DUNES, BORDEAUX, PARIS
AND... A TRIP PLANNED BACK TO THE US of A!
It’s been a minute since I’ve written. But, I have been busy, living my very best life!! Here goes…
Last weekend, I took a jaunt to Lège-Cap Ferret from Paris. The morning came early, as Vivian had arrived on the day before I was due to leave, and our night was full and long. Meeting her at her precious Airbnb in the 11th we gabbed for hours there before taking a stroll down Rue de la Roquette where we popped in and out of vintage shops and found our way to Septime La Cave. We posted up in the last two seats available in the place for two glasses of their funkiest bio wine (they only have funky wine, since they only have bio. J’adore!). We also ordered one of everything on the mini-plate menu, met the coolest French / American couple who are now living in the UK by way of NYC, and who evidential always come to this bar for their nightcap when in town, and tried our best attempt at walking into Clamato. (We haven’t been able to make this place work YET! It’s become a joke, since we try it every time Vivian is in town. Not meant to be.) So — Walking Vivian home, we decided calvados was in order. We spotted Jones on the left. Yay! We adore this spot. Alas, in order to sit at the bar (or a table) you must order food. We were filled to the brim from our feast of mini plates just 30 minutes before, so settled on the olive oil drizzled vanilla ice cream and granola crisp. Dessert counts as food. Right?!
Enter Jim. Jim sat just two barstools to Vivian’s right. Those stools, we learned, were actually reserved for him. He’s a regular. He is also an American who lived in NYC (as we did/do) for 20+ years (as he/viv did/does) before, last year, when he decided to jump the pond (as I did) and MOVE to Paris. He heard us talking about the upcoming election and almost got whiplash as fast as he turned in our direction. He switched from French (he’s fluent) to English within a matter of nanoseconds.
Once we invited him into our conversation he took the lead for the duration of the night. We learned everything about him! He taught in Germany (fluent there too), NYC, and France, he turned writer from a (we think) career-driveby as a psychologist during COVID, and his newest venture? Home owner. He left his rent stabilized studio apartment in Chelsea NYC (my old stomping grounds) to liquidate his entire financial portfolio (TERRIFYING) to pay cash for his dream apartment in the 11th (Vivian’s Paris stomping grounds). Cash! Vivian and I are both teetering on the idea of buying soon so he advises, pay cash. He said that the main difference from the US is, once a house / apartment etc is set with a listing price, you can not offer more. That IS different from the land of the free — where everything can be bought if the price is right (meaning, if the offer is high enough to sell!). It is illegal for the seller to accept an offer above listing price here, therefore, the only way to guarantee that the house / apt etc is yours, is to pay cash. Jim (known only as James to Frenchman due to the impossible pronunciation of Jim in French), kept us company all night, or we did him! And boy did he wish Vivian would have kept him company for life! He was in love! She was oblivious. C’est la vie!
DUNES, BEACH, and BORDEAUX
I arrived at the train station packed for winter and summer – the temperature looked shorts weather devine in Cape Ferret, final destination, and yet it was see-your-breath weather in Paris. Eep the beach calling my name, and, my bathing suit! I boarded, got settled in by a man who clearly didn’t have a ticket because the second I got to my assigned seat (the aisle seat) he, sitting in the window seat, looked panicked and immediately got up to offer his. So, I took it. A window wall for my morning snooze? Yes, please! I did my best to get some shuteye to boost my energy before arriving, alas, the child opposite of me had another plan in mind. He wanted me (along with the rest of the train) to be wide awake with his sporadic yells to his sister and pretend conversations with his pink pony. Mais, encore, c’est la vie!
Taking a spaceship, ooop, I mean an electric car (this was my first time) to the Dunes. I was tickled! Every time it accelerated the sound of what I can only imagine, Apollo 13 sounded like, rang. So funny. Just like the sound our phones make when taking pictures. Children have no idea why it makes that “shutter” sound! Hilarious.
