Day 7: Eclairs, Sweet French Jonathan and the Lady Who Knew David Lebovitz

It's been a little hazy, weather-wise, for Group 1's stay in Paris.  So Beth prayed that God would please help it be sunny for their last day in Paris...and it was!!  When the sun is out, I don't care where you are, everything looks different.  

Colleen and Danna headed out on a mission to conquer some museums and sights on their last day in Paris and Beth and I headed toward Poilâne for le petit déjeuner.

Beth took this picture of me riding my bike to Poilâne.  I love it because it makes me remember....

 "Le petit déjeuner" is the French phrase for breakfast and usually means juice, tea or coffee, toasted bread with jam and a croissant.  This is a perfect little French breakfast.  We stirred our hot drinks with our signature Poilâne baked cookie spoons, we spread the most beautiful jams and honey on our croissants, the juice was freshly squeezed...and we left having not eaten too much, but having taken the time to slowly ease into our day with nourishment.  I can already tell that le petit déjeuner is one thing that I will miss greatly once I return home.  After reverting back to my banana and granola bar in the car routine, I anticipate feelings of suffering.

This little friend belonged to a lady whom we presumed to be the owner or manager of the cafe.  He skipped around like he owned the placed.  

Again, Beth took a picture of me--this time at breakfast--and I love remembering this moment.  I am just sad we do not have one of the two of us!!

Le petit déjeuner.  Can you see the small glass cups in the background?  One with chunks of finest butter, one with smooth raspberry jam and one with the most gorgeous miel (honey).

Do you love honey like I do?  I hated to waste it so I had a few not-so-little spoonfuls.  It was the only responsible thing to do {said Pooh}.

The rest of the day was a mix of museums and sights--first was Musée d'Orsay with Beth, which was especially sweet because God has gifted her as an amazing artist and it was a unique experience to get to watch the passions in her come to life as she came face-to-canvas with the works of some of the masters who inspire her.  If you ever have the chance to go to an art museum with a painter, you should!  Then at Musée l'Orangerie, we viewed Monet's Water Lilies in the two oval rooms which Monet himself helped to design to specifically showcase these paintings.  Beth was in awe...which only increased my awareness of the giftedness of Monet and his use of color and light.

Musée l'Orangerie, photo courtesy of Flickr

 We even met a wonderful lady, Sharalyn, while we were in line and ended up talking to her for thirty minutes while viewing the paintings.  Sharalyn is American and the three of us just instantly connected and easily talked together.  What a gift to meet a "stranger" in the middle of a foreign city--when you are surrounded by so many you cannot carry on a 2-minute conversation with and then God puts someone in your path whom you can hardly *stop* talking to and whom you feel you were just meant to know....  A fesitvus serendipitous.  Is that a phrase?  It is now.  

Beth and I left Musée l'Orangerie and biked over to meet Colleen and Danna at Notre Dame.  We unknowingly mapped our route for WALKING directions and then tried to use those directions for biking.  Which left us biking the wrong way on sidewalks through lots of people who most assuredly cussed us repeatedly as we 'expertly' maneuvered around them with our semi-cat-like reflexes and constant use of our bike bells.  My bike bell surely never saw an ounce of action its entire life compared to that 20 minutes on the way to Notre Dame with Lesli at the wheel.  Mercy.  By the way, there is a certain type of person whose brain does not register the sound of a bike bell, even when it is right behind them.  Woe to that person.  And move the heck OVER.

Notre Dame.  I just wanted all those hoards of people to go away and leave me alone in there so I could feel the magnitude of 850 years, welcoming centuries of men and women of faith and that massive, majestic building.  I wanted to channel what it would've been like to attend a church service here as a commoner in the 14th century...instead of as a tourist in the year 2013.  I used my whole imagination.

I think part of the gift of a building like Notre Dame which is so encompassing and swallowing is that you feel so very small in it.  And aren't we all just so very small?  Sometimes I think we get confused and believe we are larger than we really are--because while we are intricately and beautifully made by our Creator, we are actually small.  And I always exhale deeply when I am reminded of that.... 

With Notre Dame completed, Beth and Danna set off for other things while Colleen and I decided to go grab a bite to eat together.  We settled on Ladurée and were trying to decide what method of transport to use to get there since it was less than a mile away.  We could've walked but if memory serves, someone (Colleen?) had an injury/blister/ailment.  

We looked up to see a line of strong young men operating rickshaws.  Obviously, we chose the one who looked the most French.  His name was Jonathan and he was wearing a beret.

Sweet French Jonathan spoke broken English and did not understand that we only wanted to go a mile down the road to get our eclair hookup and some tea--that we merely viewed him as an adorable, curly-haired, human-powered taxi.  Maybe if we had simply read the sign on his rickshaw, this could've saved us some awkwardness.  It plainly says, "Cyclotour."  Sweet French Jonathan took us the scenic route and began commenting on the years buildings were built, etc.  With every un-useful fact given, it started to seem like we might never get our eclairs and I don't know about Colleen, but my tension meter was rising.  We eventually realized he was offering a tour guide service in addition to his transport service and only after we'd been carted around for 15 minutes did we think to inquire about the cost for such an adventure.  Oops!  We communicated about this and were finally deposited at Ladurée.  Thank you for all that constant pedaling, Sweet French Jonathan.

There he goes!  Au revoir, Jonathan.

Ladurée was overpriced and small (at the Rue Bonaparte location), and we loved every minute of it.

Great service, dining finery, c'est merveilleux.  It was great to get to spend some one-on-one time with Colleen and do something so girly together, which is one of my favorite ways to spend time with Colleen.  She comes alive in the most feminine of settings and activities.  Colleen is beautiful and filled with grace which flows only out of the Spirit of God and the gift of salvation in Christ which lives in her--I am constantly in awe because so often, I feel I am deficient in an abundance of grace....

A birds-eye view of things at our table.  Pieces, papers, pastels, plates, patina, pastries:  c'est parfait!

I can't remember what they called this, but it was basically an eclair in a different form.  Choux pastry, chocolate icing and creamy custard inside.  Can't fail.  

Our cozy little corner!  Take me back!

How things looked from Colleen's side of the table with her beautiful vanilla eclair, glistening in all its simplistic French glory.  

We lingered quite a while in our Ladurée decadence and suddenly realized we were tight on time to get ready for dinner.  We taxied back to the apartment to primp.  Tonight's dinner reservation was at Verjus, a current hotspot that serves a tasting menu.  Somehow I convinced (read: forced) the three very jet-lagged girls from Group 2, who had arrived a day early that morning, to join us and we had a fabulous meal.  Bienvenue, Shannon, Mary Beth and Jennifer!  

Cannot say enough lovely things about this meal at Verjus--artistry by way of food.  And I loved having the seven of us together!!  My special people who came all this way!  

We even sat next to two very nice American ladies who were apparently foodies and shared restaurant experiences with us--what to miss or not miss.  One of the ladies has lived in Paris for 10 years and is connected to the restaurant industry.  She also mentioned, after it came up in our foodie talk convo, that she knows David Lebovitz.  This may be as close to a celebrity as we get on this trip.

 So I took her picture.  Naturally.  She tried not to look afraid.  

David Lebovitz is an American author/foodie/recipe writer/blogger/critic who lives in Paris and loves talking about food in Paris.  Basically, he was our Paris food leader and several of us on the trip would not be ashamed to say that we consider ourselves his groupies.  Also must say the Verjus wine bar (downstairs) was quite the place to be.  Stone walls, lovely lighting, small place packed with people enjoying one another.  Highly recommend.

With the Group 2 early arrivals feeling supremely exhausted from jet lag, they decided to head back to meet the Sandman as the Group 1 gals headed out for one last night together.

Somehow, we ended up on a lifeless street corner and flagging down a taxi proved to be near impossible.  We changed our positioning a couple of times and finally, after a slight eternity, one headed our way.  I walked intently toward it as it neared, my right arm and hand pointed diagonally skyward.  As it came almost close enough for me to touch it, I approached the passenger door to speak to the driver and tell him where we needed to go WHEN OUT OF THE BLUE, here came a cheeky monkey of a girl in her 20s, darting nearly under my arm to put herself between the car and me.  

She was spouting in French to the driver and all I could do was summon the full force of my inner Southern diva and shout, "Excuse me!  Excuse me!!"  I looked at the French cheeky monkey and back to the driver and back to the FCM and back to the driver.  I added with gusto, "We have been standing here FOREVER waiting for a taxi and this girl just ran up!!"  And then for emphasis, one more "Excuse me!!"  As if he could understand me which, maybe he could, but who knows?  In the end, it was up to the driver to choose who he would transport and I am relieved to say he chose this Southern diva and her ladyfriends and the French cheeky monkey retreated to her people in defeat.  Grace and peace, FCM.  Go forth and steal no taxis.    

The evening ended with the four of us in front of the Eiffel Tower at midnight in Paris with thousands of twinkling lights all over the tower and everyone giddy as schoolgirls, snapping pictures, taking video and embracing our identities as unashamed tourists.  You just cannot fight the magic in a moment like that.  City of Light, you win!!

It's far from the best quality of a photo, but sometimes a professional photographer just cannot be found in the moment.  Even so, I'll never forget this special moment with these three ladies!!

Nighttime at Maison 1400.  I think Danna took this picture and I love how it shows the peace and quiet of the little street outside our apartment--a street which no taxi driver in the whole of Paris ever had heard of, but nonetheless, a peaceful place.  

And a bonus:  face-timing with Dean and Dottie in the wee hours.  Dottie didn't have a whole lot to say and was generally confused during our face-time chat.  

Paris is six hours ahead of Knoxville so if we usually got back after midnight from dinner, it was about 6-7:00 p.m. back home, which was a good time to call and catch people home and awake.  As a result, by the time I talked to my dearly missed family, got ready for bed and then attempted to journal or look through pictures from the day, much less check email or social media, it most often put me to bed around 1:30-2:00 a.m.  Not the best pattern in which to emerge while on vacation, but ah well--it's a vacation and after a week in Paris, I had vacated with my whole body, mind and soul...and was loving every second of it.

The rest of Group 2 would have already boarded their plane by now and would arrive tomorrow.  Full house ahead!  Sweet Parisian dreams, Group 1!!