Our Little Parisian Rainy February Rendezvous
Mar 17th, 2024, 02:24 PM
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Our Little Parisian Rainy February Rendezvous
Please be aware-This is a long read. I tend to write descriptively. I embellish, exaggerate, and love the art of words. All of my soliloquy adds to the length of the composition-as well as the depth and breadth of my accounts. My goal is that you- the reader-will fully get to share my experience. I try to make it multisensory in hopes that we can take this journey together. It may at times feel too much-overkill-it is my style but not for everyone.
Dedicate the deserved time and headspace. Whip it out when you are waiting at the auto dealership or the dentist. Keep an open mind. Be patient with me. There is insight revealed through my stories and interactions. More often than not, I am learning right along with the reader. And, if it becomes too painful to endure and you simply can’t do it-I grant you grace-put it down-revisit it when the time is right (or not).
One final thing-not to darken the mood. It is necessary to disclose, 1 week before our Paris departure, my dear friend and coworker Audrey was brutally murdered. This tragedy laid heavy on me throughout my time. Feeling moments of fleeting joy, was bookended by despair, anger, and gut-wrenching sorrow. I am sharing this because the tone may convey a different one than you are accustomed to. I know that by practicing self-care and being present has ushered in valuable wisdom gained from grief.
I hope my prologue has helped you understand my format, my truest intention and where my head was at during the documentation of this.
Why Paris Again?
Bonjour from the trendy Le Marais district of Paris. Located in the 3rd arrondissement in the thriving Marche des Enfants Rouges Neighborhood.
The premise of this getaway was curated on a tepid June weekend, the onset and monotony of the dreaded Floridian dog days of summer uninspiringly stretched ahead. As Hubs and I shamefully atrophied in the recliner, midway through a YouTube binge we formulated the crazy idea of just simply “living like a local” in Paris.
Unlike our usual whirlwind, multicity “don’t stop until you drop” biannual pilgrimage-this would be a low stress, minimal stakes as fancy as we like (or not) kind of respite. In our mutual and humble opinion, Paris is indeed the ultimate city. It sets the bar in which we compare all others to. In art-it surpasses virtually everywhere-offering the most supreme catalog of impressionism, neoclassical, baroque and renaissance antiquities. The cuisine is decadent and indulgent yet modest and simple. The architecture is a treasure chest of sublime design.
After years of misunderstanding and misinterpreting the mysteries of the French I have come to this rudimentary analysis. Parisians are unapologetically and authentically themselves. They carry the hurried pace of a New Yorker softened with European sophistication. They are no nonsense, “move around you” hustling go-getters. They stop and help with instructions, patiently offer assistance, and display their culture fondly with pride. I witnessed heartwarming quiet moments with family and friends, the loving smile brought on by the thrill of a child’s giggle and those surprising slower moments a watchful observer catches.
It is the constant duality of worlds- that I find captivating and continues to call me back. The glamour, trendy fashion and French elegance that dances alongside the tenderness of family units, the young energetic ambivalence of focused students and the innocent wonderment of the curious tourist that forever creates the tantalizing rapture and return to Paris.
Our usual vacation cycle has always been Fall and Spring for 2.5 decades. We opt for the “shoulder season” a less popular time of year to avoid crowds, the heat and benefit from reduced prices. This year we went a month early-a diversion from our predictable St. Patrick’s Day/Hubs birthday timeframe. This change was due to a significant difference in price electing for an uncharacteristic end of February departure. The off-off season comes with a cautionary tale, a give and take of deal breakers. You run the risk of closures, cancellations, and unfavorable weather at times. (Which we encountered all).
We had a tour cancelled and a few museums on the list were closed for renovation. But even with those minor modifications access was easier to places, restaurants more available, less waiting in general, and a true sense of Paris intimate and undisturbed. This would be our 5th return to Paris. Each time were short excursions, a few days linked to other cities and the onset of an adventure. Our Marais holiday would be 8 luxurious days, one location, no vehicle, no rules, no obligations.
We narrowed down a residence, agreed on a place. We researched a few museums, that was the extent of our planning. All very uncharacteristic for A Girl her Hubs and a Suitcase our globetrotting traveling circus usually entailed a lengthy assigned agenda, a detailed schedule color coated itinerary, timed to a precision. Hubs did provide a rough draft spreadsheet complete with sock stipend-but the proposed timetable had ample wiggle room and no firm commitments. A liberating and thrilling phenomenon for us- a week void of responsibility.
Day 1 Arrival Marais
Hubs arranged for a car service to meet us at the Charles de Gaulle Airport. With a 700 mile per hour tail wind, we made record time from Atlanta shaving off a full hour and a half. Coming home we will not be so fortunate and will be pushing against a rocket force head wind-a navigational version of the tortoise and the hare. Greeting us was a quiet fellow from Welcome Pickups. Throughout the hour voyage from pickup to drop off, I dozed off and on-the streets of Paris viewed in blinking random fading increments and snoring apneic intervals. The driver remained silent never uttering one word.
Our home for the next 8 days was an adorable cottage. Pre arrival we received detailed and thorough instructions from the owner Chris, along with helpful local maps and most important how to live like a true local Parisian. Initially I was not sure what to make of it-I am a big, clunky American-flaws and all. I am proud, loud, and unashamedly ME.
However, that type of USA bravado is misunderstood and does not translate well here. Adapting his highly encouraged suggestions proved to make French life much more pleasurable. There were very specific guidelines on how and when to get here, recommendations on greeting others and what we view in the USA as normal may come off as rude here.
Since we were early, we went directly to Cafe Charlot where Sveta the housekeeper would meet us and escort us to our place. When we arrived, there were few patrons. When we left not a seat to be had. We were summoned to a cozy corner, plush chairs right by a heater. We piled up our suitcases and realized how weary and actually hungry we were. A friendly waiter took our order a croque monsieur classic French grilled cheese for me, Hubs an omelet. Both were accompanied by crispy European greens and a tangy Mustard dressing.
I did not realize the traditional croque monsieur is made with ham (vegetarian I am) so a little bit of culinary surgery was performed tableside excavating and deconstructing the beautiful masterpiece. This uncouth desecration would have definitely been a DO NOT on the Chris doctrine “live like a local” list.
We were heartily devouring our delectables when I received a call from Chris. I had been eyeing a young lady across the street on a cell phone for several minutes. Apparently, that was Sveta patiently waiting for us. My handy Parisian manifesto splayed out before me like a roadmap examining the handy picture of Sveta I had been provided now embossed with hammy smudged fingerprints. Nothing says Parisian panache like a New Jersey gal barking repeatedly in the finest garbled nasally twang “Merci, Au revoir (yous guys).”
Sveta led us down the street to the cottage. We would get to know this street and area well over the next few days. A quiet neighborhood full of charm, artsy retail, and inviting restaurants. Royal blue double doors led the way to the 17th century former workshop.
The cottage resides on the ground level. All the units face a courtyard. In the shared space was a garden well cared for by the tenants. A sense of community pride was evident here and likely the reason for many of the rules and suggestions outlined by Chris.
Glass French doors lead to the communal courtyard. A firm bed and a comfy couch brought in the comforts of home. Thick wood beams lined the ceiling supplying visual interest, dimension, and a warm aesthetic. A moderate sized bathroom with a tub/shower and more stone completed the tour.
Sveta provided a comprehensive tutorial expertly conveyed even though it was in a language undetectable to us. We politely nodded and smiled in unison.
Later on, I would study the expansive black book-the cottage’s thick reference manual. Between that and the “how to be a local” I was ready for French citizenship. Wanting desperately to sleep, we fought the overwhelming urge and ventured out to get to know the area. We were not even 50 steps out when I fell sucker to a man selling “authentic masks from Africa.” Within seconds I blew 50 Euros (bartered down impressively from 280) on a mask that is “one of a kind” and looks like a character from South Park.
The building is situated close to Marche des Enfants Rouges which is the oldest covered outdoor market in Paris dating back to 1615. It is named after orphans clad in red that resided next door. We walked through the market, gazing at the colorful produce, fanciful flowers, and offerings. Pungent fish and exotic spices permeated the air. Savvy solo diners daintily pecked at plates of foreign and curious items. Although fascinating, nothing seemed remotely edible or appealing. The neighborhood was full of bohemian wares and artisan goods. Storefronts displaying vibrant shimmering jewels, multihued gems, and sparkly creations gleamed through the glass. We passed aromatic restaurants, the tiniest of shoppes, with slender passageways only suitable for one.
