There is always a dark side

Life is full of lessons, isn't it? Dennis and I were walking back to our hotel on the last night of Paris when we passed a restaurant with an empty window seat.  A table for two with fresh flowers in a vase and the top of the Eiffel Tower visible from the window.

"Ohhh! Let's eat here babe. It's perfect" I said

"I don't know...maybe we should keep looking" Dennis replied

"But BABE! Look at how perfect it is, by the window...close to the hotel. I really want to eat here. Go in and make a reservation!" I pleaded. "If it looks scary when you go inside, just walk back out" I tell him as I shove him toward the door.

"But it looks weird" Dennis said over his shoulder as I shoved him toward the door.

A few moments later Dennis appears again through the door with a funny look on his face. We had reservations for the window table at 7:30 PM but Dennis looked like he had reservations of his own.

"What's wrong" I keep asking as we walk through the wet streets back toward our hotel.

"It was weird. The woman didn't speak French..she didn't understand me when I asked her for the reservation. She kept talking to me in military time."  Dennis explained.

I felt hopeful regardless. How bad could it be? After all, we are in Paris.

An hour later we walk back to the mystery restaurant and Dennis mood hasn't improved. When we arrive, we are the only customers.  As we are seated I am immediately aware of very loud music blaring from the TV on the wall.  There are balloons strung along the ceiling and at least 4 mechanical Santa dolls moving in time to the music. With each passing song, the music gets louder and faster.  The hostess and the server are standing behind the front area, riveted to the TV set. The special menu was several euros more now, in comparison to when we first walked by.

We came to recognize that we were in a Romanian restaurant, specializing in authentic Romanian food (or as Dennis put it, "Iron Curtain Food")  Writing about the food here would bring it back clearly into my mind and that is something I do not wish to do. Let me just say, the music's pace was pushing us along and we could not get out of that place fast enough. I felt a moral obligation to warn off any future customers so every time someone stopped in the window to read the special, I shook my head and gave them "Don't Do It!" eyes.

We walked to the metro and rode a train to Champs-Elysees to drink in the last moments of the Paris night. The huge sidewalks were full of people milling about, Christmas shopping villages selling gifts and roasted chestnuts. The lights hanging in the trees changed colors every few minutes and it was very cold.  We walked all the way to the Arc de Triomphe. Even though my feet felt like bloody stumps of pain, the beauty made it hard to notice. There simply was not enough time to fully absorb everything around me but even the brief taste we had was intoxicating.

We ended that night back at the Officer's Cafe with a beautiful salad that was topped with wonton wrapped, deep fried goats cheese. YUM.  After a whiskey or two...we both felt father away from Romania and sad to leave Paris.

The end always comes to soon

My final morning of possibilities in Paris started much the same. The weather was overcast and cold but I didn't feel it. With my snazzy new tourist hat on, I was warm and ready for my river boat shuttle.

We had both agreed that our feet needed some help so we bought tickets for the river shuttle and cruised down the Seine like the tourists we were. The entire boat was encased in glass so we were well protected from rain and wind. Starting from the Eiffel (yes I snapped 30 more pictures as we walked by her) the shuttle took us down river, stopping at Museum d'Orsay (where extensive lines had us continuing on our way) I wanted to see the art inside but didn't want to waste precious hours waiting in lines. Sadly, we will have to return for a view of the inside of this museum.

We walked down toward the Alexander III bridge, one of the most beautiful sites in Paris in my humble opinion. A gift from Russia to France, this bridge is difficult to photograph and really capture the grandeur and over-the-top artistry. Pointless to even try but valiantly I tried anyway to photograph it.

The sculptures, the gold work, the sheer size of this bridge is baffeling to the mind, even when you are standing on it, walking across it. Who sees bridges like this? And who gives bridges as a gift? Can't find that perfect gift for the special someone in your life? For the man who has everything, how about a bridge?

Really, who but the French give gifts of that magnitude. We didn't know what to do with the Statue of Liberty so we built her a whole island. This bridge, people who live here just cross it, every day. Cars and pedestrians alike. I walk slowly across, stopping every three seconds to snap another shot. Pointing to Dennis and waving my arms like a fool, "Look at that!, Look over there!" We just don't have anything like this at home.

