Spring has sprung in Paris!
We might have had snow less than a fortnight ago, but this Sunday afternoon, the temperature in the city reached a glorious EIGHTEEN DEGREES C. That’s right: 1-8. Now, this may or may not be remarkable by local standards, but for someone who has spent their twenty-something years living in the UK – a country where the average temperature in August is 18 degrees (our highest monthly average for the year at that) – for the time of year, this was pretty spectacular.
I mean, I had my half-bare arms out for goodness sake. Exposed forearms. In March.
Now, in case the universe feels the need to take me and my presumptions down a peg or two, I will hold my hands up and say that I am by no means expecting this to continue consistently for the next month or two – and I certainly don’t anticipate an exponential improvement in the weather from now until summer hits. After all, spring in this part of the world is characterised as much by its unexpected showers as its sunny spells. I was thoroughly rained on this morning in case I could otherwise have forgotten this.
But I’m quite happy to take the intermittent downpours, if it means I can also now spend an afternoon wandering along the Seine in the company of friends and eating ice cream in the Jardin des Tuileries. Sans coat or cardigan, no less.
And although I am accepting of the wait that yet lies ahead before the summer begins, that acceptance did nothing to stem the tide of beautiful daydreams that filled my head as I revelled in the warmth on Sunday…. Leisurely afternoons spent strolling from one café terrasse to the next for an espresso or a glass of wine in the sun; mild nighttime walks through the City of Lights in all her illuminated glory; picnics in the Jardin du Luxembourg or on the Champ de Mars, basket laden with fresh baguette, cheeses from the fromagerie, cured meats and fruit from the market… oh, and more wine, bien sûr.
I suppose you could say I’m quite looking forward to it.