Friends are always excited to hear what I've brought back from my travels. But I'm afraid I disappoint them. I've only ever once brought back shoes from Paris and the Champs Elysee doesn't interest me in the slightest.
Of course I've been there. Several times, just to see what all the fuss was about. I've stood on a traffic island to take a shot of all the traffic and the lights. But it really did nothing for me. I find all that money much prettier than the end product at Hermes or Chanel.
I do like shopping at the Carrousel de Louvre though I'm a bit dismayed to see multiple Starbucks and even an Apple store sharing space
with the Mona Lisa. I'll even admit to spending my money at Starbucks where I purchased a mug and a chai latte--although it was served up in typical Parisian fashion: with the barista refusing to take my 50 Euro note, insisting I use a pin card instead. I'm not embarrassed to let the line grow behind me: nothing like a hoard of caffeine deprived tourists to make a cashier take cash.
I found the souvenirs I wanted right away by heading to the row of shops near Notre Dame cathedral: a black beret studded with the Eiffel Tower for my niece, Kathleen, an Eiffel Tower army bag for her twin, Christina. And the inevitable keychains and fridge magnets--the best to be found at Album
, a graphic novel store right on the Boulevard St. Germain.
But I couldn't find most of what I was looking for: boots and a cool bird bag I'd seen on Pinterest, an Eiffel Tower Swatch which apparently isn't being made anymore (WHY? Swatch people, it's not as if it's being replaced by any cooler designs!) and the Italian brand of stuffie I buy for my dog, Eddy. I found Trudi plush animals everywhere on my previous trips; this time my enquiries were met with blank looks as if I'd been shopping in the twilight zone of my imagination. ("JAMAIS ici, madam.")
Sabre's newest cutlery are made in a printed plastic which look like disposable picnic ware though I was able to find one wooden handled spoon with a 'Heidi' design, after being told at various locations that it was a new design that hadn't yet arrived or an old design that was being phased out.
The foreign editions of books I so craved either hadn't yet been shipped or their destination had been expunged.
Surely, there's nothing sadder than a bookstore with books in the window under a
For Rent sign and I stood there much longer than I needed, staring in disbelief at the Red Wheelbarrow. But when I asked at Galignani's for a Petit Nicolas agenda, I was handed something even better: another agenda by Sempe, one of my favourite illustrators. As I use it throughout the year, I'll be reminded of my trip to Paris. Which is the best thing of all to bring home.
I know that people associate Paris with Michelin star restaurants, but really, with the cost of airfare and a good hotel, who can afford that type of food? It doesn't mean you have to eat at McDonald's though I have eaten at McDonald's. McDonald's in Europe is not the same as McDonald's here. It's more expensive--whatever you pay in dollars here, you pay in Euros there so a burger will cost you about 50% more (or the current exchange rate). But it's a better burger, the food quality is much higher and the menu more varied, with just that Parisian flare. So ask for a McDo, a deluxe potatoes and a Coca; (just don't ask for a McPoulet because unlike in Quebec, a McChicken stays a McChicken).
I picked up a neat little hardcover edition of Edith Wharton's A Motor-Flight Through France for 156 francs (the price still pencilled inside) and Henry James's corresponding A Little Tour in France in paperback for decidedly less. But I don't really care what books cost when I'm in Paris. The way they're displayed, the way they're packed and presented are done with such flourish, I'm always ridiculously pleased as I lug my finds through the Jardins des Tuileries on my way back to my hotel.
Since I'm a big walker, I feel at odds without a dog. I almost become a dog stalker. I feed them, I talk to them, I take pictures. But I couldn't envision either of my dogs sitting calmly under a cafe chair while hundreds tromped by. Even though both were city dogs, they lacked the acclimatization to crowds and indeed were sorely lacking in the sophistication of the title subjects of Rachael Hale McKenna's The French Dog. 
Sabre's newest cutlery are made in a printed plastic which look like disposable picnic ware though I was able to find one wooden handled spoon with a 'Heidi' design, after being told at various locations that it was a new design that hadn't yet arrived or an old design that was being phased out.
