Turning 29 In Paris

I've been trying to write this post for a week. Once again I've felt completely overwhelmed by the task of condensing my experience into one pithy post. Paris is especially difficult because, well, it isn't exactly some 'off the beaten path' destination. People certainly know it and, as I've found out, have pretty well-formed ideas about the place--especially if they've never been there.

I didn't encounter this as much when I talked about London, apart from cracks about the weather and warm beer. (For the record, the beer is not warm dummies. It just isn't ice cold.) But Paris was different: "Were the French rude?" "How was the food?" "Was it really that romantic?" Even if you've never stepped foot there, you're probably walking around with some detailed, preconceived notion of what Paris is in your head. Consequently, it's a city that we expect to meet these impossible demands--whether those expectations come from Les Miserables, Madeline, Midnight In Paris, or A Moveable Feast--and when it falls short, we claim to be disappointed.

Paris is a living, breathing city. It exists outside of these portrayals. So, were the French rude? No, not especially. I've dealt with much ruder people here in the states. Was the food good? Some of it was exquisite and some of it was crap. Was it romantic? Well, I'll get to that.

Like Paris, I can't meet all of your expectations. I'm sure there are more thorough posts about '15 ways to save money' and 'top ten things you must do' while in the city. But the one thing I can do is talk about this, my first trip to Paris. So, lets pick up where we left off: in London. 

After nearly two months in England it was time for me to say goodbye. As always, it was bittersweet. However, the next destination was an exciting one: Paris. I had planned our trip to deliberately coincide with my birthday in an effort to distract myself from the pains of turning 29. It's hard to feel sad about your fading youth and the inevitable march towards mortality when you're stuffing yourself with baguettes, right?

Now, normally I'm not one of those people who gets all mopey around their birthday. I spent my last several birthdays like most people--stumbling around in a dank bar surrounded by friends and family. And while I firmly believe that age is nothing but a number, turning 29 is kind of tough because it's nearly 30 and if pop culture has taught me anything it's that once a woman turns 30 she can become three things: Someone's Wife, Someone's Mother, or an Old Shrew--and if you aren't either of the first two, it's only a matter of time before they run you out of town. So, in a bid to escape the ever encroaching spectre of death, we hopped on the Eurostar and headed towards the City of Lights.

Thanks to some well-planned travel hacking (see here for an excellent how-to) I managed to score us a free hotel room at the 5-star Hotel de Louvre--a Hyatt property in the first arrondissement next to, you guessed it, the Louvre. We were on the top floor with a balcony that offered us this amazing view. It was pretty tiny though. I'm also kind of afraid of heights, so I didn't spend a ton of time out there. Still, gazing down on the Rue de Rivoli from a five-star hotel room was not a life experience I ever expected to have. 

Despite our good fortune, I'll admit that I felt a bit underprepared for Paris, at least when compared to the level of detail I had dedicated to London, the Peak District, and Bronte Country. Also, six days may sound like a lot of time, but for a city like Paris we really only scratched the surface. Exhausted from our marathon tour of London and still smarting from the pound, our pace was slower here. The language barrier also made us less adventurous. Every day I would wake up and think "I'm in Paris!" This would immediately be followed by the realization that this meant I had to speak French.

My French is not very good. If you've been reading this blog since the beginning, you may remember a lot of early posts dedicated to France. For a brief window of time in 2010 I almost moved to Paris to be some rich people's nanny. I began studying French daily and even met up to practice the language with other French people. Then, for reasons I never learned, the whole thing fell apart.

Since then, the only bits I managed to retain were what I refer to as "Bar French". This means that I can read a menu pretty well and order from it. Basically, I know 'Hello', 'Goodbye', 'My name is Emily', 'I will have the onion soup/crossiant/cheese plate/duck confit', numbers 1-10, and a small scattering of words and phrases. The Bar French came in handy, for sure, but I lacked confidence. People seemed to appreciate the effort though. I mean, if you're going to go to a foreign country you can at least learn how to say 'hello', 'please may I have', and 'thank you' in their language. It's common courtesy. Still, I saw a number of American tourists speaking English for even the most basic exchanges.  Can you imagine the reaction in the U.S. if a foreign tourist came here and couldn't even say 'Hi, can I have a slice of pizza?' People would flip out.

My bar French may have been decidedly lacking, but at least I gave it a shot. Maybe that's why no one was really rude to us. Sure, many Parisians seemed a bit aloof, but some were outright friendly. Of course, if you're expecting every shopkeeper or bartender to fall all over themselves just because you're an American then, well, I suppose you're the type of person who has to deal with disappointment often. As David Sedaris puts it in Me Talk Pretty One Day "To my knowledge, [the French have] never said they're better than us; they've just never said we're the best. Big deal."

For me, Paris was a city of contrasts. You can have a perfect moment strolling across the Pont des Arts in the golden light of early evening listening to someone play the accordion. Then you turn a corner and the smell of urine will hit you in the face and you'll see a crazy bum snapping his shirt like a whip at passersby. Or you can be on the surprisingly rundown metro (which reminded me of NYC's subway system in the 80s) only to walk above ground and come upon a brass band rocking out to Gangster's Paradise.

