An American (and another American) in Paris

The boy and I spent a whirlwind weekend in Paris at the end of March. Better really, reeaaalllllyy late than never to blog about it, right? :)

When I was younger, Paris fascinated me. I read about its beauty in books, I watched beret-donning Bugs Bunny being chased around the Eiffel Tower in cartoons, I heard tales about the Parisian lifestyle from my AP French teacher, who was convinced that everything was better in Paris and constantly bemoaned the fact that she was in the US. 

But over the years as I began to see more of the world, Paris gradually fell off my list of I-must-go-to-there destinations. The reviews from friends and colleagues who'd visited were less than flattering. Paris was expensive. The streets were dirty. The waitstaff was rude and the queues too long.

So it was with trepidation that the boy and I boarded our EasyJet flight to Charles de Gaulle airport. Were we heading for a wallet-destroying weekend of tourist traps? Or was Paris going to fulfil our childhood dreams of a magical land abundant in quaint cafes, world-famous art, and most important of all, delicious delicious macarons?

After landing, we went straight to our Airbnb in Levallois-Perret, a neighborhood northwest of the city center's array of arrondissements. We greeted our host and then set about wandering the streets with the aim of finding some tasty French fare. The neighborhood was beautiful with its cobblestoned winding streets. It became apparent very quickly that we were not in a touristy area; nothing was in English and the very French-looking locals just seemed like they were going about with their everyday routine.

Everywhere we looked, we were amazed by the boulangeries (bakeries), delicatessens (delis), fromageries (cheese shops), flower shops (flower shops), and other small nooks and crannies dedicated to selling their craft. Notions of dining in a restaurant were quickly abandoned in favor of a picnic-style medley of whatever struck our fancy. And some bubbly, of course.

I did conjure up some French from my high school/early college years when speaking to the locals. Nobody fell to the ground rolling in a fit of laughter at how bad it was. And I didn't say saying "si" instead of "oui" by accident anytime (unlike a certain someone else). So I was quite pleased with myself.

The spread

Action shot of the paella

The next morning we awoke bright and early and set out with our list of touristy things to do. We commuted via subway into the city center, which took fifteen minutes and was surprisingly easy to navigate. Then we commenced doing ALL the touristy things.

This was our first glimpse of the Eiffel Tower. I may or may not have been ridiculously excited.

The boy and me, Notre Dame, and a poorly-concealed backpack

Some women were feeding birds nearby. I got really excited and took a lot of photos of them.

Then I told the boy to go over and stick his hand out (even though we had no food) and pose. Yep.

At this point it started to rain. Lightly at first, then an all-out angry outpour of fat raindrops all over our suddenly sad faces. Merde! We ducked into the cathedral for some cover.

#photosruinedbytourists

His robes match the stained glass, how thoughtful.

We emerged right as the sun was peeking out again. By this time the cathedral was swarming with other tourists so it was with relief that I stepped out away from the lines and off to explore somewhere else.

Already enamoured with Paris

Next up, the nearby Lovelock bridge. 

Generally speaking, I don't consider myself a romantic. I don't do things for symbolic reasons and  I certainly had no plans of writing our names on a perfectly good lock and wasting it on a bridge I'd probably never go back to. But as we approached I started to get a little doe-eyed. Maybe something was in this French water.

"You think we should write our names on that lock you have in your backpack?" I asked the boy wistfully.

"No. I need it for the gym."

And that was that. City of love, indeed.

Lunch was a funny affair. We ended up in this touristy restaurant because there were half a dozen types of meat spinning on spits outside and we were hypnotized into a meat trance. The food overall wasn't all that great, but the escargot was certainly a standout.

A Game of Thrones-esque display

Forceps: useful for extracting both babies and snails!

Buttery slurpy goodness.

Tummies full, we strolled out and headed towards our next destination: a dive bar called 'Le Old Navy.' The boy had read about it on the in-flight magazine and was curious what a Parisian dive bar was like. Well, long story short, it was really nice and not dive-y at all. Case in point: other patrons at the table behind us were being served fresh salads with cranberries and walnuts and other fancy shit on top. Silly French people and their misuse of the term dive bar...

Next stop: les Jardins de Luxembourg, which were featured prominently in Les Miserables. Conveniently, the sun had come out full force. My vitamin D-deprived, used-to-UK-weather skin was having a field day.

Then something kind of weird happened. The boy and I sat down in some chairs to take a break. When I set my jacket down, I noticed that my chair had a purple shopping bag hanging off it. You can see it in the picture below.

There was nobody nearby so my curiosity got the better of me. I peeked inside and found a lot of cosmetics from a brand I didn't recognize. They were all new - still wrapped in plastic and cardboard boxes and everything. I glanced at the receipt, which indicated the buyer had paid about 80 euros.

