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The Huron Expositor, 1978-12-14, Page 10IN 10" THE HURON EXPOSITOR, OECEIVIES R 14, 1918 Serendipity • by Alice Gibb as in Pari s Christ i • • - NEVER TOO MANY TOES —Lynn Huff, of RR 4, Seaforth, romps in the straw with her very special batch of kittens - they all have an extra toe on each foot, a trait they inherited from their mother, who leans on Lynn's shoulder to inspect her special litfer. (Expositor photo) CABLE 345-2341 ligirJ • kirs los wit Via 111 Wall Wie 11 4011s Ali *18 4" 41 Alta 418 411/4" otsiGNERS OF SAT( /ROB FEATURING MUSIC FOR ALL AGES ON OUR\NEVW DANCE FLOOR! You'll be amazed at the sensational feeling of dancing under the STARBURST SYSTEM which features Fantastic sound on the dance floor ye4 a quieter, softer sound at your table! Come to our OPENING this... .46, Thursday, Friday & Saturday Nights • • I • ; We bring you the all new... HURON HOTEL DUBLIN N AND HELP US CELEBRATE OUR 2ND ANNIVERSARY!! DOOR PRIZE$ • SPOT-DAN.' ES. 411411 Olt 1011441141184,111V Last December, at almost exactly this time of the month, I was sitting on a bench in the Luxembourg Gardens in Paris, munching on a very spicy Tunisian sandw'ch, marvelling at the late blooming roses and thing mothers and children as they drifted throng e park. Paris might mit be the most beautiful place in the world, but it's certainly one of the most magical. You'll hear some tourists complain that coffee costs $1 a cup in the cafes, and Coca•Cola even more, or that the ticket sellers in the train stations utter disparaging remarks when tourists ask directions in halting public school French. Some of the same tourists who complain about these things also have a tendency to spend all theif time in Notre Dame cathedral in front of the souvenir stands instead of admiring the magnificent circular stained glass windows or delicate statue of the maid of Orleans and they also tend to visit the • Lourvre for the sole purpose of taking a quick look at the. Mona Lisa. But, since I have some space to fill, tell you why I bouts do. do. the lights were ;ew and tar oetween, aitnougn wa shoppers were out in full force. The only window I ever• remember was in a car showroom were some ,sleek white sports car were draped by mannequins, dressed in white and the whole thing was illuminated by stringS' of lights, also white. As .you might except in Paris, the effect was tasteful, rather than Christmasey. A day or two later, I wandered down the short street which houses some of t: r a's most famous fashion boutiques - solely, out curiosity, since I doubt if theres fashionable bone in in body These were the shopkeepers to the jet set, the n -s you hear spoken in hushed tones. Dior, Chanel, Pier e Cardin . and Yves St. Laurent. Shoppers came out of the stores with armloads of parcels, as if they bought silk scarves and pajamas with Dior labels every day of-their lives. Dressed in my faded red raincoat,.a little worse for wear after three months of travel, my blue jeans and a funny pair of spanish boots, my courage failed me entirely and I never did venture inside one of the OPERA HOUSE ite sprayed But, in trying to find the high fashion centre, I also o.wer markets discovered the Opera House, a massive building in the ., centre of the city. Even with my faulty French,. I discovered rush• seats were available for that night's performance of the children's Christmas' ballet, which I translated as being about a doormouse sleeping in a wood. Assuming the story woudl be a Beatrix Potter-type of story, and with nothing better to do . I bought a ticket for .one of the cheapest seats available and, since I didn't have time to get back to the Left Bank to change, risked attending the ballet unadorned. Now, European theatres, paticularly opera houses, are exactly like something from in an MGM movie. They boast immense, curved stairways covered in plush carpets, Chandeliers that weigh. several tons and magnificent mirrors to reflect the chandeliers. Opera goers, at least in nParis, tend to be jeweled, perfumed, gowned ladies with extorts and from my perch, at the back of a plush red box on the third level of the theatre, I saw few children of any kind or description in the audience. The ballet turned out to be Sleeping Beauty - I was stil expecting a doormouse when the ,curtain rose -. and the costumes were breathtaking, Regency period in design and pastel in color. The Amercian boy, who had purchased the other cheap seat in the box, was as flustered by his " surroundings as I was - and 'he unwittingly left after the second act, missing the magnificent'finale. when. audience members shouted "Brave, bravo:' and tossed flowers to the three leading dancers who took bow