No ambivalence about how I feel in this place, but maybe this butcher did something I don’t know about…
My last two days in Paris could not have better, even if I had tried to plan something grandiose or meaningful to punctuate my sabbatical in the city of light. I was lucky enough to be squatting at the house of the Paris scholars, and while by definition all Olmsted scholars are automatically fantastic- I still hold this family in especially high regard. And I’m not saying that because they fed and watered me for a few days.
The morning after our Thanksgiving recovery we all set out for the Champs-Élysées to check out a Christmas market lines much of the boulevard. It was drizzly and cold outside- perfect weather to walk around and take in the official start of the holiday season.
Call it crazy coincidence but the first hut on the walk happens to be the vin chaud stand, better known to some as you as hot wine, glühwein, or simply soul-warming goodness.
Cups in hand, we move up the street to see what’s on offer.
Beverages, confections and kitsch fill most of these stands, and we stop here to buy a choclate-covered gingerbread pretzel. I am sure that there is a proper name for this, but I chose to only concentrate on how well the vin chaud paired with this tasty treat. I love pain d’épices just as much as I love vin chaud, so I gave it two thumbs up.
I did mention kitsch, right?
Apparently this market has a Christmas-themed “Magical Age” where you can pay to see Nordic delights like the rattle snake and panda bear. All on a hot pink background. Ho Ho Ho.
Crossing over to the other side of the street you can see the triumphant arc in the distance. This spot is always such a neat vantage point, and I often wonder how many people have gotten écrasé by standing here trying to get their own Kodak moment. (Does Kodak still exist, by the way?)
Our vin chaud cups have long since been drained, and lucky for us we come upon another beverage stand. This one has variety- it offers Christmas beer and sauerkraut on its menu. Of course we must make a refueling stop- it’s all in the name of cultural immersion!
I find etymology quite fascinating, and accordingly I find it neat to watch the same word mutate as you travel to different places. Kabob-kebab-kebap is one example that comes to mind- and this pic shows another. Who knew that the Christmas market could be so educational?
Behold another diabetes-inducing trove of treats for the young and old: cotton candy (or Dad’s Beard, as it is called here), crêpes, waffles and vin chaud.
And in case you were wondering, it’s right here- the good soup! Exclamation points make everything taste better!
Remember that ad for Magical Age Christmas fun? Well, it’s impossible to miss with its fog machine periodically killing visibility for motorists on the Champs-Élysées , in addition to dinosaurs, aliens and a dude dressed up like a plush tiger to beckoning people into l’Age Magique.
I pause next to Le Grand Palais in order to toast our man Charles de Gaulle. For those of you don’t know him, he’s the rich guy who owns the big airport in the north of this city.
Way cooler than L’Age Magique, this place has an ice rink! Kids who did not grow up skating on cranberry bogs can don skates and use big plastic penguins to steady themselves as they weave through the course. Me, I’d love to skate- but will probably wait till I am in proper New England conditions before skating again with my brother. Unlike the penguin, he’ll surely work on knocking me down.
We’re at the end of the market, and our vin chaud cups are once again empty. I pause to snap a photo of this outstanding family at the Place de la Concorde. Spending the past couple of days with them really has gotten me into the Christmas spirit.
The following day really is my last full one in Paris, and lucky for me it is wrapped up with a few more activities that allow me to take in the city. Having been too hung over the day prior, I get out of bed and go for a quick four mile run around the two îles de la Seine. The morning is the best time to run through the center of Paris, because tourists and motorized traffic is at a minimum; all your maladroit feet must contend with is the irritating quaint cobblestone streets.
Meaghan, T3 and I bundle up and set out to check on Christmas decorations at Le Bon Marché. Once we arrive, we decide that they are decidedly unchristmassy, so we don’t linger long and instead head to a great patisserie located just along the corner.
The place looks like a laboratory inside, and we purchase a Paris-Brest to take away. I’m most intrigued by the fascinating take out box.