I didn't know what to do. Eighty euros was no small sum; I imagined the girl (or guy) who'd purchased it was probably retracing their steps, anxiously trying to find it. There didn't seem to be a visitor center nearby and I had no idea where this store was (and no mobile data to look it up either). In the end we decided the best course of action was to leave it alone and hope it found its rightful owner, though I had a sinking feeling that some people wouldn't pass up the opportunity to get some free makeup. Sure enough, a few minutes after we'd walked away from the chairs, I saw two girls approach, sit down, spot the bag, peek and rummage in it, and take it with them. There's no way to tell for sure but judging by their body language, it didn't seem like they were owners reclaiming the lost goods. In retrospect I keep wondering what I should have done differently - maybe guarded the bag and quizzed anyone approaching of its contents, like Batman probably would've done, but I suppose c'est la vie.

Now at this point we had been in France for almost 24 hours and had eaten exactly zero macarons. This was a dire problem. The solution: Pierre Herme, rumored to house the most delicious macarons in Paris and by extension, probably the universe. Such claims had to be investigated - very, very thoroughly...

...well, maybe not that thoroughly. At two euro apiece, each teensy macaron cost a teensy arm and a teensy leg. We took painstaking care in picking out three flavors.

Jaw-dropping prices.

We decided that it would be unfit to just gobble these macarons out in the street (as we are so wont to do normally). So we drummed up some self-restraint and went for a walk to a rather famous museum.

Holding tight onto the goods,  even when the ground is in shambles.

A random cool-looking statue

We reached our destination in no time at all.

Then this happened.

The verdict? I definitely thought it was the best macaron I'd ever had. It's hard to describe, but it the outer halfs were really fluffy and meringue-y. It was like eating a little raspberry cloud. 

The boy, on the other hand, likes his macarons more chewy. I told him I suspected that's just from being used to eating slightly stale ones. We decided to agree to disagree.

Despite it being the world-famous Louvre and everything, the weather outside was just too gorgeous to pass up. So instead of going inside, we embarked on the famous and kind-of-horrendously-touristy walkway past the gardens of the Louvre, up the Champs Elysees and ending at the Arc de Triomphe.

These guys were everywhere, selling Eiffel Towers in all sizes and colors.
Strangely enough, there never were mini models of the Arc de Triomphe or Notre Dame or the Louvre being sold; just the tower.

Mecca

Our afternoon concluded with a close-up with the one and only Eiffel Tower.

Dinner was ramen. Here we were in one of the world's most culinarily respected cities - and we were determined to fulfil a craving for ramen. To get there we ended up passing by the Louvre again.

Note to self: ramen is not photogenic

By the end of the night we were exhausted. After dinner we went back to the Airbnb, opened up Google Maps, retraced our steps and counted up the total distance we'd walked that day: ten miles!

The next day, and our last - was decidedly less ambitious. Things started with a visit to the local market, where we picked up an assembly of yummy things. I may or may not have "accidentally" ordered too much pate.

We grabbed some bikes from the local Velib bikeshare station and set off for the nearby park, where we munched on baguette and watched a happy combination of dogs and joggers run by.

Our next stop took us to another view of the Eiffel Tower, where we couldn't resist a few more photographs:

Hon hon hon

THIS IS WHY WE CAN'T HAVE NICE THINGS.

Next, a hop off the subway to see the opera house:

Bach, Beethoven, Mozart, Brahms. Basically all my friends from MCYO/MBHS, whaddup.

...

And finally, we found ourselves at the gorgeous Sacre Coeur, the last big-ticket item on our list.

All too soon, our weekend had come to an end and it was time to say goodbye to Paris. We reluctantly bid our au revoirs to the city as we descended down into Gare North. On the train we chatted with a nice Glaswegian student who happened to be on the same flight as us. We ended up being delayed by a few hours but passed the time hanging out in duty free (which are much more elaborate here than those in the US) - the boy examining whiskeys, me oohing and aahing over the fragrance counters and dousing myself in half a dozen of them by the time we boarded the plane.

All in all, I had an absolutely wonderful time in Paris. The city far exceeded my expectations. I think we got really lucky with mostly beautiful weather, a great Airbnb location that exposed us to outside the immediate city center, and a season that was relatively low in tourists (although there still felt like a bazillion of them). Yes, it was very pricey and I could certainly see how falling for too many a tourist trap could make for an unpleasant experience, but I'm happy I didn't see much of that side of the city at all.

What I do remember was the beautiful architecture and the fairy-tale lifestyle. Baguette in one hand, fresh flowers in the other, not a care in the world...the French certainly know how live life.

The only thing I lament is not staying longer. Two days was enough to just scrape the city's surface. I want to come back to explore the Palace of Versailles and get lost in the Louvre and buy a thousand more macarons.