Oui Audrey, Paris is Always a Good Idea…

So, yeah, I went to Paris, again. This time I really needed it. I needed to recharge my batteries, as trite as that sounds. I needed to be in my favorite place, that foreign city that feels like home to me, and I needed to have my soul soothed and I needed to be alone and to think and just to be. And Paris, being her fabulous beautiful difficult wonderful self, said ok, come on home baby, I am here, waiting for you.

And so I cashed in my remaining AA FF miles and I went, and was welcomed into my lovely little cocoon in the 11th arr…thank you Denise for your positive review because it was just perfect. And cheap! I miss this view…

my view

This trip was not a sightseeing mission. I went to one, count em one, museum…and I am not apologizing for it. And even then, I had issues. It was a fabulous exhibit at the Carnavalet (the Museum of the city of Paris, free) called (en francais) Roman d’un Garde-Robe: Le chic d’une Parisienne de la Belle Epoque aux années 30, which loosely translated means the novel of a wardrobe: one Parisian’s fashion from the 1900’s to the 30’s.  It contained the dresses, hats and accessories of a trend setting Parisian who helped launch 2 major French fashion houses, which of course appealed to my fashion loving side. So I enjoyed it very much from that aspect.

Some fashions in the exhibit, which was all in French, so I also practiced...

Some fashions in the exhibit, which was all in French, so I also practiced…

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But, as I reflected later, I was left with a bad taste in my mouth after as I couldn’t help but wonder about all the workers who sewed those sequins and toiled to make those dresses and hats. I really wanted to see their pictures, and read their stories. I thought about them all afternoon. I guess you can take the girl outta CEPR, but you can’t take the CEPR outa the girl (See here to understand)

And so what did I do in Paris if I didn’t go sightseeing or museum hopping? I communed with my women. I was uplifted and inspired. I laughed and I listened and I was listened to. I am so very fortunate beyond words to have the deep good fortune to have so many good friends who have the deep good fortune to call Paris home, and how lucky I was to spend time with them, along with some fellow visitors who have also become my friends. I needed them and they came through, each and every one, French and American, Australian/New Zealander all Parisian by birth or by spirit. Un grand merci et beaucoup de bisous a Roniece, Nancy, Jane, Kathryn, Sue, Mez, Sylvia, Margarita et Axelle. I so enjoyed seeing you, and drinking with you and laughing out loud with you and breaking bread with you and walking and shopping and talking talking talking. Je vous embrasse. Toujours…

Some of my women...my Muriels...mes tres cheres...xoxo

Some of my women…my Muriels…mes tres cheres…xoxo

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I also wandered, I was lucky to have been spared the polar vortex freeze that has gripped the East coast of the US. Some rain (ah but Paris in the rain is still beautiful), so I was able to wander around and look at the known and not so known places that call to my soul. I spent a great afternoon in Montmarte…I always like to climb to Sacre Coeur and gaze out out upon “my” city and hold her in my hand. I was fortunate to have chosen the weekend of the Fete de Saint Jacques…only in France could you stumble upon a scallop festival.

a walk through Montmarte

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DSC00069 DSC00082A nice young man from India and I took turns taking one another’s pictures

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I made my way through my adopted hoods, the 11th and the 20th – Republique, Oberkampf, Menilmontant. Belleville, Pere Lachaise, Gambetta – with no agenda, just taking it all in. I was green with envy at the markets, one literally right outside my front door. I sure love visiting Roniece in her lovely slice of heaven in the 5th, as she calls it. It is nice, I like it, but it isn’t home. I gravitate to the quartiers listed above, not sure why, just feels like home to me, like me.

My Paris

My Paris

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My apartment building on Blvd Richard Lenoir

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The markets!

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Menilmontant, my favorite hood. Met A at Lou Pascalou, one of my favorite spots in Paris, and ended the night here. We spoke French all night. She is very patient…

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I walked to Rue Sainte Marthe, in the 10th, on the  fringes of my hoods.

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And back to Oberkampf, and a goodbye shot from the second floor of L’EstaminetIMG_0939

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My moment of serendipity came as I was waiting for the metro after my lunch with Kathryn.

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(This is the view from the Pont Mirabeau bridge. It makes me think of you K!)

