Paris left

Crisscrossing the Left Bank of Paris takes some hours. Crisscrossing it twice in one day takes a love of urban crawling. I have that love. Give me the countryside to live in, give me Paris for a day of sauntering at a good and lively pace.

That’s what I’ll post for you on this day – the left bank, back and forth – then, increasing the orbit further, back and forth once more. There were intermittent clouds and cloudbursts and, in the late afternoon there were strong gusts of wind, but feeling happy and rather carefree, I could not be bothered to notice or mind.

So, here we go, round number one (this one with Diane and Ernest):


We start with Diane, photographing the bulldogs at one of my favorite chain clothing stores, Maje:






Ernest is curious about men's hats at Hermé. I'm taken in by the flowers there:






We dry off from the rain at the Bon Marché (department store). I'm not in the buying mode today, but I do like my little bottle of juice at the cafeteria. Here, even the casual looks well put together.






I do love the clever perfume ads in this store. Like this one:






We leave the store. It has stopped raining for a bit, but I'm itching for a solid Parisian lunch. Is it coincidence that I am often ready for it when I walk the Rue du Bac? Where you'll find the ever bustling, ever full of friendly and oh so professional waiters Café Varenne? Here's one, dashing out across the street to the bakery, to restock the supply of baguettes.






Let me put up a photos of my friends at lunch. (Just for my own log, I'll note that I ate a plate of lentils with a poached egg and I ordered what I thought was a small, quarter carafe of rosé but turned out to be a demi -- way too much for lunch, but I suffered through and had a goodly portion of it. Thank God for strong noisette espressos!)






I say goodbye to my friends who are wanting a speedier return to the hotel and take the long way back -- along the river. Now your attention should switch to the sky. It may give you a hint of the weather for the afternoon. Tumultuous. This is the first time that I have seen waves on the River Seine.






For a while, it looked like it might clear.


 



But no. In fact, the clouds came back with a vengence. And Paris looked beautiful anyway. Stunning, actually.






But really windy. Have I said this enough that you're convinced? What, you need a photo of the wind? That's a tough one. Let's try this:






...and then take one more look at the breathtaking views onto the Pont Neuf. Last year, it was the snow that caught me (and my daughter) by surprise at this bridge. This year -- it's all about the wind.






Alright. I'm back at the hotel. I check up on my friends -- they're taking it easy this afternoon. But I am just so taken in by the drama in the sky that I cannot help myself. Out I go again, with the goal of reaching the Tower, THE Tower, the much photographed but never ever am I tired of it Tower. But it's a long jaunt, so first, a few photos from going there, a tad away from the river this time.

First, into the Luxembourg Gardens, just before they close (16:30 in the winter):






French are to scarves like Wisconsin men are to shorts. It's a three season thing. And they start young.






Speaking of seasons, perhaps I haven't shown enough of Christmas in Paris. In the less commercial neighborhoods, it can be a subtle thing. But every once in a while you'll come across a window that is so lovely and so seasonally well put together that it catches your breath.






The school day in France ends later than back home. On the other hand, there aren't the extracurriculars to keep you from going home. When the final bell rings, all kids head out. This girl left the lycee with the rest, then angled off to one of the side streets.






The sun has, by now, dipped below the horizon. I'm at the Eiffel Tower at last.






No, just one photo wont do. You'll see a handful. I can't help it. It's a camera magnet.






I'm at the river again. there are a few merry-go-rounds and a very ho hum Christmas market. I'm taken in by the sky again.






By the time I reach the Place des Invalides, it's dark. This is my classic view of the Eiffel Tower. It always looks great here, but never more so than at night.






I've neglected the pastries, haven't I...  Sorry. They should be given due respect.






And now I'm back at the hotel. Diane is ready for a short run to a museum. It's 7:30, but the Palace de Luxembourg has a gallery that is open late. And there is (for three months only!) a special exhibition of Cezanne's paintings in and around Paris. You can't take photos at special exhibitions, but from the gift shop cards, you can get an idea of what was inside.






