It took us less than an hour to get from rail to rue. In between we taxied from Gare de Lyon to our hotel, the Hotel Raphael (which had been used by Wes Anderson for his short film, "Hotel Chevalier," and which I found out too late had been set dressed with furniture from his own apartment a few blocks away), then into the Metro for a short ride back across the city.
Our premiere destination was the Place de Vosges, which LYL was quite excited to share with me. Developed by Henri IV in 1605, it is the oldest planned square in Paris, and was today decorated with Parisians sprawled on the grass, enjoying a cool summer afternoon within its splendidly walled confines. Moreso than the lawn, we were tempted by the Victor Hugo house tucked beneath the arches in one corner, but a special exhibition had resulted in a queue. We settled instead for crepes and cafe creme at a sidewalk table and watched the bustle of the trendy Marais.
Thus fueled, we passed the large stele marking the Bastille, then followed the Seine, trying to ignore the race of traffic above. We reentered the city where the Hotel de Ville rose up, and tried in vain to get inside. The front plaza too proved popular with those looking for sun, as was the nearby Fontaine de Innocents.
It was here I began to follow a course laid out in the book, A Walkable Feast, which was a companion volume to the Walks in Gertrude Stein's Paris that I had used on my last visit over a decade ago. (The current volume was dedicated strictly to Hemingway, and as such it compared more poorly, since the Stein book dealt with all of her circle, making for longer strolls and richer variety.) With the innards of the Pompidou Center spilling out behind us, we passed through The Halles, seemingly under perpetual construction. The Louvre and its environs weren't any less busy, as the Jardin des Tuileries was hosting a large fun fair that seemed to harken back to the chaotic days of the Commune, with its wild rides and screaming teens.
Things were a little calmer in the side street canyons leading to the old Opera House. LYL made a quick detour to Chanel (picked clean this day by a cluster of Hong Kong tourists), but our intended stop at the Ritz Hotel bar (which Hemingway "liberated" in 1944) had to be tabled due to ongoing construction there. We did find a surprising bit of solitude in the open Place Vendome, where the tall statue of a Caesaresque Napolean towers above both the room where Chopin died and the now scaffolded Ritz from where Lady Diana began her final ride.
Along a narrow side street we took a rest at Harry's New York Bar, an idea shared with many foreigners finished with the day's work in the nearby financial district. Spoken English filled the place, finding parallel with the decor: the crests of the public schools of England hanging above the pennants of America's better known universities. Above a photo of Hemingway himself I found the pennant of my own alma mater of Arizona, in whose renowned creative writing program I discovered Hemingway and first devoured his Moveable Feast. It was there I began a flirtation with Paris, or at least with his Paris, so it was there that it began. And here, in Harry's bar, it came full circle. A rather elliptical circle at that.
Our next stop was Hemingway related as well, a pleasant simple meal at Gourmand Prunier, where he would dine if he had done well at the races. We considered this warranted as our own legs had by now carried us much father than his winning horses had.
But those legs weren't finished just yet. Up the steps of Église de la Madeleine for photos of the fading sunlight. From here we carried on toward the lengthening shadow of the Egyptian obelisk in the Place de la Concorde. Just around the corner, the Champs-Élysées was coming into her nighttime finery.
Up toward the famous Arch, the Avenue was closed to traffic, in some sort of rehearsal for Bastille Day. Thus unchallenged by traffic, we stepped out into the middle of the grand road and snapped away at the last traces of daylight.
On the turntable: Buffalo Springfield, "Buffalo Springfield Again"
On the nighttable: Peter Mayle, "Toujours Provence"
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