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Posts Tagged ‘Tarts’

To begin with, I’m now, at this very moment, done with my term abroad at l’Institut d’Études Politiques, or SciencesPo. Yes, I am still in Paris and yes, I have not yet come home, but let’s be frank: the academic work of this semester is over. I took my last final and walked out of 27 Rue Saint Guillaume for the last time.

I am now allowing myself a small moment of celebration.

But as the term comes to close, and I find myself currently living in another part of Paris in an place not entirely my own, I must look back at the place that I called home for more than five lovely and unusual months: the apartment in the back of the first floor of the last building at the dead end of  Cité d’Hauteville in the 10éme Arrondissement of the Right Bank of Paris, France.

It was an unusual apartment, found in an unusual way. Craigslist isn’t always the  most reliable of classified sources, especially aboard — Bay Area, I’m looking at you, you lucky city with your reliance on successful and legitimate Craiglisting — but when I looked at the apartment back in January, I knew : this was an apartment that would inspire many a humorous and witty story. As a fan of storytelling, I dove in and signed the lease.

My apartment, with its huge kitchen, oddly placed skylights and peculiar layout, was home to many a dinner party and stray international guest. It was where I learned to love Paris, where I hid when it was cold and nasty outside and from where I planned my day trips and morning runs and summer opera adventure.

It is where I made my parents a delicious Easter dinner, toasting each other over a bottle of light French wine and eating a superb pear-gorgonzola tart with caramelized onions.

It is where I dealt with the antics of a silly but lovable cat, Flocon, feeding him, petting him and making sure he didn’t flee the apartment at the sign of an open door.

It was a magical, wonderful place to live. From now on, whenever I think of Paris, I’ll think of Cité d’Hauteville, and Flocon, and Gregoire the Palm Tree and my life in Paris.

And I’ll smile.

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Today is yet another religious holiday here in France —meaning closed shops, empty avenues and general public bliss. Granted, I no longer have school in the first place, so holidays here don’t really affect me any more beyond their frustrating tendency to close grocery stores on days in which I desperately need food items (like today), but I will give the French a break. It’s a beautiful day, and it was a beautiful weekend and everyone loves a holiday.

My weekend was a kind of holiday itself, as my dear friend Allison arrived on a train at the Gare du Nord from London, where she is taking part in a UNC Maymester summer program, studying theatre and education and generally being British. I haven’t seen Allison since December, and this was the first time we have spent time together outside of Chapel Hill, so it was absolutely fantastic to have another visitor with whom to enjoy the flawless spring weather here in Paris.

Our weekend was lazy and lovely and full of fun excursions. On her arrival Thursday night, we shared a delicious and très français dinner of ratatouille, citrus salad, baguette, wine and a fantastic strawberry-asparagus tart with our fellow Carolina scholar, Char. The food was great and we all enjoyed ourselves immensely.

Friday, I had to finish up my third day of opera research at the Médiatheque Mahler, so I deposited Allison in Parc Monceau, where she caught up on some assigned reading and enjoyed French people watching. We then headed off to the Champs-Élysées, where we took pictures of the Arch de Triomphe and wandered in and out of fancy-looking stores. Dinner was a picnic with friends in the Jardin de Luxembourg, followed by a trip to the Tour Eiffel for photos and gawking. So, it was pretty much a perfect, touristy day.

We decided to visit the Musée de Louvre on Saturday, heading there in the early afternoon and wandering around the rooms in the less-popular wing before braving the sweaty hordes in the Italian art wing. We then prepared for our epic picnic date in the Parc des Buttes Chaumont — something I owe Allison from a botched date attempt at a school banquet last fall — which was tasty and elegant and a true delight. Later, we met up with some of my friends for wine and conversation on the quais of the Seine, just underneath the shadowy and towering Notre Dame.

Allison informed me before she came to Paris that she had a few things she needed to see: the Tour, the Louvre, a baguette and Versailles. While I had seen and done and eaten most of those things, I had never been to Versailles, the epic and monumental palace of the former Kings of France, located just outside of Paris proper. So naturally, it seemed that now was the time to go. With Char and an elaborate picnic lunch we purchased from a market by the Tour — including a ridiculously delicious apple tart — we boarded the train and headed out to Versailles.

The lines were very, very long and the people very, very sweaty and high in number. Part of this comes from the weather — it was a legitimate 80-something degrees Fahrenheit yesterday in Paris — but part of it just stemmed from the palace. Inside was beautiful — the Hall of Mirrors, the galleries, the chapel, the fantastically elaborate meeting rooms and salons — but our favorite part was the park and gardens that stretched out behind the chauteau for miles upon miles of boundless, perfect green.

Hedge mazes, lagoons, canals, fountains, guest houses, statues and more tumble outward from the back of the palace, arranged in perfect geometrical shapes and patterns. We spent a few hours in the park, stopping in hidden cafés in hedge mazes, walking along narrow paths and marveling at the endless green that encircled us everywhere we looked. It was a magical end to a magical weekend.

With a hearty hug and a happy smile, I sent Allison back to England this morning, with both of us looking forward to August in Chapel Hill.

But I’m still here, and my time in Paris is not yet over. True, my rent is up in seven short days, and I only have two finals and three weeks separating me from my summer opera adventure, but I plan to use this stretch of flawless spring weather to truly enjoy the end of the chapter in my life called Paris.

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