Back in Paris, again

A beautiful day to be in France and on the flat, straight French roadways. We zipped through traffic, stopping only once for gas, or rather “gazole,” French for diesel.

Just short of Paris we paid our toll for the use of the road and began picking our way ever closer to the city hoping to find our exit for Orly before Friday afternoon traffic sucked us down into a black hole.

Eventually we begin to see the signs with the little airplane icon – although I had begun to doubt its existence – and before long we were caught in an incredible maze of some of the most death-defying traffic patterns you can imagine in order to find our way to the rental car drop-off area.

But find it we did, after a couple of missed turns, and we were soon on our way heading to the Orlybus pickup point and into the city. We changed to the Metro line no. 6 at Denfert-Rochereau and then to the no. 5 at Place d’Italie, getting off at Richard-Lenoir. From there it was a quick 10-minute walk to the apartment, up the stairs and home at last.

While Susie unpacked and started laundry I quickly checked emails. Then we headed across the street to the Franprix to restock the larder with groceries before heading back out into the beautiful Parisian sunshine and warmth of the late afternoon.

We strolled through the 3rd and 4th arrondissements and just generally cruised around the “Marais,” the hip, new trendy part of eastern Paris. Lots to see and do here though to be sure. And you always find something new. This is also where you’ll find the Picasso Museuma nd the Carnavalet Museum (the museum of the history of Paris) among dozens of galleries, cafes and shops.

Eventually we stopped for an aperitif at a café on rue Fredric Miron, just off rue Rivoli. We sat and talked about the trip to Italy – it all seemed to pass in a flash as far as I was concerned. But it was wonderful to see folks again and to stroll the streets of Siena. Changes of course but still the city remains rock-solid as it has for centuries.

We had been sitting for about a half hour or so sipping a crisp, cool Aligoté from Burgundy when another American couple sat down next to us. Before long the four of us were deeply engaged in conversation about the incredible wonders of Paris. Tracey and Brent were from Orange, California and this was their first in Paris. An urban city planner Brent was awed and amazed by what the Parisians have created. He kept saying over and over again, “granite curbing . . . granite curbing . . . granite curbing . . . granite curbing.”

Their enthusiasm was infectious and it was clear after another half hour had passed that they got it; the need to check off certain things to see and do was important, but they also realized that the city was full of things to be discovered that you had to do that yourself. And that was the great pleasure of coming here. It was wonderful to hear two people so much taken with a place not because of what others said but what they felt.

We finished our wine and the light dipped low as the cool wind rose. We said “au revoir” to Tracey and Brent and wished them well on their own paths of discovery. We headed for the Metro stop at Saint-Paul and home.

But where was home? Providence? Siena? Paris? All of the above at the same time? Hmmmm. Home, they say, is where the heart is. Which of course does nothing to advance a resolution to the question.

Wish you were here,

Steve