It's Christmas in Paris. Or so they say. The streets and squares pull out their best clothes to welcome the new year. And with them, countless lamps, ornaments and garlands accompany the busy passing pedestrians and cyclists rush until the last beam of light to make purchases of rigor. A swing of bags, coats and scarves populate the boulevard under the watchful gaze of tourists, oblivious to the everyday clutter, are in Paris, his greatest gift.
Saint Germain-des-Prés becomes this time in peculiar meeting point. The peddler of pancakes every morning a little more pleasant our path to power is no longer alone in the square of the thinkers. He is accompanied by a row of stalls artificial, uniform and contents, somehow break the magic of the place; souvenirs and berets, Chuy and other alpaca ornaments, just banal a corner that many believed birthplace of generations, a haven for ideas, or just shelter visitors.
Some places, however, foreign to the avalanche consumerism that characterizes this time of year, keep intact its routine, its silences and welcoming environments. This is the case of the bookstore on rue de la Bucheri. The screeching sound of the doors and the creaking of boards and shelves attached to smells wet paper printing and own peculiar environment, orchestrating a symphony particular a warm welcome to visitors. The small size of the place just allow movement, also limited by the relentless passage of the bookseller who, like a hound it were, seeks to find one among the thousands of titles crowding the room. At the bottom, next to the girder that supports the structure of the old boarding house in Paris, a staircase leads to the landlord's awkward and shelter to an old piano lounge two orphans hanging chandeliers. However, balms as these are scarce and the whole city surrendered to the ravages of modernity.
come home tomorrow. Back wanting to spend Christmas with family, to see friends and to find the streets, squares and cafes of yesteryear. There will be two weeks of meetings, gifts and nights by the fireplace, which have nothing to do with the bustle of the city. Paris, however, soon again be the same: return to the routine of walking and cycling, the bridges and arches, their paving stones and balustrades. Paris, My Paris, will be waiting.
