The Little White Book

I had dinner tonight at a restaurant my parents ate at 42 years ago almost to the day.  It is the oldest restaurant in Paris, Le Procope, a famous hangout of Voltaire, Napolean, Ben Franklin and many others.  I went tonight, not because the food is spectacular (the Coq au Vin was so rich and sinful) or because the service is amazing (it was pretty bad actually, typical French), but because my Mom kept her Little White Book.  Or I should say, my Mom threw out the book and my Dad kept it.  He keeps everything! 

Before they were married, they took a 3 week vacation to France, where they split the costs, except for on Saturday nights, when my Dad treated.  My Mom had a little "travel book" (that's what it said on the cover) which had sections for expenses, weather, restaurants, etc.  She wrote down the date, where they ate and gave it a rating (she even wrote down when my Dad got sick, ha).  On June 1 or 2, they went to Le Procope and she gave it a B+.  When I was getting ready to return for the week, she kept saying she wished she had her book, but she threw it out years ago.  My Dad chimed in from the other room, no you didn't, I have it.  So after a quick Tripadvisor search we realized that the restaurant was still there and of course I had to go.  I'm sure they will appreciate the pictures, as the inside probably hasn't changed in the last 50 (200!) years.  :-)

But what is even more fascinating is that they planned a 3 week European vacation using only guidebooks and mail reservations.  I don't know what I would have done this week without the Internet, specifically Tripadvisor and Yelp.  As soon as I decided to stay for the week, I immediately spent an hour booking hotels, researching things to do, where to eat, and mapping out my plan of attack.  What took me an hour, probably took my Dad days. 

I wandered through the Tuileries this morning, past the Louvre, and finally found a seat in the sun in front of a fountain in the Palais Royal gardens.  I picked up my phone and found where I was (did you know GPS is the most amazing thing?), and searched for someplace to eat.  Forget paper maps, you just need to tell Tripadvisor to search the best near you and Voila!, the best crepes in Paris!  I meandered through old passages and indoor galleries and eventually made my way up Rue de Martyrs to Montmarte and the Sacre Coeur, where I sat in a pew and rested. 

Now, I'm not a religious person, but there is something moving and humbling about sitting in a church in a foreign country, reflecting and absorbing the moment.  I thought about the people that had sat in my seat in the past 100 years, about my parents wandering around France with their Little White Book and nothing else.  I thought about how I would never in a million years have guessed I would be sitting here, thankful for a great job that let's me experience amazing adventures. 

As I made my way back through the hustle and bustle of Montmartre, through the square with sooo many portrait sketchers (it was like a flea market of people painting and drawing and offering to paint your portrait, such a zoo), I stopped at an older man painting flowers.  They were just so beautiful, the colors and the textures were amazing.  Without even thinking I picked up one with purple flowers (of course) and I said I'll take it.  He carefully placed it in between two pieces of cardboard to help ensure its safe journey home and I thanked him for helping to create a lasting memory.  I told him I'll frame it nicely when I get home and hang it in a special place, and smile each time I pass it, remembering my wanderings through Paris.  I'll remember the warmth of the sunshine, the sound of the crowd milling around, the chills I got from sitting in the church and most of all, how my parents were there too 42 years ago.  :-)