{"id":3361,"date":"2012-09-28T10:30:18","date_gmt":"2012-09-28T10:30:18","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/orcutt.net\/weblog\/?p=3361"},"modified":"2014-12-20T03:02:51","modified_gmt":"2014-12-20T03:02:51","slug":"how-i-miss-paris","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/orcutt.net\/weblog\/how-i-miss-paris\/","title":{"rendered":"How I Miss Paris"},"content":{"rendered":"

I miss sit\u00adting in a cafe, sip\u00adping my cafe creme<\/em> and writ\u00ading, with no one look\u00ading at me strange\u00adly for it. I miss walk\u00ading the streets alone at dawn, but nev\u00ader feel\u00ading alone because I had all of Paris around me.<\/p>\n

I miss lean\u00ading on the bridge rail\u00adings and gaz\u00ading out across the shim\u00admer\u00ading Seine and watch\u00ading the tour boats chug by.<\/p>\n

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I miss the grandeur of the Place du Pan\u00adtheon, the inti\u00adma\u00adcy of the Place Con\u00adtrescarpe. I miss the sur\u00adpris\u00ading vis\u00adtas that await\u00aded me around every street cor\u00adner, down every unpromis\u00ading alley\u00adway.<\/p>\n

I miss the women bicy\u00adcling to work along\u00adside city bus\u00ades, wear\u00ading skirts, high heels, and no hel\u00admets. I miss admir\u00ading and wor\u00adry\u00ading about them.<\/p>\n

I miss the inim\u00aditable green of the Seine when the light hits it just right. I miss that French pas\u00adtry delicacy\u2014airy and but\u00adtery with only a hint of sweet\u2014pain au choco\u00adlat<\/em>. I miss the Rodin muse\u00adum cafe, where I had the best one of the two dozen I tried.<\/p>\n

I don\u2019t miss the rats, scur\u00adry\u00ading around after sun\u00adset in the tiny park out\u00adside Saint Julien Le Pau\u00advre, nor wor\u00adry\u00ading about encoun\u00adter\u00ading them on my morn\u00ading or late night walks.<\/p>\n

I do miss watch\u00ading the chil\u00addren on pony rides in the Jardin du Lux\u00adem\u00adbourg. I miss the bees they keep in the south\u00adwest cor\u00adner of the park to pol\u00adli\u00adnate all of the flow\u00aders. I miss the rows upon rows of sculpt\u00aded trees and the canopies of shade.<\/p>\n

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I miss the Closerie Des Lilas, where my love and I had the best meal of our lives. I miss the per\u00adfect tem\u00adper\u00ada\u00adture of that fall after\u00adnoon on the ter\u00adrace and the crisp\u00adness of that chablis against the rich\u00adness of the poached had\u00addock in a beurre blanc sauce. I miss our wait\u00ader, Yousef, who had two col\u00adlege degrees in food ser\u00advice and was the best wait\u00ader I\u2019ve ever seen. I even miss the haughty blonde host\u00adess who sneered at my French and glanced at my shoes before giv\u00ading us a table.<\/p>\n

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I miss Paris.<\/p>\n

I miss the cob\u00adble\u00adstone streets, the scoot\u00aders rid\u00ading up on the side\u00adwalks. I miss the smell of fresh bread from the boulan\u00adgerie<\/em> when his door opened in the morn\u00ading.<\/p>\n

I miss being the first cus\u00adtomer at the Cafe St. Reg\u00adis and sit\u00adting down with my lit\u00adtle red note\u00adbook while the floors were still wet and the wait\u00ader sliced the baguettes on the side\u00adboard for petit deje\u00aduner<\/em>. I miss the locals stream\u00ading in the side door at 7:30 and drink\u00ading espres\u00adsos while stand\u00ading at the bar. I miss their jok\u00ading and rib\u00adbing and fast talk in French, and I miss only under\u00adstand\u00ading every sixth word. I miss the female manager\u2019s quick wit and the group\u2019s rau\u00adcous laugh\u00adter.<\/p>\n