We walked through the Square Charles Victor Langlois Park. It included a playground, ping pong tables and a tribute from World War II. The hollow back and forth sound of the ball was hypnotic as we strolled around the circular sandy path.
We decided to have an indoor picnic for dinner with a menu of top tier ubiquitous French items. Everything we needed was available all within a block of our cottage. We purchased the aromatic Camembert cheese at Fromagerie Jouannault then just a few doors down we added a freshly baked, buttery baguette at Chez Manon and some essential staples at the Franprix grocery store. Now we had the perfect ingredients for our Parisian Picnic spread.
We headed back to the cottage, the weight of jet lag sinking in. We noshed on the spread-my lactose intolerance forbidding me from the possible demolition the soft, stinky cheese could ignite. Post feast we quickly slunk into carbohydrate fatigue syndrome-our first night in magical Marais coming to an epic end.
Day 2
The cottage, although in the epicenter of Marais is sealed like a soundproof tomb. The courtyard was oddly silent, unusually rare in a city that generates so much noise. It is a hermetically enclosed rock wall vault and during our time-very little sunlight. The darkened shades, stone insulation and homey setting made it all that more conducive for hibernation conditions.
The first few days abroad we always were challenged with circadian sleep mania-this time no different. We awoke at 2 am held an in-depth worldly discussion-all to be forgotten in the light of morning. Then when it was time to waken deep exhaustion would take over. We had a scheduled free walking tour of the local area. We were the only 2 booked and due to lack of participants and deteriorating weather it was cancelled. We were equal parts relieved and disappointed. We headed to Hotel de Ville (city hall) which has been the seat of the Paris city council since 1357. The summer Olympics 2024 are coming to Paris. Everywhere you looked the Olympic pride was prominent.
We walked along the Seine River the heartbeat of the city. The green murky water and gloomy skies were quite different than previous sunnier and warmer visits. February in Paris is allocated for the Parisian purist. We made true efforts to look beyond the cold weather, muddy puddles, rainy gray sky, and turbulent River and instead focused on the undeniable romance and the isolation and solitude of having the city to ourselves that comes with the bleak weather. We took in the grand architecture, the historic monuments, the uneven aged cobblestone. We peered over the waterway waving from the bridge to eager tourists hovered on the oversized barge pushing through the rocky current.
We made our way to Notre Dame the famous cathedral, UNESCO World Heritage site as well as most visited monument in France. Built in the 12th century, modified in the 18th century, and refurbished in the 19th century, it is and has been the symbol of Christian worship in Paris. Entry to the cathedral remains closed due to the devasting Cathedral Fire April 15, 2019.
In its place a mission of restoration charges on. Tourist spot and active construction site harmoniously coexist-its popularity unaffected. The immense crane shadowing over the sacred still charred structure as workers in orange vests and hard hats carried on their workday. People of all demographics swarmed around the partially viewable towers peeked out beyond the scaffolding as spectators jockeyed for that perfect selfie.
From there we strolled through one of my favorite neighborhoods Ile Saint Louis in the 4th Arrondissement. It is a small island, an oasis from the hubbub. The streets are lined with an array of adorable jewel box boutiques steeped in a time capsule. When we visited last in 2018, we went to a Marionette shop Clair de Reve. In the planning, I had carved out time and a budget to continue to build our beloved puppet collection. As we anticipatingly approached the shop it was evident it was not open. Nor would it be until the day we were flying home. With the luck we were having, I would not be surprised if the Clair de Reve posse was in Tampa Florida basking in the sun (our residence). The despair and defeat were too much. I had to fill that void somehow. We moseyed on to a few other interesting shops, secured some much-needed umbrellas from Pylones. We popped into Effigys where a lovely shop keeper engaged us with precious puzzles handmade in Burgundy, France. I splurged on a cute decorative orange ceramic rooster.
As we continued, our noses led us to the enticing aroma coming from Auxmerveilleux. Inside pastry chefs assembled delicate and airy meringue morsels of supreme jubilation. From there, with our last remaining remnants of energy we went to Arts et Metiers. The museum dates back to 1794. It holds over 2,400 inventions. The discoveries focused on Energy, Mechanics, Construction, Communication and Transport showing how science and engineering helped shape French Industry. Numerous school groups rampaged through during our 3 hours there. On a scavenger hunt mission, the youth stampeded by us-the generational gap glaringly evident as I hobbled pitifully on, my feet at this point a pathetic let down. The museum itself is a sobering walk down memory lane. Many of the items displayed are extinct or no longer serve any current-day use replaced with enhanced technology.
We left in the darkened day’s end, the rain rhythmically and insistently pounced down in cold, pelting sheets. We were lured once again by smell and visual deception- a highly popular place Rotisserie Stevenot. Copper country serving dishes contained picturesque potatoes au gratin. We brought back a heaping container of limp, soggy, green beans, and the equally unsavory spuds. Uninspired and disappointing our dismal dinner of substandard sides served as a precursor for sleep that came fast and easy this evening.
Day 3
This morning, we woke to the constant patter of rain. We were prepared for this weather but were hopeful that there would be moments of sunshine peppered in our days. All in all, very little sun was seen and almost the entirety of it was impacted by rain. It did not stop us from our activities but having witnessed Paris previously in the Spring and Fall, we realized there is a difference. The constant rain and cold began to wear on us and staying warm and dry became an energy zapper.
With our trusty umbrellas in hand, we ventured out to the Musee Picasso. We visited the museum previously in a former location over 2 decades ago. As a rule, we are not huge Pablo Picasso fans. The building itself had impressive architectural appeal and history dating back to 1660. Only a small portion of the museum was open due to current remodeling- the rest was closed off. The admission fee was discounted but still unjustifiably priced. We meandered through the swells of people; the inclement weather brought out people in droves. We struggled to grasp the artistic value and after an hour we had seen enough.
Next, we made our way to Musee Cognacq-Jay. Entry to the museum was free. The mansion is 3 floors of French art, furniture, and furnishings acquired from 1900-1927 by Ernest Cognacq and his wife Marie-Louise Jaÿ. The couple came from modest beginnings eventually making their fortune as founders of a notable Parisian department store. When Ernest died in 1928, his exquisite collection was donated to the City of Paris. We took our time wandering through the ornate rooms-a vast difference from Picasso.
Once outside the rain steadily continued, we walked back to our neighborhood and took the suggestion for lunch Chris the Vrbo owner had made for traditional French cuisine Chez Nenesse. We walked into the packed restaurant with dripping umbrellas, wet, cold, and hungry. As I hugged the coatrack to make room for people leaving, intimidated by all the activity and busyness-I was ready to abandon this option. However, the friendly owner waved to us, pointed to a newly vacant table. The red checker top slightly imperfect table faced the chalk board menu with a list of items for lunch. The choices were limited.
The squiggly French cursive script in the opaque dusty chalk displayed foreign words. Although undiscernible the extraneous scribe looked inviting. The owner approached us and described mouthwatering selections. Hubs pointed to another patron’s plate which happened to be Duck in a thick, brown sauce. For me, it was slightly harder as I mouthed “Vegetarian”, I could see his mind racing as he read from the board- Fish? Eggs? When he rattled off some veggie assortments, they all sounded good.
I chose the Watercress Soup. It was creamy, hot, herbaceous and delicious-unlike anything I had ever had. The warmth of the velvety broth heated me up and filled me instantly. Hubs gobbled up his succulent Duck in the rich brown sauce with French fries. All around us conversation was flowing-Friends, families, couples. The best part of this meal was the cost-26 Euros!
After our enjoyable lunch, we went for a walk. We put away the map and got lost in the streets. We window gazed and embraced the slim sidewalks that we shared with others. There was a temporary welcome pause from the rain. It was short-lived coming down quite hard. We were soaked through, and our new umbrellas fought against the harsh elements. We had not turned on the TV since we had arrived or even looked at news. Later on, we would read there was heavy flooding in Paris under yellow alert. Wet, tired, and fully satiated we returned to the cottage for some much-needed rest after a full day.
Day 4
Oh, what a momentous day. We dreamed of this day, planned for months, counted down. On this day we went to the world-famous Museum-The Louvre. We took an Uber to the entrance. We had been several times and felt savvy and seasoned. The driver had his own ideas of where to drop us (not where we asked). As we made our way inside through the preferred entry, we could see a massive line that went on as far as the eye could see. The long wait was for security-everyone already had their tickets-except for us. All that planning and oops, I know we were missing something.
With shoddy Wi-Fi and the queue inching up rapidly, I went quickly online and just as our tickets were to be checked, I hit enter and had what was needed with not a second to spare. Second tip, prepurchase your tickets. We got the map and started to devise a plan. So much to see!
