Thursday 3/21: Eiffel Tower ✓ Arc de Triomphe ✓ Jardin de Luxembourg ✓ Tuileries Garden ✓ Place de la Bastille ✓

Friday 3/22: Montmartre ✓

Saturday 3/23: Les Bois des Vincennes ✓

There are many more sites to be seen, but I have a few take-aways to note:

These things are big. Really big. It’s as if this was once the most powerful nation in the world, and they wanted to prove it. So, they built a bunch of really big things just to show they could. Also, there are a lot of people there admiring those big, beautiful things, so the plan worked. Fun fact: I have now seen two of the former “tallest buildings in the world”. The Eiffel Tower (986 ft) held that honor from the time of its construction in 1889 until the Chrysler building was erected in 1930. Taipei 101 (1441 ft) was the record holder from 2004 until 2010. So that’s neat

It’s been four days since I landed in Paris, and telling you what tourist attractions I’ve seen doesn’t begin to shine light on the kind of experience that I’ve had here. In order to do that, I need to share some of my thoughts along the way, so I’ll return to the topic of anyone’s interest: food. Breakfast has been completely neglected in favor of a morning coffee, an expresso (yeah, that’s how they say it). This is to keep with French customs of saving one’s appetite for lunch. Also, my wallet doesn’t mind the few hours of reduced consumption either. For lunch on Thursday, I stopped by a Franprix (grocery chain) to pick up some sandwich supplies. Half a baguette, 10 slices of coppa, and 10 slices of cheese, will make more than enough of a mediocre sandwich for 10 euros. A few lessons were learned here. Don’t buy baguettes from grocery stores, they are likely refrigerated and at least a day old. Don’t buy cheese from a grocery store. With fromageries in every neighborhood, you’re better off getting something from a pro, not a package. I’ve yet to make it into a boucherie, but I’d bet the story is the same with the packaged coppa. Just don’t do it. There’re also panini joints everywhere that will serve you the same sammy (but hot) for about 5 euros. Long story short - trust the French. They know how to eat.

Disappointed but determined to enjoy my next meal, I set off to see some more structures and to build up the appropriate appetite. I wandered through the 7th, 8th, 6th, and 1st arrondissements, stopping to sit in the Luxembourg Gardens.. I have never seen such a congregation of people from all age groups, foreign and local whose afternoon was dedicated to leisure. It was a beautiful sight, really. Busy, yet uncrowded and convivial. From older folks finding chairs in the sun to sit and chat, to pot-smoking teenagers listening to trap on portable speakers, and young kids playing while moms watch from outside the playground, all seemed to have made the priority to meet up and enjoy each other’s company before heading home. Particularly here, but also in Paris in general, the social and physical landscape facilitates connection. Manners are not lost on people here. Greeting ALL your friends with la bise, filling everyone else’s glass before your own, even the obligatory “Bonjour” or “Bon soir” contributes to a society inherently more agreeable than my home. I think I could learn something about the art of living from these folks. Still, I couldn’t seem to shake the feeling that I needed to be DOING something or meeting someone. It’s true that a work routine is necessary for living a fulfilling life. We are evolved to be creative, productive creatures - it is the essence of humanity. We are also called to rest and to know when to say enough - to be content with being. I hope that as I spend more time in Paris, the restlessness of not being productive is observed and tamed. But more on that later.

Thursday’s pseudo-dinner and Saturday’s excuse for lunch should go unmentioned. But I am first a truth-seeker, so I feel compelled to warn everyone out there that you can fly halfway around the world, pass up dozens of restaurants before you find one suitable and far enough along in your walk, and you will still not be able to escape dry, flavorless chicken breast. My dear friend and roommate, Ben Plaster, should fly here and show these people how to make a proper curry. Ben uses the legs and thighs of the bird for more fat, and doesn’t skimp on the spices. I couldn’t bear the thought of going to bed with sub-par take-out curry being the last thing consumed, so I spent the remainder of Thursday at a cafe around the corner cradling a liter of kölsch. Saturday’s lunch was supposed to be le plat de jour, poulet fermier roti avec steak frites et salade - the daily special, country roasted chicken with fries and salad (a French essential). I was ready to see how this bird stacked up to the roasted chicken at The Black Cypress in Pullman. Unfortunately, my server brought the menu back to say that the chicken was finished. In a panic, I pointed to the only other dish on the menu called poulet, le poulet des les Italiennes. What came out made the chicken alfredo at Olive Garden in Meridian, Idaho look authentically Italian. Chicken breast had been drained of all moisture, skewered with tomatoes and basil, and rested on a bed of fettuccini. Jesus meant what He said in Matt. 5:25 ‘…For my Father causes the sun to rise on the evil and the good, and send rains on the just and the unjust.’ Apparently, Saturday was the saints’ day for rain, because there wasn’t enough sauce in Paris to bring this chicken back to life. Picking out the tomatoes and basil I had a novel envy of vegetarians. Never face the risk of another exhausted piece of flesh, just order veggies. Clearly, I was becoming irrational.

Let’s focus now on the good, because there are more important things to talk about - like blood sausage. This phallic gastronomical wonder tastes a whole lot better than it sounds. Mine came in the form of Friday’s lunch accompanied by mashed potatoes, semi-soft sautéed apples and a slightly red brown gravy. Such a rich lunch will leave one staggering to the nearest park for an afternoon nap. It’s a good thing I didn’t have anything planned for the day.

After a few days in a proper city, my country bones began crave the quiet of nature. Bois de Vincennes is a 2,400+ acre park with trails, ponds, a horse track, rugby fields, and even a Buddhist temple. I spent the better part of Saturday wandering through the wooded areas, trying to find somewhere quiet to sit and listen to the birds, but it’s tough to keep a quiet place a secret from 2 million people. I’ve have kept a general rule of no U-turns. This is partly to give the appearance that I know where I’m going, and partly because I may find something good around the next corner. This philosophy is part of the reason that I’m covering on foot an average of 14 miles a day. Saturday night left the few places I was eyeing for dinner packed. Rather than try to find a corner table where I’d read in amongst a crowd, the local fromager (cheesemonger) set me up with a variety plate of that I ate at home with an entire baguette. Five euros spent on a bottle of Cotes-du-Rhone made it a balanced and economical meal.

There is a deeper hunger, though, that neither food nor wine can satiate. However, I think it’d be wise to save philosophic comments for a later post. Or maybe I’ll just keep those to myself.

I’ve got some big ideas for this week. We’ll see if they materialize.

Missing everyone at home, and wish we could meet for lunch.

A bientôt

4. Big things, little things