L’Inattendu or The Unexpected

No matter how many times I visit Paris, I get a tingle down my spine as soon as the airplane’s wheels touch the runway. Outside of New York, it’s my favorite city on earth.

Every trip to Paris starts with a slightly manic to-do list including purchasing tickets to must-see exhibits and making reservations at new restaurants to try out. However, what I love best is what can’t be arranged in advance. The magic sauce, at least for me, is in the unexpected or what the French call “l’inattendu.”

My recent mid-summer stay in France was no exception. As much as my traveling mate on this trip, New Yorker Joan Brower, and I both adore the City of Lights, this stay was exceptional due to so many serendipitous happenings and encounters with locals.

Here are the top ten things worthy of mention. They represent just a few examples of why going back to Paris year after year is such an intellectual, spiritual, and sometimes even cathartic delight. 

Paris wasn’t burning

While Italy and Spain were being torched with record-breaking heatwaves, somehow Paris managed to escape the misery while we were there. Temperatures ranging from high 60’s in the morning to the low 80’s midday meant only a light sweater was needed as we set off each day. Or preferably a sexy French scarf. Furthermore, the country appeared to have cooled down from its weeks of heated protest too.  One taxi driver explained the hiatus as a reaction to the practical realities of les vacances. No matter the gravitas of the political issue of the moment, he justified, there’s no escaping that vacation time is a Frenchman’s true priority.

The cellar gets a cleaning

Owning property anyway brings with it responsibilities, some more onerous than others.  Let me explain. Under my coop building in the Marais, there’s an enormous underground cellar where each shareholder has a private cave.  As it so happens, my apartment’s previous owner was an artist. Over the years he negotiated with neighbors to purchase their space to create a working studio for himself. Now I have a cellar three times the size of anyone else’s in the building, a shameful waste of space I must admit for someone who doesn’t live there full-time.

My unit is two levels down with a ventilation system opening to the street. This means that dirt, soot, and grime from the city pours in on a continuing basis. Cleaning it has been on my mind for several years now as a thick layer of dust has accumulated on the modest wine collection started by my late husband.  In fact, it makes me not even want to go down to pick up a random bottle to enjoy with friends. Instead, I walk to my local supermarket which helps defer the reality of the cellar’s much-needed clean-up.

As luck would have it, my building is managed by an amazing, middle-aged Portuguese concierge named Isabel Pires.  She’s short and wiry with thick, dyed reddish-brown hair, eyelash extensions, and neon orange nail polish. She claims the color adds a nice touch of “flash” to her appearance.  Isabel can do anything.  She’s the Martha Stewart of Paris apartment caretakers and then more. I idolize her. She’s intrepid, resourceful, and an unstoppable problem solver.

When asked what could be done about my dusty cellar, she said she’d investigate the situation. I assumed she’d find me a professional service to hire.  But no. Mme. Pires and her husband went downstairs with an industrial vacuum cleaner and did the job themselves. Now I can eat off the cellar floor, at least for the next few weeks!

Not a bottle to be had in Paris

Everyone knows about today’s raging popularity of tequila and mezcal in our country. In fact, according to the Distilled Spirits Council of the US, agave-based liquors were the fastest-growing spirits category in 2022 ready to overtake vodka as our best-selling liquor. So, how come we couldn’t find a suitable bottle of it for making margaritas on this trip, I ask you? Have the French not caught the tequila bug? Well, apparently not.  

Yes, we located a bottle or two of ultra-premium, aged tequilas, however, their cost was prohibitive. The French serve these “brut” or neat as a digestif just as they might offer a fine cognac. The idea of mixing it with cointreau and lime juice for a cocktail would be heresy, almost as gauche as adding an ice cube to a glass of champagne, I imagine.

Even though margaritas were on the menu for a Mexican dinner party planned for friends, we needed “to pivot.” The second choice was a delightful bottle of champagne-method, sparkling vouvray sec from Caves Cathelineau, a small producer in the Touraine region. It was a steal at 7.5 Euros most likely a wholesale price at the winery where we acquired it. What made it totally inattendue, was its crisp, bone-dry, and astonishingly delicious taste with a lovely hint of ripe pineapple on the palate, all for under $8.50.

The whole world is melting

We interrupted our eight-day stay in Paris with a short side trip to the Loire Valley. The idea of breaking up our museum-heavy itinerary with a quick visit to see a few châteaux gardens and local vineyards was appealing, especially during the warm summer months when being outdoors is so inviting. So off we went to the city of Tours.

