I was tempted to title this My Thirty-Turd Birthday, but how could I really lament the fact that I’m a year older when I spent my day celebrating in Paris?
The day began with just about the best thing ever: cheese. Oh and a chocolate croissant. All before 10 a.m. Lovely. Once sufficiently stuffed, Mr. Wonderful and I donned our Easter Sunday best and wound our way south across the river to the Eiffel Tower. Mr. W suggested that maybe we go big and make dinner reservations there—I told him we could figure it out later.
From the Tower gardens, we walked east along the river to the Musée d’Orsay where we shared a lovely ham and Swiss sandwich with a bag of beet, turnip and carrot chips. The impressionist art was beautiful and the building was exquisite.
Despite aching backs and feet, we soldiered on and hopped the Metro to Sacré Coeur basilica. It was packed full of Easter visitors, but fortunately the claustrophobic 300-step staircase up to the church’s dome was free from crowds. Mr. W and I had to stop several times due to spinning heads and burning quads. But as you can see, the view was incredible.
Mr. W suggested we stop for some more cheese (one serving a day is just not sufficient) so we wandered through Montmartre looking for a restaurant that wasn’t dualing as a sardine can. We strolled so far trying to escape the crowds that we suddenly found ourselves looking into windows at penis salt and pepper shakers and edible underwear. “We must be near the Moulin Rouge!” After passing the Sexodrome, we did stumble upon the theater—which was exciting because Mr. W had never seen it.
By the time we got back to the hotel, we were spent. So instead of trying for dinner at the Eiffel Tower or making reservations at one of the schmancy restaurants we found online, we freshened up and took the elevator right downstairs to the bar. A bottle of Chablis (who knew that was actually a good variety?!), a caesar salad, and a plate of cheese and bread later, I was a tipsy and extremely happy birthday girl.
The icing on my cake was when a pretty blonde in a trenchcoat came in and joined a 60-something Japanese man. Not only did I have my sweetheart, delicious French food, and good wine, I now had fabulous entertainment. “I’m sure she’s just his niece,” Mr. W and I chuckled as the waiter brought us our chocolate soufflé. Oh what a Happy 33rd Birthday to me.