Bonjour Paris!

We’ve been living the good life in Paris for two days now. Our heads were too full of dreaminess to send out an update yesterday. Or maybe it’s that our hands were too full of macaroons to type. That happens sometimes. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.

We’re living in a man named Jean-Albert’s studio apartment in a neighborhood called le Marais that used to be Jewish but now is gay, trendy, filled with handbag stores, and Jewish. Kellie’s sister, Hyndi, and her friend Bobbi (Baby) are here, as well. They have a different apartment in our gay, trendy, Jewish neighborhood but their street has more Jewish bakeries, falafel shops, and sneaker stores.

We spent our first day being amazed by the unstoppably jaw-dropping beauty of everything. Notre Dame, Arc de Triumph, the Eiffel Tower, of course, not just those places, really it’s all the unnamed places and bridges and the river and the streets and boulevards and avenues and everything thing in between.

By the time we got to sunset we were truly overcome. And I think we’d walked 10 miles.

On the second day, Hyndi and Bobbi slept off their jet lag while we perused the open-air stalls at the Thursday Bastille market. Whereas the flea market in Cologne sold things Germans like, the Bastille market sold things French people like such as wallpaper, ribbon, fake crocs, eggs, lotion, half-plucked dead ducks, tea towels, and horse meat.

After the market, we had small cups of coffee and a choco-pistache danish as fuel for our walk along the Promenade Plantee, the raised park that runs for about a mile east of the center.

Raised parks are genius. Nice views plus flora minus traffic. Genius.

It’s was a bit rainy (the weather has been absurdly excellent the entire trip so we won’t complain) so we drank more small coffee and ate multi-colored macaroons before walking to meet Hyndi and Bobbi for ridiculous falafel sandwiches.

The weather was chilly but clear in the afternoon so we walked to the Centre Pompidu because there’s only one modern building in central Paris so we thought we should see it. The fountain is particularly whimsical.

Then it was on to the Pere Lachaise, the cemetery where Jim Morrison and over one million other people are buried. Like some of our other favorite cemeteries (New Orleans, Buenos Aries, Laurel Hill at home) it was creepy beautiful and presciently peaceful. Kellie hates The Doors but Jon would’ve spun Hyacinth House off of LA Woman if he had it handy.

We spent our evening along the Avenue St. Germain on the south side of river with beer and Moroccan food and tons of laughs. On the way home we stopped for midnight baklava and pistachio strudel in one of the Jewish bakeries. Every day should end like that.

This entry was posted in Europe, France. Bookmark the permalink. Post a comment or leave a trackback: Trackback URL.