Diane and Ernest aren't quite up for a dinner out, but I am and I go to a new place. For me, anyway. I want bistro food and I see that this one (La Ferrandaise)  got the bistro of the year award in 2006. (The French have this thing about giving awards and rankings and stars and forks and points to their eating establishments, so I suppose if you wait long enough, some recognition will come your way one way or another.)






But wait. Before I go inside, may I show off a Paris street (one hugging the edge of the Luxembourg Gardens) at night after the rain? Maybe my head is too full of Impressionist art, but to me, it looks as dreamy as a canvas from that period.






Alright, a word about dinner: it was superb. Scallop over a carpaccio of beetroot, followed by lamb, cooked for 8 hours (the menu tells me), over braised endive. With Ed on the other side of the ocean, I'm eating meats that I never choose with him across the table. Veal yesterday, lamb today, I can almost hear him wince.

I'm forced to order dessert (how sad) since it's a fixed price meal. There's no question -- I'll take the chestnut soufflé with a dash of Grand Marnier flavor. I almost opt for the profiterol with honey ice cream. Next time.

a pocket of calm

France had itself a windstorm last night, but we flew into Paris just before, in a small pocket of relative calm.





We’re in Paris for the week-end. It’s the pause between old world and the new one. I use it to check my wiring, to recharge my batteries before returning to what will be a hectic exam grading/holiday season.

It goes without saying that it was dark before we stepped out at the RER (train) stop that’s close to our hotel in Paris.

Paris is festive at this time of the year. It’s bouncy and bright and full of reds and golds.





Reds and golds indeed! Before the stores closed we made our way to a lovely little scarf shop where my friends purchased for me the most exquisite scarf...





...and then it was dinner time. Around the corner, at the very simple place that we, in the States would say serves perfect comfort food (Cremerie Polidor). I’m not in need of comfort and I continue to regard this European winter as unusually warm, but it was heavenly to eat raw veggies followed by stewed veal in cream sauce (blanquette de veau). I always think of it as Ed’s place. He likes the rough and tumble setting, the rickety chairs. I like the female staff of waitresses – they’re the same ones each time and they do their job so very well.





And the food is not fussy and the wine is cheap and good and you leave wanting nothing more than to settle in bed in your lovely tiny hotel room with the nice art work, appropriately with umbrellas in it...





... yes, settle down with a good book, except you never get to the book part because sleep is there, mellow and kind and before you know it, it’s morning.





So you think you’ve left Poland behind, that you’ve transitioned, except, of course, you haven’t. I listen to the waitress asking us about our croissants and our cafés and on an impulse I ask – where are you from?
Poland. Near the sea.
Ah, Poland. I know the place well...

Paris in the rain. We’ll have that today.

leaving Warsaw

At some point I have to shut down this feeling of having returned,  of being back in Poland and push it off to the side. And, I have to admit it, I relax then. I sleep better. Warsaw is behind me. I can return to a gentler beat.


The last morning in Warsaw. Bags packed, downstairs, waiting for the preset hour of departure. I have a few minutes for a stroll, just around the residential blocks by the hotel. There’s a café, I go inside. I hadn’t eaten breakfast. An espresso would be good. I look around...










...it reminds me a little of something I’d find in an artsy district of an American city. With a Polish twist, sure. The napkins are tucked into holders on each table, the cookies are different, all that. Still, I order my coffee thinking that it’s right for this place -- more fitting than having tea with lemon.





One foot into the door of an impending return.

We’re in a cab, on our way to the airport. I’ve stopped speaking Polish for good. What for. I’m chatting with my friends about being on the early side. Our driver chimes in, in English and tells how bad the traffic was just a half hour ago. Be glad you’re early. You never know.

He talks about his own recent travels – delays due to the volcanic issues in Iceland last spring. His English is rocky and for a minute I’m sorry I’m making it harder for him but I don’t want to end the camouflage so late into the ride. But he is bold and happy to keep going.
We were traveling back from a trip my wife and I took and just before our flight took off for Warsaw, they shut down the airport and all of Europe! We had to stay an extra week, my mother had to take time off from work to come over and walk our dog, it was a mess!

I smile at his stories. Then I ask -- So, where did you learn English? It's always interesting to find out where someone's language skills come from.   It tells you a lot about a person’s life. Indeed:
Ha! In London!

