Sea of Sand

If you want to make the most out of your Sundays in Paris, set your alarm for 7AM. If you really want to escape the noise and pollution, get in a car with friends with a bag packed for a day at the beach, and head to the Forest of Fontainebleau.

That's I did this Sunday, taking my fun quite seriously: packing up my bag the night before, going to bed early on a Saturday night and actually waking to an alarm at first light on Sunday. This is all necessary in order to get out of Paris for the day, otherwise it is easy to miss out on a chance to "se mettre en vert," quite literally to "put oneself in green" in the countryside of Ile-de-France.

I was delighted to break out of the city's confining concrete and breathe the country air. The drive lends itself to this romantic escapism, too, watching the urban sprawl diminish and give way to open fields, farmland, and forest. As we approached Milly La Foret the road was lined with wildflowers of the most exquisite purples, yellows and reds, and I felt the innocent joy of nature flood my system once more.

We drove into Milly La Foret, a small town hugging the border of the Forest of Fontainebleau in the Departement d'Essone. At this point in the vast expanse of wilderness, the forest floor is sandy, white and soft as a Carribean beach. The trees are pine and white birch, clustered among large boulders, making this a popular site for rock climbers from all over Europe. The sand is a result of prehistoric geology, a marine deposit laid down some 34 million years ago when the ocean tide extended that far inland. Today, these "Oligocene Fontainebleau sands" (thanks Wikipedia!) give you the sensation of being at the beach, only no water awaits you; it is merely a peaceful sea of sand.

But to the weary urban dweller, it is quite simply a day in paradise. We found a shady nook among birch and boulder, spread out our blankets and picnic and let the stress of city life seep slowly out of us. Three of our friends had brought Harry Potter 7 and took great pleasure in devouring chapters at a time, feeling finally free of the voracious grip of media who have tried so hard to ruin it for the rest of us.

Others went off to scale up boulders or to play badminton in the sandy plain at our feet. Two friends brought their infant daughter and set up a hammock between two birch trees, using the fresh air and gentle sway beneath a green and blue canopy to lull her into an afternoon nap.

I, meanwhile, tapped into my Zen reserves, worked on my Hiragana and read Tender Is the Night, feeling that same bliss and calm as with my brother in Humboldt County. These places are precious, sacred and essential. We must return to nature often and recharge; induce the photosynthesis of soul.

As I write this Monday morning, a cold, hard rain pours on Paris. My mind returns to that shady nook with its beach carpet decorated by the birches' leafy shadows, and suddenly Monday's rain sounds rejoiceful and far from lament.