my Paris

People who know me and are themselves planning a trip to Paris tend to ask me -- what should I do that's a must? That's not in the guidebooks? I always tell them -- everyone discovers their own Paris. I can tell you where you'll find the award winning baguette, where you will reliably find the most wonderful lunch, which corner of the park brings tears to my eyes for its beauty, but at the end of the day, what you will love best is that you will discover your own favorite bakery, your own spot that you will remember for the rest of your life. Just keep your heart open and explore the possibilities.

Parisian moments that are forever in my mind. My first trip, when I was seven: we were traveling to New York for my father's job and here we were in Paris. My parents took me to the Invalides square and bought me a pistachio ice cream cone. And with my soon to be husband, much later: I caught a cold just before arriving here. Still, we went out to dinner at a place that looked out at Notre Dame. I doubt either of us will forget that view from that table. With my daughters, on their first trip, eating pastries from LeNotre bakery on a street bench. With Diane, overnighting in her little apartment in the Marais. With Basia, watching two women take in the Lilies at the Orangerie. With Ed, on his first trip with me, where he had sprained his ankle just before coming here, listening to the click of heels on the sidewalk outside our hotel room. Me, alone, looking for socks for my sons-in-law for a Christmas present. My mind is littered with such images. My Paris. 

This particular trip was flipped at the last minute and it morphed from being a solo, with a black eye in Albi  (in between plates of confit and cassoulet and foie gras), to being one of discovery with two friends suddenly at my side. But now I am alone again and I have only this one idea: that I contemplate life through the prism of my walks here. No socks to buy, no foods to eat anymore, no exploratory walks. No museums, no trips out of the city (though I am tempted!). Just walk, look and think.

I start the day with breakfast at my lovely little hotel. It just makes sense to do this. I can read, listen, eat. I know a place that has bigger and arguably better croissants and certainly better views, but still, the hotel makes this meal very comfortable, so that I don't want to budge (just yet). The foods I need for a good start to the day are here. I settle in and eat.

There isn't a whole lot of rhyme or reason to my Paris walks today, except that they are rather... predictable. I spend quite a while in the Luxembourg Gardens.

(the Montparnasse Tower, from where I started this Paris adventure on Tuesday...)

(Oh, what pressure this grandmother must feel when she offers to take her grandchild out for a walk! Will I look good? Is my face at its best? Poor woman...)

Mornings in the park are special: empty chairs, a slower pace, quiet. By afternoon, the space around the pond will be packed. Both times are fun to see -- the quiet and the friendly chaos.

Moving away from the pond, to the distant corners of the park.

Alright, I'm out now. There is a children's clothing store near the south west corner of the park, so I look in. I would never do this with friends. I spend too much time on considering what, if anything I should buy. Waste of everyone's time. Though not my own. I like thinking things through in this way.

(I didn't buy this shirt or sweater for any number of reasons. But I like the way they look together!) 

The store, in addition to being close to the park, is also close to a bunch of schools. I have always described the kids that I see here as as high school kids, but today I asked the sales clerk -- how come I'm seeing so many pupils out on the street here? I thought schools were closed for two weeks. They are closed, she tells me. These are college kids. The universities aren't closed. Ohhhhhh! No wonder they look so confident and, well, so intentional! 

(Solo walks always lead me to notice mirrors in shop windows!)

At lunchtime (speaking of intentional!), I find myself at the entrance to Cafe Varenne. My beloved Cafe Varenne! With the perfect waiters and the excellent home cooked foods, and the fantastic old Parisian vibe, with modern twists in both what is served and who is there to eat it.

As always, even though it looks crazy crowded, somehow a waiter finds me a spot and it is perfect.  Front row seat to watching waiters expertly stride by with loaded trays.

(home made Gravlax on lentils, with a salad)

(creme brûlée, in honor of Ed's great desire to produce a similar dessert for us on our anniversary... the thought was definitely there!)

And then I sip a noisette coffee and I walk the long blocks home.

