Paris Gardienne
03.2.2011 Flashback: April 2009
We board the Venice to Paris overnight train. Two narrow bunks, a closet and a sink. Legs entwined on the lower bunk, we eat our tuna wraps. Halfway through, there’s only lettuce and air.
We keep having this experience in Italy—lying sandwiches, crooked hotelkeepers. We turn in early, R. below, I above. (Bull below bird.)
At 6 a.m., the porter knocks with a tray of cappuccino and croissants. We throw on our clothes and pack. Line up for a cab.
Paris in the morning, hands clasped in the back seat, eyes eagerly scanning for the filagree of chestnut trees, the first glimpse of the Seine. Notre Dame. Quai de la Tournelle. Our street, our neighborhood café.
There is Hector at the counter, a year older, but young. When, two years ago, we admired an old photo on the wall, a turn of the century view of our street, he had it enlarged as a gift. It is framed now in our flat.
R. signs his book of poems to him. Hector treats us to cafés crèmes. We chat and wait for the tenants to leave.
Midmorning, we pass through the great green doors. There she is, Madame T, our Portuguese gardienne—Hestia, keeper of the household flame.
Dignified, in no rush, she tells us about the trouble with our neighbor. One of the tenants who rented our apartment had children who cried all night. (Half a year ago, as I remember.) And seven Israeli-American women came for the weekend.
“Seven?”
“Yes, seven.” She counts them on her fingers. “They yelled down to each other in the courtyard when they couldn’t figure out how to open the door. The one who spoke French complained that the elevator was too small.” Madame T. raises an eyebrow.
Up in the small elevator with our heavy bags. We wander the apartment in a joyful daze. Let’s go lay in supplies.
We roll our shopping cart up the street to the supermarket, Champion. Strawberries, carrots, zucchini—little photos of vegetables and fruit above the scales. Weigh each. Out comes a sticky receipt. You twist it around the bag. We look for Poilâne bread with raisins. It’s too good—they’re always out.
So many possible kinds of milk: we read the labels until we find lait entier1. Beautiful jars of Bonne Maman jam. What kind? Fig! And Brie cheese. Long and wrinkled concombres2 wrapped in cellophane. Pommes Granny3. Hefty lemons. Joker brand jus d’orange4. Tuna pasta, freshly made today.
First day in Paris, I feel it again: I want to live here, want to find a way. The double whammy of happiness and the quickened desire to write; the aesthetic sense heightened. I want to explore the streets! Learn the history of Paris! A cornucopia of inspiration.
Later I read in Sophie Barron’s “Le 5e Arrondissement”:
Liquid chocolate made its first appearance in 1668 at the Restaurant de la Tour d’Argent.
Right at the end of our street.
Here is where la fourchette—the fork—was first used. And in 1685, the first cup of café.
In spite of little sleep on the train, bumping over the Alps; in spite of being exhausted after the extraverted, action-oriented ten-day cruise (no inward time to read, write and muse—not my natural rhythm), I feel completely awake. This city’s rhythm suits me. It’s Aphrodite’s rhythm, the rhythm of beauty and love. Time to sit and talk with friends. Time to observe the world.
We head up Boulevard St. Germain to buy two bunches of tulips, one red, the other orange flames. The florist adds three pink and white roses, and asks how short we’d like them cut.
A florist has never offered to do this for me, I tell her.
"I love flowers," she says, "and I love my clients."
The spirit of place—its power and persistence! Aphrodite and Dionysus, the ruling gods here.
We knock on the gardienne’s door. She opens with that sly earthy look.
Which bouquet would you prefer?
"Mais non!" she smiles, and picks the flames.
--April 22, 2009 - Paris
[1] whole milk
2 cucumbers
3 Granny Smith apples
4 orange juice
Reader Comments (27)
I so look forward to reading these....mini-vacations!
I love this... the perfect marriage of image(s) and story to capture the essence of your beautiful new home. But this is dangerous! Your journal is becoming like a seduction by city... Paris flirting and enthralling and drawing in the unsuspecting victim to its charms. Oh, to wake up to Joker brand orange juice chaque matin! :) And oh how I wish I could remember the name of the cookie brand that I went crazy for when I was there. I even brought several boxes home with me, but that was years ago. *sigh* I'll have to come and visit so we can go to the supermarche together and find it!
