Falling Back in Love with Paris (Again)

This week I've been subletting my apartment to a former co-worker from NYC. The timing was perfect: I was going to go home for a family wedding, and she was going to enjoy a week in the 19th arrondissement. My plans changed, but hers stuck, so she arrived, and I began a week of couch-surfing, with most of my time spent on a friend's futon on rue du Temple in the 3rd.

Since moving to one of the périphérique neighborhoods in February, I am now used to quiet streets and large parks. Near me, there is a laundromat (a sign of lower-middle class incomes, just like milk chocolate, according to one of my former professors), an elementary school, a few empty restaurants, and two clothing stores that appear to be trapped in a late 80s matronly fashion dilemma. And I love it there: cozy, unsophisticated, tourist-free, and very green.When school is in session, I open my balcony doors and listen to the shrieks and laughter of the children playing during recess; their steady chorus relaxes me.

But here in the 3rd, I am five minutes from the Hôtel de Ville and the Seine, around the corner from the Pompidou art museum, and within reach of tempting food markets, bakeries, and clothing stores. We are approaching the end of France's bi-annual soldes period, where stores mark down their wares a little bit more each week. Most stores are offering discounts between 50 and 69 percent, with about ten days left to scoop up discounted merchandise.

I have had a lovely week exploring the Marais. Two days ago I found a splendid spice shop that has been family-run since 1809. The company started by selling saffron, and has grown to include everything from vinegers, salt, cooking utensils, and ice cream. As I marveled at the collection of beautiful ingredients, I couldn't help but say, ''La boutique est magnifique!''

The store clerk proudly responded that the company creates all of their spice blends in the nearby factory. When he showed me a container of whole cloves, I was impressed by their perfume, color, and size. ''Alas,'' I told him, ''I am between apartments right now and can't really buy anything.'' He smiled and said, ''Of course, Madame, but we will be going on summer holiday on July 28th, so either you come back next week, or wait until September.''

I know Paris has a reputation for its sleepiness in August, but that is one of my favorite months to be here. And furthermore, I have come to really appreciate the French (European?) insistence that people live more balanced lives. I was glad to hear that he and his colleagues would soon get a break from work. How civilized. But then again, I did have a moment of panic. Having never experienced an August in the 19th, I don't know what will be open near me next month, but I have time to figure it out.

Last night I ate dinner with the woman who is subletting my apartment. She asked, ''what is your favorite thing about living here?'' I took a minute before responding something like, ''there is a culturally-imposed rhythm here. You sit down for lunch. At one of my teaching jobs, they schedule an hour for lunch, and that is standard, accepted, and anything less considered indecent.'' I also told her about my recent trip to the dry cleaner. I went around 1:30pm, only to see that she was closed for her regular two hour break between 1 and 3pm. I did initially curse the French and their inability to run a business properly, but then I remembered the face of the woman who was cleaning my clothes and thought, ''and why doesn't she deserve to have lunch too?'' This is some of the beauty of France: most people are equal when it comes to something as basic as eating. The fact that it is a little bit inconvenient for me to pick up my laundry actually makes me appreciate the service even more.

Today I move back into my apartment. Tomorrow I'm heading back to the spice shop.

For more information about the spice shop, visit: Goumayat (Store for the general public) / Thiercelin (original family business), 3 Rue Charles-François Dupuis, 75003 Paris, France
+33 1 44 78 96 74