France

Solo Trips from 2016: Bilbao and Lyon

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Last week I discussed my experience as a solo (and female) traveler with one of my high school teachers, and I realized that I had failed to recount those experiences here. One of the side effects of living in Europe and the comparative ease of international travel in this region is that weekend trips to other countries feel much the same as weekend trips to other states within the US; as a result, it’s easy for me to forget that they qualify as the type of travel on which this blog focuses!

I posted previously about my first solo trip, to Barcelona just after my 30th birthday in 2015. That trip was a great success and gave me the confidence necessary to embark on further solo trips, at least to places within Europe where I can speak the language and feel the minimum level of comfort necessary for such an undertaking.

Bilbao

I booked the trip to Bilbao in March. After such a great time in Argentina for New Year’s, I was aching for another chance to speak Spanish, and I remembered that the New York Times had recently done one of its “36 Hours” features on Bilbao. I booked on a Monday and left on Friday night.

According to what I’ve read, Bilbao’s reputation is in the process of transitioning from that of an unpleasant industrial city to that of the more modern and chic variety. I had a hard time believing that anyone could have previously disliked Bilbao: I found it charming. It is a relatively small city whose center can be easily traversed on foot in 35 minutes or so. I stayed right in the middle of everything, in a hotel about a 15-minute walk southeast of the Guggenheim.

I arrived late on Friday night and didn’t pressure myself to accomplish anything in particular upon my arrival, especially since it was raining. Nonetheless, feeling that it would not be acceptable to simply go to sleep, I grabbed an umbrella and set off on a reconnaissance mission of sorts. I had a list of pintxos and cocktail bars that I wanted to scope out for the following day, and I walked a big loop to see a few of them and generally get a feel for the geography. Bilbao’s center is organized in a simple grid, so it was easy to find my way around without relying heavily on my phone.

I wasn’t hungry and hadn’t yet summoned enough courage to enter a bar alone, so after my little walking tour I went back to the hotel and took pleasure in watching Spanish Netflix. (The UK Netflix library is awful – those of you in the US should not take for granted the far superior titles available to you!) One of the beautiful things about speaking a foreign language is that you can do something like watch a movie in that language and feel like you’re accomplishing something intellectual. I happened upon a Spanish television show telling the story of Queen Isabella (in my the same style as “The Tudors”) and quickly became engrossed, not only because the story was interesting but also because the dialogue took place entirely in the Spanish that was spoken at that time. I could only watch with Spanish subtitles, which were actually very helpful. I am a big language nerd and was fascinated by the linguistic differences!

In a similar vein, one of the nice things about traveling alone is that you do only what you want to do. Had someone else been with me, I likely wouldn’t have felt comfortable staying in my room and watching Netflix even though, as explained above, for me that was an entirely enjoyable and useful activity. (Sure, it can feel a little sad or weird to be in a hotel room by yourself and without a friend nearby, but sometimes that’s just life!) I think one of the lessons of solo travel is becoming more comfortable in your own skin; somehow being alone in a foreign place feels different from being alone in your home city.

Saturday was a busy day for me; I had a long list of things to see, many of which would involve eating. I had prepared a Google Map of the city with all of my destinations saved, so it was easy to navigate efficiently. I had relied entirely on TripAdvisor, and I think almost everything I ate or drank came from one of the places for which I’d read a recommendation.

One of the lessons I learned, to go back to the idea of feeling comfortable when traveling alone, is that there’s no harm in trying to transplant a bit of your usual routine or something familiar into the new place. For instance, I happened upon Sephora, the French cosmetics store I came to know intimately while living in Paris. We don’t have Sephoras in the UK, so I was justified in going in, but my time in Sephora served the dual purpose of helping me take a break from feeling the foreign-ness of where I was and what I was doing. It was something familiar, except that the product labels were in Spanish! Watching Netflix qualifies as the same type of activity – it wasn’t just like being at home because I had access to an entirely new library of films and shows, but it also wasn’t something that further highlighted the fact that I was in a strange place alone.

