Paris Trip 2012

I wake up grumpy. It is raining steadily. I don't want to go anywhere and read for a time. After coffee, I make a plan. I have 3 things I want to do: visit the English bookstores on the Rue de Rivoli, visit the junk shop in the Buttes aux Cailles, and return the broken fishing rod. At 7, I'll meet Anna for a farewell drink.

Since the junk-shop is close, I go there first. When I arrive, it is closed until 3. Now what? I wander around in the rain for 20 minutes. The neighborhood is hip, filled with vivid, playful street art.

As I leave for the bookshops, I stumble upon a honey store! The proprietor and I have a great discussion about bees, his collection of honey from around the world, French vs American beekeeping. I sign his guestbook, he signs a postcard. I want to buy honey but don't want a hassle from customs.

I leave, happy that I made a connection with beekeeping in Paris. I have to go the bookstores, come back here by 3, return the rod before 5, and be at Anna's at 7. Time is pressing and I begin to feel the stress.

I ride the metro north. On the Rue de Rivoli, I walk along the Jardin des Tuileries, past the crowded designer shops and street vendors hawking trinkets. The two bookstores are way down by the Concorde. I quickly go through both. They sell only new books. Neither has anything on fishing. I am disappointed but remember one other bookstore in Saint Germain des Pres. I take the metro to Odéon and walk to the San Francisco Book Company on Rue Monsieur le Prince. It is exactly what I want: 2 crowded rooms stuffed with old, used books. In the back room, I browse the Nature shelf. He has 3 fishing books: a hardcover copy of The Compleat Angler, which I am currently reading; a boring manual from 1903 called The Practical Angler, and finally the best of the lot, the Angler's Handbook. It is a small, crisply written overview of angling. A perfect gift.

One other book catches my eye: Amateur Sugar Maker. It is small, beige, and describes maple sugaring in Vermont. I buy this and the fishing book, notice the time, and make a quick exit to the subway. It's back home to shower, visit the junk shop, grab the rod, and leave for the night.

After changing into dry clothes, I walk Rue de Tolbiac, uphill along Rue de l'Espérance to Rue de la Butte aux Cailles. The store, Station Arrêt Facultatif, or Optional Stop Station, is full of eclectic antiques: stuffed squirrels, desiccated fish heads, ceramic mugs, cheap jewelry, and musty books. These catch my eye.

The owner, an older woman sitting behind a desk covered in paper, calls out to me. I walk over to her and ask, "parlez vous francais?" She says yes. I can smell wine. I tell her I am looking for fishing stuff and go back to the books. They are French fishing guides from the 50's and 60's. I am excited but hesitant, as I don't read French. I then happen to look at the floor.

Next to the books, under a wooden shelf, is a metal tackle box. I pull it forward, rummage through old line and twisted wire, and find a Mepps spinner in the original box, 3 fly fishing reels, a folding hook disgorger, and a beautiful painted float. I forget the books - I can't read them anyway! She comes out from behind the desk and we negotiate for the reels. She tries to convince me to buy a large throw net but I explain that I am traveling. She asks, "Did you see these?" pointing to the floor.

There is a 2 foot piece of white corrugated cardboard full of spinning lures. I am ecstatic. There must be 50 of them. I ask how much. She replies with a number and I hesitate. I don't have that much cash. She says she takes cards and I greedily accept. Slowly she starts packing up the purchases. I am starting to get impatient. I look at the clock. It is almost 4. When we try the card, it fails repeatedly. I leave to go to the bank which is about a mile away. It starts to rain. I walk fast, almost at a jog, and return to complete the deal. I am so excited but my blood pressure is high. I have to travel across Paris to try and return the rod, then south to meet Anna for drinks. Before I go, she shows me some shoes she created with fishing tackle for decoration. They are quite nice. She was a designer for Chanel and all items in her shop are things she collected or inherited. The fishing equipment was hers!

I stow the gear at the apartment, grab the broken rod, and leave. I arrive at the fish store at 5. I explain what happened with the rod and I can see he is not happy, nor does he believe me. Reluctantly, he gets me a new pole. As he hands it to me, he mutters, "are you sure you didn't step on it?" I get angry and reiterate my story, then leave. I am mad, rushed, happy. Things are working out but not in the straightest path.

I take the metro to Sèvres - Lecourbe, am early, and have a beer in the warmth of a cafe. The weather is raw. It feels great to sit under a heated awning. The waiter is ignoring me or absent minded. It is only in the busy tourist-filled cafes that the service suffers. I am calming down. Even though I have about 20 more minutes, I leave, and walk slowly to Anna's.

We walk Lucy all around the neighborhood, then go. We ride to the Pantheon, right around the corner from where I ate lunch the day before. We walk downstairs into a 12-century vaulted bar, which Anna called George's Cave. An Irish band is playing. We say hello to George, the South African bartender/owner, and settle into a night of drinking. Underneath us, in the old Roman cellar, ghosts dance. We ask George about the Irish band. He said he has them twice a year: March 17th (Saint Patrick's Day) and September 27th, (Arthur Guinness' Birthday). In celebration, he gives us free shots. We drink and talk late into the night, barely managing to catch our respective subways home. I take a shower and crawl into bed knowing I have to pack, clean and leave the next day by 12:00 pm.