Lubna is a career diplomat who, after postings in places like Afghanistan, Mogadishu, and Iraq was rewarded with three years as the expert of something or another in Paris. There she would make important policy recommendations, throw parties, and host important visitors, like us.
Set up in the Saint Germain des Pres neighborhood of the 7th arrondissement Lubna is close enough to carry home armloads of fancy fare from le Bon Marche as well as walk to any of the smartest lost generation locations of the Left Bank. Hemmingway, Baldwin, Josephine Baker, Lubna, all the sort of consequential Americans most appreciated for what they do or did elsewhere.
After a full day of travelling I was unsure if the armpit smell in the Uber was coming from me or the car and our driver kept shouting out to friends on the sidewalk while we waited in traffic. It feels very much like a setup where we will eventually turn a corner into a dead end street and these pedestrians will reappear to be disappointed when we hand over all of our valuables. Nothing we have is valuable, not even our ATM card. I might find it amusing to be held for ransom and watch as our captors discover than not only are all our friends and family broke, but they also have bad credit.
The French are famous for their impatience with those who do not speak the language and their love of punishing the unaware with delicacies like snails and pate’. Yet even those who are fluent are still limited to refined tastes, like souffle’ or bourguignon, or the simple lack of any spice or flavor beyond sugar and butter. Though they are expert in those.
The focus of any Paris café is sitting. The patrons display an exemplary attention span appearing content to be ignored for hours by a staff who cannot summon any attention for them at all. I love it. A living wage instead of subsistence tipping means that when we showed up at a spot the second night in a row having only ordered a small dessert the night before, they were still happy to see us. They did however, stick us with that trick where they ask you if you want or still or sparkling water, then bring you an expensive glass bottle when you pick still. We later learned that a pitcher of still tap water is perfectly acceptable, normal, and free.
Some of the best works at any art museum are the patrons, unless it is the Louvre. The Louvre is comparable to a Broadway matinee in that it mostly attended by middle school field trips or anyone else who does not particularly appreciate art but has for some reason been herded, or hoarded, into a space filled with stuff they find uninteresting. There were crowds taking selfies in front of the Mona Lisa but no one paying any attention to the works of Michelangelo.
Rodin has his own museum, as well as representation at the Muse d’Orsay, though there, I found a polar bear sculpted by a Rodin contemporary much more pleasing. It was the smoothest, most aerodynamic modern looking bear I have ever seen and it helped me realize that while Rodin had skill and fame, he lacked style. I am not convinced any of the Parisian artists of that day lacked syphilis.
The banks of the Seine are lined with vendors selling romanticized relics and reproductions of an imagined past. But up on the north side of town is a long stretch of booths filled with discounted artifacts of today. Nike dupes, Prada purses, and pewter Rolexes. It was up there that a vendor, upon discovering we did not speak French, laughed and chided that he spoke French, English, his native Nigerian dialect and a little bit of Chinese, but here we were out vacationing while only speaking one language- the wrong one. He wasn’t wrong, so I bought a knock off North Face bucket hat.
There are plenty of things to see and do in Paris, but the best part, is just being there. Its not about going into the Louvre, or climbing the tower, but rather it is just that they are there. They are ambiance. It is a place that feels like somewhere. Somewhere to sit. To chat. To sip. To be.
Tell Shakespeare the answer is definitely to be.
Brohammas 