We started off in Richelieu and Sully wings which included paintings from Northern Europe (1350–1850) and France (1350–1650). Tip #3, get to the restaurant early. We went to the Café Angelina one of only two restaurants in the Louvre. Fortunate for us-it was early enough that we were seated immediately. Moments later the line snaked around with a very long wait.
Hubs had Eggs Benedict- a petite serving made with a croissant instead of traditional English muffin. The vegetarian options were few. I had a quinoa salad with a “cream cheese finger”. It cost as much as our entire meal the previous day. We faced the glass pyramid below and way off in the distance the tip of the Eiffel Tower could be seen.
After lunch with renewed energy, we went to the Denon Wing for more paintings from Italy (1250–1800) France (1780–1850), Spain (1400–1850) Great Britain / United States (1550–1850) and the major highlights Venus de Milo Winged Victory of Samothrac, Sandro Botticelli’s Venus and The Three Graces Liberty Leading the People and of course a little unknown portrait of Lisa Gheradini wife of Francesco del Giocondo-wait who? Mona Lisa.
As one approaches the Mona Lisa-the excitement is palpable. Every demographic exists, young, old, babies in strollers-everyone is hyped up about this lady! A crowd fully formed of hundreds of people deep. Influencers getting selfies, long arms stretched in the air, kids perched up precariously on shoulders-all for the mutual goal of getting the best picture with HER. I am certain the majority of individuals there did not know her name was Lisa Gheradini. I confess I did not.
We spent about 4 hours total in the museum – a pittance of the death march we did in 2018 where Hubs after 8 hours succumbed to a short snooze facing a wall of Fransisco Goya paintings. We hit the gift shop on the way out. I had bought a Grecian ring my last visit and somehow regretfully lost it. I found the replacement-the perfect day complete. We exited and summoned an Uber as the weather continued to deteriorate. Inside the pristine heated Tesla with the silent driver, I replayed the wonderful day in my head, taking note of all the beautiful things I had seen.
We rested a bit and later went out to the Chinese District of the Marais. The thriving area had streets dedicated to Asian cuisine and retail. It was Friday evening and people were out, music was playing, friends meeting up. A kinetic end of the week feeling was in the air. We stopped in Chez Haki for some fresh dumplings and noodles. The steaming plates came to us immediately. Good hot comfort food rounded out the perfect day.
That evening Hubs laid on the couch, never one to complain and said he was feeling feverish. The next 24 hours would be a blur for Hubs. He slept from that moment on until well into the next day. The cottage turned into a micro infirmary nursing Hubs back to health.
Day 5
The next morning, the dark cottage became Hubs convalescence. I had not been affected by his illness (yet)… I headed out on a mission to fix the Hubs. I am all too familiar being sick on a vacation. It is an awful vulnerable feeling being away from home and not well. All our plans for the day immediately went on hiatus. I set out to the pharmacy. The sun peaked out for the first time in 5 days. No rain, clear skies. I got Hubs out of the way and bought a slew of antidotes-hoping for an ambitious miracle.
I began walking-I explored every nook and cranny of the neighborhood. I set my navigation and looped around the streets like a rousing game of chutes and ladders. I went through a park exiting out with no idea where I was or how to get back. Everyone was out, enjoying the nice weather. I stopped by a fruit market and got Hubs fresh squeezed orange juice.
I ventured around the Centre Pompidou a modern art Museum. From the outside it resembled a colorful hamster tunneled habitat. Sadly, this would be the only encounter here as sickness was incubating in me. I walked by the Museum Naturelle History popped in rummaged around the Gift Shop. A little fact, I fell in love with this museum seeing it in All the Light We Cannot See which it was featured in. It was getting a bit late at this point, and thinking we would surely get to enjoy this together, I began to make my way back. Alas again, we would not return.
I walked 3 miles thoroughly enjoying the rare “me alone” time eventually making my way back to the cottage. Hubs was snoring like a washing machine deep in the throes of a respiratory reckoning. Loading him up with decongestants, expectorants, dilatators, fever reducers hot soup and tissues, the relentless rain resumed as day transitioned to night and the Hubs reluctantly surrendered to sickness.
Day 6
Morning came, Hubs fought to recover, feeling only minimally better. We struggled in creating a plan conflicted in wanting to lay low, preserve energy and not further tempt the wellness Gods or salvage our time remaining and fight through it. We took a walk and ended up in a serene park. There was a friendly competitive game of table tennis in progress. It was cold outside, and with each ping pong volley of the ball it mirrored our back-and-forth debate of what to do. In retrospect, I blame my irritability on the inception of pestilence kicking in. I was starting to feel the beginnings of whatever funk Hubs had. My head was pounding, I had chills and just felt off.
Our Wi-Fi continued to challenge us impeding all plan formulations as we grappled futilely with unreliable navigation. Admittedly both of us were also not functioning at 100%. Hunger and rescue from the cold diverted us to Page 35 Restaurant. Chef Erik stood regally at the door-his tall starched white chef’s Toute hat towered high on his head. He greeted us, seated us and delivered the food to us as well. The restaurant was cozy and inviting.
We were chilled to the bone and requiring something hot and hearty. We had classic French Onion Soup and split crispy, salty French Fries. The gooey gruyere cheese melted onto the flavorful crouton to delicious perfection. The briny broth and caramelized onions hit all the right notes. Frankly, it was simply the perfect meal.
The rain continued as we made our way to Musee Carnavalet. It contains over 600,000 items from prehistoric times to current day. Paintings, sculptures, shop signs, drawings, engravings, posters, medals, ancient objects, photographs, and furniture come together to depict the rich past and illustrate the avant-garde story of the capital. A similar scenario in apropos timing-upon arrival only a handful of people milled about. By the time we left a long line tangled circuitously around the building as the rain persisted on. The museum dates back to 1880 and has a robust collection displaying the unique history of Paris. The fully Parisian spirit of the site captures the true essence and passion of the city. We spent a couple hours there, with a brief pit stop in the amusing gift shop.
Hubs persevered but the weight of his cold had settled in. We made our way back to the warmth and comfort of the cottage as the rainfall unrelentingly prevailed. Back in the tranquil cottage, we rested. Coincidentally, right across from our dwelling was Food and Wine’s best sandwich in Paris at Chez Alain’s Miam Miam. This innovative postage stamp sized hot spot specializes in gastronomic masterpieces.
Squeezing into the crowded, confined space, I approached the counter and panicked. With a colorful and fruitful bounty of sandwich fixings, the finest quality options, and a vegetarian’s paradise-my brain went in full meltdown overload. With a cornucopia of delights available, I got something so embarrassingly basic the person taking my order repeated back several times. Just simple cheese and bread pressed. As I eyed the room, seeing the bevy of alternatives available, I immediately lamented over my so humble choosing. As Hubs and I feebly picked at our modest provisions with cold infested disinterest, I knew that our maladies had all to blame for this lack luster affect. Our disgraced partially consumed sandwiches would not be touched again (no fault of Miam Miam) and would be unceremoniously tossed in the garbage bin 3 days later. As the French Tylenol subdued our symptoms, the melodic drum beat of rain drops lulled us to a hazy slumber.
Day 7
We uncharacteristically slept in; the early morning hours lost. We made our way to the Metro a courageous act for us. Incidentally, I have a mortifying PTSD memory of being wedged in a turnstile only to extricated by an innocent bystander. This time fortunately went without incident. Dare I say expertly-thanks to Hubs and his subway smarts. We were hitting our stride, tapping into our Parisian sense of adventure. Just a convenient few steps off the Metro step was the Musee Guimet.
It is one of the world’s leading museums of Asian art. A beautiful sleek building on the inside composed of a stunning collection of Asian art and antiquities. It holds an impressive compilation of Japanese, Chinese, Korean, Middle Eastern, and Indian sacred treasures. We spent several hours there enthralled by the ancient acquisitions. We stopped in the gift shop before leaving securing several delightful knick-knacks for home, including Chinese marionettes.
Leaving the Museum, we took the Metro back to the Marais. We faced our worst weather yet. The rain was coming down hard, water puddles pooled around our feet as we grew disoriented in our location. Finding our way back, water slogged, drenched and cold we trudged under the shelter of our umbrellas. We returned back to Cafe Charlot where it all began a week ago. We learned long ago never to return to the same place twice, but we always break this rule-and it is always a disappointment. This time was no different.
