Provence / Paris travel log 2006-12-30

The magic TGV train whisked us away from Provence and back to Paris early this morning. Nathan, Anna, Lauren, and I said our goodbyes to the rest of the group (flying home today), then heard the echoes vanish in Doppler shift and wind.

Aboard the train, we hashed out tentative New Year’s plans and slept. Mainly, we slept.

From the Paris train station, it was a short cab ride to our hotel, the Hotel des Nations St. Germain. Our rooms are cozy but clean, the lady at the front desk is really friendly, and the location in the heart of the Latin Quarter is a big hit with Nathan.

All of us were overloaded on French food, so we decided to go ethnic, choosing a Vietnamese place recommended in my Lonely Planet Paris travel guide. Food was light, crisp, and delicious – just what we were hoping for.After lunch, Lauren wasn’t feeling quite right, so she and I returned to the hotel to nap, while Anna and Nathan made their pilgrimage to the Shakespeare and Co. bookstore.

After waking, Lauren and I took to the streets, enjoying the noticeably warmer weather and wandering without much purpose. Paris is a city that rewards romantic aimlessness, and we ended up carrying roses, apples, and large smiles into the café where we ducked for coffee.

As we’d agreed earlier, we met Nathan and Anna back at the hotel at 7pm. Continuing our rebellion against French food, we walked to a nearby North African / Moroccan place. The atmosphere and food were perfect: geometric tiles covering the walls, stewed meats, dates, honey, almonds; hookah bar in front, restaurant in back. Again, just what we wanted.We tried to round out the night with a jazz club visit, but our first choice was closed. After walking further to option #2, we found that there was a cover charge and that Nathan wasn’t feeling quite right. So we said au revior till tomorrow, Anna and Nathan walking home, and Lauren and I heading in for some jazz.

As I write this on my ever-handy notepad, Lauren and I are leaning back in Le Petit Journal St.-Michel, sipping our kir, while in the air above us the sounds of keyboard and bass, clarinet and drum mingle with the half-drunk French and the cigarette smoke. An old man is smiling at me. Life is good.