The Final Cookie

Saturday was my last official day in Paris. I had to deal with the practicalities and the emotions - both of which I had been trying to avoid. The first practicality was my apartment - my chic Parisien apartment that had come to feel like home. I was (almost) all packed, and my landlord, Paolo came by in the morning to do the move-out inspection. Fortunately, I passed, and I promised to leave the keys in the apartment upon my extremely early Sunday morning departure.

The next practicality to deal with was the packing. I packed as much as I could, but try as I might, I could not fit all my belongings into the one suitcase and one carry-on I was allowed for our European voyage. The plight of flying Ryan Air! I thought I would be alright since I had pawned off various items on each of my visitors, and I had unloaded an entire suitcase and duffel bag on my parents when they left my apartment Tuesday night. But, no. Not even close. So I packed a few more smaller bags, and dropped them off at Rachel's apartment to hold until I returned June 8 to spend my final night in Paris. (My flight home was the morning of June 9.)

Once those practicalities were out of the way, Alasdair asked how I would like to spend my final day in Paris. There were so many things I wanted to do, but, unfortunately, there was not enough time. So I decided, I would choose to have a final flâneur, and I needed to visit Snack Time one final time with Brittany. So, from Rachel's apartment, Alasdair and I set off on a flâneur, enjoying the nice weather and the history of the St. Germain area. Then we met Brittany and her mom (who was still visiting) at Snack Time for my final quiche and cookie meal.

I don't think anyone quite understands the pull of Snack Time. The food isn't that great. There is no interesting decor. The cookies are fantastic and the display case is mesmerizing, but that's not it. I can't explain it; but for Brit, Suzanne and me, it was like a refuge. It was the first place we discovered together, and we discovered that not only did they have gooey American cookies, but all the people who worked there spoke English (not always the best English), and, most importantly, no one looked at us crossly if we sat at the back table talking about god knows what as loud as we wanted and laughing hysterically for hours. Perhaps it could have been any cafe or snack joint, and we would have had the same feelings, the same reaction. But, it wasn't. It was Snack Time. So we had our final cookie, and sadly, bid Snack Time adieu.