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I miss the pret\u00adty young woman in a black dress with a white apron, and I miss the rose tat\u00adtoo on the inside of her right wrist that I saw as she sprayed and wiped the win\u00addows, and I miss her lilt\u00ading accent that broke my heart and made me pine for my youth every time she opened her pouty mouth. (And it was pouty, God bless her.)<\/p>\n

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I miss the strange, two-tone police sirens in the mid\u00addle of the night. I miss announc\u00ading \u201cBon\u00adjour<\/em>\u201d every time I entered an estab\u00adlish\u00adment. I miss the water trick\u00adling down the street gut\u00adters twice a day to keep Paris pris\u00adtine.<\/p>\n

I miss the ducks roast\u00ading on rotis\u00adseries on Rue Mon\u00adtorgueil as peo\u00adple on their way to work con\u00adgre\u00adgat\u00aded in the street for a cig\u00ada\u00adrette. I miss the wait\u00ader who mirac\u00adu\u00adlous\u00adly de-boned my sole at the table, and I miss strolling down Rue Descartes in the twi\u00adlight, past the hotel where Ernest Hem\u00ading\u00adway once worked, and see\u00ading the young hip\u00adster cou\u00adple kiss\u00ading pas\u00adsion\u00adate\u00adly and unabashed\u00adly out\u00adside a noisy bar.<\/p>\n

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I miss the bread. God, how I miss the bread\u2014the baguettes, the crois\u00adsants, the pain au choco\u00adlat<\/em>.<\/p>\n

I miss the spi\u00adral\u00ading mar\u00adble stairs up to the top of Notre Dame. I miss the glo\u00adri\u00adous burst of col\u00ador and the gasp of my own breath when walk\u00ading into Saint Chapelle for the first time, and I miss those pre\u00adcious few min\u00adutes when my love and I had that holy place to our\u00adselves.<\/p>\n

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I miss the sight of the sea of Paris rooftops from the top of Sacre Coeur. I miss that pas\u00adtel sun\u00adrise, that haze in the air, and that woman and her dog star\u00ading out at the scene togeth\u00ader. I miss the nuns singing in the basil\u00adi\u00adca at my back as I strug\u00adgled to cap\u00adture the moment on paper.<\/p>\n

I miss Paris.<\/p>\n

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I miss the canary yel\u00adlow leaves on the stairs lead\u00ading down to the cob\u00adble\u00adstone prom\u00ade\u00adnades on the banks of the Seine. I miss the fat and gnarled chest\u00adnuts in the Square du Vert-Galant, that pointy park at the tip of Ile de la Cit\u00e9, but I don\u2019t miss the annoy\u00ading gui\u00adtar play\u00ader who played a foot away from me until I relent\u00aded and dropped a Euro in the hole of his gui\u00adtar.<\/p>\n

Then there was the old woman who stopped me on the street my last morn\u00ading in Paris and asked me for direc\u00adtions in French. I miss her too. I miss her because I under\u00adstood her and was able to reply in French, and she under\u00adstood me in return. I miss her for mak\u00ading one of my dreams for the trip come true: to learn French well enough that I could give a Parisian direc\u00adtions.<\/p>\n

I miss the young woman in a char\u00adcoal suit that Alexas and I watched in a cafe across the street from the Mus\u00e9e d\u2019Orsay. I miss her sit\u00adting down at a table out\u00addoors, cross\u00ading her legs and adding a tube of sug\u00adar to her tiny espres\u00adso. I miss her dark hair, her chic glass\u00ades, her fine jaw\u00adline. I miss her light\u00ading a cig\u00ada\u00adrette and study\u00ading the world as it went by, and I miss won\u00adder\u00ading if she was hap\u00adpy with her life, if she had romance and work she enjoyed.<\/p>\n

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I miss the stairs in our apart\u00adment build\u00ading, warped and off-kil\u00adter like they were undu\u00adlat\u00ading beneath our feet, like they were out of a Van Gogh paint\u00ading. I miss the Fran\u00adprix gro\u00adcery store down Rue Galande. I miss engag\u00ading the cashiers in my charm\u00ading\u00adly rudi\u00admen\u00adta\u00adry French, and I miss being able to make those weary women smile.<\/p>\n

