P is for…Paris. And Peace.

Poilâine Miche

For our anniversary two weeks ago, The One and I snuck off to Paris, gleefully ducking work and responsibilities. It was a short trip, as trips to Paris go: burst in on Saturday, mope out on Wednesday. Which in actuality equates to in Sunday and out Tuesday, because the first day I arrive anywhere in Europe is completely lost. I collapse on the bed, snore in whatever foreign language I happen to be trying to mimic, then instinctually wake up just in time for dinner. And on the last day I fret: Did I accidentally leave my passport somewhere? (A logical question, as I’ve lost it twice.) Is our luggage going to fit in the overhead compartment, even though it did coming over and we bought back nary a thing? (No, not even mousse de foie gras.)

Musée d'Orsay
Our favorite museum, the Musée d’Orsay, whose employees are invariably on strike when I visit.

It’s a peculiar thing, I know, but when The One and I travel–even on short jaunts like this–I always look for a theme, an overarching idea that sums up our trip and gives me an emotional latitude and longitude of our relationship. A kind of intimate pulse taking. Our first trip to Paris: giddiness. Our second: security. Rome: arguments. Lake Como: indifference. The Caribbean: renewal. Yet nothing was jostling into place for me on this trip. It was arguably the best time we’ve had to Paris, but I was still poking about when it came to us. Maybe there was nothing, no theme, this time. Maybe after 18 years, you don’t need a theme.

And why would we? Sandwiched between our Pan Am-like entree and egress were some glorious days. The weather was unseasonably warm and the Parisian light, though waning and only weeks away from turning gun-metal gray for the winter, was still beguiling.

What made this trip remarkable–yet, of all our visits to Paris, so seemingly ordinary–was our renting an apartment in the 8th arrondissement. This required that we happily fend for ourselves in ways we hadn’t before: schlep heavy bags from the market filled with roast chickens, cheese, and wine; wedge ourselves into the building’s elevator the size of a upturned casket; and even make our bed every morning. (Yes, The One made us make it even on vacation.)

But perhaps most memorable was the pleasure of dining with old friends and new acquaintances. This was different for us. We’re usually on our own when we travel–eternal outsiders looking in. We were now able to experience Paris as locals. Our only requirements for a dining spot were 1.) it be new to us, 2.) it constitute a favorite local boîte for our French and wannabe American expat friends, and 3.) our reservations must work around our visits to as many museums, monuments, and beloved spots as we could squeeze into 72 hours.

Clock in the Musée d'Orsay
The clock that silently watches over the masterpieces at the Musée d’Orsay.

First on our agenda was meeting the charming Clotilde Dusoulier at Coinstrot Vino, hidden in the impossible-to-find Passage des Panoramas in the 2nd arrondissement. I was exhausted by the time we met up–it was our first day in a new time zone, after all–but I remember being lucid enough to be impressed by and even develop a wee bit of a crush on Clotilde. Oh, and I remember the foie de lotte, monkfish liver. Fantastic.

The Louvre Pyramid
One of the two great, though once-reviled, pyramids at the Louvre. (Hey, recall The Da Vinci Code, anyone?)

The next day, The One and I had a lovely three-hour lunch with Dorie Greespan and her husband, Michael, at Le Marsangy, un petit bistro that welcomed only four other guests that day,  and which I forbid you–positively forbid–you to visit, as the chef enjoys what he does and doesn’t want the place to be discovered. Our lunch was foie gras, tiny fried whole fish, lieu jaune (a marvelously delicate white fillet of fish), a hachis parmentier  (a most satisfying shepherd’s pie-like dish, made with duck confit–right? Right?!), salted caramel ice cream, and fondant au chocolat. You get the picture, non?

Art Crowd
I love how tourists pay attention to the “No Photographs” signs. (Oh, wait, I took one, too. Damn.)

Dinner that same day was with Jennifer McLagan–the Fat Lady, although she weighs less than a whippet–and her husband, Harald, at Le Severo. It’s a plus petit bistro in the 14th arrondissement, in which carnivority is on flagrant and unabashed display. A local favorite of Jennifer’s and Harald’s, Le Severo specializes in meat, meat, and more meat. Mostly red, always served bleu or saignant. (Don’t even think of ordering it more cooked.) And the offal! Let’s sing praises to the offal. The One was in a hazy thymus reverie as he rip into his ris de veau. Rarely have I seen him more content.

Place des Vosges
Sunday in the park. So Parisian.

