Paris and beyond

I open the windows to sunshine. Brilliant warm air and blue skies. I'm worried that I will have to pay the price for this in future travel. It can't always be this grand!

I come down to breakfast. Back to the French standards. 

I am sitting next to an American couple, but not of the kind you'd expect: it's a mother (my age) and son (my daughters' age). This gives me hope! When I'm old and positively incapable of hoisting a suitcase to the overhead (by the way, lifting a heavy bag up there is very very bad for your lower back), or picking it off the conveyor belt, I can beg a daughter to accompany me and do the lifting, and guiding, and yes, having breakfast with me in a Parisian hotel.

This is not at a time for family travel in Paris -- the kind where there would be young children here. The only reason my daughter chose this week for their trip is that Primrose has spring break now. Later than most any American school I know. Personally I think it's a way better time to take a school pause. The school year is long. The weather for us northerners is just starting to improve. It's a great time to be spending many hours out and about.

Outside... That's where I need to be right now. My day is split into two parts: the first half is all about walking the streets of Paris. The second half? Crazy. And so not me! You'll see. 

 

I'm off for my walk. 

 

 

 

(I'm not the only one! Grandma, granddaughter, dad.)

 

("we should pick up something here...")

I actually have a goal. I seem to have written into my calendar that I should visit the bakery Mille et Un. I dont remember how or why I chose it, but it's a good destination -- maybe a 15 minute walk into the heart of the Left Bank.

Oh, now, I remember! This is a French - Korean bakery that did well in a number of competitions. Best croissant, best flan, etc. 

 

 

There is a line outside. I join it.

It's hard to decide what to pick up and when and where I should eat whatever I get. 

 

 

 

How about their award winning croissant with creme patisserie and strawberries? To be eaten in the park?

(Along the way: stopping at Zara for one more t-shirt)

(Along the way: I pass my favorite bookstore. Looks like this grandma just bought some books there -- for herself and her granddaughter.)

 (Along the way: such a pretty design! Wouldn't it look fine on the porch dining table?)

(Very brief pause at the Jardin Luxembourg: exuberance!)

 

 

(Very brief pause at the Jardin Luxembourg: for that croissant.)

 

 

(On the way  back to the hotel: I pass a wedding of very famous, or very wealthy, or both people. Hundreds attended. All very well dressed.)

 

 

And now for the second half of this day:

I may be missing the crocus blooms and the occasional early daffodil at the farmette. But here I am in Europe, where flowers emerge earlier (and so there are more of them blooming away right now) and the weather is perfect. I want to go to Giverny. Monet's gardens.

I haven't been there in early spring for several years now (last time: April 3, 2022 -- thank you, Ocean for the prompt!). And it is one of my favorite times to visit the gardens. And I need the inspiration for my own season of planting!

However.

When thinking about this back in the dark winter days at the farmette, I googled train schedules (now you know how I fritter away my morning hours during the week!) and found to my dismay that the regular one hour train ride from Paris to Giverny is temporarily suspended. They're working on the train line this spring. This means that to get to Giverny I would have to either take a taxi (prohibitively expensive -- I did it in an emergency situation with Snowdrop -- the Paris marathon blocked us from getting to the train station -- never again!), or I would need to sign up for a tour. On a bus.

I cannot tell you how much I loathe the idea of visiting Giverny, my private wonderful beloved much explored Giverny (even staying the night up the road a couple of times!) in a group, by one of those coaches that I try to not even look at, let alone join. [I am not against such a form of visiting famed sights, I get why they are popular, and even necessary for some. I just myself do not like them, have never ever liked them, being, I admit it, extremely selfish and private when I want to explore a place, especially one I know I will love. I don't like to follow a group and listen to someone telling me what I should look at, and what's so great about what I am seeing. I even hated school museum trips -- I was pretty good, well mostly good at following the rules within the schoolhouse gates, but once released from that prison, I could not, would not be herded. To my credit, I know a person who is even worse in this: Ed.] 

So here I am, joining a group, because I need the cheaper transport to Giverny.

