“ Madame, you’re not in Paris any more!”

Yes, that’s what the lady told me, the result of an accidental bus mishap. I’m too embarassed to explain the details – and they’re not that interesting – but I was on avenue President Wilson, just not the one in Paris. I was in the suburb of Levallois. And it didn’t seem that far!

My plan to visit the Saturday market there wasn’t that difficult. After all, I’d been there before and taken some great photos. This time I opted for the bus over the metro. I know the metro but I’m not familiar with the bus system.

I decided to check out the village anyway, since I was there. Guess what! There was a market, just not the one with a view of the Eiffel Tower.

People laughed at me when I asked, and that’s when I was told the name of the village. My friends know that I make mistakes all the time, and even though I’ve been to Paris many times, it is very possible to lose one’s direction or go one street over where you should go. With age comes wisdom, but loss of memory kicks in too.

At least it wasn’t raining at the moment.

The village and the market were lovely and the people were very friendly. the window displays were charming and the produce was exquisitely displayed, as usual.

I asked directions for my return and got different answers so I decided to do the easiest: retrace my steps on the other side of the street and return, but where? I no longer felt the urge to go to the Trocadero. I got to a fairly large bus stop amd examined the options. I decided to go to the area near the Grand Palais and the Alexander III bridge. Touristy? Yes, but after all, I am a tourist. I was also curious about an exhibit at the Petit Palais across the street, but expected it to be crowded during the long weekend. With the changing skies, I hoped to get some unusual shots of iconic places and spaces. You can be the judge.

I sat on a bench for a bit, enjoying the interplay with young couples and school kids seeing this bridge for the first time, and getting some time to plan my next move.

it came to me in a flash: food.

I wasn’t that far from my home away from home, so I set off, going down the Champs-Elysees to the entrance to the Place to the Concorde, and turned left on rue Royale. I didn’t see any places that appealed to me until I saw the red glow of an awning with happy people eating. It was then that I realized that I was on the corner of my street.

The gourmand reared its ugly head once I plunked myself down and saw the menu. Escargots! Steak! French fries! Oh, yes. Remember, I’m on vacation.

This isn’t my normal eating; at home I eat lots of salads and salmon and chicken. On vacation I get nostalgic toward French comfort food and I crave traditional French fare such as French onion soup, mussels, and snails! Not for everyone, I know! I’ll also need to get some macarons while I’m here.

But not before I get my cappucino!

Dinner is over. Time to head back. However, there’s a bakery down the street…hmmm.

To be continued. Tomorrow is another day.