On to Paris

          The taxi let us out at Place Edmund Rostand, a busy intersection in the heart of the Left Bank in Paris.

            “Don’t get your expectations up too high,” I kept telling Art because I’m not sure how this apartment is going to be. It faces the Luxembourg Gardens but it could be noisy.” I glanced around at the five streets and avenues all converging onto this one corner.

            I’m sure it will be fine,” he said reassuringly.  Booking the Airbnb apartments wherever we travel has become my job and it takes hours online to find the right one.  Even then, it’s a gamble until you arrive and see it.

            

            I punched in the code to release on the keypad next to the large carved wooden front door of #6 Place Edmund Rostand,  Going through a second set of doors we were in a lobby with a carpeted winding staircase to the upper floors and a tiny “lift” to one side that barely accommodated us and our luggage.  Two flights up we came to one big double door, an entrance to the only apartment on the entire floor. Sonia, the maid let us in and showed us in to one end of the long apartment, lived in by Marie and her husband. Our end had been closed off with a private door to make an Airbnb. We had two rooms (sitting room/kitchen and bedroom) with a bathroom inside another apartment.  Clever idea extra secure, I thought.  Not even the most experienced thief could make it through all those many doors.  The tall floor to ceiling French doors that opened onto a decorative rod iron railing gave a sense of  spaciousness. I stepped outside often, fascinated by all the activity below us and across the street at the Luxembourg Gardens.  What a perfect location...I had done it!

#6 Place Edmond Rostand

            That evening we met Marie Fabry, the 68-year old landlady who spoke perfect English and invited us to her side of the apartment for a look.  She told us her grandparents had moved to this apartment building in 1920 and they, and her parents had lived and died in this 18^thcentury building.  She had grown up in this apartment and even though she made reference to “other homes” she and her husband could live in she chose to stay right here in her childhood home.  Surprisingly she confessed that none of her family had ever owned one of the apartments because they were never for sale. However, she was the third generation of renters in her family.  Her living room was long with at least six sets of French doors with the same view we had and walls covered from floor to ceiling with large paintings. All very eclectic and mismatched but very French.  I wondered what it must feel like to be living in the same building as your ancestors had, for three generations.  For me it was hard to fathom having such a strong sense of place and  I found myself envying her for that. 

 Views from the French doors to Luxembourg Gardens

             Strangely the first glimpse we got of Paris was of Notre Dame.  Something propelled us first to walk down Boulevard Saint Michel to where it meets the River Seine.  There, was the Notre Dame Cathedral that we had walked past and been in so many times on our visit two years ago.  It was a shock to simply stand and stare at the towers which are intact but no tall roof and steeple.   There is no access now to get near it as the streets in and around it are barricaded and guarded. The icon we all took for granted that was Paris is no longer.  I must confess it hit us hard and it was awhile before we could turn our backs and walk on to explore further. After that, if we were in the vicinity I didn’t really want to think about it anymore.

Notre Dame Cathedral

            Paris in May was full of young people zipping around on electric scooters alongside the perpetual tourists especially abundant in and around the River Seine.  We were energized by the cool weather and sunshine, and the good physical condition we were in from our walking in Brittany, and the excitement of being back in Paris.  We remembered easily how to travel places by Metro. Sometimes, though, we’d say “let’s walk instead…we can take in so much more.” 

            One afternoon we decided to forego being tourists and walked across the street from our apartment to the Luxembourg Gardens.  We found some empty metal chairs on the side of the gravel walkway and sat down to “people watch”.  Because it was a sunny spring afternoon, there were many people out sunning themselves and others just walking through the gardens.  There is a large octagonal basin of water in the center where children sail model boats. I wished Austin had been with us as he would have loved the afternoon sailing a boat alongside the French children.

 Luxembourg Gardens

         We walked the length of the Boulevard Saint Michel and stopped to enjoy the creative and artistic boutique decor on the Boulevard Saint Germain. A shop which caught my eye enough for a photo was displaying high end clothing and handbags in the midst of walls covered with floor to ceiling bookcases filled with real books. No, it was not a bookstore.  We stopped in to an Art Gallery with paintings in the window that caught our eye.  The gallery owner was very gracious and we managed to keep our composure as he quoted prices in the thousands. Alas, an original piece of artwork from France was not to be.   Instead, we brought home a poster from the tourist office in Brittany which now hangs on our office wall.

