Paris One Year Ago Today

Our last morning in Le Marais, Paris promised to be beautiful. I looked out of our hotel window and saw the sun begin to rise, and set out for one last walk...

Crossing the Seine to the Ile de la Cite

and its wonderful banks,
and elegant Parisian apartments.

The sun bathed the trees in gold,

downspouts awaited a rainfall,

doorways beckoned to be pushed open,

benches devoid of tourists sighed in relief,

and the first signs of autumn littered the cobblestoned streets.

I felt all alone in Paris,

and drunk in the sights,

moving silently past early commuters,

and closed shops,

and cafes.

Reluctantly I returned to our hotel to pack. In two hours we were at the airport waiting for our return flight. I miss Paris. Je t'aime Paris.

Eiffel Tower at Sunset from Ponte Alexandre III

On my last evening in Paris I walked the left and right banks of the Seine, keeping the Eiffel Tower in view at all times and strolling without much direction. When the sun began to set, I positioned myself on the right side of Pont Alexandre III, the most ornate bridge that crosses the Seine. Three of us and several pigeons watched in silence as the sun slipped behind the horizon.

Without warning and just before daylight disappeared the Eiffel Tower lit up. It was an awesome and moving experience, yet somehow festive at the same time. I took in the sight of the sparkling tower for 20 minutes, noting the scent of the Seine, the slight tremors of the tour boats and barges passing underneath the bridge, and the whooshing sound of Parisian traffic as it rushed by. When the light show ended I meandered to the Latin Quarter for an evening meal. This time the image of Notre Dame Cathedral kept me company, completing a perfect night.

Click on the You Tube link to see an 8-second video of the Eiffel Tower. It's not long but the tower is filmed on its side. This 36-second Eiffel Tower web cam shows the tower lit up toward the end of the clip.

Ok, so I went to Paris ...

...and visited Montmartre to soak up the atmosphere. I sat outside at a cafe sipping vin rouge for two hours and tasting every morsel on my plat du jour--a rare roast of beef topped with Bearnaise sauce, garlic mashed potatoes, and steamed green beans tied with a straw ribbon. C'est magnifique!

And so I took my time and felt fabulously in the moment, the September sun warming my face, the soft sibilant sounds of French voices teasing my ears. I reluctantly left this magical place and strolled up the steep stairs to Sacre Coeur and its lovely spires and dome. Spread before the cathedral like an indolent mistress was Paris.

I stopped to admire a Parisian dog, one of the thousands of well-behaved Gallic canines who quietly follow their owners or wait patiently in doorways or under a table. And then ... this drop dead gorgeous male accosted me, demanding (yes!) to draw my portrait.

I knew better of course. A seasoned traveler, I suspected I would pay richly for my impulse, which I did after some bargaining. But, oh God, he was so handsome and so mouthwateringly French, how could a full-blooded woman like me resist? He had dark mussed-up hair, long eyelashes, and that indefinable sense of style that draws your eye to every perfect detail of his clothing.

As he studied me and drew my portrait, I visually took in my fill. It was such a delicious moment, or should I say moments, since he took a long time.

The result was anticlimactic and rather amateurish. But with his awkward charcoal lines he had stretched my neck, thinned my face, and enlarged my eyes, making me look almost ethereally beautiful.

I wish I had taken his picture. But then, some memories are better left to the imagination, n'est pas?