I miss the Metro, the crush of pas\u00adsen\u00adgers at rush hour, and the announce\u00adments I couldn\u2019t under\u00adstand. I miss see\u00ading all of those book read\u00aders on the trains and hop\u00ading that some\u00adday they would be read\u00ading my works in French. I miss the poor man whose foot I stepped on when the train slowed sud\u00adden\u00adly, and I miss say\u00ading \u201cPar\u00addon<\/em>\u201d to get out at my stop.<\/p>\n

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<\/a><\/p>\n

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I miss the Cham\u00adpagne corks in the gut\u00adter on a Sun\u00adday morn\u00ading.<\/p>\n

I miss the mam\u00admoth falafel sand\u00adwich from L\u2019as du Falafel\u2014the lay\u00aders of falafel, tahi\u00adni, cucum\u00adber, two kinds of cab\u00adbage, toma\u00adto and eggplant\u2014the best falafel in the world, some say. I miss the exquis\u00adite soft\u00adness of that pita as I tried to take a bite.<\/p>\n

Sur\u00adpris\u00ading\u00adly, I miss the crowds at the Lou\u00advre. I miss the stu\u00adpe\u00adfied peo\u00adple in front of the Mona Lisa<\/em>, Winged Vic\u00adto\u00adry<\/em>, Venus de Milo<\/em>, and Michelangelo\u2019s Slaves<\/em>. I miss the end\u00adless maze of rooms and get\u00adting lost in there and not being sure I\u2019d ever find my way out.<\/p>\n

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<\/a><\/p>\n

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I miss Paris.<\/p>\n

I miss walk\u00ading on the side\u00adwalk beside Notre Dame when the street\u00adlights switched on. I miss the way they con\u00adtin\u00adued end\u00adless\u00adly into the dis\u00adtance, and their com\u00adfort\u00ading amber glow.<\/p>\n

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<\/a><\/p>\n

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I miss cross\u00ading Pont Neuf, the old\u00adest bridge in Paris, know\u00ading it was the same bridge crossed by Descartes and Napoleon, Hem\u00ading\u00adway and Fitzger\u00adald. I miss the nar\u00adrow barges plow\u00ading up-riv\u00ader and the pigeons flock\u00ading to their decks as if going to a par\u00adty.<\/p>\n

I miss gaz\u00ading up at the Eif\u00adfel Tow\u00ader, that per\u00adfect expres\u00adsion of art and engi\u00adneer\u00ading. I miss its braces upon braces, its arch\u00ades upon arch\u00ades, and I miss see\u00ading the peo\u00adple as tiny dots cir\u00adcling down the stairs. I miss glimps\u00ading the tow\u00ader through the trees on dead-end side streets. I miss the glint of its rich light after dark.<\/p>\n

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<\/a><\/p>\n

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And I miss con\u00advers\u00ading with the old cafe wait\u00ader my last morn\u00ading, and his pat\u00adting me on the shoul\u00adder, and my hold\u00ading back tears. I miss see\u00ading Venus glow\u00ading over the city at dawn, and I miss the pain of tak\u00ading final glances at my favorite sights and forc\u00ading myself to turn and walk away, not know\u00ading when I would be back again.<\/p>\n

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<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

I miss sit\u00adting in a cafe, sip\u00adping my cafe creme and writ\u00ading, with no one look\u00ading at me strange\u00adly for it. I miss walk\u00ading the\u2026<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":3378,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"wp_typography_post_enhancements_disabled":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[58,7,32],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-3361","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-paris","category-personal","category-travel"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/orcutt.net\/weblog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3361","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/orcutt.net\/weblog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/orcutt.net\/weblog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/orcutt.net\/weblog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/3"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/orcutt.net\/weblog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=3361"}],"version-history":[{"count":101,"href":"https:\/\/orcutt.net\/weblog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3361\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":6339,"href":"https:\/\/orcutt.net\/weblog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3361\/revisions\/6339"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/orcutt.net\/weblog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/3378"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/orcutt.net\/weblog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=3361"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/orcutt.net\/weblog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=3361"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/orcutt.net\/weblog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=3361"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}