Paris Stroll

From the Shakespeare and Company Bookstore on the left bank of the Seine River, I walk along la rue Saint-Julien le Pauvre, past its quiet, tucked buildings, and turn toward L’Eglise Saint Séverin along la rue Galande and then left on rue Saint-Jacques. 

My travel boots step where pilgrims walked for centuries. If I were to keep going further and further south of Paris, persevering across la périphérique, the treacherous circle of traffic that rings around Paris, and through les banlieues, the suburbs, and if I continued day after day for over a thousand miles, I could find the holy way to Santiago de Compostela in northwest Spain. 

It’s tempting. But not today.

Within, you can walk among the ruins of Roman baths, wondering which were the hot pools and which the cold ones. The Thermes de Cluny were built at the end of the 2^nd century AD,  well after the Romans had taken Paris away from the Celtic Parisii tribe in spite of the best efforts of Vercingetorix and especially Asterix and Obelix. 

The Musée de Cluny is both a historic landmark and a medieval museum, housing the enormous and intricate Lady and the Unicorn Tapestries from the early 1500s, among other great works.

If Roman history interests you, there’s an amphitheatre, Arènes de Lutèce, on rue Monge, not very far to the east on the left bank. 

Just south of the Musée de Cluny is one of the oldest universities in the world, the Sorbonne, founded in 1257.  Up the hill from the Sorbonne, you can walk up the mountain named for Sainte Geneviève to what is today the Pantheon, a mausoleum for revered dead. It once was an abbey named for Sainte Geneviève who persuaded the Parisians to resist the attack of Attila the Hun and organized provisions for the city in 451-461 AD. She was revered by the first King and Queen of France: Clovis I and Clothilde.

Instead of walking up the hill, you can walk southwest from the Sorbonne and stroll through the fountains, statues and gardens of the Jardin du Luxembourg. In 1621, Marie de Medici built the Luxembourg Palace within the grounds. 

Today, I walk north on rue Saint-Jacques, toward the river, and turn left on rue de la Huchette to find the tiniest, narrowest street in Paris, la rue du Chat qui Pêche, the street of the cat who fishes.

No matter the time of day, it’s dark looking down the tight street, broad enough only for bikes, scooters, and to lead any fishing cats straight to the river. 

It’s such a solemn, quiet street squeezed into the festivities of this part of the Latin Quarter with its warm smell of steaming crepes and street gyros. Scarves, hats and post cards line racks on the sidewalks of stores. Chalk-drawn placards with the looping, arching characters of French script proclaim the restaurant’s formula menu for the day. People from all over the world stroll through in an eclectic mix of “le monde entier.” The tech savvy with their portable phones at the ready. Round, folksy women with their hair bundled into scarves, large bags waddling at their sides, who likely have never seen a cell phone. Old men under caps. Tough stringy-haired women with backpacks, faded blue jeans, and a book slithering from a back pocket. Children running and parents smiling, unworried. Fashionable young men and women with arms around each other at the waist and just a light bag over each outer shoulder. Someone in a large black overcoat plays the saxophone, his bike propped beside him.

The narrow streets come out at the Fontaine de Saint-Michel, a large plaza where four roads converge. There are fountains spouting water, steps of flowing water, and even the dragons spout water. Saint-Michel stands victorious with broad wings and a peaceful face and his sword held over his head and a defeated devil at his feet. 

Somehow, I find rue Saint-André des Arts west of Fontaine de Saint-Michel. I say somehow because so many streets wind and flow into each other that it is easy to get lost and patience is necessary to find anything specific. I walk along rue Saint-André des Arts, passing the buildings of old Paris with new galleries and stores, restaurants and crêperies. And the street comes to an intersection with four choices. I follow the rue de Buci for a few paces until it meets the rue de Seine. I take note of a wonderful looking bakery with tiny tables outside. It would be perfect for my favorite quiet morning breakfast of bread, jam, rich coffee and orange juice. 

A few steps toward the Seine, I find rue Jacob to the left and walk toward the hotel and the place where David Hartley, on behalf of the King of England, and Benjamin Franklin, John Jay, and John Adams on behalf of the new United States of America signed the Treaty of Paris on September 3, 1783. The plaque commemorating the event at 56 rue Jacob states that it was the definitive peace treaty recognizing the independence of the United States.

At 25 rue Jacob, the Hotel des 2 Continents carries on the old tradition of L’Hotel d’York, now a science institute, where the treaty was signed so many years ago. There are large paintings of New York and rich red furniture and walls offset by beautiful white sculptures. The rooms are small, elegant and clean. I am eager to check in, which they are kind to allow me to do entirely in French. I walk up four flights to the third floor, the first floor is called the rez-de-chaussée, ground floor, so it’s a flight up to the first floor. I enjoy the continual winding twist of stairs and the huge old map of the area: Saint-Germain dés Pres, perhaps the oldest area in Paris. And when I open the door, there is the delight of a tray on the neatly made bed with a wrapped madeleine and water and a bookmark wishing Bonne Lecture, Good Reading, from Hotel des 2 Continents. There is a little desk with in-room coffee and I am eager to take a shower, rest a few moments, and return to the streets of Paris.

Next France for Two Months: Paris – des heures exquises