My favorite part of Saturday was going to the Corte Inglés, Spain’s principal department store. My hotel was a five minute walk away, and I logged over an hour inside. I delighted in the kitchenwares section, where I found a pan designed specifically for making tortilla española (and in this case, for people like me who have not yet mastered the art of flipping the tortilla halfway through). I also bought two glass champagne coupes (now the vessel of choice for many artisan cocktails), which I mention because a) I’d tried to find ones of exactly the right shape and height all over London, including in antiques shops and b) they cost a mere 3 euros a piece – go figure! I spent probably an additional 40 minutes in just the books department; whenever I am in a bookstore in a Spanish or French-speaking country, I feel so tempted to buy a bunch of books; they appeal to two sides of my nerdy nature: I am a girl who loves to read, and I am a girl who loves foreign languages. Combine the two and… I have to exercise real restraint, especially since my track record of actually reading books purchased in such circumstances is not the best. I managed to withstand the temptation and instead spent the equivalent amount of money on chocolate. 🙂

The highlight of the trip was of course the food. Bilbao is part of the Basque region (more on that later) and is famous for its pintxos (tapas), which are even more ubiquitous there than in the rest of the country. Practically every block had at least one pinxtos bar, where throughout the day and night a colorful medley of pintxos were laid out on the bar, ready to be grabbed and eaten along with a cheap (but delicious) glass of wine.

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My introduction to this experience was the covered market across the river, which like the famous market in Barcelona was a mixture of produce, meat, fish, and cheese stands as well as pintxos establishments. The place was packed on Saturday afternoon, and the only thing harder than finding a place on which to put my food was picking that food in the first place. I got a bit of everything and even took advantage of some free wine tasting. The market was the perfect place to come alone because there were so many people around, and the atmosphere was totally distinct from that of a regular bar or restaurant.

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My culinary experiences later in the day were just as satisfying from a taste perspective but more difficult from a solo traveler perspective. The clientele at the pintxos bars I visited later seemed generally disinclined to engage with me as someone there alone; everyone seemed to be there in large groups or in a couple, so no one was looking for someone else to talk to. (I wonder now how many times I might have failed to notice someone alone in a similar situation.) I was more surprised that the men behind the bar weren’t inclined to chat with me – it’s been my general experience (recognizing that my experience being in similar situations is limited) that men serving drinks are not unwilling to chat with women, and it was obvious that I spoke Spanish, so I was disappointed that no one struck up a conversation with me. The only time in the span of about three hours that I did talk to someone was when standing next to an older couple. I don’t remember how we started talking (something must have triggered them saying something to me), but I spoke with them for about 10 minutes and was grateful for the interaction. I don’t think eating alone is as hard as I had previously thought, but in this case it was made more difficult by the fact that I was always standing at a bar – I wasn’t seated at a table where I could get out a book and tune out what was going on around me.

I did manage to have an extended conversation later in the evening with the owner and chief bartender of a cocktail bar that was surprisingly devoid of patrons, even at 11 p.m. I had walked past the night before and found it similarly empty, but I had read a lot about it and really wanted to try one of their drinks, so this time I was undeterred by the emptiness. The owner asked me what I wanted to have and (this is the mark of all good bartenders) readily invented something for me based on my response. I had finished the whole drink by the time anyone else entered the bar! I still don’t know how a bar was empty on a Saturday night.

I did feel a bit discouraged and lonely after the evening, but I was proud of myself for sticking it out. After all, I could have just eaten a bunch of pintxos in just one bar and then given up and gone back to the hotel at 8 pm; instead, I stayed out for five hours and went to five or six different places, which is worth celebrating even if I didn’t do much talking!

The next day I was more social because I had arranged to go on a date in the hours before my late afternoon flight! I started the day at the Guggenheim museum, which really is a very cool piece of architecture, and there is a lot of thought-provoking art inside (even if I’m still not the most appreciative of modern art). As a side note, going through museums is the best part of traveling alone – you can go at exactly the pace you want, not spending a moment more or less than you want to spend on any particular piece. Anyway, Iñigo came and picked me up at the Guggenheim around 1:00, and that was the last time I spent alone on that trip.

There is a new trend of “Tinder Tourism” – using Tinder as a means of meeting people while traveling. (For anyone who may not know, Tinder is a dating app that uses your location and shows you a seemingly unlimited array of candidates – you can usually see a few pictures, and you find out their names, ages, and any other small amount of information they want to include on their profile.) Mary and I have previously tried using Tinder together (creating one account with pictures of the both of us and indicating that we’re two friends traveling together) without success, but this was my first time using it successfully as a traveler. I changed my profile to have a message in Spanish explaining that I was an American living in London who was visiting Bilbao for the weekend and interested in sharing pintxos with a local. I love using Tinder outside of London because a) the men always seem to be more attractive (in every way) and b) the men are always more responsive. I got messages from a handful of guys but “hit it off” best with Iñigo. I should appease the worriers out there by saying that of course I approached this with some caution, but really, meeting up with a total stranger in a foreign city isn’t radically different from meeting up with a total stranger in the city where you live!