Hubs had Veal Bolognese and spaghetti. He lapped up the pasta gloating over the saporous sauce. His cold zapped his infirmed taste buds and my pending plague on deck tampered with our usually zealous appetite. Never one to stray too far, I stuck with the croque monsieur (sans ham). For many reasons, it just wasn’t the same. The meal fell flat leaving us both underwhelmed. Packing up our leftovers, these would woefully be tossed in the rubbish along with Miam Miam’s sandwich remnants, as well as the noodles from Chez Haki. We made a pitstop at the local patisserie (bakery) for a lackluster unremarkable treat.
We returned to the cottage making optimistic reservations for the morning at the world class Musee d’Orsay a premier Museum of Impressionist Art. Sleep this evening was fraught with unsettled restlessness, nightmares, and fever.
Day 8 Last Full Day 😞
Everything I share includes the good, the bad and the ugly. Sorry Folks, we have reached the part in this novella where it gets ugly- my apologies. I woke up feeling awful-sore throat, achy, headache, fever. I moaned, I groaned, I cursed the wretched disease carrying airplane. Musee d’Orsay would not be happening. We had been fortunate enough to have visited the museum several times-today would have just been a bonus. I told Hubs I was done for-he understood all too well. We drew the curtains, ingested our French cold cocktail of elixirs, pain relievers, lozenges-tissues askew, wrapped in blankets and slept. In between rest, we hacked and heaved, sneezed, and whined.
After several hours, I ventured out “to hunt and gather” for hot soup, restocking of meds, and perhaps a sweet treat. We had a momentary repose where all body parts cooperated as we nursed ourselves with fluids and nourishment. This was our last full day- tomorrow we would be heading home. This was not necessarily what we had envisioned nor planned for. But an important lesson in travel, is not everything works out as arranged. In fact, it rarely does.
There are so many variables in travel that interfere with best laid plans-weather, energy, well-being, nutrition and a million other unintentional reasons to divert from the original plans. I myself have confronted some of the most random and disruptive circumstances abroad. When it comes to our health plight, we were in a pretty cushy setting. As far as our rehabilitation goes, this ideal environment did lend itself to healing. I suffer terribly from FOMO (fear of missing out). It is real and requires immediate intervention. I gave us both a swift inspired pep talk fueled by a hefty dose of French Motrin, a hot steamy shower, and a tasty croissant.
With only a few hours of daylight left and not a drop of rain, we set out for a walk. We had no plan, other than to get our blood circulated and our immobile limbs moving. We passed the Historic Temple District. I was so thrilled to see this area but sad because our time was so limited. The history behind this region is fascinating. The quarter gets its name from the Knights of Templar who once owned almost all the land around the Marais. Back in the day, it was full of artisans and craftsmen that sought refuge within the Templar’s walls. This area restricted the monarchy from collecting taxes. King Philip IV, resented their extreme wealth, imprisoned them for years, confiscated their land and later burned them all at the stake.
We stood in front of the now closed MAHJ-Musee d’art et d’ histoire du Judaisme (Jewish Art and History Museum). Hubs gently reminded me we had been here over a decade ago. My delirious mind had little recollection. Next, we saw the Archives National Museum Located in the Hotel de Soubise which translates to city mansion. Created in the early 1700’s for Anne de Rohan-Chabot, a former mistress of Louis XIV. A variety of media and archive documents depicting the history of France and privileged national memories reside in there. Conducting this research, I grew remorseful as I would have loved to have seen this opulent slice of history.
We browsed the shops, every block representing a different specialty. Crafts and beads, bags, apparel casual, formal and fancy. Strong aggressive perfumes wafted in the air, dainty jewelry glittered and shimmered-all in an effort to capture the eye of the eager tourist. I popped in and out, stared in the windows, oohed, and awed-a revolving door of envied yearning.
We sat on a park bench in the Place des Vosges Paris’s oldest public square. We looked across surrounded by colonnades of 17th century townhouses. Meticulous manicured topiary and fountains created a picture-perfect scene. After days of unremitting rain, everyone was out, enjoying the final moments of sunshine. Children danced in shallow puddles, lovers smooched, runners kicked their heels up high pebbly sand cushioning their steps.
Hubs shared another remembrance, of course I could not recall-perhaps it lay buried deep somewhere in the cobwebs of lingering antihistamine. He ruminated in nostalgic retrospection of being in this very spot a decade ago, fantasizing of a future return. And here we were, so many years later, so many moments created together. A lifetime of curious adventure that we have been so blessed to have. As we blew our raw scarlet tender nares in tandem, I realized it doesn’t matter how vile I felt-I am on this wanderlust, journey with Hubs, creating new magical memories-mucous and all.
We made our way to the Victor Hugo Museum the famous French writer, artist and Poet-most known for Les Misérables and The Hunchback of Notre Dame amongst many other dynamic accomplishments. His contributions to the French are immense and transcending. His home pays tribute to his life, his family, and his masterpieces. Entry was free. The museum was closing in less than 30 minutes. We bobbed through the rooms in record time, our heads swiveling from side to side managing to cram all of it in our brains in record breaking speed.
We began walking back, more wishful window gazing and people watching, procrastinating our eventual return, we savored our final promenade. Just on the preliminary fringes of hunger, we ate at Café Dumarche. Just steps from the cottage right on the corner, candles flickered in the dimly lit restaurant. An eclectic hybrid of ex-pats, locals and carefree millennials sipped wine and gabbed, friendly dogs sat obediently at their owner’s feet. Hubs and I exhausted, sank into our seats, slumped with fatigue induced from cold medicine, wet weather, and an action packed few hours. We ordered French Onion Soup and shared Fries. The warmth of the food and high-octane sodium infusion bolted a potent energy boost in us. We recapped our trip, sharing our favorite pursuits. We made peace with what we missed and rejoiced in what we achieved. We made our way back to the cottage for the last time, staring up at the hazy coal sky, more rain threatening to unleash.
We came to Paris and set out to live like a local, view superb art, chow on fantastic French cuisine, chill in cafes, see the sights, stroll through the Louvre, sleep in, relax and walk in the rain. We dreamed it, planned it, manifested it, and lived it.
So-we got sick…it happens, it’s not ideal but if there was a place to restore us back to health-the magnificent Marais it is. We came, we saw, and we conquered Paris. In the end Paris may have conquered us-but the conquest was worth the battle. We will meet again in Warsaw and Gdansk Poland September 2024. Until then Hubs and I have a lot of resting up to do.
Au Revoir for now,
~F&B~
Dedicate the deserved time and headspace. Whip it out when you are waiting at the auto dealership or the dentist. Keep an open mind. Be patient with me. There is insight revealed through my stories and interactions. More often than not, I am learning right along with the reader. And, if it becomes too painful to endure and you simply can’t do it-I grant you grace-put it down-revisit it when the time is right (or not).
One final thing-not to darken the mood. It is necessary to disclose, 1 week before our Paris departure, my dear friend and coworker Audrey was brutally murdered. This tragedy laid heavy on me throughout my time. Feeling moments of fleeting joy, was bookended by despair, anger, and gut-wrenching sorrow. I am sharing this because the tone may convey a different one than you are accustomed to. I know that by practicing self-care and being present has ushered in valuable wisdom gained from grief.
I hope my prologue has helped you understand my format, my truest intention and where my head was at during the documentation of this.
Why Paris Again?
Bonjour from the trendy Le Marais district of Paris. Located in the 3rd arrondissement in the thriving Marche des Enfants Rouges Neighborhood.
The premise of this getaway was curated on a tepid June weekend, the onset and monotony of the dreaded Floridian dog days of summer uninspiringly stretched ahead. As Hubs and I shamefully atrophied in the recliner, midway through a YouTube binge we formulated the crazy idea of just simply “living like a local” in Paris.
Unlike our usual whirlwind, multicity “don’t stop until you drop” biannual pilgrimage-this would be a low stress, minimal stakes as fancy as we like (or not) kind of respite. In our mutual and humble opinion, Paris is indeed the ultimate city. It sets the bar in which we compare all others to. In art-it surpasses virtually everywhere-offering the most supreme catalog of impressionism, neoclassical, baroque and renaissance antiquities. The cuisine is decadent and indulgent yet modest and simple. The architecture is a treasure chest of sublime design.
After years of misunderstanding and misinterpreting the mysteries of the French I have come to this rudimentary analysis. Parisians are unapologetically and authentically themselves. They carry the hurried pace of a New Yorker softened with European sophistication. They are no nonsense, “move around you” hustling go-getters. They stop and help with instructions, patiently offer assistance, and display their culture fondly with pride. I witnessed heartwarming quiet moments with family and friends, the loving smile brought on by the thrill of a child’s giggle and those surprising slower moments a watchful observer catches.
