So, when a return to Paris became not just a dream but a reality, all the glass is half empty instincts this period has imposed on me came to the surface. Could we get the delta variant again? What about all the travel restrictions to France that seemed to change every seven minutes? How certain can we be that we won't be facing a quarantine when we arrive killing the trip altogether? How careful are Parisians being in their daily routines? And, on and on and on.
I must be quick to say that Lily was less concerned than I was. After all, as I have told many, Paris is the number one love in her life. I like to think I'm in the top three, but Paris is el primo. We have been coming here together every year (except last year), Lily for a month me for two weeks. Inspired by her joyous year abroad here back in her college days, Paris is not just a desirable option, but an unnegotiable imperative.
And now we're here. And, what an eye opener it has been! No psychiatrist or therapist would have had a better shot at calming our fears than being here enmeshed in the Paris experience. How do I begin?
It would be unfair to start anywhere but with the people. As always, when I'm sitting in a park or at a cafe, I can't help but notice the pleasure they are feeling. Whether it's strolling with a spouse or friend or a scampering child or two, their smiles appear much more often than their frowns. No one appears to be in a hurry. At the Jardin du Luxembourg -- at least on this Sunday -- the manmade pond at its heart is once again ablaze with the little sailboats all captained by energetic kids running around its boundaries. Even the resident ducks have had to alter their paths to avoid a collision with the boats. In other words, there is that energy and buoyancy we so associate with this city. On the weekends when the Jardin is quite full, the calm chatter I hear is like the music one might play to help a child sleep. It obviously influences those laying back in their chairs either totally at peace and relaxed or outright dozing in the September sun.
As if to certify the relaxing vibe here, I need not look any further than the pigeons. Are they nervous? Are they stressed? Hell no! They are so comfortable hanging around my feet as I sit in the park, literally inches from my toes, that their ease and their confidence makes me smile and echoes the positivity I see all around me. Yes, I know they are looking for something edible, but they are so fearless and comfortable amid everyone's lounging that they are unwittingly encouraging you to feel the same way. As I experience this, I really do expect one or more of these guys to hop onto my knee and tilt its head looking at me as if to ask, "dude, where's my snack, s'il vous plait?"
Apart from here, it oftentimes is just the watching of the joyful interactions in the street markets with the wine guy, or the cheese guy or the fruit guy and their patrons. Or the intoxicating aromas coming from the patisseries. Amidst all this, the street musicians give it all a lovely soundtrack. And, the locals' attire? Nothing has changed. The wildly colorful tops and bottoms, the elegant footwear and, even in this warm weather, the occasional suaveness of the scarves. Or, on Sunday mornings, it is hard not to smile at the glee and good humor of the folks at the base of Rue Moufftard who are gathering at the square to start dancing once the local street musician gets his instruments warmed up.
Walking the streets here and, in particular, walking seemingly within inches of folks dining at the endless array of outdoor cafes, has given me a refresher course in the endless tableau of tasty food options every one of which makes me ridiculously hungry. The crepes, the croissants, the tapas, the beef tartare, the dumplings the chocolates, the gelato are all so close to me it is all I can do to not lean over and ask for a bite! (Okay, okay I guess I should have eaten a bigger breakfast. I get it. But still...!) Being in Paris means never having to worry about finding something for dinner. The dilemma comes only when you have to choose that evening's culinary path.
To put this all another way, time feels like it's standing still here. In a good way. My fears have been calmed, my optimism has returned, and the cafe creme in front of me beckons. As I sit here at a cafe off Boulevard Saint-Michel, my seat is just a few feet from a number of surging fountains whose calming sounds may lead my way to those I have just observed at the Jardin du Luxembourg in a comforting doze.
Bon soir!
