Ah, back on the terrace. It has been a whirlwind. Despite the fact that I haven’t been getting up before 10am (except last weekend to shop the Marché aux Puce), and have been taking a perfectly wonderful nap most late afternoons, staying up to the wee hours of the morning every day has had me collapsing in bed too exhausted to document the days adventures – and adventures we have had! The best thing about changing time zones (for a self declared night-owl like myself) is that around 10pm Paris time, you really start to feel good. Having dinner at this respectable hour allows one to then go out and sample Parisian joie de vivre en force.
Strolling the streets at night is one of this city’s finest treats. Café society at its height, the tables, often imperceptibly spaced, are overflowing with food and drink. As the uber-sophisticated intermix with the bobo, the satirist with the sophist, the proletariat with the aristocrat, and the tourist with the local, lines are crossed, definitions altered, and distinctions become as blurred as ones eye and mind, aided, of course, by a bottomless wine glass.
After a glorious dinner last night with our friend Gil (one of several ex-pat friends who, years ago, found himself in Paris and could not bear leaving), my husband and I strolled though the 9th arrondissement. Although it has been unusually hot this week, this has made for some rather exquisite evenings. Still about 80 degrees, the cloudless sky, punctuate only by the half moon peering over the rooftops, just the perfect backdrop for the drop-dead halogen lighted architecture, my head somewhat abuzz, we walked together, thoughts intermingling, hands lightly touching, it was truly heaven.
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