Iñigo turned out to be a very nice guy; we spoke Spanish the whole time, of course, and he told me more about what it’s like to live in the Basque region. As in Barcelona (where Catalan is the official language), all of the street signs in Bilbao are in both Spanish and Basque; according to Iñigo, everyone grows up speaking both interchangeably; both are taught in school. (This is pretty impressive because Basque is a totally different language, unlike Catalan, which isn’t all that different from Spanish.) We didn’t discuss the grittier political issues like the movement for Basque independence from Spain, but we kept our general conversation going pretty easily. (First dates are wonderfully low key when you go into them knowing that they are also, in all likelihood, the only date you’ll ever go on with that person!) Iñigo took me across the river to the old town (part of which I’d explored the day before) and to a crowded pintxo bar just off a big square. It was clearly the place to be on Sunday afternoon; people seemed to be there with their entire family, and everyone from the age of six months to 85 was enjoying the array of food and drinks. We grabbed a bunch of pintxos, including one that was not immediately identifiable to me, and we had a funny couple of minutes as Iñigo tried to convince me I didn’t want to know what it was – it turned out to be blood sausage, which I quickly explained was no big deal and something I was quite fond of eating! After spending a while there, we wandered around for a bit and eventually decided to spend the remaining time I had drinking beer at a place down the street from my hotel. It was a really nice way to spend my last few hours in Bilbao; travel is always enhanced by the interactions you have with locals, and what better way to interact with a local than to go on a date with one?!

In summary: overall I had a very nice time in Bilbao. It was a stress-free and refreshing weekend away that, despite not being quite as socially engaging as my trip to Barcelona, was nonetheless quite enjoyable (the food was so good…) and helped me feel a different type of confidence and self-reliance about traveling alone. I was fortunate to go on a lot of great trips in 2016, but my trips to Bilbao and Lyon are ones that pop into my head especially frequently – perhaps because I shared them with no one but myself.

Lyon

I went to Lyon at the end of the summer, over the UK equivalent of Labor Day weekend. I knew it was likely my last time to get away for a while, and I decided it was high time that I forced myself to go somewhere other than Paris in France. Of course, I still allowed myself some time in Paris – I arrived in Paris on Friday and took the train to Lyon on Sunday morning.

Thanks to my friend Colleen who had studied abroad in Lyon during undergrad, I arrived in the city with some more personalized recommendations, and as I’d done for Bilbao, I plotted everything onto a Google Map. I checked into my Airbnb apartment in the center of town and then did a small loop around the neighborhood before sitting down for lunch. Lyon forced me to get comfortable eating alone – I ate two lunches and two dinners in restaurants, so I really had to face the fact that there was no one sitting across from me. For this first lunch, I was sitting outside, so the passersby provided some distraction.

After lunch, I walked about 40 minutes over to the History Center of the Resistance and Deportation, which is a museum dedicated to France during World War II. Everything is in French, so there was plenty of opportunity for me to practice my reading! I knew very little about occupied France and the Vichy government and even less about the treatment of Jews during the occupation, so this was very educational for me. I ended my visit with a 40-minute mini-documentary about the trial of Klaus Barbie, one of the Nazi officers in France who was ultimately convicted in France of crimes against humanity. Since international criminal law is my passion, I really enjoyed getting to watch the footage of the trial, and the statements from the witness helped to contextualize everything I’d just seen in the exhibits.

I spent the remainder of the afternoon walking around even more and covered a lot of ground. I eventually made my way to the Le Bouchon des Filles, which was my dinner destination. Lyon is famous for its food (even in a country already famous for its food), and bouchons are its claim to fame. They specialize in what might be categorized as “country” fare, made with simple ingredients that often include parts of the animal that many might prefer not to have identified. I had heard from multiple sources that Le Bouchon des Filles was one of the best, so I made sure I was there when they opened in order to get a table. What a spread and what a value: I paid a total of 26 euros for a starter of smoked flounder and chilled beef tenderloin, a beetroot amouse-bouche, a main of andouillette (sausage featuring that meat you don’t want identified), and a dessert of fromage blanc with pear compote and a gooey chocolate cake with salted caramel. It was INCREDIBLE. And although I felt a bit awkward eating in the restaurant alone (it’s definitely harder inside), I was in good company; another woman came in by herself a few minutes after me and was seated near me. (I was tempted to ask her to join me but couldn’t quite work up the nerve – partially because I couldn’t tell if she was French or something else.)

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On Monday, I visited the Musée des Beaux-Arts, which was huge and had plenty of items to help me pass the time – I didn’t see everything. When I was ready for lunch, I returned to a place I’d passed the day before that looked great and specialized in tartines. It had been very crowded on Sunday and was no different on Monday, but I had nothing else to do and was willing to wait. I had a heartwarming conversation with a waiter:

Waiter: Can I help you, mademoiselle?

