j’adore – pretty much captures how I feel as soon as I step out
Anyone who reads this blog knows that there is a close reflection here of my deeply-needed catharsis. I am working these days on unquestioningly engaging in obsessive habits that make me happy. These would include taking pictures of pastry, gorgeous buildings of old and seeing glorious photos in my head, all in the living color that so feeds me.
at the Sunday market at Raspail
perfect Sunday at the Tuileries Garden
Påtisserie Gerald Mulot:
developing obsession for the doors of Paris
Being still highly jet-lagged, as I was out in another time zone for 2 weeks, I am struggling a bit to get my memories to coalesce into some sensible order. There is so much to try to remember and for me, to get down on “paper” for posterity’s sake.
Ah, Paris. It is a city that the more you visit it, the more you fall in love with it. It is like Florence, Rome and Milan that way. But, it’s really not fair to compare now, is it? My son has a friend, Valentine (pronounced Val-un-teen) who grew up in Paris, and feels as though it is now too small a place. I find myself thinking about this perspective often, as I can’t pick up this feeling at all. This is because at least somewhat, I have not explored every street in Paris even once, yet. But, I am working on it. Perhaps after I have traversed each and every one at least 50 times I will be in a position to legitimately wonder at this perspective. Oh, and youth is wasted on the young, as they say, isn’t it?
Once I cross the ocean, I feel instantly imbedded. Despite how disorienting it is to leave one time zone and zoom ahead by 6 hours, I can feel the giggles coming and the anticipation building as soon as they ask us to prepare for landing. I literally can’t wait to drop my bags and step out the door in central Paris. Somehow, I feel the need to reassure myself that it is all still as it was since the last time I left. The growing familiarity that I worked on quite a bit on last July’s visit, picked up right where I left off.
For anyone who follows this blog, you will note that I wrote out of order two days ago and first completed my happy story about my cooking class at Domaine de la Baume. Today, I will return to the rightful chronological order and begin at the beginning, in Paris.
Our trip was structured as such – a few days in Paris, take the train to Provence, go to Domaine de la Baume, then to Aix en Provence, from where we would venture here and there and then return to Paris for a few days before returning to the US. What could be better than beginning and ending in Paris? You whet your appetite on the unyielding majesty, divert off to completely different venues of marvel, and return to Paris. And, just as you thought you were satiated quite enough, the cheese course and dessert tempt and reward you even more completely.
Paris is, for me, a source of full ignition of wonderment. (I know, I am an interminable gusher – but only when it is heartfelt and completely truthful!) I spend hours and days just trying to imagine the people who thought of, designed and executed all that there is to see here. (I see Baron Haussmann and company leaning over worktable drawings and at site inspections, going over minute details and grand boulevard designs). Not only do I keep asking myself, how could we possibly take these centuries for granted and actually think that we are so very more sophisticated now, but I become full of emotion at the grand scale and images right in front of me, seemingly on every corner as I turn. The questions flow.
Anyway, I am always happy to step into central Paris and begin to gaze up and out. And, unlike Valentine, I wish to never tire of doing this. (I have written a few posts about Paris here already and I will try mightily to not repeat myself.)
Anyone who follows weather patterns in Europe, as I do, (I have at least 10 on my weather app) knows that the weather in Paris is known to be quite fickle and often worse than London. Even as you step out into clear skies, people will suggest carrying an umbrella with you. I have to tell you that the first weekend in Paris was spectacular – Sunday in particular, and I’ll call it a perfect day, on all levels. The sun shone, the colors were brilliant and I felt myself sending tendrils of long-winding vines down into the cobbles, planting my feet and heart in deeply.
Let me just say that I am definitely NOT one of those “been there, done that” travelers. I don’t live to tick off the list of cities and outlying areas visited and never go back. Au contraire! Once I see a place I love, I want to “be” there, live there, experience all that there is to its deep character and beauty, to fold myself into the routines of others and to immerse myself into the rhythms I can feel emanating here.
Does anything shine like Paris in blue skies?
I feel so much more akin to the lifestyle here , and, most notably the daily routine of walking to the fromagerie, the boulangerie, the påtisserie, the boucherie, the marché and on and on. I adore the romance of one’s routines here and love to observe the expressions on the faces of those who roam the markets of all kinds.
I make it a point to count how many people I see around 6pm returning home with their single baguette in hand, carrying it along the sidewalk like a prize. I love to see people patiently waiting in line in a bakery, because it means something to them to procure their desires just there, rather than standing behind someone huffing and puffing impatiently, tapping their foot as we often see here. I immediately imagine them stepping into their home, hanging up their coat and indulging in the ritual of an aperitif, some bread and beginning the preparation of the evening meal. This is living life.
I always make it a point to catch up with old friends – with Fa-raon
Sunday is market day in Raspail. We basically spent most of the day in St. Germain, walking, walking, walking……..
You can see all my photos of the Marché Bio Boulevard Raspail on the next blog post.
Perhaps one can not breathe deeply enough to inhale all that there is to offer on a day such as this. I will tell you, the only thing that was able to get me to leave for the train on Monday morning was the anticipation of seeing a new place in France, a place where I had not ever been before, in the south. And so, off to Provence. Au revoir a demain.