There's a mix of beauty and grit--and none of the tourist handholding we found in London. They don't have thousands of signs all over the city telling you which way to the Arc de Triumph or the Louvre and when you do find signs they are only in French. I suppose it demands more of the visitor, which isn't necessarily a bad thing, but because of this I didn't find it to be a particularly romantic place. We were too consumed with trying to navigate the streets. But that's ok. I didn't come to Paris for romance. I mostly came for the food. 

Namely, I was interested in exploring the neighborhood food markets, of which Paris has many. So we planned our days around seeing a couple of sites and visiting a market at some point. The cafes in our part of town were very overpriced so we stayed away, opting instead for more of our London-style picnics. Of course, supermarkets aren't really a thing in Paris so we did as the Parisians do: We would either shop at the markets or visit the individual shops for cheese, fruit, cured meat, baguettes, and surprisingly cheap, yet always delicious wine. Then we would take it all back to our hotel room and have an indoor picnic. 

After our third day we found out that one of the best baguettes in town could be had around the corner from our hotel at Eric Keyser, an artisanal bakery.  Sometimes for breakfast we'd grab a crossiant and a coffee there and then sit by the Louvre and people watch. Like London, if I go back again I'd want to rent an apartment for the convenience of a kitchen. Cooking in Paris would be a dream thanks to all of the wonderful markets. I also really want a rotisserie chicken. You can find them in nearly every market and they're just one of those Paris 'things' you have to try. James shot me down every time because we were always in the middle of wandering around and, yeah, maybe I technically didn't have any utensils back at the hotel, but whatever. I would have made it work.

Something that doesn't require utensils though? Pain au chocolat. The tastiest, flakiest, butteriest (that's a word) I had was from Stohrer, which bills itself as the oldest pastry shop in Paris, and is also Queen Elizabeth's favorite. I tried plenty of others and really, it's hard to have a bad pain au chocolat in Paris, but this one took it to a level I didn't even know existed. This also marked the beginning of my '1-crossiant-a-day' diet that lasted all throughout Europe. Don't look at me like that. I regret nothing.

I tore myself away from pain au chocolat long enough to try some of Laduree's famous macaroons. I know macaroons were supposed to usurp cupcakes as the next 'it' dessert (though it looks like cake pops are giving them a run for their money). But really, these treats are so different. We shouldn't pit them against each other, but instead indulge in them equally. Well, except cake pops. I mean, come on. Why is that a thing?

I may not have had a roast chicken but I did have a delicious duck confit for my lovely birthday meal at Ma Salle a Manger, a low-key little neighborhood bistro where the food is classic, simple and cooked to perfection. It can be hard to have a great meal at a reasonable price in Paris so this place was a wonderful find.

As for touristy stuff, we hit most of the major points. We visited the Effiel tower, but decided not to waste three hours waiting in line to get to the top. We realized later that you can buy tickets in advance online but by that time they were sold out for days. Oh well.

We spent half a day wandering around the Louvre, though seeing the Mona Lisa was marred by the hoards of tourists trying to take selfies with it in the background (don't take selfies with the Mona Lisa). The museum itself is in the former Louvre Palace and was home to French royals until the Sun King, Louis XIV left to build Versailles, but his penchant for excess is all over the Apollo room.

One can even see the crown jewels of Louis XV and the apartments of Napoleon III, so the Louvre is an interesting mix of art, architecture, and French history.

Another half day was spent at the Musee d'Orsay, which has the largest collection of Impressionist art in the world. It's housed in a beautiful old train station that was built during the turn of the century, so even if you're not into Monet the building alone is worth the price of admission.

After visiting Notre Dame a stop at the nearby Shakespeare and Company bookstore was a must. I'm also fairly certain I saw Eric Idle milling about outside. I didn't have my glasses on and James said no way, but even still, I want to believe. 

As was the case in London, taking a site-seeing cruise on the Siene was a highlight. We timed it so that we were cruising during sunset and, looking back, I'd say that was pretty friggin' romantic. 

We also made it out to Monmartre for a day, a neighborhood named for the hill it sits atop, which was the heart of old bohemian Paris around the turn of the century and home to many famous artists. Now it's where you can find the famous (infamous?) Moulin Rouge as well as a number of sex shops. Of course, in keeping with that idea of contrasts I mentioned earlier, it is also the site of the Basilica of the Sacre Coeur--

--along with some incredible views of Paris.

Then we popped by Cafe des 2 Moulins where Amelie, everyone's favorite gamine, works but she wasn't in.

One of the stranger things we did was visit the catacombs underneath Paris, which contain the remains of over 6 million people. The history of the catacombs is fascinating but walking through those darkened tunnels gives you a sobering perspective on your own insignificance within the history of humanity. Or maybe I was just having a minor existential crisis. 

We also visited several parks, including the Jardin des Tuileries, which were lovely but a bit too manicured for my tastes. I missed the wild forests and open spaces of London's parks. But, to each his own.

In the end, Paris was the right choice for this birthday. It is a city that makes one feel like a mature, cultured person. Sure, you can go there in your early 20s and have a great time. But between the food, the museums, the language, and a certain je ne sais quoi, it seems like a place best appreciated by those who have lived a little bit. Would I go back again? Absolutely. There's still so much we didn't get to do: the Rodin museum, the Pere-Lachaise cemetery, Boulangerie Poilane--the list goes on. But this trip was still a good introduction to one of the world's greatest cities.