Me: Do you have a table available for one person? I’m alone.

Waiter: You are not alone, mademoiselle! I am here with you, and I will take care of you!

And sure enough, the kind older man had me seated at a table (sadly, not in his own section) less than five minutes later. (A linguistic note: in French, the word “seule” means both “alone” and “lonely” – at least in Spanish, where those two words are “sola” and “sóla”, you have the accent to differentiate! This is not the first conversation I’ve had where I haven’t been entirely confident that my use of the word “seule” was taken as “alone” rather than “lonely”.)

At any rate, I had a delicious tartine featuring three different kinds of cheese. It was a grilled cheese sandwich the likes of which I could never dream of in the US…

My last meal in Lyon was my most anticipated as I’d managed to get a restaurant at a relatively famous restaurant: Le Sud, one of four restaurants in a chain (each named after a direction – there is also Le Nord, L’Ouest, and L’Est) owned by a famous chef. Fortunately for me, I was able to sit outside, and I ended up not touching the Kindle on which I’d expected to rely. I had a prime view of not only the passersby (and we were just off a huge square, so there were plenty) but also a gorgeous sunset taking place behind a church. The meal itself was lovely; my favorite course was the dessert, for which I allowed myself the indulgence of waffles with a variety of homemade sauces and compotes.

I had more reason to feel isolated in Lyon than in Bilbao. Because I was there on Sunday and Monday, none of the bars I would otherwise have visited were open, so my only nighttime activities were eating dinner and walking around; there wasn’t really an opportunity to meet other people. I did dabble in Tinder again but didn’t get as far as I had in Bilbao. So essentially, I spent about 48 hours not only by myself but also without really talking to anyone except waiters. But that was okay too; as I discussed earlier, one of the tricks of solo travel is to just incorporate something from your usual routine. I usually FaceTime with Mary on Sundays, so that’s what I did on Sunday night there after I returned from my dinner at Le Bouchon des Filles. I also watched a little Netflix (again, the French library is superior!) and did give in to my urge to buy a French book, so I had that to read as well. And despite all of the quiet, I look back on that trip often and fondly.

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2017 is going to be a big year for me (I am about to move back to Paris!), and I’m not sure what sort of travel it will hold – but I am glad that I pushed myself in 2016 to go on these two trips. Both have made me better prepared for future solo travel, and while I think my preference will always be to travel with someone else, I’m no longer afraid to go by myself and can appreciate certain ways in which it can actually be quite nice to travel solo. I hope others reading this will feel similarly comfortable and will have the courage to go it alone! Travel is too important and too enjoyable to avoid simply because of a lack of partner.

Recommendations from 8 Months in Paris

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Hello readers,

You know how the tagline of this blog identifies me as “an aspiring expat”? I’ve finally managed to make that a reality. After spending eight months in Paris, I’m back home in the US for a few months before I move to London in September… for an indefinite duration. (Given the size of my law school loans, I’ll be there for at least three years doing big law, but I have no intention of coming back even if I leave that job.)

I kept a separate blog about my life in Paris (kenfrancais.blogspot.com), but I’d be remiss if I didn’t post something here!

Here’s a list of my favorites. It should be noted that I am in the minority among Parisians in the first four, but trust me, they’re the best!

