I had a few last minute Christmas gifts to buy before my flight home, so I dressed in my designer best (one always dresses up in Paris to go shopping) and headed to the most fashionable street in Paris: Rue Saint Honore. Think of it as the Rodeo Drive of Beverly Hills but with more class and heaps more elegance. Things here are definitely over the top. How about a fur covered hot water bottle for a mere $350? Or perhaps a stunning, knock-you-on-the-ground three carat diamond ring for $120,000? I could skate on that thing if I wanted. Just what ever princess needs on Christmas morning.

The white Christmas lights are strung like waterfall fringe across the street. I can only imagine what it looks like at night. I stop at the stylish Café Bac for lunch. Although I’m not a big fan of dining alone, I take a seat on the sumptuous red velvet banquette facing the restaurant. It’s an interesting vantage point because I can watch the whole restaurant almost unnoticed.

To my right sit a mother and daughter. They hardly speak to each other through the entire meal.  The mother casually flips through a fashion magazine while absently picking at her pumpkin soup and lentil salad. The only thing she manages to make a dent in is the freshly squeezed carrot juice. So this is how French women stay so slim.

The daughter orders a hamburger and fries – an American classic. But as her plate arrives, she gets quite a lecture from her disapproving mother. From what I can understand, the mother is shocked her daughter would eat something like that. The daughter pretends not to hear as she eats her fries like a chain smoker and stares off into space. It’s at this moment I’m so thankful my mom never questioned what I ate – unless of course it had artificial flavors or colors.

For lunch, I opt for something light since I have quite a bit of shopping. I order the French onion soup followed by a Caesar salad. The waiter raises an eyebrow when I only make it through a third of each dish. For the pricing I’m paying, I did expect it to be better than it is.

Everyone in the restaurant is clad in all black – the staple of a Parisian’s wardrobe. Not a stitch of color can be seen. In winter it’s considered quite gauche to wear anything with color. Evidently the clothes match the Parisian mood since in winter, people tend to stay inside and be slightly depressed. Now I understand why I see so many pregnant women in the summer. At least they’re having fun when they stay home.

As my salad arrives, I glance over at the daughter. She’s absently picking at crumbs on the table while two very large tears creep down her cheeks. She’s upset by something her mother has said, although I can’t tell what. She happens to glance my way with her red puffy eyes, so I chance it and give her a quick wink. I hope whatever has made her sad will blow over soon.

Much to my surprise, I’m the only one eating alone in the whole restaurant. When I first arrived, I noticed several people sitting by themselves. Now all tables are full with two or more people. I find out later that French people don’t really enjoy eating alone. The two businessmen on my left speak to me in English without me uttering a word. Either I stand out, which I don’t think is the case, or they guess I’m American because I’m eating alone. Needless to say I’m rather relieved to pay the bill and leave.

There are some amazing stores along this street and I’m rather tempted to go inside. But my purpose today is to find presents for my friends and family, not shop for myself. I make some good finds along the way – just little things that will fit into my suitcase and find their way under the tree at the homes of those I love.

By the time I’m finished picking out presents, the sun has set and Christmas lights come on. Hundreds are strung up between buildings wherever you go to celebrate the season. But instead of the lights giving the feeling of charm and beauty, I feel more like I’ve gone to Vegas. On every strand of lights, there are a few, or in some cases a lot, lights that blink on and off. I didn’t figure Paris would adopt a Vegas sort of look, but I’m learning everything is possible. The effect is rather cheery I will admit. After all, Paris is the city of light.

Exhausted from my hard work (really, it was hard look to admire so many amazing stores), I schlep my shopping bags through the Metro to my apartment. I’m ready for my nap now!

 Leave a Comment