Paris, to me, is like a Grand Dame. One who has aged impeccably, appears timeless, wise, and entirely comfortable in her own skin, and who enjoys the pleasures of the senses. It is easy to fall in love with this city, and I did, almost immediately.
This was my first real trip to Paris. As a student, I had traveled through a couple of times by train, but refuse to count passing under the city, and eating a croque mossier on a train platform a true visit. I came to Paris the first week of February to meet my husband who had been on a wine-buying trip for his company. Jeff left the inner workings of the French wine export world to explore the city with me for the better part of a week.
It was s
nowing in Virginia when I lifted off, really snowing, snow that our part of the world had not witnessed in a decade. When I landed in Paris, it was a balmy 45 degrees and blissfully free of the white groundcover that had become a permanent part of my home landscape. As the taxi came into the center of the city, it was as I imagined. I was welcomed by an overcast gray Parisian sky intermingled with illuminating bursts of sunshine. The bridges sparkled as the sunlight danced off newly wet pavement beckoning locals and visitors alike. As the taxi drove into the left bank, the Eiffel Tower loomed between the clouds. It remained ever-present during our stay.
Our apartment was in the 7th arrondissement, in the heart of Paris. The apartment manager handed Jeff the keys along with a list of "must haves" for the neighborhood; the fromagerie, bakery, and a little place called Le Moulin de la Vierge, to grab the freshest morning
croissants. I quickly found my first and favorite flower shop, Eric Chausin un Jour de Fleur. The earthy, honeyed smells reminded me of my days at the Enchanted Florist in Alexandria. Every flower was grouped by color and type in rustic, yet elegant, large clay pots and I ordered a half-dozen of the loveliest garden roses in broken french. The shopkeeper wrapped them with such beautiful care, I almost didn't want to take them out of the paper. After an evening of fresh baguette, wine and cheese, we slept soundly with the soft smell of garden roses wafting in and out of our quiet, sheltered courtyard apartment.
Ou
r first morning in Paris, we set off for the Musee d'Orsay and breakfasted on fresh-squeezed orange juice and croissants in a ballroom serving as the museum restaurant. The centerpieces (yes, centerpieces) were a deceivingly simple combination of cut amaryllis, bear grass, and aspidistra leaves arranged as artfully as some of the most famous pieces of impressionist art in the galleries below. We spent the morning soaking in Monet, Manet, Renoir, and luxuriated in our good fortune of being able to appreciate these pieces first-hand.
The best part of our week was spent exploring the city on foot. Following a "must see" lead from our good friend Theresa, we headed into la Cite, waded through the intense security of the Palais de Justice, and into the blessed kaleidoscope jewel box that is Sainte Chapelle. Even on an overcast day, it was a an imaginative sight of light, color, and intimacy that I have not experienced in any other church in the world. We then dove into the Louvre and meandered through the galleries to witness the crowded throng that surrounded the mystery of the Mona Lisa and timeless beauty of the Venus de Milo. I wished I could transport myself to spend a daily hour in this expansive former palace. It would take a lifetime of visits to internalize the import and beauty of this home of the masters.
We walked. A lot. Popping in and out of cafes and shops, pressing our noses against windows, and strolling by the river and in gardens. Spring comes early to Paris. Pots of hyacinth bulbs, jasmine, an
d plants prime for terrace gardens overflowed out of Parisian shops. The trees in the city gardens were just beginning to bud and for me, in February, this was a most refreshing sign. It made me long for a Bourne Identity life, to purchase one of these small, sweet signs of spring, to take it back to my city apartment, and for it to be all in French, of course, all the time.
The most wonderful thing about our time in Paris were the serendipitous surprises. Wanderlust led us away from the Musee d'Orsay and the Louvre and into a fabulous noodle restaurant, Le
Thai
Dong, located in Japan Town, close to the Paris Opera House. We then found ourselves in an ancient and celebrated cooking shop, E. Dehillerin, where Jeff purchased a beautiful carbon carving knife. A friend and part-time Parisian recommended climbing to the top of the Arc de Triomphe, in lieu of the Eiffel Tower, for a spectacular sun-filled, rainbow-laden, 360 degree view of the city. But, the ultimate highlight???? A wine-making family (that Jeff works with) managed to by-pass a 7 month wait and snag a coveted reservation at Le Comptoir. Three hours of coursed perfection, and natural wine pairing, was pure gastronomic bliss. I feel drunk and giddy thinking of it.
http://www.foodandwine.com/articles/yves-camdeborde-the-paris-chef-of-the-moment
Oh Pa
ris... Finishing this entry gives me pause as it is difficult to fully express the impression this visit made. I feel very fortunate to be able to have shared those moments with Jeff and it will be my imperative to continue to harness the energy, hope, and resonance of this timeless and wise beauty.
