Bee and I do the segment of the Right Bank (the other side) that I do, in fact, like -- the old Marais district.

After breakfast that is.





It's not a short walk and of course, that's good. In Paris you have to use your feet. Indeed, you want to use your feet. I don't know how else you can possibly get close to the city. Parisians walk and you should fall in step behind them.

In the mornings, the weather is always so promising that you don't think about the possibility of it being a deception. You're sure it will last!

But it never lasts. From a meek sunshine, we eventually switch to gray skies and once again, despite sophisticated meteorological promises of good weather, it drizzles and splashes and soon enough I say to my friend -- should we take the metro home?

(the old fashioned cars on line 10)






Ah, but long before that, Bee and I had a good walk. From the Left Bank, with a view to the sad looking Notre Dame...






... across the many bridges, to one island (Île de la Cité), then the next (Île Saint-Louis)...






(passing school kids learning to use these...)






... and finally, to the Marais, on the Right Bank, where the real point of interest for us is the little park on the Place des Vosges.






It's not easy to take pictures when there are construction fences sprinkled throughout, but we try!






Out again, we meander in the way that one does when you no longer have a destination in mind. And we pop into stores. I have a social event in early January. Surely that calls for a dress, doesn't it? Bee says it does. I try some on. (I do not buy this, but Bee has me give it a whirl anyway.)






And now it's lunchtime and the whole city is packing the eateries as if under orders to eat, now, between 12:30 and 2, never earlier, never later than that.

We go to L'As du Fallafel -- the place my daughters brought me to some three years back. It really is great fallafel and the lines are long, but you can backtrack a little and find their tiny narrow second kitchen (with only a handful of tables) -- the line is much shorter there!






If you order fallafel and salads (and perhaps an Israeli beer), you'll have more than enough food before you.






And now here comes the light drizzle. Just one more picture, from a neighborhood market!

 (autumnal foods...)






Then we walk back, across the river, into the embrace of the Left Bank once more.

(In the Jardin des Plantes, there is a very interesting structure that supports very large squashes. Looking from the bottom...






... looking from the top.)





Afternoon? We rest, and talk, propped with pillows on one of those big hotel beds that could fit a family of five. And all too quickly it's almost 7. Our dinner is at 7.

We go to Semilla. I'm loyal to places that treat people well with good food and kind waitstaff.

(a fat ravioli, stuffed and topped with black trumpet mushrooms)






In the hotel again, we stay in the lobby for part 164 of our ongoing conversation, but it's getting late and so at last we sketch out our time tomorrow -- necessarily limited by Bee's evening departure for Warsaw.

And now I am in my room once more, where I reach for something sweet. From a box with a small selection of these:






Colorfully French, with a deep taste of cherry or chocolate or chestnut or salted butter. Macarons, imitating life, which, too, tends to have all that beauty in your face, if you can see beyond the salt, or better yet, if you can mix the salt into your brew, to make an entirely palatable concoction.

Paris pleasures

Paris calls forth the predictable comments from visitors: the city is beautiful but crowded. The art is fabulous but the lines are long. The food is great except when it's not. The waiters are rude to those who do not speak and act like real Parisians.

It's not hard for me to come up with examples affirming these stereotypes. But these are not my complaints. My experiences usually run in the opposite direction. Even though it does take some engineering to sidestep the unpleasant aspects of being in a city that draws upwards of 40 million visitors each year. Think of it! 40 million! (Others argue that the number is inflated since it counts the number of hotel and other accommodation arrivals. If you have repeat visitors like me, you're counted multiple times.)

Honestly, staying where I do, at my beloved little hotel le Baume, I feel I am in the heart of a quieter, gentler Paris. Indeed, Bee, like Ed, commented how utterly silent our street is during the day (and of course at night). With a park just up the block, I feel it's easy for me to exhale here. Cities don't excite me anymore, but Paris, in this gentle little corner, does play magically with my senses.

*   *   *

We meet up for breakfast downstairs.






And then we set out on our morning walk. This is our sunshine moment. And it shows!






To the Sorbonne, to the Pantheon, to the Luxembourg Gardens.






And all around the park, because after all, it's not that big and the weather is so perfect for it.






The sunshine, on our backs as we wipe down the dew soaked chairs and sit facing the flowers, is sublime.






From there, we walk (by chance) past Parisienne, the bakery that won (a couple of years ago) the prize for the best baguette in town. We buy just half of one, to try. Mmmm...





And now we're just a couple of steps from the big department store, where we go in just to smell the perfumes.
I tell Bee that Ed isn't smitten with perfumes and she asks -- what about you?

It's one of those frivolous things that I secretly love and that I have no room for in my farmette-kid  centered life.

Or do I? I think about this for a good while longer.


We stop at another bakery-lunch place where the emphasis is on organic, fresh, honest. (As if other places don't push those three food values!) A salad, a croque monsieur (grilled ham and cheese) and we're done.

And now it's time to return to the hotel for a brief rest.

*   *   *

In the late afternoon, I pop out for a second to a pop-up store that popped onto the scene just recently (across from the Luxembourg Gardens). A half dozen artisans selling their stuff under one roof.

Once again I notice (and don't buy) the perfumes. I give my head firm shake and my hand a gentle slap and move over to the table where a woman sells printed sweatshirts. For the kids. Three. One with bees, one with bears, one with a whale. You're free to guess which kid gets which design!

*   *   *

And now comes the time for our grand museum experience: Bee and I are heading out to the Musee d'Orsay. We both love it, we both want to return to it.

Here's the thing: even though it's October, even though it's evening, even though we have easy access with advance purchase/annual pass, it's crowded. Not less, not more than it was when I brought the kids here in August and Sparrow rebelled, leading me to take him out of the stroller and put him on the floor where he raised hell for a good part of the Impressionists. Crowded. (At least I wasn't worrying that someone would inadvertently step on my grandson today.)

