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By
Arnie Greenberg (Among the many joys of Paris are its cafes, like the one recalled above) Imagine a month without English newspapers, television, radio or any conversation more than "Where ya, from?" or "Where's the Louvre?" Imagine a Canadian not seeing snow once during the month of January. Imagine, too, a month in a small apartment no bigger than my kitchen at home and a bathroom so small you hit your elbows on the walls when you turn around or get out of the shower.
(One of the best months...) Well, it sounds too much to bear, but the truth is, I'm coming to the end of one of the best months I've had in five years. Here I am in the city of my dreams, in the best district of Paris and on the cutest street I know. I look out of my third-story window through tree branches barren of foliage at a narrow non-parking corner with one of those cute little French hotels you see in pictures. The sounds are muffled, but the street is the answer to all my desires right now. It's home while I escape my real home and get back to why I work so hard and why I've learned to be aggressive, motivated and anxious. It was a month in Paris with warm clothing and my laptop - things I waited for these long months since my last venture from home. Here I am surrounded by strangers and without a car, but I have learned to walk again…and I actually find public transportation fun. Rise Late and Walk to the Bakery Unlike
my regular routine, I rise late, walk to the bakery for my fresh baguette -- that
long crunchy bread fresh from the oven and under the arm of all my neighbors as
they, too, wend their way home for breakfast of the best bread I know, hot coffee
and total relaxation.
(A typical French bakery, where everything is freshly baked) There are chores like laundry and shopping, but I try to see at least one museum a day and find the hardest part selecting which one to see. The fact that they are not open every day solves my problem, especially on Mondays and Tuesdays. So far, I've managed to visit the unbelievable Bibliotheque Nationale, the National Library. It's on the edge of the river at the southeastern end and consists of four towers on each corner of a huge, tree-filled space, standing tall and looking like four open books. Inside there is everything you think a library should offer and more. It is spacious, well stocked, well staffed and modernly comfortable. It is a recent addition to a great library system, inaugurated by Francois Mitterand, who, I might add, lived only a block from my apartment. I'm sure his was much larger. I've managed to visit the Museum of the Shoah (the Holocaust), Fragonard Perfume Museum, the Jewish Art and History Museum, the Paris Crypt, the Cluny, the Jacquemart-Andree, the Carnavolet Museum of Paris, and a special private collection viewing of the Senate, including Cezannes, Renoirs and many of the other greats of past. I have seen Rodin's beautiful manor and collection, and I walked in awe of those great Frenchmen who lie in the Pantheon. I have seen the War Museum at Les Invalides and a small manor house filled with the life work of painter Gustave Moreau. And between visits I've eaten at sandwich shops, bistros, and out-of-the-way restaurants, where I tried food from all regions and many countries. I had crepes in the Brittany area of Montparnasse, coffee and cake at Le Coupole, hot chocolate at Le Flore, and a long list of drinks at a long list of watering holes. I visited some of the great spots, like the Relais Christine, Hotel Laetitia, Hotel Des Grandes Ecoles on rue Cardinal Lemoine and discovered new places to add to future lists, like Bouillon Racine near the old Odeon Theatre and available in a wonderful art deco ambiance since 1906. Discovering Cafe Jade On rue Buci across from the market, I discovered Café Jade, a place filled with atmosphere and large letters spelling out the great figures of the French Arts scene, including Gertrude Stein, Niki de St-Phalle, Picasso and Max Jacob. And speaking of Picasso, I visited the Bateau Lavoire, where he and Max Jacob once lived and was happy walking around the Alexander Nevsky Church, where Picasso and Olga Koklova were married. I even walked by their apartment on rue Boetie but was disappointed that there was no plaque on the door. I saw other plaques while I walked around, like the one showing Hemingway's house on Cardinal Lemoine, Gertrude Stein's on rue de Fleurus, and another on a tiny street that said both George Sand and Isadora Duncan had lived there.
(A Paris street character near where Hemingway once lived)
I
laughed as I watched people skating on the ice rink in front of the Hotel De Ville. There is art for sale everywhere in the city and on street corners. I already bought three this month, but I won't leave for a few days and may find something else. My trusty camera worked overtime as did I, but each day I returned to my tiny space filled with the sounds, tastes and smells of the city I dream about when I'm not here. My wife says I take so many pictures because I want to carry the whole city home with me. She may be right. I am recognized at the bakery, the market, the cyber café, and at the corner bistro, where I stop for coffee on my way home. Right now I'm filled with Paris. It is the only city I know where I'm perfectly at ease. Speaking French is an asset, but you can get by without it. Gertrude Stein was right: "It's not what Paris gives you that's important. It's what Paris doesn't take way that's important."
(The Pere Lachaise Cemetary) Today I walked through the rows of graves at Pere Lachaise Cemetery. Like every visit here, I ended with a visit to Gertrude's grave. It was through her life that I came to know Paris and after all these years and all these visits to her grave, I'll say thank you once again. But her Paris has changed, something to be expected. I wonder if they had so much affection for their dogs. I know Gertrude had a dog most of the time she was here. But did she take the dog to restaurants as they do today or to a shop or on a bus? I see them everywhere -- this is "doggy heaven." Next
week it's all over. I leave here, but I'm not sad. Gertrude was right. "We
all went to Paris. It was where we had to be." (Click
below for more travel).
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