We finally got up to the Parc des Buttes Chaumont last weekend and are now ruined for all other parks forevermore. It’s park utopia up there in the 19th arrondissement. That’s Alex at the Buttes Chaumont over there to the left (below), and for the record, I have no idea what he’s doing.
Back when we lived in Seattle, the first sentence out of my mouth upon entering a park was not, “Oh my God, look at all the GRASS!” That would have been a strange thing to say. But times have changed, and I truly was amazed to see the large expanses of touchable grass at theButtes Chaumont. No one blows a whistle at you, even if you pull out handfuls of grass and rub them all over your body (In our defense, we were delirious with grass freedom.)
Karin, a fellow blogger friend from An Alien Parisienne, stopped by the park for a visit. It’s “her” park; she lives nearby and likes to give any visitor she knows a quick howdy-doo when they come by (that’s not a euphemism for anything). She showed Lucien the grotto and told him it was Batman’s batcave. Loosh was nervous until he realized a grown man dressed as a bat is someone to pity, not fear.
We had a leisurely picnic lunch next to the stream. While Coco ripped apart every sandwich we made and flung the parts in all different directions, Lucien joined in with a group of boys — most of them making noise! — and ran around like little boys do. They splashed through the stream, rolled down hills, talked about poop. Even with all the little boy commotion, they didn’t attract a single stinkeye from the adults. Lots of grass and no stink-eyes? Quick, someone remind me why we’re living in the 6th.