We broke our rule of eating at unfamiliar places only when it came to our anniversary dinner. It was Le Bistrot Paul Bert or nothing. We discovered it on our last visit, and we happily traded in all the folderol and pyrotechnics of flashier Parisian spots for the clamor and simplicity of this place. Honestly, how can anyone resist the charm of  dark woods, crackled mirrors, and tattered old chalkboard menus that waiters prop up on a nearby chair for you to peruse? And was it just us, or were les garçons de café curiously nicer this trip? (I chalked it up to my newly remembered high school French–thank you Rosetta Stone–but The One reminded me he speaks an inimitable Italio-Luso-Anglo hybrid all his own, and he still was treated well.) He ordered his favorite, steak frites, and I had a stew of beef cheeks accompanied by a swanky and reasonably priced Chateau Beau Rivage 2007. For dessert, a chocolate soufflé. (I know, I know–the clichéist of all French clichés. But so few are done well, and this was spectacular. It was so good, the nearby table of Brits ordered four, after hearing some rather indecent moaning coming from our little two-top.)

Pensive Girl
The Pensive Girl of the Place des Voges. She reminded me of me. I wanted to adopt her.

The rest of our precious time in Paris was spent wandering around, agenda-less, which is odd for us. While sitting in the Place des Voges, our favorite park in the city, I asked The One, “Would you consider spending a month here next year?”

A pause. “Possibly.” Knowing how he hates to commit to anything lest he be hemmed in by plans, I took that as a yes. By the time we left the park an hour later, I had moved us into the Rue Balzac apartment, redecorated it, and filled the cave with wine from the neighborhood wine shop.

On our last day, we visited Poilâne bakery on the left bank. Dorie had told me a few years back that I had to go and just marvel at the artistry. While admiring the Poilâne miche, the iconic large crusty loaf with the perfect cursive “P” carved into its dome, it all fell into place. Or make that into peace. The letter “P,” to me, stood for peace on this trip, which is what I was feeling about my life. About our life. And that’s why my emotional GPS was broken–I’ve never really experienced it before. Ah, so that’s what peace feels like, I thought. No problems to solve, no skirmishes to win, no expectations to have dashed. Just quietness.

As The One walked over from the local square, I bumped him with my hip, smiled, and whispered, “Happy anniversary.” I tried to hold onto this feeling of peace–this absence of anxiety and drama. I was wobbly, it being so subtle and new. And it lasted most of the morning until we arrived at the metro, where we butted heads about how to get home. I got snarky, he got belligerent. The peace eventually dissipated, but, as is our way, we forgot to stay mad at each other. Even if we don’t visit for a month next year, I’ll be okay with that–and him. Because no matter what, we’ll always have Paris–and that morning of peace.

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  1. I wonder if it’s too late to ask my husband for this for my birthday next week…it sounds perfect and brings back so many lovely memories.

  2. Paris is a lovely backdrop for an anniversary – 18 years strong, too! I’ll have to convince my own “The One” to jetaway there, since he hasn’t yet been. We spent our honeymoon in Spain in early September this year and the phrase for our trip would a toss-up between “Appreciative” and “Bacalao.”

  3. I love reading your stories and recall your voice. This wonderful story was accompanied by Parisian background music in my head! The d’Orsay is also my favorite. I wept in the Toulouse-Lautrec pastel room, thinking…”Am I really here???” Happy, happy anniversary, my friend, and thank you for your note to Lynne.

    1. My dear sweet man, so good to hear from you. Thank you for the kind words. And I, too, wept, but when I heard about the passing of your sister. My heart goes out to your family. xoxox.

  4. This feels like your theme should have been: No Agenda needed when we’re in Paris Together. Lovely story.

    A late Happy Anniversary to a special couple.

    1. Lora, many thanks. Well, I leave for Indonesia on Wednesday–sans The One. I’m actually going with my college girlfriend, who henceforth will be known as My Grace–as in “Will & Grace”…so it should be very interesting!

  5. Nice writing about a nice place. In your negotiations with The One you might mention that Paris is one of those places with a strict mathematical progression of niceness. Meaning: two days are twice as nice as one, five days are five times better, etc. This means that a whole month would be something like…well, lots better.

  6. David, your words reminded me of what Paris means to me. Living it as part of its human texture is the best way to experience it. At times, just by sitting on your couch, in you rented Parisian flat, you do feel the vibes that make the soul of this milestone of a city.
    I haven’t had the chance to experience with the special one, probably one day. Paris though, has acquired the dimension of one of those selfindulgent pleasures that make single life endurable.

    Happy Anniversary guys, glad to picture you among the tender couples soaking up the last rays of sun on a bench in Place des Vosges.

  7. Thank you for another P… So much pleasure in reading this and enjoyed the lovely photos … Another P! More passion, prosperity and plane trips to you and The One, in the years to come!

  8. What a wonderful memory of your anniversary!! Congratulations! May you have many more years together, as well as more time to share your love and strolls in the park of Paris.