It is the constant duality of worlds- that I find captivating and continues to call me back. The glamour, trendy fashion and French elegance that dances alongside the tenderness of family units, the young energetic ambivalence of focused students and the innocent wonderment of the curious tourist that forever creates the tantalizing rapture and return to Paris.
Our usual vacation cycle has always been Fall and Spring for 2.5 decades. We opt for the “shoulder season” a less popular time of year to avoid crowds, the heat and benefit from reduced prices. This year we went a month early-a diversion from our predictable St. Patrick’s Day/Hubs birthday timeframe. This change was due to a significant difference in price electing for an uncharacteristic end of February departure. The off-off season comes with a cautionary tale, a give and take of deal breakers. You run the risk of closures, cancellations, and unfavorable weather at times. (Which we encountered all).
We had a tour cancelled and a few museums on the list were closed for renovation. But even with those minor modifications access was easier to places, restaurants more available, less waiting in general, and a true sense of Paris intimate and undisturbed. This would be our 5th return to Paris. Each time were short excursions, a few days linked to other cities and the onset of an adventure. Our Marais holiday would be 8 luxurious days, one location, no vehicle, no rules, no obligations.
We narrowed down a residence, agreed on a place. We researched a few museums, that was the extent of our planning. All very uncharacteristic for A Girl her Hubs and a Suitcase our globetrotting traveling circus usually entailed a lengthy assigned agenda, a detailed schedule color coated itinerary, timed to a precision. Hubs did provide a rough draft spreadsheet complete with sock stipend-but the proposed timetable had ample wiggle room and no firm commitments. A liberating and thrilling phenomenon for us- a week void of responsibility.
Day 1 Arrival Marais
Hubs arranged for a car service to meet us at the Charles de Gaulle Airport. With a 700 mile per hour tail wind, we made record time from Atlanta shaving off a full hour and a half. Coming home we will not be so fortunate and will be pushing against a rocket force head wind-a navigational version of the tortoise and the hare. Greeting us was a quiet fellow from Welcome Pickups. Throughout the hour voyage from pickup to drop off, I dozed off and on-the streets of Paris viewed in blinking random fading increments and snoring apneic intervals. The driver remained silent never uttering one word.
Our home for the next 8 days was an adorable cottage. Pre arrival we received detailed and thorough instructions from the owner Chris, along with helpful local maps and most important how to live like a true local Parisian. Initially I was not sure what to make of it-I am a big, clunky American-flaws and all. I am proud, loud, and unashamedly ME.
However, that type of USA bravado is misunderstood and does not translate well here. Adapting his highly encouraged suggestions proved to make French life much more pleasurable. There were very specific guidelines on how and when to get here, recommendations on greeting others and what we view in the USA as normal may come off as rude here.
Since we were early, we went directly to Cafe Charlot where Sveta the housekeeper would meet us and escort us to our place. When we arrived, there were few patrons. When we left not a seat to be had. We were summoned to a cozy corner, plush chairs right by a heater. We piled up our suitcases and realized how weary and actually hungry we were. A friendly waiter took our order a croque monsieur classic French grilled cheese for me, Hubs an omelet. Both were accompanied by crispy European greens and a tangy Mustard dressing.
I did not realize the traditional croque monsieur is made with ham (vegetarian I am) so a little bit of culinary surgery was performed tableside excavating and deconstructing the beautiful masterpiece. This uncouth desecration would have definitely been a DO NOT on the Chris doctrine “live like a local” list.
We were heartily devouring our delectables when I received a call from Chris. I had been eyeing a young lady across the street on a cell phone for several minutes. Apparently, that was Sveta patiently waiting for us. My handy Parisian manifesto splayed out before me like a roadmap examining the handy picture of Sveta I had been provided now embossed with hammy smudged fingerprints. Nothing says Parisian panache like a New Jersey gal barking repeatedly in the finest garbled nasally twang “Merci, Au revoir (yous guys).”
Sveta led us down the street to the cottage. We would get to know this street and area well over the next few days. A quiet neighborhood full of charm, artsy retail, and inviting restaurants. Royal blue double doors led the way to the 17th century former workshop.
The cottage resides on the ground level. All the units face a courtyard. In the shared space was a garden well cared for by the tenants. A sense of community pride was evident here and likely the reason for many of the rules and suggestions outlined by Chris.
Glass French doors lead to the communal courtyard. A firm bed and a comfy couch brought in the comforts of home. Thick wood beams lined the ceiling supplying visual interest, dimension, and a warm aesthetic. A moderate sized bathroom with a tub/shower and more stone completed the tour.
Sveta provided a comprehensive tutorial expertly conveyed even though it was in a language undetectable to us. We politely nodded and smiled in unison.
Later on, I would study the expansive black book-the cottage’s thick reference manual. Between that and the “how to be a local” I was ready for French citizenship. Wanting desperately to sleep, we fought the overwhelming urge and ventured out to get to know the area. We were not even 50 steps out when I fell sucker to a man selling “authentic masks from Africa.” Within seconds I blew 50 Euros (bartered down impressively from 280) on a mask that is “one of a kind” and looks like a character from South Park.
The building is situated close to Marche des Enfants Rouges which is the oldest covered outdoor market in Paris dating back to 1615. It is named after orphans clad in red that resided next door. We walked through the market, gazing at the colorful produce, fanciful flowers, and offerings. Pungent fish and exotic spices permeated the air. Savvy solo diners daintily pecked at plates of foreign and curious items. Although fascinating, nothing seemed remotely edible or appealing. The neighborhood was full of bohemian wares and artisan goods. Storefronts displaying vibrant shimmering jewels, multihued gems, and sparkly creations gleamed through the glass. We passed aromatic restaurants, the tiniest of shoppes, with slender passageways only suitable for one.
We walked through the Square Charles Victor Langlois Park. It included a playground, ping pong tables and a tribute from World War II. The hollow back and forth sound of the ball was hypnotic as we strolled around the circular sandy path.
We decided to have an indoor picnic for dinner with a menu of top tier ubiquitous French items. Everything we needed was available all within a block of our cottage. We purchased the aromatic Camembert cheese at Fromagerie Jouannault then just a few doors down we added a freshly baked, buttery baguette at Chez Manon and some essential staples at the Franprix grocery store. Now we had the perfect ingredients for our Parisian Picnic spread.
We headed back to the cottage, the weight of jet lag sinking in. We noshed on the spread-my lactose intolerance forbidding me from the possible demolition the soft, stinky cheese could ignite. Post feast we quickly slunk into carbohydrate fatigue syndrome-our first night in magical Marais coming to an epic end.
Day 2
The cottage, although in the epicenter of Marais is sealed like a soundproof tomb. The courtyard was oddly silent, unusually rare in a city that generates so much noise. It is a hermetically enclosed rock wall vault and during our time-very little sunlight. The darkened shades, stone insulation and homey setting made it all that more conducive for hibernation conditions.
The first few days abroad we always were challenged with circadian sleep mania-this time no different. We awoke at 2 am held an in-depth worldly discussion-all to be forgotten in the light of morning. Then when it was time to waken deep exhaustion would take over. We had a scheduled free walking tour of the local area. We were the only 2 booked and due to lack of participants and deteriorating weather it was cancelled. We were equal parts relieved and disappointed. We headed to Hotel de Ville (city hall) which has been the seat of the Paris city council since 1357. The summer Olympics 2024 are coming to Paris. Everywhere you looked the Olympic pride was prominent.
We walked along the Seine River the heartbeat of the city. The green murky water and gloomy skies were quite different than previous sunnier and warmer visits. February in Paris is allocated for the Parisian purist. We made true efforts to look beyond the cold weather, muddy puddles, rainy gray sky, and turbulent River and instead focused on the undeniable romance and the isolation and solitude of having the city to ourselves that comes with the bleak weather. We took in the grand architecture, the historic monuments, the uneven aged cobblestone. We peered over the waterway waving from the bridge to eager tourists hovered on the oversized barge pushing through the rocky current.
We made our way to Notre Dame the famous cathedral, UNESCO World Heritage site as well as most visited monument in France. Built in the 12th century, modified in the 18th century, and refurbished in the 19th century, it is and has been the symbol of Christian worship in Paris. Entry to the cathedral remains closed due to the devasting Cathedral Fire April 15, 2019.
In its place a mission of restoration charges on. Tourist spot and active construction site harmoniously coexist-its popularity unaffected. The immense crane shadowing over the sacred still charred structure as workers in orange vests and hard hats carried on their workday. People of all demographics swarmed around the partially viewable towers peeked out beyond the scaffolding as spectators jockeyed for that perfect selfie.
