This morning: snow on the immaculate gardens of Versailles, white light reflecting down the hall of mirrors and a bitter wind whipping along the courtyards
This afternoon: soggy feet and frozen cheeks and a map falling apart in our hands, we wound our way through the thoroughly confusing roads around St Sulpice metro station until we finally made it to the Rue de Cherche-Midi. We thought our weary feet would rest, but not quite - then we wandered up and down, blinking and slipping on the slush. At last we found the shopfront - sign much smaller than the others - and finally, finally slipped inside the warmth with a sigh of relief. We met the first shopkeeper/cashier who spoke no English, and I pointed and she wrote down prices and wrapped up my massive half-loaf for me, and the crowd of people in the tiny space pushed us right out the door, and I laughed and pulled the paper open and right there, on the side of the street, ripped out my first chunk of Pain Poilâne and ate. Flour covered my gloves and crumbs fell on my scarf, and the snow fell on the streets of Paris in big, downy flakes, and was it the best bread I've ever tasted? was it really? there are so many different kinds of bread, after all, it seems a hard thing to say, but...
Do you know, I think it was. I really think so. It really was. Worth soggy feet and ripped maps, oh, definitely. worth a trip to paris? maybe!!
And then the snow turned into rain, and we got lost again, and we ordered lunch then didn't have enough cash for ut, and my toes turned past numb back to painful, and later we were just barely too late to get into the catacombs, and I guess the moral of the story is that perfect moments don't last for long. but while they're there...!
(Oh, and we ALSO got Pierre Herme macarons. Yes, it has been that kind of day. And by "that kind of," I mean glorious.)
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