return

The hotel desk clerk asked yesterday, as I was checking in -- are you just arriving, or on your return home?
I hesitated for so long that he wasn't sure I'd understood. He repeated the question in English. Suspendu entre les deux, je suppose (suspended between the two I guess...). Then I thought how well this phrase describes my life. Only "the two" isn't necessarily home and Warsaw or Paris. It's home on the one hand and then -- travel.

On days like this one I alternate between thinking I'm nuts and thinking -- this day is so beautiful!

In fact, it is beautiful (though too,  I'm at least a little bit nuts to be here so briefly)! They said rain, but in Paris, so often the rain is just an idea, a possibility lightly realized. Today I easily could have left my umbrella behind. 

Breakfast first. Unhealthy, as always here. And I was too late for the pain au chocolat, which I suppose it's just as well. Do I really need even more bread product?






And then I have a full day of Paris. My flight leaves after 7 and even under the most cautious scenario, I do not have to cut into my time here until early evening.

I visit no museums. I attend no exhibition. There are many that tempt me ever so lightly, but I'll be back soon enough for that. Today is just for walking.

(If you wanted to enter this man's eyeglass shop, you'd have to step over his dog.)






I do not shop for myself in Paris. I do not need anything (I can see the scowl now on my Italian friend's face). But I do occasionally pop into favorite shops. To look. (Here I consider if the collar is of birds or of penguins...)






And sometimes my arm can be twisted. Rarely, but it happens.






My walk, which is not unusual and has been repeated many times in one version or another, takes me (what a surprise) through the Luxembourg Gardens.






Oh, the flowers!






I know you've seen some of these views...






But, of course, you've seen every view there is to be seen at the farmette. The point is to be refreshed and delighted by the changes, by the emerging evidence of a new season.






And there is so much evidence of spring, that I forgive myself for all these pauses with the camera. I mean, spring! The chestnuts have put forth their leaves. Real spring!






All green, a soothing green that makes you smile again and again.






So what else is blooming at the Gardens? For example, these...









Okay, out on the streets again. Passing too many neighborhood bakeries. 


 



They're making me very hungry, which is perfectly in order because it is close to two and if I am to eat anything at all today besides bread product, it has to be now, before the lunch period is shut off for the day here.

Very deliberately, I am in the neighborhood of Cafe la Varenne. 

Those who have traveled to Paris with me have all been dragged to Cafe la Varenne for lunch. And on each trip alone to this great big beautiful city, I try to make it there as well. It is my Parisian neighborhood love, even as I no longer stay in its neighborhood.

Oh, maybe it's not perfect. It grabs a lot of the government bureaucrats who work up the street and so the prices are higher than you'd find in a more obscure neighborhood place. But the food (especially the specials of the day) is well prepared and wonderful, and the waiters are superb, and it is always, always crowded, and it is the place where I can sit back and smile at my incredible luck in life at being able to come back for a lunch here again and again.

This time I am sitting next to a mother/son duo (the mom's older than me, so this isn't a youthful pair). He has a lot to tell her and he may be the only Frenchman I've come across who doesn't speak in a restaurant voice when in a restaurant. It allows for terrific listening!






They look angry, or sad, don't they?




 

Perhaps that's the subtext. But in the end, as she gets up, she gives him the most affectionate rub on his shoulders. 

And there is this couple -- well, I hope they're in love, because they look so good together!







 
Really, like peas in a pod!





 
Yes, you study the people here, but you also enjoy the food: an appetizer of white asparagus (with thin slices of ham and slivers of cheese)... 





... a vapeur of plaice (a flatfish that is so common in France) over spinach... mmmm!

And did I mention the waiters? 

As I leave, I tell my waiter, who is part of the fabric of this cafe-restaurant, that I am celebrating my return here. I've reached a very impressive number of visits, considering how far away I live. But more importantly, I expect that my next meal there will again be with my granddaughter.
What's her name? Because believe me, I will remember it! 
Snowdrop.
Snowdrop! I'll see you both soon.


It's getting dangerously close to early evening. And still, I continue my walk. It's so lovely to window-shop on these streets... Here's a store where the kids' clothes are so delicately pretty!




 

And no, I can't imagine Snowdrop would really need shoes like these below (matching her mom's?), but still, there's something so sweet about their very unnecessary position in life.





