last day in Paris

It's always amazing and surprising how a week away seems like a mountain-load of time. Did I really just leave the farmette last Monday? It feels like I've been gone for weeks. In this lies one of the beautiful aspects of travel: just a few days give you the break that you need, so that you can return freshly focused on the life that is your everyday,

I return to Madison tomorrow, but today, the day is completely Parisian and my own. I've done all that I wanted to do. I have no imperatives or even ideas as to what must happen on this last day. There's a semblance of a plan -- I meet my friends for breakfast and then I meet them for lunch. Otherwise -- I can roam, in the way that I like to roam when I want to clear my head and get myself ready for the challenges that always lie ahead.

So, breakfast, with these two.

And then... well, I head out! Where? Well you might ask! Never in my travels have I been so completely without a goal, without a destination. I walk out the door and I try to sense which direction would feel good, where I should turn, where I might pause. I take very few photos. I just keep walking. 

(No matter how well I dress, what jewelry or make up I slap on when I am here, I can never ever hope to measure up to the Parisian older woman. An example: )

And I see that I am heading west, and somehow I managed to find myself on the street with the Rodin Museum and I glance in through the fence...

(school children, leaving behind the Thinker...)

... and this gives me a sudden urge to enter. So I buy a ticket, which I suppose is a bit of a waste because I have no intention of visiting the museum, I just want the Rodin gardens. 

(The Museum, as seen from the garden)

That felt good! 

Next? Well, there is the Invalides Square -- I cross it often and I seem to be crossing it right now, so I must be heading in the direction of the Eiffel Tower, no?

And here's were you run smack into the Rue Cler Market. Lovely autumnal produce. Plums, grapes, mushrooms. Flowers.

I wasn't going to pause, but then I noticed the honey store and of course I dont really need honey because we have quite excellent local honey back home, but maybe I should walk in anyway to see what's there...

I leave with honey. Predictably.

I suppose in the end, this structure was in fact a destination point. Not because I must see the Eiffel Tower on my Paris trip, but because it's on the other side of town from where I'm staying, so if you want to crisscross Paris, chances are you'll wind up at some point at the Eiffel Tower. Especially if you're as much stuck on Left Bank rambles as I am.

On my walk back, I run into my friends. At a shop with children's stuff. That's not terribly surprising -- we were aiming toward the same lunch place where we had a meetup scheduled. Still, it's kind of funny to look up and see someone you know paying for a book in the line just in front of you.

Okay, lunch. Of course, I take them to Cafe Varenne. Is there anyone I haven't taken to Cafe Varenne for lunch? (Well, if I think you wont like it, then I wont suggest it, because it would make me sad to see you trash the place that is such a favorite of mine! But Pawel and Karolina are not trashers of anything -- they're upbeat and great fun to have here and so we sit down and order -- and one dish that Varenne does well is the one with snails. This proves to be very amusing because we cannot get the snails out of their shells and we are almost at the point of cracking the shells to pieces, when finally, through ingenuity and perseverance those two succeed. Me, I just eat the spoils of their effort!

We part again after lunch. I have a few stops to make and so do they. Food, a book, a cup to replace the one I bought here and then broke at home last week. I feel like on this trip I didn't really shop for anyone (except for the grandkids) and especially not for myself, yet somehow I am now carrying several bags and they are heavy. How can this be?

The truth is, I've been walking a lot today. Four hours? Five? I am tired!.

This is what you want to be at the end of your trip to France -- you want to be tired (it means you really fit in a lot), and happy to go home.

In the evening, I again pick a new restaurant for myself: Maison Cluny. (Pawel and Karolina have family in Paris and this evening is reserved for them,) Aside from being well liked, it has this virtue: it is close. A seven minute walk. Today, I need close.

This place, too, gets a glowing review from my hotel and I have to say, the newsletter that the hotel sends to its visitors (which anyone can also find online) has been spot-on with all its suggestions (they can be brutally honest!). The outside terrace of M. Cluny is on a spacious and quiet side street, so that you aren't breathing in car noise and car exhausts all evening long. 

I order two things -- a pumpkin soup which I swear every small Paris restaurant offers at this time of the year, and a pasta with a pimento sauce and bits of shrimp and other shellfish. 

Both are right up there!

I walk back to my hotel very slowly and not only because I have to attack the job of packing up for tomorrow's very long trip. I'm tired, I'm reflective, and I still want to soak in that last evening in Paris.  And I search for ways to take a bit of it back with me: a smell, a mood, a wistful attachment to all that I've seen learned in the hundreds, no, thousands of strolls up and down these streets. 

Still, I am tired. And I am also very happy to be returning to the people and things I love back home.

Paris, once more

We meet downstairs for breakfast. This is the treat of traveling with friends: you get to start the day together.

We. pick up the conversation we last had on the farmhouse porch. One without end. About children, mothers, grandmothers. Elections in Poland, war in Israel, and the relation between the two. About our past lives. About the apartment in Warsaw I once owned that Karolina gutted, redesigned and decorated so beautifully for me.

