It should be illegal that I have lived in Paris for almost two years and have never ridden on a Vespa before. What kind of Faux-risienne am I? That changed today and it was all thanks to Sébastien who proposed a romantic date of a picnic followed by a Vespa ride around Paris on a gorgeous Saturday afternoon.
This is exactly why I came to Paris, for clichés like this! This is what my Parisian dreams were made of and after two years am finally seeing it through! My fantasies still remained true to myself where I maintained my strict diet of cheese and wine but it also included hanging off of the back of Vespas while wearing an Hermés scarf and cat-eye sunglasses with French men who have half my body fat. Was I asking too much here? If I really wanted to push the envelope, I'd demand that Brigitte Bardot be blasting in the background.
But back to current day, outside of my warped idea of Paris via 1967. I had to trade out the scarf for a helmet, the cat-eye glasses for the plastic protective shield attached to said helmet and the music for me screaming Brigitte Bardot's 'Harley Davidson' out of a tune in Sébastien's ear who insisted that I sang well in French. Clearly we haven't slept together yet. He has to say that now. But the actual Vespa? Devine. It was a pearly sky blue and was kept in good shape. And the Virgo in me noticed and appreciated his safe driving.
Sébastien had planned a picnic for us at park Buttes-Chaumont where we set up a straw mat next to a flowing stream. He pulled out a tin box that revealed a delicate mescaline and roquette salad that he had garnished with bits of mozzerella wrapped in proscuitto, white asparagus, marinated cherry tomatoes and a mason jar that contained his home made salad dressing. Je rêve! I was impressed. Impressed that he put toothpicks in the mozzerbella/procuitto balls to keep them in tact but also impressed that he took the time to prepare this for us. As the director of desert, I had a few tricks up my sleeve myself and created a spread of black grapes, figs, Roquefort and Goat Cheese and a bottle of Burgundy from the Beaune region. Sebastien was impressed with my selection as well. Due to the fact that its vacation in Paris, the park was quiet which allowed us to enjoy our lunch to the sound of the stream we planted ourselves next to. Back to reality again, the sound did become a bit inconvenient after my second glass of wine.
After lunch, Sébastien took me on a tour of Paris on the Vespa, starting in the 20th and crossing over to Bastille until we hit The Seine and followed it down to the Eiffel Tower. Paris is already exquisite by foot but on a scooter, it is truly magical. No wonder everyone has them here, it was as if I was rolling through different postcards of Paris.
As we were heading back to drop me off in the Marais, Sébastien made an unexpected sharp turn down a tiny side street as a short cut. I normally approve of short cuts down quaint Parisian rues but not ones that include Monsier Flâneur's restaurant. We were about to cruise past his restaurant on a street that is the size of my apartment. If you're a new reader, that means small. Tiny. Minuscule! Never a dull moment, I swear. As we were approaching, I kept my head down and tucked into my helmet looking in the opposite direction of his restaurant. Irritatingly there was a traffic and we were slowly rolling past his place. I could feel his presence. I just knew that he was taking a smoke break because I could feel his stare through my helmet that now I know doesn't protect against vibes.
While my fantasy of Parisien bliss was achieved what I didn't foresee in my naivety was how small Paris really is and that encounters with people from your past isn't as inconceivable as it would be in New York. Ex-fiance drive-bys aside, my favorite part of my realized fantasy was the company. I couldn't have created Sebastien in my mind, someone who is slowly turning into my favorite part of the city.