 
This chocolate shop always has some of the loveliest Easter displays...




 

Toward the Seine river now. This is the time where there is a slight trickle of rain. You can see the umbrellas going up.




 

And perhaps because I've had too much of good food and I've had such a beautiful if crazily short spring day here, I can't help but think of that song from the movie. If you know the film, you'll recognize the song, if you don't -- well, no matter. I'll print out a few lyrics.

Leapt without looking
And tumbled into the Seine
The water was freezing
She spent a month sneezing
But said she would do it again...

And here's to the fools who dream
Crazy as they may seem...


And so Paris comes to a close for me. Perhaps it's fitting that I should leave you with a photo of the set of blocks where I'll be staying when I am next here...






For now, I pick up my bag at the hotel and walk back, the usual way, past the Luxembourg Gardens. Ed always tells me when we hike that it doesn't matter if we have to retrace our steps because the view is always different heading back. Indeed: these are the same flowering trees that I photographed yesterday, upon my arrival. Different now.




 

I have several post post scriptums. 

First, there is the matter of my photos: I wish I had used my camera more, but the time here was so brief that I had to limit myself. Taking pictures requires pauses, thought, redirection. I couldn't give it that. Too, I love photographing people and this is especially difficult when you're loaded down (I did some shopping for Snowdrop). I have been asked so many times how is it that I feel comfortable photographing strangers. We are a funny lot. Where would we be if we put away cameras when a person stepped out onto the street?

I was never more reminded of this as when I passed the photo display by the Luxembourg Gardens on my way to catch the RER train to the airport. Brilliant photos of the park  from a few decades back! Of people, enjoying this most beautiful Parisian green space (though the photos were in black and white). If you're in Paris these months, I recommend you walk by and take a look.




 

Secondly -- I'm on the flight back to Warsaw and I mean to write my post but instead I sit next to a Frenchman, who is really a Pole who immigrated to France some decades back and in the course of our very long conversation (which starts out in French until we both realize we're Polish!) I think about how this stranger understands certain aspects of my life that few others can really grasp: what's it like to leave Poland, then, to live elsewhere and come back, though with one, but realistically two feet still elsewhere.



My sister is there, waiting for me at the airport. I don't know the airport without my sister! We take the bus to my apartment and have a drink together and reflect on all this.

interlude

It's odd to be in Poland for only one week and on top of this -- to cut out for two days right in the middle of the stay. Yes, I admit it -- it's a bit odd. But I don't shy away from the odd. Too, it's very true that my travel and my connections are greatly influenced by the availability of inexpensive flights. This Paris interlude smack in the middle of my Warsaw week and this was the only way I could spend a wee bit of time in France on the cheap.

It's a relaxed kind of a getaway. In the morning, I have a leisurely breakfast in my apartment...






I listen to the sound of my neighbor who still appears to be angry at his son, and then to the much more pleasant sound of children's voices outside. I peek out and watch them walk two by two -- young kids doing an outing. So common here, that not a day goes by when I don't run into many such groups.






I close up my apartment and take my bus from here...






... to the airport. Good bye Warsaw (see you tomorrow!)...






Hi, Paris!





I step out of the RER train station and immediately I am in the Luxembourg Gardens. This always is my welcome to Paris.

It's slightly warmer here. For me -- it's wonderful! Warsaw is a tiny bit ahead of Madison in terms of spring, and Paris is a hefty bit ahead of Warsaw. It's thrilling to  see the flowers, the green grass, the kids with their sailboats, adults with friends and lovers...











Tulips, primroses -- they're all up and blooming. How good is that!






(Actually, quite a number of things are blooming...)






I'm in my hotel room ever so briefly. Time for a selfie or you'd never know that I was really on this trip!






Out for a walk now. Not only me and my high spirits. Him and his dog, too.






I pass a cafe where you can munch on the neighboring bakery's pastries. It just so happens that the ones that look the best (in my view) also have the best name...






I eat dinner at restaurant l'AG. I tried it last time, loved it, was able to reserve a table for tonight. I wont show you pics of food. My time in Paris is so short that spending it on describing food on Ocean seems to be even odder than taking the time to fly out here for an overnight. But I'll include this one photo of the two people who work the tables at the tiny (but oh so great) little restaurant. I think they're in love. Don't you?





