Rue Cler Flows By

PARIS
Abby puts her foot down on our third and last day in Paris.  She insists we eat outdoors at an café.  It isn’t as if we haven’t had many wonderful meals in various cafes, bistros and restaurants, but none where we ate al fresco.  Beth has done her homework and knows where to direct us: rue Cler. Lily takes over as our personal GPS and steers us in from the Tour Eiffel.  

Cafe du Marche

Soon we are sitting at Café du Marche: a table for four under an awning on the cobblestone street.  Our waiter, a 20-something man in fashionably shabby blue jeans provides us menus and gamely works with Beth’s French as we clarify our choices.  Behind us at a table-for-two next to the door into the café sits a woman who gracefully chain smokes over a cup of coffee.  Sitting with her back to the cafe windows a fashionable middle aged Parisian woman in a navy blue skirt, blazer with matching trim, and gold necklace and earrings is absorbed in a newspaper.  A man reads a book – looking up occasionally. At a bar table at the edge of the street stands a middle aged woman.  She stands on the bow of the Café du Marche ship – more than halfway into the flow of the street scene around us.  She is served a glass of beer by the hostess in tight black jeans and sweater.

Rue Cler is a walking street several blocks long.  It is full of life.  Across the road stand a pair of elderly women in an animated conversation over the course of 20 minutes.  They each have a small dog; the dogs  sniff each other.  The dogs are tied off on a rack of rental bikes.  More fully in the flow of the rue Cler walking traffic is comes a young couple.  They have an energetic off white dog.  First the man has the leash. The dog eagerly tugs him over so he can visit with the two small dogs.  The three sniff each other in a revolving circle of interest.  The young woman returned with a fresh baguette.  She now takes the dog’s leash as the man drifts off.  The dog is fed pieces of baguette.  A five- or six-year-old girl in chic knit cap walks up to the dog and teases it for several minutes – pretending to hold up a goodie, the dog jumping up, then laughing when she shows her empty hand.  The owner pretends not to notice and watches the street scene.  The small girl's mother appears, scolds the girl perfuntorily and drags her off down the street.

Our lunch is served: cobb salad, beef bourguignon, etc.

Three men walk down the street toward us, pausing, chatting, casually chic.  They are attracting attention from passers by. One of them is pushing a stroller with a pair of babies snuggled one behind the other.  Both are asleep.  The head of the girl in front is tilted off to its right.  The one behind is cantilevered to the left.  The pusher appears to be the father.  Are the others, seemingly not at ease with their charges, friends?  Lily speculates that the mother has sent the father and friends out with the kids while she enjoys a respite in their apartment.  They arrive at our café.  The woman-in-black hostess seats them next to us.  The children sleep away in the stroller.  The men order lunch and a carafe of red wine.

We finish our meal and pay.

The two small dogs have been led away.  The large dog is back in the man’s care.  The couple and their dog walk up rue Cler toward the Invalides.  The baguette is more than half eaten.  We get up and cross the street to a patisserie and buy several flavors of macaroons.  We walk down the street, each carefully and evenly tasting each of the four cookies, commenting on their flavors.  We pass a flower shop.  A grocery store's fruits and vegetables spill out into the street in colorful basket-arrangements.

Suddenly Abby puts her foot down again.  She insists we need to find a crepe stand for a nutella and banana crepe before we head to the Euro Star train that will take us back home to London.


Peter