Spring in Paris
The narrow sidewalk makes for hard walking in twos. There are big green garbage cans taking up space and sidewalk café chairs lined up to their tiny tables and anyone coming our way seems to be in a big hurry. We also keep our eyes peeled for dog poop that owners don’t pick up. The street is uneven from the large old cobblestones that have shifted over the years and road work perennially unexpectedly closes off pedestrian routes here and there. But this is what we expect when get off the train in the Paris Gare de Lyon railway station and start the trek to our small rental apartment.
It’s late afternoon on a sunny day and the people on the crowded sidewalks seem collectively happy to be out, soaking in the rays of spring sunshine. As we hold our own, we look up and marvel at the sight of light hitting the stone buildings, and particularly the St. Germain-des-Prés Church, located right in our neighborhood. The architecture, the style, the lines of buildings around us reflect the old history of this city of light. It’s visible in the lampposts that come on as dusk arrives, in the variety of wooden doors opening into hidden courtyards, in the worn, narrow and uneven wooden steps that lead up to the third floor studio that we rent from Thierry every year. Every trip out the door is an excursion into a world full of the unexpected. This stone arch takes us on a slanting cobblestone lane to the next street. This dark street opens out onto a square with a small park where a bird sits on a blooming branch singing a song of spring. David Bowie beckons to us from this artfully arranged window. And off the main boulevard, the sound of voices takes over the sound of traffic.
When we are in Paris, we try to walk everywhere for this exact reason. Today, we are headed across the river Seine, from the left bank to the right, to visit the new digital museum, L’Atelier des Lumières (The Workshop of Lights). It is located in an old renovated warehouse in a residential neighborhood in eastern Paris. To walk means crossing through at least four if not five arrondissements, and observing the diversity of people that makes up the city. We walk by the famous Notre Dame Cathedral, watch the boats plying the waters, turn onto the Hôtel de Ville square and past the large BHV department store. Our hike takes us through the nicest square in Paris, the Place des Vosges, where high school kids are eating their lunch. And then we slowly climb to reach the exhibition hall off to the left on a quiet street.
Our steps are worth the soreness. Inside, we watch Vincent Van Gogh’s paintings and era come to life on the walls in a multi-sensory light show. We join the silent group and become part of the brushstrokes and colours projected larger than life on the warehouse walls. For a short hour, we live and breathe some of Van Gogh’s art. On our walk home, we stop at the popular local bakery to buy a sandwich and a delicious cherry tart. In this neighborhood, the clerks are speaking Arabic as well as French.
Life is happening all around us in the midst of history. And that’s what brings us back every time. The polite, “Bonjour,” when you walk into any small shop, the history and culture that seeps up everywhere, and of course, the best baguettes, the wine and the chocolate. Here, people learn to shrug their shoulders at the bothersome small life problems that crop up and focus on those small things that make life good for everyone. Now that I’m back here in Goshen, I’ll do the same.