after bow. But, my favourite place in Paris is one that doesn't have to be seen just as Christmas. It's a small,cramped bookstore called Shakespeare and. CompanY; and the same bookstore when Ernest • Hemingway, Scott Fitzgerald,• James Joyce and other writers used to hang out; since the think December is a lovely time to be in Paris, even Cho you can't help wishing for some tall, Canadian when you see the exotic blue spruces and ornamental trees sold as Christmas trees in around the city. • SPLURGE My girlfriend and I arrived in the city last year after spending two months living in youth hostels, sharing rooms with anywhere from .14 other people and up. By the time we reached Paris, we were ready to splurge, so we rented a room each in a small hotel run by. an elderly couple and their cocker spaniel, just two blocks from Noire Dame cathedrak-one block from the Seine River and right in the heart of the Left Bank'. A few days later I discovered. Ernest Hemingway had written his first novel, 'the Sun Also Rises, in a very ordinary apartment building just a few blocks from our hotel. Since we'd already been invited to spend'eh-ristmas .with friend,s in Lahr, Germany, we weren't as homesick as other travellers, who were speaking longingly of home. P However, within a few, days of arriving in the city, my girlfriend, who had a much more fluent command of French than I did or do, decided she'd rather spend her pre-Christmas week on the ski slopes of Switzerland and I stayed on to discover Paris by myself. Paris, like many European cities, is designed for walking, with small sidewalk cafes or tiny crepe stands sprinkled on almost every block, so you never have to worry about finding a spot to rest your aching feet. One of my first jaunts on my own was down the Champs Elysees. Paris' lovely Wide main street, to view the Christmas lights after dark. With the star on the top of the Eiffel Tower glowing in the distance. I expected the stores to be a glittering array oflights and banners. HoWever, the Parisiens don't fuss about Christmas quite as much as we ergreenhs owner Sylvia Beach. let them borrow books for free. 1929 Today; the owner of the store has changed, and so has the location, but the furnishings are almost exactly the same as, they were in 1920. The first day 'l walked in, 1 was confronted with a small, bearded man sitting at a decd i carefully sectioning an orange, with a pot of tea beside him and a little heater by his feet under the table. This was George, the shop's owner, and an eccentric who's been described by numerous writers. George immediately startled me by saying I could spend as much time as I wanted looking around, that there was a reading room upstairs, and if I wanted to spend the afternoon. he'd bring me a cup of tea.. This hospitality is extended to almost anyone who comes into the store - particularly people who look like they might be living on a budget. Later I discovered, Mr. Whitman provides free room and board to a number of asp iring writers or travellers who lived above the store. On my first visit, I spent two hours in the store, re-reading parts in Hemingway's autobiography The Moveable Feast about his years in Paris (that's how I discovered where he lived) and browsing , through everything from first editions by American writers to British childrens' books. Most of George's collection was in English and J. soon discovered the bookstore was a meeting place for the city's expatriate population. Most nights after supper I'd drop into the store, read for an hour or two'in one of the big armchairs located among the books• and eavesdrop on conversations between ft. :ure writers. ' COURAGE Finally, on my second last night in the city, I took courage in hand, and climbed up the narrow, winding metal stairway to the upstairs reading room. The upstairs was like a library, and the bookstore owner had conveniently divided the 'different rooms into subjects. I spent an hour sitting on a bed leafing through children's books before discovering another bigger room, filled with hooks about Paris. Although many people, including myself, eventually did buy some books at ShakesPeare and Company, the o never seemed the'least concerned that most people sirltply browsed. The store was open from noon to midnight and even on Sundays and whenever George wanted a break, he left the store in the hands of one of his boarders. On my last visit, just as I was leaving, George graciously invited me (and undoubtedly lots of others) to drop in to his Christmas open house when he'd be serving Christmas Cake and hot rum punch. I'm hoping some Christmas I can take him up on the invitation. After all, I'm certain Paris is even more wonderful the second time around.