The City of Light on a Fine Spring Afternoon
Our final flight on TAP was just great - excellent terminal,
orderly boarding, on-time departure and a fantastic lunch – a fish and vegetable
stew for me, pumpkin-stuffed tortellini for MLW. We arrived about 15 minutes
early, but André our driver was waiting just outside the last door. This was
our first arrival at Orly, and so I wasn’t sure what to expect based on tales I
had heard. It was okay, but clearly a bit shopworn. He loaded us into a C-Class
Mercedes for the drive into town.
Now, before everyone gets all offended by us putting on
airs, I’ll say this – the rate from the airport to Paris is now fixed at 57€
whether you take a private car, a taxi or an ox cart. So why not? English
speaking, dressed in a suit, a shiny black luxury sedan, guaranteed price.
It took about 30 minutes to get into town. The weather was
cooler than what we’d been experiencing, but it was mostly sunny, and it felt good
to be back in the City of Light. “April in Paris,” as they say.
Knowing the neighborhood, I had a good idea of where the apartment
was situated but it turned out even better than we could have hoped. Literally
a half-block around the corner from Le Grand Epicerie, our favorite grocery store
on earth.
Georgina, our host, was a bit late, so we waited outside. A
woman with some sort of location problem came up the street yelling loudly and
waving a map. Given the suitcases, she left us alone, instead blocking the
paths of oncoming pedestrians until she finally convinced a woman to stop and
help her. The woman took out her phone, looked at the map and told her that she
had to turn around and go back the way she came. This didn’t sit well with her,
so she started to yell even louder. The helper shook her head and came past us,
stopping to tell us, in English, that the woman was nuts. “I’ve here for 30
years,” she said, “And I know where she’s trying to go.”
Georgina thankfully showed up as the distressed woman was
now standing in the middle of the street yelling and crying. As another woman
came out of a shop to see what was going on, we went inside.
I genuinely hit a home run with this place. 5th
floor, elevator, two bedrooms, three baths, views out all the windows, church
bells out the front and the back, washer
and dryer and decent furnishings. Oh,
and another Nespresso machine! Just perfect. We gathered our shopping bags and
went out to Le Epicerie to gather our most important supplies – yogurt, blueberries,
Special K, bananas, and something for dinner – 3 little quiches and a puff
pastry stuffed with creamed chicken and vegetables. After all those nights out,
dinner in sounds pretty good.
Shopping at that store is such a great experience. It’s
busy, and sometimes people get in your way, but the staff is so friendly, and
the goods are a feast for the eye. From the most obscure gourmet products to
Tropicana orange juice. Their yogurt selection alone makes me want to sell
everything and move here – hundreds of brands and flavors, all in neat little
glass jars. The fruit is fresh and the desserts unlimited. All with an
oenophile-level wine store in the basement.
Always looking for a challenge, I decided to do self-check
out. Because, after all, cross-cultural comparisons are what makes us interesting.
Instead of weighing every item you put in the bag, they have a few well-dressed
and well-spoken security people hanging around. More to help than to wrestle
you to the floor for shop lifting. Not a single “Please put item in the bag.
Please re-scan item and put item in the bag. Attendant called - help is on the
way” call-out. I rang it up, MLW bagged it, and I even managed to do the whole
credit card thing in French. If only our grocery stores could be this easy.
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