Merci and Metro mastery
We have been told that you haven’t truly experienced Paris until you give a fiddler a penny in the Metro.
I take that and raise it. Our initial hesitation to take things underground (and therefore hamper any efforts to get anywhere in Paris efficiently) has well and truly been eradicated. Our last day in Paris saw us nip around the city like local experts. And we didn’t just find a fiddler.
In two separate Metro stations we were serenaded by serious musical troupes. The first was an entire strings section - approximately 10 individuals expertly playing their beautiful instruments. I’m not sure what would entice a group of people to go underground for an extended length of time but the acoustics down there were amazing and they certainly deserved more than a penny. The second was an eight-piece group of men with piano accordions and fine voices. We have now officially truly experienced Paris.
And because of our new-found travel confidence parts of the city suddenly opened up to us. Firstly we ventured to Merci, a multi-storied shop, cafe, restaurant and bar. After Printemps and Galleries Lafayette the day before (not to mention Singapore) with their glossy white interiors, exhorbitant prices and packed with people who clearly have more money than taste, it was decidedly lovely to be somewhere with soul.
It is said that Merci is where the beautiful people and beautiful dogs of Paris choose to hang out. We missed the dogs but soaked up the cool vibe of amazing products displayed in very cool ways. A couple of children had been parked to play a card game while their parents shopped: Lesson number 3674 for the Schaefer children - look what you kids could do if you learnt to play nicely together.
Time to exit. Our wallets were lighter and our bags were heavier, but our souls nurtured.
We were then able to wander to Place des Vosges with picnic food in hand (ham, baguette, salami, camembert and strawberries - French essentials) to end our trip where it began. This time we had recovered from our jet lag and we had much warmer clothes. But I will admit that the excited anticipation of our time there on the first day while we waited for our apartment had been replaced by a definite cloud of sadness. It’s hard to move on from somewhere so special when you don’t know if/when you’ll be back.
To soften the blow - some retail therapy. Sadly there’s no news on the bag (although I have amassed quite an impressive fund for an impending birthday following my previous blog, I feel a little guilty as though my blog entry may have been perceived as a crowd funding exercise). Never fear, there is still more of France, Italy and Spain to go so all hope on the bag front is not lost. But to an accessory I never have trouble buying. Hats. In one of the many Paris shopping books I have brought on holiday with me I had read about a boutique atelier (yes, I do need to use those snobby words because that was half the charm for me) where you could choose your colour, shape and trims. Custom hat trimming. Now that’s my idea of heaven.
Most happily from our time at the boutique atelier (couldn’t help myself) Matilda and Henriette were in role playing heaven. They had the baskets with the tester ribbons and were putting together colour combinations and naming them. I’m not sure they will ever be able to beat playing shops in the midst of the real deal in the centre of Paris. I could not imagine a more lovely artisanal experience to expose them to.
There are now two hats to bring home (one felt, one straw to cover all seasons). I am not entirely sure how they will be brought home as their dimensions are not suitcase-friendly. Now I have something from Paris, of Paris and by Paris to mark my time there.
And to finish the day, the perfect dinner. Jamie and I have been on a ten day hunt for the perfect steak with béarnaise. It has alluded us. At the eleventh hour though we found success.
As magical as dinner was, sitting on the street at our bistrot tables with the world passing by, we had to face the cold hard reality. Home to pack.
Saying goodbye is often too hard. That uncomfortable lump appears in my throat and it is far too unsightly as a grown woman to physically cry because you are leaving a holiday destination. So it is not goodbye but rather a bientot. Paris - we will be back xxxx
