Parislog 16
April 15

H* wanted me to let everyone know that in all the years she has been here that this guy who was so rude about out speaking English was the first one. And I must say that I have myself had nothing but nice experiences with the people here.

There are many people here on the streets, in the metros and in front of the churches begging for money. It is often in a very quiet way where they sit on the pavement just with their hand out waiting. Another version is where they very quietly ask every person walking by starting with a good day etc. Often in the tunnels and on the steps in the metro there will be someone sitting with their hand out. One day there was a woman sitting, saying nothing, with her hand out but I noticed out of the corner of my eye that her feet were bare. She had toes that were all twisted and looked like they might be kind of rough to walk on. I guess that by baring them she got more money. Sympathy is always a good method.

I love the specialized libraries here. The first one, I ran across accidentally. It was at the Les Halles metro stop inside the underground mall and is for music. It has tons of CD's and books on musicians and theory books and books of music to play. It is the same library card as the regular library so no need to get another card. I have gone a couple of times to get songbooks and there is always some music playing on the speakers as well. A very nice environment.

Today (the 15th), I tried to go to the one that specializes in the arts and fashion but it was closed. I guess they took today off for Easter because the were already closed on Sundays and Mondays regularly so I won’t be able to go until Tuesday to find out what it has to offer. The building is quite something. It was built it the 15th century and looks like it belongs in the Cinderella fairytale.

I love the little mercerie (sewing notions store) on my street. I am doing a little embroidery work to match a pre-existing pattern on a dress and had to try to match the thread as best as possible. The lady who works there, or owns it, spent a lot of time helping me to match the threads and I had to get the hoop that holds the fabric steady and of course she was right there helping make sure that it was the right size. I also needed the right needle to work with. She threw that in for free. It was just such a personal shopping experience. But don't get me wrong. It wasn't like she hovered. She gave me plenty of space too to do my thing.
Apr. 12
I had come across a magazine in the 6th arrondisement (below the river and to the west side of the center) that was just about the shopping in that quarter. Inside I found that there were two other versions and of course I wanted them to see what else was out there. I found the address in the book and took a little trip there. It was in the 9th arrondisement (just below the Moulin Rouge) and on a very noncommercial street. I began to wonder if this was going to be a place that I would be able to get into. I got to the right address and it was nothing but a huge wooden double door with a code box on the side. I stared at it and thought a little. My door has a buzzer that will let you in to the entryway during the daytime so I looked for a button that might work and sure enough there was one and it worked. I pushed open the one half of the door. It was a portal that could let cars through too and entered into a very non-business like courtyard. I just kept going until I found a sign pointing towards the very back.
There was the door tucked into the corner. I went in and felt bit out of place because it really looked more like a business office that didn't expect onsite visitors but when I explained that I wanted the other copies of the magazine they helped me out with smiles and even went off to some back corner to stock up on one that had run out. Very nice and helpful people.

Oh this was weird. The area around Moulin Rouge is full of sex shops and I had to walk past them to get to the magazine place and there was a potbellied man standing ahead of me with his belt undone. As I got closer he appeared to be doing his pants up, or down? When I walked past him, ignoring him, he pulled his shirt way up above his belly in order to do whatever it was with his pants. Gross. Always a weird area to be in, despite all the tourists.

Gas stations are very hard to notice here for an American because most of them have no resemblance to what we expect. Most often they’re a couple of pumps on the sidewalk with barely anything to notify a driver that they are there. I know that if I were driving, I would miss them all the time. In fact, I went by one today that I literally had to do a double take to realize that it was there.

I went back to the fabric area and explored the section that I had missed the last time and ended up in a foreign country. One section was middle-eastern fabrics and people. In one little square there were Arab men, I think, standing all over the place in groups having conversations. It appeared that they had all day to talk and nowhere to be. I wanted to take a picture but wasn't sure how okay that was so I let it be. Then I continued on the some more of the addresses and ended up in Africa. It was almost nothing but black faces and all the fabrics were African and the food was also African. The produce was almost completely different from the stores on my street. The meat didn't look so great either but it was cheaper. Then I started heading back in the direction of Sacre Coeur (the big white church on top of Montmartre) and in crossing one street, rue de Clignancourt, it was like I dropped back into Paris. I was a world traveler in one hour.

This day when I was hungry, I had a crepe with just sugar and butter. It was still messy because the butter wanted to leak out but it was so tasty and I watched carefully for drips. I found the fabric corner that I like the best. It is also in Montmartre on Place St. Pierre. The store is 5 stories of stuff. There is some sort of magical order to purchasing that I messed up though and the poor guy came and got me and brought me back to the cashier. I knew that you had to buy on the same floor as the fabric and I did but the ticket the guy gave me had to go to the cashier and I thought it was my receipt. I think he thought I was trying to steal it or just didn't know, who knows, but we clarified it with the cashier that I had paid. Whew. Note to self. Next time, get ticket then go to cashier.

A teacher friend came to Paris and we met up for dinner. She and her husband took me to a really nice little Italian restaurant in my neighborhood. The amusing thing is that even when it is Italian, it looks French. It is nicely displayed and great sauces. It was so nice to talk to someone from home and I was able to help them out with a little grounding for their visit. She also had been up in Montmartre at the same time as myself, unbeknownst to each other and she bought me a sweet wooden cross necklace from the church, Sacre Coeur. Such a kindness.

My place photo: top corner balcony is my window.