Last Days in Paris

 

Yesterday, our penultimate day in Paris for this trip,I wrapped a large chiffon scarf over my shoulders to keep them from burning and took my wrinkled linen pants out for a stroll in the welcome-enough-in-the-morning heat.

We walked past the Saturday Marché at the foot of the “mountain,” stopping to admire these two kids and their human kid fans . . .

Then we headed over to the Right Bank, to this wonderful stationery store that specializes in calligraphy supplies. I had a pleasant 15 minutes ferreting for two beautiful cards while Pater sketched outside, and when I came out, we both wondered what the crowds were about. . . Was the shop on some kind of recommended list? People were clutching some kind of brochure in their hands and studying it as they arrived at the charming traditional green exterior. They were popping their head inside, and they seemed to be picking up some kind of stamped tickets. hmmmmm, wonder what that’s about. . .

 

 

As is so often the case, I was quickly distracted by some beautiful windows . . . That delicate bowl, those beautiful scissors, are made of wood, and the clothes here are fait main (handmade) in France.

We ambled around the neighbourhood, past yet more imposing ecclesiastical architecture and a lovely example of French chic of a certain age . . . (She will be taking that elegant coat off or dying of heat within the next hour, bien sûr)

And then turned a corner near the Hôtel de Ville to find the answer to the mystery we pondered earlier. Apparently all those eager visitors to the calligraphy shop were clutching the directions for a scavenger hunt organized by the city . . . .looked like fun, but we had other ambling plans . . .

So we worked our way past the two islands and back over to the Rive Gauche to pick up a few sketching pens at the venerable Sennelier, in whose wonderfully stocked, slightly cramped, evocatively aromatic quarters one can imagine famous artists throughout the decades shopping . . .

Note the charm, again, of that traditional green exterior painted with traditional gold lettering

Windows to get lost in . . .

A bit further along, our amble slowed even more as we checked out all the gallery windows in the Carré Rive Gauche. . . I’ve been trying not to pull the camera out quite so often, but I wanted to be able to show knitting friends this imaginative use of the craft in the chair below . . .

And yet another store in that traditional green and gold . . . The name of this children’s wear store isn’t so traditional, though it’s certainly recognizable to any parent . .

We stopped for lunch not much later, I’m glad to say, enjoying a pleasant hour and a half on the sidewalk outside Le Nemrod, refreshed by the sporadic mists dispensed by their brilliant climatisation, so much more pleasant than frigid air conditioning.

Next on the list? Checking out Paris’ new Les Berges, a promenade along the Seine, on the left bank from roughly just in front of the Orsay to somewhere near Quai Branly. In the summer heat of a weekend, it was thoroughly festive yesterdAy. We didn’t get far before we were captivated by the culmination of an apparently weeks-long hip-hop competition. My camera battery died on me, but I grabbed a bit of the flavour before that happened . . .

Then a leisurely stroll home,taking a different route toward the 13th and coming across this building, its ornamentation finely gilded by the lowering sun

We’ve stayed in the 13th for 6 or 7 weeks over the last few years, but Paris doesn’t let us take her for granted. Savouring this pleasant little surprise, we settled into a nearby brasserie for a simple dinner and then strolled home.

Today, our last day here, was equally slow, just as ambly, a little warmer, and marked by lists of what we plan to do when we get back to Vancouver tomorrow evening. . . What’s usually first on your list (besides laundry, that is)?

 

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