And it could have continued, this endless stream of thoughts, of shared experiences, but of course, this is Paris, a city where words can flow, but so can the time, away from all you want to see and do here.

As is my habit in Paris, I tend to eventually wander off by myself. These guys are both architects, active participants in the world of design, and they have a full itinerary of Parisian sights, exhibitions and such that they want to cover. They ask me if I want to join up, but I'm feeling less ambitious and so I wave them off and we arrange for a later meetup.

Besides, I have one unfortunate and one fortunate commitment before me.

The unfortunate? Well, I got a call yesterday from the Auberge du Pere Bise. Madame Camic, do you, by any chance, still have the key to the bike you used the other day?

Oh dear.

In the flurry of the return (it was late, there was some truck activity in the parking lot, we were all distracted), I'd not remembered to give back the key. So, first thing on my list? The post office. Located at this intersection of streets:

The second priority is to make use of a ticket I have for the Picasso-Stein show at the Luxembourg Museum. 

(on walk to the museum I pass these kids on a field trip; maybe to the park? elsewhere?)

The exposition itself is not an easy one to view. Predictably so -- Stein is all about words and Picasso -- well, he's Picasso. The title of the exhibition is the Invention of Language: Gertrude Stein's and Pablo Picasso's Shared Revolution. All the descriptive text in the rooms of the museum is in French. But, the two were in the thick of a circle of artists, collectors, and women and men of letters in the Paris of the early 20th century and the exhibition focuses on their connections in that milieu, bring out themes that lead to the further creation of conceptual art in the later part of the century.

G.Stein: "Pablo is doing abstract portraits in painting, I am trying to do abstract portraits in my medium, words."

Possibly one of the more controversial (and therefore interesting) pieces displayed is one by Warhol, from 1980 I believe, created long after Stein was dead. It's a silkscreen called Ten Portraits of Jews of the XXth Century (Warhol nicknamed it "Jewish Geniuses."). Gertrude Stein is among those depicted.

It's interesting to see this show in the Musee Luxembourg, which is right in the park. Both Stein and Picasso lived just a few blocks from this park and both were visitors to it.

(from a publication about the two artists)

(oh, this caught my eye at the gift shop!)

Afterwards, I walk the entire Jardins Luxembourg. The periphery, the obscure corners -- all of it.

It's such a day for it! Warm, sunny, yet autumnal.

(the south end of the park draws young people from nearby schools during lunch break)

(I rarely photograph the Palace from this perspective...)

It's the afternoon and I'm wondering whether I should break my habit of skipping lunch in favor of some midday meal. I scour the neighborhood in search of an idea as to where I could pick up something. Ultimately I shrug my shoulders at every new place and go back to Les Editeurs. Sometimes the act of returning is everything! I always return to Cafe Varenne because of the level of perfection in the simplicity that one finds there. I return to Les Editeurs because it has saved me more than once and I would so miss it were it not there. Countless breakfasts, many lunches, occasional dinners when kids were in Paris. It's never great, but always good enough, and the seating is as comfortable as it gets in these outdoor-oriented eateries.

(salmon, cucumbers, and a blini)

(local strawberries and meringue are hard for me to resist)

(Evening walk to park, just before closing, for my daily check in with Ed...)

And now my friends and I meet up again to eventually make our way to a new place for dinner...

(a pause by a colorful doorway...)

...a restaurant that is recommended by the staff here: Brasserie des Pres (it just opened this June). It's big. It's trendy but ultimately traditionally French. It's a bit crazy, but the food is really good and it does have a more youthful vibe to it, which is appropriate, as my friends are... well, a generation younger than me.

And so the day ends. Well, probably not for them. They're off to explore the far corners of Paris.

Me, I retire to the quiet of my room. To write, to catch up on those back home, to enjoy the floating images that run through my head as I review the day.

with love...

leaving Annecy

The breakfast buffet at the Auberge du Pere Bise isn't huge. In that lies its charm. Curated, like at an art show, to pull out the best so that you'll pick out not your standards, but their choices for you. So that you'll be excited not just by a croissant, but by their cheeses (lake fish and cured meats too, but I pass on those), by their home made yogurt. By their pain perdu.

I'm the first one down today. The train, I have that train to catch. Madame who is at the breakfast buffet greets me by name. I find this to be so impressive. She is not the same as yesterday's breakfast madame. But she, like all the staff here, always include Madame Camic when they talk to me. And today the breakfast person asks -- would you like pain perdu for your last breakfast with us? She noted it's my last breakfast and that I didn't always eat the French toast on previous ones. It's not a very large hotel -- 23 rooms total, but still, do the staff members sit down each morning with the guest list and memorize who is who? At my beloved Paris hotel, it took them several years of frequent visits to finally greet me by name when I showed up. Oh, I'm family now, but I had to prove myself. Here, four days and nights is proof enough.

Would you like your usual cappuccino Madame Camic? 

I take my walk before I sit down. To admire one last time what's blooming here, by the shores of Annecy.

(Gaura dominates. Just like at home!)

And to cast one last look at the mountains before sunrise, and of course, the lake itself.

