After we left the Musee d’Orsay, Benjamin and I decided to stroll. We could take out time. We had the whole day to soak up the streets and cafes of Paris. Ahhh…this was what we loved to do in new cities…walk, walk, walk, sip, and discover.
The buildings of Paris were gorgeous. As we meandered, Benjamin and I talked about how Paris (and Prague and Berlin) made us feel so charmed. Yes, it was the history, simply knowing that those structures have withstood time and survived wars. But even more so, the older buildings of Europe carried particular sounds. The architecture was quiet.
In the younger United States, the buildings seem to amplify. I love the sky line of Chicago, but this city exhausted and overwhelmed me at times. It felt loud. Maybe it was the height or the steel, but when I commuted to work among the sky scrapers, and then stayed downtown to attend evening classes, I was tired. I was ready to retreat to the softer tones of my neighborhood brownstone.
Every time I have visited New York I have felt more energized than any other city in the U.S. Yes, there was always a bustle, of course, but I felt calm. Most likely, I was more relaxed and inspired because NYC permeates with art and history. Chicago had lovely art too, but the dominant feelings there were of hard work and walking fast to keep ahead of the next blizzard (sorry to poke fun, Chi-town. You know I love you, you cold beast of a city). I also think that for me, New York felt the closest to a European city, probably because of Ellis Island or simple geography with it being closer to the continent.
In Paris, we rode through crazy traffic and there was lots of movement, but the muted colors, the curves and lines of the buildings hushed these, settled them somehow. And it was just so pretty to see varieties of old growth trees, people reading under statues of poets, and flowers everywhere in the gardens. Paris felt welcoming. In one endearing moment, we watched as two little boys on pedal-less, wooden bikes recognized each other in a park. They were toddlers, probably about three years old. When they saw each other, they hugged and kissed on the cheeks. Then, I swear, they rested their elbows on their bikes and started chatting like two gossiping grandpas. So cute!
We passed little shops selling chocolate, perfume, candy, clothes, and shoes. Elegance and fashion are synonymous with Paris, and after walking several blocks, we decided to stop at a cafe and watch the parade. We chose a place called Sip Babylone, and it was perfectly Parisian with its dark wood, cheerful music, mirrors, and art on the walls. We sat at a corner table and ordered wine, cheese, and bread (bien sur!). No one was speaking English, and as usual, I relaxed to the sounds of a beautiful language that I did not understand. We lounged, listened, and people-watched for a couple of hours, and then it was time to visit 27 Rue de Fleures, the former home of Gertrude Stein and Alice Toklas.
My love for Ms. Stein and Ms. Toklas began a long time ago when I went to New York with my friend Rita. She and I saw an off- Broadway play about letters written between writers and their lovers or friends. I remember feeling enchanted by how Gertrude and Alice “spoke” to one another through ink. I then learned about their artist salons, the notable writers and painters who dined and drank with them in their Paris apartment. So I had to go.
The apartment was marked with a plaque bearing their names. It was humble, and part of me wanted there to be more recognition, simply because I think what both of them did was so crucial. I suppose this is my respect for mavens–people who have the gift of bringing other people together, people who host parties and do it well, with the intent of creating an atmosphere of lively conversation. People like this are rare. I seek them out in my life, and when I can, I try to be a maven.
I wanted to go inside that building. We saw people coming in and out. It was after all, a ‘normal’ apartment. But I wanted to be the crazy lady who asked the current residents questions like: Do you hear ghosts conversing or debating in there? Can you feel tension and attraction among them? If there were ghosts in there, maybe they would rearrange the art or have something knock the residents on their heads if they were discussing art and the ghost disagreed. Or maybe they would simply try to bring people together.
Obviously, I let my imagination get carried away. How could I not? This was the site where some of the greatest, creative brains came together for parties. Like natural places or museums, this was holy ground. So I stood there, dreaming and thinking, paying homage to two women who had created a scene.
