Paris

The flight route is always the same: you cut across Ireland, coming in on England's southwestern corner and then you swing south toward Brittany. This is your first sighting of France. 

(you can see it on my screen; and yes, it's breakfast time on the airplane!)

 

 

In recent decades, France has been like a lottery ticket that always has a good set of numbers for me. I'd gotten better at speaking the language, I'd mastered the public transportation system -- from the TGV trains to the rural buses that help you get to the most remote corners of this rather large (by Europe's standards) country. I'd walked, climbed, biked, kayaked, camped, rented, hoteled, airbnb's this place so much that honestly it felt like a second home, but one where I never had to do any paid work. Once, when a university proposed a faculty exchange, asking me if I'd want to teach there for a couple of months out of a year I said no. I never wanted to be obliged to be there. I traveled with the excitement of experiencing it on my own terms.

But this time it feels really different. France and the French went through what we went through back home and we are all changed as a result of it. But is it different here? We'll see.

Connections made, planes went up on time and landed in the correct destinations (that's not a guarantee!) also on time. I pick up my carry-on and walk out of the airport in Paris. 

There isn't a city that has pulled at every emotion in me as much as Paris has. And now, after all the drama of these two years, emotions are running high. I remember the songs and scenes from a Paris of yore...

 

And as we drive into the city, I can't take my eyes off of the streets of Paris. How is it now, from the backseat of a car? Yep, I'm coming in by car. I don't take the RER commuter train from the airport. It can be crowded. I don't want to be shoulder to shoulder. So I booked a direct transfer. One with a vaccinated driver. (The email discussion I had over that one was so... French. The people here like to see themselves as the ultimate protectors of privacy. Madame, we here value privacy. You cannot ask the vaccinated status of the driver. We there value privacy as well. But you can always ask. They ask. I get my vaccinated driver.) 

And now I am at my sweet little hotel, where because of my pandemic cancellations (there were many), I hold an enormous amount of credit. This time they put me in an attic room. I'd never stayed in it, always preferring a room just below with many big windows looking out on the street. But, they claimed this one was available and the other one was not and hey, I'm not complaining! Here's my room...

... with the view.

The ride into the city is strange enough. The arrival at the hotel is even stranger. Masks, of course. Also new protocols: new cleaning regiments (rooms stay empty for a day between occupants whenever possible), a staggered breakfast schedule. The goal here is to minimize people crossing paths in public spaces.

I'm tired after the long, masked flight, but still, I feel like this trip was a last minute gift. Stars were aligned: the Covid rates are way down in France, their vaccination rates are soaring, my own vaccination status is at its most potent moment. Having finally traveled here, I'm not going to just stay in the room. I go out for my first tentative walk in Paris. I'm hungry! It's 1:30 p.m. Soon the lunch window here will close. I stop at the nearby Breizh Cafe. The one with the buckwheat crepes (mine is with pumpkin and other "seasonal vegetables" and an egg and goat cheese; that's cider in the glass -- a Brittany fave).

This is my chance to really look around me. To take it all in. The eateries are all packed. Americans aren't traveling (much) yet, but other Europeans are and the Parisians, too, are making up for lost time. There's so much chatter around me! Everyone is eating, laughing, talking, inside, outside -- it's almost frantic in its intensity.

Restaurants, cafes and bars are fined if caught serving someone who doesn't show a pass sanitaire (proof of vaccination or documented negative COVID test within the last day). So everyone except me whips out their phone and has their code scanned in. But they are forgiving for Americans (for now). Our flimsy little vaccination cards with illegibly scribbled information on it is accepted with a smile. 

After lunch, I walk. Don't ask me where. In my neighborhood. In the park. To the pharmacy to see if they are still issuing substitute passes for Americans. They were, but they've stopped. To a bakery. To a clothing store, just to look. Bonjour Madame! Please disinfect your hands before coming in! Merci!

(definitely the year of the crazy velos (bicycles) in Paris!)

(the scarves are out!)

chestnuts are early leaf shedders...

(flowers that match the season)

Honestly, I think the French grimaced at the vaccination mandates but then bit the bullet and went for it and in exchange they were given back their social time over food. And they are using it!

Inside public places, masks are required. I am surprised that 95% of the masks worn by French people are the surgical ones. 

 

 

 

There are a few of the KN95s among some of the elderly, but for everyone else, young and old -- it's the standard white and blue disposable one. (Well, many of the high school kids favor the black version)

 

 

 

Back home, we've mostly gone the cloth route. They have not. For us, buying medical grade masks is a challenge. There are a lot of fake ones on the market. Here, there must be some Santa Claus leaving boxes of the surgicals at everyone's doorstep because they are all the same and everyone has one. 

So how does it feel to be in Paris?

So strange and so strangely beautiful too!

(and there is that incredible bread product!)

But it's a busy city and my idea of popping in unannounced to random eating places has to be revised. I stopped by one eatery that would have been good for dinner -- lots of outdoor tables, good menu -- and asked if I could book a table. Sorry, we're full tonight. Wait, it's Tuesday! Call ahead, the waiter says and hands me a card.

