I promised myself at New Year's that I would not turn 36 without having been to Paris. Here's to keeping our resolutions.

Thursday, May 26
Like all vacations, my trip started with cycles of rushing and waiting. I'd had a harried day at work, as we all do when leaving for any lengthy time, and I ran my last errands like a New Yorker on fire. I finished cleaning my house, zipped up my suitcase, and took a car service to JFK where the waiting, and the decompressing, began.

I flew overnight to Heathrow. It's not pleasant to be dreary and disheveled and waiting in London.

Friday, May 27
My flight was just a bit late, but I arrived in Paris safe and sound and was met at the airport by the lovely Ida, whose apartment I would be inhabiting for the next 2+ weeks (and she mine). Ida kindly gave me a few pointers, called my shuttle service for me, kissed me on both cheeks, and au revoir.

I was in Paris! And I was not yet 36!

It was blisteringly hot--90 degrees with no wind. The car ride from the airport was trafficky and sweaty. Ida's friend Matt checked me in to her place, and I immediately showered and refreshed myself. As I finished dressing, Beth called.

By some Act of God™ Beth Kinkel and I planned Parisian vacations overlapping by 3 days. Where are you? I asked. Her reply was priceless: I'm calling from the Champs Elysée. We planned to meet an hour later at the Pont Neuf.

My two mile walk from the apartment to the Seine was breathtaking. Paris looked twice as lovely as I'd ever seen in movies and pictures. The people, the buildings, the evening light, the weight of history--just magical. I met Beth as planned and we strolled the Seine, with its lovers and its quietly lapping noises. We walked across the Pont des Arts footbridge, and there were beautiful people of every stripe sitting, drinking wine, having little Friday night picnics. We crossed, looked back, and longed to call it our own--so Beth used her French and her Brooklyn charm to get a very cute dark-haired fella on a scooter to direct us to a supermarket. Bottle of wine, plastic glasses, and one corkscrew later, we were back on the bridge, among the beautiful people, drinking and talking and laughing.

Just as we finished and stood up, the lights came on upon the Institut de Paris on the Left Bank. Glorious.

Marijane had referred me to steak restaurant nearby for dinner: L'Entrecote on rue St. Benoit. Again, Beth Brooklyned them into jumping us to the front of the queue, and we were given a table immediately. This place has no menu, they serve steak frites period--they just ask you how you like your steak cooked, what you want to drink, and return with a small salad in a spicy vinaigrette. I had my steak saignant, Beth had it bien cuit and we had a bottle of their house red. We talked talked talked talked talked. Profiteroles and coffees wrapped it up. I was too jetlagged to party on. I walked Beth to the train, and walked home, getting lost twice. The first time I figured it out myself, but the second time a lovely Parisian on a bicycle pointed me in the right direction.

Saturday, May 28
After leaving the house at 10.30am, stopping for a coffee, then buying a croissant (oh buttery goodness!!), I took the Metro to the Marais. The Metro is quick and efficient, and compared to a Saturday in New York, rather empty. It features minutes-to-the-next-train boards, and, of course, you have to open the doors yourself. So I did.

The Marais is gay--also great for shopping! I strolled and strolled and strolled. I went in and out of shops and galleries, I stopped for another coffee, I stopped for a pain au chocolat, I stopped for a quiche chevre, another coffee, etc. I'd left a message for Beth to meet me at the Musée Picasso, but when she didn't show up I assumed she didn't get it. I strolled some more, watched a fencing tournament for a while, and eventually found myself back at the river. I took some pictures of Notre Dame (I'll go inside another day), then I wandered to a Tabac to buy a phone card for these insane phones that don't take coins. I called Beth again and got her this time and we again planned to meet at the Picasso.

As I headed back toward the Marais, I looked up and found myself in front of Berthillon--the ice cream place on Ile St. Louis that Penny had told me about. It was as rich, creamy, and delicious as she had promised. I had chocolate and caramel, and did not get any on my white linen shirt!

At the Musée Picasso Beth and I both had museum passes, so we skipped the long lines and went straight in. I was BESIDE MYSELF to turn a corner in the museum and come face to face with Paul en Arlequin, a painting of which my parents had a reproduction hanging in the living room all through my childhood. I was dumbfounded and thrilled to see the real thing.

There were many other wonderful paintings, and lots of bad ones too. I did not really like the layout of the museum, nor the way the collection was installed, but it was very enjoyable just for the paintings.

From there we went around the corner to the Musée Cognacq-Jay. This is a private collection of 18th-century art housed in a lovely old building. Now this is how to install a collection. A small gem of a museum.

More strolling, more ice cream. We stopped for crepes and wine at a place called Suzette, and yes, we had the titular crepes. The waiter there had the best ass on the planet (the crepes were good too!). More wandering. We bought chocolates at Cacao et Chocolat on rue Vieille de Temple. I bought some journals at a little store in a whole row of stationery stores on rue Pont Louis Philippe. We decided to walk to the Pantheon, as it was looming large in the not-too distance. It had closed by the time we arrived, but we admired the outside and sat for a while. We went into a very strange looking church--St. Etienne du Mont. Mass was being celebrated so we sat in the back for a short while listening to organ music while the congregation received communion. We tiptoed out.

For dinner we were delighted to see one of Laura's recommendations--Les Fontaines--just one block away. We sat on the sidewalk, and I started with escargot. Let me tell you, if you really want to feel Paris, eat escargot at sunset while looking at the Eiffel Tower in the distance! I overlooked one of the snails in its shell and when the waiter collected the plates he said, Oh you forgot one! I replied, Oh no! as he placed the dish in front of me again. He smiled as he scolded, Never forget a snail! I had delicious duck confit to follow, then creme brulée as the evening cooled. I walked Beth to the train, took it in the opposite direction, and got home without getting lost at all.

