After we had barely made our train to Paris at the lovely hour of 8am, Jordan turned to me as I woofed down a croissant barely awake and said, “aren’t you excited?!?!?!??”
I said yes, but like chill out it’s 8am and this cappuccino has not hit me yet.
We arrived to our Airbnb, and it was perfect.
It gave me all the local feels but best of all, had a patio… and an elevator.
So perfect, it is sold out for the rest of the year. If you want to attempt to stay in this Parisian perfection abode, click here.
There was no time to waste, while we were in Paris. We hit the ground running after unpacking and roamed our neighborhood, the Marais, in search of snails and sauv b.
After receiving a fantastic local guide from my bilingual parisian friend and co-worker, Rosi, we arrived at Le Bistrot for lunch.
We sat there for two hours just observing the people, the vespas vooming by at our intersection, the sporadic rain, and of course the fash-un (think minimalist chic).
We headed back to the apartment to change my shoes. As I’ve mentioned before, sneakers are life in Paris. Do not wear boots with any type of heel.
We were hanging out in our perfect apartment, when I noticed Jordan was jetting around, taking showers, getting dressed when I was sitting on the couch, no joke pants unbuttoned recovering from my bread, cheese, wine, and snails lunch.
He had asked me if I wanted to get ready to tour around town, and I said, “no I’ll just go like this.” (with buttoned pants of course).
As I was gathering my things, Jordan asked me to come out on the balcony.
All of a sudden, he was down on one knee, and I was sobbing.
Thank god, we were not in public. I looked like a wet mop in a turtle neck, and was hysterical.
Apparently, Jordan had planned to propose after I got ready and was going to have flowers, champagne waiting, but because there was no time to waste in Paris, I threw off his plan.
We headed out to celebrate with our first stop being- Café Marley.
I am sure in the summer, Café Marley is lovely, but in March with wind chill it was a bit unpleasant.
The entire restaurant was EMPTY and they sat us directly next to a family who had a child eating some type of Jello/Gogurt snack and was screaming.
This is not how I envisioned celebrating my engagement.
We left, and headed to The Ritz Carlton with the hopes of a more romantic experience.
Neither of us had been, and were just in awe, as we walked through the lobby admiring all of the history, restaurants, and the occasional garden that would appear.
We somehow managed to snag the last table at Bar Hemingway, and had the best time eating olives and champagne reveling in our secret, as we hadn’t told anyone that we were engaged yet.
Jordan made reservations at Balagan for us to celebrate that night.
Imagine going to Bagatelle but the french version. No sparklers and annoying bottle rats, but waiters and chefs that cook and sing while they prepare your food.
The Greatest Hits