Bienvenue à Paris
I thought I’d be exhausted as the plane touched ground. But seeing France down below me— nope. I couldn’t have been more awake. All I wanted was to get the hell off the plane and start walking in any direction. I was here, it was really happening.
And it was going to be awesome.
Our Uber driver asked us if we were from England. I told him we were from the US and he goes, “Florida? New York?” He was halfway correct, I told him Calli lived there currently but I was from Wisconsin.
He said “Je ne connais pas ça,”—I don’t know that. But, he’d been to New York, once—too many people, and yellow taxi’s.
All in all it was nice talking with him as I realized that was quite literally my first time holding a conversation with a native French speaker outside of an educational setting. I was simply speaking, not demonstrating a skill.
When we arrived at the AirBnb—an apartment tucked above Etam, a womens clothing store, we were able to make the climb up 5 flights of very skinny and winding stairs surprisingly well. The trouble came with actually getting the front door of the apartment to open when we unlocked it. It was taking so long I had to message our host and ask for her advice. Now that I’ve opened it a couple times, I’ve figured out my own open sesame procedure.
I suppose it’ll make my family happy to know that there is no chance in hell anyone is going to sneak their way through that door without my knowing. (Or should I not even go there?)
We dropped off our bags, settled in for about twenty minutes, I snapped a “safely arrived!” selfie, and then we hit the town.
I think Calli and I were a little shell shocked and jet lagged at first. We circled an entire block before back tracking and grabbing two oat-milk lattes at Glace Room. I didn’t understand the barista’s question when she was asking what milk we prefer, so she was then kind enough to switch to (perfect) English for me. I have a feeling my motto for the entirety of this trip is going to be “at least I tried”.
We walked around the neighborhood some more before settling in at Cafe des Phares, which had outdoor seating as well as an enclosed garden for Happy Hour seating—for those looking to have a glass of wine at 12:30pm on a Thursday. (C’est la vie).
The jet lag hit me like a train then, and Calli too. We barely spoke for an hour and a half as we ate our salads and people watched. Calli had a caesar, and I tried their “Frenchy” salad; lettuce, fried potatoes, camembert, tomato, and prosciutto. GOD was it good. I would’ve never thought to put a fat glob of warm, rich cheese on a salad before, but then again I’m not French.
We walked back to the apartment and, of course, took a three hour nap.
At 6pm we hit the street again and made our wallets cry a little bit. We stopped into Etam, Calli bought a matching blouse and silk pants combo, I bought a linen blouse and a sundress. Then we stopped into Boutique Aigle, where I spent more euro than I would care to admit on a beautiful floral skirt. (Which I will wear to the Louvre tomorrow).
The two cashiers were very friendly to us after we attempted our best French. The woman asked if I wanted to try on my skirt before I bought it. I said no, my sister is dying to go eat something, and she laughed.
We high tailed it to East Mama, where we each had a Bellini spritz, Calli tried their margarita pizza, and I tried the Billie Auberjine— eggplant, mozzarella, Parmesan, basil, and olive oil. Again, it was too fabulous, and now I need to sleep for 700 years.
More than once today I sat back, looked around, and had to pinch myself. I can’t believe I finally did it. I’ve been dreaming of this trip and planning it every day since February 2020. With COVID causing me to postpone not once but twice, it made the whole idea feel like a dream. Actually being here now still feels like a dream, but in a good way.
Jusqu’à la prochaine tasse de café!
Ken