Bonne nuit, bonne nuit... Think spring thoughts. Dream about pussy willows and primroses.

letting go of confidence

One good night of sleep, and another characterized by sleep-lite. Maybe the third will be sleep-heavy? You can never tell when you mess with time zones.

I am lying in bed, mentally calculating how many hours of sleep I should have clocked in when I hear a distinct bell ringing.

But what bell? I have my iPhone. I have skype. I have google voice. I have my Polish phone.

I decide it's none of those - it's the intercom to the downstairs entrance.

Who could it be? My sister has keys and besides, she's busy cooking up a storm at home. Who would be trying to see me at 8 in the morning? A mistake maybe. I ignore it. The bell stops but then starts again.

I get up and try to open the bedroom window. The shade is half drawn, but I manage enough of a crack to see a retreating form: a young man with a back pack. (My sister later tells me that it's likely the son of my downstairs neighbor. They've been fighting and oftentimes the older man throws the son out and refuses to let him back in.)

Alright. It's quiet again. That is until the opening window dislodges the whole shade and causes it to come crashing down on me.

It takes a long time for me to figure out how to climb up, way up and find a way to attach it to the clamps.

And so I begin the morning humbly running late. Enough time to glance at my morning bouquet...







But not enough time to eat breakfast.

It hardly matters. I am meeting my friend for a morning coffee. She is my oldest, enduring friend. And as I rush to meet her, I think -- where it not for my friends and my sister, I would not come to Warsaw as often as I do. I love the place, but it would feel empty without them. They, and not my history here, are what makes this home.

I had asked my friend to pick our coffee place and she writes without hesitation -- let's meet at Brunet Cafe. It's an Iranian place and it's been targeted by the nationalist racists here. Vandalism, threats -- that kind of thing.

I wanted to walk, but I am late, and so right by my old University gates...







... I catch the bus and meet her there.

It's a lovely little spot and they even offer a breakfast of oatmeal. (A patrol car drives by every few minutes. The proprietor checks in with the police. They move on. ) And of course, I have a wonderful set of hours with my friend.









We catch up on everything, but we also veer toward politics. How can we not -- last time I saw her in January, we had not yet inaugurated a new president. But she tells me the political drama in Poland is even more intense.
I cannot agree. How can it be more intense? She is an avid reader of the press. She knows what's going on overseas.

But when I listen to her, I realize that it can get worse. So long as democratic institutions are still functioning to provide checks and balances, one hopes that eventually the better instincts, reason, knowledge -- all those fine elements of a society will prevail. But there are no guarantees. In too many countries, the attack on such institutions is very very strong.

We have lived through so much turmoil in Poland! Can those who mock a free press and an independent judiciary have such short memories?!

By noon, we both have to move on. We walk together toward the metro, concentrating on the pretty neighborhood, the signs of spring.

It's the first day of spring -- my friend tells me. My sister had earlier said the same thing.
No it's not! I had looked it up to be sure. Spring officially arrived here at 11 a.m. yesterday. At the same moment as for the rest of the northern hemisphere.
But she reminds me -- it's all in how you describe it. In Poland, we've always regarded the 21st as the beginning of the new season.

She's right, of course. You can describe things however you want. Custom drives such vocabulary. And anyway, it surely is beginning to look and feel like spring here. Even as the Polish grandma (as opposed to me!) still bundles the child in layer upon layer of warm clothing!






(This vendor is selling what I regard as the quintessential Polish flower box plant: the pansy. I am amused to note that these are actually from outside Poland: Sicily. Does it make sense to treat Europe as one? Does it make sense not to treat Europe as one?)






(I stop at a bakery to pick up what surely can be regarded as a Polish cake: poppy seed - this one combined with a Polish style cheesecake.)






(Riding the subway, I come across this young Pole. I hope he doesn't mean what his t-shirt says. I want to tell him -- you that's too big a request. Too high a price...)






(Pussy willows. On sale everywhere. Absolutely everywhere.)






My goal for the afternoon is to be at my sister's place. She is hosting a dinner party for her old school crowd (and I do know some of her old school crowd) and I'm to join them for the evening.

She is a great hostess, attending to detail, putting her heart into the meal, to the presentation of it as well.






It is a terrific evening, with wonderful food and a great mixture of Polish and English (my sister studied the English language at the university here and her friends, who date back to those years, jump (like her) between the two languages with ease).






