Norman Rockwell knew where it was at when he painted that cover for the Saturday Evening Post. I thought of him this weekend. Curious? Read on.
Off we went to Paris, new bangs and cute baby in tow. A 4-day celebration of Thomas' 30th birthday in the City of Light and love. Our flight up Friday morning was uneventful, then a fast taxi into the heart of the city, the 11th arrondissement to our apartment, waiting for us with the keys was Thomas' best man Guillaume. A spacious one bedroom, a good-sized terrace with the Eiffel Tower in the distance, a pack-n-play bed ready for Estelle. Best of all, and most incredible, indian summer in Paris, lovely warmth and sunshine in a city mostly grey lately.
Lots of strolling about the quartiers, ice creams and metro rides. France winning their World Cup Rubgy match against Ireland, all the nearby buildings full of Frenchmen watching and hollering out the Marseillaise waking up Estelle (damn those French!). Lots of champagne on the terrace with a wonderful group of Thomas' very good friends from middle school, high school and college who now all live in Paris. Dejeuner at a bistro auvergnant in the 15eme with Auntie Agnes, tea with their Cousine Cathy, a big dinner party in an Argentinian restaurant housed in a former butcher shop - all very retro and cutting edge.
Sunday walking thru Père Lachaise, Paris' stunning and incredibly vast cemetery housing so many varied and famous individuals. Followed by a rendez-vous with friends-- a parc picnic, quiches, Italian ham and baguettes and succulent cheeses, grapes, red wine and chocolate cakes.
Heaven, all heaven under a blue sky. Our coats and warm clothes sat in our suitcases. Then, returning to the apt Sunday late afternoon, my stomach began to speak another language. Suffice to say that it all became very ugly and violent, an emergency doctor was called in that evening when Thomas saw this was more than just indigestion (literally one calls "SOS Medecin") and, for the 2nd time in 5 days, I was bearing my bum to an unknown French man. "Madame, please lower your trousers, I am going to give you a shot in your buttocks". Let it be known that my state of agony was such that I was ready to do anything this man suggested. "Are you like Doctor Baker? He made house calls too...." Thomas took pity on me and told me he wasn't sure the Doctor was familiar with Little House on the Prairie.
Things got worse for me before they got better, but after 2 hours I could breathe and lay still. Then at 1:30 am, it hit Thomas. Estelle like an angel slept thru the whole thing. Thomas started taking my medecine from Dr. Baker, and Monday's program of meeting up with Estelle's best friend Maxence, who lives in Paris now, got replaced by lying on the couch, waiting for help.
We barely packed up and got out, Guillaume coming over to see us off for our 4 pm takeoff. A taxi back (in the pouring rain, of course, the pouring rain began Monday morning), and we suffered thru a flight that seemed an eternity, keenly aware of our stomachs' status, paper bags in the seat-back pocket at the ready. Estelle meanwhile entertained everyone in the vicinity by babbling and grinning at whoever was in sight; climbing up and over whoever and whatever. Other passengers probably thought we were very unenthusiastic parents, little did they know they were witnessing the walking dead.
We collapsed at home. Poor Estelle who had done so well all weekend and has miraculously escaped this virus (which we discovered Agnes and cousin Cathy's son also had!) hit the wall and took 2 hours to go down but finally all 3 of us were fast asleep by 9:30 last night. Only this morning we were able to eat--Thomas and I have collectively lost a minimum of 4 kilos. Today weak as kittens with some lovely and terrifying memories of our weekend in Paris!
A beautiful interior courtyard street near our apartment.
Estelle's first Parisien metro ride with "uncle" Guillaume!
Sunset on our terrace. You can see the lights on the top of the Eiffel Tower to the right of the big tree, and the Tour de Montparnesse and the Parthenon on the left.
Think of those massive Mobil stations in the states, and then check this out: where you can get your gas in Paris. One pump, on the sidewalk. Simple as that.
Thomas huffing it on the cobblestones of Père Lachaise Sunday morning.
One of the hundreds of paths in Père Lachaise.
Thomas and Estelle up on the bridge of the Parc de Reuilly
I was forced to intervene as Estelle went after this little boy who was 5 months older than her but the same height! She chased that poor kid around for 30 mins.
Playing cards after the picnic. Note the mother in the group to the left of the frame, fast asleep, little does she know what horrors await her that very evening. 8 1/2 months pregnant Melanie, friend of Thomas, had the right idea - lots of pillows. I had to make do with the diaper bag.
Estelle wakes up from her nap and gets in on the bidding.
