A French memory

The Seine River. (Photographer unknown)

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My friend, Vicky, is now spending a month in France with 4-5 friends from graduate school. They will spend time in Paris, Bordeaux, Avignon and Nice, staying in 4-bedroom condos. She speaks supermarket and restaurant French, having studied the language for two years in high school.

Vicky adores France. About ten years ago, she traded homes with a French woman. She stayed in that woman’s apartment in Paris, while the woman stayed in Vicky’s house in Hawaii. It was fun for both of them. Now, here she is in France, again.

I spent two weeks in Paris in November 1969, not the best time to travel, as it was cold. No snow, but it rained. It was always cloudy. However, I managed to walk outdoors daily.

One evening, I was walking to my pension on the Left Bank, when I saw a middle-aged man, huddled over a small stove on a desolate plaza. There was nobody else around. As I approached, I saw that he was roasting chestnuts. I felt sorry for him and bought a bag of chestnuts from him.

When I got back to my room, I took one of the warm chestnuts out of the bag and tried to bite into it. Alas, it was still hard, because it had not roasted long enough. I ended up throwing the bag in the trash can.

Rather than feeling peeved, I was glad that I had given that man some coins for the chestnuts. At least, it was an honest living, and he wasn’t one of those panhandlers, who stick their hand out for alms.

I have so many memories of Paris. If you’re interested, you can read my more detailed post about Paris here:

Paris, France