Dinner? At La Maison du Jardin. A 9-min walk from my hotel in a very pleasant direction. Funny I should say that, because on this trip alone, I passed La Maison maybe a dozen times and I never noticed it. And indeed, for tonight, I was all set to try Flocon -- a place that has many many fans among those who study the food scene in Paris. But, Flocon is a 20 minute walk. Each way. I'm embarrassed to say that in the end, I wiggled out of my reservation there and looked around for something closer.  Hence  La Maison du Jardin.

First the upshot: was it good and would I go back. And the answer is yes to both, but with a strong caveat: I would eat there if I wanted to eat well, and spend reasonably, and not walk far. I feel about it like I feel about so many places in the city and indeed, about so many places I travel to: yes, loved it, but next time, all things being equal, I'd like to try something new. 

Is it me??

Let's deconstruct the evening, because it had some real highlights: The curried shrimp in an avocado sauce were lovely. Spices done just right.

For a second course, I had what up to now, few restaurants here have offered -- a lamb pastille on a bed of eggplant. A speciality of Morocco and Algeria, it's s well cooked lamb meat wrapped in a filo-like pastry. It's so good to see these influences on the kitchens here! This one was expertly prepared, though my recollection of spices used for this in Morocco is that I could lose myself in their headiness. I did not lose myself in the spices here, though again, the dish was really well executed.

The problem came with the dessert. I was aiming for light. Of the choices, Ile Flottante was the obvious candidate. And the island part of this "egg whites are floating on creme Anglaise" was large, and after five bites (which put me not even one third of the way through it) I had had my fill. I ate it all, but it was, in fact, a struggle.

Why eat it all, you ask? Well, here comes another interesting part of the evening: I was seated next to an American couple from Austin Texas. She spoke French very well, but she didn't use it in the restaurant and so I got curious.  Though not enough to interrupt in their intimate conversation.

I sat there reading my book about the south of France policeman, who was just discovering another body under a pile of logs, while his sweetie boarded the train to Paris to investigate the shenanigans taking place between some Ukrainian dudes and Russians.  And then the woman spoke to me (in the most polite and unobtrusive way possible), asking me about the pastille dish, possibly because her husband is a restaurant owner in Texas and so they tend to have a higher than usual interest in food prep.

From that point on we talked. And they were lovely. And I am always so amazed how many lovely people cross your path when you travel. You notice them so much more when you are alone. Like with photography, you dont do as much of reaching out when you are concentrating on others at your side: partners, grandkids, friends. When alone, you take note.

So why am I only moderate on the restaurant? The food was great, I met some lovely people... What is wrong with me??

Well, it was the atmosphere. This restaurant had white tablecloths and had a serious, quiet atmosphere to it that I think was daunting. Eventually, as it filled, you would notice it less, but still, you would not ever in a million years want to bring a child there who was not well trained in using a lowest possible decibel of a restaurant voice. 

It's a very tiny place and the two women who were the servers were earnest about their job and indeed, they did their job well. But it is the severity in the atmosphere that made me think that you're not likely to see many young people there. My feeling is that that crowd prefers places where you can explode into a laughter and no one will look up at you in disbelief. It's just my sense of where France is heading in terms of its food scene, but I bet I'm right. And I'll say this: Cafe Varenne is very old fashioned in so many ways. But those waiters can crack a smile! And I do too, right back at them. At La Maison, I'm glad I brought my book to read for the first minutes, before the Texans spoke to me. Otherwise, I would have been a little mortified that I was breathing too loudly.

Still, I would go back! (Maybe.) I don't mind reading my book! Quiet is good! And the food was carefully prepared. None of this reheated in a microwave nonsense. And, importantly, within a ten minute radius of my hotel. So, it checks off a bunch of very important boxes.

And I am tired now and not fully packed and I have a flight tomorrow. Good night Paris! Good night friends everywhere.

Paris, again

Good morning!