  • MONUMENT: Parisians are totally jaded about it, but for me, there’s no question: the Eiffel Tower is my favorite thing in Paris. I love it at any time from any vantage point, but the best is watching it sparkle (for the first five minutes of every hour once it’s dark, until 1:00) from Trocadéro. I still haven’t been to the very top, but I took the stairs to the second level.
  • MUSEUM: For me, this is a no-brainer. The best museum in Paris is the Orangerie, located in the Jardin des Tuileries. Monet’s famous water lily paintings are here, and I never tire of seeing them. The museum also has a small but potent collection of other Impressionist works, including pieces by Renoir, Manet, Cezanne, Picasso, and others by Monet. It’s the perfect size and lacks the crowds of the Louvre.
  • PARK: Paris turned me into a garden lover, and I’ve already been to two parks since returning to my hometown five days ago. My favorite in Paris is the Jardin des Tuileries. Yes, it’s busy and filled with tourists in the summer, but it’s filled with beautiful flowers; has views of the Eiffel Tower, the Champs-Élysées, and the Louvre; includes four fountains surrounded by chairs to lounge in; and couldn’t be more centrally located. I could truly stay there all day.
  • SQUARE: It’s a tie between Place de la Concorde (which just has such an amazing view; you get the Eiffel Tower, the Champs-Elysées, the Arc de Triomphe, and the skyscrapers at La Défense) and the Place des Vosges (in the Marais, which is a great little park if you want a smaller place to chill).
  • CHURCH: Sacré Coeur is my favorite on the inside (it’s brighter than its older peers), but Notre Dame can’t be beat on the outside. The view from its south tower is the best in Paris. My favorite time to go to Notre Dame is at night, when the plaza is almost empty – you feel a real sense of peace and history.
  • COCKTAILS: Hands-down the best bar in Paris is Le Calbar at 82 rue de Charenton in the 12th arrondisement, about 10 minutes’ walk east of Bastille. Its three bartenders Thierry, Christophe, and William are personal friends of mine and are truly great people in addition to being legitimate artists when it comes to mixology. My dad, a connoisseur of martinis who was convinced it was impossible to find decent ones in Europe, says that William made him the best martini he’s ever had. Their menu is helpfully organized according to base liquor, but they regularly concoct things for you that aren’t on the menu. Of the regular drinks, my favorite is the 1980’s, which is vodka-based. The best part is that these drinks are significantly cheaper than those on offer at more famous bars, where €13 is the standard price. At Le Calbar, some are as low as €9, and most are under €12. Go and tell them Kendra sent you! Great atmosphere too.
  • CRÊPES: The best I’ve had are at Café Breizh at 109 rue Vieille du Temple in the Marais. I love the complète oignon, which comes with onions marinated in cider, and the simple yet delectable salted caramel for dessert. (Note that others claim that Crêperie Josselin in Montparnasse has the best crêpes, but I’ve been there a few times and was never as impressed.)
  • RESTAURANT: The site of my first ever meal in Paris (back in July 2012) and what is still the best meal of my life, Autour d’un verre at 21 rue de Trevise in the 9th arrondisement remains my favorite restaurant. Everything they make is amazing; I’ve had duck, steak, sea bass, and lamb that all brought me to tears. Try the pears soaked in red wine for dessert, if you can save room! This is also a great deal – a starter, main course, and dessert is only €31.
  • MEAL(S) OF CHOICE: You can definitely find fancy food in Paris, but my go-tos are simple: salade de chèvre chaud (warm goat cheese salad) and croque madame (essentially, grilled cheese with ham inside and a sunny-side-up egg on top). They’re available pretty much anywhere and never fail to satisfy. Oh, and I can’t forget the falafel at L’As du Falafel in the Marais. It’s a classic.
  • WINE: I’m still no expert by any means; I will just say that, on the whole, wines from Bordeaux have been the most consistently pleasing.
  • PICNIC LOCATION: The western tip of Île de la Cité (at the Square du Vert Galant) is the place to see and be seen in the afternoon and evening on a warm and sunny day. Bring a bottle of wine and dangle your feet over the Seine while watching the boats of tourists pass by.
  • METRO LINES AND STATIONS: I lived on line 4 and remain partial to it because it’s fast and goes to so many useful places. That said, the single best stretch of the metro is on line 6 between Bir-Hakeim and Passy because you go over the Seine with an incredible view of the Eiffel Tower. My favorite metro stations (or more accurately, platforms) are: Concorde, line 12 (because it has the Declaration of the Rights of Man written in tile on the walls); Bastille, line 1 (because it has a mural of the history of Paris); Bastille, line 5 (because it marks the original foundations of the Bastille prison on the platform); and Saint-Germain-des-Près (because it projects literary quotes on the walls).

 

Sunday in Paris

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We woke up on Sunday morning about five hours after  going to bed but no less energetic or excited for the day. We were getting ready to leave the hotel when Kelsey got a text from our friend saying “we didn’t know this, but the Tour de France is ending today in Paris”. I had NO idea that the Tour was anywhere near over, so this was an awesome surprise! We immediately reworked our “plans” to include watching the racers come in on the Champs-Élysées.

In the meantime, we took the metro over to the Jewish area of the city, the Marais, home to cool shops and the world’s best falafel. We joined a queue outside and watched eagerly as men behind a window stuffed pitas with delicious falafel, veggies, and sauces. Once we had ours, we walked about ten minutes to the Place des Vosges where we ate on a bench under a tree while watching others sunbathing in the grass and listening to a true Parisian band of strings and accordion who had set up just across the street. We ultimately ended up joining the people on the grass and could easily have stayed there all day. It was the perfect way to spend a Sunday.