Sunday, May 29
I got a late start, but headed straight for the Musée d'Orsay. I worked my way from the top down--paintings first. I was blown away by this collection--the Monets and Degas are to die for, as are the views from the balcony.

Manet's picnic scene, Le déjeuner sur l'herbe, and Monet's flag-laden La rue Montorgueil are pretty tough to beat, but then there's no arguing with Courbet's Origin of the World either. Another particular favorite was Redon's Bouquet of Flowers, which has an otherworldliness to it. I had no plans to actually dine in any museum restaurants--overpriced as they generally are--but when I stumbled onto the d'Orsay's incredibly ornate and utterly gorgeous dining room I had to go in. I had a cheese plate and a bottle of wine. Perfect. I had a nice chat with a handsome Swedish woman who allowed me to take her picture.

After finishing the museum, I wandered a bit then decided to take the Metro to the Centre Pompidou. Supposedly the Pompidou has an amazing collection of modern art, and it's a hugely successful Renzo Piano building, and it gets more visitors than the Louvre or something--but I hated it. Okay, this is probably because the modern part of the collection was completely closed, so all that was open for me to see was the contemporary art. Most of it sucked, and it was installed poorly, and the building was shabby, and the lightbulbs were burned out. It was a real mess. They had a video gallery for Marguerite Duras's great Les Main Negatives--but when I inquired about nothing doing in there I was told it's been broken for weeks. Anyway, one thing I did love was the re-creation of Brancusi's studio, which was fascinating, informative, and well-executed.

When I left the museum it was raining rather hard. And me with no umbrella. So I ducked into a movie theater as if I was in a Woody Allen movie. I was thrilled to see that Gus Van Sant's new movie, Last Days, was playing. It's based on the final days of Kurt Cobain's life, and was terrific--slow, elliptical, gorgeous sound design--just like Van Sant's two previous pictures. When I came out the rain had slowed, but it was quite cold, so I Metroed home to layer.

I decided to eat in the Bastille, picking a place out of my guide book: Café de l'Industrie. I had steak tartare. It was fine, but the place lacked the ambiance promised by my book. I decided to walk home, got lost three times, and took the train instead. Sundays in Paris are very, very quiet.

Monday, May 30
First day at the Louvre! Again, I started at the top--Flemish, Dutch, and French paintings. Favorites were the Rubens gallery and also a large series of paintings by Eustache Le Sueur of the life of St. Bruno. Fascinating. Also saw the Napoleonic Apartments. Suffice it to say old Napoleon was livin' large. I could go on about the Louvre, but there's not really a point to it. You know what I'm going to say.

Lunch after the Louvre was a yummy, but overpriced, omelette and fries. The clouds were clearing so it seemed a good time for a long walk. I explored the Jardins de Tuileries for a good while, watching people sit and read, or sit and kiss, or walk and kiss, or stand and kiss. I strolled to the end and had my breath taken away by the sight and the enormity of the Place de la Concorde. The Egyptian obelisk reminded me of Rome, but almost nothing in Rome ever seemed as enormous as this plaza. Flanked by the Seine, the Tuilieries, the amazing buildings of the Hotel de la Marine and Crillon, and the manicured Champs Elysée Clemenceau, this plaza might as well be on another planet its power is so otherworldly.

So what could I do next but march up the Champs Elysée and sing Joni Mitchell?! The guide book tells me it's one mile from the obelisk to the Arc d'Triomphe--and what a mile! The commercial part of the CdE is like Madison Avenue on steroids. Cafes, stores, movie theaters, offices, and gorgeous Parisians in suits by the truckload! I walked along the north side of the street and watched the once-distant Arc grow to tower over me.

The Arc d'Triomphe is, well, more of Napoleon livin' large. A nice Spaniard took this picture of me with the Champs d'Elysée behind me, then I started the long, spiral climb within the Arc.

When I arrived at the top I was surprised to see a junkyard filled with old wood and broken statues. And a sign that said "do not leave rubbish in the museum."

Up on the roof, the views were stunning. A sunburst of boulevards radiating outward from the Arc. What a view of the Eiffel Tower!

Back down the spiral stairs, back down the Champs d'Elysée. This time on the south side of the street. I stopped at the Grand Palais where there was an exhibition of French paintings from Germany--Poussin, David, etc. It was a great show, and quite large. I took a train to St. Germain where I sat at the charming cafe La Gentilhommiere and had a gin "martini" (served in a deep cocktail glass, with ice and lots of olives, and a straw!). It was delicious, if decidedly not a martini at all, and I was refreshed.

Dinner this night, on Christopher Santos' recommendation, was at Bofinger in the Bastille. I had no reservation, don't speak French, and was alone, so I was not given a very good table. Didn't matter, it was a fantastic meal. I had the best onion soup, then a wonderful roasted duck in a deliciously fatty gravy. The duck was cooked with olives, which added a wonderful tang to the rich meat. It was served with a tomato terrine, which had capers and potato in it. This was perfect with a half-bottle of a fine Bordeaux. I had an amazing cheese plate afterward. Three cheeses I cannot name, so let's just call them "Superstank," "MeltYourCream," and "WetChalkGoat." My god it was heavenly. Did I mention that the cheese was served with butter? And that the butter had a control number on it? I love Paris.

When I left it was already 12:30am, so I missed the train. I walked to the Seine, enjoyed the lights, then caught a cab home. I had much trouble communicating with the driver, but we got there eventually, and I gave him a big fat American tip as we both said "Merci" six or seven times!

Tomorrow's entry: Montmartre, Rodin, and fondue!

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