Yawn... Wake up! This is the last day where I am seeing Paris a bit through the eyes of others. My friends are returning to Warsaw early tomorrow. What to do, what to do... I hit on a brilliant plan: provide some choices and let them pick. In this way if they feel they missed something, I wont feel it's my doing.

As I write up the possibilities in a text, I munch on my hotel breakfast once again. Going out to eat elsewhere takes time. I need to keep on schedule. I know, I know. This was to be a trip without a schedule! I am adjusting my mindset.

My friends choose option number 1: walk the Ile Saint-Louis followed by the Marais and Place des Vosges. The trick here is to walk the quieter route. To look keenly beyond the facade and to study the rhythm of each neighborhood. There will be wonderful lunch choices here as well: the best falafel, right in this neighborhood, Or in the alternative, there are several lovely cafes on secret side streets. My head spins with the possibilities!

We set off toward the river. These are my favorite postcard views of Paris. Photographed a million times, I know. You've seen it here over and over again. But each day is different. Each view is unique.

This island is the home of the Berthillion ice cream -- arguably the best in the city. We pause for some. (Praline and honey for me.)

And there are plenty of shop windows to admire. And colorful stores in which to poke around.

(trying on scarves)

And now we go off the island.

We plunge into the Marais with its quiet, narrow streets. The goal is the Place des Vosges. Normally this would be a very noble goal but the little park is all torn up for re-pavement. Just one corner is open to the public. 

That's okay. We linger for a little while, knowing darn well it's really time for lunch. The sun, initially hazy and reluctant, has by now warmed up the soul of everyone here. And stirred up our appetites.

We sit outside at the lovely Le Petit Italian (it's so close but so well hidden that it took decades of travel here for me to discover it) and it's one of those meals that could go on forever, because it feels so very perfect to be here on this bright and beautiful day.

Eventually though we force ourselves to get up and get moving again. We separate here: Piotr and Gosia become the tourists, filling their last hours with one famous Parisian site, perhaps another. Me, I just want to do what I always do in this city: walk, observe, think.

Too, I have "shopping lite" to accomplish (but then, at the end of it, why does my bag feel so heavy??) but nothing that is an imperative, nothing that sends me running. Plates, kids stuff, creams, a spoon. Big deal, right?

(At a store with creams, I check out my well matched eye: I'm wearing purple and yellow and those are exactly the colors of my eye.)

And in the evening we meet up for dinner at Georgette. Sure, I ate here just yesterday. But that tells me that the food will be good. It will be very French. We will, for sure, enjoy it. I want them to enjoy their last meal in Paris.

(My fish was great, but there isn't a doubt that it is the desserts that will stand out for us for a long time. Piotr's Ile Flottant, and our Pavlovas.)

This is the night when we also can talk about, well, the whole of our lives. I provoke it by asking where our friendship goes from here, given that I no longer come to Poland with any sort of regularity and they are not ones who take to keeping in touch through regular writing. Some people are good at it while others -- well, it's just not their focus.

There is no upshot to this kind of conversation. You don't solve anything and no plans are made about future encounters. Yet. But we float around ideas. And it takes so long to weave our future and our past together like this, that we see the restaurant is closing. We are the only ones at the outside tables. 

We walk over to Les Editeurs -- the catch-all place for me. For breakfasts, lunches, dinners, and now for late night drinks too.

It's midnight before we move on. 

Back to our hotels, back to the lives we live when we aren't traveling together. Back, but with all the ideas and richness of having gone through this time in Paris together.

With so much love...

reimagining Paris

Guests have come to Madison and I have thought hard how best to present my hometown. What are must-sees? What am I trying to say about this place in south central Wisconsin? This year, too, I had a meetup with friends in New York and I worried about what I should show off in what was once my city. And in Warsaw, I frequently hosted friends from the US, though there it was easy -- there's a certain tourist route that everyone would regard as essential for visitors. Add the Palace of Culture ad the great parks and you're set.

Then there is Paris. I've been here with many friends over the years and we've done many agreeable things here. Importantly, I have even taken paid groups of Americans to Paris, twice in fact, and I walked with them, pointing out this, pointing out that. So I'm well trained in this sort of stuff, right? You'd think.