I picked the smallest group I could find -- this one operated by Blue Fox Travel (found with Get Your Guide -- a service I've used in Europe for Snowdrop's sightseeing). The promise is of a small van. My intention is to ditch the group (no matter how lovely the people -- my apologies, I love your determination to see Giverny, just not with me) once I am in the gardens, and to rejoin for the ride home. Not wanting to appear uppity, I will make up some excuse about photographing flowers. Which comes very close to being true.

Our meetup is at the far side of the Arc de Triomphe. Google tells me that's about a 55 minute walk. 

(Along the way: it's the French lunch time: he is bringing for his hosts all the essentials: flowers, a baguette, and a bag from a Paris cheese shop.)

 

(Along the way: I'm guessing she's telling him "now you behave at grandma's!")

 

(crossing the river to the Right Bank)

 

The routing takes me along the Champs Elysees. (So, uphill.)

I set out enthusiastically, but my enthusiasm quickly subsides as I join the crowds that flood the avenue leading up to the Arc. In my view, it is awful there now. A huge avalanche of people, doing what? Certainly not shopping here. Why swarm the place? It's nearly impossible to even walk. 

I never see this part of Paris. I think if I had to pass through this way on any of my trips here, I'd temper my love of this city. And it didn't used to be this way. I remember trips with my daughters here when they were young. We'd always walk this wide boulevard and it was just lovely. But today my head is spinning. And I have this revelation: maybe, just maybe, at my age, crowds mess with my head. Maybe, just maybe I am too old to enjoy swimming in a sea of people.

Once by the Arc, crowds start to thin. Still, I had to wait a good many minutes to clear the scenery (of people, of cars) for this photo:

 

 

 

The Giverny group has gathered promptly, as instructed, fifteen minutes before departure. Two vans. Eight per van. In my ensemble, I have a woman from Iceland, one from Australia, and the rest are from the US -- two furious at having our country destroyed right now, the other four -- well, they stay silent on the issues. (Our group leader, Brunehilde, a young lass of some twenty plus years, asks for little bios as we're driving along.)

I'm seated next to the Australian woman. She is exactly my age and she has had some tragic family losses and now here she is, embarking on a two month trip up and down France, trying to pick up some artistic insight so that she can do some painting in her senior years. She's chatty. I take a deep breath and set myself into the listening mode.

 

 

In an hour, we are in Giverny. Our guide takes us to the cemetery first.  Groan. I want the garden. Okay, let's be patient. She's just trying to add spark to the tour.

Finally.

We are there.

I walk up to our guide and ask to be dismissed. She's a bit surprised but accepting of my weirdness. We'll meet up at the exit in two hours.

Brunehilde tells me she has never ever seen such crowds at Giverny. But I have. And it's small wonder that we're seeing them now: the place just opened for the season four days ago. It's a beautiful day. And it's a weekend. I'd say half the people around me are French. It's a great outing on a brilliant April afternoon!

Still, the absolutely worst are the big tours: they seem to be all "Viking" people. Forty, or fifty to a group, plugged into earphones, walking in a herd, so that you cannot pass them or avoid their massive presence. But here's the thing: the way Giverny is set up, there are many, many flower beds that have no people near them because fences prevent visitors from getting close. I've always found solace in this. And I do so today. At times, I almost think the people have all gone away and all I have before me are the flowers. And they are beautiful.

One comment though about the seasons: the tulips are the mainstay of an early spring garden here (as they are in so many gardens). But I notice that they're almost done with their bloom time! It's an early season that's now moving away from bulbs. Perhaps all seasons going forward will start earlier?

Okay, photos! Here's a selection. I took many! You get 10 garden ones. I'm trying!

(Taking photos in Giverny requires great patience if you want an uncrowded image -- not something that's easy for me! Don't be misled. There are people. Just not in my photos.)

 

After about an hour, I've had enough of wiggling my way through Viking swarms. I sit on a bench for a while, gaze out at this piece of beauty and leave.

I go over to the cafe across the road. In the past I found it to be very satisfying. It was okay, for a cup of coffee. There are better places up the road.

And I do go up the road a bit. I am curious if my b&b hosts (where I stayed a couple of times) are still in the business. I never find them. (But I do find the Impressionism Museum -- or at least its white garden...)

And now it's time to rejoin the group. They're done early and waiting for me. Sorry!

(drive back)

 

We hit the traffic coming back to Paris. It's 7 pm by the time we pull up to the Arc.

