I didn't set out to leave on my actual birthday, but that's what happened. As I looked out across the horizon from 36,000 feet, I felt crazy thankful. I still don't know much about the number 40, but if I had to pick any age I've ever been in my life to revisit, I'd pick right now. 18, 26, 34--nope. 40. Today. Through every loss and hard place I've ever been, God has been sovereign and steadfastly continues to redeem the darkest days of my story. Thankful for a heart alive and ready to embrace the next year of this beautiful and messy life!
Sadly, even with sleep aid medication, noise canceling headphones, an eye mask and two pillows, my body informed me that I am clearly just not EVER meant to sleep more than two hours on any long haul flight. Arrghhhhh.... I told Dean the only thing I haven't tried is: business class. So there's that. Dean didn't fare any better, except that he didn't try as hard as I did, so he actually got to watch a couple of movies in the process. So envious of people who can just snooze the whole flight.
We got a taxi to our hotel, dropped our bags and walked around to find a place for a little breakfast {petit dejeuner}, which we easily did! Petit dejeuner is always tea or coffee, a little glass of orange juice, a croissant and toast. Precious.
After we ate, we came back to the hotel to depart for a little car tour I had arranged for us. There we met Antoine, who, bless his heart, was made to wear a beret and a long-sleeved striped top for his job as a French tour guide. We believed you were French the moment you opened your mouth and spoke, Antoine. Plus, your name is "Antoine." No apparel props necessary. Dean says this is maybe going to be his new facebook profile pic (below). Antoine made this face about 72 times. J'adore l'arched eyebrow.
Antoine took us on a 1.5 hour tour around central Paris in his 1970s Citroen 2CV, which is like the French version of the old VW beetle. "It is...so choice. If you have the means, I highly recommend picking one up." It was the perfect mode of transport in which to get wheeled around and see some sights while settling into a nice, delirious jet-lagged fog.
It was immediately apparent that Antoine had taken a picture or two in his line of work. I think he provided nine different angles of us at the Eiffel Tower before the photo session was finished.
We got a taxi to our hotel, dropped our bags and walked around to find a place for a little breakfast {petit dejeuner}, which we easily did! Petit dejeuner is always tea or coffee, a little glass of orange juice, a croissant and toast. Precious.
Antoine took us on a 1.5 hour tour around central Paris in his 1970s Citroen 2CV, which is like the French version of the old VW beetle. "It is...so choice. If you have the means, I highly recommend picking one up." It was the perfect mode of transport in which to get wheeled around and see some sights while settling into a nice, delirious jet-lagged fog.
When Antoine had just about enough of us, he dropped us at Place de la Concorde and from there, we strolled Jardin des Tuileries. We ate lunch at Angelina on the Rue du Rivoli and then walked back to the hotel for a nap. By 1:00, everything had started to glaze over. Our stomachs were hurting because we'd been eating meals at weird times for a whole day and I was really missing the kids. I just needed some sleep. We snoozed for two hours and then woke up to shower (ahhh...) and head to dinner.
Had a fabulous dinner at Chez Dumonet, which was one of Dean's recommendations he'd gotten from a friend. The first thing that happened after we sat down was one of the waiters came and set down a complimentary glass of house white wine, without even asking. Then they brought a tiny pot of soup and an even tinier spoon. PARIS, mes amis!!!!
I had beouf bourginon that was unlike any other meat I have ever had in my lifetime. I can't really even apply the term, "chewing," to what I did with it once each bite was in my mouth. It just dissolved. And the rich sauce and mushrooms in its own little cooking pot--c'est magnifique!
Once dinner dishes were cleared, the waiter placed before us two mouse-sized footed shot glasses of Grand Marnier. What a lovely little wakeup call that was. Like sweet fire down my throat.
But then...THEN...dessert. The Grand Marnier soufflé and the millefeuille (also known to Americans as a "Napoleon"). I hate that I am typing right now because words simply are not good enough. Words are SO WEAK when what we are talking about here are works of art that you get to physically consume. And I know as I am spooning this ethereal pillow of a soufflé that I will never-never-no-ever encounter a soufflé like this once I am back in the US and that I am henceforth spoiling myself for all soufflés from now to whenever Jesus comes back--it was a big moment and worthy of reverence. I had to take 8 pictures of it before I could even wound it with a tear of my spoon. And even then, I may have apologized to the soufflé under my breath. If I could've laid on it and pressed my cheek to it as to a cushion, I would have.