And here's a treat: the two music school students who rented my apartment before I bought it came to the dinner party as well. They're progressing terrifically in their musical careers despite their relocation complications.






Later, I ride the metro back to my place and I think -- it's as if I haven't left, right? Except that I have. And so this now is my interlude. My break. My departure from the routines of a farmette life.

spring!

Oh, but I love this season! It's rarely off to a good start in the regions where I live, but it progresses toward a rhapsodic view of life blossoming, of renewal and growth, and it's done with such flair and beauty that it takes your breath away!

And today it all begins.

I'm in Warsaw and I have all the stuff that I need for a good breakfast.

I spread out a tea towel that I brought with me, not because one ought to use a tea towel as a place mat, but because it has that lovely combination of images that define this week: in the corner it boasts in French that it is Le Printemps (spring! and yes, there will be something French for me this week) and then it moves to sketches that speak to my childhood in Poland -- lillies of the valley, plump cherries ripening on village farmsteads, swallows darting to catch this bug then that...







On the table, you'll notice the pitcher of flowers and you may remember that there was much debate and little resolution as to which flower may last the week, but perhaps it's not the blossoms that matter (though they are pretty) -- to me, it's the pussy willow twigs which always made it to jars at home in my younger years of a Warsaw spring.





Welcome, spring! Welcome indeed!

Still, it is on the cool side today. A high of 50F (10C). And it's not there yet as I set out toward my sister's neighborhood where we are to do some shopping, not for me this time, but for her.

On my way out, I walk down the stairwell of my apartment building. It's got a few chips and dents, but it's clean and ... homey. My neighbor downstairs occasionally pokes out to see who is passing through. Another neighbor's pup yaps at us all.  Outside the window, you can catch a glimpse of the monastery that's located just to the back of our building, behind firmly locked gates. Here's a nun pacing outside the high walls, talking earnestly on her cell phone...






In Warsaw, I believe all apartments are heated by radiators. (I've never seen another form of heating here.) The stairwell has radiators too and that's grand: toasty warm when you enter. On the radiator that's right next to our mailboxes someone put out three books. I look at the titles: War and Peace, The Politics of John the XXIII and Paul the VI, and finally The Essential Guide for Senior Citizens. I pick the last one up and look at the index. Everything you need to know! From why and how you should make up a will, to where you may look for services, to your rights to stay in your home even if you do not own it. I put the book back. (By afternoon it's gone.)






I take a meandering route to the metro. There's no hurry. And I want to take in Warsaw. You know, to make that correction to whatever images of it I have thus far.

In the course of my walk I pass dozens of flower stands. Poles love their flowers. Hmmm... is it something that I took back with me to the U.S.? Did it originate here? Because surely I remember dozens of flower vendors from my childhood as well. Spring meant posies of violets and English daisies. Forget-me-nots and lilies of the valley. These days the flowers aren't necessarily from riverside meadows. But still, they are an essential element of your home's decor: they announce a well lived life.






I stop at a bookstore. I am intrigued by the big children's book in the window -- the one that says "Spring on Cherry Street" -- in Polish of course.






I go inside. I like the book. It has large, complex pictures of scenes from a spring day in some hypothetical town. There are few words and yet the book feels remarkably Polish. Maybe it's the three nuns that are like three Waldos on each page. (One task might be to "find the nuns," though perhaps that's strange to a child who, being raised in the U.S., has never seen a nun in her life.)

As I resume my walk, I notice how many older couples walk arm in arm, or sometimes even hand in hand. (Here's a humorous sign outside a coffee shop: Good Warm Coffee (arrow points inside), Cold, Awful World (arrow points outside.))






Habits. Culturally ingrained and maintained. Impossible sometimes to let go of them. I come to an intersection. A small street, completely empty. Light is red. I cannot just stand there. It goes against the grain of where I learned to cross streets (in New York). I mean -- ridiculous. There's not a car in sight. I shrug my shoulders and cross on the red light.
A policeman saunters over to me: what do you think you're doing? You want to cause an accident?
I decide to forego pointing out that there are no cars.
Sorry... I was in a hurry.
Well now, you think you can just ignore the lights?
No... Sorry!
My sister later tells me I was lucky: she was zapped with a hefty fine. She said they've moved from giving verbal warnings to handing out tickets. In any case, on the next light I wait with the rest. But there are no cars! My feet itch to cross!

