Something in the air

If you are lucky enough to have lived in Paris as a young man, then wherever you go for the rest of your life, it stays with you, for Paris is a moveable feast. -Ernest Hemingway

Perhaps somewhat over-quoted; Hemingway is but one among many Anglophones seduced by the charm of the French capital, falling head-over-heels for the city of love or light, (choose your cliché…) and finding unmatched inspiration in Parisian flaneries across a city diverse in its traits and unique in its appeal.  Be it the wandering streets of the historic Marais, the imposing and impressive stature of the grands boulevards, the pleasant surprise found in the tranquillity of the jardins…. each finds their own bonheur amongst a selection that is truly gourmand. This American writer was not alone in discovering the artistic appeal of the arrondissements. In the 1920s Hemmingway lived down the road from James Joyce; and George Orwell was to be found drafting “Down and Out in Paris and London” just a few streets away. The Fitzgerald’s, Ford Madox Ford and Henry Miller are just a few other members of the soon thriving Anglophone crowd frequenting the Rive Gauche. From the Jardins de Luxembourg to the street-cafés of St Germain de Pres, this district became a hub of literary and intellectual activity. The expatriates rubbed shoulders with their French counterparts, such as Camus, Duras and the famous Sartre-Beauvoir duo to name but a few, who were to be spotted in the same establishments during a decade that was all about exchange and experimentation… for both the emerging modern novel, and its author.

The 1920s in-crowd aside, Paris was and remains a city with a mysterious and thoroughly enjoyable lure. As whimsical as it may sound, there seems to be just something in the air that enables you to see past the stuffy metros, rude waiters, and claustrophobic crowds and maintain a spring in your step despite intern-blues and the recent heat-wave conditions. What's more, over the past few weeks I have had the pleasure of sharing my enthusiasm for all things-Paris with some Anglophone company of my own. The escapades of the petit-frère meant a Saturday that paid a nice tribute to our literary friends, pic-nic-ing at Luxembourg, browsing for new reading material, and a performance of Sartre’s Huis Clos. Spoilt as I am, the following weekend saw Rachel land at Charles de Gaulle for the first time, bringing with her an even greater dose of eager-spirit (after a first glimpse of Eiffel Tower, the word beautiful was uttered at least 5 times). After yet again hanging out in the 6^th (with a stop at Notre-Dame essential for the first-timer), and musing as to what to do with our Saturday-evening, we were delighted to stumble across another occasion for theatrical diversion: The Tour Vagabonde, a temporary, wooden, Elizabethan style theatre with a final showing of Romeo and Juliet at 8pm. Somewhat different to the intensity of the previous weekends existentialist-viewing, we were not disappointed by our choice of evening entertainment. It is rare to find a company that can pull off a classic interpretation of a work so loaded with history and audience expectation, and even rarer to do so in translation. The 3 hours in authentic conditions (i.e. overheating on a on a cramped bench) were fully worth it. Paris doesn’t fail to provide quirky diversions and pleasant surprises, with enough to nourish both fleeting visitors and the more faithful settled inhabitant. Time and energy is running short for this Parisienne of passage, sadly leaving much untested. I will however be taking with me my small taste of city bearing such a mysterious charm. And since the feast isn’t going anywhere, I can always come back for seconds.