The taxi driver who met us at the train station was young and hip, casually dressed in khaki shorts, Birkenstock sandals, and a white T-shirt heavily imprinted with political slogans. I had noticed an unusual tattoo on his calf when getting into his electric car. It looked like an ice cream cone with an ominous X overlay. In my best French, I asked a slightly personal question, at least by local standards: “What was the significance of your tattoo, Monsieur?”  The driver eyed me suspiciously in the rear-view mirror.

After a thoughtful pause, he replied: “This is very complicated, Madame, as while it may resemble a scoop of ice cream, in truth,’c’est le monde qui se fonde’.” Considering that this comment might be insufficient for a foreigner to grasp, he continued using a slightly professorial tone. “If you look closely, you will notice that it’s a sphere representing the world which is melting due to global warming and our inexcusable neglect.”  Somehow, the term “existential threat”—so over-used today—popped into my head. Can you imagine a New York taxi driver philosophizing like that?

Can you believe it? The school is still there!

Back in the late 60’s I spent my junior year abroad studying French in Tours, a city famous for its pure or neutral, if you will, accent.  Call it broadcaster French.  That’s what I speak, not a Parisian French.  While my vocabulary is often lacking and my grammar a tad wobbly, my accent is “impeccable.” I sound just like a French version of Diane Sawyer when I open my mouth.

But I digress here.  What I wanted to say is that given our brief stopover, no extra time was planned for retracing the steps of my joyful college days in Tours. However, out of curiosity, I googled my former school, “L’Institut de Touraine,” just to see if it were still in existence.  And indeed, it was plus it was only six blocks from the hotel.  So, before dinner in Vieux Tours, the medieval section of the city, Joan and I walked over to check it out.  Years had been good to L’Institut as the school had expanded dramatically tripling in size.

The next day, while waiting for our tour van pick-up, I discovered that Saint Martin Cathedral (I had lived just down the street from it) was only a 5-minute walk away.  Naturally, I trotted over to check out my old hood. Since I last visited Tours, all the city’s old stone buildings had been cleaned. Additionally, its once derelict vieux quartiers had been gentrified and turned into a tourist mecca. Subsequently, except for the main boulevard which divides the city, I recognized very little of my old college haunt.

A group of tourists gathered in front of the cathedral’s 15-th century flamboyant gothic façade listening attentively to their guide explain its long history.  When I was there in college, it was merely a tall landmark darkened with age and pollution which I passed twice a day enroute to and from class. Now, it was a major tourist attraction!

Quickly reliving my past, I wondered if my favorite pâtisserie just down from the church was still there and indeed it was. However, now it’s a fancy salon de thé with outdoor seating. Five decades earlier, it was merely a modest, dimly-lit, mom-and-pop bakery where I would pick up a slice of flan nature as a snack every day on my way home. It should then come as no surprise that this naughty habit contributed to the extra ten pounds I acquired in Tours along with my pure accent!

A wise-cracking vendeur

Speaking of food, no visit to Paris would be complete without stopping by an outdoor market. In preparation for the Mexican dinner party, we headed over to the local Thursday marché on Boulevard Richard Lenoir.  We were craving a Cavaillon melon from the south of France which was in season.  Spotting a mountain of them at one stand, I walked over and asked the young vendor to pick out a melon which would be perfectly ripe for the evening’s dinner.  Without skipping a beat, he replied “At what time is your dinner?” Such cheek!  We chuckled then complimented him on his deft ability to determine ripeness down to the minute.

A novel approach to service

On an earlier trip to Paris, someone had given me the address of Virtus, an affordable, one-star Michelin restaurant just steps away from my favorite food market, Marché d’Aligre in the 11th arrondissement. I decided to return to see if the restaurant was as good as the first time. So often revisiting something rarely lives up to your expectations. Why? Most likely because it’s no longer new plus it’s usually been romanticized in our recollections. Thus, the fact that Virtus did not disappoint was surprisingly unexpected.

Virtus’ vintage décor with splashes of Art deco remained as charming as the first time. Its enormous bouquet of flowers at the entrance was still stunningly beautiful but also unusual. This time it was made up of Queen Anne’s lace and oversized white carnations, a flower normally relegated to the back of the florist’s refrigerated case, if present at all.

The restaurant’s welcome was warm, polite, and attentive. Camille Gouyer, who runs the front of the house and serves as sommelier at lunch, complemented our choice of wine, a Saumur from a small Loire Valley producer.

