“A walk about Paris will provide lessons in history, beauty, and in the point of Life.
-Thomas Jefferson
Paris is rainy. We are not taking it personally – just different hues for the eye and camera.
Our first task after we arrive at our rental apartment – just off St. Germain des Pres – is to provision our stay at nearby Au Bon Marche, Parisian holy temple dedicated to French food and drink.
From the appearance of the clientele, Bernie Madoff and his wife might be doing his time in Paris, as everyone shopping here has the air of stylish, mildly annoyed billionaires.
Famished at this dazzling spectacle of epicerie, we slide into the tasteful sushi bar at Au Bon Marche and inhale a point-and-click meal of raw fish. A very Froonch lunch, even if composed of Japanese fare. Others at food bars in the market are sipping champagne, nibbling hand-carved prosciutto with melon, sampling tiny grilled cheese and ham sandwiches, and generally celebrating a very normal Wednesday afternoon.
Actually we should beg the French for forgiveness. While we have spent the last few decades cycling through delusional food trends: non-fat; low-carb; gluten free; sugar free; – they continue to religiously consume the finest artisanal cheeses, butter and dairy, fresh daily-baked breads, fresh and dried meats from pampered stock, full fruit preserves, chocolates, coffee, and yes cigarettes, and they look fabulous!
Our rental apartment in the 6th Arrondisement, is above the newly remodeled Hermes store, complete with exotic tea rooms. Clearly we will assume haut couture high ground for our ten-day encampment on the Rive Gauche.
Generous accommodation here allows us to unpack fully, spread out, and arise daily to discover Paris at its leisurely pace. We divide the city into segments, both familiar and new, to structure our promenade adventures.
Paris is a treat for the senses, a stunning visual museum, an imperially designed city of fabulous vistas, monuments, curving riverbanks, elegant parks, sculpture, grand boulevards, tree-lined streets, graceful apartments, appealing shops, internationally assembled culture, and…ever-present air of style, both grand and personal.
We set out methodically to survey the distinct neighborhoods that give Paris varied expression: the gentrified Marais – where new retail flourishes amid now threatened Jewish quarter; St. Germain de Pres – haunt of international visitors and storied bistros, St. Honore – high temples of international couture and fashion devotees standing in line to get into Goyard (hand painted bags), immense art treasures of the Louvre and Musee D’Orsay.
One excursion via the Metro is to Pere Lachaise Cemetery in the Bronx-like multicultural hood of the outer 20th Arrondisement. Herein Chopin, Oscar Wilde, Jim Morrison, and hundreds of artists, politicians, revolutionaries, and less famous citizens find eternal rest amid tombs and gravestones, both sacred and profane.
We search for Jim Morrison’s obscure, almost unmarked grave, followed by a troop of bewildered stoners from California. To get them off our tail, I ask if they had seen Jimi Hendrix’s tomb (he isn’t buried here). This seems to reprioritize their celebrity death hunt, temporarily.
Every venture returns interactions with citizens, treats for eye, and nutrition for the soul. If we extend in our wanderings too far, the high functioning Metro is a great and workable system to navigate our way back home.
Meals are devoted to enjoying classic comforts offered at brasseries and bistrots that describe Parisian café culture. La Rotonde in the Montparnasse is our culinary mistress. We return three times for dishes such as seasonal white asparagus with hollandaise, perfectly prepared salmon, and fruited sorbets.
Walking along the Rue du Bac near our rental, is a gauntlet of tiny, friendly restaurants like Café Varenne, across from the Prime Minister’s residence. Stewed lamb, “grand mere’s chicken,” hearty soups, and artful salads are enjoyed by locals and as well as visitors at these proud sanctuaries.
Other de rigueur treats around town are falafel on Rue de Rosiers in the Marais; creamy, rich onion soup at Café St Germain, and crispy, grilled chicken doner at some anonymous Algerian corner in an outer ‘hood.
Afternoon cafe crème is our ritual that we take seriously. We distribute our custom at favored institutions across the city: “Café Bonapart steps from Boulevard St. Germain, Rue Royale near the Madeleine, Café Castiglione on the St Honore, Le Village Royal on a flowered Marais lane. $8 tariff for the “cup of Joe” is a bargain, given the sublime pleasure of sitting in an unhurried refuge, just being in Paris.
For reasons I can only explain as mental regression, my crippled high school French seems to return in unpredictable spasms. After painfully stuttering our meal preferences to mostly polite waiters, we receive a response in English, along with cheerful smile.
Our required visit to Opera Bastille is rewarded by a stunning existential interpretation (well this is Paris) of the Magic Flute that reminds us that we are in the Big Leagues of international opera.
We prepare to leave Paris for home in California, blessed and grateful for the privilege of eight week’s journey through Europe; well planned, safely executed with minimal angst, and magnified in beauty through sharing it with you.
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All images captured on iPhone 6+
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Thank you Howard for sharing your and Lisa’s adventure with us! I enjoyed following along immensely. Welcome home!