Chatting on line (via webcam) to a Parisian friend in my less than fluent French, she stopped. frowned, and peered intently at the camera. "You remind me of someone under all that fur". Fur? :)
As a 12 year old in the 1970's, she had visited a bookshop on the left bank, the rue de la Bûcherie, in Paris called Shakespeare and Company "I remember" she explained in English, in that wonderful accent, "A charming young man with eyes that pierced my soul, slim, dressed in black, and a voice to die for".
Errrrr, umm, "He had a French name, but he was English" Uh. Oh dear. "His French was rubbish, but as a little girl, I decided, this is the man I'm going to marry" Oh my. "It was but a child thing. But I remember with great fondness"
"It was you, wasn't it." Probably.
Shakespeare and Company was run by a wonderful, colourful chap called George Whitman. It wasn't your ordinary bookshop by any means. Worked there for a while on a 'sabbatical' from my day job. You could do that back then. At the time I worked as a Courier Diplomatique. (CD)
It was wonderful. Hard, hard work, but wonderful. No pay. There were lots and lots of bunk beds. And the most gorgeous stew that steamed up the windows.
We lived, ate and slept there, and I'd do it again given the chance.
The main condition was that you read at least a book a day. And the smell of the books was - oh it was so good, - don't get me started :)
The range of books was amazing. I can't describe adequately what a wonderful and life changing experience it was to spend time there.
I met a lot of people from all over the world, made lots of friends. It's one of the happiest times of my life.
George died last year, in his 90'. If you are ever in Paris, I recommend a visit at 37 rue de la Bûcherie, in the 5th arrondissement.
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