Ici C’est Paris

I’ve yet to feel more at home in a city than Paris. Having been born and raised in New York City, Paris felt to me just like New York, but in another language. Everything felt just as accessible. And while I know historically it is New York that has been modeled with elements of Paris in mind, contextually I felt like it was the reverse, as though I’d been transported to a city that’s taken so much of what I love about New York and simplified it.

Paris had been somewhere I wanted to visit since sixth grade. The allure of the french language, fashion and art had always intrigued me. Most of my desire to visit France had been conjured up from the images I’d gathered in television, movies and interviews from Jazz musicians that’d described France as far more progressive and less racist than America. Miles Davis, Quincy Jones, and former Black G.I.’s seemed to always describe Paris with a sort of reverence that warmed me. For my wife, the Fashion dining and nightlife had her attention. It had easily made our bucket list, so when the right price and time presented itself we couldn’t help, but to go. Shortly after getting married, but sometime before our honeymoon, we set-off for an extended weekend in Paris.

We landed on a Friday morning in November, 2018 to a near perfect fall day. The casual car enthusiast in me enjoyed our ride from airport to hotel in a Mercedes. Upon arrival and check-in at the Hotel Le Meridien Etoile (Central Paris), we unpacked, freshened up and walked the perimeter before taking in a late lunch and picking up our “Paris Pass”. We took a lay of the land in all that was near, using the opportunity to see the Arc’ de Triumph and glimpse the Champs Elysee’. In middle school I took French and while I hadn’t passed the proficiency exam, I’d gained a utilitarian use of the language, so it was fun for me to feel like I was putting the language to use in such an immersive way. When I travel, I prefer to use as little English as possible. While in many other countries I’ve been to, English seemed the preferred language of compromise. However, in Paris, it felt welcomed to lead with French and I enjoyed this. Be it stubbornness on the part of the French or not. It is commonly stated that the French are rude, but this was not our experience at all. Instead I found the French to be as polite, yet direct, as a New Yorker. They’ll help you locate something or aid in correcting a pronunciation, but they too have places to go and people to see that day, but I digress from this point.

While the sun set, we headed out for The Louis Vuitton Foundation museum, which was showcasing works of Basquiat and Egon Schiele. This was a dream come true for me. Basquiat’s work had always reminded me of my cousin Anthony’s artwork growing up, simple in nature, yet complex to recreate because every element comes from a deep intricate place with features that highlight that. The museum’s collection was very comprehensive. The only piece of art more beautiful in the museum was my wife (shameless cheesy husband compliment). After wandering the museum for a couple hours and taking pictures, we decided it was time to grab dinner. Using Uber to call a car, we hopped into a Peugot, which the casual car enthusiast in me was excited for since they can’t be found stateside. During our ride, we asked the driver if there are any eateries he recommended. After exclaiming how he didn’t care for french food due to the small portion sizes, he suggested a mediterranean seafood place (Pedra Alta) and offered to take us there at no extra charge for the change in route. When we pulled up there was a line outside (that would amass while we were inside dining), but there were plenty of satisfied faces inside, of which we would quickly join. Wanting to order everything on the menu, we settled on a delicious seafood tower and frites, which included shrimp, two lobster tails, and some prawns in a wine sauce. Day one was in the books.

Friday was our only sunny day, but I wasn’t disappointed at all by this. On Saturday the light rain, leaf falling, Autumn day you see on screen and in magazines settled in. The humidity was a smidge higher than I like, but that aside it was the perfect day for visiting the Palace of Versailles. My wife arranged breakfast for us at the famous Angelina Rivoli Restaurant (226 rue de Rivoli 75001, Paris). Fortunately we were able to avoid the long wait because my wife had made reservations some time in advance. Thank God for my wife’s organization and planning. The wait and line to get in were long. Also, I came to totally understand our prior evening’s uber driver’s commentary on traditional french food portions. Yes, the portions at Angelina’s were minimal by American standards. However, I can’t stress this enough, there was enough flavor in every bite for three portions. Every salivating morsel left me satisfied, not to mention the most deliciously luxurious hot chocolate I’ve ever had. To this day I’ve not ordered a hot chocolate from Dunkin Donuts or such because I know it’d pale in comparison and I don’t even consider boxed hot chocolate (I just refuse to disappoint myself). From breakfast, we caught the train to Versailles.

