Considering that we all have toddlers and aren’t very good penpals (virtual or otherwise), my girlfriends and I have done a surprisingly good job of staying in touch while we’ve been apart these past few months. Still, nothing beats quality time together and I’ve been longing for a night out with the girls. Last week, for better or worse, my wish came true!
Three of my best friends—all strong, intelligent and unique women—decided rather spontaneously to take a trip to Paris. By the time they decided, it was only a few weeks until they arrived so I began compiling a list of activities. In some ways, their trip took shape much like our conversations— without any real structure or a massive list "to do" list. Instead, we pooled our ideas and our guidebooks to create a somewhat unorthodox itinerary.
Since it was a girls' getaway, it seemed appropriate to splurge a bit and they stayed at the oh-so-famous Hotel de Crillon (in many ways similar to the old Plaza Hotel in New York). It is a traditional luxury hotel, known as home to an elite group (including Madonna when she is in town) which meant it came complete with plush robes and slippers- essentials for a girls’ getaway.
Throughout the week, we ate well and drank even better- talking and laughing as we made our way through the Eiffel Tower, Arc de Triomphe and a rather impressive assortment of boutiques. The most read newspaper in Paris, Le Parisien, actually did a brief article about us about our luxury shopping, but that's a story for another day. (Had they found my Visa bill? I suddenly felt guilty!). For the most part our activities were pretty benign- all that is, except one night that is the basis for my Confession.
It started, as all our evenings did, in their suite at the Crillon. They had the foresight to select and chill a lovely champagne. From there we went to Buddha Bar- a great restaurant serving carefully prepared French-Asian fusion dishes and an intriguing ambiance. After a wonderful seared tuna, and great conversation, we made our way to the Moulin Rouge for their "early show." I had been there once before and frankly hadn’t found it especially inspiring, but thought it might be fun in a group. Not only was it fun to be there together, and funny to see my husband with 4 dates (was it a dream come true or a torture chamber? I'm still not sure), but it was an excellent show- snake lady, horses and all!
We left the Moulin Rouge around 11 :30p and walked around briefly before bidding adieu to my husband (someone had to relieve the babysitter, afterall!) and heading back to watch the scene unfold at Buddha Bar. As it turned out, the scene had already largely unfolded. The peaceful restaurant we had left just a couple hours before was now filled with great music (available for 40 euros at the door) and an eclectic mix of people, every one of them clammoring to get one of the bar-level tables. It didn’t take four women long to secure a table, however, and we spent a couple hours watching people pick-up dates, other people trying to forget theirs and still others drowning themselves after a bad one.
After a couple hours, though, we’d had our fill and decided to call it a night- or so I naively thought. As we stepped outside, however, they asked where we were going next! As the only one not suffering from jet lag, I couldn’t quite bring myself to tell them I was too tired, so I offered up a dance club I’d wanted to try, but for which I had never been awake (since it didn’t open until 2a.m.- Yes, it was now 2 a.m.) To make a long story short, we found the club and danced ourselves to sleep barefoot atop a bed of broken champagne flutes (literally, but accidentally, of course) finally returning to the Crillon around 5:30a.m.
I don’t know that I would recommend trying a club that doesn’t even open ‘til 2a.m., and I would highly advise against dancing barefoot on broken glass (my foot took over a week to recover!), but it was an unforgettable night with an unforgettable group of women. Perhaps this is how Madonna's "Confessions on a Dance Floor" was born- perhaps even on the same dance floor; it is how my Confessions on a Dance Floor will end.
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