Largest Dune in all of Europe. Oh, my, gosh! I couldn’t believe it. La Dune Pilat, an enormous sand mountain, took my breath away. I think it is something like 100 meters high?! There were stairs built in for those who wanted to forgo the leg sinking walk up to the top. I forwent the stairs and raised my hand high for the hike! I mean, I’m a beach baby after all. In first site of seeing sand, I removed my shoes — Pavlov’s Dog.
It took me double the time to reach the top - but I conquered it with my fellow hiking / chorus members struggling to do the same beside me. They all sang of sighs, grunts, and laughter. Lots and lots of laughter as we all kept sinking into the sand.
Made it to the top and WOW! Magic! Had I truly grasped what this was going to be – I would have loved to have stayed all day, picnicking and rolling in the sand and sun! It was unreal! Alas, another treat to come. I learned there was a reservation at La Co(o)rniche on the books. Scurrying down (and by scurrying, I mean full on, can’t stop won’t stop running at a rapid speed down the steep dune!), so that the spaceship could do it’s thing and electrically get to the restaurant in time for the seafood tower to be delivered and the sun be at the perfect view. (For my New Yorkers, this place reminded me of the newest facelift of Duryea’s. Beautiful! Chic!)
The day was full of sunshine, practicing French, and fruits de mer, and the cutest hotel there ever was. Hôtel de la Plage. Do yourselves a favor. Book this NOW. It. Is. exactly perfect. Beers were had on the terrace at night, oddly enough, the best hamburger I have ever eaten in my life at night in their restaurant, and the coziest night stay in their room. The room was in the side house - so quiet, private, and precious! The private porch had a set of Adirondack chairs (are they still called this in France?). Made me feel right at home!
This village was an oyster haven. Miles and miles of oyster farms submerged in the murky saltwater breeding these sea creatures. And miles and miles of fishermen (or would we call them oystermen?) adorned in their knee-high (some thigh-high) boots morning, noon, and night. We decided this was a code of passage. To be “in” the club you needed to “dress” the part.
Rows of fishing huts lined the land. Tiny one bedroom cabins that I’m sure all used to be used as actual sleep rooms for those working around the clock raising oysters for the world’s enjoyment — are now mostly family bungalow getaways. The perfect simple life à mon avis!
Lunch was served at La Cabane d'Hortense restaurant on the bay (at the other end of the peninsula). And the table, right at the edge of the water with the perfect view, and a spread of fresh oyster, shrimp, and my favorite, bulot. To wash it down? Your choice of only one red selection, one white selection, or water. Une bouteille de vin blanc, s'il vous plaît!
Before Bordeaux bound that evening, a plunge into the almighty Atlantic Ocean was mandatory. It was ice!
Bordeaux!! What a dream. I want to move there. Monday, I got to visit the Jardin Public, the river walk paralleling La Garonne, I found myself in the cutest neighborhood, Chartrons, where I happened to stumble across Marcellino, an Italian restaurant that my friend, who had lived in Bordeaux, recommended, I got to vintage shop – there was one store that I could have moved into, the ashtrays alone had me occupied for a good 20 minutes — it was magnificent! In the afternoon strolling about to Place des Quinonces, Place de la Comédie, on the longest pedestrian street, Rue de la Porte Dijeaux over to Place de la Bourse, through Porte Cailhau (where I learned of the powerful, Queen, Catherine of Valois, and of her marriages French and English kings), a tour of Cathédrale Saint André, all to return to the Grand Hommes area where beers and a light dinner was served before my 30 min complimentary jacuzzi appointment at Hôtel Singulier. What?! Ha! Heaven. (I also took a massage the next day. Which, honestly, I regretted booking due to the unexpected work that needed my attention first thing the next morning. Stressful start to the day, led to a comedy of errors for the duration of my trip. Mais, c'est la vie. I’ll return I’m sure. Bordeaux stole my heart!)
