My First Weekend in Paris

Friday, September 4

When one door closes, another opens.

Attitude is everything, isn't it? Trying to overcome gloomy weather, a foreign language, connections that don't happen, a faulty rental agency and learning how to get around. .. When problems developed for one American man who was supposed to spend the afternoon and evening with me, lo and behold! I am invited to dinner with another! It was a charming little restaurant near the Louvre, very typical French and a delightful evening. We started with champagne (seems like a good tradition to establish). I enjoyed every delicious mouthful of a Seafood Quenneles with a lobster bisque-type sauce. Then I had their especiality of the nuit (night): Monkfish, perfectly cooked, with leeks and a side of potatoes and zucchini. We polished off the meal with a nice Pinot Noir. And before my date knew it, I said "Au revoir" and was whisked off at midnight (like Cinderella) to my appartement (a par ta mon) via cab. OK, OK, so Cinderella didn't have a cab, but you get it: I went home, past a sparkling Eiffel Tower to my apartment. Cuisine and wine saved the day, once again.
Word of the Day: Au revoir. Good Bye. Not easy to say accurately but everyone accepts the various versions that are pro-offered. Mine is something like this ar-war based on what one of my French teachers taught us. Pronounce both r's she stated emphatically. She should know; she is French.

Saturday September 7

My day in hell.

OK, so forget everything I said about how "romantic" Paris can be in the rain. Basically, because that rain seems to unpredictable it has definitely lost its "romantic"luster. But then rain can be easily considered romantic if you are in the comfort of your boudoir with the partner you love even if it is Timbuktuu. That is the only time, however. The weather gods, as any intelligent soul knows, varies the weather within any particular city area simultaneously. No different Paris.
So sunny at my apartment doesn't suggest elsewhere will be so. So now I know.
Even with the metro and city maps in tow I still got lost today. And now I recognize that many parisiennes don't always give good directions, bless their socialist souls.
I walked, and walked, and walked and finally, after what seemed a hundred miles to my feet, I neared my destination (after hours of wrong directions) and voila! It poured rain (merci beaucoup, ye olde weather gods). Forget the cats and dogs; it poured horses! So it was an exhausting, dark and dreary day as I stumbled home in a depressed and gloomy mood.
Morale of the story: Bring your umbrella everywhere. C'est ce bon.
We travelers are always hungry for new experiences (I am just always hungry), which often come when one chooses to live in a foreign country.
I was at a supermarche (market) and I noticed a sign that said "femmes enceintes". Well, I knew I was a femmes since I check regularly, and as it turned out I got into the wrong line. The reminder sign translated that all pregnant women can go to the front of the line any time. I have to conclude that just because I have a nice round Katy Kangaroo pouch that my "love lines" - OK, crow's feet - around my eyes tells the world I probably am not capable of being pregnant now --unless I am going for a Guiness World Record. Back they sent me - unpregnant tummy and all - to learn once again the hard way - that there are many words I must learn. But if they were really gentile, they would add: "menopausal women with guns"to that previlege. That would, of course include vaster numbers of shoppers.
But all in all, it is one of those charming little tradtions the French support. And so do I.
Word of th Day: Femmes enceintes - pregnant women (give 'em a break).

More to write about lovely Sunday with lots of photos but this site is telling me I am talking too much. Imagine!