time, rain and the trip home

If ever there was a day to stay in bed late -- this is it. In Europe, the clocks are pushed back this weekend (the vocabulary I hear for this is that we're going into "winter time"). And so I get one more morning hour in my hotel room. In bed. After all, there are no cats to feed. No breakfast to fix, no room to clean. My flight home is insanely late for a European return (leaving CDG 3:40). If I leave my hotel at noon on a Sunday (low commuter train traffic day), I'll still have plenty of time at the airport.

Oh, you're shocked. I can tell. Paris! Go out, walk! It's the place that's so hard to get to. The place you spend days and weeks agonizing about: should I travel there again? Should I dig into my retirement savings for one more trip? The carbon footprint of travel weighs on me. Leaving my family, leaving Ed weighs on me. And now I am here, no two ways about it. Here. In that best room in my favorite little corner of the city. Stay in bed? Are you kidding me??

But it's raining. And suddenly chilly.  Large bed, many pillows, mmmm! I have such a tough month before me at home (more on that later). Why not just stay under the quilt and think easy thoughts about the luxury of not having to get up?

*   *   *

Eventually, I shower (oh, the water here is so good for the hair! Our water at the farm is hard and so full of minerals that you come out with half the earth's deposits on your scalp). Everyone has their own definition of luxury. For me, it has to be this morning of idle. Of a slow paced movement from bed, to shower, to breakfast room at Le Baume Hotel by the Odeon Theater.





[It feels odd not to have Bee across from me at the table. I feel the pang of her absence. But, I have lived all these decades with friends scattered across the globe. They've made my life rich even if they cannot be part of my everyday. A successful life is one when you are comfortable with adjustments to your expectations. And hey, sometimes a sweet surprise will come your way. When you least expect it. Like when Bee decided to meet me here.]

*   *   *

Alright, I brave a walk. With an umbrella, wetting my boots, wetting my camera, but I feel I must. I have this nagging image: it's of me, grocery shopping in Madison after a return from Europe. I always have the same feeling then: here I am selecting breakfast fruits and veggies for the week as if I never went anywhere at all! The trip belongs to the past, along with every memory of stuff long gone. But I'm not there now. No grocery list in my hand yet. Today, I am still in Paris.

Where to? Let's try the Luxembourg Gardens, in the rain. 











I have never seen the park so empty, especially on a Sunday!






Truly, what a difference a day makes!






There is, of course, great beauty in a late autumn day here, wet or otherwise. Puddles, fallen leaves, the occasional person walking fast, adjusting the umbrella against the steady rain...






Lovely in its emptiness, in the offered colors, in its aura of peace and quiet.











Out on the streets again. They aren't necessarily flat, or straight, or smooth.






I feel I must turn back or I'll be traveling with wet clothes. One more look up this wide, glistening sidewalk...






Yes, the rain can be beautiful. Wet, cold, beautiful.






What, you're missing the Eiffel Tower? Okay, I'll finish with it!





*   *   *

The trip from hotel room to airport gate should always be so smooth. No lines, no waits, no train strikes. No hurry, no worry.

And it continues thus. Plane on time, weather calm. Arrival improvements in Detroit (at least for those who are not flagged) -- no more forms, no more check-in kiosks at immigration, no more lap top removal at TSA (the new machines look more like MRI equipment -- serious stuff!). I do what one does when one travels -- eat constant meals. Breakfast, first lunch, second lunch, afternoon lunch, supper... on and on. Food for the weary traveler. But honestly, it has been an easy trip.

In a few minutes, I'll be boarding the last flight -- to Madison. Home, lovely farmhouse home with all its animal dramas and ever changing gardens. And when I work away outside in gardens that cannot  imitate the Luxembourg cacophony of blooms, or set the table with a new tablecloth spread out on top, or a grandchild flashes by wearing something from one of those little Left Bank shops, I will remember -- in October, there was Paris.

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.