We don't see structures that are living works of art like this. What Americans do with steak and shopping centers, fields of corn and the Grand Canyon, the French do with steel and stone. marble and granite. Bigger, more, greater.

Back on the river shuttle, we made our way to Notre Dame. The most massive and ornate church imaginable. Not particularly beautiful but darkly looming on the horizon. The clouds happened to be framing it exactly like a gothic novel would describe, mysterious and fear inspiring.

Almost daring us to enter, to walk across it's imagined holy floors. Inside we saw countless tombs of Paris' mighty religious men enshrined, almost completely obscuring the "god" they profess to adore and serve. Endless painting of suffering humans and a ever luminous Mary serene yet aloof, watching everything but never lifting her finger to help any of those begging for her mercy. She seems almost to smile at the penitent masses.  For a few euros you could buy a candle to light to any saint you wanted. To finish the whole scene, a nun was stationed at the exit with a cup full of coins, begging. Someone had been thoughtful enough to provide for her comfort with a folding chair.

Once breathing the free and un-hypocritical air outside again, we strolled across the street and found our way into gift shops and a bar were we warmed up with mulled wine. As it turned out, we were now in the Latin Quarter of town, with restaurants, shops and something happening on every corner and down every street. Movement and light everywhere.

We walked back through those streets, with the sun setting through the cloud streaked skies and made our way back down to the river once more. Up the other side toward the Louvre and onward to Madame Eiffel.  We disembarked at our place of origin and walked to our hotel, passing once more under the magical lights of Paris all around us.

Now... where would we have dinner on our last night in the City of Love?

Paris-Day 2

I've been traveling quite a bit lately and because of that it isn't uncommon for me to wake up and have no idea where I am. So day 2 of Paris I did just that.  Blinked a few times, waited for my head to clear from the muddled dreams and as the fog cleared I heard traffic far away and the hammering sounds of construction.  "Construction? Where am I?" I looked around the room and remembered....I am in Paris.  

Opening the window and stepping out into the brisk December morning, I drank in the sights and sounds, including the construction on the other side of our street where the Military Academy was. 

What to do with our brief, golden hours of daylight.  We head out to coffee.  Since we have been living in France long enough to understand the way things work, it wasn't difficult for us to find a cafe and order coffee and croissants. Paris isn't necessarily more expensive then any other city, its just as expensive. We drank our coffee and looked over our city maps while waiting for the croissants to come out of the oven. Well, we ran out of coffee before the oven could finish so, naturally, we needed more coffee.  Our bill for breakfast was as follows:

4 coffees

+

4 croissants

=

25 euros

or

$32.34

Needless to say, I wanted to dive out the window while Dennis was down in the bathroom.  Somehow, spending $32 on pastry and coffee seemed extravagant. Delightful but extravagant. 

After our breakfast debacle we walked toward Madame Eiffel to see how bad the crowds were at the tower elevators. And they were bad.  The tour buses parked on the side streets were a good indication. So we continued to the river where we discovered the boat shuttle that would bring you past 7 major sights and allow you to board and disembark all along the river, all day long. That was for tomorrow.

We continued across the river toward The Arc de Triomphe were we watched in fascination as eleven streets emptied out into the round about without direction or order. Complete chaos. I couldn't take my eyes away from the hornets nest of cars and buses, motorbikes and trucks swirling and vying for position around this massive monument that Napoleon commissioned in 1806 to pay tribute to his victories in battle. The foundation alone took 2 years to complete.  Sadly, the structure wasn't completed until 1836...not in time for the Emperor to see it for himself. However his remains were brought through the Arc before they were laid to rest in Invalides. You reach the Arc by passing through a tunnel under the crazy street above.  Walking around and through this beautiful 164 foot historical piece makes you feel tiny and brief.  For a fee, you can also walk up to the top and bask in the view.  It marks the beginning of the Champs-Elysees "the most beautiful street in the world".

From here we took the Metro and arrived at The Louvre were we spent several hours walking through vast rooms filled with artwork that boggles the mind. From Mona to Venus...there is seemingly no end to the painting, sculptures and artifacts. One of the most mind blowing pieces for me was the Egyptian artifact that was dated to the days of Moses. How is that even possible?

