The Atmosphere Of Paris
Paris Kiosque - July 1996 - Volume 3, Numero 7
Copyright (c) 1996 Ellen Halcomb - Used with permission
We were children of mid-century America and we had our romantic visions of Paris
from MGM movies. As a young girl, I was also seduced by the mesmerizing babble
of French when I saw a revival of the old Charles Boyer movie, MAYERLING. I can
remember the happiness I felt to be in Paris the first day, a place where
French was spoken and how secretly delighted I was that my French actually
worked.
I read an article in a nursing magazine about the opportunity of working for a
year at the American Hospital in Neuilly. Paris seemed the idyllic place to
cure a broken heart left over from a broken engagement. In the 1950's, marriage
was almost every young woman's idea of happily-ever-after.
The United States Army had a medical wing at the American Hospital. A friendly
military sorting machine at Fort Dix in New Jersey sent a young soldier to
Paris while everyone else standing in his line was being sent to someplace in
Germany. That francophile sorting machine was the reason Dan had already been
in Paris for two years when I arrived. Of course, there were no computers in
the 50s. The dinosaurs still roamed the earth.
We met on an elevator going up at the American Hospital of Paris. He saw me and
felt a little sexual frisson. I saw him and felt nothing. I didn't come all the
way to Paris to waste my time with a shallow American soldier from California.
I felt French anything was better hands down. Nothing on film or in books had
prepared me for the daily feast for the senses in the real Paris.
The third time Dan invited me on a date, I succumbed. Why? Hormones? Chemistry?
Green eyes in a tanned, handsome face? Wholesome American charm? The mysterious
fact that Paris is all things to all tourists and all lovers? Or, perhaps we
were both far away from home and a little lonely.
Our first date was absurd. Imagine being in Paris and eating pizza and drinking
coke. We hadn't yet learned to eat like the French. We would later discover the
glory of French cuisine. I am not raving about heavy sauces and elaborate
dishes. What we enjoyed were delicious meals in small, neighborhood
restaurants. We loved food prepared with the utmost simplicity, honesty, and
regard for natural flavors. The dressing was only vinegar and oil, but how
perfectly blended. The bread was crisp and chewy. We ate slowly, sipping our
wine rather than gulping it, savoring every mouthful. Who could believe 365
different cheeses? French food would be a lifelong enchantment.
We went to a small carnival in the Tuilleries Garden later that evening and Dan
won a goldfish which died soon after. A memorable meal and meaningful
experience? This could have been a metaphor for a girl-meets-boy,
boy-loses-girl and goldfish.
Luckily for him and for me, he had managed to exist in Paris for two years and
never visited Sainte-Chapelle. The quality of light in Paris had a character
that many painters insist is unique. And the light that glows through the
stained-glass windows of Sainte-Chapelle is unbelievable. All I can say for
certain is that the glow from Saint-Chapelle was contagious. One would have to
be soul dead not to respond to the visual passion of those windows. That was
rendezvous number tow and it worked for us. After that, there was no stopping
us.
Our transportation that spring was the cheap, convenient metro and our even
cheaper and more convenient feet. It's nonsense running yourself ragged dashing
from one famous sight to another. Of course, we saw the major monuments, but
sightseeing in Paris is redundant. Everything's a sight. We could turn a corner
and see an elegant eighteenth-century house with a sculpted facade. We had a
deeper and more enduring impression of Paris because we walked, whenever and
wherever we could. We remember the sounds and smells of the city because we
lingered at a few places we happened to like and let the atmosphere sink in
slowly. We were fortunate in not being impelled by a sense of urgency.
Eventually, we covered a lot of territory, but the total experience was never
kaleidoscopic or fragmentary. Those first long intimate walks were in April and
April was the month of promise and hope in Paris. It's, after all, the month
they sing songs about.
Walking was great, but never underestimate the pleasures of simply sitting.
Sitting in public was a favorite pastime. There was a cafe at almost every
corner. Sitting in cafes was by no means a waste. This noble practice of
watching the human and sometimes canine parade sharpened our critical sense and
deepened our capacity for observation. Maybe that's why the French just have
better taste then anyone else in the world. It's not something they learn at
their desk in the classroom, but a knowledge picked up at that sidewalk table.
The big gardens in Paris were another spot to sit and soak up the atmosphere.
Our personal favorite was and is the Jardin du Luxembourg. It was designed
during the Renaissance, exquisitely landscaped, ornamented with statuary,
flowers, and fountains. Probably no other garden has so many areas planned with
the specific purpose of pleasing the eye. The best part was that sitting in a
garden was absolutely free if we picked a hard bench instead of a chair which
cost a few francs for that little luxury for the tush. Having a wonderful time
in that wonderful city was by no means a matter of money.
We were married thirty-eight years ago in Paris and we are still in love with
each other and with Paris. We all need a little fairy tale in our lives. 3,000
years of poetry can't be completely wrong.
Ellen Halcomb contributed "The Atmosphere of Paris"
as part of the Travelers' Tales, Francescape and Paris Pages
writing context.
