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Stepping on pavement wet with broken bottles and gummy with
confetti and streamers, we dodge flower vendors, organ
grinders, and groups of students arm-in-arm.
My husband Ted shouts over the din,
"Parisians have no herd genes! Half o the walk to the right,
and the other half walk any damn way they please."
Our senses are assaulted with the intensity
of noise, aromas, shoves and flashing lights. My feelings run
from euphoria to terror and back again. Weaving through a
crowd of hundreds of thousands is an awesome experience under
any circumstances. Add fireworks and alcohol and the ante goes
up. En garde! We may not survive this, but what a way to go!
Tonight is the high point of our two-week
stat in the City of Light. It has been a sentimental journey
for me. Thirty some years ago, I wintered in Paris while
attending classes at Le Cordon Bleu. My late husband Paul von
Welanetz courted me there during long winter walks, and now,
here I am showing off my favorite city to a brand-new husband.
From the moment of our arrival, six days
before Christmas, we have been swept up in the holiday
atmosphere. The city sparkles like an elegant ball gown. Each
time we enter the lobby of the Paris Inter-Continental Hotel,
we become children again, gawking up at an immense, lighted
tree festooned with gold balls and ribbons, centered in the
great white marble courtyard.
Exploring the city on foot, we have been
dazzled by the merchandise in the tastefully trimmed shop
windows along the Rue du Faubourg St. Honoré and the
astonishing array of jewels in the window cases of the world's
premier jewelry stores skirting the historic Place Vendôme:
Chaumet, Boucheron, Mauboussin, and Van Cleef & Arpels.
Twilight on the bustling streets and
bridges reminds of paintings by Edouard Cortés, the
turn-of-the-century master of gas-lit Paris street scenes.
Families are bundled up, and shoppers dart this way and that,
trailing packages and umbrellas as the duck into patisseries
and salons de thé.
Such brisk weather is exhilarating. We have
dressed for it and have walked 8 - 10 miles a day, shopping
for friends and family and touring most every museum, where
lines have been short in the Christmas rush. Everywhere we go,
Parisians are friendly and welcoming, matching our enjoyment,
and we are followed by the soft ringing of exit bells on shop
doors and wishes of "Joyeaux Noël, Madame et Monsieur!"
Many of the businesses are as I remembered
them. Two favorite restaurants, draped in their holiday finery
are still serving their bracing winter specialties: Le Soufflé
(where one can stuff oneself elegantly on three courses of
soufflés), and La Maison au Valais (ditto with its meltingly
delicious râclette and Swiss fondue). And there are still
lines outside Verthillon, near Notre-Dame cathedral on the Ile
Sant-Louis, where 65 flavors of the best ice cream and Paris
(and, arguably, the world) are scooped into cups and cones. We
welcome the wait, for it takes us a long time to decide which
flavors to try.
This evening, on our way here, we strolled
past Fauchon, the city's prime provisioners on the Place de la
Madeleine, to gaze through their windows at a lavish,
tantalizing display of miniature pre-appetizers called
ameuse-guelule (literally "amuse mouth"). A long line of
last-minute shoppers are waiting inside to purchase those
expensive and delicate morsels for their evening festivities,
but as we make our way through the crowds on the Champs Elysée,
it seems as if very person in Paris tonight must be gathered
here, where the fare is more basic and hearty.
Food stands are selling champagne, beer,
crêpes, and sandwiches. Entrepreneurial Middle Easterners
quickly assemble a barbecue stand under an umbrella rigged
with generator-powered lights, enveloping hordes of customers
in the delicious smoke of grilled sausages stuffed into
baguettes.
Our intent is to be close to the Arc de
Triomphe at the stroke of midnight. Nearing our destination,
we huddle next to a building for shelter from flying bottles
and firecrackers. Teenage boys become too frisky in kissing
the women, and suddenly the riot police move, not with
clumping authority but with absolute grace, and within seconds
the offenders are surrounded. It is efficient and
good-natured, and no arrests are made. Soon a great roar of
celebration announces the New Year has arrived.
Weaving our way back toward the Place de la
Concorde and our hotel, we notice that groups of loony,
loose-jointed celebrants approach the riot police, shake
hands, and wish them "Bonne Année." These gendarmes display
more than politeness, a softness even, toward the crowd,
unlike anything we've observed in police work.
The mood of the city settles back toward normalcy, but we are
still elated, congratulating ourselves over and over again for
choosing to be in Paris this season. Passage of time dims
neither her beauty nor the transcendent gaiety of her holiday
spirit.
Diana von Welanetz
Wentworth is the co-author with Jack Canfield , Mark Victor
Hansen, and Dan Millman of Chicken Soup to Inspire Your Body
and Soul, published on December 31, 2003. She is co-author of
two of the bestselling Chicken Soup for the Soul books, and of
six award-winning cookbooks. Her memoir, Send Me Someone: A
True Story of Love Here and Hereafter (St. Martin's Press,
2003) was featured in People Magazine. She lives with her
husband Ted Wentworth in Corona del Mar, California, and can
be reached at Diana@sendmesomeone.com. |
