My Life as a Parisian

By Jerry Hayes 

My lifelong infatuation with Paris began in high school when I saw the movie An American in Paris. Over the years, I have visited several times, playing tourist for a few days; but it was never enough. I have always wanted to live in Paris as a Parisian. This past fall my wish came true in a small way when my wife and I rented an apartment in the Latin Quarter for two weeks, not very long, but an intense pleasure nonetheless.  I will not say anything about the museums, monuments and churches; there are so many travel books that can do this so much better that I can. Ordinary life as I experience it is my focus.

The apartment we found online was bright and cozy with one bedroom on a quiet, leafy street. We were on the top floor with a view of the rooftops. Fortunately, a tiny elevator was a recent addition to the old building. A snug fit for two, it reminded me of the capsule that retrieved the Chilean miners.

Looking back, I see that much of our experience revolved around that constant French preoccupation, food. Every morning, I indulged in the Parisian ritual of buying fresh bread for breakfast. The boulangerie was just around the corner. On the way, I saw parents hustling their children off to the neighborhood garderie. The older children trussed up with backpacks were off to school. At the bar of the corner café, men were having a coffee, or something more fortifying, before going off to work. A continuous stream of baguette bearers emerged from the boulangerie, many chewing the newly nipped end. A nearby green grocer supplied our fresh fruit.

Rue Mouffetard, a ten-minute walk away, was just the place to experience the food fetish in full force. An open-air market fills the southern end. As this narrow cobblestone street winds north, a great variety of shops range side-by-side: boulangeries, boucheries for meat, poissonneries for fish, charcuteries for sausages, pâtisseries for pastry, fromageries for cheese, épiceries for all other groceries and, of course, wine shops. The shops provided the makings of the very good meals we ate while gazing over the rooftops. In this, as well as the other aspects of our visit, my wife's fluency in the language was invaluable; as long as I shut up, we passed as natives.   

Further along rue Mouffetard, the shops give way to restaurants.  The street ends in a charming little square shaded by a grand old tree and surrounded by sidewalk cafés. One meal at a sidewalk café was particularly memorable. I was attracted by the chalkboard advertising Coq au Vin, a favorite of mine. When we sat down, we noticed that the restaurant was a workers' co-op and was recommended by the guidebooks. The coq, rooster in English, must have put up a valiant struggle, for he was nice and chewy in a delicious sauce with scrumptious veggies. I can still taste it. We washed it all down with a carafe of the house red. Dessert was a tarte tatin (apple pie). All the while, we soaked in the ambience of une bonne rue de Paris.

Motivated by an article in the Globe and Mail, we set out one morning for the 20^th Arrondissement,-an old working class neighborhood under assault by those shock troops of gentrification, the artists along with their camp followers and the bobos (contraction of bohemian and bourgeois). We emerged from the Belleville Metro station to a lively plaza and dazzling variety of humankind. One of the delights of Paris, this called for a serious session of people watching, so we repaired to a corner café for our daily café crèmes and croissants.

Charged by the coffee, we plunged into the local outdoor market, which was in the median of Avenue Belleville. Because it was Friday, the market was especially crowded. We were happily all jammed together. The fruit and vegetable sellers were mostly North African, all competing for customers in a cacophony of voices. Holding up a melon, one shouts "Deux Euros, deux Euros!" Another cries, "Framboises, fraises!" There were stalls for fish, cheese, bread and all sorts of nonfood goods.  We bought an outfit for a soon-to-arrive granddaughter. Given the very good prices, it is no wonder that the market stretched for several blocks and the crowd never diminished.

After the market, we walked on to the adjoining quartier, a maze of winding cobblestone streets. The artist's bridgehead was visible everywhere, art galleries, studios and small theatre spaces. One of the houses bore a plaque identifying it as Edith Piaf's childhood home. Maurice Chevalier also came from the neighbourhood.

With a plan to picnic in the park, we bought a loaf of chewy bread. Cheese and fruit from the market completed our lunch menu. Placed in the northeast corner of the city, the 20^th Arrondissement is on a hill, and Parc Belleville, perched as it is on the side of the hill, is the perfect place to enjoy the view. We walked up through the lush greenery of the park to the benches in a plaza at its top.  All of Paris was spread before us: the Eiffel Tower, Notre Dame, Les Invalides, les grands boulevards and my beautiful Seine winding through it all.

C'est magnifique!