From there we strolled through one of my favorite neighborhoods Ile Saint Louis in the 4th Arrondissement. It is a small island, an oasis from the hubbub. The streets are lined with an array of adorable jewel box boutiques steeped in a time capsule. When we visited last in 2018, we went to a Marionette shop Clair de Reve. In the planning, I had carved out time and a budget to continue to build our beloved puppet collection. As we anticipatingly approached the shop it was evident it was not open. Nor would it be until the day we were flying home. With the luck we were having, I would not be surprised if the Clair de Reve posse was in Tampa Florida basking in the sun (our residence). The despair and defeat were too much. I had to fill that void somehow. We moseyed on to a few other interesting shops, secured some much-needed umbrellas from Pylones. We popped into Effigys where a lovely shop keeper engaged us with precious puzzles handmade in Burgundy, France. I splurged on a cute decorative orange ceramic rooster.
As we continued, our noses led us to the enticing aroma coming from Auxmerveilleux. Inside pastry chefs assembled delicate and airy meringue morsels of supreme jubilation. From there, with our last remaining remnants of energy we went to Arts et Metiers. The museum dates back to 1794. It holds over 2,400 inventions. The discoveries focused on Energy, Mechanics, Construction, Communication and Transport showing how science and engineering helped shape French Industry. Numerous school groups rampaged through during our 3 hours there. On a scavenger hunt mission, the youth stampeded by us-the generational gap glaringly evident as I hobbled pitifully on, my feet at this point a pathetic let down. The museum itself is a sobering walk down memory lane. Many of the items displayed are extinct or no longer serve any current-day use replaced with enhanced technology.
We left in the darkened day’s end, the rain rhythmically and insistently pounced down in cold, pelting sheets. We were lured once again by smell and visual deception- a highly popular place Rotisserie Stevenot. Copper country serving dishes contained picturesque potatoes au gratin. We brought back a heaping container of limp, soggy, green beans, and the equally unsavory spuds. Uninspired and disappointing our dismal dinner of substandard sides served as a precursor for sleep that came fast and easy this evening.
Day 3
This morning, we woke to the constant patter of rain. We were prepared for this weather but were hopeful that there would be moments of sunshine peppered in our days. All in all, very little sun was seen and almost the entirety of it was impacted by rain. It did not stop us from our activities but having witnessed Paris previously in the Spring and Fall, we realized there is a difference. The constant rain and cold began to wear on us and staying warm and dry became an energy zapper.
With our trusty umbrellas in hand, we ventured out to the Musee Picasso. We visited the museum previously in a former location over 2 decades ago. As a rule, we are not huge Pablo Picasso fans. The building itself had impressive architectural appeal and history dating back to 1660. Only a small portion of the museum was open due to current remodeling- the rest was closed off. The admission fee was discounted but still unjustifiably priced. We meandered through the swells of people; the inclement weather brought out people in droves. We struggled to grasp the artistic value and after an hour we had seen enough.
Next, we made our way to Musee Cognacq-Jay. Entry to the museum was free. The mansion is 3 floors of French art, furniture, and furnishings acquired from 1900-1927 by Ernest Cognacq and his wife Marie-Louise Jaÿ. The couple came from modest beginnings eventually making their fortune as founders of a notable Parisian department store. When Ernest died in 1928, his exquisite collection was donated to the City of Paris. We took our time wandering through the ornate rooms-a vast difference from Picasso.
Once outside the rain steadily continued, we walked back to our neighborhood and took the suggestion for lunch Chris the Vrbo owner had made for traditional French cuisine Chez Nenesse. We walked into the packed restaurant with dripping umbrellas, wet, cold, and hungry. As I hugged the coatrack to make room for people leaving, intimidated by all the activity and busyness-I was ready to abandon this option. However, the friendly owner waved to us, pointed to a newly vacant table. The red checker top slightly imperfect table faced the chalk board menu with a list of items for lunch. The choices were limited.
The squiggly French cursive script in the opaque dusty chalk displayed foreign words. Although undiscernible the extraneous scribe looked inviting. The owner approached us and described mouthwatering selections. Hubs pointed to another patron’s plate which happened to be Duck in a thick, brown sauce. For me, it was slightly harder as I mouthed “Vegetarian”, I could see his mind racing as he read from the board- Fish? Eggs? When he rattled off some veggie assortments, they all sounded good.
I chose the Watercress Soup. It was creamy, hot, herbaceous and delicious-unlike anything I had ever had. The warmth of the velvety broth heated me up and filled me instantly. Hubs gobbled up his succulent Duck in the rich brown sauce with French fries. All around us conversation was flowing-Friends, families, couples. The best part of this meal was the cost-26 Euros!
After our enjoyable lunch, we went for a walk. We put away the map and got lost in the streets. We window gazed and embraced the slim sidewalks that we shared with others. There was a temporary welcome pause from the rain. It was short-lived coming down quite hard. We were soaked through, and our new umbrellas fought against the harsh elements. We had not turned on the TV since we had arrived or even looked at news. Later on, we would read there was heavy flooding in Paris under yellow alert. Wet, tired, and fully satiated we returned to the cottage for some much-needed rest after a full day.
Day 4
Oh, what a momentous day. We dreamed of this day, planned for months, counted down. On this day we went to the world-famous Museum-The Louvre. We took an Uber to the entrance. We had been several times and felt savvy and seasoned. The driver had his own ideas of where to drop us (not where we asked). As we made our way inside through the preferred entry, we could see a massive line that went on as far as the eye could see. The long wait was for security-everyone already had their tickets-except for us. All that planning and oops, I know we were missing something.
With shoddy Wi-Fi and the queue inching up rapidly, I went quickly online and just as our tickets were to be checked, I hit enter and had what was needed with not a second to spare. Second tip, prepurchase your tickets. We got the map and started to devise a plan. So much to see!
We started off in Richelieu and Sully wings which included paintings from Northern Europe (1350–1850) and France (1350–1650). Tip #3, get to the restaurant early. We went to the Café Angelina one of only two restaurants in the Louvre. Fortunate for us-it was early enough that we were seated immediately. Moments later the line snaked around with a very long wait.
Hubs had Eggs Benedict- a petite serving made with a croissant instead of traditional English muffin. The vegetarian options were few. I had a quinoa salad with a “cream cheese finger”. It cost as much as our entire meal the previous day. We faced the glass pyramid below and way off in the distance the tip of the Eiffel Tower could be seen.
After lunch with renewed energy, we went to the Denon Wing for more paintings from Italy (1250–1800) France (1780–1850), Spain (1400–1850) Great Britain / United States (1550–1850) and the major highlights Venus de Milo Winged Victory of Samothrac, Sandro Botticelli’s Venus and The Three Graces Liberty Leading the People and of course a little unknown portrait of Lisa Gheradini wife of Francesco del Giocondo-wait who? Mona Lisa.
As one approaches the Mona Lisa-the excitement is palpable. Every demographic exists, young, old, babies in strollers-everyone is hyped up about this lady! A crowd fully formed of hundreds of people deep. Influencers getting selfies, long arms stretched in the air, kids perched up precariously on shoulders-all for the mutual goal of getting the best picture with HER. I am certain the majority of individuals there did not know her name was Lisa Gheradini. I confess I did not.
We spent about 4 hours total in the museum – a pittance of the death march we did in 2018 where Hubs after 8 hours succumbed to a short snooze facing a wall of Fransisco Goya paintings. We hit the gift shop on the way out. I had bought a Grecian ring my last visit and somehow regretfully lost it. I found the replacement-the perfect day complete. We exited and summoned an Uber as the weather continued to deteriorate. Inside the pristine heated Tesla with the silent driver, I replayed the wonderful day in my head, taking note of all the beautiful things I had seen.
We rested a bit and later went out to the Chinese District of the Marais. The thriving area had streets dedicated to Asian cuisine and retail. It was Friday evening and people were out, music was playing, friends meeting up. A kinetic end of the week feeling was in the air. We stopped in Chez Haki for some fresh dumplings and noodles. The steaming plates came to us immediately. Good hot comfort food rounded out the perfect day.
That evening Hubs laid on the couch, never one to complain and said he was feeling feverish. The next 24 hours would be a blur for Hubs. He slept from that moment on until well into the next day. The cottage turned into a micro infirmary nursing Hubs back to health.
