On Sunday we braved the rain and sudden wind and found our way to our much revered pocket of heaven called Village Saint Paul. There we were serendipitously welcomed by a farmers market, making the experience feel much like a journey into the provinces. So many aged and fresh goat cheeses to taste, homemade confitures to savour, mulled local wine to inhale…and the countless varieties of honey! Immediately I became transformed into an excited child with large curious eyes possessing the refined palate of a well-practiced foodie. Surely I needed to try everything. We returned home to continue the feast, bellies and bags filled with organic produce.
Sundays in the Marais are enchanting. While the rest of Paris sleeps, the Marais is filled with the flow of life. Following an impromptu path led only by the sun, we float like a pair of doves amidst the harmonious mélange of voyagers and inhabitants. No sounds of engines are heard as the streets are entitled only to pedestrians. Time ceases to exist. We find our way into a world of secret gardens and not-so-secret cafés. Our most favored treasure is the Village Saint Paul. This clandestine paradise is accessible only via arched passageways, to those who are lucky enough to find it. Within these walls lies a self-contained world of antique shops and one particular café which has captured our hearts, or more fittingly, our appetites. Seldom does a Sunday pass without a taste of the homemade quiche or creative confections.
Days like these help me to remember why I am in Paris: love. A ‘raison d’être’ in itself. I temporarily forget that the other key elements composing a life are so far away: family, friends, work, etc. Is it possible to create a life combining all of that which brings one a sense of fulfillment? Or are we meant to perpetually lack in order to feed the mind and body with desire? Perhaps, for the sake of feeling alive. Regardless of the whims and desires that reside in my mind, I feel deeply content.