J'adore Paris, je déteste la pluie

Champs Elysees.
see all photos »

Before the TGV even breaches the outskirts, you're wondering about the magic of this most famous of western european cities. Je t'aime is meant to be whispered in Paris and the sidewalks are meant to be traversed in pairs. Hotels are ostensibly set up for two. Hence, there wasn't much of a hostel community and our few days made it impossible to really feel at home. But I think I'd love Paris all the same if we'd lingered.

Sorbonne in the left bank.
see all photos »

The extra time at the Swiss chalet was certainly worth it, but that meant starting Paris on a rainy day and rushing through the left bank neighborhoods where jazz incubated cocoonlike, rushing to gaze a bit as the bells of Notre Dame clanged loudly but not to venture in and up the tower, rushing through the Musée d'Orsay on a schedule and skipping the Louvre altogether (DaVinci Code fans, please find it in your hearts to forgive), devouring crépes and cappuccino, croissants and creme brulée, and rushing to find the best tea that absolutely cannot be bought on the internet. And spending 35 euros at the Mariage Freres before even having a bite for breakfast.

In an alternate, more leisurely version of this trip I would have waited out the cloudbursts sipping tea and glancing up every now and then from a novel to gaze out those glass windows.

Pere Lachaise has an interesting variety of tomb decorations.
see all photos »

I absolutely loved the cafés that spilled onto the sidewalks of every rue and avenue, and in an alternate, more leisurely version of this trip I would have waited out the cloudbursts sipping tea and glancing up every now and then from a novel to gaze out those glass windows. The sights were certainly beautiful, too; Alberto and I led our own Seine tour, walking along the quays toward every tourist's 10 o'clock destination: the sparkling Tour Eiffel. We glimpsed the Phipps-like Petit Palais with its golden riders of Pegasus, the stately old buildings that line the Quays, and took some time to pass over the old military lawn (timed to a bit of drizzle to go with it).

see all photos »

And forget about snobbery or haute couture. Down to earth, quirky, and kind was more like it; we blasted stereotypes in our rambling, disorganized tour-nado (all except the Musée de Vins - they denied us our complimentary taste! Oh well, now I can make my own champagne or Grand Marnier if I really need to). Rambling the streets near Rambuteau after buying train tickets at Centre Pompidou, the streets teemed with fresh fruit markets, disco-themed coiffeur stylists, wine shops, and other visual treats. Shaggy dudes in Metro passageways sang famliar tunes like a heavily-accented version of Stevie Wonder into karaoke machines or to swaying accordion melodies. We met the wavy-coiffed Jim Morrison expert at the rocker's grave while wandering Père Lachaise under misty, overcast skies on the early morning of our departure. A tip: buy the map before you go in! Oscar Wilde was pretty hard to miss, though -- the greasy kisses are a hint; Chopin is tastefully decked out in roses.

Next time - and there will be a next time - I will relax, because after all, the summer sun is long and dinner isn't until 20.00. I will call it my promenade insouciante, because that's a leisurely day by most accounts.

Caitlin