Home from Paris.

I have returned home from a seven day vacation in Paris, France, relaxed and feeling rejuvenated.  I enjoy New York City, its never-ending wakefulness, a city that is always looking at itself in a mirror and a city, that for me, boredom does not exist.  I enjoy Copenhagen for its modern flair of art and light, how often the people laugh; and I love Sweden for the walking paths that connect the entire country; but it is time spent in Paris that I arrive back to my home rejuvenated, rested in body and soul, coming home ready to begin my real life and bringing some of my experience of Paris back home.

Paris is designed to stroll through its avenues and parks, causing tourists to slow down often without consciousness.  Comparing the noise level in New York City to Paris, shows Paris to be a remarkably quiet city.  It is not quite like the cities in Denmark and Sweden.  No, these cities do not have the sheer number of tourists.  It is in Paris that the French people speak in normal tones in the parks or restaurants or the Metro, making one aware of your own voice and even the tourists drop into normal tones during their stay. 

Alexis de Belloy recently wrote an article for CNN about vacationing in France and he hit upon something that really struck me as important.  He wrote that vacationing was meant to be a chance to experience luxury, not of spending money but of spending time to do the things he would do if he had the money, and to do them every day.  That is precisely what I do in Paris. 

On a beautiful spring day, I enjoyed eating at an outdoor cafe for over two hours in the Tulleries Garden while gazing at the art nearby, art that is juxtaposed next to each other from ancient to modern, at the people walking by and people sitting in lounge chairs soaking up the sun in cool weather.  I enjoyed my rather gruff waiter, clearly frustrated with me for speaking English, his frustration with other patrons who do not understand why he has not given them their check, his frustration for having to explain again “what is that anyway”.

 I am not in any hurry to leave or get my check or have him explain the menu.  I had purchased some chocolate earlier to eat as my dessert and my gruff waiter ends up giving me a terse smile (this is a win if you have ever eaten in a French restaurant with a male French waiter) as he sees the name of the chocolatier on the bag and the chocolate tile in my hand.  I know that taste and memory is affected by one’s surroundings, and that first bite into that piece is the high notes of cherries that give the bright clear spring skies a sharpened crispness, promising a beautiful summer; the cool melt of the cocoa butter like the light wind of spring cooling the skin from the sunny day, and the decidedly chocolate low note that suddenly becomes the perfect end to a lovely meal in an outstanding Paris garden.  Yes, I come home from Paris with the best souvenir.  I have tasted the life of luxury for seven days and will again.