(View out a Museum window. Lovely, no?)






I become selective in what I choose to admire. (Every grandchild of mine has to admire or at least contemplate this incredible Monet. Snowdrop has seen it several times already. Sparrow -- just once, and only off the floor, looking up. Primrose? Soon, I hope!)






Some stuff is accessible. I love that! (Don't get me started on what's going on with the cats back home!)






Other paintings -- not so much.


 


And the special exhibit on Degas and his infatuation with theater and especially dancers? Uff! (We know this statue well down at the farmette: she stands proud and tall in a snow globe, only perhaps one hundredth the size of the real deal!)






(A girl and ballet: it's a fascinating love affair.)






(Randomly, a mirror.)





I didn't fight the tumult. Indeed, later, when I sat back and considered the whole experience, I have to say I was happy to have seen the crowds. Art still matters. People brave the craziness to inspect it. There's hope for this planet.


*   *   *

Out again, Bee and I walk the narrow streets of this artsy neighborhood. There is this store with tablecloths. On my small list of things to perhaps accomplish during this trip is the purchase of a table cloth for the now expanded table in the farmhouse kitchen. For the big meals, when we all come together.  Should I take up Bee's time for this project? On an impulse, I open the door and we go inside.

And she helps me pick one out. And so now it's extra special because it comes with the approval of someone whose opinion matters to me.





Our dinner choice for today? I suggested Cucina Mutualite. It's a little funky, it's Ducasse (know your French chefs!), it's modern and sweet. A bit of Italy, a bit of France. Not too expensive.

We eat well. A risotto with spinach and girolle mushrooms -- how can you lose on that!





When evening becomes night, we walk home. The streets never grow quiet in Paris, but they grow quieter. No need to rush. No need to think about what's next. Save the planning, the high energy for tomorrow. Tonight, all we have to do is walk home.

the pace changes

Bee, my good friend from Warsaw arrives today (sorry for the silly nickname, but I wasn't sure she'd like having her full name plastered all over Ocean) and so the pace of the day changes. The goal is to spend time with her. Our paths do not cross very often: she lives there, I live elsewhere. It's true that my closest friends in the U.S. also live far from me, but having a close friend in Poland, one from my generation, poses singular problems. Bee and I have known each other since she married my university pal, oh some forty plus years ago. This is at once truly wonderful -- we have a history! But a history also ties one down.

Until email came around, she and I did not correspond. We never called or texted. It was a different era! For decades, my contact with her and with nearly everyone in Poland was maintained only through my visits there. It's difficult to change that pattern, but Bee and I are trying!

I owe her a lot. In all my visits to Warsaw, until I got my own apartment, she was singularly responsible for my social connections to our pack of old friends. She hosted countless dinners and made sure everyone's calendars were in sync so that I could see even those with whom my contacts had fizzled. And there's icing to this cake: she and I see the world in much the same way (this, of course, is my opinion, but I bet she would not disagree). It's wonderful to just talk to her.

All this to say that the next days belong to our time together here. She made the effort to come to Paris, according to my calendar, staying at my hotel, walking the streets of this grand city with me taking charge of our agenda. And so Ocean has to take a back seat. I can't tell if my camera will stay hidden. Time to write will be almost nonexistent. I'm sure all of you will understand.

*   *   *

(morning view: no place takes street cleaning as seriously as Paris)






Breakfast, still alone, at the hotel.






And a quick errand in the neighborhood, still alone.





*   *   *

And now at last we are in step. Bee arrives just before lunch and after leaving her things at the hotel, she and I  head to Breizh Cafe for some Brittany buckwheat crepes. And from there starts our grand walk. Well, grand if you think about the wonderment of it all. But I can't say that we walked so hard and long that I wore the soles off of my shoes.

As expected, I kept my camera mostly in my bag. With exceptions. Here's Bee by the book stalls that line the Left Bank...






A glance to the Right Bank: you can catch a glimpse of the Sacre Coeur way in the distance...






We criss cross the Seine. To the right...






To the left again...





As you can tell it's mighty cloudy out there. It's a good time to give up on the walk and plunge into the Parisian metro system.

We didn't really aim to visit a museum today, but in Paris, the temptation is always great to do just that. At the distant and little known Marmottan, there is a special exhibit of a Dutch painter (Piet Mondrian) who began his painting career immersed in Impressionism, then reinvented himself as a true modernist. The exhibit is, unfortunately, popular among Parisians. There is a bit of a line to get in. We wait.

This is when it starts to rain. Not a big rain, mind you, but enough to make you pull up your collar against the wet drops. Hey, not fair! You promised to hold off at least until Sunday!

Finally, inside. We aren't immediately drawn to the exhibit of Mr. Piet. Rather, we dive into the museum's real treasure -- the permanent collection of canvases by Monet.

                                                                                                                                                             




We're there until the guard chases us out at closing time.

How did it get to be so late??

Back on the metro... (which doesn't always stay underground. Here's a view worth looking out of the window for...)





And now we're on the Left Bank again, just in time for dinner. Tonight we eat lots of seafood at the Seulement Sea.

I do like this tiny little place that's so close to our hotel, even as it's a little weird to eat there: it occupies the space of Pouic Pouic -- a restaurant I always returned to on my Parisian visits, until the owners decided to move on and do other things with their lives and fortunes. Still, I do really enjoy this new incarnation of a simple but good little eatery. I'm sure I'll return to it in future travels. In the meantime, Bee and I do a selfie. And it wasn't even my idea!





There: I wrote more than I thought possible given the lateness of the hour. Tomorrow I'll be quieter. Maybe!