last day in Paris

Yesterday, Lynn's TGV train arrived seven minutes late, rare for French trains. I was waiting at the Gare de Lyon, we got the bus back here, and our two days together in Paris began, of course, with lunch and a little glass of wine. I have stayed so often with her and her family in France, I'm glad to be the hostess here, for once.

We stepped out into the most heavenly Paris day to wander at will. One cultural activity was arranged, to see the Klee exhibit at L'Orangerie. Otherwise, our only task was to enjoy the day and, could it be, do a little shopping. Strangely, Lynn has lived in this country since 1970 but never in Paris, so I know my way around the city better than she does.

It is fascinating to watch a Frenchwoman shop, even one who used to be Canadian. She inspects with a steely gaze the material, cut, colour, price, fashionability, durability and general excellence, and is so critical and thrifty, it's amazing she has any clothes at all, but somehow, she does. We wandered all over the Bastille, stopping in little boutiques, I rhapsodizing over the picturesqueness of buildings and streets which Lynn has seen many times, and she giving a piercing look at what was available in the shops. I found two scarves, very reasonable and pretty; she found a top, a skirt, a dress and some earrings. A most successful day.

We stopped for a beer on the Place des Vosges, exactly where we stopped for a beer during her visit here last year, and then continued our wandering until we could hardly walk any more, at which point we walked home. As we came out onto the Place Notre Dame, the dusk sunlight was beaming directly on the cathedral, making it glow gold. Magical. The incredibly beautiful purple trees here, which I've never seen anywhere else, are in bloom; a city gardener told me they're Polovnia trees. Let's get some Polovnias, Toronto.

I improvised dinner from what was in the fridge but ... disaster, no wine, we'd drunk it all at midday. It was after 9 p.m. when I ventured out to find more, imagining what luck I'd have in search of a good bottle of wine after 9 p.m. in Toronto. Not even half a block away from the flat was a small grocery store with, of course, a huge selection of wines. I nervously chose a 7 euro Cotes de Rhone which had won a wine prize somewhere, and when I got back, Lynn said, "Great choice, you can never go wrong with a Cotes de Rhone." I felt like I too had won some sort of wine prize. And it was delicious.

Today, off to see Paul Klee, one of my favourite painters. (Wait - haven't you heard that before?) And at l'Orangerie, one of my favourite museums. We got off the bus at the Louvre and walked down the Tuileries Gardens to get there - what a route. It's hard to take in, sometimes, just how many magnificent buildings and gardens there are in this city.

It was a small exhibit but beautiful, showing off the simplicity, humour and spiritual depth of his colours and arrows, letters and faces. I didn't realize that Klee was also a musician and a writer, and early on, couldn't decide between his three gifts. Lynn liked the work but, ever the linguist, was upset by the clumsy English translations underneath. At one point Klee was quoted as saying that he would not "vent gall." The lady beside me, the linguistics professor, vented a lot of gall at that one.

In 1939, one year before his death and in great pain from illness, Klee painted 1253 works. Hard to imagine. More than three a day, is that possible?

We toured the exhibit downstairs, many masterpieces per square inch - it's extraordinary that this museum is not more crowded, it's so rich - and upstairs, those gracious curving rooms full of Monet's waterlilies. I said, "These make you want to just relax completely and float away."

"That's what I do all the time anyway," said my companion, and it's true, she is famous for her floating.

Then more wandering, casting an eye in an occasional shop, this time in the St. Germain area, those marvellous little streets, rue Jacob, rue des Saintes-Peres, rue de Buci. We found a restaurant for lunch, finally, on the rue de Grenelle - "A La Petite Chaise" just looked nice and was reasonable, so we went in to discover that it's the oldest restaurant in Paris, founded in 1680. Certainly the first time I've dined in a restaurant more more than 300 years old. It was a very small room, very yellow, simple, full of French people eating well and with gusto - one of the best places to be on a Paris afternoon. We had the menu - an entree, a glass of wine and coffee for a very reasonable price; we both had maigret de canard, the duck, and it was heaven.

We ended up in the most important shop of all - Monoprix, where in the huge basement grocery section, we bought tonight's dinner, and I bought six kinds of smelly cheese and some Poilane bread to share with the troops at home.

Now it's 7.30 p.m. I've started piling stuff in my suitcase. The day has turned cloudy and colder but the window is wide open to the sky. My friend is working on her computer, I on mine and we're having our aperitif - another little glass of wine and an hors d'oeuvre, a spicy salami called rosette, before we make dinner. A museum we're both interested in is open till 11.30 tonight, so we may venture out again - but my guess is that we will just stay here and talk the night away, as we began to do in 1967 and continued as often as possible afterwards.

Early tomorrow, Lynn will leave for the train back to Montpellier, and I'm off to the airport. Another idyll over. I go home after slightly more than a month away, full full full of everything I've seen and done. And also, of maigret de canard.

P.S. 10.30 p.m. Lynn just reminded me of an event which I'd obviously determined to put out of my mind forever. As we strolled this afternoon, we came upon another Laduree store, with the famous macaroons. I went in to buy some to take home. It was a tiny, beautiful dollhouse store, with exquisite arrangements of little iced gateaux and tartelettes around the macaroon display. As we stood in line along the counter, I fished around in my handbag to get out my wallet, and as I did so, I knocked over the plastic price holder that was on the counter. It fell down into the gateaux, squashing and smearing two artistic toppings.

Horrified, I grabbed the plastic thing and put it back on the counter, covered with icing. Luckily, the staff hadn't noticed, and I did not confess. I bought eight macaroons, all colours, lily of the valley, mimosa, cassis - red currant - caramel and rose petal. A delicate treat to have at home, while hoping that someone took pity on the ruined tartelettes and bought them anyway. Lynn and I left with tears from suppressed laughter.

One thing is sure: my friend will never let me forget my clumsiness at Laduree. And now, all of you know about it too.