Only once in my life have I done something completely spontaneous that was just for me. This blog is dedicated to that night. (It's P.G., I promise)
The summer after my freshman year in college, I studied in Paris for six weeks. Wonderful trip, I could go into all the details sometime over a bottle of wine (you buy). But here's the story for this blog entry. On my last night in the city of love (that's Paris, right?), I had no place to stay. I'd been in Switzerland for a few days following the end of my classes, and once back in Paris, my former dorm room was no longer available.
Previously in my trip, I had visited this incredible bookstore a few times. I was first drawn to the "sidewalk sale" books, and once inside, this was the kind of place that had every book imaginable. Shakespeare & Co., owned by George Whitman , takes up more space in my journal from that summer than the Eiffel Tower, L'Arc de Triomphe, and Notre Dame combined. I felt at home in this place--it was my own kind of church. I fell in love with eccentric George, who let me into the store when it was closed (while he turned others away). His eyes had a look of someone who has just been interrupted while reading a favorite book. Pleasant, but impatient to get back to his reading.
I'd heard (vaguely, like it was whispered secretly) that George let like-minded readers and writers stay with him in his shop. There are beds throughout the upstairs floors, waiting for weary travelers who enjoy reading more than sleeping. When I asked Mr. Whitman if he had a place for me for my last homeless night in Paris, he said I could stay. Free. With the condition that I work for him for one hour and that I provide him with my autobiography and a picture. He has published volumes of those life stories of people who've stayed there.
The night at Shakespeare & Co. was a night of freedom unlike any other for me. I spent the evening choosing various books to browse through and talking with others who were staying with George. For my one hour of work, I washed dishes (with no rag and no soap, drying them with a newspaper) and juiced carrots and radishes together. George made dinner (soup, salads, and peach cobbler) for me and another guest (Tim Martin was his name according to my journal), and when I asked him to join us for dinner, he said he was "too old to eat with the young people." Tim Martin and I ate outside, with a beautiful view across the Seine to Notre Dame. Every time we paused to talk, George yelled down at us from the third floor window, "Eat! Eat! It's getting cold!"
I spent the night writing my life story like George asked me to (it's terrible--I copied it into my journal and now wish I could go back and rewrite it) and reading as much as possible. In the morning before I left for the airport, George fed me pancakes, hot chocolate, and a peach. The pancakes were terrible, but as he woke up before 5:00 a.m. to make them for me, I was grateful.
A few weeks ago, I found a picture in Target (of all places) of the storefront of Shakespeare & Co. That picture is now on our mantle. I've also recently found a web site with a wonderful virtual tour of the shop, library and apartment. And this man has a terrific blog about the place and his experience.
One night in Paris I did something different. Thank you, George Whitman, for making the evening possible.
Posted by Becky at June 16, 2004 08:45 PM