However, we had other pressing items on our agenda, like buying éclairs and macarons at a specific bakery several blocks away. On the way we stopped in a bookstore and ended up buying some poster of old French ads, which will go well with my Eiffel Tower paintings. The éclairs were nothing like the ones I’ve seen in the US. I sadly neglected to take a picture of them, but we got them with both dark and white chocolate, and each was delicious. I also bought a variety box of macarons, which despite being squashed in my purse tasted glorious and brought me back to Paris with each bite I took in the days following our return to the Hague. Here’s a poster with all the ones I got:

From the Marais we rode the metro to the Champs-Élysées to see what was going on with the Tour de France. Hundreds of people lined the street, and we walked past official souvenir and snack stands. We soon learned from a friendly British man and his young son that the riders probably wouldn’t arrive for another two hours or so but that the winner was a British guy, which explained why were seeing the Union Jack everywhere we turned. (It’s quite strange to be in Paris but surrounded by British flags.)

We decided to wait out the riders by visiting the last place on Kelsey’s “agenda” for the weekend: the Rodin museum. We bought tickets just for the garden, which is where you can see “the Thinker” and several other statues. The garden is appropriately picturesque; roses of all colors bloomed along the pathways leading to each of the statues. I’ve always loved “the Thinker” and was glad to see it in person:

We got back to the Champs-Élysées with about 25 minutes to go before the riders arrived. We joined the throng alongside the rode, and I got mildly harassed by a sketchy old man who pretend to be oblivious to the fact that he was deliberately pressing up against my back. Still, the energy of the crowd was infectious, and we started cheering loudly with the rest as we watched the riders approaching on the jumbotron.

I don’t think I had fully appreciated before just how fast these men can go on the bikes. We didn’t stay for all of the laps they had to do, but they went past us about eight times, and each time they were a total blur – I got closer to the front each time and was amazed that my camera could capture individual people. I suppose I saw the winner, but I certainly wasn’t aware of it at the time! Here is one of the better shots I got while standing in the crowd.

Alas, it was time for us to head back to our hotel and make our way to the airport. We had time for one final crêpe before getting on the train, and I savored every bite while watching the people stroll by.

My only complaint about Paris is the public transportation. The metro trains are narrow and hold maybe 1/3 of the people that the cars on the DC Metro can hold, plus most of that space is taken up by seats rather than standing room. Even worse is the train station, where Kelsey and I first had trouble getting tickets (the machine just wouldn’t accept our credit cards and wouldn’t take cash) and then followed the misleading signage on a wild goosechase in search of the train to Charles de Gaulle. We ended up on the one we wanted but had to stand most of the way in the vestibule with no air. As a result of all of this, we were significantly worried about missing our flight back. With luck, our gate was quite near the terminal where we arrived, and we were able to breeze through security (where, comfortingly, the men checked US out rather than our bags). We got to our gate just as boarding had begun.

Anyway, that aside: Paris deserves every accolade I’ve heard. It is truly a magical city. I’m so glad that I got a taste of it this summer. I know that I’ll go back and do more of the touristy things (like see the underwhelming Mona Lisa), but I think Paris is more a city of experiencing than doing or seeing. It is a city of tasting, of moving to the beats of the bands on the street, of strolling through the parks and playing with children. I loved everything about it except the transportation – and even then, in a city so beautiful, why spend so much time underground? When I go back, I’ll do more walking.

Saturday in Paris

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Sent into an epic food coma after our incredible dinner on Friday night, Kelsey and I slept well and long. Kelsey woke up before me and woke me up in the best possible way: by calling my name and then pulling back the curtain so I could see the beautiful, perfectly Parisian building across the street… complete with the black iron balconies with flowers on them. I squealed with glee and got ready as quickly as possible.

We stepped out into the 75-degree, sunny morning and walked north towards Sacré Cœur. Along the way we passed several lovely little parks where parents relaxed on benches while their adorable kids played, which seems like the perfect way to pass a Saturday morning at either age. Thinking “I could do this all day” and/or “this is the perfect way to spend time” was a running theme of my time in Paris.

Also en route to Sacré Cœur, we stopped in a boulangerie-pâtisserie to pick up the first snack of the day. Thank God for Kelsey’s decision-making because I was completely overwhelmed by all of the enticing options. We settled for a pain au suisse, which is filled with a sort of cream and little pieces of chocolate. It was, obviously, delicious.

We also popped into a famous chocolate and sweets shop where I walked around open-mouthed gazing at the piles of macarons, cookies, chocolates, and other things, all surrounded by brightly colored boxes.

There were also numerous souvenir shops offering postcards of Paris old and new, scarves, bags, t-shirts, tourist guides, etc. I saw much that I wanted to buy but knew I had to wait!

Finally we arrived at the base of the hill on which Sacré Cœur sits in its splendor. From the top, you can see the whole city, including the Eiffel Tower (which made me scream). We joined the stream of tourists queuing to go inside, passed the scrutiny for appropriate dress, and entered the grand basilica. A good number of people were actually watching the Mass that was going on while we walked the loop around the interior. I paid 2 euros to light a candle for my Croatian grandfather (as I usually try to do when in churches abroad) and realized how much I miss just being in big churches like this.