Anyway, I was in the metro station waiting for the next train, looking at the metro map to pass the time, when an old man started talking to me in French and asking me if I knew who the Gallieni metro stop was named after. I said no, and he proceeded to tell me the story of Gallieni, how he was a general who “saved Paris from the Germans”. When I told him I didn’t know that, he asked me where I was from, and when I told him the US, well, his face lit up and he proceeded to regale me with tales of the Americans who rescued him during WWII. The train came and we sat together and I heard all about his trip to the US and about how much he loved Americans, he thinks we’re so friendly, with our “open faces”. He told me that his name was Jacques, that he was 84 (I think I got that right), As he got off the metro, he told me that he was happy to have met me. He shook my hand and told me that my French is very good. I smiled all the way down line 10.

All wasn’t fun and games as I also worked hard, very hard, to improve my French. Days and years of slogging through classes and reading silly French novels and listening to French on my IPod on the MARC train as the DC Suburbs pass by have left me with decent comprehension skills. But my verbal skills are sadly lacking, so I took a workshop at the Alliance and spent more relaxed evening at a bar at a Franglish event. I would definitely recommend it: For 12e you get a drink and an hour and a half of conversation with 5 native French speakers. It was tiring, but inspiring, and everyone there was super nice…tres sympa ! I am gonna master this language even if it takes me the rest of my life to do so.

And so, another January in Paris…feeling as always grateful that I am able to go back again, and again. And I will be back…Roniece, save me a seat at LPC. And tell Pierre (another dapper 80-something Frenchman who charmed me) that I said bonjour.

La Reine !

And in the meantime, I will spend time with my dear girlfriends on this side of the Atlantic. Candace, Liz, Tamara, Chris, Claudia, Elaine (and on the phone and on facebook, Maureen (my Boo2), and Jo, and Sara and Vickie and all of the rest of my dear Muriels, those great women all around the world, who lift me up every day)…and my mom, and Jordan. My family.

A new year, and a new life. Full of hope and joy and peace and remorse and melancholy, all at the same time.

C’est la vie, n’est ce pas ?

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Le Béarn et Le Pays Basque…Better Late than Never (J’Espère!)

I am very late in writing this post. Computer issues (blank screen on my new laptop = 4 weeks working from a borrowed laptop, argh!). Work, lots of work…whew, I hope that all this work pays off in donations to CEPR. Family visits, summer, anyway, no time til now to write and reflect on our June vacation to the Basque country. Which is maybe a good thing, as things have settled down and shifted and the most important moments, the stand out highlights, have had time to float to the top of my memory.

So here they are, my random reflections in no particular order…it’s long (lots of pictures though!) I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I have had reliving it:

We flew into Bilbao, Spain and spent the first night in San Sebastian. San Sebastian was a nice surprise. A revelation, I like some place that is NOT in France :).  We found San Sebastian to be a lovely town, big enough to be interesting and full of good restaurants and bars and beautiful, and small enough to take it all in.

san sebastian street

harbor

plaza

beach

evening in San Se

old town street

The only downside was the language, I am spoiled by Jim’s fluent and my not-so-fluent-yet-somewhat-passing French.  We know the polite Spanish basics but found our lack of fluency frustrating when trying to navigate the tapas scene…because what a scene it is. We finally figured out how to belly up to the Tapas bars. So delicious, and cheap compared to pricier France. 

jambon !!!

We loved the tapas so much that we came back to spend another (nicer weather-wise) day.

La Cepa, yum

the best anchovies ever

beautiful tapas

Jim

We also went to Hondaribbia, a smaller town across the bay from Hendaye, France. (This is Hendaye):

market in Hendaye

We took the ferry, which took about 10-15 minutes, max.

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And then we were in Spain again:

Hondarribia

Spain/France/Spain/France…or as they say around these parts, Basque Country…

"Tourist Remember: You are neither in Spain nor in France.  You

Gora Euskadi Askatuta !

It was a great little fishing village with great little fish…

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lunch in Hondirribia

fresh!

The take away? Jim wants to come back to this part of the world, and he gonna start learnin some Español

After our first night in Spain we headed to Monein, a small town in the Béarn region of France, at the foothills of the Pyrenees.

