New Year, New Dream: London, Paris, Cotswolds
The winds of change are calling, and the world feels a lot bigger than it did two weeks ago.
I am writing to you from an English Manor in the Cotswolds, a quaint village community with Roman era roads, named for the sheep cots and rolling grassy hills that define the region. Imagine Midsomer Murders, for all you BBC mystery fans, and you’ve got the actual place in mind. I’ve come for some rest and relaxation after a busy week exploring London and Paris with a friend. I am trying to follow the thread of life more freely, and when she offered her place in North London for some respite after a very hard year, I accepted!
Lords of the Manor, Upper Slaughter, Cotswolds
I arrived at the Heathrow airport, eight hours ahead of California, which meant I essentially did not sleep for two days. It was operation “Keep Cat Awake” and my friend did a great job of it. London really does Christmas right, with bustling Christmas markets, creative light installations on the streets, mulled wines, hot ciders, and garlands and bobbles galore. After an amazing brunch with a group of international friends, we went to Fortum and Mason to do some last minute Christmas shopping and see the lights, then popped into the Wolseley for some festive cocktails. We stumbled upon a pop-up of an awesome vintage inspired designer Weekend Doll, and I found my uniform for the rest of the trip.
The next couple of days brought us to Christmas, full of my favorite holiday pastimes: Watching wonderfully bad Christmas movies (though Spirited was almost TOO good), drinking bubbles (non-alcoholic for me), eating roast meats, and long walks through ancient woods in North London. We did a special Christmas roast in an awesome local pub, The Maynard Arms in Crouch End, with my new friend Wally the dog. I had my first ever Full English Breakfast and “brown sauce", which was mind blowing, and I was told is “the best England has to offer” in the most British of self deprecating humor. The days were crisp but not at all as cold as I’d imagined an English winter to be, with little spots of rain here and there. And then we were off to Paris for a three day whirlwind adventure!
Paris, City of Lights
Our first day in Paris was gray, drizzly, and BEAUTIFUL. It really is the City of Lights and shines like a gem both day and night. We found a cute little fondue place for lunch and strolled around the Latin Quarter, crisscrossing over the Seine, popping into cute little shops and over to Cathédrale Notre-Dame, which was still recovering from the fire. It remained a beautiful symbol of Gothic architecture, even without its former spire. We stopped to warm our hands with a hot chocolate in a little cafe overlooking the cathedral, then wandered on towards dinner.
On the way, we stumbled upon a proper Christmas market, complete with mulled wine, twinkling lights, Christmas trees, and cute Swiss chalet style vendors at the Hotel de Ville. The looming, impressive Neo-Renaissance facade was decorated in a dazzling homage to the Paris 2024 olympics, and in the center of it all, twirled a bright, happy carousel. Squealing with Joy, I got to watch the drizzly evening fly by from the back of a great black stallion for three magical minutes. We then stumbled upon some vintage shops on our way to dinner at GrandCoeur, which was beautiful and delicious.
The night was still young, so we found our way to Le Caveou de la Huchette, a jazz club in a cavernous wine cellar. It was packed to the gills, but we eventually made it past the entryway, where we met a nice Persian man who introduced me to some local dancers. I was asked if I danced “rock and roll” which turned out to mean jitterbug, and I found a few good partners to swing me around to some surprisingly good ol’ American music.
The next day was museum day, and luckily we agreed that one was enough. Though we did stop by the Louvre to take in the impressive architecture and glass pyramid, we decided to make the Musée d'Orsay our one for the short trip. One of my favorite displays was actually outside of the museum, where two musicians busked, playing a fun mix of rockabilly and jazz standards, one cutting the spitting image of an Asian James Dean. Inside, I was excited to see the impressionist collection, which did not disappoint, and especially loved the Monet and Renoir. It was incredible to see, in person, their mastery of light and shape without hard edges that is difficult to fathom creating at close range.
We had a quick stop to revive ourselves with a crepe and coffee, then made our way to the Montmartre district, where I had my heart set on seeing some of the original windmills from when this little neighborhood upon the hill was a farming community on the outskirts of Paris. There is even a working vineyard that was revived in the 1930’s to remember the areas rich heritage. It was famously home to brothels, cabarets, and artists during the first half of the twentieth century. Ah, to be a fly on the wall of writer and wealthy influencer of the avant guard Gertrude Stein’s literary salons that played host to the likes of Sinclair Lewis, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Pablo Picasso, Ezra Pound, Henri Matisse, and Earnest Hemingway; It was said that Renoir sat in the Place du Tertre and waited for inspiration to strike. Today, this historical square is all lit up for Christmas with blue twinkling lights, and artists fill the square selling sketches of iconic Parisian vistas or original caricatures.
We made our way to Sacre Coeur Basilica as night fell, and though I LOVE a funicular, we decided to climb the 300 steps to the second highest point in the city of Paris, where this impressive monument shone like a crown jewel. In the distance we caught our first glimpse of the Eiffel Tower, beaming like a golden beacon above the sparkeling city below. No trip to the Montmartre district would be complete without stopping by the Moulin Rouge, with its glowing red windmill and iconic facade. It looked more like a movie set than a piece of history, but I was thrilled to be in its presence nonetheless.
We had a simple dinner in the neighborhood, then made our way back across the city to Aux Trois Mailletz, a tiny restaurant on a busy street recommended to us by our Persian friend the night before for its authentic French singers. Indeed, a small woman serenaded the whole place without amplification, and we arrived just in time to catch La Vie en Rose, one of my favorite Edith Piaf songs, though not the last of the night by far. We were sat by two boisterous gentlemen from Algeria, who were making friends and offering food to everyone around them. We soon joined the party, singing along with the French songs and drinking too much wine (and tropical mocktails) for our own good. It was a perfect end to a wonderful day.
