Paris Journal 2011 – Barbara Joy Cooley Home: barbarajoycooley.com
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As I made my way back home through the Carrefour de Buci one day, after running an errand, I had a euro coin in my pocket. All of my other cash was in paper form. I had placed that euro in my pocket so I could readily buy a newspaper. However, on many days, I simply read the French newspaper online (as I do the Washington Post and New York Times). The paper newspaper is nice to have sometimes, though. That was the plan, to buy a newspaper, until I rounded the corner of the rue de Buci and the rue de Seine. There, in front of the door on the corner that leads into the popular Paul bakery, was a skinny guy in a beat-up tweed jacket. He wore glasses, and was not sitting on the ground, begging. He was standing, and as I passed, he politely asked a middle-aged French couple if they could give him 20 cents so he could go in and buy some bread. 20 cents. He had a specific amount in mind, so I think he was for real. This man didn’t seem like someone who was begging so he could go out and drink. He really did seem like he needed just another 20 cents to buy bread. By the time I realized this, I was already around the corner. I stopped dead in my tracks. I reached down into my pocket to retrieve the euro coin. I turned around, and walked back to the corner. The man was starting to approach one of the sidewalk tables outside of Paul, where perhaps a couple was in the process of leaving a pour boire (a few small coins) for a server. He was going to ask for one of those coins – politely, of course. But he saw me, hand outstretched, with a small smile. I handed him the coin and he thanked me. Now he had more than he needed for a baguette. Perhaps he could buy a baguette and a half. Some bakeries will cut a baguette in half for you, if you don’t want the entire thing. I went home and read the French newspaper online. As I sat there in front of the computer, I heard the movie star. This is a 30-year-old woman whom I won’t name, to guard her privacy, who lives on the top floor of our building. She really is a movie star. There was an entire page in a French women’s magazine recently devoted to a photo of her, as well as an interview. She isn’t recognized on the street because she wears glasses then, and she dresses in a very inconspicuous way – jeans, nice T-shirt, athletic shoes, maybe a scarf and a cardigan or lightweight jacket. Her long, naturally dark blonde hair is casually and loosely pinned up or gathered in back. She has two small children. There is no elevator in the building. She takes them upstairs, talking to them gently, sweetly, the entire way. As I listened to her voice, I thought, “This is the French language at its best. It sounds so beautiful when a French mother is gently speaking to her little children.” Often, the climbing of the stairs is a counting lesson:
un, deux, trois – un, deux, trois – un,
deux, trois. The movie star’s husband is a movie producer (not a director, a producer). He takes the kids up and down the stairs, too, but I don’t ever hear him talking with them. He, too, is well known in the French movie world. I’m not talking about little art films – these are real movies, that lots of people see in the movie theatres. I guess he’s the silent type. Someone who isn’t the silent type at all is Dominique Strauss-Kahn. He appeared on primetime TF1 television for a twenty-three minute interview a couple nights ago. The purpose? Mostly it was for him to explain himself regarding the incident in New York with the hotel maid. He also was testing the waters to see if it is possible that he might be able to re-enter the political world in France. Le Parisien is conducting a poll on the question “Have you found Dominique Strauss-Kahn convincing?” in the aftermath of this interview. So far, 61.2 percent of the respondents have answered “non,” and 38.8 percent have answered “oui.” Also, it seems that his chances of re-entering politics are nil. The apartment that he rented when he was forced to remain in New York has now been put up for sale by its owner. You can see it here. It is listed for $13.99million. It looks like a nice place – a complete townhouse in TriBeCa. Speaking of New York city, my friend Linda K., who was raised in Manhattan, was here in Paris not long ago. She and her husband found a good place to dine on Sunday and Monday evenings. Around the corner from their hotel, the restaurant Les Ministères is one of those big, Art Deco, 7-days-a-week dependable standbys. We dined there last night, after a very pleasant stroll down the full length of the rue Jacob and part of the rue de l’Université. Success! The dinner was excellent. I’d already made a broccoli-pasta-Roquefort (mostly broccoli) dish for lunch, so we didn’t feel the need for a starter course. We each went directly into the main course – a delicious, tender, flavorful, grilled Chateaubriand steak with Béarnaise sauce. The steak was generous, and came with veggies and scalloped potatoes – all very good. Tom ordered a café gourmand (coffee and a round of tiny desserts), which we shared. Every little dessert was delicious. One of the servers was from Barbados. He was a comedian, acting out to fight the boredom, I think. He went around joking with virtually every table – in French, and in American English with a slight Caribbean accent – even though there were other bored servers present. He was charming and nice with an elderly couple who spoke flawless French, but were most definitely Americans. The elderly man seemed to be some kind of military history expert. They were joking about the use of the word “Geronimo” by paratroopers. The elderly couple dines there every Monday night, evidently. But this server engaged in a serious conversation with us before we left. We have hurricanes in common, and we discussed elevated wood houses with hipped roofs and how/why they are the best in this kind of wild storm. Then I asked how he came to be in Paris. He moved his family here because his son needed an elaborate, expensive surgical operation. In the U.S., it would have cost $60,000. In France, it was all taken care of. Comme il faut. As it should be. His son is doing well. He’s 15 now. Sign
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Tuesday, September 20, 2011
A Victrola inside the restaurant Les Ministères.
A part of
the facade of the great Saint Sulpice church at
night. Below, the fountain in the
square in front of the church.
Strolling along the rue Férou at night.
In the
Luxembourg Gardens, above and below.
White fabric protects newly seeded lawn.
Grilled
Chateaubriand steak, sprinkled with sea salt, served with Béarnaise sauce,
veggies, and scalloped potatoes at Les Ministères
on the rue de Bac in the 7th
arrondissement. |