Lots of love to you both,
~ dawna
Yes. Each Wednesday and Saturday, with additional posts irregularly, as we are moved by events or the muse. Good to hear from you.
Richard & Kaaren
Might we meet for a cafe creme? We would love to see you and catch up on your literary life. Ours, of course, we're laying bare here.
--Richard & Kaaren
I stayed in a little pension on Boulevard St. Germain in 1971!
"and the why he saved it for the feather bedding of morning."
This poem finally got published last week in San Pedro River Review.
Regresso, Circa 1970. Timing is everything! HA!
Sending love to you in the city of lights...just love saying that. xoxox
The photo of our apartment was included because you asked for one. How could we resist?
I'd prefer you take a maxi-vacation-- to Rome, with side trips to Paris!
Thank you for reading and responding. So glad we can stay in touch this way.
Love,
Kaaren and Richard
You caught us out. There is one thing missing in Paris and that is you and our family and friends. We ARE trying to seduce you to visit-- or move here. Oh yes! Then it would be Americans-in-Paris-Paradise. You note how close the words Paris and Paradise are? Just take out the a-d-e!
I'd offer to go and try out every type of cookie for you, but I'd prefer to try to lure you here to solve the mystery yourself. Okay?
Love to you and thank you for your words,
Kaaren and Richard
The apartment looks so warm and inviting.... I think you two will be getting a constant flow of visitors if you keep up these intoxicating stories and images. You'll have to open a B&B next door. je vous aime. Jane
Wait till the boxes arrive that were sent by slow (very slow) ship, and we have our pieces of sculpture and paintings by you. Then the apartment will really look warm and inviting!
A B&B next door--now THAT is a concept. I wish I knew the right person to run it. Instead of looking for lodging for friends and family, it would be so fabulous to have a B&B run by a family member or friend... We could supply the guests. I'm spelling this out here, inspired
by you, in case anyone is thinking about doing something like this, and hadn't yet thought of doing it in Paris.
Love, love,
Kaaren and Richard
We are ok here,with the last weeks of NorCal "winter" trudging along,rain,cold,cloudy. But sometime soon we'll have spring,and things will
improve greatly. I drop over to Hawai'i often,of course,and there cold doesn't come into it much. Sun,warmth,the Pacific Ocean,all add to
one's day. Hard to find lomi salmon or poi in Paris,eh? Ha! One of the few menu victories between Honolulu and Paris. We are hoping to
visit Europe in May,and pay a visit to the City of Light. Be well and joyous,Aloha Nui,Kimo
We will specifically hunt down lomi salmon or poi for your May visit. It is the least we can do to pay back the joy of seeing you. I photographed a parade Sunday that featured various ethic groups dancing in native costume, including Ecuadorians, and Brazilians, and various citizens of former French colonies (primarily African but sans Tonga) but no Hawaiians. There is a void here, and you can help fill it.
Much love, and to Kerry,
Richard & Kaaren
Give Marley a kiss for me...
Marley says the French chat food is particularly good, too, and will share if you come over. So what's keeping you?
Many licks back,
--Richard & Kaaren & Marley
We live a block and a half from Blvd St. Germain. Do you remember the cross street of this pension, or what it was near?
Congratulations on your poem being published! Did you mean it was Paris-related? Can you post it in this comment section, for us and others to read, or would the publisher[s] of the San Pedro River Review object?
Love right back to you in the City of Angels. (You have to have lived there to know how full of angels Los Angeles is.)
XO,
Kaaren and Richard
Paris itself is the seduction. Aphrodite is shimmering all over this city. These posts are for exactly that purpose: so you can go on our journey with us, and we can stay connected to you. Thanks for completing the feedback loop!
I'm thinking of you as you read from your novel "Elephant Milk" at the Ruskin Club today. I know the reading will be stellar.
Love,
Kaaren & Richard
Did I ever tell you that my very first pet, a Russian Blue I adored, was named Francois Villon?
Sending good tidings. xo