Tags
Au Bougnat, auteuil, Brasserie Bellanger, Butte aux Cailles, chambre de bonne, Cité Internationale Universitaire, Commune de 1871, Deauville, Edmund White, home-cooked meal, Inside a Pearl, Le Drame au Désert, Les Temps des Cerises, meals, Parc des Buttes Chaumont, Parc Montsouris, Rosa Bonheur, rue Faubourg de Poissionière, rue Montorgueil, Russell, Square des Peupliers
I met Russell when he moved to Boston shortly after graduating from Vassar College. We’ve been friends ever since, more than half his life, but this is the first time he’s been able to accept my invitation to stay with me in Paris.
Early in our friendship, Russell would invite himself over on short notice, we would cook dinner together and he would sleep over on my couch. It came as no surprise, then, that this visit included several shopping trips along rue Montorgueil, followed by sumptuous home-cooked meals, with Russell as chef and me as sous-chef.
Of course we also managed to patronize some favorite restaurants.
I had had a vague idea that Russell spoke French, along with several other languages, but I didn’t realize that he had spent six months in Paris as a college student, and had made lifelong friends here. Back in the day he lived in a tiny chambre de bonne (maid’s room) on the top floor of a building in far-west Auteuil. He knew nobody until, while sitting alone in a bar, the bartender told him that a much older man at the other end of the bar had offered to buy him a drink. He asked the bartender whether he should accept, and the bartender replied, « Tu fais ce que tu veux. » (do what you want) Russell accepted, and Pierre became his best Parisian friend. He introduced Russell to a rich and varied cast of gay and straight Parisians, some moneyed, some titled, but all fascinating. (Reminiscent to me of Edmund White’s Inside a Pearl: My Years in Paris.) They had kept in touch over the years, despite Pierre’s declining health. Russell had called ahead to see if they could meet during this visit, but got only a cryptic answering machine message. It was thus a tragic shock when he received a text from another Parisian friend telling him that Pierre had died last year. With my encouragement, Russell took an overnight trip to Deauville on the Normandy coast to meet his friend and get the details on Pierre’s illness and funeral. Our friendship has been characterized by rich discussions of profound topics, so naturally grief, life and death became themes for the rest of his stay, but ultimately with the emphasis on the joys of life — both experienced and remembered — rather than the pangs of loss.
Russell knew Paris so well that it was a challenge to introduce him to unfamiliar places. I was delighted, then, to find that he didn’t even recognize the Butte Aux Cailles neighborhood, in the 13e.
He found it charming and enjoyed the truth of my prediction that we would not hear a word of English on the street or in the restaurant he chose for lunch, Les Temps des Cerises.
I noticed with pleasure as I wrote this blog that the restaurant was named in honor of the Commune de 1871, with which I resonate, albeit with reservations.
We began the day’s walk at the Square des Peupliers, and continued after lunch to Parc Montsouris and the Cité Internationale Universitaire across the street, all of which were also new to Russell.
Russell had extended his trip by a day, at my suggestion, to keep open the possibility — weather permitting — of a Sunday afternoon at Rosa Bonheur in the Parc des Buttes Chaumont. The weather alternated rain and sun so we spent part of our time inside, but ultimately we had a lovely taste of the diversity and charm of Rosa.
There was a magical moment after we left Rosa. Like last year with Mike, the park had been closed due to the risk of storms, but we saw and took an unguarded pathway. Unlike last year, the park was empty; we had it entirely to ourselves! Nothing but bird song and verdant foliage.
Our last evening we joined another of Russell’s French friends, Nicolas, and his husband, for dinner at a restaurant just below their Paris apartment. A bit like my friend Peter, they actually live in Frankfurt, and are renovating a family home near Bordeaux, but have also kept their Paris apartment as a pied à terre.
The restaurant was excellent, albeit a bit closer than I might have liked to the somewhat sketchy Gare du Nord. It was very convenient to stroll home from, however, since rue Faubourg de Poissionière eventually turns into rue Montorgueil. I was pleased to note that we achieved one of the milestones that had been more common in my early years visiting Paris, walking “a mile after midnight.”
Russell flew home the next morning, after a memorable visit, despite being more than a little inflected by Pierre’s death.
(A long post, covering nearly a week, but with it I’m almost caught up!)