The Street Walk With Bread In Paris

 Later this year I am going to Paris for a month.

In the last twenty years I have lived in Paris for about two of those years.

In 2019 for no apparent reason, I decided not to go.

If I had known about the looming nightmare I would have gone for the entire year of 2019.

But I didn't.

So here we are.

And I'm betting that it will be possible to go to France in 2022.

I know people who went in 2021; I know people who are going this year, imminently, in 2022.

So I must be able to go there and celebrate my 80th birthday with my family in 2022.

Right?

We shall see.

I take my ThinkPad with me so, if it works out, expect, daily blog posts.

Because that is what I do.

In Paris.

In the late afternoon/early evening, before I go to le Départ St-Michel, or la Frégate or le Bonaparte, or, my favorite la Citrouille.

None of these are on the chic de Paris list but I always feel welcome and at home in each of them.

Le Départ has the additional feature that it is at the terminal point where the RER and the Metro disgorge huge segments of the world's population every few minutes; most people coming out of station St Michel are tourists; a table in le Départ is seeing what might be if there weren't nations in the way.

And what might be looks pretty good to me.

Every time.

So I guess it's time to get to the point of this post.

I just sent this text to my friend who is imminently departing for Paris.

I like the story that it tells.

"Re: baguettes, the Parisian thing to do is, while you are walking home, break off the end - Le quignon - and eat it ravenously. It's OK to rip more off after you have consumed the quignon. The downside is that if you have a long walk there may not be a baguette left when you get home. This experience is especially delicious if you get a still warm/hot baguette. If you buy around 16h30 you have a pretty good chance of that happening".

Here is a still life I once shot in my Paris apartment with a baguette as a key feature.

Having nothing to do with anything said above, here is a still life I shot in my apartment on American Thanksgiving day 2018. 

It had taken some time, travel and interesting conversations with the locals before I finally had finally been able to assemble the makings of  Bloody Marys in Paris.

Tomato juice was the biggest problem: "jus de tomate" didn't seem to get me anywhere; it's tomate marmande; how stupid of me not to know that; and how French of them not to tell me that they knew what I was asking for; god, I love the French, especially Parisians.

But to the Bloodies: I was so excited.

When I got all that stuff together.

Isn't the celery a work of art on its own?

I got so drunk.

I think I spent the better part of an hour on Facetime with Ann Claire and Joe.

But I don't remember.

For sure.