My first August in Paris. Without the Parisians. Without the comforts of local boulangeries and bistros. Equally, without the discomforts of cafes overflowing with locals. Most of my neigborhood haunts are closed, as are most well regarded restaurants. The owners have resigned to their annual month long holiday. Hard to believe for someone coming from the USA, where to close, even for a long weekend, would mean to lose business, which would inevitably lead to demise. Not so in Paris. Perhaps these frequented spots know their value too well. They know their customer will return, as they do every year come September when the city breathes life again.

These days the streets are filled with international faces and sounds, a melody of English mixed with Spanish and Italian, among others. My place has become somewhere in between these curious tourists and the confidant locals who remain. Many of whom spend long afternoons upon the sandy shores of the Seine called Paris Plage, lasting until August 20th. Not a bad option for a sunny day.

This time is ideal to appreciate all the luxuries, both food related and other, that can easily be taken for granted. It is a time for stillness and reflection. James Morgan so well articulates the feeling of August in Paris in The Longest Sunday, ‘Coffee, Bach, the newspaper, brunch, a walk in the park, the knowledge that no one else is working—what could be better than that?’ Absolutely nothing.

There exist many activities to quiet the mind, far away from the toil of the tourists. Visits to hidden gardens, antique markets and museums, those often walked by but never entered. Now is the time. One of my favorite August activities is the pique-nique. A simple recipe. Close friends, often mixed with a few new ones. A carefully chosen selection of cheeses and fruit, a good bottle of wine and a glorious sunset. 

Maybe one day I too will dream beneath another summer horizon, but until then I will enjoy this one.