Last night, my two Polish friends asked if today I would take them to the little favorite and fascinating parts of this city. Show us what you love about this place!

I almost didn't sleep half the night worrying about this! Their request was so simple, yet so profoundly difficult. Because at the end of the day, I will have shown a part of myself and I will have revealed my own personal statement about love, about life, about everything!

Now, these are very good friends and we have know each other for many decades and nothing will change between us if they dont fall in love with what I view as fascinating and enormously gratifying. I mean, Snowdrop disliked buckwheat crepes at the Breizh Cafe, and I forgive her for that, and she doesn't associate the yucky crepes with nice gaga. But this is different, because I know there is a very special, secretly so, Paris out there. If I can't put together a day that reveals it, then it's my fault. And so I take the charge seriously and I think and I reject this idea and I add this to my list of stops and before I know it, it's morning.

I come down to my hotel breakfast. The classic.one for me. Cannot be more Parisian, though of course what's missing is the crowds of Parisians going by. I promise myself that I will skip the free meal on one morning and go out to seek my breakfast by a window, looking out at Paris waking up. 

My friends are staying at a hotel just three minutes from me (my hotel was full by the time they decided to come here) and this is both perfect and daunting. I meet them there and we step out into the city as if it were me, except with their tastes and their habits and their style of doing things.

My rough plan is to first walk through the Jardins Luxembourg. They have had two days of Paris without me and they visited museums and saw some terribly chaotic stuff on the Right Bank and I told them that we will concentrate on the Left Bank, because this is where I spend a great chunk of my time. Sometimes I dont even make it to the Right Bank, though I try to keep an open mind and lately I've enjoyed strolls through the parks there. And just for those of you who know Paris and will say to me that actually, the Right Bank, the Canal side blocks and those north of the Marais are where the action is right now, culinary and otherwise -- yes, I know this to be true, but that neighborhood is so remote from the rest of Paris that I hardly ever go there and can't imagine basing myself there on short visits to the city. 

We set out. To the Gardens.

(waiting to cross the street: can you tell that these people are Parisians?)

The Luxembourg Gardens are not a monolith. The heart of the park -- the vast open space where you will find the great pond and fountain that are at the foot of the Luxembourg Palace (now the Senate) -- this is where everyone gathers, Parisians and tourists alike. It's the greatest mingling point of the city I think. There's a live and let live vibe here that I adore. Kids chase boats, groups munch on sandwiches and sip wine (illegal but you'd have to make a fool of yourself before anyone will enforce it), lovers kiss openly and with a lot of caressing in between, others sit in the chairs, feet up, and read a book. In public. Because reading a book in public is so much more congenial than doing the same at home. So, there's this Jardins de Luxembourg.

But there's another -- the hidden, quiet side to the park. Walk to the southeast edges and everything changes. This is where high school kids come for lunch break. It's no longer a Mecca of any sort, it's private. And it's lovely.

So we start here and then we leave the park...

(at the high school end: an entirely different set of park strollers here...)

And walk a short block to a toy store, because it's close by and I bought two toys for grandkids in Toulouse and I cannot come back without a third of the same sort (they only had two in Toulouse) and heck, if I'm showing them my Paris, then this certainly qualifies.  The Paris where I think about grandkids.

(I had to pause at a cafe for their toilette; in exiting, I came across these two parents sitting outside with their two young boys. What struck me was how intimate they were in their love for their boys, but especially in their love for each other...)

From here we walk the long blocks  of Boulevard Raspail, eventually reaching the Lutetia Hotel.  

It's the only large hotel on the Left Bank and it has a checkered history and just looking at it makes me feel weird even though it's recently restored and looks beautiful. Once, when I visited the University of Paris (for work reasons), my colleagues took me here for oysters and wine and I always associate it with people eating the best, the most expensive oysters in town. Maybe with champagne, because it's that kind of a place. Unique on the Left Bank.

Then we walk through the Bon Marche department store. Talk about tony!