Day 5
The next morning, the dark cottage became Hubs convalescence. I had not been affected by his illness (yet)… I headed out on a mission to fix the Hubs. I am all too familiar being sick on a vacation. It is an awful vulnerable feeling being away from home and not well. All our plans for the day immediately went on hiatus. I set out to the pharmacy. The sun peaked out for the first time in 5 days. No rain, clear skies. I got Hubs out of the way and bought a slew of antidotes-hoping for an ambitious miracle.
I began walking-I explored every nook and cranny of the neighborhood. I set my navigation and looped around the streets like a rousing game of chutes and ladders. I went through a park exiting out with no idea where I was or how to get back. Everyone was out, enjoying the nice weather. I stopped by a fruit market and got Hubs fresh squeezed orange juice.
I ventured around the Centre Pompidou a modern art Museum. From the outside it resembled a colorful hamster tunneled habitat. Sadly, this would be the only encounter here as sickness was incubating in me. I walked by the Museum Naturelle History popped in rummaged around the Gift Shop. A little fact, I fell in love with this museum seeing it in All the Light We Cannot See which it was featured in. It was getting a bit late at this point, and thinking we would surely get to enjoy this together, I began to make my way back. Alas again, we would not return.
I walked 3 miles thoroughly enjoying the rare “me alone” time eventually making my way back to the cottage. Hubs was snoring like a washing machine deep in the throes of a respiratory reckoning. Loading him up with decongestants, expectorants, dilatators, fever reducers hot soup and tissues, the relentless rain resumed as day transitioned to night and the Hubs reluctantly surrendered to sickness.
Day 6
Morning came, Hubs fought to recover, feeling only minimally better. We struggled in creating a plan conflicted in wanting to lay low, preserve energy and not further tempt the wellness Gods or salvage our time remaining and fight through it. We took a walk and ended up in a serene park. There was a friendly competitive game of table tennis in progress. It was cold outside, and with each ping pong volley of the ball it mirrored our back-and-forth debate of what to do. In retrospect, I blame my irritability on the inception of pestilence kicking in. I was starting to feel the beginnings of whatever funk Hubs had. My head was pounding, I had chills and just felt off.
Our Wi-Fi continued to challenge us impeding all plan formulations as we grappled futilely with unreliable navigation. Admittedly both of us were also not functioning at 100%. Hunger and rescue from the cold diverted us to Page 35 Restaurant. Chef Erik stood regally at the door-his tall starched white chef’s Toute hat towered high on his head. He greeted us, seated us and delivered the food to us as well. The restaurant was cozy and inviting.
We were chilled to the bone and requiring something hot and hearty. We had classic French Onion Soup and split crispy, salty French Fries. The gooey gruyere cheese melted onto the flavorful crouton to delicious perfection. The briny broth and caramelized onions hit all the right notes. Frankly, it was simply the perfect meal.
The rain continued as we made our way to Musee Carnavalet. It contains over 600,000 items from prehistoric times to current day. Paintings, sculptures, shop signs, drawings, engravings, posters, medals, ancient objects, photographs, and furniture come together to depict the rich past and illustrate the avant-garde story of the capital. A similar scenario in apropos timing-upon arrival only a handful of people milled about. By the time we left a long line tangled circuitously around the building as the rain persisted on. The museum dates back to 1880 and has a robust collection displaying the unique history of Paris. The fully Parisian spirit of the site captures the true essence and passion of the city. We spent a couple hours there, with a brief pit stop in the amusing gift shop.
Hubs persevered but the weight of his cold had settled in. We made our way back to the warmth and comfort of the cottage as the rainfall unrelentingly prevailed. Back in the tranquil cottage, we rested. Coincidentally, right across from our dwelling was Food and Wine’s best sandwich in Paris at Chez Alain’s Miam Miam. This innovative postage stamp sized hot spot specializes in gastronomic masterpieces.
Squeezing into the crowded, confined space, I approached the counter and panicked. With a colorful and fruitful bounty of sandwich fixings, the finest quality options, and a vegetarian’s paradise-my brain went in full meltdown overload. With a cornucopia of delights available, I got something so embarrassingly basic the person taking my order repeated back several times. Just simple cheese and bread pressed. As I eyed the room, seeing the bevy of alternatives available, I immediately lamented over my so humble choosing. As Hubs and I feebly picked at our modest provisions with cold infested disinterest, I knew that our maladies had all to blame for this lack luster affect. Our disgraced partially consumed sandwiches would not be touched again (no fault of Miam Miam) and would be unceremoniously tossed in the garbage bin 3 days later. As the French Tylenol subdued our symptoms, the melodic drum beat of rain drops lulled us to a hazy slumber.
Day 7
We uncharacteristically slept in; the early morning hours lost. We made our way to the Metro a courageous act for us. Incidentally, I have a mortifying PTSD memory of being wedged in a turnstile only to extricated by an innocent bystander. This time fortunately went without incident. Dare I say expertly-thanks to Hubs and his subway smarts. We were hitting our stride, tapping into our Parisian sense of adventure. Just a convenient few steps off the Metro step was the Musee Guimet.
It is one of the world’s leading museums of Asian art. A beautiful sleek building on the inside composed of a stunning collection of Asian art and antiquities. It holds an impressive compilation of Japanese, Chinese, Korean, Middle Eastern, and Indian sacred treasures. We spent several hours there enthralled by the ancient acquisitions. We stopped in the gift shop before leaving securing several delightful knick-knacks for home, including Chinese marionettes.
Leaving the Museum, we took the Metro back to the Marais. We faced our worst weather yet. The rain was coming down hard, water puddles pooled around our feet as we grew disoriented in our location. Finding our way back, water slogged, drenched and cold we trudged under the shelter of our umbrellas. We returned back to Cafe Charlot where it all began a week ago. We learned long ago never to return to the same place twice, but we always break this rule-and it is always a disappointment. This time was no different.
Hubs had Veal Bolognese and spaghetti. He lapped up the pasta gloating over the saporous sauce. His cold zapped his infirmed taste buds and my pending plague on deck tampered with our usually zealous appetite. Never one to stray too far, I stuck with the croque monsieur (sans ham). For many reasons, it just wasn’t the same. The meal fell flat leaving us both underwhelmed. Packing up our leftovers, these would woefully be tossed in the rubbish along with Miam Miam’s sandwich remnants, as well as the noodles from Chez Haki. We made a pitstop at the local patisserie (bakery) for a lackluster unremarkable treat.
We returned to the cottage making optimistic reservations for the morning at the world class Musee d’Orsay a premier Museum of Impressionist Art. Sleep this evening was fraught with unsettled restlessness, nightmares, and fever.
Day 8 Last Full Day 😞
Everything I share includes the good, the bad and the ugly. Sorry Folks, we have reached the part in this novella where it gets ugly- my apologies. I woke up feeling awful-sore throat, achy, headache, fever. I moaned, I groaned, I cursed the wretched disease carrying airplane. Musee d’Orsay would not be happening. We had been fortunate enough to have visited the museum several times-today would have just been a bonus. I told Hubs I was done for-he understood all too well. We drew the curtains, ingested our French cold cocktail of elixirs, pain relievers, lozenges-tissues askew, wrapped in blankets and slept. In between rest, we hacked and heaved, sneezed, and whined.
After several hours, I ventured out “to hunt and gather” for hot soup, restocking of meds, and perhaps a sweet treat. We had a momentary repose where all body parts cooperated as we nursed ourselves with fluids and nourishment. This was our last full day- tomorrow we would be heading home. This was not necessarily what we had envisioned nor planned for. But an important lesson in travel, is not everything works out as arranged. In fact, it rarely does.
There are so many variables in travel that interfere with best laid plans-weather, energy, well-being, nutrition and a million other unintentional reasons to divert from the original plans. I myself have confronted some of the most random and disruptive circumstances abroad. When it comes to our health plight, we were in a pretty cushy setting. As far as our rehabilitation goes, this ideal environment did lend itself to healing. I suffer terribly from FOMO (fear of missing out). It is real and requires immediate intervention. I gave us both a swift inspired pep talk fueled by a hefty dose of French Motrin, a hot steamy shower, and a tasty croissant.
With only a few hours of daylight left and not a drop of rain, we set out for a walk. We had no plan, other than to get our blood circulated and our immobile limbs moving. We passed the Historic Temple District. I was so thrilled to see this area but sad because our time was so limited. The history behind this region is fascinating. The quarter gets its name from the Knights of Templar who once owned almost all the land around the Marais. Back in the day, it was full of artisans and craftsmen that sought refuge within the Templar’s walls. This area restricted the monarchy from collecting taxes. King Philip IV, resented their extreme wealth, imprisoned them for years, confiscated their land and later burned them all at the stake.