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We went there in search of Jurançon. What is a Jurançon, you ask? Well, just about some of the most delicious, unique white wine on the planet. And really hard to find here in the US.

me and the Jurancon

We spent our days driving through the vineyards,

vineyards and mountains

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lost in the fields

visiting little touristed but charming villages like Abos

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and Navarrenx

Navarranx

bridge to navarranx

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and Orloron Sainte-Marie. It was chilly and damp, but it didn’t dampen our spirits one bit…

Orloron

a river runs through it

We stayed in a wonderful bed and breakfast in Monein called Entre Vignobles et Vergers  (between vineyards and orchards). The proprietor had had an unfortunate accident and was in the hospital, so he left one of his tenants in charge, the intrepid Daniele, who didn’t speak a word of English and who took a liking to us, the “nice” Americans as we came to be known thanks to Daniele, who was born in Marseille and still had a wicked accent. Daniele took very good care of us, making us a wonderful breakfast with homemade jam every day and greeting us at cocktail hour with a bottle of  Jurançon in hand. She reminded me of my Aunt Val (except that Aunt Val would have been drinking a natty bo)

Daniele et moi

And thanks to Daniele we know everything about all of the casinos in France, including one in Pau, the largest town in the region and a very nice one at that.

Pau casino!

Beautiful and friendly…and good food. We ate at a wonderful restaurant called Les Papilles Insolites, where we had a fabulous lunch

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and were introduced to another great wine of the neighboring region, Madiran.

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Oh so much wine, so little time.

which way to the wine

So besides the wine…let me see, what else?  Oh yeah, we spent a memorable evening at the Fête de la Musique in the town of Jurançon, where we went looking for a village feast and found, well, bad food and a 6 euro (and not bad!) bottle of wine,

yum!

and a memorable evening listening to a quite good French rockabilly band…

good band

followed by a Red Hot Chili Peppers cover band…

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well, you had to have been there to fully appreciate it.  Special!

We bid a fond farewell to Daniele and Jurançon (with a case in the car) and drove back into the Basque country. We stayed in a village called Ciboure, on the Atlantic coast, next to a somewhat bigger town called Saint Jean de Luz. And wouldn’t you know it, they too were having a fête, the Fête De La St Jean. Oh don’t you hate when that happens?

We spent a fun time partying Basque style.fete IMG_0666

band in basque

After all that Fête-ing we took it easy. The weather finally turned and it was glorious. We walked and sat on the beach and walked along the coast into Ciboure and then to Saint Jean de Luz.

Soccoa

soccoa beach

Ciboure

St Jean de Luz

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We ate bounty from the sea.

yum

soupe de poissons

We drove into the Basque countryside, looking for another impossible to find wine, Irouléguy, wonderful inexpensive reds and whites.

I think we found it

We drove into Les Aldudes, heaven on earth.

so beautiful

We bought a bottle and some of the most heavenly cheese, a sheep’s cheese called Ossau-Iraty…oh my, in this part of the world they eat it with cherry confiture…more heaven.

yum!

We feasted.

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Merci les moutons !!! xo

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One evening found ourselves in the middle of a small village called Hasparren, for the cours des vaches. Or, in English, a sort of crazy spectacle that involves drunk people being chased around a ring by cows with horns. An acquired taste, I think…

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On the other hand, we also spent an evening in a little more glitzy Biarritz,

Biarritz

dining on yet more bounty from the sea. This whole trip made me mourn the lack of fresh fish here, in BALTIMORE.,,in caps because we live by the sea and I don’t understand why we can’t have THIS:

fish!!

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And, now, I’m left with memories of yummy food and wine and nice friendly people, including a group of singers at a neighboring table in a restaurant in Ciboure, who spontaneously broke out into a lovely Basque folk song. After, I told them “Je veux être Basque !” And, it’s true.

I remember the beautiful scenery

sea scene

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and driving around and getting lost, and having a picnic with the wild horses

Jim and the wild horse

And driving through the mountains, listening to Manu Chao…

Merci, le Béarn et le pays Basque. Je t’aime, toujours.  On reviendra

Addendum: Forgot to mention that we got a bonus night in Brussels, courtesy of Brussels Air, who informed us when we arrived in Brussels from Bilboa that our scheduled flight to Dulles had already left…ok, when in Brussels you must drink beer, so we headed off to our favorite part of town

(an old picture from when we were there in 2010)

(an old picture from when we were there in 2010)

for some seafood and some Belgian brew…merci Brussels Air !

