With French-school comrade Irene back in Europe (she’s our Aussie girl), it was definitely time for another reunion! With dinner & drink plans intact, the troops converged on the city of light yet once again…

I arrived in Paris a few hours before the meeting time. On the way into the airport’s RER (train) station, I noticed an exasperated North-American-sounding man with a bunch of luggage whose RER ticket had just been mercilessly gobbled by the machine. I sort of kept an eye on him to make sure he got it back, since you can’t exit at the other end without it (and the ticket guys at the RER station are usually less than helpful). With his ticket back in hand, we chatted on the 40-minute ride into town, & turns out he had quite a story…….. French/Romanian couple invites him & wife to visit them in Paris…… he comes to Europe on business then makes a special trip to Paris just to see them….. their invitation suddenly deteriorates into “we’re busy with friends so how ‘bout if one of us meets you in town for lunch, and you pick the place”. Cordial! So here’s the dude stranded in Paris for 3 days without so much as a metro map, & me ever the party planner, I say “HEY come join the all-English-speaking Paris peeps tonight for drinks & chow!” I give him the address & go my merry way.

Hanging out alone on the Paris metro (seems like that doesn’t happen often… the ‘alone’ part), I have some time to “observe”. I recognize that there are two general types of metro-goers. The tourist who either has his face buried in a city map or is gazing intently/worriedly up at the metro route, and the local who is practiced in looking BORED and COOL. So I decide that I should try looking really BORED and COOL. I stare disinterestedly out the window at nothing in particular, I sigh deeply as if it’s been a long and stressful day of whatever Parisians do on Sunday, I raise my eyebrow disdainfully at the tourists, I check my cellphone voicemail as if waiting for an important call from Jacques Chirac. I am COOOOOOOOOL….

I coolly get off at FDR on the Champs Elysees, stroll with coolness up to the big Monoprix, and not-so-coolly-at-all exclaim “DAMN IT’S CLOSED ON SUNDAY!” So much for my urgent shopping assignment from our girl Deanna in California, who is in desperate need of “Le Petit Marseilles” liquid handsoap. What a bust.

So off to Laduree for a box of those awesome colorful macaroon cookies, which apparently every other person in Paris also was craving that day by the look of the throngs standing in line at the cookie counter. My shopping ideas are obviously failing, so why not enjoy some of the scattered sunshine over at the Tuileries? Another COOOOL metro ride ejects me right at the entrance of the gardens, & I thoroughly enjoy watching the kids float their boats around the fountain on this unusual day of Indian summer. Oddly, really colorful flowers are blooming with total disregard for the season, & my coolness deteriorates as I stare in wonder (remember, look disinterested!). The final nail in my coolness coffin comes when one of the many money-scouting Eastern European girls in the park (this one with a headscarf and a gold tooth) approaches me for money. The locals around me keep one eye on me to see if I’ll cave. I say unconvincingly “uh, non”…. She begs “s’il vous plait!!!” and I do cave, but only with one euro. You could practically hear the collective groan from my audience, & I realize I’m really just a softie American tourist at heart. So much for COOOOOOOOOL.

At 6:30 on the button, we meet up in Montmartre at “Drôle d’Endroit Pour Une Rencontre” (“A Funny Place To Meet”). Our lineup included Australian-resident Irene with her 3 traveling companions (Kate, Christine, Nyet.. .sorry I know I massacred his name..), Barry the Canadian guy from the train, British-born/Paris-resident Dani, and Australian-born/Paris-resident James. (Soenke was off flying & couldn’t join the gang). The bar included an array of notebooks with glossy singles’ ads from the patrons of the establishment, which we delightedly thumbed through and giggled at between hilarious travel tales from Irene’s gang and Barry.

Grumbling bellies eventually spurred us off in search of our designated restaurant, which was discovered to be permanently closed - unless dark windows & chains across the door are considered welcoming in France. Nearby was a welcoming-looking French joint called “O Vinea”, headed by a VERY typically Parisienne proprietress, who greeted, served, AND cooked (in the world’s smallest oven). She was dressed in fabulous accessories & perfect makeup/hair… explained the menu to us with dramatic flourishes and excitement that made you think this was going to be the FINEST meal you EVER had… and yes it was pretty darn good!

The night wrapped up with big hugs & promises of future meetings in exotic locales. It was a great night that stirred warm memories of last year’s month-long Parisian extravaganza!

I was greeted back at my hotel – the well-located and cheap (while a bit shabby chic) Prince Albert Louvre - by the French-only speaking, 80-year-oldish night deskman, who practically begged me to have a nightcap and a chat with him. I escaped, only to be greeted by him early the next morning as if I was a long lost lover. UGH! I made my escape just in the nick of time……!

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Enjoying the Tuileries fountains & boaters, with the Louvre looming in the background:

Some of our original Paris Peeps…. James, me, Dani, & Irene!

The dinner gang.. but no Barry! Where is he? Taking the picture? (if someone has a group photo including ALL of us, please email to me & I’ll add):

The Australian contingent loiters in the metro…

Totally unrelated to Paris…. a gratuitous shot of autumn off our Hamburg balcony: