Monday in Paris

Whatever day of the week, to be in Paris is a dream held dear by many travelers. This past Monday provides us with yet another glimpse into what it is that draws so many to this particular corner of the universe.

It was a gorgeous early afternoon when we left the apartment. Taking a series of backstreets that we had never gone down before, we wended our way over to the Jardin du Luxeumbourg, not 20 or 25 minutes from our home. We walked down rue St. Hilaire to rue Censier, to rue de Mirbel, to rue Jean Calvin which became rue Erasme Brosselette, jogged over to rue Thullier for a block, then turned right onto rue Gay Lussac for a block then left onto rue de l'Abbe de Epee which emptied right onto the Jardin, and right into the midst of most of the population of Paris!



The park was teeming with people! Susan swore that there were more out this late winter day than we saw back in late May when we first struck emotional gold in this particular corner of the city.


Every chair was taken, every bench full of couples, elderly, children, elderly children, families with children, chidlren with familes, parents, every swing going full bore, every tennis court in use, the place was teeming, I say teeming with humanity! We wandered around aimlessly, like nearly everyone else before finding our way out of the park. We walked with no particular objective in mind, just in the general direction of the river. Down a small side street we heard some live klezmer music, or rather, as we got closer to the bar where it was emanating from, some bad klezmer music. Still the day was starting off right for some folks to be sure.

It was right at this corner that Paris played another one of it's seemingly endless stock of tricks.

Just opposite of the bar with the bad music, on rue Monsieur le Prince was a small plaque informing the passerby who might be inclined to stop and read such things, that on a certain day in 1943, on this very spot, the Germans shot and killed a Yugoslav resistance fighter. And just a block down the same street (roo) on the west side of the street was a building with two plaques on the upper level, so high up you had to squint to see them, claiming that in this building had once lived the American writer Richard Wright (who is buried in Pere Lachaise by the way) and the composer Camille Saint-Saens (who is buried in Montmarnasse cemetery).


A few minutes later found us on Boulevard St. Germain and we had no sooner started to cross the boulevard heading toward the Seine than a herd of literally hundreds of rollerbladers swooshed passed us.


Eventually they passed on into history and we soon found our way to a cafe near the river, sat down and enjoyed an aperitif before taking the usual way back home: strolling along the left bank of the Seine to the jardin des Plantes.

Many you just gotta love this city.

Wish you had been here,

Steve