Paris, less than 24 hours left

The first thing I thought when I got out of bed at a little after 6:00 a.m. this morning is that we had less than 24 hours remaining in Paris. That and how dark it was. Summer slips away and fall takes its place, with winter not far behind. At least that's how it usually works.

A leisurely morning, coffee and emails, blogging and reading. And the beginning of packing of course.

But the day quickly turned absolutely gorgeous and we couldn't justify staying inside any longer. We showered, dressed and headed out for the Metro, the no. 5 at Richard-Lenoir, getting off at the Quai de la Rapee, where we walked across the Pont Austerlitz to the Jardin des Plantes.

We strolled through the Jardin, along with half of Paris it seemed, and just enjoyed where we were and the fact that we were doing totally and utterly nothing but appreciating being alive. In fact, doing nothing would be the operative concept for this fabulous day.

Moving through the jardin we strolled over to the Censier-Daubenton area and had a wonderful lunch at Les delices d'Aphrodite, a Greek cafe owned by the same folks who run the nearby Mavromatis. In what has become typical fashion for us, we spent the next couple of hours sitting cheek-by-jowl with folks eagerly devouring their scrumptious food -- just like we did. Following the entrees of refreshing and clean Greek appetizers, taboule, hummous, stuffed grape leaves, Tzatziki, I had chicken with rice and Susie had a very tasty gratin of pasta, cheese and spices.


Susie and I struck a conversation with one of our neighbors, an elderly gentleman treating his granddaughter for Sunday lunch -- and of course the gist of the talk is, as always here in Paris, about food. (He really liked Smith & Wollensky in New York City.)

After lunch we strolled back to the Jardin des Plantes where we found a bench in the shade, and while I stretched out and put my head in Susie's lap and dozed off she listened to French music on her Nano, all the while watching the thousands of Parisian families play in the sun.

Ultimately I roused myself off the bench and we eventually left our spot in the shade and ventured out into the sunlight and the mass of color and fragrances coming from the jardin. Exiting the gardens we crossed over to the Seine, staying on the left bank of course, and, along with so many others sharing the same idea then strolled along the river in the direction of Notre Dame.

So many people out and so much life -- in the Plein Air museum and the attending amphitheaters along the riverfront: there were group tango lessons being given en masse as well as smaller, more intimate lessons in another amphitheater nearby, and jugglers too, practicing their tricks.



There also seemed to be quite a few more house barges along this part of the river than we remember -- some familiar boats of course but others that seemed newly arrived. And of course, there were many folks just out enjoying the sun, and being together in Paris.


We "surfaced" at Notre Dame, strolled along the gardens wedged between the cathedral and the river and then found another bench in the small garden overlooking the top of the Isle de la cite and the Memorial de la Deportation, the memorial to those Jews deported during the Nazi occupation of the city.

It is truly amazing to us the conversations that one hears just by sitting on a park bench in an area packed with people from all over the world. On the bench next to us was an older couple from Pennsylvania who apparently reconnected with a French family they had somehow come to know in years gone by. The reunion was touching to be sure although the Americans seemed hopelessly typical: quite loud, rather opinionated (a condition I am personally familiar with) and an uncanny inability to talk about where they were but rather where they were from. Odd.

On the other side, or rather more or less directly in front of where we were sitting, was the "guard" overeeing the entrance into the Memorial area. Now if you have ever been to this particular spot in Paris you know that the Memorial to the memory of those tens of thousands of Parisian Jews deported to the death camps is a poignant place indeed -- but, sadly, it was designed to allow very few people easy access in or out of the place. And to make matters worse, the French government, or whoever is in charge of such things, has seen fit to close one of the two entrances off, and to search everyone's bag who wants to go inside -- fairly typical of their attitude around the city, it is is true.

Nor do they post any signs explaining that one must go in on the south side and not the north. We watched as the guard continually blew her whistle at people attempting to enter on the northern side. Such a shame. There must be a better way.

Once again we relinquished our bench and headed off, this time across to the Isle Saint Louis -- and the little bridge connecting the two islands is always a hotbed of performance artists, musicians and the like. This beautiful Sunday was no exception and like many others we stood and watched as a "bicycle" artist began setting up his schtick. We stayed for the whole show -- lots of laughs and some pretty amazing bike riding. (One very smart thing he did too was to have the little kids in the audience participate just by sitting on little chairs in the street -- they loved this.)


I've got a little video of his performance I hope to get on later this week.

One thing that has struck us both on this trip - and I'm not sure frankly whether I felt this way or not before but we were both moved by the people, musicians and performance artists like -- who stand out in front of a group of strangers and put themselves on the line. These "buskers" stand there and say "I can do this -- so what do you think?" It's not the same kind of bravery one sees on the field of battle of course, but it takes a certain kind of courage nonetheless. I never thought of that before and when I mentioned it to Susie she readily agreed.

We crossed back over to the right bank and strolled toward the Marais, walking down Rue Saint Antoine where we stropped at a little cafe. It was well after 6:00 pm and time for an aperitif we thought. And we picked a grand place, directly across from the entrance to the Hotel Sully.

Susie and I talked about the future, the past and the present, watching the ebb and flow of humanity, sipping a little crisp sauvignon blanc and all the time wondering what we had gotten ourselves into. . .

The one break in our reverie came when an American couple walked up, looked at the menu posted outside and then inquired of a waiter standing nearby if they served "cocktails." The waiter looked at them with an air of uncertainty, the question had been posed in English, and the fellow, probably my age or thereabouts I suppose, said, "You know, Manhattans, Old Fashioneds." Again the quizzical look. "How about Martinis?" the American pressed. The waiter's face produced a knowing smile; he understood now. "No," he said, "they didn't make Martinis." But apparently they did have other such things. The couple walked off and then returned a moment later, deciding they would try this place anyway.

And so they did. Perhaps there is hope for the future of American touristism we thought: Try something new -- isn't that why you came here in the first place?

We paid the bill and Susie and I walked toward the Bastille, down rue de la Roquette and at Place Leon Blum we stopped at our favorite little neighborhood patisserie, Maison Rouyer, where they will sing you through your order if you want. The cutest group of young women, so amiable, kind and great pastries.

Stepping next door we picked up some Chinese takeout to take home, our last meal in Paris.

We crossed de la Roquette and strolling up Avenue Parmentier we soon came to rue General Renault.

Packing for an early departure was the order of the evening, after a quiet meal of Riz cantonnais, and brochette de poulet.

Our last day in Paris was an experience that is in one sense indescribable. Although we strolled aimlessly, seemingly without a destination, making the decision to go here there or wherever at the last moment, it was in fact all about emotions. Picking places we enjoyed of course, but spending our time walking, looking, observing, sitting, just being and living the moment.

We wish the same for you.

A bientot,

Steve