  9. Congratulations on the anniversary and being able to sneak away.

    We escape to Paris and love, love, love all of the nooks and crannies the city has to offer. We have our favorite spots too, but I think I’ll be adding a couple of yours to the list for our next visit.

  10. Where do I start? I think with a belated happy anniversary! I love how in one post you make me laugh, think, and yearn for my next trip to Paris. I’ve only been once and I did the whole solo-backpacking thing, which was great, but it was hostels and doing all the typical touristy things that one needs to do on their first trip. But this trip with a special someone full of snoring in French, shlepping bags, living like a mensch in a real apartment, and dining with friends in restos only locals know of sounds just wonderful. I hope you make it back for a month next year! And no photo-taking at le Musée d’Orsay, you rebel you! ;)

    1. Dearest Ethan, I know that before we get back there, you will have tromped all over that lovely city with a new lovely lady. I feel it. And if you just maybe perhaps happen to visit while we’re there, who knows–it might be our turn to introduce an unsuspecting Canadian to a resto he would have never stumble upon had he tripped on its threshold.

      (And do you believe: No one tried to stop me taking pictures in the d’Orsay? Although The One practically sprinted across the hall to avoid being seen with me holding the camera.)

  11. I smile with nostalgia when I remember how undervalued that kind of peace was for us only a few years back! And how I yearn for it now:) This was another wonderful article that left me grinning – happy anniversary!
    BTW, I love the photo of the pensive girl – beautiful lighting!

    1. Lana, thank you. We so undervalue peace–and so few of us really know what it is. Renee Schettler is always telling me to relax and feel it. Yet this time it just happened.

      And, yes, Pensive Girl, is lovely. I just marvel at how at peace she is! Oh, and I have my dear Frenchwoman Hélène Dujardin to thank for the photos. She coached me in what lenses to bring.

  12. As you know I adore you writing and I think I told you this at the Greenbrier – you have peace in your soul now and you wear it well. I am so happy to read this love story. Isn’t love amazing?! Congrats! We celebrated 18 years this year as well. Such a blessing!

    1. Well, a very happy 18th to you, too, my dear. Congratulations! Now that you say it, I do remember your mentioning I seem much more at peace. What’s happening to me? Am I losing my mojo? Am I becoming un-New York-ized?

  13. I am tearing up reading this. I went to Paris in 2008 while traveling on my own. I was only supposed to stay 5 days but extended my stay to more like 8 days after I arrived and quickly fell in love. My dream is for my “one,” who has never been, and I to go together. It’s silly that we have not made it yet. We’ve let schedules and finances get in the way. This piece reminded me of everything I love about Paris. I can’t wait to take him there.

    1. Elizabeth, as Jenny Perillo has made clear to us all, we need to take action now. When I told Dorie Greenspan that I was thinking of spending a lot more time in Paris–after all, what am I waiting for?–she looked at me as if to say, “Duh.” There’s no time like the present because, in the end, that’s all we have.

  14. I was about to comment on this posting, then oddly enough on NPR’s “Here on Earth” they were talking about French seduction and it truly made so much sense along with your writing. Though my memories of Paris are bare, as I was only a child when we went there, the stories, the writing, the movies, the documentaries easily transport me to the city I will one day get to know as an adult. I’m hoping, much as yourself, that I will be able to share those instances with the “ONE” of my life. What a beautiful journey you describe, even without a theme, which in my mind there was one indeed, that of “laissez-faire” and enjoying the moment, the time spent together, exploring the yet to be discovered and sharing it with the most important person of your life.

    1. Sofia, I hope that you do get to the City of Lights. I know how much Lisbon, and other cities in Portugal, have captured you, but there is truly nothing like Paris.

  15. You found an apartment with an elevator!! Lucky sods! When I took my daughter to Paris we had a fourth floor walk-up – a blessing really, as I was able to walk off at least some of the food I was eating.

    As for the Mona Lisa–there is always that crowd around her, but if you turn around and look on the opposite wall you will see Veronese’s “The Wedding at Cana.” My favourite painting, this is a huge and gloriously colourful depiction of a feast–fitting for a foodie such as yourself.

    1. Amanda, yes, a building with an elevator. Even The One, who’s in much better shape than I would’ve had a hard time making up to the Paris 6th (our 7th) floor. And those bags of groceries! We’d have had to have a picnic on the third floor to give us enough strength to make it all the way.

      And I did stop and marvel at “The Wedding at Cana.” So magisterial. And huge!

          1. We don’t need no stinkin’ Eiffel. Kansas City has the Liberty Memorial, which provides great views of the city & it is the City of Fountains, second only to Rome in the number of fountains. No passport required.

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