MacLeod - A Paris Year

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To Sharon Yamamoto,
who bought me the perfect coffee mug,
without which this book could not be made

If Im an advocate for anything, its to move. As far as you can, as much as you can. Across the ocean, or simply across the river. The extent to which you can walk in someone elses shoes or at least eat their food, its a plus for everybody. Open your mind, get up off the couch, move.

Anthony Bourdain

Paris is an old walking city. As you turn the corner of a medieval street and land on a bustling boulevard, youll come across a plaque on a wall that states someone who did something great was either born, lived, or died in this apartment. Around another corner, youll find another plaque with another fact. Or youll take notice of the ornate lamps and discover they all have a consistent nautical theme, which will lead to days of searching for nautical themes around the city. Youll find them on park benches, schools, and statues.

As I made these little discoveries, I jotted them down in my travel journal. Eventually, these notes included a splash of paint, a few ink splatters from my temperamental fountain pen, and photos. I noticed patterns forming. Certain months had certain huespinks for spring, oranges for autumn, and delicate cool blues for winter. I also learned every day was named after a saint, so I began adding their names to the pages. Some days I would focus my camera on one shade of red, which looks alarmingly brilliant against the pale beige background of the architecture. Then I would try to replicate that red in my journal with my little set of watercolors. It was great fun. It still is. Paris is generous to the curious artist.

Often these sketches would lead to the creation of a Paris Letter. These are painted letters I create every month about life in Paris and send out snail-mail style to those who crave fun mail. Its refreshing to make something tangible in this electronic world.

This travel journal is a replication of my original notebooks. It is a memoir, a guidebook, and ode to ma belle Paris.

Allons-y! Lets go.

133, rue Mouffetard, 75005

Friday Vendredi Week 52

Life in Paris starts with a Bonjour. This is the magic word, the Open Sesame, that will turn you from an tranger (foreigner) to a local. It is to be said with confidence. No shy weak whispered greeting will do. Its best to be bellowed and followed with either Monsieur or Madame.

Once I pardonned and excusez-moied my way through the airport, I was ready to master the key word that would unlock my way into French life. I learned it by repeating the following two-phrase conversation daily with every familiar face:

Bonjour Monsieur. (Hello sir.)

Bonjour Madame. (Hello my lady.)

a va? (How are you?)

a va. (Im fine.) a va? (And you?)

a va. (Im fine, too.)

Bonjour. (Have a good day.)

Bonjour. (You, too.)

Bonjour Bonjour a va a va a va a va Bonjour Bonjour. Its really that easy to have an entire conversation in French.

There is no waving hello. This is not the French way. When you wave hello their eyes follow your hand like a litter of kittens. Non. They prefer words.

Monday Lundi Week 1

Happy New Year and wishes for good health are fluttering by on the breeze (once the Bonjour is out of the way). Shopkeepers are slowly taking down the holiday decorations and are restocking for the year ahead. One of the loveliest of shopkeepers is Monsieur de Tugny.

For the last twenty-six years, he has owned Mlodies Graphiquesa papetire a short stroll from the Seine on the Right Bank. He offers the most marvelous collection of pens, inks, and paper. When hes not seeing customers, he sits behind his desk and writes out wedding invitations. Our monsieur is also a professional calligrapher and lover of the written word quite literally.

10, rue du Pont Louis-Philippe, 75004

Tuesday Mardi Week 1

I walked into his shop and told him I was in the market for the best calligraphy pen. He leapt from his seat and scurried around to the pen section. He sifted through a series of nibs and in one eureka moment he chose one and attached it to a handle. Beside the pens lay a massive book provided for pen testing. With a flourish he flipped to a fresh page, dipped the pen in the ink and wrote Calligraphy. He turned to me. The most beautifully written word with the best pen. This is your pen. It wasnt the most expensive pen, nor was it the most beautiful. I inquired about those. He dismissed them with a wave and reminded me that I had not asked for the most beautiful pen. I had asked for the best. He returned to his desk to wrap my new pen. I have the best job in the world, he said. The biggest problem someone has in my boutique is to find the right pen, ink, and paper. These are problems I can solve.

Wednesday Mercredi

Mr. Ollivander in Harry Potter and the Philosophers Stone, J. K. Rowling

Thursday Jeudi Week 1

I came upon a brocante today. These are mini flea markets that pop up around the city for a few days. You can tell a lot about a country based on the usual fare available at flea markets. With a very old country like France, youll find vintage fashions, old dishes, and a surprising array of feathers. There is usually an old postcard stall, too, which is where I spend most of my time. I dont even bother looking at the front of postcards, thereby mystifying the seller. Im after the lovely penmanship, stamp, and pastel patina of the postcard backs. After purchasing a stack, I zipped off to Angelinas