Pays Basque, Here We Come

So I was preparing our itinerary for our imminent trip to the Basque country and I thought I’d check in to this blog, my escape blog, where I post about my incredibly lucky travel-life. I am blessed, hallelujah.

So here’s the plan, I hope that you follow along and I really hope that my pictures are halfway as good as these.

We start in San Sebastian Spain

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We are most excited for the pinxtos, or tapas…

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After eating ourselves silly in Spain, it’s off to a little side trip to a little visited by my fellow countrymen and women part of France, the Béarn,

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And the reason? See that town called  Jurançon? They make some of our favorite white wine in the whole wide world.

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So we’re going to walk and hike and relax and drink wine and take in this view (Below is the actual view from our b and b)

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And we’re going to explore the vicinity

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As we make our way from  Jurançon to the coast, This is Basque country…

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We will most definitely stop by Espelette, home of the infamous pepper

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On our way to our seaside home for a week, Ciboure.

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Ciboure Street

so lovely. Right next door to the equally lovely St Jean de Luz

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Where we plan to eat lots of the sea’s bounty

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and hopefully have some nice beach weather

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And there will be a festival happening when we’re there. Don’t you hate when that happens?

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And we may explore the vicinity. My landlord lives here:

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And we may check out Bayonne

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And Biarritz

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And who knows? I return to where I started. Feeling blessed, and wishing I could take everyone I love along. xo

Where I Try to Talk Myself Out of Missing Paris…

I probably shouldn’t be writing this post because I’m in the middle of a big ole missing-Paris big time funk. Post-Paris Depression, or PPD as my merry band of fellow Paris addicts calls it. (how’s your PPD? Oh really bad this time, how bout you?) Even after I had to “sleep” in the basement of Charles de Gaulle, on THIS

CDG hell

next to some guy who snored louder than a jet-plane engine – yes, even after that recent nasty experience, I still yearn for my favorite city.  I got it real bad.

Big sigh. I miss it all, the cafes

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and the markets

marche d;aligre

and the art

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and the light

montmarte light

and the bridges

bridge of sighs

and the bars

La FELINE

and the food

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and the wine

and my friends

me and Queen Murielle

me and Loic, drinking wine

(and me drinking wine with my friends)

and the lifestyle – the life. I know, I know, I’ve waxed (hopefully just a teeny tiny bit eloquently) about what made me fall in love with Paris in the previous pages of my blog. So what’s a Paris lovin girl to do when she’s not there? It’s SO hard. Especially in cold, gray Februrary. Oh I know it was cold and gray when I was in Paris, but, hello, I was in PARIS! It’s totally different! SIGH.

Hmmm, maybe I can think of the things I’m not that crazy about! Yeah, maybe that will work. Perhaps if I pretend that I am on my cozy little cot in CDG, it might all come back to me…

I’m thinking! zzzzzzz

OK, there was this one time when I was in a shop in the Marais, and I asked the salesclerk, in French: “Cette robe, c’est combien ?” POINTING to the article of clothing that was hanging on the wall. Now, I know that my French accent needs some work, but I’ve managed to make myself understood in similar situations just fine, merci. Of course that was before encountering THE rudest salesclerk in all of Paris, who turned to me and said in the snootiest voice I’ve ever heard: “I’m going to speak to you in English because I didn’t understand your French”. Whooooeee. I was floored, and too bad I didn’t think of the perfect comeback (which was suggested to me by a French woman, which made it even better): “Et je vais vous parler en français parce que je n’ai pas compris votre anglais ” (And I’m going to speak to you in French because I didn’t understand your English”)

Touché!  Hell yeah!

But, that is really the only in-your-face-rude experience I’ve ever had. Some coldness from time to time, but most of the time people have been warm and forgiving of my struggles with their beautiful language. AAAHH, focus sister, you’re supposed to be thinking of the negative. OK – it can be frustrating and tiring, navigating the language. I wonder if I’ll ever get to the point where I’m not frustrated because I can’t express myself in the language of my city. I wonder. And who knows?

What else? Hmm. OK, I admit to missing the take-out coffee. I HATE Starbucks and everything it stands for, but sometimes I DO want it to go. That can be frustrating, having to sit and sit when I want to GO.

Starbucks takes over!

