all the right elements

Yesterday afternoon, the joyously blue weather coupled with the glimpses I'd seen of early asparagus gave me a craving for a bright, fresh salad. Since I'm working downtown in the center of everything German-city I decided to do the shopping from the street market near the church instead of going to a usual grocery store. Come 6pm, I packed my computer together and headed up to Lorenzkirche were a small band was playing some snappy 1930s jazz tunes to a captivated crowd. Ringed around the base of the church was a small cluster of stands selling fat olives, all varieties of cheeses, beautifully displayed vegetables, and tempting clusters of flowers.

I made my way through the different stands, finally going for the Spanish green asparagus since all the German stuff this early seems to be the white kind- not my thing. A few lemons and a massive bunch of flat parsley the size of a small shrubbery and I was ready for the cheese guy, where he sliced of a generous, creamy chunk of parmesan. One last stop to toss in a few coins for the musicians and I was on the way home with my spoils, the parsley springing out of the shopping bag festively. At home I sliced and simmered the asparagus lightly, and tossed with bulghur, minced garlic, garbanzo, and the other market ingredients, it was the perfect way to celebrate the springiness of the day.

These are the kinds of moments I dreamed of so much when I was a girl in Vermont, albeit quite vaguely. The ancient churches, the cobbled streets, the street markets with their gorgeous produce, and the soundtrack makes it feel even more like a dream fulfilled. I'm not sure what makes it feel so special though- I had cobblestones and street markets when I lived in Boston, and I did love them too, but maybe it's just that the Big Dig towering overhead isn't quite the same as a Medieval castle? Is it about the language and that thrill I feel when I can successfully order my 100 grams of cheese in German and actually get 100 grams of the cheese I wanted? It's definitely partly due to the knowledge that when I get home with the spoils, S will be there to tell me about his day, and as darkness fades on the view of the towers in the altstadt, we'll be there together, talking over our asparagus salads.

living the dream

That's how I feel this week, after spending a few days visiting my friend C, her husband, and their charming bebe E in Paris. I've known C since 2004 and since I moved soon after, our time spent visiting has generally been a few snatched hours amid other activities in both our lives. This time on my way to Germany, I decided to add a few days and take her up on the invitation to see the amazing apartment where they now live.

After so many visits to Paris in the recent years, I'm familiar with how to get efficiently into the city, so an hour and a half after touching down, I was knocking gently on the 7th floor door to her home in the 18th arrondissement. From all outward appearances she's living the Parisian fantasy life, with sweeping views of the city that cover the top of the Arc de Triomphe to the Tour Montparnasse and everything between- Invalides and Eiffel Tower included. The triple-balconied apartment has all the necessary fanciful ironwork and herringbone wood floors. It's a rental from some professors on sabbatical so it's ceiling high with dry art-history texts, and a collection of furniture that looks suspiciously rickety. The desk I worked on one day had a leaning front leg that seemed about to give up, and most of the chairs in the kitchen swayed like drunken sailors at the lightest touch. No matter, though, we're in Paris, at the base of one of the hippest neighborhoods, where Sacre Coeur appears like a ghost in the view on certain streets.

We took full advantage of this location too, with an evening at a local bistro, plenty of bakery stops, a tour to one of her favorite decorative art museums, a massive family home on Parc Monceau. We also spent one lovely evening at home making our own food- she did a divine goat cheese tart and I made my favorite parsley-and-mint laden tabouleh. With a cheap table wine and a view on the glittering Eiffel Tower, it was all the things a short visit to the city of lights ought to be.

Next day we had a leisurely breakfast and then I took the direct bus to the Gare de L'Est for my train ride to Nürnberg. I confirmed my train on the Grand Lignes info board (love the way that sounds!) and spent my last minutes in Paris soaking up sun in the cobbled courtyard. I'd gotten a cheap first class ticket on the train which was of course punctual as Germans do best, so at precisely 13:10 we jolted away from the platform and off we went into the gently rollling farmland east of Paris.It was a delight to discover that first class international train service on Deutsche Bahn includes lunch, so a few minutes into the ride, a snappily dressed waiter delivered roasted vegetables, chicken and couscous to my seat, of course accompanied by a glass of wine and a miniature chocolate bar. The life indeed.

A mere 4 hours later we were delivered in Frankfurt (in comparison this same bus ride takes 9 hours) after winding through some lovely mountainous areas just past the German border. I had an hour to wander the station before my connecting train, so I stepped outside the station for the first time in all my stops in the Frankfurt main station. I was happy to see that the architecture is satisfyingly grand, with the standard massive clock framed by female allegorical figures, with both sprawling station wings thoroughly laden with columns.

The connecting train is a route I'm very familiar with, and with no meal service the difference between first and second class was a bit less noticeable, but I still always enjoy the ride. The bit near Würzburg is the best part, with the glimpse of the grand fortress on the hill surrounded by vineyards. All too soon, we were pulling into the Nürnberg Hauptbahnhof and I stepped off into S's arms. A long day of enjoyable traveling well over.