Latin Quarter, Paris

Norte-Dame de Paris and the Seine River.

Latin Quarter, Paris

By Armando Ortiz

St. Michel station area.

Evenings in Paris are an extension of summer afternoons, there is still plenty of sunlight even at ten o’clock in the evening. So when I arrived in Paris at around 6pm there was time to go to my room, wait for the host that showed up about an hour late. They offered me a sampling of French cheese, and was still able to get on the subway and take a 30 minute ride to the St. Michel station, which left me at the edge of the Latin Quarter and a few feet away from Norte-Dame Cathedral.

First meal spot.

I recall stepping out of the station at around 9pm and seeing the old church. It was lit up with florescent bulbs shooting light upwards. It looked serene. I walked towards the structure, and to my right was the Shakespeare and Company book store, where Woody Allen had appeared on one of his latest films. Numerous tourist roamed the church square. Norte-Dame de Paris was built over a two hundred year span, and completed in 1345, though additions and updates have been made since its beginning as a holy shrine. I came to church area and saw the statue of Charlemagne, King of the Franks and the Holy Roman Empire. The barbarian king had converted to Christianity and adopted old Roman ways. Napoleon Bonaparte had been crowned King of France in that Medieval Hall. I sat on the concrete benches, and saw other foreign tourists and young locals pass bye. I also watched the local grey rats run across the walkway and sprint by the edges of sacred sanctuary, roaming its perimeter collecting left over food or loose paper to insulate their nests.

After a while I decided to walk around the paved alleys of the Latin Quarter. I leisurely started towards the bustling area, looking at all the different restaurants and the food being sold. That first night was exciting to say nonetheless. My first meal- a crepe filled with glazed pieces of chicken, mushrooms, and cheese was a good introduction to the local tourist diet. The cheese must have been good because it was strong and gooey, though coming from the states it might have been too much. In the states the strongest I have had has been sharp cheddar. The place was narrow and could seat ten people at most. I had the feeling of being in an old wooden ship, and was docking in Paris.

Pantheon.

For the next ten days that I’d be in Paris, St. Michel would be my destination, to take the red bus, to walk to other historic structures like the Orsay, to eat, to people watch, and look at beautiful women walk bye. But one of my more memorable treks after emerging from the St. Michel station was on my second to last day, and walking up the hill to check out the Pantheon on my. The subway stop is at the foot of the hill and along the edge of the Seine River. From the station its one long hike up next to paved roads and buildings belonging to the Soborne University cover the rest of the land that greet you like a stoic crowd silently paying respects to you. When I got to the mausoleum I was not allowed to enter. The bottle of wine that I had just purchased was not allowed into the premises since it a glass container. So the time that I had spent resting on one of the giant benches next to the converted church, opening the glass container and taking sips, turned out to be a bad idea. Once I realized that I could put the wine inside my plastic bottle the building containing the remains of famous people like Rousseau and Voltaire, was closed.

I looked at my map determined to do something and optimistic of the day’s unfolding. I decided to visit some historic places of the English literary world. James Joyce, Hemingway and Orwell had lived just a few meters away from the Pantheon. I headed there and wondered- how life there could have been in the early 20^th century. I found their flats, which looked nondescript, but with plaques posted on the outside walls giving some quick info on their former occupants. I decided to walk further up while I stared and photographed the Hemingway apartment.  Soon, I saw people and lots of movement at the top of the hill, and as I got there noticed folks eating along the edges of street, the restaurants were full, and the patrons seemed more interested in relaxing than being inside. A lot of people looked like movie stars, writers, just a bit healthier and more alive with a definite hop to their step and ha to their laughter and completely comfortable with themselves. Children and adolescents ate ice cream and families rested on the shaded area at the center of the intersection. The leaves of the tree were light green and delicately let the cool afternoon air pass through like nets that let the water be forever free.

Evening meal by the river.

So after reaching the top and walking down the other side I was intrigued, this was the Latin Quarter and on my map it showed where Orwell worked as a dishwasher. I kept wandering through this labyrinth of segmented realities, where one way led you to another direction, showing you ways through Paris’ ventricles, arteries and veins- I was just checking stuff out. The number of bistros really surprised me because I’d never been to such a place. Being that I was on top of a hill the clouds looked like dough and the sky a rich indigo. I was definitively going to be spending my lunch money here. I ended up having Iranian food which had the tastiest kabobs I had had in a while, the last time being at a Jewish Iranian wedding. 

After finishing lunch, I walked around some more till I found a really nice bakery and bought a day old baguette at half price. Next, I wandered into a convenient store where I bought some Spanish olives and sausages. Know I was set for the coming hours and would be able to continue my walk about. Later, as I sat by the river, I couldn’t help to think of how when a door closes so many other possibilities open up, maybe my situation back in Los Angeles would improve and the outlook on love looked better than when I had boarded the airplane to France. I was in the same area the next day and had a classic French dish, and visited Voltaire’s resting place, paying my respects. I wandered around the same streets that captivated me the previous day, for one last time.

Voltaire.