In all the guide books and all the blogs you read the advice to plan in advance what you want to see, otherwise you will get overwhelmed and tired.  We tried to do just that but once you are there, surrounded by so much history and beauty, its impossible to stop looking. When you sit down to eat a special meal, you eat and eat until you are ready to burst. That is what we did in the Louvre. We looked and looked and looked until we were so full mentally of art and beauty that I thought I was going to burst. Thankfully the museum closed at 6 PM and we were forced to get up from the art and history table.

Even the view outside was breathtaking with Madame Eiffel always watching us, like the moon following the car. No matter how many times I photograph her, its never enough. I always want to take just one more shot, from just one more angle. When I look back now, I wonder how I managed to walk through Paris at all without tripping as it seems as though I never stopped looking through my camera. Pinch me, I'm dreaming.

Paris-Day 1

My first thought as I climb up the metro steps and surface on a street in Paris, "I can't believe I'm hot and its 30 degrees and raining. I'm sweating". We stop at a perfect pastry shop to ask for directions to our hotel and a kindly women in a clean brown apron points toward the left and nods and smiles at us. So we pull our luggage (mostly my luggage) in the direction she waved us. Its dark and raining. We reach the corner of the street quickly. We look left and see our hotel brightly welcoming us across the street. I turn to Dennis and say "that was easy to find" and behind him I see this.

And then I think, "Where do I go from here? What do you do when you have fulfilled your oldest dream?"

There is so much to absorb. I want to stand on the street and just stare. But the rain moves me toward our hotel. Crossing the cobblestone streets and splashing through puddles. Our hotel is modest and clean. Nothing fancy except for the wonderful bathtub with endless hot water and of course, the view. 

I just want to stand out on that balcony and soak in the moment. Why is this tower of metal and light so magical for me? I can't say, not even standing with her right there in front of me. But I can't take my eyes away and I never get tired of looking at her.  The train ride was lovely, traveling from Nice to Gare de Lyon. Everything is happening so fast. In the blink of my eyes the countryside of France has fled by the window and we arrived in the basement of Paris. Changing from the train to the Metro system was easy, just lots of stairs to climb and tunnels to navigate.  In what felt like a few quick heartbeats we are in our hotel room changing clothes and heading out for dinner. Can this be happening? I am in Paris. I really truly am. I feel like a silly little girl again. I can't stop smiling. In many ways the journey here to Paris took years, long sad years. It was my dream to see this place, to walk the streets and drink deeply of her history and romance. I hoped and dreamed it but never felt certain that it would ever happen. That's how dreams are, right? Elusive. Paris was the theme of every calender and yearly planner I bought, every picture I hung in my room, every movie I watched. Napoleon was my obsession. France was where I always wanted to be. 

And now, I am living in the South of France and I am walking on a street in Paris, with the lights of the city twinkling around me, holding the hand of the best man I have ever known, someone who truly loves me and speaks French. How did this happen? Don't wake me up.

2 more days

"Wanna pack your bags, something small...

take what you need and we'll disappear..

without a trace, we'll be gone, gone

the moon and the stars will follow the car.."

Or in our case, Follow the Train!  In 2 more days Dennis and I head North to Paris. What should we do? Where should we go??  There are countless ideas, of course. The challenge is to narrow it down to 3 days and nights and what we can actually manage to see and do.

A few thoughts we have, besides seeing Madame Eiffel at night, day and afternoon is to take a river boat tour down the Seine. Also walking from The Arche de Triomphe down The Champs-Elysees (the most beautiful street in the world). Of course, being that it is close to Christmas time, everything should be lit up even more than "the city of lights" is usually.

I'm having a hard time deciding what to do and where to go. Going for such a brief time feels impossible. I keep packing and repacking and unpacking my things. Mental notes are filling my head, as I try to remember which temperature it will be in each place I will be over the next few weeks and what shoes I will need.  Try as I have to avoid it, I'm planning on wearing sneakers in Paris. I know I know, its the worst of the worst but with my feet there simply is no alternative. Its sneakers in Paris or a wheelchair.

Anna is giving me that "its happening again" look.  She follows me closely throughout the apartment, right at my heals.  I feel like I am being to live up to the title "Worse Pet Owner" by leaving her, yet again. Hopefully once I leave, she won't remember until she sees me again. Funny how that works with animals. It is true that they don't miss us? Or do they just know how to hide it better.


