Eva’s Journal, Paris Walking around Paris with Eva Maxine Park
The vitality of the Left Bank in Paris
One day in Paris - an excerpt from the Travel Tales of Eva Hamilton-Clarke
Day 1
As I was sipping a café crème in the breakfast room of the , I received a call from P. As l walked toward my room past the perfectly balanced flower arrangements in the lily-laden lobby, I was in shock that he couldn’t meet me here after all. Something about staying another week in Sotogrande for the polo matches. Men and their sports! What an excuse.
I immediately packed my bags. I could not stay here alone in our special suite. It was too painful. To get over my anger, I decided to head over to , the traditional Moroccan Hammam spa next to Centre Pompidou. My body and mind needed cleansing and rejuvenation. I only wished it were warmer weather so I could ride the down the River Seine. I hopped in a taxi instead and told the driver not to take the short cut through the tunnels of the Voie Express, but to drive along the riverbank instead
Looking out the window along the tree-lined quais of the Seine, I had almost forgotten that Paris in May is one of the most romantic places in the world. That’s the thing about Paris, it’s really not a city just for lovers. You can actually fall in love with the city itself. There are so many ways the city awakens the senses: the sights, the food, the sounds, the views.
I checked out the Parisian locals who were checking into an “insider” place to luxuriate in exotic rooms of dark wood and mosaic tiles for massage and gommage treatments. I walked down rue des Archives to the taxi stand in front of Hotel de Ville, a 19th century replica of the original palace, reminding me of the heroine in that Latin American novel who walked in asking for a room, not realizing it was the City Hall.
Since I decided to change hotels, my taxi took me directly to . Sometimes a girl just needs a little Left Bank style. The combination of old Parisian aristocracy, marvelous antique stores, cafés teeming with intellectuals, avant-garde galleries and, now, great shopping—are just what my mood called for. After checking in, I walked over to for a divine steak frites lunch. After being seated by a Parisian woman in a black-and-white maid’s uniform, I knew I was in good hands. She didn’t even give me a menu until dessert, she simply asked how I liked my steak and what kind of wine I would like. After a simple salad, I was served half my steak with crisp pommes frites. The other half was at my request. Now I know why French women don’t get fat.
Walking down rue Jacob, I popped in and out of the fine bookshops and picked up a few gifts—a necklace at , a book about interior decoration at . I walked quickly past where P. buys his books on yachting. I didn’t want to spoil my mood. Next I hit , , and . Then back to the hotel for a nap.