When the waiter saw me taking pictures, he swooped over to add in the bottle of Grand Marnier as a prop. I have a feeling he's used to photo ops with the soufflé.
...and just for the sake of being thorough, the aerial view.
And the millefeuille, the millefeuille!!! When have a stack of the thinnest layers of buttercrisp pastry ever presented butter to your lips with such flawless delivery? If you weren't sure of the answer, it is "never." And don't think I didn't make a mental note of the vanilla bean flecks in the custard which blanketed those butter sheets of crisp, sweet Frenchness. Thank you, God, for Frenchness.
As I'm prepping this entry for posting, it is at this point in the pictures that I've started to tear up a bit.
And just because it deserves to be noted: pink gingham toilet seats in the bathrooms.
When Antoine had just about enough of us, he dropped us at Place de la Concorde and from there, we strolled Jardin des Tuileries. We ate lunch at Angelina on the Rue du Rivoli and then walked back to the hotel for a nap. By 1:00, everything had started to glaze over. Our stomachs were hurting because we'd been eating meals at weird times for a whole day and I was really missing the kids. I just needed some sleep. We snoozed for two hours and then woke up to shower (ahhh...) and head to dinner.
Had a fabulous dinner at Chez Dumonet, which was one of Dean's recommendations he'd gotten from a friend. The first thing that happened after we sat down was one of the waiters came and set down a complimentary glass of house white wine, without even asking. Then they brought a tiny pot of soup and an even tinier spoon. PARIS, mes amis!!!!
Had a fabulous dinner at Chez Dumonet, which was one of Dean's recommendations he'd gotten from a friend. The first thing that happened after we sat down was one of the waiters came and set down a complimentary glass of house white wine, without even asking. Then they brought a tiny pot of soup and an even tinier spoon. PARIS, mes amis!!!!
I had beouf bourginon that was unlike any other meat I have ever had in my lifetime. I can't really even apply the term, "chewing," to what I did with it once each bite was in my mouth. It just dissolved. And the rich sauce and mushrooms in its own little cooking pot--c'est magnifique!
Once dinner dishes were cleared, the waiter placed before us two mouse-sized footed shot glasses of Grand Marnier. What a lovely little wakeup call that was. Like sweet fire down my throat.
And the millefeuille, the millefeuille!!! When have a stack of the thinnest layers of buttercrisp pastry ever presented butter to your lips with such flawless delivery? If you weren't sure of the answer, it is "never." And don't think I didn't make a mental note of the vanilla bean flecks in the custard which blanketed those butter sheets of crisp, sweet Frenchness. Thank you, God, for Frenchness.
We walked all the way back to the hotel at 10:30 at night, two miles. Had to take my shoes off at one point like a heathen because my 40 year-old feet were getting sore but LOVED EVERY MINUTE OF IT. Perfect weather, walking, felt very safe, walked on a bridge over the Seine at one point toward the Palais Royal, all lit up, and looked down to the landing by the Seine where we heard a band down there just playing the most lovely jazz--just some friends getting together to make music. Remember that scene in "Funny Farm" when Chevy Chase's character is trying to set up the perfect buying scenario for his home and he plans for the release of a deer into the clearing behind the house just as the couple is entering the crescendo of a buyer's swoonfest? He instructs, "Cue the deer," which has always tickled me and has served to translate into other "perfect" moments in life. This moment was "cue the jazz band by the Seine." Is someone pulling strings here? Too good to be true.
Paris, day one. Feeling jet lagged but oh so so so blessed....
Paris, day one. Feeling jet lagged but oh so so so blessed....
Lesli, I so enjoy reading about your adventure to Italy to start your 40"s. It makes me want to go back and visit the places you visited. If you were writing for a travel magazine it would make me want to book a flight right now! I look forward to your next entry.
ReplyDeleteThank you, Jamie! I am making myself want to go back, just writing it out and remembering! I hope you do get to visit Paris someday!! Thanks for reading.
DeleteLesli, I am just now sitting down for that cup of tea and enjoying your writing. I feel as if I have just been given a breath of fresh air. Beauty realized!
ReplyDelete