And if I think about it, there’s something about the uniquely American habit of chatting it up with strangers that I might possibly miss if I lived in Paris. It’s taken me a while to learn that nuance. In America, you most likely wouldn’t smile and give a big good day to the clerk at the 7-11, and they most likely wouldn’t look up from their tabloid to wish you a good day, with feeling. I like that about France. I like it that you say bonjour or bonsoir when you enter a shop, and bonne journée or bonne soirée when you leave, whether you buy something or not. Even in rental apartment buildings, people ALWAYS greet you when they pass by, because you have a defined relationship. I’ve become accustomed to that, and in the true meaning of that word, become ac”customed”, and it’s a custom I really appreciate.

But I wonder if I’d miss the easy way that we Americans have with strangers? We can strike up a friendly conversation anywhere, with anyone, and not give it any mind. We can become your best friend in 10 minutes! I know that it’s different in France, that people definitely keep to themselves more. Someone once remarked to me that in general, we Americans make lots of friends very quickly and easily, but a lot of it is on the surface. Whereas the French, in general, only make friends with a few, but the friendships tend to be deeper, in a way. Hmmm. Lots to ponder on that one.

I think it might take me just a few more trips to Paris to figure it all out, if I’m lucky. Because try as I might to dissuade myself from feeling so, even with everything, I still miss it, my most favorite place in the world. Paris,

je t’aime, the good, and the mauvaise…

 

me heart paris

Why I Love France, Part 1: Burgundy is Beautiful

My plans for blogging every day were dashed, first by the lack of internet connection in our 16th Century apartment in Beaune, and then in Paris, where I was thwarted by my non-working PC and an old Mac with a French keyboard. But I now think it was a sign from mon Dieu: Step away from the computer sister.  And I did and was blessed. I needed to breathe some. And to enjoy this:

And so, instead of a play by play record of our trip, my posts will be more reflections of my visit to my favorite place on the planet. Not that I’ve been everywhere on the planet.  But so far France and Paris have captured my heart and my soul. I breathe deeper when I’m there. And I sigh. A lot. Hopefully I can capture those feelings here, and hold onto them so that I remember the smells and sounds and tastes and feelings.

So here are my jet-lagged reflections, two weeks removed.

We arrived at CDG pretty early and set out for Burgundy in our spiffy little green-friendly Euro car.

Rut Row! We’re in France!
Our first stop was in Auxerre, a town in the Yonne, northern Burgundy. Very medieval.

Jim already happy at the thought that it’s not THAT Goddard…

We walked around the town and made our way to this imposing cathedral that was built between the 11th and 12th Centuries. Incredible to me. How did they do it?

After lunch, we got back in our car and made our way to Beaune, When I think of Burgundy, I think of quiet, and beautiful landscapes covered in vines (I also think of wine, but that will be a post all by itself). And lovely Beaune, where we spent the week in a building built before the Europeans invaded and conquered the good people of our land. It’s also full of medieval buildings and churches and windy little streets, like this one where we stayed:

But what really stays in my mind are the towns and villages surrounding Beaune. Where they grow the grapes that make the wine. Towns like Meursault.

And Volnay

And Pommard

And Savigny-les-Beaune

And my favorite Pernand-Vergelesses.

We walked in the vineyards at least once a day, sometimes twice (before and after lunch). It was SO quiet in those gentle hills. No noise. Just quiet. Breathe.

One day the sun actually came out (it rained quite a bit on our vacation, but never on our parade), and we decided to rent bikes and ride rather than walk through the vines. Such a wonderful day, riding the Route des Grand Crus.

All that activity made us hungry. And thirsty. But I will save the wine and food report for another day.

So much wine, so little time…

Reflections on Paris Octobers

To me, one of the most beautiful things about travel is the anticipation of the trip – the endless hours planning, making reservations, thinking about what to pack (yes, I even like that too.) And since I’ve been to France a few times :), I have the added pleasure of reminiscing about previous trips.

*Quick aside: people are always asking me how I can afford to go to Paris at least once every year. Believe me, we are not part of the 1% – I’ve never seen a non-profit worker or government employee on the Forbes 500. So we’re not rich – what we are is blessed to have solid decent paying jobs and I thank the goddess every day for my good fortune. That definitely helps. But in addition (as those of you who have been to Green Acres can attest) we also put all of our spare change in the travel jar, NOT into our house. We drive old cars that are totally paid for. I never buy anything that’s not on sale, and everything I buy I pay for with my airline credit card, earning me lots of frequent flier miles (we are also lucky that my husband gets miles through is job, which is how we’re going this time). We stay in apartments that are cheaper than hotels and which are equipped with kitchens and coffee makers. I’m happy to share our living large on a budget travel tips later, but that’s a start, and hopefully will inspire others who think that Paris is out of reach,

OK, back to my memories. The first time we went to Paris in October was 2008. Hmmm, what was going on then?

