#299

There’s a place in France

There were two times I was moved to tears in Paris: once upon walking into Notre-Dame, and once while watching a pair of acrobats perform to a 70s French ballad at the Moulin Rouge. What can I say? We all contain multitudes.

My husband booked our travel and hotel for this trip a couple of months ago and we really did not make a lot of plans beyond just getting there. The first time we went, in September 2023, we planned quite a bit in advance. This time we finalized a few things (mostly dinner reservations, it must be said) a week or so before we went, leaving the rest up to each day’s whim.

#213

I had a lot of anxiety around the trip, not just the air travel (which I truly hate) but getting the dogs sorted, getting myself packed – this in particular seemed overwhelming until very nearly the last minute – and the notion that it is just plain stupid to go on vacation when you are out of work. But, as I myself said on Instagram a week later from a Marais hotel room, you can mostly do whatever you want. So, we went.

This time we did not take the metro one single time, not really by design, but we saw much more of the city simply by walking so much of it. We had perfect, literally absolutely perfect, weather, so it was conducive to wandering.

In the middle of the week, we took a day trip to Champagne and briefly stopped in a tabac in a wee Beauty-and-the-Beast village. I sipped a very strong coffee out of a tiny cup and made a joke in French to the proprietor. It reminded me of driving with my husband from Dublin to Cork and stopping at a gas station that had a couple of donkeys in a pen alongside the parking lot. Welcome to real Ireland, my husband told me. This was like that. I have been to Paris twice, but to France once.

(It was during this day trip that I saw, but sadly did not use, a baguette vending machine. We also saw a pizza vending machine, something our French-speaking Italian tour guide had very strong feelings about.)

Every single day was good, and we kept lucking into short lines or lulls at places that are typically mobbed. We had the Palais-Royal practically all to ourselves:

On Saturday we walked to Monoprix and bought some things for a picnic, which we ate sitting in the grass in the Place des Vosges. I mean:

That night we splurged on a fancy French chicken in Montmartre and then at my husband’s insistence, walked over to Sacré-Coeur. My husband can walk around with no destination in mind for literal hours, and this is something that actually drives me very crazy because where are we going? But this time it worked out because the church was still open and it was hushed and peaceful and not crowded inside, and then we walked out to all of Paris spread before us at dusk:

Anyway, it was a beautiful trip. We visited the Conciergerie and the National Archives and used the Batobus as our primary mode of transport one day (I remain a very staunch advocate of the Batobus and its €23 all-day hop-on-and-off ticket, you simply owe it to yourself to do this). I had chocolate mousse twice, pâté en croute thrice, frites many times, and this is all before I even get to the Moulin Rouge, which was actually just incredible?

I did not think about America much at all while we were out of it. We had dinner at our hotel midweek and some Americans sat down next to us, and I didn’t hear exactly what they were discussing with the French server but I heard the president’s name come up. The American woman at the table said “Well anyway, I just can’t stand him! YUCK!” and as I told my friend, my heart grew three sizes.

Finally, at the risk of sounding like a true jackass, I did very well with my French! I was shocked, SHOCKED at how much I could understand, though I remain less impressed with my confidence in pratique orale. There were for sure some awkward exchanges, for example when the very nice saleswoman at Aesop was trying to tell me about the ingredients in one of their potions and I lost complete track of what she was talking about (any conversation that involves specialized terminology is still above my abilities), but I bought the hand serum she was selling, so I figure it all worked out.

There were also very rewarding moments, such as when our tour guide at one of the Champagne houses asked me if this was my first time in France. In French I said no, it’s our second visit, we were last here in 2023. In English she replied “you speak well” and I dined out on that for the rest of the week. (If this is a very French way of saying “you suck” please don’t tell me.)

The day after we got back, I got rejected from yet another final round interview process, which was extremely disappointing, but I think I took it a little better than I would have had I not been on vacation. Check back with me in a week to see if I still have this mature perspective, I guess, but for the time being, what can you do?

I’m going to write a Two Things about secondhand stuff I packed for the trip and the little handful of stuff I bought (spoiler alert, mostly pharmacy stuff and chocolate). So if that is your thing, stay tuned.