Beth Kaplan's Blog

Last day in Paris – on the path of the parents

Last day in Paris, and it’s another beauty. People have let me know reading about my schedule here exhausts them, whereas I wonder if I’ve done enough — less than I would have when younger, certainly. But I did plenty, and am nourished by the riches of this spectacular, endlessly beautiful city.

Today, the #1 line to Etoile, getting out beside the Arc de Triomphe — the French sure know how to celebrate their victories with tiny humble monuments! Strolled down the Champs Elysees, taking in its luxury emporia, although the only store I went into, the famous drugstore Publicis, didn’t have the one thing I need, a small tube of travel toothpaste. But I was there to do more than sightsee; I wanted to find the Hotel Chateau Frontenac, on the rue Pierre Charron. I know from letters I inherited after my mother’s death that my parents had a romantic rendezvous there in August 1947. Dad had come from New York, where he was studying for a Ph.D. in biology, to do research that summer in France. Mum was working in northern Germany with the U.N. Refugee Association, resettling Holocaust survivors. Dad wrote telling her he was coming and suggested they meet in Paris. She was happy to do so.

They spent three nights at the Chateau Frontenac, just a long block from the Champs. It’s now a four-star hotel, though it surely wasn’t in 1947. But even so, my father could not have afforded it; he must either have wangled a deal of some kind, or got his long-suffering father to pay. It makes me happy he was really laying it thick on for this woman. After their time together, they went their separate ways back to their work; they were in love but had not made a firm commitment to a future together. At least, Dad had not.

I also know, from letters, that a few months later, Mum discovered she was pregnant and had to have a back alley abortion — in an enemy country decimated by war. It’s miraculous she survived. She wrote a moving letter to him about it in December, and by December the following year, she was on a boat to New York, to see if things would work out with her Yank. And luckily for me, they did.

So I’m grateful to the Hotel Chateau Frontenac.

I walked on to the Grand Palais, where I’d bought an entry pass — a mere 5 euros — to the Foire des Livres, an enormous book fair. But when I got there, there was the usual endless lineup; it turned out President Macron was visiting, and they were waiting for him to leave. I decided not to wait, just to go see a whole lot of books surrounded by an enthusiastic French readership. The French are fantastic readers and supporters of print; magazines too thrive here. Huge respect for writers. A writer girl can only dream of something like that in her own country.

Instead, I walked right beside the river — where people seem actually to be living on houseboats — back to St. Germain. To the Café de L’Empire, near home, for lunch. Lynn and I discovered this place after leaving Orsay when I was here last year; she knew it had what they call bon rapport qualité/prix from all the reviews stuck to the door. And it does.

Refreshed, I walked to see the Grande Epicerie at Bon Marché department store, perhaps the biggest food emporium in the world. Overwhelming, so much of everything — right now, miles of chocolate as you enter, because Easter. There’s a whole wall of different kinds of honey, and a section selling foodstuffs from other countries, including Mexico. Nothing is cheap here; a little plastic tub of raspberries, smaller than I’d pay $4 for at home, was 9 euros. Mind you, the French aren’t big on raspberries, it seems. Had walked through the actual department store to get there and was nauseated by a special section they have now, selling expensive stuff for and about dogs, cute little dog mats and leashes and chachkas. Criminal.

Bought nothing, as is my wont. I hope I won’t regret not shopping here. I purchased what I needed: two bras at Galeries Lafayette and cotton pyjama bottoms at Monoprix, and that’s it. That, too, is new. Partly it’s my small suitcase, and partly I really don’t care that much anymore, I have enough clothes. Mind you, on Tuesday I’m headed to Montpellier to be with Lynn, the savviest shopper on earth, in a walkable city full of great stores. So … who knows?

Tomorrow, however, looking forward to a trip to near Poitiers, to visit fourth cousin Lesley and her husband Duncan. It’s supposed to rain. Things will be quieter. And that’s necessary and good after a busy week.

My final outing this evening: I went across to the Tuileries and sat with a thermos of rosé and my book. You know which book. Sat for two hours in the sun, reading, misted occasionally by the spray of the fountain, with the Louvre towering nearby. Can’t beat that. The book is fantastic, thrilling; I’ll tell you about it another time.

Now I need to pack and clean up and get ready for the next phase. Won’t you join me?

Pix (there are lots more from the whole stay, I’ll upload when I have time): 1. the entrance to the Petit Palais, opposite the Grand Palais. Decoration, anyone? 2. Strolling along the Seine. 3. In a store window – exotic animals in stone, a raccoon and a kangaroo. Ha! 4. Lunch in a corner by the window, watching the world go by. 5. A sight that made me sad: students lined up outside a place that sells bagels and cream cheese, next to a stunning old boulangerie. 6. Not sure you can see, but this couple are wearing thousands of dollars of ridiculous designer clothing, the man in gold gladiator sandals and a horsehair purse. For some reason, the Japanese are especially fond of dropping big big bucks on this kind of thing. 7. A jug of wine, a terrific book, The Louvre. All that’s missing is thou.

Onward!