Yes, it was election time, So happy to be in France on the eve of the end of:

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It was a hopeful time,  I continue to hope…

Way back in 2008 I was actually just tagging along with my husband, who had meetings with the European Space Agency in Toulouse. We figured we’d make it a joint vacation and stopped in Paris on the way.

I LOVE Paris in the fall. The markets are bursting with more varieties of mushrooms than you can count. The hordes of tourists have gone, leaving Parisians settling into the season. You can wear scarves and boots, yet it’s not too cold. And my husband can get his game on:

Me, I like this:

We stayed in Montmarte, on rue Lepic, a market street at the “bottom” of the hill.

It hasn’t changed much…

Of course we were also happy to visit our best Parisian friend Loic, who took us to the Buttes Chaumont (in the 19th, too far for most tourists. Go!) for the first time. What a beautiful place! And an amazing view.

My boys were on top of the world

We spent the rest of our days wandering through the parks, looking at art, and eating,  We took a cooking class at Cookin’ With Class, a great little cooking school in Montmarte. We took the market class, where we shopped for all of the ingredients together and went back to the kitchen and whipped up a starred meal. We also enjoyed some gamey delights at our favorite restaurant, Chez L’Ami Jean:

After a week of total indulgence, we hopped on a plane and flew (thanks NASA) to Toulouse. It was a nice town, some parts pretty.

But I really enjoyed getting out into the southern countryside. We went to this beautiful little town called Cordes-sur-Ciel. It’s a village on a hill, and it seems to float above the surrounding fields.

We also went to Albi. I loved Albi. there’s a great vibe there. And an abbey:

We spent 4 days in Toulouse and it was time to say goodbye to my husband, who had to put his rocket scientist hat back on. One of the perks of frequent flier mile flying: sometimes you can’t get the days you want. This trip it meant that I had to go back to Paris alone, for 3 days. You can see how that upset me.

Actually, this was a very big deal for me. I had never really traveled alone before, and certainly never to a country where I was struggling to learn the language. It felt indescribable. Here I was, a mother, a way grown woman – and I felt like a kid who rides a bike the first time without training wheels. I felt free and a little scared. It was a life-changing experience.

More on that in a bit, first I have to say hi to my French friend Anne, who invited me to her home in Lorraine (she has since moved back to her roots in beautiful Strasbourg). I felt so honored to be welcomed into her home (she was rightfully nervous that I would never find my way there since I took the train from Paris, but I managed ok :)). She prepared a wonderfully delicious lunch and I met 2 of her 3 beautiful children. I was a happy to have shared a bit of my culture while experiencing hers. I was grateful.

I was also determined to experience my alone time in Paris to the fullest. There is nothing like being in your favorite city with all of your senses open. One day, I bought a baguette with butter, ham and cheese. I wandered my way to the Tuilleries – my favorite garden – and sat and watched the people go by. There I was, sitting on my bench, enjoying my delicious sandwich, looking at the kids with their sailboats on one side, seeing the magnificent blue Paris sky and the Louvre on the other. And suddenly I burst into tears. I was overcome with so much emotion. It felt so powerful, that moment. I heard later that it’s a well-documented phenomena that some people cry when they are overwhelmed with a piece of art. I’m sure that was part of it – the scene before me was just so perfect, so beautiful, so representative of Paris. But I think, after having had some years to reflect, they were also tears  of joy, and of recognition of how far I had come. Of how much I had overcome to get to where I was, at that minute, looking at this little boy. Maybe a little sadness that it had taken me that long. But mostly, pure joy, and gratitude.

And that’s why I’ve gone back to Paris alone twice since then, and why I am so looking forward to going “home” again in a week. Paris gets under your skin. It feeds my soul like nowhere else I’ve ever been. When I get there, I know I’ll stand there on the sidewalk for just a moment, and close my eyes, and breathe.

Thanks for coming with me as I tripped down memory lane….. à la prochain, from Burgundy.