In the end, after walking so much earlier in the afternoon, I opt to go out and stop at the first agreeable place with outside tables and heat lamps. It's nippy here in the evenings! I didn't have to go far. Parisians do not like to eat dinner right at 7. If you head out then you may get lucky and beat the crowds. I found a lovely table at le Comptoir. My younger girl and I had once eaten lunch there after a snowstorm. Outside! Their heat lamps are that good!

And the food (pumpkin soup with chorizo and a fish over risotto) was very very good.

 

 

 

And now my dears, let me dig into my little bag of macarons and cookies from the bakery, then settle in for that famous first night in Europe, where your internal clock fights with you all night long, giving in to sleep only toward the very end.

leaving

It's all about the weather today. We haven't had very many storms this fall. But luck would have it that a big band of them is slated to pass over our state this afternoon and evening. With storms come flight delays and missed connections. And there is nothing to be done about it. Travel teaches you to be patient.

So I am patient when I get up to cloudy skies.

(The blooms are pretty much all annuals. They'll be with us until the first frost.)

I'm very patient over breakfast. There's no rush here. We take things slowly in the mornings. Besides, it's my last meal with this guy. Because of the pandemic and because of the way we live, we haven't been apart much (at all?) the past couple of years. Leaving family, leaving Ed -- these are never easy.

I pack. It's never the clothes, it's the other stuff you think you'll need. Gathering, sorting, dividing between suitcase and backpack. Ed says -- that's a lot of trouble for a good bread product in the morning... 

And I try to be patient as I study the weather reports. Will there be a window in between storm 4 and storm 5? If you don't hear from me today again, that means I made it out. So, let's hope you don't hear from me again today.

Off I go to the airport. Patiently and with love.

Sunday

Tomorrow I take off on a mini trip. Solo. My first one in two years. You could say it's also my first real movement outside of the safe spaces of family and home. Well, there was a night Mineral Point! And now this trip.

So much has changed since my prepandemic travels! Covid has added layers of uncertainty and also layers of needed protection. Who would have thought that the next time I planned to fly anywhere at all I would have to put on a highly protective mask (just cloth wont do for my airline of choice, and I so appreciate that!) from the moment I stepped into the airport until when I alight at my destination. That would be more than a dozen hours. I guess in there there will be some food or beverage option. We'll see how that works. 

And who knew that I would struggle to come up with required passes that would give me access to public spaces on my trip (still waiting on my application, which means that I likely wont get it on time and thus will have to go to plan B: find a pharmacy willing to issue me one on the spot). Two years ago such stuff would have been the makings of a sci fi story. No, you can't enter, because you might be carrying a virus that will threaten to destroy us all! Two years ago you could sneeze in public without feeling grossly embarrassed.

The other change is that I am older. I no longer think it's "no big deal" to lose a night of sleep in flight. I no longer sample wines as if they were water, skip meals when I don't feel like sitting down for one. Indeed, I no longer go for hours on end without feeling like sitting down! Who knew that your plans should figure in your age. Two years ago, I gave none of this a second thought.

And I packed differently then. I have always been a light traveler, with only carry-on stuff, no matter how long the trip. But on the returns, I would take a suitcase loaded with gifts and must-haves. Not this time. I'm keeping it light so that I can actually lift the bag into the overhead compartment. At 68, that's not a slam dunker.

In the past, I'd know where I would want to eat. This time I have no idea. Outside, for sure! But will it be easy to accomplish that? I wonder. On this trip, I don't particularly care about making the meals extraordinary. I just want to eat comfortably, safely. Fresh and honest if possible, but hey, I'm not going to go out of my way looking for an ideal. In any case, my view of what is ideal has shifted.

Two years ago the world was as crazy and confusing as it is now, but it was easier to put yourself in a travel bubble where peace reigned and beauty was within reach. Things are different now. And yet, the world beckons. I'm not ready to lose myself in stories of past trips. My head needs new material. So slowly, I'm testing the waters of travel again. Just a little bit at first. See how it goes.

But all that is for tomorrow. Today the skies are gray, the animals are hungry, the air is too warm for the middle of October.

The young family has something on their schedule and so there is no Sunday dinner. Just a quick Sunday visit on my part. Snowdrop has a play date (masks inside, more freedom outside). Sparrow wants to believe that it's also his play date. Sandpiper is just happy with a bigger crowd of young ones.

And then I come home, to review what I should pack for my trip tomorrow.

Sleepover, continued

It's really weird how a house can change in one minute: from rowdy and boisterous to absolutely quiet. Snap! I've left one life and reentered another! 

I am tired and happy -- a known to me state from all family visits. At night, the kids mostly slept and in the wee hours of the morning, they mostly wanted to be up, but for a visit that was just short of 24 hrs, it hardly mattered. 

(Misty morning skies outside... It's going to be a warm day.)

 

 

I got a chance to watch how the three navigate life together -- a rare treat for me. You get to understand what works well for them, and where they have had to learn to adjust, given the age differences. 

