I’m living a fantasy that I’ve had probably since I first came to Paris when I was fifteen years old. I’m renting an apartment on the Left Bank for the next six weeks, taking language class to learn (finally) to be fluent in French, and absorb as much of this culture as possible. Brad and I flew over together overnight, landing on what is the first "real" spring day according to our taxi driver. The apartment is utterly magnificent; a far cry from the youth hostel days. I have an outside terrace with a view of the Eiffel Tower, the Musee d’Orsay, and all of the gray slate mansard roofs of Paris. The unfortunate part of the view means that we’re 110 steps up a narrow, twisting several flights of stairs. I’ve been up and down 5 times so far today, and we haven’t gone out for dinner yet. I’ve been told tales of an elevator that goes to the third floor but then necessitates a long walk around 3 sides of the building to get to our front door. I’ll adapt to the stairs. It’s good for me. It’s good for me. We’re struggling mightily to stay awake until local bedtime so that we quickly conquer jet lag. After our apartment orientation we went out and strolled along Blvd. St. Germain in search of food before returning to a known site: the Hotel Montelambert where we stayed 2 years ago with the Feld family for a September birthday celebration for Brad’s mom, located basically across the street from the apartment. Today we both had artichoke terrine as a starter and Brad had a small portion of an incredibly rich pasta dish and I had a composed red snapper with mirepoix (diced vegetables) on a puff pastry. Espresso and cafe au laits all around. Caffeine is your friend after a red-eye flight. Great food. French cuisine is not all about the sauces anymore, but is incorporating the vintner’s concept of terroir, or locally grown and seasonal offerings. After lunch we returned to the apartment and did our usual make ourselves at home routine, which for Brad means putting everything away in a tidy fashion and for me means letting my suitcases explode all over every possible surface until I figure out the best home for everything. I think it’s a way of marking territory. We found our local grocery store (tiny, but great fresh produce), bought electrical outlet adapters, managed not to go into several chocolate stores selling beautiful Easter eggs, and bought a pair of shoes. No, not for me — for Brad. There is a Paul Smith store nearby which sells very edgy Converse-type sneakers. Brad had bought a pair of low tops while we were in L.A. about a month ago and this store had high tops with very cool patterns. Shoe purchase score: Brad 1, Amy 0. We’ll see how long that lasts.. The clerk at Paul Smith was a Brit who recommended a language school down the block where he had taken classes, so we walked down and met the director of the school and I’m scheduled to take a placement test tomorrow morning at 11. It feels great to take things as they come. We went to the Seine for our afternoon exercise (anything to stay away from the siren song of the bed) and rediscovered the great paths along the river at water level, below the streets full of cars and people. The views of the architecture from the river are everything a Parisian scene could be. We’re heading to another known destination for dinner: Yo Sushi at 8, rue de Berri. So happy to be here, and grateful to have the opportunity to fulfill a dream I’ve had for a long time.
Thoughts In Random Patterns 