After Sacré Cœur we walked to the nearby square where a bunch of artists had set up to sell their paintings (and in the case of many, paint while selling). Move over Eastern Market; you’ve got nothing on this place! I ended up buying two small paintings of the Eiffel Tower. Both purchases followed prolonged conversations, in French, with the artists, one of whom asked if I was an artist because apparently I asked arty questions. (Cool! And I was very pleased at how quickly my French returned here – I managed to make comments about background color and technique!)

We descended the hill and stopped along the way to pick up another snack, this time in the form of a rosemary and honey milkshake. (it’s a very interesting flavor combination!) we popped into a few cute shops on our way back to the main street and then walked several blocks to find the Moulin Rouge, which is indeed a red mill amidst a sea of sex shops. Otherwise, it’s pretty underwhelming without Ewan McGregor and Nicole Kidman singing about love. I also ate my first crêpe in this area; we split one with ham and cheese that immediately put sandwiches made with bread to shame.


We hopped onto the metro to meet up with two other ICTY interns in the Tuileries, a big park near the Louvre and the Champs-Élysées. People of all nationalities were strolling through the park, sitting around some of its grand fountains (which I recognized from a video in some long-ago French class), or lounging in reclining chairs in the shade of the trees.

 

 

After meeting up with the girls, we walked to see the Louvre and its pyramid before turning to walk past shops of fashion, low and high, on our way to Angelina, a place famous for its hot chocolate. It did not disappoint – the four of us ordered enough for only two, but the richness of the drink – which was practically just melted chocolate to which we added whipped cream – more than satisfied each of us. We also ate some lovely pastries. (just to review what I’d eaten up to this point in the afternoon: pain au Suisse, rosemary and honey milkshake, ham and cheese crêpe, hot chocolate, brioche, and apple turnover. Win.)


From Angelina’s, three of us walked back towards the Tuileries to view Monet’s amazing water lily murals at the Musée de l’Orangerie.  The eight huge paintings are split across two ovular rooms and mostly cover the walls of both. We spent some time sitting on the benches in the center just gazing at the scenes and Monet’s incredibly innovative and imaginative use of color.

Kelsey’s friend Vincent met us at the museum and led us down the Champs-Élysées (past the newly opened Abercrombie and Fitch where some two hundred people had queued to shop inside) to the Arc de Triomphe and then to an amazing view of the Eiffel Tower. We sat on a hill overlooking it and could have sat there just looking at it forever! Instead, we opted for a quick return to our hotel to freshen up and drop off our purchases before meeting up with Vincent and some of his friends for wine and cheese just off the Pont Neuf on the banks of the Seine.


This was pretty much the ultimate French activity – we sat on the wall of this island with a bunch of other Parisians our age, and all of us had similar arrays of wine, bread, cheese, and sausage. I quickly came to love Vincent and his friends, who spoke perfect English but were very willing to listen to me in French. I explained (in French) that I am a bit self-conscious about speaking French now because I think I have a Spanish accent. They said “yes you do, but it’s cute!” and at the end of the day, I’d much rather have a Spanish accent than an American one while speaking another language!


After pushing back our dinner reservations three times, we finally bid adieu to the rest of the group and set off a a brisk pace with Vincent to a restaurant about half an hour’s walk away. They served us the drink version of an amuse-bouche, which was white wine with some strawberry liqueur. Vincent and the waitress consulted about the wine and menu (both of which were again presented to us on large chalk boards), and we ended up with another delicious meal: red wine, mozzarella and tomato, salad with foie gras, pork with figs, and monkfish.

 

 

Kelsey and I passed the remainder of the evening and a good part of the very early morning with Vincent and his friend Pierre, who took us to multiple bars and showed us a very, very good time. 🙂

Friday night in Paris: the best meal of my life

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After navigating our way from Charles de Gaulle into the city, Kelsey and I stepped off the metro onto a street saturated with delicious smells coming from every restaurant. I’ve truly never smelled so many different and wonderful things at the same time. I knew before taking a bite that the stories about French food were true and suddenly understood the significance of Julia Child’s efforts to bring French cooking back to America.

Our hotel, located about a 15-minute walk south of Montmartre, sat on a quiet little private street (without cars). Our room, which was literally just off the main entrance, boasted throw pillows with sequins on them, which I took to be yet another sign of an awesome 48 hours ahead. Fancy.