On balance I am so glad I went! And the group was fine, and our guide was okay, even if I'm not fully convinced she is a indeed a needy philosophy student doing this on the side. Her information was a little off and a little toward the haha side and, horror of horrors, she started off with this -- I know Americans love air conditioning. We French dont use it and dont like it, but I want to make you happy so here it goes! The peanut gallery cheered. For god's sake, it's only 72f (22c) outside! People! But, I'm already the weird one in the group, I don't want to ask to turn the damn thing down. So I froze. And was very happy to be out of the van, on my walk back home. But I veered off the Champs as fast as I could. It really is not for my sensibilities.

 

The entire trip was a 5 hour deal and so I do not come back until late in the evening. I had decided earlier that this is the day to simply eat at the hotel. (In Paris?? Are you kidding me?? I am breaking the mold all over the place today!)

The fact is, my hotel has a special vibe to it: it's historically significant and they try hard to preserve that element: last night, I found a poem on my pillow -- words from a song by a known lyricist who once stayed here. As did T.S. Elliot. And James Joyce, who finished his Ulysses while in these very rooms. Many building in Paris can claim fame to artists, musicians, poets passing through, but I like the fact that this hotel's marketing plan is to make use of its own history.

The hotel has a restaurant that is part of that. It's called Les Parisiens and people tend to like it. It's a good choice for a day when I get in late. And much as I do not like the ambiance of a hotel eatery -- especially this one, which is great for breakfast but a little stark for dinner, still -- the atmosphere is wonderfully informal and the food is prepared under the guidance of one of Paris's "rising stars" -- Thibault Sombardier. It's a brasserie/bistrot model, with a modern twist.  

(Les Parisiens is on the ground floor of the hotel)

 

 

It is, in fact, quite delicious. I order the endive appetizer and the vol au vont -- seafood in a puff pastry. Lovely, all of it.

And now it's getting late once again. After midnight. I cannot help myself! There's so much to see, to think about! But tomorrow I do an about face: the young family is coming. My attention will be on them. Mostly.

with love...

to France

It's time to pull back. To lower expectations. To put limits, to pump the brakes. Possibly you're thinking I'm referring to economic activity, given that we are in for craziness on that front not seen for nearly a century. But no. I'm still trying to limit my news reading and worrying. No more than twice a day while I'm away. I need a rest from it all.

What I am thinking about is my posting on Ocean. On the average, in addition to my text here, which has climbed along with my Alpine hikes and surfed to new elevations over the waterways of Venice, I have posted a very high number of photos each day. So much so that the average Ocean reader must feel herself or himself to be a bit overwhelmed and perhaps bored by it all. That's okay -- you can skim, skip, dance over and move on to something else of course. But the trouble is, that this much writing and photo journalism takes an enormous chunk of time. Whereas at home, I spend roughly 2 - 3 hours each day on writing and working on Ocean photos, on this trip, I've soared to about three hours in the late afternoon and another two in the evening after dinner. Bedtime has been very very late.

I am about to embark on Leg Three of my Spring Break. Leg Three will be almost exclusively in Paris. (I'm here for nine days.) Much of it will be with my daughter and her family. I'm not seeing the time or the need for extra long posts. I'm setting myself a goal of ten-ish (okay, maybe twenty-ish) rather than forty-ish photos each day. 

Honestly, the older I get, the more I love to write and put up pictures from the day. But when my schedule is joined with someone else's, I do have to pull back. It's so rare that I get to travel with my daughter and her fam. My posting has to slow down or else I'll crack at the seams.  There just isn't that much time.

So let's see if I can stick with a smaller load. (I've tried before and failed!) No more post-midnight work. Let's take it easy here, on Ocean.

 

*     *     *

Of course, this morning, I'm still alone, and still in Venice.

My routine is fixed: I begin the day with a look out my window. Madama Garden (where I'm staying) is on a small lip of land. We are surrounded by water and bridges on three sides. What I like to look at is the Fondamente that seems to be the pathway to work, markets and school. 

 

 

 (she can't stop reading)

 

 

It's time for breakfast. Scaling back on this as well. Let's cool our jets here! (A sweet croissant, fruit, yogurt. And only two cappuccinos!)

 

 

 

I have a half an hour to kill before I need to get going. I take a walk along now more familiar alley ways and fondamentes.

