The Beginnings of a Parisian Spring

After four weeks of nearly freezing to death whenever I stepped outside, I can finally breathe a sigh of relief. The weather in Paris has finally turned— the sun is shining, spring buds are beginning to open, and what seems like all of Paris is out to enjoy it.  Sidewalk cafés are mobbed, and parks are buzzing with children chasing pigeons, Parisians of all sorts sprawled across park benches, and old men playing pétanque— a wildly popular French outdoor game in which players throw metal boules as close as possible to a smaller, wooden ball serving as a target.

Although not quite up for joining the twenty-odd pétanque players or so—perhaps in another thirty years, or maybe after I’ve gotten my hands on one of those magnificent magnetic chains they use to pick up their boules at the end of a round without having to bend over, last week I also decided to get into the Parisian spring spirit of things.  After waking up early that Friday morning and fortifying myself with my daily morning bowl of coffee and some toast and jam, I walked down the five flights of stairs from my host family’s apartment, a task quite a bit more pleasant than my upward treks, and headed out into the morning bustle of the street, where grocers unloaded the day’s shipments across the sidewalk, middle-aged men and women walked briskly to work, and several homeless men clustered together chatting and sharing cigarettes. I walked past, enjoying the morning sun and the scattered chatter, and made my way to the metro. I had things to do—a whole afternoon to seize, and I didn’t want to waste any time.

First stop on my morning list: La Poilâne, a bakery in the 6^th arrondissement that my mom had visited – and loved— while in culinary school in Paris following her graduation from college.

Bread in hand, I wandered down rue du Cherche-Midi , nibbling on one of the oversized slices. I didn’t know exactly where I was, and although I could have pulled out my copy of the indispensible Paris Pratique , I decided to wander and see what turned up. Paris is, as my host family likes to remind me, incredibly dense, especially in comparison with the urban sprawl of Kansas City, my home town.  I knew that I was bound to come across something I recognized at one point, and, after about fifteen minutes of ambling around, I stumbled across a small, secluded garden near the metro stop Sevres-Babylone, where I decided to settle in for a bit with a book for class.

Although the pictures I took make it appear as if I had the park to myself, I soon had company in addition to the flock of pigeons that  swarmed around me after I found my bench. (Perhaps they could sense the presence of La Poilâne bread.) Several families walked around with their children, who were  on winter vacation at the time, and several businesswomen and men unwrapped sandwiches and unfolded newspapers on nearby benches. Nearly at the end of Formation, the book I was reading for class, I lingered a bit past my normal lunchtime, but when I’d finished, I was starving, and the presence of the crusty sandwiches my park bench neighbors were devouring didn’t help.

What was I to do, then, but to finish off my morning and afternoon of wandering with a quintessentially-French round of cheese, paired with leftover bread from the morning’s purchase?

It was such a nice way to finish off a week that had been packed with obligations and class, and it was also a nice way to relax and gather my thoughts before heading off for an incredible trip to Istanbul with a friend from my study abroad program over our university winter break. I’m sure I’ll have more on my trip to Turkey in future posts, but for now, here’s a photo I took in the Blue Mosque just before my camera died. (Luckily, my friend has very graciously offered to share all of the stunning photos she took, so I won’t be without photographic evidence of the Turkish street cats, the delicious kumpir (stuffed baked potatoes), and the mosques, palaces, and mosaics we saw in just four and a half days.)

À bientôt!