France to Spain, Vacation becomes Traveling
Posted on July 2, 2015
Now it’s Real
After ten days in Paris, we boarded a train to Barcelona. Leaving Paris, but not returning home, was the beginning of our transformation from vacationing to traveling. This was unchartered territory for us.
We did everything we set out to do in Paris, with the exception of having that perfect French meal in that perfect French restaurant. I know that sounds ridiculous, but every single restaurant recommendation we tried to go to – whether it was from the guidebook, a friend or even the owner of the apartment we stayed in – was shut down or under construction! We could have dug deeper and reached out to our knowledgable food friends for other options, but we decided to let go of that part of our plan, accepting that not everything will to go accordingly to our expectations. This is something we have learned on past trips and it was helping us now prioritize what was most important for our Paris stay.
Instead, we did more of what we love to do on vacation anyway, which was find an open air market or a good grocery store and cook for ourselves. Luckily, there was a great local street market a few blocks from our rented studio where we bought fresh vegetables, fish and all kinds of seafood. The studio we rented was about 300sqft (27m²), with a bed, a desk, a shelving unit, and a two burner stove contained in an aluminum surface next to the sink. I had to get creative for a dinner table, so I opened the windows, placed the fat guide book on the cement ledge and balanced a tray between the book and window frame. Ta da. We could sit on the foot of the bed, side by side, and eat dinner while watching the sparkling light show that beams out of the the Eiffel Tower at night.
On our fifth day, we woke to cheering, sirens, and honking car horns. Unbeknownst to us, the Paris Marathon was on – and was passing by right out in front of our apartment. I jumped out of bed in time to witness the lead men and women runners go by. I had chills! “Those are world class runners!” I yiped as I made a quick coffee and raced outside, coffee cup in hand, to watch the race. As an avid amateur runner, the marathon was a thrilling surprise (As our trip continued, we would coincidentally stay right next to two other marathon courses! Completely unplanned, I swear).
Parisians still dress in stylish boots, tight jeans, and fancy jackets when watching a marathon. It looked like the walk of shame on the side lines, but cleaner and intentional. I hid my coffee cup in the pocket of my sweatpants (classy) so I could clap.
Watching the race briefly renewed my interested in running another marathon. Briefly. I was recovering from a nagging injury prior to this trip, and Paris was going to be the place where I laced up my running shoes for the first time in months to begin that plodding climb back to fitness. I ran short little courses from our apartment to Notre Dame, consoling myself that regaining my fitness level was going to be slow, especially since I decided that bread and wine where going to take priority. YOLO, so YOLO it up.
We rode city bikes and ate fresh baguette sandwiches along the Seine. I drank Campari which, turns out, is disgusting, and we worked our way through 6 museums, writing in our notebooks about Van Gogh’s face, Monet’s Lillies, Picasso’s blue lady… Everything we did in Paris felt much like any other vacation – full, unpredictable, satisfying.
When we boarded the train for Barcelona, it was becoming easier to accept that we were going to be gone for four months, but it still did not feel like a reality.