The song choice will make sense at the end of this post. Have a little faith.
Today started off as a lazy day. After I got up, I padded into the kitchen and had a nice chitchat with Nicole over breakfast (cereal for her, jus d'orange for me). I headed to Monoprix YET AGAIN for little things for the apartment. I'm starting to recognize cashiers there. That can't be a good thing.
Our fridge contains some pungent cheese, so I headed to the pharmacy to get some baking soda. In France, they sell baking soda at the pharmacy. Pourquoi? Je ne sais pas.
So I was lolling around my bedroom, and then I thought, "Wait, you idiot, you're in Paris. At this point, it was already 8:30 pm (20:30 military time), and Paris is like Plainville in exactly one way: places close freakishly early. I suppose they do in Georgetown as well, but don't these people realize that nighttime is a perfectly good time to go out? Sunday, too. They really live by the "Sunday is the day of rest" philosophy here. It's going to take some scouring to figure out what to do tomorrow...
So No. 1 on my French Bucket List was the famous Shakespeare & Co. bookstore (bookshop, they use in France). I took the Metro, transferred to Line 4, and found myself on the Rue Saint-Michel. And, of course, the line Gavroche sings from Les Mis kept repeating over and over in my head:
How do you do? My name's Gavroche.
These are my people, here's my patch.
Nothing to look at, nothing posh.
Nothing that you'd call up to scratch.
This is my school, my high society--
Here in the slums of Saint-Michel.
We live on crumbs of humble piety.
Tough on the teeth, but what the hell.
I feel like this is going to happen a lot when I travel to places in Paris via Metro.
Anyway, this place was swinging. There were some raucous people on the street, and everyone seemed in lively spirits, perhaps because there were numerous bars and pubs along the street. I walked alongside the Seine and strained to see the bookstore of my idols. Then I found it, and I don't even know what to say.
It's not the same bookshop that Hemingway and James Joyce would have frequented; the original bookshop closed during the Nazi occupation in World War II. However, it's still got that old bookshop charm that American stores sorely lack, even fun places like Kramer Books and Politics & Prose in DC. The wooden floors were not a good match for my boots, so I had to tiptoe around the store.
Books, glorious books! I wanted to buy them all. As I meandered, I found a staircase in the back, and so I went up to the Sylvia Beach (the old owner) Reading Room. There was a cat there! Now, I thought it was stuffed at first, as they have a stuffed crow perched on top of a copy of The Raven (hardy har har), as well as what appeared to be a cardinal because...why not, I guess? I don't know. But this cat was living and breathing, curled up in a little white snowball.
I was fascinated with the cat now, but I struck up a conversation with the girl sitting beside him. She patiently listened to my garbled French, repeating phrases and slowing down when I had that I-am-so-lost look on my face. We heard this wonderful piano music, and as we walked down the hall to investigate, we came across another girl playing piano. Yes, there was a piano in the store. The piece was wonderful. Others who came along tried to pluck out "Heart and Soul" or that annoying ditty everyone learns to play with their knuckles. But this girl could really play, and Cat Girl and I sat and watched her in awe. She seemed embarrassed when she finished, but she started up again. We applauded quietly. Golf claps.
Without the piano, Cat Girl and I conversed again. We struggled through a basic conversation in French, and toward the end, we switched to English so I could confirm everything I heard about her. She is a music student who plays the cello. Her mother is Polish, and her father is German. She knows Polish, German, French, and English. She said her English was not great, but it sure as hell was better than my French. She told me that German students learn other languages at age 10. She seemed appalled that my first exposure to a real language class was when I was 14. She mentioned that Germans are proud of knowing multiple languages, but it is kind of expected to know English.
I forgot to ask her for her name because I am rude and uncouth and stupid, but she was lovely, and I'm glad she suffered through my French. It's so easy to bond over books and music and cats. The best kind of introduction.
She left, claiming she had to go to work early the next morning, so I headed back to the Reading Room. Pulling my attention away from the albino cat, I inspected the books in the room. Holy crap! I'll share some titles and explain their significance to me personally. It made me smile to see bits of my world in this great place.
A new couple entered the Reading Room. They saw me fawning over the cat, and the husband offered to take a picture of the cat and me together. So yeah, one of my first pictures in Paris is of my with a cat. How appropriate. He left the room, and I started chatting with his wife. I asked if they were British, since they spoke English but definitely had non-American accents, and she said that they were from Australia! Sydney, in fact. Finding Nemo immediately came to mind, as I asked, "The Opera House?" I asked if she had been to the "outback," and instead of laughing at my inane question, she told me that she taught Aboriginal children there. Now she teaches upper level French, which probably explains why she and her husband chose to vacation in Paris.
