Parisian Dreams

That the above black & white image seems nothing more than a forgotten old postcard does nothing to diminish its charm for me. Struck momentarily by the scene's relaxed simplicity, I captured this frame on a whim crossing the Seine River in August of 1991 while on the way to the best little ice cream cafe in Paris. I'm afraid I don't remember the name of it and certainly couldn't spell it if I did, let alone pronounce it.

Magnifique -- which I can pronounce -- is how I would later describe not only the ice cream, but the City of Lights itself despite our introduction being all too brief. While living in Hamburg, I had accompanied my best friend, his wife, and their three year old daughter in a cramped RV across Germany, Luxembourg, and France to a rustic campground at Biscarosse Plage. We spent one day in Paris. I might as well have tried to enjoy Epcot Center in forty-five minutes.

But what an exceptional day it was. Up with the sun and on a train into the city to arrive at the gates of Le Louvre at its opening so we could see the Mona Lisa for ourselves. I don't recall how many wings Le Louvre has -- five, I think -- but we kept up a brisk pace for five hours to get through one of them. Would I do it all over again? Of course not. I'd want to explore a different wing.

From Le Louvre we headed to Notre Dame, Pont Neuf, and ultimately ended our day at the Eiffel Tower just before it stopped welcoming visitors. By then I was on cultural overload, even more so because my friend's wife was the only one of us who spoke French -- stranger in a strange land indeed.

I think of that vacation often and the brief, delicious slice of international flavor that warms my palette to this day. I've been back to Europe a few times since then, but not to Paris -- not yet, anyway. It's near the top of my "Must Revisit" list. It's going to have to be soon, I think. I have a craving for that amazing ice cream.