There was a time when I could actually afford an item or two here, but that ship has sailed and not because I am retired and living on a government retiree's pension. It just has grown to be so expensive that even the most favorable rates of exchange, where it takes less than a dollar to buy a Euro doesn't help. 

Cross the street and you are in the Bon Marche food halls. I already found the coveted chocolate covered marshmallow teddy bears that the kids love -- right in the tea shop next to my hotel!  But I always look to see what else is new here. And admiring their pastries is de rigeur!

And then we walk the rue du Bac. Every Parisian knows rue du Bac. It's the Left Bank version of rue Saint Honore only not that obnoxiously posh. So, you dont have to be a millionaire to shop here and you can occasionally find something that is within your budget, but overall, it's curated to those who think constantly about design and style and aren't afraid to spend money on it. For us, what counts is that they have a very good ice cream store. Gosia is an ice cream aficionado. I have a scoop of salted caramel. Mmmm....

My favorite cafe in all of Paris is here (Cafe Varenne), but I hesitate about stopping for lunch. It's a commitment in terms of food (the portions are big) and price (they reflect the size of the meal). Better to find something calm and simple. Maybe a lunch at the Cafe de Marche on rue Cler? Wouldn't you think?

Okay. We walk in that direction. Passing this classic view! Gosia really would love to get close to the Eiffel Tower. Easy peasy. We are on our way there!

First though, rue Cler market:

And lunch.

(I'm eating the very common lunch salad of warm chèvre toasts on lettuce, with any number of additions -- in this case figs and apricots.)

Okay, the Tower. Finally. 

There is absolutely no way to photograph this monument to Frenchness with any degree of originality so I wont post more of my attempts here. Just this one (above) taken actually by Piotr. And as an added bonus, I'll include a pic of a group of amazed kids, listening to a guy make music on old tin lids and other discarded pieces of metal. 

At this point, things get a little confusing. I didn't really know what my friends would want after reaching our endpoint (the Tower). They tell me they're game to hit the Right Bank (just a little), so long as they could get there by bus. I'm not crazy about getting on super crowded buses (Covid!) and besides, I love the walk along the river, so they ride and I walk and we agree to meet up at the Tuilerie Gardens. On the Right Bank. By the merry-go-round.

(Along the way I pass this boy, playing, as my grandkids would play, imaginative games with very tiny souvenir Eiffel Towers.)

(I reach the merry-go-round - a place where the grandkids repeatedly came to, until Covid struck and kept them home)

We side step for a cup of coffee...

It is now almost evening. We split up, because they have some small shopping to do and I want to stroll in a different direction. They will let me know if they want to join me for dinner.

But of course, this is Paris. By the time they text me a "yes" to dinner, my chosen restaurant for the evening (Georgette) is booked solid and so I head out to dinner on my own.

And I have to say, my dinner turns out to be a real winner. The place is just eleven minutes from my hotel, so within my boundaries of where I'm willing to go after a full day. And the food is super good. I have a Gravlax a l'Ukrainienne for an appetizer. I ask what's so "Ukrainienne" about it and I have to admit, the waitperson stumbles on this one. I'm guessing it's more a solidarity statement. For the main course, I am easily drawn to the mushroom risotto. I have seen fabulous mushrooms -- cepes, trumpets, oysters, chanterelles, girolles -- in all the markets here. I am thrilled that I can have them now for supper.

I proposed we meet up for a drink after dinner and mindful of the fact that yesterday's late night drink was not necessarily creative, I found a place that takes the task of mixology to heart. It's called Tiger (on rue Princesse and I swear, every other person there was less than half our age, but the drinks were fabulous). I have a Negroni and then I leave them to continue on their own. 

(And how's the eye, you ask? Well, this pic, taken two minutes ago says it all: classic black eye! With a smile.)

Alright! For me, it was in fact a beautiful, sunny, warm and wonderful day. I hope it was for Piotr and Gosia too. Well, sure, and all of you, wherever you may live.

with love...