After quickly freshening off, we decided to turn left coming out of the hotel and walk down the first street on the right. We passed a number of restaurants, but none of them felt quite right. About two blocks down we found a winner: Autour d’un Verre, 21 rue de Trévise, 75009 Paris. Its warm lighting, small dining room, and chic neighborhood feel pulled us both in immediately.

We sat down next to a couple around our age who were clearly on an intimate date, and soon a waiter brought over the menu. I do literally mean THE menu – it was just a chalkboard!

We could read most of it but weren’t entirely sure what everything was, plus we needed some help with wine recommendations. (I mean, when you look at this, you’ll see why we had no idea:)

Fortunately, the waiter/cook came back and was more than happy to give us a recommendation. “We’ll just open a bottle, and if you don’t like it, we’ll try another one.” We assumed this meant he’d probably choose one of the 60 euro bottles, but instead the one he chose – which was a delicious, spicy Spanish red – was at the lower end of the scale!

 

We also took the waiter’s food recommendations (which he gave in perfect English because he knew it was easier for us, and with no attitude whatsoever). The menu was prix-fixe and included an entrée (aka appetizer) and main plate. We got a total of four dishes.

Entrée 1: Bone Marrow

Neither of us had eaten this before, but we figured we couldn’t pass up the opportunity. Served in the bone and soaked in butter and garlic, the marrow was cooked to melt-in-your-mouth perfection, and every bite was a joy.

 

Entrée 2: Burrata

Burrata was not something with which I was previously familiar despite the fact that mozzarella is one of my all-time favorite foods. Burrata is essentially fresh mozzarella except that the inside also contains cream, so it’s got a much softer texture on the inside. Ours came with stunningly delicious tomatoes, olive oil, and basil.

 

Main Plate 1: Rare Duck Breast

You pretty much can’t ever go wrong with duck, and this was no exception. Tender, moist, and very pink, this duck, served with mashed potatoes and spinach, gives Peking Duck a run for its money.

 

Main Plate 2: Rare Steak

Sometimes in life, you just need a good steak, and I’m not nearly as squeamish about bloody steak as I am about any other type of rare meat. I’m not sure that this was better than what I once had at Ruth’s Chris, but it was out-of-this-world tender and, like everything else, oozing butter, garlic, and other simple pleasures. It is also worth showing the plate after we ate.

Dessert: Banana Chocolate Cheesecake

Now, after these previous four dishes, we knew it was both essential and dangerous to order dessert. Essential because when food is THIS good, you take advantage of every opportunity, but dangerous because when food is THIS good, you’re afraid the last course will let you down (as so often seems to happen on Top Chef finales when they make the contestants do a dessert). We once again took the recommendation of our waiter and ended up with an absolutely amazing piece of cake. “Cheesecake” seems to be the wrong translation. It was almost more like a mousse that tasted like banana bread topped with melted and hardened chocolate. It did not let us down, but this picture doesn’t do it justice.

 

At times throughout this meal, Kelsey and I said things like “this is a religious experience” and “my heart is actually beating faster because I am in love with this food”. We felt so full of happiness after dinner that we just couldn’t stop smiling… until of course we got back to the room, suddenly felt the full effect of all the wine and food, and fell asleep almost instantly. 🙂

 

 

 

Paris: An Introduction

/ kw1385 / Leave a comment

Paris. How does anyone find sufficient words to describe it? Never has a place made me feel so adjective deficient.

If anything, I’d been set up to be disappointed rather than impressed by Paris. I spent six years in French classes reading and learning about Paris, which, now that it’s been 14 years since I first started learning French, was a perfect recipe for inflated expectations. Having been to other wonderful cities (see the sidebar listing my favorites), I know what great cities look and feel like. How could I have known that Paris stands in an entirely new class of perfection?

Let’s also not forget how much Americans like to hate the French, which I always thought was due at least in part to the sense that they don’t like us much either. Aren’t the French, and especially the Parisians, famous for being snobby and superior? I’ve heard countless times that Paris is the only place where the locals will judge rather than thank you for speaking their language if you speak it poorly.

I also think that as far as my own perspective is concerned, when I chose to major in Hispanic Studies rather than French, I made a conscious decision to shift my allegiance from francophone to Spanish-speaking countries. That’s influenced everything from travel priorities to which football team I support during international tournaments. For some reason I’ve been thinking that French and Spanish are almost mutually exclusive… I could only truly love one or the other.

No longer! After 48 hours in Paris, I’m now on a mission to reacquaint myself with French and the people who speak it. Paris lived up to all of the positive hype and absolutely refuted all of the negative stereotypes. It may be cliché, but Paris is now my favorite city. I will struggle in the posts that follow to do it justice.