Tuesday, before the stress consumed me, I did manage to stroll to l’Alchemist Café for a coffee (another place my friend had recommended) before I went back to get massaged and then go straight into work mode until my train left – withOUT me!!! I got on the wrong one. I can’t even get into it. I could truly write a short story about this day, and might one day. Something that has never happened to me in all of my travels, ever. Tuesday, was a wash. But thankful I had had two days of laughter, and sun, and great food before to occupy my mind on the unexpected 6 hour adventure home (that was supposed to take 2). Thank god the train I accidentally took wasn’t leaving France. Can you imagine!? Already a French outlaw – but to have wound up in Spain??! How would I have explained that to the Spanish government when I couldn’t even explain my way back to my homeland to the French government. More on that later…)
À PARIS
Wednesday, I woke up to a litany of distressed texts. I put my phone away immediately and took myself for coffee, to buy myself tulips, and to stroll in overcast, cold, beautiful, Paris. I didn’t want to talk about it. I didn’t want to feed the complaints. I didn’t want to apologize for my country. We all got one vote. Simple as that. And it happened the way it happened. Even if disappointed, in French, we’d say on y va – let’s go. Move on.
Fortunately, I met a fellow American, Leah, for lunch at Buvette that afternoon. We talked about EVERYTHING, her art retreat, her dates, her upcoming trip, my upcoming trip (again, more on that later.. EEEEEP), my work, my jaunt to Bordeaux – everything, but the election results. We didn’t even bring it up until the end of our meal. And both had the same mindset. It happened. Now what? We must press on.
After returning home to speed work for 6+ hours, I then sped showered, sped dressed, sped walked, sped shared with my Pops that I was… COMING HOME to the USA for the holidays!! (He had the most precious response. His tone went from average monotone to elation. He hasn’t stopped sending me pictures of what dishes he has “tested” for our Bethanksgiving feast. To get my mouth watering and my pants already feeling tighter! My sister, mother, and Joe all had the same response. I am over the moon that I decided to go, legal or not. (Although as a law abiding citizen, I did consult my lawyer before booking my flight, she approved it!!).) I met Jillian, Justine and Miranda at Bar du Marché for beers before we made it to La Tavern de Zhao, where we DOWNED enormous bowls of Chinese noodles and started a Noodle Around Town(ers) club. For more ease of the tongue, we call it NATs for short. In our club we’ll seek out all of the noodle spots in the city. Our next date is already set for the 20th and I’m counting down!
This full day, I spent around Americans and we all spent no time discussing the election. Call it shock, denial, or on y va. Either way. It was exactly how I wanted to spend my day after election day back in Paris.
Thursday, I had the pleasure of touring La Bonbonnette - the MOST beautiful (Bin152 sister) bar in all of Paris! As you all know by now (this is the umpteenth time I have mentioned it in En Route), my muse, turn great friend, Fanny, and her husband, Patrick, are opening up a wine bar here in Paris, in the Marais. They have three incredible places in Charleston (my watering holes) and now will be here too! I’m so happy. Two Wednesdays ago, I had the great delight of meeting them for dinner at Recoin (go NOW if you haven’t already. It is delicious!). They talked about all the progress of La Bonbonnette, and this week, I finally got to feast my eyes on it!
I walked in and GUSHED. It is beautiful. After getting the grand tour, the cave below and all, I took Fanny for coffee. We, as usual, gabbed for a full 2 hours straight. We reminisced about Jill Sharp Weeks (famed interior designer and friend to us both in Charleston) and how she was my “Charlotte” to my Charleson “Web.” I told Fanny that I have one (a Charlotte, someone who connects me with all my people) in every city, and that Jill was definitely mine in Charleston. She introduced me to so many of my very best friends there. All creatives, all gorgeous, all women doing cool ass things with their own cool ass businesses! Fanny responded to this with… “You are a Charlotte!” her sentiment, married with her beautiful French accent, melted my heart.
I am a Charlotte! I live to connect people and make lasting relationship. Yes, I am a Charlotte and I am about to connect you all with her!
Mark your calendars. On December 18th she, and Patrick, are unlocking the door of their new, La Bonbonnette, bar. If you are in Paris on that day, go! 185 Rue de Temple.
Vivian has just finished up her full week of shooting in Paris. And has extended her stay again to be with me this weekend (I just may convenience her to move here this time!). So, after I press publish on this EN ROUTE, I am off to enjoy this cozy, dreary, beautiful, Pareeeee with a bestie.
Until next week, Xx ac