On the way home from Provence, we stopped in Paris for two nights, staying at V’s family’s pied à terre in Montmartre. How exciting! how glamorous! … you might think. Well, just so you don’t go thinking that my life is all sunshine, rainbows, and glasses of rosé, I’ll tell you how the visit played out.
We had a lovely, late dinner on Saturday night at a neighborhood Japanese restaurant. I managed to use some of the new French I’ve learned to make a substitution in my sushi plate dinner order, and was quite proud of myself. Of course, later in the evening I developed food poisoning. So that was kind of miserable. (Remember? I may be allergic to France.) Luckily, I recovered quickly.
The next morning we set our alarm to help V’s friend move. Yes, that’s right, for 5 hours on Sunday morning in Paris I moved boxes and furniture and tried to make sure the cat didn’t escape from the apartment.
After our moving extravaganza we treated ourselves to burgers and fries at a brasserie. We sat outside, we had a beer, the burgers were delicious. The highlight of the visit, I’d say. And we totally earned that burger.
At the next table over there were two young women on holiday in Paris. They epitomized the American millenial by instagramming their glasses of wine before they could take a sip.
I did get the chance to stop at one of my favorite Paris museums, the Centre Pompidou, where they had an excellent, well-curated David Hockney exhibit, and an interesting Walker Evans exhibit. I’ve been fascinated with the building since the first time I went to Paris, in 1998.
On balance it was a fun visit, of course. But I’m hoping that my next visit to the City of Lights will be lighter on gastrointestinal distress and moving boxes, and heavier on escargot and champagne.