life in paris

If you want to be a writer (whatever that means), you’re supposed to write every day. Every. Day. Every day? Like even during vacations? I think so. And yet I didn’t, not every day, not on my vacation. I’m not completely sure why, but I’d like to blame it on the absence of my beloved Mac.

Writing on my husband’s Mac didn’t feel right. The small journal decorated with a bold vintage-modern design, it didn’t feel right either. Or maybe it was the reminder that my hand writing is not very pretty and I like things to be pretty. Like the letters of the Courier font, which remind me of my mother’s typewriter that I used as a child to create poetry.

Obviously, if I’d been more diligent, I would have pulled out my journal, or my husband’s computer, every day rather than only a handful of times across the 16 days we were traveling.

I don’t regret it. Because of the way I feel today. Peaceful. Content. Inspired. Even if it means I am slightly frustrated with the mere 24 hours it takes the moon to move around the earth. If only there was more time in the day. If only I wasn’t jet-lagged. There’s so much to do. From mothering to cleaning to laundering to writing to blogging to editing to making teas to cooking to loving…

In Paris, I didn’t feel like this. In Paris, there was absolutely nothing I had to do but love on my baby girl and my sweet husband. Yes, at times, I was insanely frustrated with both of them. Yes, we fought. But we also hugged and kissed and held hands. We spent every sleeping and waking moment together, and it was sweet.

We didn’t worry about seeing many tourist attractions, James and I had both seen most of them in our pasts. We didn’t worry about seeing the big things. Instead, we looked for the little things. The prettiest gardens. The best croissant. The richest coffee. The lightest bread. The tastiest chocolatier and sweetest parfumerie and coolest concept store.

_DSC0180

_DSC0350

_DSC0218

We were inspired. By the French art of tea. By the food. By the romantic language. By the apartment where we stayed. By the boutiques we discovered. By the architecture and the history and the greatness of the city.

_DSC0277

_DSC0453

_DSC0444

_DSC0356

We continued to walk a lot, avoiding the metro as much as possible. Some evenings, we could barely make it up the four flights of stairs to our apartment, our bodies yearning to be horizontal and our feet screaming to be propped up.

Photobucket

_DSC0287

It was because of all this walking that we saw Paris the way the Parisians do. The cobblestone streets not marked on the map, inhaling the scent of freshly baked bread, cigarette smoke and espresso wafting from sidewalk cafes. Tucking into a brasserie where we were the only foreigners, I practiced my French while Giovanna flirted with anyone who would give her a chance.

Photobucket

To burn off energy collected from sitting in the stroller for so many hours, we took Giovanna to run loose in the parks.

_DSC0408

_DSC0409

_DSC0417

_DSC0199

_DSC0182

_DSC0192

We climbed the hill to Sacre Coeur.

_DSC0293

_DSC0303

_DSC0319

_DSC0341

_DSC0318

We spent time with our friends from Amsterdam, who came down to spend two days in Paris with us.

_DSC0325

_DSC0368

A love of all things French kept us fascinated by every person, every boulangerie, every grand building hiding around unsuspecting corners.

_DSC0467

Photobucket

Photobucket

Instead of returning to the Louvre, we looked at galleries, enjoying the work of undiscovered artists. We relished in anonymity over fame, admiring the Eiffel Tower from afar.

_DSC0592

_DSC0601

_DSC0611

And each other from up close.

_DSC0336

_DSC0607

_DSC0321

_DSC0399

Advertisements

3 thoughts on “life in paris

  1. I’ve heard that about writers, too. But, I write in my head daily. Constantly, to be honest. I need to let the story develop in my head before it can come out of my finger tips. Which is why I am an awful commenter. Usually, I think about what I really wanted to say days after the person posted. Instead of waiting, I often leave a crappy comment that could be mistaken for SPAM. Unintentionally, of course, but still. I’d rather leave an uninspired comment than none at all.

    Your holiday seems like it was an amazing time & I can’t wait to read more about it!

    Like

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s