Getting lost in Paris we discover the Passages

Getting lost in an unfamiliar city isn't for everyone. But getting lost in Paris has its distinct advantages. You turn a corner and find yourself in a world you didn't know was there. You discover something you didn't know existed; you find something you weren't looking for.

Well we got lost on Monday, my first Monday back in Paris, and it was a truly wonderful thing.

We spent the morning in a leisurely frame of mind -- I worked on getting my act together online and Susie did some dough prep for a bit of baking she wanted to do at home (like she didn't do enough at LCB, eh?).

Eventually we showered, dressed to meet the public and headed off to the St. Ambroise Metro stop and the no. 9. We got off at Grand Boulevards and, in searching for the southern side of Boulevard Montmartre and rue Montmartre heading south (we failed to check the local maps at the Metro entrance) strode off into the sunshine, nary a care in the world.

We were in search of the Librarie Gourmand (92 rue Montmartre), the wonderful bookstore devoted to food, wine and all things culinary. As we walked along it began to dawn on Susie, who had been here once before since arriving in Paris, that we might be going in the wrong direction (that is, up rue du Faubourg Montmartre instead of down rue Montmartre, toward the Seine).

But then we discovered the passages. Specifically, the Passages Jouffroy. Builtin 1847, reportedly the first heated indoor shopping mall in Paris, this is an ambling, weaving, set of interior spaces that seem to take the flaneur (wanderer) back to another time, another Paris.

(You can find the entrance we discovered by accident along rue du Faubourg Montmartre very close to the intersection with rue Richer.)

It was both exhilarating and stimulating to the senses to stroll through spaces devoted to a variety of books, different foods, where one could find several stamp collecting shops, and two shops carrying nothing but old postcards -- and where I found two postcards with photos of the long-gone and long-forgotten Square Pere Lachaise, now renamed the Jardin Samuel du Champlain. A very small but curious mystery now solved.

This is one of the secrets of Paris that's really not much a secret at all.

We walked and walked through one passage after another, crossing one then two streets and still the passages continued. At last we came to the end.

We retraced our steps and eventually existed several blocks later, the way we came in.

A short 5 minute walk and we pushed open the door of the Librarie Gourmand, quite pleased with the morning so far.

Susie had come with the intention of buying one particular book for her collection -- she thinks French cookbooks in the original French are quite likely a bit more accurate in their measurements. Anyway, she also picked up a couple of books on macarons as well -- Gracie's is going to be a major beneficiary here, to be sure.

From the bookstore we walked the two or three blocks down rue Montmartre to Cafe Etienne Marcel to grab a table outside in the warmth of the sun and enjoy lunch and a glass of white wine.

Which is precisely what we did.

The cafe has become a favorite spot of ours -- it's within hailing distance of such serious food and kitchen resources of Detou, Mora, A. Simon, Bovida, and of course the Librarie Gourmand. We ordered the usual for us: croque monsieur with frites (an open faced cheese and ham sandwich and a Parisian staple), and two glasses of sauvignon. The tables filled rapidly -- it was lunchtime after all and so many wanted to enjoy the sun.

Sitting at the corner of rue Montmartre and Boulevard Etienne Marcel we watched the energy and life of Paris pass before our eyes; it has such an effect on the spirit. One cannot help but soak up the soul of the city through the food, the wine, the air, the people, the physical space of Paris.

I suppose that's why we come back again and again.

But we can only take so much re-infusion of the spirit, and not wanting to risk the explosion of our very consciousness into tiny atomic particles, we paid the bill and strolled toward the Etienne Marcel Metro stop.

Taking the no. 9 toward Porte d'Orleans we got off at Odeon. Exiting the subway we found ourselves staring up at the bulk of Danton watching over the chaos of the neighborhood -- most likely quite pleased with it all. His home was once located close by, now long gone of course, as old Paris continues to give way to the new.

Dwelling on such things becomes an occupational hazard here in the City of Light but it didn't stop us from walking up to the Jardin du Luxembroug where we strolled among the teeming millions; Easter holiday and spring break all rolled into one makes for a very busy city indeed.

But the Jardin was wonderful to see again, and for us is the epitome of what makes this city so special.

Lives shaped by this physical space are everywhere for everyone to witness: children playing, a couple kissing in a shade covered bench, rows of hushed chess players, tennis players; tulips everywhere, and the chairs full of people, laughing, watching, dozing or reading and sometimes all at the same time. We walk pass a woman who loves purple so much that not only was she dressed in it but her hair was dyed to match her entire ensemble. Susan wondered to me whether perhaps she dyed her hair to go with whatever her outfit was for that day.

Wouldn't surprise me in the least.


Eventually we crossed back to the other side of the Jardin and walked down Boulevard St. Michel passed the Sorbonne to the Metro stop at Cluny/Sorbonne, and board the no. 10 to Gare d'Austerlitz where we changed to the 5 and got off at the Bastille. The stroll home took us down a favorite street, rue de la Roquette, past the flavors of the city that are too often missed in the guidebooks.

There is nothing special to see here other than this very old road where carriages once took the famous and the not-so-famous dead up to Pere Lachaise and carts took the fallen women to the La Roquette prison (now the Square de la Roquette).

Nope, nothing to see here at all.