Current draft (#5) of Gate Mouth: 142 pages in, 108 [roughly] to go…doesn’t look like much, but spent the past morning reconstructing an entire chapter—cutting, pasting, editing, you name it. And the “Tasteless in Paris” essay is progressing nicely.
Bon jour! I write today’s entry from the iconic city of light, Paris. It’s my first time in France, and so far it’s been as enchanting of a place as many other have advertised. This is my third day here, and though I haven’t done much from a traditional tourist’s point of view, I feel I’ve been able to absorb some of the city’s pulse already.
This is what my schedule’s been like so far:
Day 1 (Thursday): Arrived around 9 AM. Left the airport on the RER train around 10, and got off at the Notre Dame stop close to 11. Was stunned to see the cathedral up close, but didn’t go inside; I had a reservation at Musée d’Orsay at 12:30. Wandered along the Seine for another hour; got lost but not too lost. (I’d just upgraded my Google Fi plan to be able to use data in France, and it was spotty on the first day.) Finally reached the museum right at 12:30 and got to walk past the line with my previously purchased ticket. Strolled through the museum for about two hours until jet lag and dehydration really kicked in, and I was afraid of passing out on a painting. Left around 2:30 in the afternoon, walked through Tuileries Garden—stunning. Tried to order something at a café inside the garden but failed…either service was exceptionally slow (which I’d been warned is common in Paris), I was invisible as a single woman, or both. Left the café and took the subway to my stop right outside the Place de la République and was charmed to find a Five Guys. I didn’t mean for my first meal in Paris to be at an American fast food joint, but I was very hungry and thirsty and less than an hour from being able to check into my Airbnb. Sat in the mostly empty restaurant and nearly cried from the familiar taste of hamburger (oh yeah, I can taste now!), then walked less than a block to my Airbnb and checked in. Stayed there for the rest of the day, too tired to go anywhere else.
Day 2 (Friday): Slept in, then wandered down my neighborhood to the nearest Monoprix, which is like the Target of France. Had fun buying groceries and figuring out the self-checkout; learned you have to weigh bananas and get a printed sticker from a self-serve kiosk in produce before you can buy them. Ate breakfast, then lunch at my cozy Airbnb, which is a studio on the top floor of a classic Haussmann building. Wrote for a couple of hours at the desk with a stunning view and ample sunshine. Eventually left my apartment at 3 in the afternoon and wandered…visited a nearby park first, the Square du Temple Elie Wiesel (named in honor of the late writer). Every bench in the park was full—there had to be at least a hundred or more. Families, couples, and friends of every age and ethnicity. Wandered further through the 3rd arrondissement and the Latin Quarter until I reached the massive Luxembourg Garden, which was also packed with people of every walk of life. Sat in one of the park’s iconic green chairs and wrote in my journal for a while, watched the people around me. Got chilly when the sun set and took the subway back to my apartment.
Day 3 (today, Saturday): It’s about twelve thirty in the afternoon as I write this, and I still haven’t left my Airbnb. Enjoying the sunshine at the desk too much and taking my time with breakfast, then lunch, here again. Did a load of laundry in the little washing machine with the help of Google Translate. Deciding what to do for this afternoon—a visit to the famous Shakespeare & Company bookstore, maybe?
I’ll have opportunities to be social soon…My friend Daryl, a poet I met in the IWP two years ago, will arrive in Paris tomorrow evening, so we’re planning to spend Monday together. And my dear friend Lexie, who moved to France in late 2025 and is the reason I decided on Paris as my solo trip this year, will spend my last full day, Tuesday, with me. I should be able to experience a bit of the Parisian café culture with these friends; my attempt to dine solo on Thursday taught me that this is generally frowned upon in Paris and so unusual as to be unwelcomed. (My theory seems to be true, based on what I’ve seen so far…I walked for miles through the city yesterday and didn’t see one solo diner at any of the cafes I walked past.) I’m not especially bothered by this. In fact, I quite admire the French for insisting on such a social society. The lives of Parisians seem far more public—in the out-and-about sense—than what I’ve experienced as a Midwesterner. It’s inspired me to insist on even more connections in my life when I get back home.
I think I’m going to keep this week’s post relatively short because I want to save my best writing for the essay I’m working on. “Tasteless in Paris” is taking an interesting new direction, now that I can taste again. I’ve been thinking about taste in terms of what people deem ideal or appropriate…might lead to something interesting. I’ll be sure to keep you updated on this piece’s creative journey.
For now, I leave you with a picture of the back desk I have for my week here in Paris—Do you see now why it takes me so long to leave here each day? (Also, for more photos, check out my Instagram, @jlynnrowe.)
