A Month In Paris, to Remember

After a 20 hour flight and a four hour stop over, Paris seems so far away now and I miss it.

Last year was horrendous.    Filled with tremendous pain and betrayal,  I took my broken heart and what I called;  my heart on my sleeve,  to Paris.

Hoping she could help me mend it.

In some respects she did,  for a while.

However,  once again, the gloom filled my heart and mind.  That is when I booked my next trip to Paris, eight months in advance.

I knew this trip would be different from last year.

A somewhat sad,  but much lighter, confident, happier me,  arrived in Paris this time.

Staying in a different apartment,  in my favourite area, Le Marais, seemed right.  Arriving with luggage, this year, as opposed to none last year and my head in a different place, was a good beginning.

After spending a month, in Paris, on my way to Charles de Gaulle,  receiving texts and phone calls wishing me a  bon voyage along the way, I recognised streets, knowing exactly where I was,  I felt like I was leaving a lover behind and, in a way,  I guess I was.She holds my secrets close to her heart, opens her arms and welcomes me with love and safety. Treats me with respect.  A respect,  I wondered;  existed anymore.With so many things I wanted to do, places to visit, restaurants to eat in, trips to take;  I have an overwhelming feeling I didn’t achieve much.

Late dinners and late nights, seemed to be the norm. Then I pondered, did I waste my time ….

It all seemed a blur.

Until,  one night, not long before I left Paris, I read my blog.  With tears in my eyes,  I remembered;  beautiful, funny, fun-filled memories.

For the first time in my life;   I attended a rock concert,  on my own,  and didn’t regret it.Sat in a red, velvet box,  at the Palais Garnier to watch the ballet.  Got the same seat,  as last year,  at the Chatelet Theatre and was entertained by the Sound of Music.Discovered some new wonderful restaurants, met a kind gentle, man, some lovely people and cemented relationships.Went out of town to visit a closed Chateau.

Took a day trip to London to buy shoes.

Discovered a Parisian cellar and met some Parisian mice.

Visited,  every one,  of the 20 arrondissements.

Explored passageways, visited churches, cathedrals and a museum full of stuffed animals.

Experienced wonderful and confronting museums.

Learned how to french a bone and make a jus at, no other, than Le Cordon Bleu.

Attended my sixth dinner,  at Jim Haynes.

Attended George Whitman’s funeral at Pere Lachaise Cemetery.

On a cold late night, snuggled with a dog, in a bistro.

Shopped till I dropped, jostled with the crowds to admire the Christmas windows at Galleries Lafayette.

Admired,  in awe,  the beautiful monuments and buildings, that now seem so familiar.

Walked for miles, visited markets, ate tete de veau for the first time,  in a wonderfully,  typical French restaurant and discovered more about myself.

Now, after complaining about my local homeless man,  ranting and raving under my window and singing at the top of his voice on my street;   I miss him.

 

Even more importantly, I once again stood on the small gold disc, in front of the Notre Dame,  that has become a ritual for me,  and assures me I will return.

 

Just when I think I know Paris, she offers me,  even more wonderful surprises.

a bientot …