Les Girls are Frenching It - Paris

The three days in Paris were just fabulous. Our apartment at the Hotel Verneuil Saint Germaine was beautifully appointed, modern, and immaculate, and slap in the middle of Saint Germaine, pure indulgence. A stone's throw from the Louvre, the Seine, the shops, eateries, cafés, bakeries, and all the attractions.

We walked a lot, saw all the familiar landmarks, strolled along the Seine, hung our locks on the railings of a bridge, and tossed our keys into the river with a prayer for all our loved ones, friends, and families, wherever they were.

I want you to feel like you were there with us, sharing in these special moments and the joy of discovery.

“When good Americans die, they go to Paris,' the ghost said, after taking a drag on a small cigarette. 
― Karen Chance, Embrace the Night

Of course, we had many giggles and some real belly laughs. One springs to mind when Che ordered a “Campari and orange.” In her mind’s eye, she envisioned a tall glass with red Campari at the bottom, topped with bright yellow fresh orange juice, finished with a twist of orange and a sprig of mint on ice shavings, only to get a shot of Campari in an inelegant glass with a thick slice of orange, served without any finesse!

As I was amazed by the bicycles in India, I was equally captivated by the countless bikes in Paris, with cyclists effortlessly smoking and chatting as they navigated narrow lanes and busy streets.

Gwen and I got up quite early every morning (by Parisienne standards, we were very early risers) to do some photography, and I loved strolling down the quiet, empty streets, often seeing only a few pigeons or couriers on their rounds.

Once or twice, we came upon street people sleeping on the sidewalks (which was a surprise), with their children, quite safe and unperturbed, with all their earthly belongings in a plastic bag. Walking past the Sorbonne, with its large plane trees and historic buildings, I felt a deep connection to the city's rich academic and cultural history.

The beautiful windows in the posh stores, showcasing elegant clothes and furnishings, added to the city's charm and sophistication, making me appreciate its unique blend of tradition and modernity. 

On one occasion, we were barred from entering by a doorman who was adamant that the doors would not be opened until much later, not even for a peep. A firm “impossible, Madam,” and a smile were all we got from him.

We sat down with early customers at Café Magot for hot chocolate and enjoyed watching the early risers have their Pain Chocolat, large baguettes, and Le Monde. We watched enraptured as a gentleman and his wife bid each other farewell on the sidewalk, kissing, hugging, and kissing again, torn apart by time and taxis. She then ran into the street to wave again and again, while he was unable to get into the taxi and pressed his nose to the glass as he was whisked away.

Her forlorn wave as his car turned the corner made us feel the depth of their love, so romantic, we almost wept!

Dogs on leashes are a daily occurrence in Paris. Throughout France, I would imagine, I love the way they’ve become an integral part of the landscape, accompanying their owners without any difficulty wherever they’re going, from tiny Chihuahuas to large Dobermans, all are welcome!

Ana, I’m sure you’ll be doing it the French way with Louis. I can’t imagine a nicer life for a dog than that!

We were very fortunate to get front-row seats to Vivaldi’s Four Seasons at Saint Chappelle Cathedral. What an experience to hear the beautiful music in such a sacred venue! We were all rather emotional and had to swallow hard against the lumps in our throats!

I can say I’ve seen the Louvre, had a champagne picnic at midnight at the Eiffel Tower, was entertained by a charming waiter at a street cafe and bar in Montmartre, watched artists paint portraits, and even tried to convince a pregnant newlywed from Belgium to pick up sticks and move to Cape Town.

 It was touch-and-go, but our time ran out! We had dinner on Ile St-Louis, strolled around the Jardin des Tuileries, and watched sunbathers worshiping the sun! We were in awe of Shakespeare & Company, and I even took a surreptitious photograph of Les leaving a message for her grandson, should he ever pass by. We loved the antiquarian book sellers (bouquinistes) and browsed their many postcards.

We shopped and pretended to be rich and worldly at the Bon Marché on the Left Bank, where Anne and I bought glamorous Pradas. I felt like Audrey Hepburn (of course, I don’t look like her, silly!), and I had coffee and chocolates in the restaurant. I bought a gorgeous pair of heels in a boutique and felt like a local for a day!

Paris was everything and so much more for me, yet it felt familiar too. I had to pinch myself to make sure it wasn’t a dream. It wasn’t long before I discovered, to my grande horreur, that I’d forgotten my camera’s battery charger at home, always something to bring me crashing down to earth! That meant I had enough power for two or three days, and after that, no camera. George immediately offered to send my charger by courier to Menerbes, our next destination. Still, he thought better of it and ordered a new one from Amazon, which would’ve been delivered on Monday, very convenient, as we’d be there.

The price difference was small, and voila, I’d be back in action. Unfortunately, things didn’t pan out as planned, as the driver couldn’t find Menerbes! Gwen and I watched a little yellow delivery van dash up and down the farm lanes a few times and mockingly said, “There goes the DHL guy, idiot!” If only we knew. I had to cancel the order and nurse the blow to my solar plexus, self-inflicted, of course.

Gwen kindly lent me her camera for the duration of the trip, which was wonderful and very kind of her. Still, I did have pangs of conscience at the thought of her being denied the opportunity to take photographs.

Love is always in the air in Paris, and I was astounded by the free expression of love. Everywhere you go, couples openly kiss, hug, and gaze longingly into each other’s eyes. One evening, an Oriental bridal couple stood on one of the bridges over the Seine, having their photos taken.

On another occasion, we saw a bride and groom, with their entourage, run along the riverbank with their photographer in tow. I loved her bouquet of pink balloons.

I loved the way lovers also made melodramas out of farewells, talk about wearing your heart on your sleeve!   What really appealed to me was that no one batted an eye, stared, or whispered behind their hands!   The other thing that really appealed to me was how often I saw men of all shapes, sizes, and ages buy huge bouquets as a matter of course.

One of the highlights in Paris was the Riverboat Shufflers playing on a corner across the road from the cafe where we had supper, with an old lady dancing, her name is Madeleine, a really nostalgic encounter, but later on we thought they might be a little dodgy especially when the leader of the band, Richard Millar, an American angrily cried out “we need no f'ing direction” when, another old toothless wonder from off the street started directing them!  

Their rendition of “Because my baby don’t mean ' now” encouraged a beautiful young couple in love to dance, I think it was a Tango, magic!   I did buy a CD!

 “Let me be mad, then, by all means! mad with the madness of Absinthe, the wildest, most luxurious madness in the world! Vive la folie! Vive L’Amour! Vive l'animalisme! Vive le Diable!” 
― Marie Corelli, Wormwood: A Drama of Paris