Paris, 2024

“…You can’t write a poem for a city that is poetry.” From “Paris for Resident Aliens,” a poem by Gaël Faye.

As Cyrano might say, “Follow your nose.” On our first day in the apartment in Paris, Barbara and I wanted some fresh croissants for the next morning’s breakfast, but places nearby were closed by the time we looked. I was up early the next morning and checked to see what boulangerie was close, expecting to wait until they opened at 8, as I had seen online earlier, but there was one, not too far, already open, starting at 5 AM. That’s a baker who takes his work seriously. GPS map (how did we ever travel without GPS?) showed me the route, through ancient narrow cobblestone streets. Walking in the chilly pre-dawn dark, few people on the streets, feeling completely safe, soon all I had to do was sniff the air. A couple of Euros got me two big fluffy croissants beurre. (Not the croissants naturel, made with margarine!) Whatever you think of Paula Deen, or the French, they are both right about butter.

Another Paris “must stop by” place for me is Shakespeare & Company. Years ago, traveling in France, no matter how many books I brought along, I would finish them with days left in the trip. This was a great place to restock with English language titles, and lots of choices. With an e-reader and an internet connection today I can access almost all the books in publication, but I had to buy something on principle (Shakespeare and Descartes). It’s important to support the people who were there for you. Besides, how often do you get to hang out in a place with scores of others who love books? People who will stand and wait to crowd into a rabbit warren of cubbyholes, stacked floor to ceiling with books, just to breathe it in? Imagine, a bookstore with a doorman and a rope line, to safely manage traffic.

Walking the streets of Paris is a special kind of pleasure/torture for a photographer, at least this photographer. A pleasure because at least half the women (Parisienne, French, or Other) sitting in cafes, and strolling the boulevards look like they are just on a short break from an Avedon shoot. A multicultural, multi-ethnic smorgasbord of beauty and style, haute and not, in uncountable permutations of hair, makeup, dress makes me wonder if it’s something in the air or water. Maybe the wine? It is an endlessly fascinating promenade, accomplished with great effect and seemingly little effort. A calculated casual.

The torture is, you don’t get to be Avedon.

Au revoir, Paris. Je t’aime.

For more of Bill’s photographs, go to https://www.billdurrence.com/index.