DON'T FORGET PARIS

New Year’s Eve, I went to bed at 9 PM exhausted from over twenty hours of traveling. I dreamed that we were still walking the streets of Paris and then was jolted awake by the sounds of my neighborhood exploding with fireworks and gunfire. For a moment, I was confused, thinking I was still in the apartment in the 5th Arrondissement. I listened to the explosions for only a minute before quickly falling back to sleep, waking again at 4 in the morning. Then I laid in bed wide awake, but unwilling to move from the bed. So I watched Stranger Things on my iPad until Michael opened my door around 8. It has taken us about two days to reset our sleep schedules and feel slightly normal.

I have so much I could tell you and so little. I haven’t decided yet on where to even start. At the end of each day, Michael and I sat at the dining table and I wrote down notes about our day, each one filling up a page in my notebook. We quickly realized that we would not be going to any of the museums. I had made a tentative daily schedule for us before we left. Our mornings would be spent at market and our afternoons at a museum, but my plan was so tentative that I did not pre-purchase tickets to any thing. I didn’t want a timed vacation. The only timed ticket I managed to purchase for us was for the Arc de Triomphe. So we walked up to the museums, saw the endless lines of people and promptly turned around. By our third day, we started leaving the apartment with no plans at all.

And it was one of the best vacations I’ve had in years.

We strolled the neighborhoods of Paris. We started each morning by saying “today, we’ll take it easy, do less walking.” Then we’d walk from one end of the city to the other. We found our markets. We bought ingredients for evening meals and sometimes breakfast. We bought eight blocks of butter and twenty scarves. One day, on our way to find the Marie Curie museum, we stumbled upon the Pantheon. We hopped in line to buy tickets to go inside and while we waited, the internet gods blessed Michael’s phone long enough for him to purchase tickets online. We hopped out of line and walked right on in. Then I immediately started crying because it was so devastatingly beautiful. There was ethereal choral music echoing through the building and the walls were painted with epic scenes. We made our way down to the catacombs to pay our respects to Marie Curie, Voltaire and Robert Badinter.

We looked for Banksy art and stopped into various cafes for snacks and drinks. I took dozens of photos of the Eiffel Tower and every dog I passed on the street. We laughed. We cried. We drank too much wine, ate so much cheese and butter, and before we were ready, we were back home. Our second day home, Michael and I made an attempt to sort of recreate Paris and ended up at a local French restaurant/market. We ended up just pointing out all the things that wrong with the place. The food was not quite right. The crowded restaurant was too loud. We’re struggling to return to our usual lives and I’m not sure we ever will.

Paris changed us.

There will be more to come. I just need some time to reorganize my thoughts. I need to write about leaving Chris. I need to tell you about a kind woman we met on the street. I have silly moments to share. Those stories will come in time.

WHY PARIS

Often, when I was small, it was just me and Mom left to our own devises. My sister and I were separated just enough in age that made me too little to hang out with. While Janell was off with her friends at the movies or what not, Mom and I would often curl up in her bed and watch old movies together. There was always that one random (we didn’t have cable) channel that Mom could pick up on her little TV that would continuously play old movies and we would sit and watch black and white murder mysteries or musicals or dramatic romances for as long as we could stay awake. Mom’s favorites were the musicals. I loved anything Audrey Hepburn.

So many of those movies we watched took place in Paris.

The movies had a way of casting a dreamy light on the city of Paris, even if the city streets were just a backdrop. It was the playground for the Impressionists and beat poets and philosophers. The amount of art and influence birthed from Paris is delightfully obscene. The paintings and art work from the Impressionists are the first things I seek out in any art museum. The other stuff is fine, but the soft swirly colors of a Monet puts me into my Zen garden of peace. I want a float pod where I am completely surrounded by the Water Lilies. Historically, this city is a treasure trove of richness, revolutions and resistance against tyrants. Yet it’s visions of Audrey Hepburn running down the grand steps at the Louvre or marching along the Seine that fill my head when I think of Paris.

I’ve intended to go for years. I thought maybe about going for my 30th or 40th birthdays, maybe for an anniversary date or for no reason at all. Life has always stepped right on in to block those intentions and dreams. It became wishful thinking, something I’d want to do some day but never getting around to doing. With time, I allowed myself to think of the idea of Paris as overrated. I’ve heard the tales from other Americans about how the French are rude and snobby. Why would I want to subject myself to that? Though, I think it is possible that rude and snobby is a misinterpretation of resilient and reserved. There is something to be said about the power of being polite and unassuming. After all, Americans are often the uninvited guest and we have a way about us that is not always flattering. Any way…as the years passed, I told myself that I didn’t really care if I ever got a chance to see Paris for myself.

But I do.

When Michael asked me where we should go to celebrate our 50s, the word “Paris” popped out of my mouth without any hesitation. We started saving our pennies and practicing a very mindful approach to spending. For months now, we’ve been telling each other “We’re going to Paris!” but even while I was saying it, I didn’t really believe it. I said the words without meaning or feeling and fully expected to add this to the list of things we didn’t do. Remember that year we talked constantly about going to Paris and even taking lessons in French, but then we didn’t actually go anywhere? This is what I was expecting, but last week, one morning while I was in the shower and Michael stood in the bathroom brushing his beard, Michael said “hey…I did a thing last night after you went to bed.” He bought airplane tickets to Paris. This was surprising because he always consults me before making such purchases. In fact, I almost always am expected to be in the same room with him when it is happening. But he told me about doing some online training thing for work and how frustrating it was to just to log in and how he suddenly found himself looking at prices for flights to Paris. For the first time in a long time, the prices were beyond reasonable.

So he bought the tickets.

I booked an Airbnb.

We’ve started making lists.

It seems like this might be something we don’t just talk about doing.

For the past few days, I’ve studied maps and guides. I’ve pinned things. I’ve researched walking shoes. I‘m feeling a bit swoony and overwhelmed. There’s so much to see, to eat, to explore. When I said “Paris.” to answer Michael’s questions, I followed it up with “without major plans of doing anything while we’re there; just being present in Paris.” So today, I’m taking a breath and a pause. I’m setting my list aside and thinking about hiding the maps. In a few weeks, I’ll start sketching together a tentative itinerary. One that will include opportunities for getting lost in the city. Maybe I’ll include a day where I just happen to walk by the Arc de Triomphe with a big bunch of colorful balloons. Maybe I’ll create a macaron trail where we just travel from macaron shop to macaron shop. I could devote a whole day to cheese. Probably more.

We’re going to Paris.