Ah, it's the little things

We've been here almost two weeks now, and the time has been blissful. Everywhere you look, and look close, it's the little things that makes Paris so charming. The other day (too many days have passed now to either number them, or refer to them by which precise day it was) after a morning of rain, we took an afternoon walk through the magical Pere Lechaise cemetery. On the way there, delighted as always to be walking the streets of Paris, we headed in a direction we hadn't before. Though it is still Paris, it's always fun to see a section we had yet to explore. With wide smiles and a spring in our step, we had just uttered the words, "Ah, it's the little things that make this place so special" and we looked up to see pink snow floating down to the sidewalk, and in little pink piles tucked into the corner of steps in a plaza. We stopped to revel in the magic of pink snow, then saw that the name of the plaza was "Place Albert Camus"!

The cemetery visit was a wonderful, quiet respite from the urban hub-bub. P even took some time to do a drawing of Oscar Wilde's tomb (it is the same cemetery where Jim Morrison is buried) and after our afternoon in the lush, beautiful park-like Pere Lechaise, we stopped along the rue La Rocquette for yet another perfect coffee. Our walk home got a little wet, but quickening our step was all that was needed to not get drenched. We got home, changed into more dinner appropriate clothes, and headed to Montmartre for a lovely, cozy dinner.

Saturday we went to a local soccer match - Paris St. Germain is the home team. It was a rivoting game - we won! - and we had a lovely nice walk through a few outter arrondissements on a gloriously warm and clear night.

The weather forecast for the next week is cloudy and rainy - but fortunately we're heading to Rome for a week! So next missive will be from Paul's homeland - Italy!

Long walks

Paris is a circular city, bisected by the River Siene across the middle. Neighborhoods (called Arrondissements) are numbered, starting in the center and spiraling outward and around itself, like a snail’s shell, crossing back and forth across the river as the numbers increase.

This suits the city well, for nothing is linear really, but really a set of relationships and relativity. For example, Paul and I took the metro south across town, to the Left Bank (the south side of the river) to find an English language bookstore one day, and to eat a proper American breakfast (eggs, bacon, toast, pancakes, and a bottomless cup-o-joe) the next. We pop up out of the subway into the 6th Arr., and easily while away the afternoon wandering further southward and westward, down quaint little streets, along grand boulevards, into the beautiful Luxembourg Gardens until deciding to start working our way homeward, northbound. Due to the higglety-piggley direction of the streets, one can never stay on a direct cardinal direction for more than a block or two, before veering slightly left or slightly right, and eventually wending your way back in the direction of your destination. Walking from the 5th Arr., we passed through the 4th, the 1st, and the 2nd before finally making back into the 10th to our apartment.

All this to say, that by the very nature of the Paris street structure, all walks are circuitous routes – which is exactly our favorite kind, when we’re here to walk and talk and to take in the city as we stroll along!

It’s been a little gray and rainy, but an April rain in Paris – who’s going to complain? It’s made for some incredibly dramatic skies, and it has afforded us some further justified luxury of staying in to read and write (“Oh look, it’s going to rain. Perhaps we should stay in our pajamas all day”) and also an inspiration to get out of the apartment and see the city, fresh after a rain has passed (“Oh my, look at that blue sky, let’s go for a walk”). Truth is, I actually prefer a faintly gray day for walking around. The air is still, often the temperature has been just right, and I can take in a broader view of the city without the brim of my sun hat truncating what I see as we walk along. On most of our long walk days, the sky has vacillated between gray and blue, giving us a nice change of atmosphere every few hours. We have gotten lucky to see the sun set over Paris almost every evening, the long shadows and coral-colored sky warming the gray stone buildings to a golden hue, as the twinkling of the city of lights comes to life.

The long walks invariably end with food, in some capacity, come evening. Between our body clocks being slow to adjust (if we get up before noon, we call it “early”) and the further north latitude of Paris already having noticeably longer days (it doesn’t get dark until after 9pm) we generally aren’t hungry for dinner until around 10pm. With our schedule wide open and whim our constant companion, we either find a nice brasserie to be served sidewalk-side, or go to the market for meat, cheese and wine. The thing about Paris is that at any given moment, when one feels inclined to stop or shop for food, there are not just a few options, but dozens of choices within eye-shot. But how does one choose? The decision cannot be overthought, but atmosphere, crowd, and available tables are all sensed in one passing glance across the front of the bistro. If all signs point to “yes”, then the last, and possibly most important, consideration is what will we be looking at while enjoying our food, wine and conversation. Fortuitously, Saturday night my curiosity to finally see the infamous inside-out Pompidou Centre up close took us into the Beaubourg pedestrian district. After marveling at the modern architecture, and all the people just hanging out in the public square, we found ourselves a perfect sidewalk table, and paired it with a perfect bottle of wine, skewered steak, ratatouille and a selection of delectable soft French cheese. The lightly wine-buzzed walk home at 12:30am went quickly and blissfully.

As always, Paris is beautiful

Paris is a beautiful city. When I am not here, I have a profound memory of her beauty and I long to return, yet the actual delight of walking her streets is fresh and new every time I return. Yes, part of the allure is the absolute Paris of it all: the elaborate iron-worked railings stitched across gray-stone fronts, the ruddy-orange chimney pipes emanating from every ubiquitous Mansard roof-topped building, and the slightly curving, non-grid spoke pattern streets, where rarely one street will cross another, but usually three of four streets come together at once, with cars, buses, taxis, motor-scooters, bicyclists and pedestrians vying for their chance to boldly dance across the intersection.

P and I have come here for a month to practice relaxing, and to sketch a plan for our next interests. A clearing we have claimed, to insert our "what next". We are staying at Chez Dupuis, our dear friend’s apartment in the culturally diverse 10th Arrondissement. We arrived mid-day, our only goal to stay awake until nightfall, to attempt to baffle the circadian-dominated body clock and escape a strong bout of jetlag. After a long walk through our neighborhood, strolling past the multitude of cafes and stopping at a market for essentials, we took a small screw-top bottle of French Merlot to sip canal-side of the Canal St. Martin along the Quai de Valmy at sunset.

We made it til 9:30 p.m., only to damage our success by sleeping until 1pm the next day. Luckily, our only goal for our first day was to make it to Le Printemps (a large department store, aptly named “Springtime”) to buy me a pair of house slippers. On the 9th floor of the housewares building (Le Printemps encompasses three entire 6+ storey buildings), Café Le Ciel (The Sky) has a nice bistro with a rooftop deck and 360 degree view. Although it was a gray day, the excitement of seeing the Eiffel Tower in the skyline while eating a late lunch of salmon with dill-crème sauce and lovely thin French green beans more than made up for the weather.

We strolled along back streets heading to our neighborhood, turning at corners only when we felt so inclined. We found sweet little Café M and stopped for a cappuccino, and some writing and people watching. We are in heaven, for the French have perfected the “café hang-out”. One can order a coffee, brought to your table sidewalk-side, and stay for hours. On our way home from Day 1, we stopped at a mini-grocery store and picked up further provisions for dinner and an entire day at home the following Day 2.