For the evening, my wife had scheduled us to have dinner at Pink Mamma (20bis Rue de Douai, 75009 Paris, France), she’d seen posts about it on instagram and insisted we eat there. Unfortunately, on that evening, we arrived too late to make it there in time to be sat for dinner. The line was long and if you’re not on it early you can forget about getting in. Duly noted. We wandered the area for awhile before stumbling into the nearby Pigalle Basketball store (17 Rue Duperré, 75009 Paris, France) I’d wanted to see, along with its famed basketball court across the street, which I consciously decided not to take pictures of because a night shot just wouldn’t do it justice. We eventually settled for dinner at a cool red light lit Bistro. We talked, laughed, and flirted. Yes, we’re married, but part of the fun in the travel experience for us is all the conversation it leads to and passion it sparks. We don’t experience exhibits and attractions the same. We see something different in these locations and each other everytime we travel. While the Bistro wasn’t Pink Mamma, it was the perfect Parisian energy we’d been looking for. It gave our trip that “Je ne sais quoi” (Yes, I waited my WHOLE LIFE to put that in this blog).

Sunday, November 11, 2018. Our final full day in Paris and it didn’t disappoint. This is where our Paris Pass really paid off, while it had already pretty much paid for itself given our ability to use it on the local metro, it’s ability to shorten our line wait on a busy day at the Lourve was clutch. The museum was packed and the line was long. There are entrances around the Lourve with less traffic, but it’s our first time and entering through the main entrance is part of the prestige. It was rewarding to see and know so many of the pieces I’d read about in artbooks. Time period after time period of beautiful paintings and sculptures. I have to be honest, I didn’t care to see the Mona Lisa and not because I heard the experience was underwhelming, but because I’ve always viewed it as an underwhelming piece of art. Anyhow, I went, it was crowded and it’s on an average sized canvas. There are far more beautiful pieces sharing space with the Mona Lisa.

With a few hours of enjoyment under our belt at the Lourve, and lunch, it was time to exit and enjoy an impromptu photo session in a neighboring garden just because. As I said, it was a picturesque fall day and my wife had dressed the part, so I put my skills to use. We had fun, posing, kicking up leaves and arguing for the best shot. I often don’t know which is worse, my wife’s particularness for how she is photographed or my specificity for what would make for the best photograph.

As we were ushered inside to our seats, climbing the spiral staircase and marveling at the artwork on the walls, our hostess was warm and welcoming. At the top, we were greeted by a cinematic like modern victorian setting. Big windows surrounded us on all sides as dim romantically lit bulbs hung from the ceiling and plants/flowers of all kinds lined the windowsills. It felt more like we were invited to a family dinner and less like we were paying customers. We were determined to go all three courses. We started with appetizers (drinks and tartar), moved on to more drinks and entrees ( A mushroom truffle pizza), but it would be the desert that made us feel loved and appreciated. We ordered the chocolate moose along with my wife’s favorite dessert, tiramisu cake. Never have I witnessed more satisfaction from a cake slice on my wife's face than that night. As if the night couldn’t get any better, they served us the family portion of what was left from the baking dish (easily enough for 4-6 people), rather than the portion normally reserved for the order. I’ll chalk that up to our familial-like banter with the waiter, hostess and bartender.

When the bill arrived it didn’t feel like we were customers paying a bill, but rather visitors making a donation to continue the experience for others, paying it forward of sorts. However, the bill also signaled the end of our trip capped off by a fine meal and familiar strangers. We couldn’t have scripted a better last night in Paris.