Aux Trois Mailletz
In the morning we grabbed the best croissant of my life at La Maison d'Isabelle and then finally made it to see the Eiffel Tower up close and personal. It was beautiful, a bit shorter than I had imagined, and surrounded by a sea of people, no longer affording grassy picnic views like you see in the movies, but stunning nonetheless. We then took a rambling walk down the Seine to meet up with one of the gents from the night before who had promised to show me the Pantheon which was modeled after the one in Rome. It is the resting place of many famous French writers and philosophers, and Foucault conducted a famous experiment within its walls that proved the earth turns on its access. Amazing!
It was a cool, crisp day and we grabbed some hot tea to fortify our walk around the city. The Sorbonne happens to be right across the way from the Pantheon, and it awakened my childhood fantasies of studying art in the heart of Paris. I don’t remember when I let that dream go, but I began to feel like anything was possible, and new dreams began to bud of my next chapter. I resolved to learn French on the spot. The world suddenly seemed bigger than it had a week ago. We bid au revoir, as the French do, and in two brief hours on the Eurostar were back in North London, warming our hands with a hot bowl of Ramen in Finsbury Park.
Happy New Year…From a Strip Club?
New Years eve was suddenly upon us, and we started off the day with a proper Sunday roast in a warm and cozy pub, complete with roaring fire and taxidermy. Charmingly, all the pubs and restaurants do a plethora of roast meats available every Sunday in England. I had decided I needed a little break from humanity, to rest and recharge my introvert batteries, so I got some great advice from my friends at the pub, and booked a couple of nights in the Cotswolds on the spot, leaving the next day. As if on cue, a hail storm came rip roaring through, and wouldn’t let up. So we escaped back home and got fancy and sparkly for our new years dinner cabaret.
We tromped through the rain and wind across the city to a fancy place in the financial district for Proud Cabaret. The audience was full of well dressed couples, primed for a night of bawdy, yet tasteful entertainment. To all of our surprise, it was basically just a cheap strip club, all ladies had one boring “perfect” body type, and started off mostly nude, leaving nothing to be desired in a lazy holdover of Christmas themed numbers interspersed with such karaoke style hits as Welcome to the Jungle, and Your Sex Is On Fire (my very least favorite song on the planet). Several people left before they got their expensive pre-paid dinner, other couples began a cold war, as the husbands filmed these woman nearly baring all, bent over inches from their faces, and the wives stewed in shocked appall. There were a couple of interesting numbers, mostly from a Gothy Spice, who ate and spun fire in the subterranean fire trap with only one exit, and dripped hot wax all over her tattooed body. It looked painful, though not as painful as the other numbers had been to watch. We certainly weren’t going to ring in the new year with this crowd, so we went straight back to the local pub, where friends were spinning danceable hits and the champaign flowed. It was a great end to an interesting evening.
The Cotswolds: So Civilized
The morning found me on a train to the Cotswolds. One of my new friends had suggested Lords of the Manor, an old English manor house in Upper Slaughter. It’s a sleepy little cobblestone town in a somewhat walkable collection of equally cute tiny cobblestone towns, consisting of Lower Slaughter, Stowe-on-the-Wold and Bourton-on-the-Water. Over the course of the last week London turned me into a tea person, and upon arrival the Manor sent a blissful pot of Earl Grey tea with two freshly baked scones and clotted cream to my room, which they kindly upgraded to a much-nicer-than-paid-for upper suite with a huge beautiful tub. I threw myself on the big bed with a great sigh of giddy relief.
The Manor was a labyrinth of rooms, each with very British names like Stanton, a Michelin star restaurant and something more casual, a bar and lounge, both with roaring fires, and a number of other little nooks and crannies. I immediately got lost the moment I stepped foot in the hall, so when the weather took a turn for the worse, I was a bit relieved. I did nip out between fronts to take a drizzly walk around the charming grounds and village, visiting a victorian era skating rink, now defunct and overgrown, providing habitat for all manners of creatures. The Manor provided umbrellies and wellies, which I opted not to use, so I had to partake in the complementary shoe cleaning service after splashing through the muddy terrain. After a blissful day and a half of bubble baths, room service and writing, I finally got a break in the weather and took a sunny walk through ankle deep mud, over hill and dale, through picturesque Lower Slaughter to Bourton-on-the-Water.
Bourton-on-the-water has existed in some form since the neolithic period, with pottery found in the area dating back to 4000 B.C.! The five low stone bridges criss-cross the river that runs through the center of the cobblestone town, dating from around 1654 to 1953. It saw an extended Roman occupation and there is a Roman era road that runs clear to South Yorkshire. Today it is quite touristy, but is still an enjoyable and picturesque ramble as part of your Cotswold walking tour. There are pedestrian pathways through fields and by the river that connect these tiny towns, so you never have to be on a busy road. Wellingtons are highly recommended! It was my last day, so I walked down through Upper and Lower Slaughter, then arranged for the ever accommodating Manor to deliver my bags to a taxi driver who picked me up in Bourton and took me to the train station. Such impeccable and rare service all around!
My last couple of days in London were rainy and cold, but we got to Soho, took a lovely high tea at the Ham Yard Restaurant, saw the Tower of London, Big Ben, Buckingham Palace, London Eye, Westminster Abby, Portobello Road, and much much more that I could barely register in a dizzying feat of tourism. I will just have to come back again to savor the rich tapestry and history that is this 6000 year old city with the time and attention it deserves. I will say that I fell in love with North London and am glad to have spent some down time there. My heart feels open to the endless possibilities that life has to offer, now more than ever. My resolution this new year is to deliberate less, and to follow the winds of change toward whatever new adventures lie in store for me. To trust in my dreams, and take the next best step each day toward building the life that I want, without fear. Welcome 2024!