Another girl entered the room, informing us that the store was closing in dix minutes. She had an American accent; I asked where she was from. She said that she went to New College of Florida. I asked her about the cat, and she said his name was Kitty. She could see my disappointment, so she told us that Shakespeare & Co. has ANOTHER cat, and that one is a female named Agatha (à la Agatha Christie), though Agatha is not allowed downstairs because she fights with Kitty. I told her that Kitty bit me, but the American employee ensured me that it was a bite of love. Kind of like Emma, except he was actually gentle.
Apparently they also have a store dog. Her name is Colette, which caused my mouth to drop open, as that was my name in French class in high school. The staff apparently dines with the animals. The NCF girl laughed and said that this was more of a zoo than bookshop.
I went outside. After an embarrassing exchange with a group of French friends, I agreed to take a photo of them in front of Shakespeare & Co. if they took a photo of me. (It was embarrassing because I attempted to speak French and they all just replied in English.) Then, since Notre-Dame Cathedral was right across the Seine, I made my way there. On my way, a French guy asked me for directions, which I only bring up because EVERYONE asks me for directions. Then I was standing in front of Notre-Dame, and I couldn't help but gape like a tourist because it was a sight I had imagined time after time. Of course, the silly part of me couldn't help but wonder what would happen if the statues on the front started squabbling and a river of gold flooded the front steps. (Disney movies FTW.) There's still a Christmas tree in front of the cathedral.
Crossing the street again, I spied a little Remy in the bushes. I couldn't help but smile, even though this rat probably can't cook in a French restaurant with a human marionette.
Crossing the bridge over the Seine, it hit me: Wow. This is my life. C'est ma vie. What did I do to deserve this? Ah, well. It's no use playing Parallel Universe. I just have to take it in and be happy. I also took some shots of the Seine, vaguely wondering if Javert was going to surface and come after me like a zombie vigilante.
Adventure over? Nope. I hadn't taken more than one step into the Metro stop when I heard these people singing. Two subway musicians were in full swing, and there was an animated crowd gathered 'round. One man started dancing in the middle, as if this were Teen Night at the YMCA. Thankfully, he didn't try to moonwalk. After I had dropped off some change for the performers, they started up with "Don't Worry, Be Happy," and finally, "One Love." Hence the song choice at the beginning. (See, there's a method to my madness.)
Oh, I bought three books:
1. A Moveable Feast, Ernest Hemingway's Paris book
2. A book of love letters from famous men to their girlfriends/mistresses/wives/unrequited loves. It's funny. There's a letter from King Henry VIII to Anne Boleyn, a bona fide Aivaz family ancestor!
3. Ah, this is a surprise pour ma mère. ;)
What a night! Quelle nuit! (Good enough translation? Eh.) Now it's picture time!
These were at Monoprix. I just thought it was funny.
Now, the center book is the Eugene O'Neill book we read senior year: Long Day's Journey Into Night. The Eugene O'Neill Playhouse is in Connecticut, and we've been to the Eugene O'Neill Theater in NYC for several shows. The book next to it, by Joyce Carol Oates--she was my recent writing professor's mentor. We read a story of hers called "Where Are You Going, Where Have You Been."
To the left: I own that Nick Hornby book! He is the author of High Fidelity, and yes, that was a book before it was a movie. To the right: The Secret History, a book I admittedly borrowed from a friend and have yet to return. In my defense, I have tried, and I can't really do anything about it now. Le shrug.
This is the Sylvia Beach Reading Room upstairs.
Admittedly, I'm probably going to Instagram the photo on the right. (The lighting? You can't filter that!) To the left is a typewriter, which Carl Hiaasen seems to think the children of today don't recognize.
Gauche: Window out to the roof. And old Will watching us through a frame. Droit: Little alcove with yet another typewriter.
Pianos + books + cats = HEAVEN
At last, this is probably what Alyssa has been waiting for...
His name's Kitty, as I've said before. But since Hemingway's cat was named Snowball, and this cat is pure white, I feel like it should definitely be Snowball.
Snowball et moi
See, I really was there, for you skeptics out there. :)
Now, I was really channeling my inner hipster photographer with these next photos:
And, as promised, a dancing French man! Video is further below.
BONUS: Olivia Pope is everywhere!
2 comments:
I am sooooooo jealous of your Shakespeare & Co adventure!!!!! It almost prompted me to quit my job and come live on your couch!
Have you found Les Deux Magot yet!!!????
There isn't nearly enough cats and dogs in stores in the States. Bring that idea back home with you, please and thank you 😻😻😻
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