Dinner

I’m on a train, post freak out. I arrived at the train station with D. After insisting I'd pay for my ticket, I pulled out my wallet and realized that my credit card and drivers license were no where to be found.  Oddly enough, when I had been packing for the journey I looked at my smaller, travel wallet wondering if I should take it out of my burlap sack/bag that I travel to school with. When I have those odd moments it means that I'm subconsciously remembering to bring the thing.

I suppose I should back track to last night. Now that I'm on a train I have more time to give a better description of my night. Last night was utterly fantastic. I left my apartment knowing exactly how to get to my destination. I always seem to think that I know a short cut, usually turning out to be a long cut, so I headed out down rue de seine, turning somewhere before Blvd St. Germaine, one of major boulevards in my district. So I cut down rue de buci, where the street is lined with restaurant/ cafés that are usually crowded. On the days when they are empty, the waiters and sometimes owner (from what grasp), creepily stand outside in front chatting or watching the pedestrians.

So I continued my journey, my dress flowing with the gentile breezes that passed by, down rue de buci. Luckily I received a text from D letting me know that his sense of direction had yet to set in and he would be late, because I too would be late, navigating around the crowds of tourists.

For the first time I haven't felt like a tourist in a foreign country, although I pull my map out occasionally.

I pushed on, only to find myself at blvd. St. Michel which at some point runs perpendicular to St. Germaine. Having walked around for a week in that area, I knew I wasn't far from my destination on 12 St. Germaine, however when I got onto the blvd at #90, I knew I could walk off the bread and cheese snack I had while blogging.

I arrived at the restaurant, I knew D would be skeptical, as he was when he read reviews.  From the outside, the restaurant was like a fat woman perched on the corner wearing a green dress.   On the inside, it had an Arabian Nights theme, as Shibani put it. As I had suspected, D came in raving about some vegetarian place he had seen on his hour trek to the restaurant. I figured, if need be, second dinner.

After being blacklisted for waiting too long to order, we flagged down a waiter and D ordered.  When the food came, Shibani proceeded to think the artichoke was an avocado, and in her sweet British accent slightly whispered that it tasted like her dads cologne.

I'm not sure that any of us actually enjoyed the food or the winks from the creepy waiter but the company certainly made up for it.

After, we walked back up St. Germaine slowly, enjoying the Paris summer night.  We came to a stop at St.Germaine and rue Monger. The green man was still on, indicating that we should cross.  We were too busy figuring dessert plans out that we missed him and the red man had come out to play. I proceeded to walk as any Parisian would and as I approached the middle of the street, with the snails behind me, a police car (if you can call it that), came blazing our way. As soon as I heard the siren I turned and saw the little car come up the street hauling ass, veering to it's right, right for D and Shibani, as if they were bowling pins. Even though they were only inches away from colliding with the slowpokes behind me, they kept going. It was almost if their mission to probably get the last baguette from their favorite bakery was worth two lives.

We dropped Shibani off at her metro stop and D and I kept walking. I was very excited for D to meet Shibani. They are both fantastic, openminded, smart, confident, unique people. I almost felt like I was chaperoning a date.

We continued the discussion about dessert. I believe that I redeemed myself by taking us to Grom, a gelato shop down the street from my apartment. We took the route through Blvd. St Michel, a heavily touristy area. We walked down the same streets I had taken hours earlier. At 11 at night however there were triple the number of people as well as audible languages. There was hardly room to walk, but we were not in a hurry. I took us to Grom where the line was 20 people long. Grom is an open-air shop with small tables in the street/sidewalk. Their menu features some incredible sounding gelatos.  D and I were surprised and even delighted that they listed the size of the chocolate chips in the ice cream and their origin, it's the real deal. I got my gelato, salted caramel on the bottom, stratcciatella in the middle and tiramisu on the top, piled high on my cone. D got line jumped by a group of four Spanish women. As I ate my cone his face went from upset to angry. Don't deny a dessert connoisseur his gelato.  He received his ice cream and we were on our way.

The restaurants on rue de seine were full of life, laughter and smoke. It was obviously the weekend. I agreed to walk D home, lord knows where he would have ended up if I hadn't. As I walked back to my apartment I thought how lucky I am and how I never want it to end.

I am posting this a day late, however I did write it on the train.