Place des Voges

We have returned from our week in Rome, happy to be back “home” in Paris. I am sitting on a bench in the tree-lined Place des Voges, where the grass is filled with young Parisians picnicking, and lazing about in the sun. Paris is turning on the charm for us, welcoming us back with a bright sunny day -- and it certainly feels nice to be back in such an elegant and civilized city. After an entire week of being together and being surrounded by others – as gracious as hosts they might be – we have agreed to take the afternoon to ourselves, by ourselves, and get lost on our own, doing whatever we want. And it turns out (for now) we both want to be in the same place, doing our own thing – I am writing, computer in my lap, with the park and the grass and the 17th century rose-colored buildings (where Victor Hugo once lived) encircling the square in my view every time I look up. And P, of course, is doing some sketching of the picnickers.

There’s a group of young schoolchildren – perhaps around 8 or 9 years old – who keep assembling themselves into groups of about ten and trying to take pictures. I hear a tiny voice yelling, “Un, deux, trois!” again and again, with a few commands in between telling her cohorts to be still, or come closer together. There is a little bouncing around, but overall the kids are well behaved, and seem to be used to having their entire class in the park for a picnic.

We were in the park for a few glorious, warm-sunny hours before relocating to a café for an espresso and crème brûlée. Again, I wrote and P drew. Sounds like a pattern forming, doesn’t it? After a few hours at the café, we strolled along through the Marais district. Most of you have seen the drawing and limited edition print P made of Paris – it is from this particular ancient neighborhood: tiny curving streets with cafés, restaurants, high-end boutiques, Jewish delis, gay bars, and some of the best gelato in the world, Amarino. No picture I take could do justice to how P captured it in his drawing. On this particular sultry day, I was lured into and out of the shops, while P balanced himself on a parking balustrade and did yet another drawing. As evening set in, we got take away French-style pizza (which was considerably better than a lot of the street pizza we got in Italy) and ate it sitting at a table, perched in the open-air window seat of a bar. We really had considered just having one glass of wine before going to the market to go home and cook dinner. But after two glasses of wine – and the weather was gorgeous, I tell you – we instead went to Les Halles and wandered around the pedestrian open-air market until we found the perfect sidewalk table, and watched the last bits of golden-orange sun reflected off the 17th century buildings fade over another few glasses of wine and half a baked chicken. We truly are powerless to a beautiful evening!

The day following was equally as delightful, but the heat kept us moving at a slower pace. After exploring the tiny village-feeling neighborhood of Butte-aux-Cailles and eating the Plat du Jour of Beef Bourguignon (delicious melt-in-your mouth traditional French pot roast) at a cooperatively owned restaurant (followed by coffees and homemade chocolate cake!) we slowly walked our way up to a the charming Rue Mouffetard, a pedestrian “market street” lined with butcheries, and cheeses shops and flower stalls, and clothing stores, and (of course) cafés , where we sat in a children’s park (the only shaded benches around to rest on) and marveled at the "Lord of the Flies" division of power wrestled amongst the kids under 6 years old on the playground.

The evening, yet again, was stupendous – perfect temperature, clear blue sky turning indigo as the sun set, and golden-peach light bouncing off the buildings. As usual, we caught the sunset over the River Seine and couldn’t help but to take a handful of amazing shots of Notre Dame cathedral. I know it’s one of those iconic images that almost seems cheesy to photograph. But the light! And the blue sky, oh my! And to think that it was built in 1250, towering up to over 200 feet. It is impressive, even if a common tourist site. Again the beautiful night sang us its siren song, so we went for pizza, sitting in the plaza surrounding the Fountain des Innocents (built in 1549, on the site of a children’s cemetery, thus the name).

Yesterday was a “work” day for P – fans of his who currently split their time between Paris and San Francisco requested to have their portraits done while we were in town. We met them at a café near their apartment on the tiny little island in the middle of the Seine called Ile St. Louis. After their portraits were complete, they invited us up to their apartment (and what good San Franciscan would refuse an offer to nosily see someone’s home?) for a glass of wine. They have a beautiful modernized 17th century apartment on the 5th floor of a narrow-winding staircased walk-up. We stood on their step-out balcony, sipping our wine and watching the people strolling through the adorable village streets six stories below. After we parted company, we felt a celebration of a successful work day was in order, so we found our way to La Perla, a Mexican (!) restaurant we had passed before, and over the next few hours, accidentally order five Patron Silver margaritas between us. We ordered dinner too, but the French portions (tiny little burritos and two spoonfuls of salsa that came the with handful of chips) was paltry compared to the enormous amount of food shoveled into our faces in an American Mexican joint! The walk home was necessary, happy and delightful, as we passed through the Marais, standing in line behind about 30 people at 11 o'clock at night, waiting our turn for an Amarino gelato to slurp down on the walk home.

And finally, today (Friday) was another beautiful spring day. It was warm, but overcast, which does not make a good day for photos, but a wonderful day for walking. We spent most of the afternoon in the 7th Arr. having visited a gallery that represents the amazing French artist, J.J. Sempé. We popped into a number of other great shops, including Deyrolle, an amazing entomology/zoology/curiosity showroom, with hundreds of bugs and dozens of stuffed and mounted animals (tigers, deer, goats, birds) for sale. They also have a vast collection of shells and botanical and biology charts and posters – we must have said, “Oh my god, look at THIS!” fifty times or more. I decided that I had to buy this beautiful hand-painted looking shell for my mother-in-law (she collects fishy and shelly and other water-themed items for their lake house). In my best possible French (not knowing the word for shell) I asked the gentleman who worked there, “Excuse me, sir, please, I would like to buy this thing from the sea, there.” He gave me a warm smile, and giggled, and said that at least my French was better than his English. And immediately went to the display of shells and pulled out the tray of the ones I was interested in, so me and P could choose the exact one we wanted. (For you Adam Gopnik “Paris to the Moon” fans, this is the neighborhood where he lived, captured in the pages of his memoir. And this particular store is where he and his son would while away the afternoons).

We strolled along the streets of the 7th, stopping at a café (of course, you see it’s one of our daily pleasures at this point) then making our way to the grand esplanade leading into the Hotel des Invalides, where we stopped to snack on the chicken pastry and apple turnover we had carried with us from the bakery this morning, before continuing on to see yet another “market” street, Rue Cler. A rarity for us, we took the metro back to our neighborhood, stopping to buy a delicious 5 euro rotisserie chicken. We ate it with sautéed carrots, zuccini, green pepper, onions and garlic with a side of pesto noodles. Since then, I’ve been sitting on the terrace, writing, sipping wine… another perfect day in Paris.