(breakfast: reaching for flowers which suddenly became in high demand)

What I also saw was a beautiful sweetness toward the youngest member of the threesome. Snowdrop had more of an older sib distrust of baby Sparrow, but with Sandpiper, she has relaxed, loving all his little baby gestures. 

 

 

 

Sparrow takes his cues from her on this. I'm predicting that Sandpiper will be the privileged youngest one here. There is something to be said for being the baby of the family! Sparrow, on the other hand, has to find a way to navigate the waters as the middle child. Sometimes it is so easy, other times, it's the toughest little ship to sail.

Art time.

(Sandpiper is trying hard to be upright. At 4.5 months, I have to make sure that if he falls, he wont tumble to the ground.)

(When Sandpiper naps, I take the two older kids outside. Familiar places: magic meadow, the secret pine house I'd carved out for them underneath the branches of the tall spruces -- all favorites from years of farmette play.)

And in the afternoon, the parents return and it's time to go home.

Evening in the quiet farmhouse. Instead being intensely focused on the kids, hearing their every worry, watching their every joy, I retreat to sitting back and thinking about their lives in their respective homes. Of course, thinking about them is beautiful too. Grandparents have the time to do that. To review, to process all that is unfolding in the lives of the younger families. To learn, to be amazed by it all. 

Having a quiet evening with Ed is grand too. Though I wonder if he misses someone thumping him on the side trying to keep him from taking a nap, or calling out to him to please remove a horrible 1 millimeter spider that has found shelter in a doll house. Eh, he's got me to remind him to chop up the compost pile or pop up some pop corn! It is never totally quiet here at the farmhouse!

Sleepover

Stand back, cheepers, move away cats, I have to get ready for the guests!

And while I'm at it, bringing up and dusting off colorful nick-nacks for at least some of them, I may as well bake up some blueberry muffins for the others.

(Ed and I can indulge as well: muffins for a late breakfast on the porch today.)

What's all this? Weekend guests? Who's coming?

Well, it's not really for the whole weekend, but I am hosting three energetic young ones today and tomorrow. We're giving mom and dad a break. I hear they packed their suitcases before school. After a day of learning, the three grands will come here. First Snowdrop, followed soon by her two brothers.

We've made plans: a (chaotic) pizza dinner...

Followed by a movie night. Flora and Ulysses. Film of their choice. Fine, Sandpiper does not get to vote. And Sparrow's arm can easily be twisted. Ah, the advantages of being the oldest kid on the block!

Snowdrop has had many a sleepover here and Sparrow, too, used to spend a couple of days in the winter and a couple in the summer while the parents went away. But all that stopped with the pandemic. Add to it the birth of Sandpiper (so now there's three of them and one of me!) and we had to reconfigure visits: they're still frequent, but usually just one child comes and most often it is the older one who is especially starved for quiet book reading time. 

 

Still, every once in a while, I get all three (or, is it all four?)...

 

 

 (he's trying to nap; she's nudging him so that he'll stay awake)

 

 

... and this time they are here to sleep. Let's cross our fingers on that one. (There was quite the protracted discussion as to who should get the big bed. You'd think both older kids would clamor for that privilege, but no: they both wanted the old crib-made-into-a-day-bed.) 

Later, much later: all is quiet. The little babe is asleep in the kitchen by the wine cooler. The big two are upstairs in the lemon room. Ed and I are barely awake on the couch. It was a fine day and a wild and wonderful evening!

Thursday

Rain. Finally. The farmette lands were as dry as something you'd see in a movie about the dust storms. I worried about the root system for many of my perennials. They got what they needed today.

(Hey, I'm a cat! I don't like rain!)

Staying inside means that I do a lot of reading. Not necessarily fun reading.Tedious stuff about a troubled world. Just to make it a totally fun day, I tried out my at-home COVID testing kit. I am one of those unfortunate people who has lots of seasonal allergies, mild cat sneezing, and chronic sinusitis. None of it is a big deal, except, say, during a COVID pandemic because you feel you need to constantly make sure you're free of the virus. I mean, after three vaccines and little contact with the outside world (except for seeing the kids who thankfully have been just fine, as have been their classmates), I'm not too concerned. And still, I do the testing because that is the right thing to do. And again it's negative and again I think about how rotten it is for people whose results do not come out to be negative.

Breakfast. 

No one can work outside. Ed spends the morning on Zoom. His voice carries, even when he closes himself off in the art room, but it's a nice carry. Sort of like being in a coffee shop with people having lively conversations somewhere in the background. And before I know it, it's time to pick up Snowdrop. 

Rain, on an off. Sometimes very on!

Sometimes it pauses.

But not for long. Basically, it's a wet, wet day, with the grand smell of wet leaves and a dampened earth. October aromas. Rich and wonderful.

Toward evening, we see a bit of blue. Snowdrop is tempted to climb her tree but really, everything is just so wet...

We head home.

By the time I return to the farmette,  the clouds are bouncing off to the side. For a while. We'll get more rain, more humidity, more heat and wetness. Tomorrow.