I’ve tried all the cafes in Place Contrescarpe. Reluctantly, I inevitably return to Cafe Delmas. The waiters are crisp. The leather club chairs are luxurious. The lighting is low. It’s got atmosphere. It’s got this, j’en sais pas, feeling. All it’s missing is a fireplace.
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It’s interesting to me to see young adults meet in a cafe to study. They seem so saavy to me. They have to escape the house, away from parents and younger siblings, go where it’s easier to study.
I can’t remember the name of this cafe but it’s in the 13th on Rue Tolbiac, near Olympiades.
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The Cave la Bourgogne is one of my favorite places in the neighborhood. One sunday morning in winter we were there after shopping in the Mouffetard market. It was January 1st and a bone chilling wind whipped the water spraying from the fountain. I don’t know why the fountain was pumping water. Didn’t the city think the pipes could have frozen? Whatever.
We were sipping a hot beverage, propably coffee. Can’t get enough of the stuff in the mornings. As we swallowed hot java we gazed out the window. It’s a lovely window. Big… There to our amazement came two guys. It was clear they’d been paryting all night long to celebrate the end of the year. They’d lost their coats along the way. One of the dudes was wearing a short sleeved white t-shirt. One step up from a wife-beater. He wasn’t feeling the cold at all. Because he waved to his friend from the ledge of the fountain then hopped into the water.
I’ll never forget the look on his face after he emerged from the icy water. Stone cold. All trace of tan washed off in the fountain. It was pathetically funny. I felt bad for laughing because he was hurting bad. We watched them hobble away with a very different esprit.
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The Canon des Gobelins is on the corner Avenue de Gobelins and Boulevard Saint Marcel. The barista has a mowhalk. I wonder if he’s always had one. There are some tall tables where you don’t have to stand at the comptoir but get comptoir prices.
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Angie Brooksby-Arcangioli 