These trees were actually in another store where I bought a Christmas gift for one of my siblings (we play Secret Santa). While I didn’t buy them the tree, I did fail to notice the “no photography” sign in order to snap a photo. I have a nail polish this exact same color, but its name is La Paz-Atively Hot.
We walk across the river and head over near the Louvre. I’ve been looking at this robotic Godzilla hanging out of the building walls for a few months now. I don’t know what it means, but I think it’s great.
Next Meaghan is kind enough to show me an area near La Comédie-Française that I have never visited. The great thing about having Olmsted Scholars in a city is that you’ve got resident experts who will show you around for a small price of coffee or wine.
There are beautiful covered passageways featuring great mosaics and architecture. As I sit here and type this in Dakar, I already feel like I am missing the everyday aesthetics of these unassuming buildings.
This weekend happens to have a great flea market going on near Meaghan’s house. We head out to wander the tables and see what looks interesting. My suitcase is more than out of room as I browse the stacks of books, trinkets and other neat items that I’d love to buy. This thing was sitting in a fantastic red velvet shell chair- but I can’t exactly say that I was thinking of a way to mash it into my carry-on.
Another thing I’ll miss is the street art in Paris. It’s colorful, thought provoking, and sometimes downright random.
Our big day of walking the city streets was capped off in a little wine bar in the Marais. It was pretty cold outside, and as we came through the door we had to move around a big excellent dog that was patiently waiting just inside the door.
We sit down and order our supper. When our entrée comes out (in France, this is your appetizer), we suddenly notice that our order is the subject of great attention within the restaurant. The couple to my left comment on how épaté (shocked) they are to see that two Americans have ordered escargots. We switch to French and tell them that they are délicieux– especially when you have bread to soak up that garlic, butter and herb sauce. The table to my right is equally impressed- apparently we are the only Americans in for dinner tonight, but it’s not long before we see other tables Frenching up and putting in their commandes for snails as well.
I mentioned that dog that was standing in the restaurant when we came in. This guy was so chill, so unbelievable sweet. He comes over when we beckon him, but he seems to know not to bother the diners. As we sit and eat our snails, he finally sits down comfortably and has a look around. I so wanted to take this guy home, but it wasn’t long before his actual owner finished his meal and they were both off into the Paris night.
I told Meaghan that I wanted to eat a salad or something light after all the delicious Thanksgiving food that was consumed two days prior. More specifically, I wanted a chèvre chaud salad (hot goat cheese). This is the plate that I got- complete with more than just cheese. Bon courage, our waitress said to me as we stared in awe. I would definitely need another glass of Saint-Émilion with this bowl of salted melty goodness.
We were pretty tired from our big day, and after we finished our meal we walked back to Meaghan’s house to settle in for the night. We relaxed by the fireplace and watched some college football, courtesy of the mighty Slingbox. I thought about the packing that would need to be attempted in the morning- but only after I got in one last run in the city.
I woke up early the next morning- as tends to be the case on days when I know that I have to fly somewhere. I wanted to ensure that I had sufficient time to get in a quality last run around Paris- and indeed I set out for a nice eight mile run that started at Bastille and looped around the Eiffel Tower before I came back down the Seine. It was a beautiful morning as I passed under many bridges and enjoyed the roads that are closed on Sundays to allow for pedestrian traffic on the quays. I saluted Thomas Jefferson as I passed the Senghor bridge (named after Senegal’s first president) and detoured in front of Notre Dame to take one last look at Charlemagne and also check out the massive Christmas tree that has been erected in the front square.
Before I knew it, I was back at Sully-Morland and had nothing left to do in this city but leave for real. I have always loved this statue, and I actually went back to the house to get my camera in order to snap a final photo. It seems kind of apropos- I’m headed back into my little parallel universe, and this about captures my state of mind.
So I’ll finally close the book on Paris, even though I know that my time haunting Paname is far from over. I’ve had an incredible time exploring the city and learning more than just how to give good directions to French and foreign tourists alike. It’s been a great ride, but I’m sure that I’ll find more stuff to comment on back here on the African continent.
And if my apartment internet ever gets fixed, you might even read about it. Inch’allah.