I've downloaded a Paris guidebook (how modern of me) and I've made notes that I have stuck to Dennis' desk and my mirror..with names of places I can't pronounce. What is it going to be like? Visiting a place I've dreamed about since I was nine years old? Will I be disappointed?

Ready or not, City of Lights, here I come.

Count Down to Paris

Six days to Paris.

The plan is to take the train from Nice to Paris and spend three nights and four days exploring just a few places before we fly to NY and then to Fl.  Winter in Paris. I am, in a word, excited.

Its Monday and the usual rhythm of our week has begone. We spent some time taking a walk with Anna today. Now laundry is being washed and dried, lunch is warming up and soon we will be hunkered down to work until midnight or later (Dennis does the later, I would be asleep sitting up if I tried)

Yesterday after the meeting we had Bernard here cooking for us and our friend Martin joined us for a traditional French Lunch complete with a cheese course.

 Bernard created a feast of pork and kraut, literally every variety of pork product that could be thought of was in this huge pot, filled with cabbage and white wine. It was amazing but I spent the rest of the evening dying of thirst. Very Salty. Like, salty dog, salty sailor. We tried new cheeses from Holland and France, varieties of goat cheese that I have never seen, all topping some crusty bread we picked up in Antibes after the meeting.

It was a wonderful meal. Too soon over.

Uncle Louis arrives in a few days to take over our position here in France whilst we return home to Fl and RI, coming back to France in early January. Home for only a brief visit this time.

I have taught myself to knit (evidently crocheting was a gate-way hobby) and I am attempting to knit a scarf for Dennis before we leave for Paris on Sunday. The clock is ticking.

I've seen Fire and I've seen Rain

I have a playlist of songs entitled "songs that make me cry".  At my old job, during surgery we would sometimes listen to a list we affectionately called "songs to kill yourself to".  Dennis looks over at me and says "why do women do that? Listen to music that upsets them?"  It is crazy. But somehow the weight in your chest that feels like it has no release, when you listen to certain music and let the pain out, the pressure lessens. Or so it seems to.

There is a bottle of water on the table in front of me. And it made me think about how much water we have drank since we went food shopping a few days ago. And that we need more water...and then I thought, my life has gone on. I'm living, breathing and drinking water. How could I when people I love are gone.

"Just yesterday morning, they let me know you were gone........

I've seen fire and I've seen rain, I've seen sunny days that I thought would never end, I've seen lonely times when I could not find a friend but I always that that I would see you again"

Grieving has a process, life moves forward. Its healthy and natural. But it feels so wrong. How can life move on when a huge piece of you is missing? How? There are so many stories I haven't told her, so many things to ask her, so many ways to make her laugh, so many things to get her support on. How can life just keep moving when I don't want it to? How did I let this happen? Am I forgetting her?

And then you think about the people still in your life that you don't get to see. You are missing out on their lives, the moments every day that mold them, change them.  Daily events and decisions. Joy and fears, highs and lows. And no manner of distant contact can make up for not being there. And I am not there right now. I am so very far away, from all the things I love. 

Life is even more fragile then I ever thought, even more fleeting.  People simply disappear and there is nothing you can do. No manner of wishing or wanting or pleading will bring them back again. I went to France in a bubble of newness and joy the first time. And while I was gone, everything changed. And that changed me. I'm sitting at this table staring at a bottle of water, listening to James Taylor, crying over memories I am afraid to lose. Crying over the memories I am missing out on. Crying because I am living when people I love are sleeping. People I need. And no matter how hard I cry, the sun will rise and we will need more water tomorrow and we are forced to live, live without them. 

There is a grief that arises from the healing of a pain. As if the sharpness of the pain was tangible enough to hold you tight to that person. And when the pain fades, will they fade with it? Will you be letting them go? Is their face, their voice, their laugh vanishing? I find comfort in the pain. With the pain I know she is close to me, I can see her tossing her salad with her cargo pant capris and lipstick on. She is alive in my memories, even within the cloud of pain so heavy I can't take a breath. She is there, cheering me on, laughing at my stories. She is still alive and well in my mind. If I heal, I will forget. If I forget, I will die.

"thought I'd see you one more time again"