"I think it would be wonderful
if you did take a trip to Paris. I think you are old enough and seem to have a
rudimentary grasp on the language, but I do worry about the possibility of
getting into a difficulty in a foreign country.”
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| Lucy Hart watercolor 2003 |
My mother was trying to be
supportive but at the same time thought I might not be able to handle all
situations all the time.
My duffle was stuffed with all
the things I thought I would need.
A couple of changes of casual clothes, one black dress and a scarf for
dress up, a copy of Hemingway’s “A Movable Feast” for references as I wanted to
visit all the cafes he had mentioned.
My urban city map of Paris was blotched with large red dots of the
important cafes I wanted to see.
My first day in Paris was
simply a dream. I was staying on the Left Bank (naturally), and found a darling
small hotel that was within my budget.
It was clean and tucked into a block of bookstores and cafes along Rue
de Buci. The sidewalks were
thick with little tables all of them crowded with students on a break. I must be near the university. I marvel at how they can drag on their
Gitanes, drink coffee, and talk at the same time.
 |
| Lucy Hart watercolor 2003 |
I found an empty table against
a front window where I could gaze out on the people walking by, scurrying to
class or to the bakery across the street with windows filled with pastry art
which would make the finest pâtissier green with envy. I was on a limited daily allowance so would have to
save up for one of the delectables featured at another time. I was scared being alone, but somehow
exhilarated at the thought of being my own guide.
I pulled out my notebook and
thought about Hemingway doing the very same thing, sitting at a table in Paris
and writing down impressions. The
notebook was new, a gift from a school friend, who said he envied me this
opportunity but wanted to see my work when I returned. It was a leather bound book, rather too
refined for this girl, but I know he had pinched a large penny to buy it for me
so I will treat it with respect.
It is hard to open that first virginal page, all white and clean. My hand was actually shaking a bit as I
started out with the my first line…..”Rue de Buci and I feel completely at
home. Even though a foreigner I
feel like I belong here and it is going to be a splendid daily transitory
adventure.”