You lived there?

Well yes, for eight years! I go there to visit a friend for four days. Four days! Then, my friend breaks his foot and asks me to stay and help him for a few months with his job, you know, until his foot heals. I said ok. I call my family and tell them – four more months. And that turned into eight years!

But he returned. My own adult trip to the US began with a summer in Connecticut and eventually turned into a lifetime away. I became an immigrant without at least initially intending to be that, even as I could not imagine returning to Poland again once I’d settled into a life on the American side of the ocean.










I leave Poland. Good bye Poland. I’ll think about you again when I write my book this summer. Probably not a whole lot before. Not intensely anyway. I’m leaving that intensity behind, sort of like leaving a spare set of clothing behind so that you don’t have to pack new stuff for your future returns.

parks

Parks are for friends and lovers. For solo contemplative strolls. For families on Sundays just before or after the big meal. For groups of school children taking their Phy Ed class there, walking hand in hand in some loose formation. For grandmas with strollers. Everyone knows that.

When I lived in Warsaw not many days would pass before I'd make my way to Lazienki – the most beautiful park of them all. It’s what you do. Sort of like pouring yourself coffee in the morning. A routine, a habit. (In the west -- say in Central Park or the Parisian Luxembourg Gardens, you must add to this list of park habitués the jogger. In Poland we know better. You shouldn't rush the moment. Contemplation and good conversation require a slower pace.)


Morning in Warsaw. I pull open the familiar heavy Polish window and look out. Another nice day -- gray clouds are floating in, but it's not too cold.





After breakfast, Diane and I set out for the parks. We pick up the Royal Way where we left off yesterday and we enter Ujazdowski -- the first in a string of green spaces. I call this one the lesser park because, nice as it is, it pales in size and presentation compared to Lazienki. But, as a kid I loved this one exactly because of its compact size. It has a pond, a small playground and gorgeous chestnut trees just along its border. You could pick up fallen chestnuts in autumn and make stick animals from them with toothpicks.

Today things look rather bare in a pretty sort of way. Just a handful of people strolling, feeding birds.










Ujazdowski Park checked off. Now onto Lazienki.





We begin with a nod to Chopin. In warm months, many people come to sit on the benches here, liking to conduct a quite conversation in the presence of this great Polish hero. Or they’ll bring the newspaper and read it in the calm of the rose garden, covered now for the winter with boughs of balsam fir.









But the grandest section of the park is down the hill toward the lake and summer palace.

Here’s where our red squirrels play...





And they come to you if you extend your hand and hold out a hazelnut. I brought some rolls of bread from breakfast. The squirrel came up, scampered up my leg (the bold ones do this) thinking he may be in luck, then, finding only bread, ran away pouting, like a kid who was promised an ice cream and is given a bagel instead. Thanks but no thanks.

The birds, on the other hand, do love the bread. Not the peacocks. They nibble it almost reluctantly. In an “oh, alright, if I must” kind of way.





But the ducks and gulls! They squawk and fight aggressively for every last crumb. I typically take this serene photo of the summer palace across the pond, but this time, as I throw pieces of bread toward the pond, suddenly I am left with a photo of the great bird migration.










And there you have it – a stroll through the park. A last breath of city air in a stately environment of trees and crisscrossing paths.










Outside, on Marszalkowska Street, we find a café and Diane sips espresso and I sip tea with lemon. How quickly I fall into that habit here! Paul at the café back home would be shocked that a milky espresso has been so quickly forgotten, replaced by a brew that is weakened by the presence of lemon. Fickle hearts.

I walk Diane back to the hotel, then come right out again for a whirlwind of last minutes. Cross Plac Konstytucji (Constitution Square)  and their small Christmas market (with kielbasy, of course)...



 



...to see my father. A quick look at the familiar view outside his apartment window.


 


...then onto a nearby café to meet up with a friend (tea with lemon!),  with a stop to pick up a duffel bag, to run this way and that so that by the time Diane, Ernest and I sit down to dinner at a lovely place just up the street from our hotel...


 



... I am spent. As I have said many times, after Warsaw, I’m always in need of a vacation.