 

(familiar to you as well!)

 

 

 (a sunny day means you do your laundry)

 

 

 

 

 

 (This guy has a reputation among pigeons. A good one, I think!)

 

 

(The canal-side street that was so full of people last night? I thought it was called Fondamenta dei Ormesimi. And it is that. But names change as you walk along. Approaching Madama Garden, I see that it is now called Fondamenta de la Misericordia)

 

 

 (From here, I can see Madama Garden. Yellow building with the garden. The window that almost gets splashed by the canal waters is one of the ones from my room -- the Iris.)

 

 

 (One last look, one last bridge...)

 

 

 

 

 

At 10, a taxi comes to whisk me away. And it is a whisk! The boat ride to the airport is a ride on waves that come from the wake of other boats. But it starts out gently, as I look back at the canal that was my source of fascination for three days.

(You may wonder why I'm flying to Paris rather than, say, taking a train. It was a tough decision, but the fact is -- the Paris train departs from Milano Garibaldi. Most Venice trains go to the Milano Centrale station. To make a connection to the train for Paris (which just reopened this month after tunnel damage closed things down for a while) I would have to have left Venice very early, skipping breakfast and skipping my last walk. My time here is so precious! I didn't want to do that. So I did bite the bullet and used miles to fly Air France straight to Paris.)

 (one last glance back from the boat...)

 

 

 

 

 

(Venice, from above...)

 

 

(My Venetian souvenir)

 

 

*     *     * 

Here's something that will shock: I arrive in Paris and I cab to my hotel. Why? Because I'm not staying at a place that's especially close to an RER airport train stop. Say what? I'm not staying at my beloved Le Baume??

That is correct. They tried, really they did, to offer rooms that would fit the needs of the young family (and me as well, though I'm not the problem here). But in the end, I said no to their offerings. The only connecting rooms that they have are very small. This is not an issue for adults and especially adults that don't need a chair to read a book before bedtime with a little one, or who dont need two extra people (parents) coming in to help settle the occupants.  It is an issue for a young family where one child still naps and both kids need help getting ready for the day and for the night. So I had to look elsewhere.

This was tough! I wanted to stay in "my"neighborhood. To be close to the gardens. And I needed at least one slightly bigger room. I finally settled on the Pavillon Faubourg Saint Germain. A mouthful!

I myself don't need a large room. Though their "small" isn't that small at all!

 

It is, in fact a lovely, friendly hotel. But I wont compare. Le Baume is grand for me. Pavillon Faubourg Saint Germain is also grand.

 

 

 

(view from my window -- onto a quiet street. This I love about Paris -- that you can have a view onto a quiet street)

 

The young family wont arrive until Sunday. But I have an agenda for tomorrow. Not for today though. It's as warm as you could possibly want for April. I'm heading for the gardens!

(a different route than I'm used to...)

 

Spring has sprung in Paris, and nowhere is this more evident than in the Luxembourg Gardens. Primroses, tulips, anemonies, forget-me-nots -- all in full bloom.

 

 

 

In the evening, the park is teeming with people. Everyone wants to take in this beautiful weather. 

And the chestnut trees! They're all green already.

 

 

 

I cannot tell you how strange it feels to be back "home" in my familiar Paris, yet not in my home at all and for once, not alone. Or at least eventually not alone. And all this following an already extended spring break. My mind can't grasp all this! 

Well, I was happy at the farmhouse, I was happy in Grindelwald, I was happy in Venice. And I am really happy to be now in beautifully sunny (oh, the weather on this trip!) Paris. So long as I limit my news intake. Twice a day. That's it. (One can but try.)

Where do I eat dinner? At a place I've come to like, but one that isn't really suitable for when I am here with Snowdrop. I eat at Ottobre, even though it's Avril out there. I knew it would be good, and it is. Full of spring flavors and colors.

 

 

I walk back to the hotel along crowded sidewalks. Every outdoor table at every cafe bar and restaurant is full. People, enjoying each others company in the middle of a spring warmup. You get the feeling that they know what's important in life. This.

 

 

 

Time to get some rest. I'm learning to stick to my limits now in Paris. Just 24 pics today!  And I'm done before midnight -- a victory of sorts.

with love...