We stood in front of the now closed MAHJ-Musee d’art et d’ histoire du Judaisme (Jewish Art and History Museum). Hubs gently reminded me we had been here over a decade ago. My delirious mind had little recollection. Next, we saw the Archives National Museum Located in the Hotel de Soubise which translates to city mansion. Created in the early 1700’s for Anne de Rohan-Chabot, a former mistress of Louis XIV. A variety of media and archive documents depicting the history of France and privileged national memories reside in there. Conducting this research, I grew remorseful as I would have loved to have seen this opulent slice of history.
We browsed the shops, every block representing a different specialty. Crafts and beads, bags, apparel casual, formal and fancy. Strong aggressive perfumes wafted in the air, dainty jewelry glittered and shimmered-all in an effort to capture the eye of the eager tourist. I popped in and out, stared in the windows, oohed, and awed-a revolving door of envied yearning.
We sat on a park bench in the Place des Vosges Paris’s oldest public square. We looked across surrounded by colonnades of 17th century townhouses. Meticulous manicured topiary and fountains created a picture-perfect scene. After days of unremitting rain, everyone was out, enjoying the final moments of sunshine. Children danced in shallow puddles, lovers smooched, runners kicked their heels up high pebbly sand cushioning their steps.
Hubs shared another remembrance, of course I could not recall-perhaps it lay buried deep somewhere in the cobwebs of lingering antihistamine. He ruminated in nostalgic retrospection of being in this very spot a decade ago, fantasizing of a future return. And here we were, so many years later, so many moments created together. A lifetime of curious adventure that we have been so blessed to have. As we blew our raw scarlet tender nares in tandem, I realized it doesn’t matter how vile I felt-I am on this wanderlust, journey with Hubs, creating new magical memories-mucous and all.
We made our way to the Victor Hugo Museum the famous French writer, artist and Poet-most known for Les Misérables and The Hunchback of Notre Dame amongst many other dynamic accomplishments. His contributions to the French are immense and transcending. His home pays tribute to his life, his family, and his masterpieces. Entry was free. The museum was closing in less than 30 minutes. We bobbed through the rooms in record time, our heads swiveling from side to side managing to cram all of it in our brains in record breaking speed.
We began walking back, more wishful window gazing and people watching, procrastinating our eventual return, we savored our final promenade. Just on the preliminary fringes of hunger, we ate at Café Dumarche. Just steps from the cottage right on the corner, candles flickered in the dimly lit restaurant. An eclectic hybrid of ex-pats, locals and carefree millennials sipped wine and gabbed, friendly dogs sat obediently at their owner’s feet. Hubs and I exhausted, sank into our seats, slumped with fatigue induced from cold medicine, wet weather, and an action packed few hours. We ordered French Onion Soup and shared Fries. The warmth of the food and high-octane sodium infusion bolted a potent energy boost in us. We recapped our trip, sharing our favorite pursuits. We made peace with what we missed and rejoiced in what we achieved. We made our way back to the cottage for the last time, staring up at the hazy coal sky, more rain threatening to unleash.
We came to Paris and set out to live like a local, view superb art, chow on fantastic French cuisine, chill in cafes, see the sights, stroll through the Louvre, sleep in, relax and walk in the rain. We dreamed it, planned it, manifested it, and lived it.
So-we got sick…it happens, it’s not ideal but if there was a place to restore us back to health-the magnificent Marais it is. We came, we saw, and we conquered Paris. In the end Paris may have conquered us-but the conquest was worth the battle. We will meet again in Warsaw and Gdansk Poland September 2024. Until then Hubs and I have a lot of resting up to do.
Au Revoir for now,
~F&B~
Mar 18th, 2024, 08:45 AM
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LOVED this! Thank you! You were so open and honest and entertaining and you really went for it. Sickness is starting to become an unwelcome regular guest for me on my latest international travels, not fun. It is strange because I am very healthy at home, but I guess here I don't have as much exposure to the masses.Weather is also such a key factor to opportunities and enjoyment, sorry it was so dismal. At least, Paris has so many indoor activities. Would you recommend your neighborhood and accommodations?
Mar 18th, 2024, 09:21 AM
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Coral22
Thanks for the kind words and feedback. I am just recovering now almost 1 month. The Marais was amazing.
I have a blog with the pictures and links but not allowed to include that here. I absolutely recommend the cottage we stayed as well on a 4 letter site of rentals.
I will def be more mindful of weather component. It would have made all the difference.
I have a blog with the pictures and links but not allowed to include that here. I absolutely recommend the cottage we stayed as well on a 4 letter site of rentals.
I will def be more mindful of weather component. It would have made all the difference.
Mar 18th, 2024, 10:34 AM
#5
I was a bit disturbed by your mention of a buttery baguette. Butter is not an authorized ingredient in making a baguette and any boulangerie doing that would be closed down. Or perhaps you were referring to a baguette sandwich? Many people don't realize that "baguette" just means "little stick" and besides being a form of bread, is also the name of the tool used by Harry Potter and his briends and also by orchestra conductors.
Mar 18th, 2024, 03:47 PM
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kerouac
kerouac
this is my account of what I experienced.
did you catch my friend was murdered?
if adding buttery as a description is disturbing I don't have a response. Every blog I enter on here has offended a person one way or another it's like dancing in a minefield. I deeply apologize for adding such an offensive word.
and yes I did add butter to it.
this is my account of what I experienced.
did you catch my friend was murdered?
if adding buttery as a description is disturbing I don't have a response. Every blog I enter on here has offended a person one way or another it's like dancing in a minefield. I deeply apologize for adding such an offensive word.
and yes I did add butter to it.
Mar 18th, 2024, 05:14 PM
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It appears there is a world (or word) of difference between buttery and buttered. I love to slather my torn chunks of baguette (made sans butter) with sweet French butter in Paris. And the croissants are indeed buttery. And a morning addiction for me. I even put butter on them!
brooke, your time in Paris sounds challenging to me. I admire your ability to adjust and continue on. May the weather gods be kinder on your next trip.
brooke, your time in Paris sounds challenging to me. I admire your ability to adjust and continue on. May the weather gods be kinder on your next trip.
Mar 19th, 2024, 04:21 AM
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I really enjoyed reading this and I'm impressed how you two managed to press on when and as you could. Bravo. Your next trip is bound to be better and now you know a really nice place to stay in the future.
When I read "buttery" I thought the same as kerouac. I thought maybe you were referring to something that is buttery in itself, like a croissant, not to bread. But gomiki has cleared it up. I'm pretty sure kerouac spoke up to be helpful, not because he was offended or to offend you. I can't speak for a total stranger, of course.
When I read "buttery" I thought the same as kerouac. I thought maybe you were referring to something that is buttery in itself, like a croissant, not to bread. But gomiki has cleared it up. I'm pretty sure kerouac spoke up to be helpful, not because he was offended or to offend you. I can't speak for a total stranger, of course.
Mar 19th, 2024, 09:04 PM
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What a lovely read. No need to preface with what sounded like an apologetic tone. Your style is your style. Full stop.
Our favored neighborhood is the 6th, Blvd St Michel/St Germain. Yours is clearly the Marais. We travelers search and find our comfort spot and wherever that may be in Paris, it’s magical.
My adult son and I spent a week+ in Paris in late October, his 3rd visit, my 13th. It rained on and off the entire time. We took turns having upper respiratory infections, him first. Mine turned out to be Covid upon testing day after our return. We still had a glorious week. IOW, we made lemonade.
Paris is always a good idea.
Our favored neighborhood is the 6th, Blvd St Michel/St Germain. Yours is clearly the Marais. We travelers search and find our comfort spot and wherever that may be in Paris, it’s magical.
My adult son and I spent a week+ in Paris in late October, his 3rd visit, my 13th. It rained on and off the entire time. We took turns having upper respiratory infections, him first. Mine turned out to be Covid upon testing day after our return. We still had a glorious week. IOW, we made lemonade.
Paris is always a good idea.
Mar 20th, 2024, 12:13 AM
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I have been to your favorite area previously. A lovely one I agree. Thank you for sharing your eloquent take. It almost made me cry. I usually get bombarded on these platforms for my lengthy blog so I thought I would start off with a gentle warning. I did not know a butter descriptive would be the culprit this time. 13 times is impressive. In hindsight I likely had Covid- but my hubs tasted negative. Anyways- it was a restorative place to be ill.
There will be a do- over I'm sure.
Thanks again for sharing your kind take.
There will be a do- over I'm sure.
Thanks again for sharing your kind take.
