PARIS, France — “Flaner” has become not only my new favorite word, it’s my new favorite state of being.
Literally translated from the French, it means to “stroll.” And it took basically minutes in the City of Light to realize that is how Paris is best experienced.
Of course, like all journeys in my life, this one started at Rusty Metal Farm. In this case, a few weeks ago when my friend Julie — who was spending several weeks in France — suggested I fly over the pond and join her in Paris.
A lovely idea, but one I figured was impossible on several levels — cost, work and Rusty Metal logistics.
But, as it turned out, things fell into place.
Round-trip tickets this time of year from Quebec City to Paris are extremely affordable and, as it happens, Quebec is the closest major airport to Fort Kent.
My editor greenlighted the trip after I assured her I would have all needed stories written and filed before boarding any planes.
Finally, my regular house sitter and backups were available with limited notice and happy to take on the daily shusky, sled dog, cat and chicken chores of Rusty Metal Farm.
All that remained was to pack and flaner off to Paris.
Meanwhile, Julie was thousands of miles away taking a break from her own flanning to secure lodgings for us in Paris. Bless her, she offered to take care of all those details so I could concentrate on doing what needed to be done to get me on my way.
An experienced traveler and user of the online lodging site Airbnb, Julie certainly could be counted upon to find us something awesome in Paris.
So imagine my surprise when, on the day before I was to leave, I received a somewhat stressed-out sounding email from her about our Paris apartment.
“Don’t panic,” she wrote. “I’m here, but it’s not exactly what we thought it would be and looks very different from the photos. And there is no internet.”
She had managed to get online long enough to send out a trans-Atlantic SOS and ask if I could call the Airbnb’s owner to see what was going on, as her cellphone did not work in France.
A bit of Google research later, I had figured out how to place the international call and was on the phone with Louis who thankfully not only spoke near-perfect English but also promised to get in touch with Julie as soon as possible.
I relayed via email that information to Julie who, six hours ahead of me time zone-wise, replied she was going out to find some dinner.
There was nothing left to do on my end but wait for whatever resolution was to come and just hope it was not at the expense of an international incident.
When Julie emailed me some hours later with the resolution, it was a good one.
Imagine her surprise when she returned to the Airbnb apartment and found a very confused family from Tennessee standing outside the door, trying to get in.
Several calls to various Airbnb hosts later, it turned out the apartment building in which our lodgings were located had two Airbnb rentals, both with identical building access codes and hidden key locations.
With the help of one of the Tennessee family’s older sons, Julie crawled around a very dark hallway and finally found the key to our apartment under the rug, after which she quickly vacated the wrong apartment.
Stressful on her end? Oh yeah. Will the episode provide us both with guaranteed laughs for years to come? Definitely.
Twenty-four hours later, I was in Paris — delighted with the lodgings she had secured and ready to hit the ground flanning.
And, oh how we flanered!
Using the app on my phone that logs my bicycling miles, each day I set it to see how far we walked. One day we logged close to 10 miles — three of them just in the Louvre.
We flanered down the Champs-Elysees to the Arc de Triomphe; we flanered to the Eiffel Tower; we flanered along the Left Bank to Notre Dame Cathedral. We flanered with baguettes, with pastries, cheeses and wines.
If there was a category for flaner in the Olympics, Julie and I would be gold medal contenders.
After several days in Paris we took a train west to the walled city of Saint-Malo on the English Channel.
There, our flanning took a more relaxed pace though we still managed to log 8 or 9 miles of walking a day — this time along ancient narrow cobblestone streets or atop centuries-old battlements and ramparts.
Whether in the major city of Paris or walking the beaches surrounding Saint-Malo, I was reminded how good just taking your time to soak in smells, sights, sounds and tastes can be for the soul.
I think that is something we forget in our day-to-day lives of work, chores and general running around.
We need to make time for flaner.
Certainly, wandering European cities is amazing, but you can flaner in your own backyard. Take a walk around your neighborhood, visit a local park or simply bask in the wonderment that is your own physical place in the world.
As of this writing I am just hours away from flying out of Paris and back to Rusty Metal Farm, feeling relaxed and rejuvenated.
Which was a really good thing given the fact that, unbeknownst to moi, hotels near Charles de Gaulle Airport rent rooms by the day or by the night.
Checking in late Wednesday night was the Paris Airbnb snafu all over again since I inadvertently had booked us for the day, not a Wednesday-Thursday overnight.
The very kind desk staff managed to set everything right, and we did end up with a room — and yet another travel tale guaranteed to keep us laughing for years to come.
As for me, I say au revoir to Paris and, while I am going to miss it, I am anxious to bring my newfound love of flaner back to the farm.
I just wonder where I can find any baguettes?
Julia Bayly of Fort Kent is an award-winning writer and photographer who writes part time for Bangor Daily News. Her column appears here every other Friday. She can be reached by email at jbayly@bangordailynews.com.