These photos might look like a something out of Star Trek, but they are actually the display cases of a chic patisserie in the Latin Quarter of Paris. Each domed container houses a mouth watering confection worthy of Louis XIV’s dessert tray. My willpower fell to pieces as I stared at the cakes and I simply had to try one. I did not regret it.
My sister and I were walking near her new country home in the Drome, a charming rural area a few hours south of Paris by fast train, when we spotted this abandoned set of buildings. It had been a farm with a Pidgeonier, where birds are bred. My mind instantly created the perfect Bed and Breakfast. I’d use the turreted building as a honeymoon suite! I returned to share my grand plan with my husband, who wondered if we really wanted to take care of leaking faucets and recalcitrant boilers. Perhaps he’s right. But in my mind’s eye it would be a captivating space.
My primary reason for this trip to France was to see my new grand niece Camille and grand nephew Maxime. We had a lovely family party and I managed to spend much time playing the grandmother, a role I think I could get used to. Of course it was great to be with my parents, sister and brother in law, and all the nieces and nephews. But the best part was getting to know the first two members of the next generation, at ages 6 weeks and 20 months.
As we explored one of the many charming villages in the Drome I noticed this perfect doorway, with old stone framing a new door in a fresh aqua color. The color, stone and door design with single side panel struck me as an appealing way to combine old and new elements into a cohesive design. Even the galvanized steel pot lower left works with it, in addition to the old ironstone detail above the door.
Here I am at the Café Angelina, a favorite haunt of my youth. My sister and I had a nostalgic chocolate as we reminisced about being young in the most beautiful city in the world. Angelina is a well known “salon de the” or tea room, though they specialize in irresistible hot chocolates. With it’s old-fashioned marble tables, large 19th century oil paintings and oversize mirrors, Café Angelina acted as a time machine, taking Chantal and I back to the Paris of the 60s and 70s. They also serve the best macaroons, though we both abstained, something we would never have done in our rose-tinted teens.
In the 1920s in Paris, when the Lost Generation were taking their café au lait at Les Deux Magots, expatriate writers were habitués of an English language bookstore called Shakespeare and Company, started by transplanted American Sylvia Beach. Hemingway, Fitzgerald, Gertrude Stein and James Joyce were regulars. Ms. Beach stayed when the Germans arrived in 1940, but had to close the store in ’41. Ernest Hemingway made it his business to personally liberate the store in ‘45. Before Sylvia Beach died, another expatriate American, George Whitman, got her permission to name his very similar Parisian bookstore Shakespeare and Company. His daughter Sylvia now runs the shop. It is a warren of small, cramped rooms and precarious looking shelving barely containing teetering piles of books. The crowd was dense when we were there and it had the feel of all great bookstores–intellectual curiosity was oozing from every corner of the space.
One of my favorite fabric companies is Nobilis. I’ve used their gorgeous products for over 20 years and when I’m in Paris I enjoy visiting their showroom. They always have an elegant display, and I can sometimes find samples that have not made it to the US. Such was the case on this visit, as I found some interesting options for current jobs.
I’d love to find a client interested in creating a plant wall like this one. It’s all silk, not a real plant to be seen. Presentation is elevated to a high art in France, and the shop with this display contained lovely arrangements. A wall like this in the right room would make a spectacular statement.
A few months ago I posted a description of trompe l’oeil, the technique for giving depth and perspective to flat surfaces. On this trip I was constantly bumping into buildings with these whimsical walls. Depending on the light and your distance from the building you really have to look twice to discover the illusion.
There are always strikes in France, of greater or lesser severity. Sometimes they are just minor disturbances, necessitating a reroute of the daily commute. Sometimes they are catastrophic, as when all transportation came to a grinding halt a few years ago. On the metro we saw the scene above, a merry band of strikers, happily protesting something or other. You have to understand that the right to strike in France is considered a basic freedom, one that must be indulged in frequently in order to stay in shape.