I hold back.


Most often, I pull out my camera when I think something is so... I don't know, typical! And I especially think in those terms when I see someone my age. There is something of the soul of Warsaw in these people who grew up to see the changes here in the same way I did.






On the subway (which I now take because I'm running so late) the new generation is plugged in. The old generation reflects.






My sister and I shop in a row of shops close to where she lives (the southern most tip of the city). Ha! I see a Snowdrop type!






But equally fascinating are the shops. You cannot say that we are in an exclusive area of town. It's comfortably middle class (for Poland; less so for those of you on the other side of the ocean). But the food stores -- they're wonderful!

I'm impressed with all of them, though I'll mention only a few: the meat shop, with its abundance of everything, including these lovely homemade pates.






The bread bakery -- well that's a given. Poles, like the French, love their bread and they love it fresh!






The fish store has a dozen beautiful herring salads, and the grocery store!! Oh, the grocery store!  This perhaps is the best of the lot. The vendor has everything: not just local (though come summer, he veers toward homegrown), but EU and in rare instances beyond. And all of it of such beautiful quality! The apples, the dill! The strawberries from Spain (we get them daily now, he tells me), the endive, beans, oh, just everything! Add to this barrels of sauerkraut: several types!

It seemed to be a family affair and they do know their product, their suppliers and obviously their customers.






Why do we not have green grocers in the U.S. anymore? They are ubiquitous in France of course, but I always thought that it's because the French are a bit gaga about food. I see that they're ubiquitous in Warsaw as well. Imagine having your own neighborhood grocer! Someone who knows you, picks out the good apples for you, and tells you when the next shipment of berries will be delivered. It's no secret that I dislike most produce sections of major supermarkets. I shop at Whole Foods in large part because of the produce section there: it's better than the rest. But it's not the same as these small shops. And so Warsaw has flipped: it used to be far far far worse in terms of food than the U.S.. Now, dare I say it?  I think it may be better. With prices that are less than half those in the west.

I think about all this as I get back on the metro. I'm loaded down after all. Couldn't pass up the sauerkraut...

As I climb the steps to the street, I hear music. I pause to watch.






I know where they're from  -- Romania. To the westerner, Poland is inexpensive and wages are low. To those in the east and south -- this country is a place where you can find work and decent pay. Economically speaking, Poland is many steps up from most other countries of the so-called Eastern Bloc.

(Looking down the street that I always cross on my way home...)






(Another photo of a person my age -- someone who looks so much like the older women of my childhood... Oh, the hat and bag may be finer, but essentially, she is as she would have been then...)





I pause to pick up some tulips at one of those flower stalls not too far from my apartment. I tell the vendor -- no, don't bother with the ribbon. It's just for home.
She is a bit aghast and ignores my directive. So what! You want to carry something pretty, dont you?

She reminds me of my Italian friend who was equally aghast when I had told her I don't care how I dress on days when I don't have social engagements. Don't you care for yourself?!?
It was the same admonition.

The flower person hands me my bouquet and I say thank you and good bye and she says thank you and good bye and then adds -- I wish you a very nice day ("zycze milego dnia!"). It is the third time I hear this from a vendor today! It's completely new and it sounds so foreign here! Did they all read in the paper that with a market economy you wish people nice days when they finish doing business with you?

Oh, the changing face of Poland!

At home, I mix up my cultures a bit: flowers from here, a little cup from Paris, chocolate covered ginger bread hearts with sour cherry filling  -- oh, so very much from here!






Evening. If at the farmette I am socially quiet for long stretches of time (except for events that center around family), in Warsaw, there aren't enough days to do all that I want to do with friends here.

Tonight, I am a guest at my architect's home. Karolina and her husband invite me over for supper with their wonderful two children. I take my time getting there. It's always so interesting to walk a city at dusk. Here's a dad taking his two out for an evening stroll while presumably the mom fixes supper.






Finally I am at Karolina's place. The food is grand, and spending an evening with them is just lovely,  and the kids are awesome, though unfortunately their little girl reminds me a bit of Snowdrop, so there is that nostalgia at work again.






(The ever yummy desserts of Warsaw...)






I leave when it surely is way past their kids' bedtime. I note the park across the street and I think -- why does it feel so Polish to me?






Perhaps because it is. Just that.