Maddy's Travels

I used to think it was crazy to call a city beautiful - Au contraire  Paris.  Every photo is a postcard.

 

I am the luckiest person in the world to have spent a week  in Paris with Cousin Sammi, age 25.  Her French, impeccable, mine non-existent, her joy navigating the narrow, curvy streets huge.  Navigation, normally my task, I was safe in her hands.  Together we enjoyed looking and enjoying French style.  What was so intriguing about the cute French boy in the cafe reading Lolita?  Sammi says it’s the “je ne sais quois”.  A friend we met says it’s the hair and yet another says they all wear their clothes one size too small.  We had picnics, we ate crepes, we sat in cafes for hours, we napped in parks.  Much time was spent observing women’s footwear.  People’s country of origin was determined by their feet. French women, 

young and old wear shoes!  In the US, we try to pretend that our “Aerosoles” and “Clarks” and “Birkenstocks” are more than just glorified sneakers.  They are not.  The French have a secret.  Every pharmacy has a huge rack of very special “only in France” band-aids.  A lovely young French pharmacist explained to us which ones were for:

 

• blisters on inside of foot

• blisters on top of toes

• blisters on palms of hands

• blisters on heels

• cracks on heels

• preventative for where shoe might hurt

 

While this class was occurring, at least three women came in and walked directly to the rack.  Everything everywhere is packaged beautifully and wrapped as “un cadeaux” (a gift).  The band-aids were not cheap.  We must have spent $100. on them.  My tango dancing friends will love their birthday presents this year.

 

Yes, I fulfilled a dream and danced tango, outdoors in the evening on the Seine.  Groups of friends walking by, would sit with their bottle of wine , linger and watch.  People were always out and about.  On a Monday morning at 1am, I could look out of my hotel window and see tables of people socializing at the cafe across the street.  Never did I see people sitting together glued to their electronic devices.  They were truly with each other and not their telephones.  Many of the parks have green moveable metal chairs instead of benches and people lay their elaborate picnics out on them.  Sitting on the grass doesn’t occur at many of the parks and gardens - a minor flaw, though of course the flowers are beautiful.  “Excusez-moi” I said, sitting down next to a very good looking man on a bench.  I wanted a photo to document a new French boyfriend to my friends at home.  “Well, you better speak to me in English, mate-y.  I’m Australian!” Perhaps that should be my next travel destination.

 

Naturally, food must be discussed.  It was wonderful and fresh everywhere.  Food is eaten sitting down, glace (ice cream) the exception. I will spend the rest of my life dreaming of “Berthillon” Cocoa Whiskey flavor, ruing the decision to take a new friend’s advice and try her favorite gelato place one day instead of mine. Our special gourmet dinner was at “L’ Epigramme”, a bistro listed as a “best of....” in Saveur magazine.  Our appetizers included “foie gras”, “escargot”, main courses of duckling and lamb and architectural desserts of pannacotta with raspberries and poached pear.  And of course, wine.  This was the best wine of our trip.  Wine in France never gave me a headache and we drank plenty of it.  Anyone eating dinner before 10pm was certainly an American, but that was not us as we were just too “tres cool” to do that.  Sammi got so many compliments on her French. She could have “passed” until I opened my mouth.  Out came my brash NY voice asking the waiter what he thought of my niece’s accent.

 

The Louvre is breathtakingly beautiful and huge - several blocks long.  We were wandering among the “Rubens” when a fire alarm went off.  People started to evacuate, but a guard told us it was a false alarm.  Sammi and I looked at each other.  “Mona Lisa?”  We had not intended to brave the crowds to see her, but the opportunity seemed too good to miss and we darted in her direction.  Alas, by the time we were within range, the throngs had returned.  We turned around as we just didn’t care that much.

 

The next day, after a bit more of intense museum going we went to the Turkish baths called “the Hammamm” to relax.  It was confusing.  No one explained what we were supposed to do, so we lay on slabs of marble in a steam room full of women and threw buckets of water on each other.  Mostly it seems we sat shivering, drinking mint tea and waiting 30 minutes for a 10 minute massage.

 

The only plan for the trip had been to have no plan.  We saw the “Eiffel Tower”, but not the “Arc de Triomphe”.  On our last day we visited the tombs of Oscar Wilde (tradition to kiss the tomb and leave a note) and Jim Morrison (not an impressive tomb, but his fans have left him whiskey and cigarettes).

 

At our final afternoon’s cafe stop, a French woman sported the best shoes we had seen yet.

 

“Au Revoir Paris.  J’taime.”