And now to the Auberge, for my last meal there.

Breakfast. With blueberry juice ("Madame Camic, there is no sugar added. Are you sure?") and the same cheese made a five hour hike from here. And a baguette with local butter, and honey taken from the hives of the Auberge. And pain perdu.

(at my favorite corner table: garden to the left, lake and mountains to the front)

And punctually at 9:29, the train leaves Annecy for Paris.

And  at 1:14, as scheduled, it pulls into the Gare Lyon in Paris.

Now, how should I go to the hotel? On the one hand, I feel my legs have gotten some more muscle to them in the past days, so a walk, even with the backpack and suitcase, is doable. The taxi stand has a long line and the metro connection isn't great, in that I would need to take two separate metro lines. And the weather! For the rest of my stay here and starting today, the temps hover around 80F (27C). It's too warm, but it surely begs for a walk.

So I walk.

I take the Right Bank circuit this time, which is slightly more attractive...

(Canal Saint Martin and the Bastille Monument)

... but it is longer and, too, it's Sunday and the flocks are out. The restaurants spilling onto sidewalks are packed... Truly, 50% of Paris must be eating right now. Outdoors. At a restaurant.

The strollers and the tourists and the families and everyone is out and about. So I say a lot of pardon, as I weave my way through the not so quiet streets. And still, in Paris, you can always find that quiet corner.

Feeling somewhat burdened with luggage, I'm not wanting to stop for a midday meal. But, there are snack opportunities and I seize on one as I cross the Isle St-Louis! Here:

For this (not colorful, but absolutely delicious -- honey nougat and caramel salted butter):

I'm thinking -- it's so easy to put yourself in a Lake Annecy mode after having been in Paris. It's harder to reenter urban life after Lake Annecy. But, it's Paris, I love Paris, I'm staying close to a park, and my beloved Hotel Baume is on such a quiet street that once I get there, I forget about the crowds outside. Heck, let there be crowds! Let everyone enjoy the great Parisian outdoors! 

(At the hotel Baume: the quiet of my room -- heaven!)

Tonight, my two architect friends from Warsaw, Karolina and Pawel, arrive for a Parisian meet up. The last time I saw them was when they visited me in Madison more than a year ago. I am very happy that they found the time to come to Paris! We have some catching up to do!

But I do still have the late afternoon to myself and I surely should go to the park... Maybe grab a coffee first? Or a glass of rose? I canvas the neighborhood for the perfect spot and I find it, actually just two steps from the doors of my hotel. The Odeon Theater has a cafe on the square that in good weather fills with locals and visitors alike. I settle in to chat with Ed, to take in a FaceTime with a granddaughter, to finish the book that has held me captive on this trip. And to people watch.

(the two girls move around on their scooters, the parents walk)

(mamman loves papa -- so what else is new...)

(Grandmere, can I show you how to use that app?)

On my phone call with Ed, he says I caught him in the middle of a visit to the Monroes Street Farmers Market. They have a delivery of pawpaw trees!  -- he tells me with some excitement.

I did not know we were in the market for pawpaw trees.

Apparently you dont find many such trees for sale and you rarely find pawpaw fruit at the market (hard to grow, hard to keep fresh). But lo, a grower is selling some baby pawpaw saplings and Ed is looking to replace about a dozen failures among the five dozen nut trees and maples we planted a couple of years ago. 

I'll help you put them in when I get back.

Too late! I have to do it in the next day or two!

How soon will they bear fruit?

Maybe 4-7 years from now.

I laugh at that. In one of our phone calls, Ed predicted I'd be moving out of the farmette within five years, because it will have become too much work for me by then. He was teasing, but realistically, it's not an off the wall speculation. Of course, either one of us could become overwhelmed by the work required to keep the farmette running, but I know Ed imagines himself to live there and only there. Eh, who can tell! Maybe we'll both be spooning out pawpaw into a ripe old age!

Time to take a walk in the Luxembourg Gardens. Ah, the Sunday crowds! And they belong here! The weather, the anticipation of winter, the freedom that so often comes with a Sunday afternoon, the kids that need a good run before the evening sets in...

But here too, even on a Sunday afternoon, you can always find that quiet spot. For love...

For finishing my book.

In the evening, I'm pretty much starving for dinner -- I go back to Georgette for that, because it's such a neighborhood place and I know I will hear French spoken at the table next to mine and that is indeed the case.

(a family... she's the daughter, with her boyfriend... that's a guess. I love to be the one trying to piece together the puzzle of their lives!)

I order what so often tempts me when I am away from home and in a place that does meat well -- a beef filet (with potatoes dauphinois, and braised endive). What can I say -- every once in a while, the idea of a good cut of meat is... irresistible.

Back at the hotel now -- they're here!

They check in, and then we go out. To the Bucci neighborhood, where there is plenty of activity and food/drink choice. It's so good to spend these first few hours together in the warmth of an October evening!

Such a special night! But I know my limits. Eventually, I leave them to their own Parisian escapades. It's nearly midnight -- I need to call it quits for now. 

Good night you two! Good night to all good people everywhere!

with love...