A boutique in Saint Germain

         One morning we went by metro to the Gambetta station in the 20^tharrondissement to visit the Cimetiere du Pere-Lachaise, the largest cemetery in Paris which was first opened in 1804 . Built on a hill on 110 acres of land, today there are over a million people buried there. We were told to stop at one of the florist shops at the entrance to the cemetery to purchase a map which shows where many of the famous writers, artists, musicians, and actors are buried. 

         The cemetery is a peaceful, quiet place in the middle of bustling Paris, where you walk down cobblestone streets under the umbrella of tall shady trees.  The graves are close together and vary from unadorned headstones to towering monuments and even elaborate mini chapels.   Many tombs are the size of telephone booths. Here multiple family members can be buried.

I felt like we were on a scavenger hunt following the map to see if we could find Oscar Wilde, Gertrude Stein, Frederic Chopin, Modigliani. Yves Montand, Jim Morrison, Edith Piaf, Marcel Proust and others.

 Marcel Proust grave

 Oscar Wilde grave

Frederic Chopin grave

          On one side of the cemetery we came across huge monuments, some with dramatic sculptures, honoring the French who had died in each Nazi concentration camp.  There were also monuments to soldiers and resistance fighters from both world wars.  One could spend days here.  I noticed French people visiting family graves as well as tourists like us doing what we were, looking for the the famous people.  What surprised us is that this cemetery is inclusive of all religions all other ethnicities  Jews, Catholics, Chinese, Vietnamese and others are buried randomly,  side by side with no separations.

 Concentration camp victims

On our last afternoon in Paris, we had walked for miles and were on our way back to the apartment. Half a block from our apartment, I saw an English bookstore called “The Red Wheelbarrow”. How had I missed this on the very block where we were living?  I found myself going in “just to take a quick look”.  The owner came over to wait on me and started a conversation.

“Where are you from?” she asked.

“I’m from the US …we live in Western North Carolina,” I replied.

“Where in North Carolina?” she persisted.

“Asheville,”  I replied thinking she wouldn't know it.

“I was just there last week,” she exclaimed.  “I went to visit a dear friend, Renee Levine, who moved there from Paris.  She worked in this bookstore with me and was part owner.”

She went on to explain that her friend and husband had left Paris to be near their daughters in the US and now they were elderly and the husband was not well.
  

“Next week is Renee’s birthday,” she continued.  “Would you be able to take a book to her in Asheville?”  she asked.  She had picked up a book in the store and was showing it to me.

“I’d love to,” I told her, “but I don’t have an inch of space in my luggage.”

As we continued to chat I learned she was Canadian but had lived in Paris for many years. She asked me if I knew Malaprops bookstore. 

“Of course,” I replied. “Anyone who lives in Asheville knows Malaprops.”

By the time I walked out, I had bought a paperback for my trip home, and we had exchanged names and contact information.  Penelope Fletcher said she’d be in touch after she called Malaprops to order a book for her friend, Renee, if I would deliver it.  I agreed thinking it would be interesting to meet her friend who had lived in Paris a long time.  I wasn’t certain she was serious about contacting me.

A week after I was back in Asheville I found myself driving downtown to pick up two gift wrapped books at Malaprop's for Renee Levine and finding my way to a retirement community called The Crossings.  There I met Renee, a petite women with a slightly German accent and a soft voice.   Her husband sat in a wheel chair quietly with a sweet smile on his face and listened.  (Penelope had told me he had Alzheimer's). Renee was turning 94 the following day and was as sharp as she could be telling me some of her life story of which she had written and published some years ago.  My instinct had been right and I could have talked with her all day.  I was uncertain as to how she felt about receiving a stranger like me.  And yet that same afternoon I received an email from her...

Dear Kristina,

 it was a pleasure to meet you today and on top of that to be presented with a present from Paris.  How rare to meet someone with a rear view and side view and of course front view mirror on the world instead of a tiny little local screen for a visual field….  

Thanks for the visit,  Renée

            Paris has a special allure and I will always be drawn to go back as we continue to explore other parts of France. This city leaves a lasting impression that makes you want to return.  But it is the personal connections you make unexpectedly that are what you remember and treasure.