The three-course lunch was a standout just as it was a year earlier. It consisted of a deconstructed gazpacho first course followed by an entrée of broiled mullet served with roasted zucchini and eggplant, surgically crafted to look other-worldly; then a feather light “strawberry dream” dessert featuring Mara des bois ice cream infused with verbena and topped with yuzu cream. We later learned that this new variety of berry was a cross between wild fraises des bois and cultivated strawberries

One thing not observed previously was how Virtus presented its food to the guests. In a charming, unexpected twist on service, we noticed that the young chefs, wearing their crisp white jackets and long navy aprons, would come out of the kitchen to hand off each dish to the servers. This included the chef-owner Frédéric Lorimier who made regular appearances from the kitchen. He later explained his philosophy: “My brigade is part of the team and it’s important that they, too, see the restaurant’s clientele whose food they spend so much time and care preparing in the kitchen.”

People watching at its best

At the end of the day, Parisians often drink an apéritif with friends at their favorite café before heading home. Why not do the same thing, we wondered? But instead of a small, neighborhood hang-out, we opted to go to Madame de Sévigné’s mansion, now also the Musée Carnavalet, and sit in her front yard for an apéro. In the summer months, Fabula (a caterer) sets up a pop-up bar and restaurant in the stately 17th century courtyard where guests can enjoy trendy cocktails and delicious food under the stars. Currently, this is “the” place for great people watching as Le Tout-Paris shows up to strut about, flaunt their latest summer fashions, and be admired.

Horses or hair?

When we were planning the trip, Joan researched possible exhibits to see. I noticed from her list a show at the Musée d’Art Décoratif (MAD) featuring horses which I quickly dismissed.  While I’ve seen fascinating exhibits there before—once featuring Barbie dolls then another time Ralph Lauren’s private car collection—animals are not my thing. A week later while surfing the internet to see what else was going on in Paris, I came across an extraordinary poster of a 17th century nobleman, half-nude exposing his hairy chest and sporting a powdered wig top heavy with a mass of chestnut-colored curls. Turns out the MAD exhibit was not about horses but rather hair. (I would like to excuse my error for confusing chevaux with cheveux but frankly, there’s only embarrassment.)  

Immediately, tickets were purchased and so should you if you’re planning to be in Paris this summer. Des Cheveux et des Poils runs through mid-September. The exhibit traces the importance and power of hair over the centuries starting with the Middle Ages. It showcases how the choice of hair grooming determines one’s individuality, conviction to a fashion, and social status. Naturally, it’s also an indicator of one’s femininity or virility.

The exhibit’s historic overview included an eye-popping demonstration of a hairdresser re-creating a Marie Antoinette-era hairdo. No wonder noble women of the time needed three pillows at bedtime! Check it out: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z-BMJ5ZazLo

The second half of Des Cheveux et des Poils features an overview of hair products and appliances over the ages. The show ends with a spectacular display of fantastical creations made of human hair by contemporary designers the likes of Alexander McQueen, Martin Margiela, and Josephus Thimister.  My favorite was a ferocious tiger with its paw extended integrated on top of an auburn wig design.

The impact of the exhibit was completely unexpected. We left feeling both exhilarated and highly entertained and wishing more time had been allocated for exploring the show’s many hidden treasures.

The Tour de France whizzes by

After the MAD hair exhibit, we headed to lunch outdoors under the colonnade at the newly renovated Hotel de la Marine. This 18t century, block-long structure is located across from the Place de la Concorde.  Just as we were getting ready to tuck into our foie gras, we heard piercing whistle sounds, then wailing police sirens.  Looking up, several Gendarmes on motorcycles whizzed by followed by two police cars with flashing red lights.  And then, a peloton of cyclists!  While it was still two days before the Tour de France’s final stage—which circles the Place de la Concorde and the Place de la Triomphe eight times along the Champs Élysées—at least we were able to catch some preliminary lead-up activity to the big day July 23rd and end of the grueling 2,235-mile bike race.

There were many other magical moments on this trip but alas, space precludes their all being mentioned.  But, to wrap up this discussion, shall we agree on one thing?  For most frequent travelers, it’s these types of unexpected occurrences which we recall years later after a trip. It’s not the stuff one reads in a guidebook or online comments which impact us the most. But rather, it’s l’inattendue—the unforeseen, unplanned, fortuitous things—which create memories which move us in some unspeakable way. This is why we travel. Right?