Django, Johann, and Edith

An oasis in the afternoon's heat on the Ile Saint-Louis.

Creaking Floors

Paris:- Monday, 21. July 2003:- Nothing was the first thing I noticed this morning. I couldn't hear any helicopters, any police or ambulance sirens. I couldn't really hear any traffic. With the windows all open all the time, the incessant sound was finally gone, along with the Parisians who make it.

I said 'hello Paris' out loud to make sure I hadn't become deaf overnight and then I listened to next to nothing for 15 or 20 minutes before getting up and doing the usual routine. One of these is to turn on radio France-Info, but I left it turned off and listened to the parquet floor creak instead.

For this reason I didn't mind looking at the big window. From the looks of it, it was sunny. The sky wasn't good and blue, it was kind of blasy, like it is when it is going to get less sunny and more humid. The prediction for today was partly cloudy and mostly sunny, with 29 degrees.

This is about like what yesterday was and tomorrow is supposed to be, with maybe a degree less temperature. Still tropical. This is the prediction for the next two days, with Thursday going down a whole step to 25 degrees. By the time it rolls around, it'll probably still be 28 or 29.

All of the above is the TV-weather news. This morning's Le Parisien shows partly cloudy, mostly sunny, with temperatures about 28 or 29 until Thursday.

It's been consistently hotter in the south of France. Since it has been very dry too, there are some serious forest fires - burning right to the edge of the Mediterranean near Saint-Aygulf last week - and the water bombers are in heavy rotation as long as there's enough visibility to fly. Firemen have been sent from the north to the south to help out, and there's big fire on Corsica they are having trouble with.

Café Life

With the weather and with Metropole's recent additions and changes, I was rung out last week on my Tuesday 'day off.' With air like warm soup, I joined the Daguerréotypistas in the Bouquet where they were trying out the French refreshment of choice, pastis. I think they do this more for the free side-order of water than for the taste of licorice.

I stopped my automatic order of a double-espress café in time to get a citron pressé, which also comes with a side-order of water, and tastes more or less like lemons, which are also native to the Mediterranean.

If it hadn't been my day off I would have made some notes. Dennis, of course, had to mention the new Marx Brothers movie he hasn't seen - that was on his program for the week. Dennis believes everything strange about the world's situation has already been explained by the Marx Brothers. They saw it all coming.

Or it was happening in their day too. A study of history certainly does show that nobody remembers anything and we are condemned to live through the same things repeatedly. Why is it, sitting in the café Bouquet, if we can figure out that everything has happened before - but we can't take the easy extra step to figure out the correct way to get out of the mess?

For one thing, this isn't our job. For another, we were tired of the airless Bouquet so we left it. Instead of standing around in front in extended indecision, we went to the Comédia a few blocks away. Dennis felt like having some calamares.

Even though the sidewalk in front of the Comédia is narrow, Jean has a modest line of tables and chairs out front. This is on the quiet Rue Boulard, facing the outdoor marché, with all of the trees for people who like green and don't mind the tin cars parked all along the sidewalk.

The tiny terrace was almost full, but we got a table in front of the place next door. The wines and the citron pressé came, and then the big plate of fat calamares. We got mayonnaise with it, but Dimitri asked for ketchup.

He defended this on the shaky ground of having worked in a smashed tomato factory in the summers. 'Shaky,' because he couldn't eat canned tomatos for decades afterwards.

A lot of times, if you order something that goes with ketchup in Paris, you will be asked if you want some. This made us think that Dimitri, with all of his tomato experience, should concoct a 'gourmet' ketchup better than the usual stuff, which is made for kids' tastes.

Then rain began falling, slowly, in big, fat drops. Jean came out and tried to lower the awning, but we were not under it. There were a couple of flashes of lightning too. Blobs from the sky were spattering our calamares, sinking without a trace in the mayonnaise and plunking in our drinks.

We picked everything up and went inside the small café. Jean has a multi-CD set of Django Reinhardt recordings and these were playing on the mini-sound system, loudly. The rain didn't amount to much and those outside under the awning mostly stayed there.

I ate the last calamare just before more wine was ordered. Jean tripped over a customer's bag placed in the doorway and almost lost four plates. The trees, not a leaf moving, above the marché opposite looked like jungle from inside the café.

Dimitri and Dennis seemed to be settling in for prolonged philosophy, with wines, so I left. Walking back, I made a list of all the subjects in my head with the intention of writing them all down. But it was warm and humid, and when I faced the monitor's everlasting screen, I couldn't stand it and turned it off.

This is why the world is like it is. After figuring out what the problem is, there's no energy left to think of the solutions - even though they have been thought of before. It might not do much harm if the management would read a bit of history occasionally.

Laurel Avery writes about the fireworks on 14. July at Trocadéro in this issue. Two days afterwards she sent 'Tiny Points of Light' from Santa Fe. Cafe Metropole Club member Barry Wright took some photos, sent them to Laurel, and she sent them to me.

When I wrote to Barry to ask if he had others, or the same ones unblemished by round-trips to Santa Fe, he sent new copies of the same photos. I think fireworks are best seen live, but all I've got are the fireworks photos. Well, a reader asked for all the photos of Laurel I have. If I put in a new one, Barry should get equal time.

Metropole has finally become completely commerce-crazy with the introduction of its 'Partner' page. A good old boy from the 14th arrondissement named Cyril Toullier is taking care of this in New York, by bringing publications about Paris and France together with advertisers, who may have interesting messages for you.

My part of the idea is to put them all on their own page, instead of scattered throughout Metropole. The links to the 'Partner' page are scattered about a bit so you won't have to hunt for them.

Occasionally Cyril will be sending special offers, exclusively for Metropole, for you. The 'Partners' page is where you'll find them. For example, right now I have 19 Avis rental car upgrade coupons. With one of these, instead of getting a Twingo you can rent a one-size bigger Clio, for the same price as the Twingo. See the page for details.

Metropole's long-time affiliates are also on this page. The Café Metropole wine is also on it too, with a link to its own permanent About Wine page.

Even if you are not in the market for anything, look at the 'Partner' page anyway. Every week I get one slightly good photo that doesn't logically 'fit' in elsewhere. From now on, it goes on the Partners' page, as the 'Photo of the Week.' Unlike everything else in Metropole, this photo will only be on view one week before being replaced by the a new 'Photo of the Week.'