Good job on the weather front, Paris … it’s raining now, a light, steady rain that woke me up and is beautiful to listen to. Perhaps this will cool things down to a crisp 85 degrees (celsius folk: je m’excuse). I was mid-dream that I was organizing Christmas decorations under my bed. I need to clear a lot of clutter when I get home. And other things I’ve been saying for decades.
One of the lovely side effects of travel is that one (this one, anyway) can’t help but hit a re-set button; it offers a break from the day-to-day we get so caught up in that we can’t imagine finding time to implement much needed changes. Both of my travel companions have made resolutions of sorts on this trip, and I have too though I’ve not yet articulated them. But, basically, all the stuff that I’ve been avoiding starting and ending because it’s simply been easier not to needs to be addressed, and so it will.
In a few hours, hopefully after I’ve slept some more, we will go to the Musee d’Orsay, another of my favorite places here. When I spent the semester here I took an art history course and spent a lot of time there “studying”. My final paper was on Seurat; I remember writing it (by hand) in the kitchen chez Madame Francoise, the woman I rented a room from while I was here. It was a much different time; calling home meant waiting outside of phone booths and then trying to get everything into a conversation before impatient Parisians informed me that my time was up. I wrote, and received, so many letters then; the handwritten letter — what a quaint concept. I miss those crazy things. I’ve said this here before.
If anyone wants to write me a letter, I promise I’ll write back.
The light is changing and I’m tempted to take more photos. This city is relentlessly photogenic, from every angle, from the grand, recognizable monuments to the arbitrary side streets, the rooftops and courtyards and food and dogs and people.
Another amazing meal last night, at La Rôtisserie de la Tour, which is the sister restaurant to La Tour d’Argent … and is affordable, where it’s world-famous, Michelin-starred older sister isn’t. We shared everything, and had (vegans, stop reading): amuses bouches of duck pâté en croute, sautéed mushrooms a la Provencale (I’ve had this here before; it is difficult to put into words how sumptuous this chef is able to make a plate of mushrooms), escargots, confit de canard, ile flottante, and mousse au chocolat. Pretty standard fare that, in the right hands, is art.
The richness of the cuisine we are eating here is almost offset by the amount of walking we are doing. Almost.
Back to bed for a few. À bientôt, mes amis.