le petit déjeuner
I had my heart set on an almond croissant, but I was out too early for Le Brioche Dorée, with it's tempting pastries set out in the window in buttery yellow lighting. I'll have to wait until tomorrow morning, when I will be the first at the door, ready to get my croissant right from the oven.
I ended up at a classic Parisian bar, watching as men stopped in for a cigarette and a café to start their day. Red lighting and red wicker chairs matched the red velvet curtains that made their way across the back wall.
I ordered Le Petit Déjeuner Complet. The waiter, in his tuxedo vest and tie, lay a beautiful plate of delicacies infront of me. I had tea, orange juice, cereal and four mini croissants.
I am constantly impressed with the French and their concept of eating. With a taste of everything, and never lowering taste to lower calories, there is always a sense of satisfaction. I always leave my table happy, even after a cheap bar meal. The memory lingers of several courses, or several tastes, the richness leaving a warm sense of pleasure.
I become excited every time I remember I'm going to be living here for a year. That at some point, people won't be able to tell that I'm not French before I open my mouth. And possibly, not know I'm not French once I do.
I can't help but feel guilty in the opportunites I'm given; I know too many people that deserve to walk the streets of Paris more than I do.
But these feelings of regret will get me nowhere. All I can do is be greatful, and savour every moment of happiness, so that I'm able to go back to them when these moments run short.
I can't physically fly anyone to Paris, but I'll do what I can with words.
I ended up at a classic Parisian bar, watching as men stopped in for a cigarette and a café to start their day. Red lighting and red wicker chairs matched the red velvet curtains that made their way across the back wall.
I ordered Le Petit Déjeuner Complet. The waiter, in his tuxedo vest and tie, lay a beautiful plate of delicacies infront of me. I had tea, orange juice, cereal and four mini croissants.
I am constantly impressed with the French and their concept of eating. With a taste of everything, and never lowering taste to lower calories, there is always a sense of satisfaction. I always leave my table happy, even after a cheap bar meal. The memory lingers of several courses, or several tastes, the richness leaving a warm sense of pleasure.
I become excited every time I remember I'm going to be living here for a year. That at some point, people won't be able to tell that I'm not French before I open my mouth. And possibly, not know I'm not French once I do.
I can't help but feel guilty in the opportunites I'm given; I know too many people that deserve to walk the streets of Paris more than I do.
But these feelings of regret will get me nowhere. All I can do is be greatful, and savour every moment of happiness, so that I'm able to go back to them when these moments run short.
I can't physically fly anyone to Paris, but I'll do what I can with words.
posted by Gillian Young at 10:36 PM
3 Comments:
Don't you EVER feel guilty. Yes, let us indulge in your words. You are making me miss my days in Paris so much and I love going back through your entries. I am going to pull out one of my favorite Fragonard soaps today as a matter of fact...
Have fun, girl!!!!!!!!
I'm with dbry. Guilt is useless. Savour every moment. And whether you admit it or not, you've had an extraordinarily difficult year - your first away from home - and you've managed all with efficiency and grace. Think of these days in Paris as a well-earned gift. Je t'aime.
O Gill, I am finally getting my trip to Paris, and this time not alone in a strange new place (which is probably why I resisted going in the first place), but with a wise & drama-loving young companion. Thank you. I wonder who deserves to be enjoying Paris more than you do and why they deserve Paris more than you do. Recognizing, expressing and dissecting my own guilt is one of my favourite writing exercises.
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