day 14 :

sunday, 10 may

We'd planned our flight so that we wouldn't have to trudge dreary-eyed in the dark to the airport. With an early afternoon flight from Charles de Gaulle, we were able to sleep to a reasonable hour. Eric tidied the apartment, while Dawn made a quick trip on the Métro to Pierre Hermé for our last taste of Ispahan croissants, along with some macarons and other pastries to take back to friends in Seattle.

Dawn arrived five minutes before the shop opened, with it solidly shuttered and not a sign of life. She hoped it would really open at 10 – sometimes you never know with French store hours. But a line quickly formed outside the store, and at least a dozen people piled inside when the doors opened promptly on the hour. It was good she got in line so early, because it was pretty chaotic with everyone indecisively staring into the display cases of macarons and colorful desserts, wondering which to choose. Almost no one noticed the basket of Ispahan croissants and canalé on the corner wall, and Dawn left quickly with her prized pastries in hand, rushing back to meet Eric at our apartment to catch our cab.

We arrived at the airport with plenty of time, although not enough time to correct our mistake in taking our cheese through security in our carry-on baggage. We had read that U.S. customs would allow our soft cheeses through, as long as they were vacuum-sealed, so we dutifully had ours sealed by the Fromagerie Laurent Dubois, and planned to give it as a gift to a cheese-loving friend back home. But the French security said that it was "too soft" and apparently fell under the umbrella of "liquids," which as we all know aren't allowed on flights nowadays. It would have been fine to have checked the cheese, but our checked bags were long gone, and we didn't have time to go back to the ticketing counter and then back through security. So we said good-bye to our perfectly lovely cheeses, along with the riz au lait we'd planned to eat shortly with our lunch before our flight.

Once through security, we could purchase liquids again, so Eric went off to find us some bottled water for the flight. Little did he know that he'd get to witness the classic, but ultimately doomed, Parisian-cutting-in-line act detailed by David Lebovitz in The Sweet Life in Paris. A cooler filled with drinks was at the end of a long counter, and a line of people waited alongside this counter for the lone cashier at the other end. As Eric waited with his bottle of water, he spied a bald, middle-aged Parisian grab a couple of bottles of Perrier from the cooler, and then casually cut the line by fumbling with his bottles and money on the counter. He picked up his goods and started sliding his way further towards the cashier, finally cutting off a 7-foot-something tall basketball player dressed in bright white workout sweats, quite likely the tallest person Eric had ever seen. (Eric's head didn't even reach this guy's shoulders.) In a deep, booming voice, the basketball player looked down at the tiny Parisian and said, "Hey, this is a line." To which the busted Parisian innocently replied, "Sorry. I did not see you." Uh-huh.

And with that last taste of Paris, we boarded our plane and returned home with pastries, stories, and wonderful memories.