Paris: Day One

Has any other woman felt that they were missing out on experiencing the moment because their feet were killing them?

I'm here on business. I wore a new suit and a new pair of pants with fairly comfortable, pretty chunky 3" heels. Fine for wearing all day. Fine for a stroll. Not fine for walking at breakneck speed over cobblestones and wooden bridges for 30 minutes or more. By the way - Parisian cobblestones beat Boston cobblestones in the ankle twisting category anyday.

Yes, I brought sensible shoes. No I'm not one of those women who can't wear sensible shoes. I know Carrie Bradshaw is a fraud. I'm a true city chick - I wear sensible shoes when walking around town and I plan on wearing them all weekend while I'm here. But my pants are tailored for high heels so I can't trade heels for sneakers or flats without changing clothes, etc., etc., so I was stuck walking to dinner in them.

At first it was nice. Ah, Le Louvre at night. What a quaint rickety wooden bridge crossing the lovely Seine. Ah here we are at the restaurant unscathed. These new shoes held up. Sweet.

Dinner was a very French affair at a place called Les Bouquinistes "restaurant avec Guy Savoy". I do not know who Guy Savoy is, but I hear he's a big deal.

I am always anxious at dinners like these. I was the pickiest kid - living off of peanutbutter sandwiches through most of my childhood. I was brought up vegetarian for the first ten or so years of my life, so I also don't have an affinity for a lot of meat. And I don't like seafood. I've expanded the things I like over the years, of course, but meat and seafood are still issues. Today though, I told myself to grow up and try everything - I mean how much meat and seafood can one be served in one meal?

Ha. Ha.

First, there was champagne and an "amuse bouche" - a tiny, tiny appetizer to "amuse the mouth". It was a shotglass of cold pureed soup of an unknown seafood origin, from what I overheard. I tasted it. It was delicious. Phew.

Second, there was pate with toast and a white wine. It was also good, though I only had a bit of the pate.

Third, there was a small casserole dish with a ravioli stuffed with fish covered in a buttery sauce and a small de-shelled lobster like thing on top and another glass of another white wine. I couldn't do the lobster (yes, I don't deserve the title New Englander) but the ravioli was wonderful too.

Fouth came three long slices of very rare duck, with a bit of more cooked chopped duck served with a '98 Bordeaux. I like duck. The cooked duck was great. The rare duck was still quacking. The Bordeaux was delicious.

Fifth came a long slice of fish, skin-on, cooked to a crisp, served over a creamy risotto. And I think a different glass of wine. The fish was good - I think I might like fish now - and the risotto was out of this world.

Lastly came the dessert - it was cold cappuccino with bananas and coconut and cream. It was very tropical tasting. Eh. And a chocolate mousse thingy and some sweet dessert wine.

It was a feast in the moveable feast that is Paris and I'm glad I got over my fear of trying new foods in such a fabulous setting. Merci Guy Savoy, whoever you are.

But my feet are killing me! After we left, a little less sure on my feet, we took the long way back, walking to Notre Dame to see it at night. I haven't been there for fifteen years and it made me reflect on my life then and now.

Apparently I haven't improved on appropriate fashion for the moment front. Last time I was at Notre Dame I was wearing some outfit from Tello's, a scrunchi, and a pair of Keds. Though my taste level might have improved since then, the practicality of it all has not. I resolved to wear comfy shoes only for the remainder of my trip.

I began to lag a bit behind and the balls of my feet were screaming in pain when suddenly everyone stopped on another rickety bridge (or maybe the same one) to see the light show that the Eiffel Tower puts on these days. Stopping actually makes foot pain worse in my opinion so I was leaning from one foot to the next in my personal hell and that is when I realized that I am a very stupid woman who is missing the beauty of the twinkly lights and the sparkling Seine because of a footwear malfunction. I forced myself to appreciate the view and just barely stopped myself from ripping off the offensive shoes and walking back to the hotel barefoot.

Thank goodness I get to spend the weekend here. If I'm not crippled permanently, I'll write more through the week.