A Paris Secret

Many of my North American friends confidently say to me each summer « Of course, you’re here because in Paris everything shuts down in August. » I smile. “Shall I tell them or not?” I wonder. August is Paris’ best kept secret – an oasis of calm that we don’t want too many people to find out about.
Of course, all the major hotels, restaurants, stores and tourist attractions are open and busy. But life changes for those of us who live here.
Many families with school-aged children are away in August, of course. This means less traffic on the roads and more places to sit in the metro. It means shorter lines in the grocery stores and more seats on café terraces and in the cinemas.
Those who work for some or all of August do so in a less stressful environment. The phones ring less often and you can get on with your work and, if you’re lucky, get caught up on all the things it’s hard to fit in during the rest of the year.
People move at a slower pace in August. Evenings are still long and the weather is often still good. Less stress at work and less commuters’ fatigue mean that people can get together a bit earlier or stay out a bit later with friends who are still in town or have returned, tanned and healthy. Exchanging stories about your vacation -- just past or still to come -- keeps the feeling alive.



For the last 8 years, the Mayor has helped Parisians enjoy their summer by closing off a portion of the express traffic lane along one side of the Seine to create a beach complete with sand, grass, palm trees, chaises longues, parasols and cafés.


You can start your day with an hour of water aerobics in the swimming pool brought in each year for the month or relax with tai chi or a free massage. Children, tired of digging in the sand, can play in the adventure playground or learn to draw or make smoothies or do scientific experiments. Adults gather after work to share a drink or a picnic with friends and perhaps attend a concert under the stars.
It’s true that many of the small shops and neighborhood restaurants are closed for two to four weeks in August as a host of little signs on shop fronts attest. Everybody needs a vacation



August can be a good time to renovate the store.




Some stores just close an extra day a week.




Or just open in the evening except on Saturday.



But all this adds to the adventure of August. You might discover a great new bakery or restaurant if your favorite one is closed.




Or notice an interesting book shop as you walk down a street you don’t usually take to get to a dry cleaner’s you don’t normally go to.
“Choisir c’est renoncer” (to choose is to give something up) said André Gide and for years I’ve almost always chosen to spend all of August in Charlottesville. But this year I didn’t. And I was able to enjoy Paris’s secret time once more, when you can sip lemonade in a place usually buzzing with traffic and watch the world go by.

Every weekend's an occasion in Oxfordshire

When I left Maggie and Paul, I took a train into Oxfordshire to see some English friends. John and Ruth and I always seem to get together for occasions – like somebody’s milestone birthday – when there’s little time to sit and chat. I thought it would be fun to see them for an ordinary weekend for a change. Since my last visit they had moved to a new house in a different village so I was looking forward to seeing that, too. And it would be good to relax after two busy days in London.
John met me at the station and cheerfully greeted me with the news “We’re going into London to join friends for dinner this evening and spend the night with them. We’ll be leaving in two hours.”
“Will I have time for a cup of tea first?” was all I could think of to say.
The dinner turned out to be an iftar at a Lebanese restaurant about a quarter of an hour’s drive from Heathrow Airport. Five Muslims and four non-Muslims shared a delicious (and copious) meal





Food kept appearing and we kept eating it. And just when we thought we were finished, the main course arrived.




Only some were actually breaking a fast.



But we all ate as if we were.
The next morning, after breakfast, we drove back to John and Ruth’s to prepare for …… a garden party.
A group of neighbors were getting together to have an official send-off for a couple who had moved the beginning of summer. It was a beautiful afternoon – the only one during this stay in England.

Angus was in charge of the barbecue.



Rachel organized everything else.



And a good time was had by all.






Afterwards, we did have a little time to relax in John and Ruth’s own garden



in the company of Gracie



and later took a walk around the village. It’s just the kind of English village I like. You expect to see Miss Marple popping out of one of the thatched cottages.



Several of the cottages and houses date from the 16th and 17th century and there are still two working farms.
And a pub, of course.



It is on the river Thame (not a spelling mistake; a different river) which, John and Ruth told me, was once navigable. At that time, carts brought fruits and vegetables from the surrounding area down to the river to be transported to London.
The river now has more graceful traffic.



Early the next morning (very early it seemed) John drove me to the station near where he works to get a train back to London where I caught the Eurostar for Paris. “Well,” I said to myself drowsily as I settled into my seat. “I guess every weekend’s an occasion in Oxfordshire.”

Reunion in London

I said goodbye to my tenants who were moving to Florida in July 2009. Since then, Paul has finished his first year as a professor; Maggie has almost finished her dissertation ; Camm, now three, has acquired a new status as Big Brother to little Anders who joined the family in March.



They spent this summer in London, England and suggested we get together there. That seemed worth a shorter summer stay in Charlottesville.
Maggie apologized that it wouldn’t be easy to sightsee. Leaving the flat involved pushing an infant in a stroller while a Big Boy trailed behind wailing “I want to wi-i-i-i-de” (unless there was something exciting to do like walk in the pouring rain holding his own umbrella.)
She was also concerned about preparing meals without her usual array of equipment -- while trying to use up food before their departure two days after mine.



But the results were, as usual, delicious and dinner, after the kids were asleep, relaxing.



We managed well in the daytime, too – mostly in and around Bloomsbury where the lucky people had rented a flat.
The first evening we walked through Russell Square



to the British Museum.
Maggie sent me up a large flight of stone steps to look around while they waited in the Great Court.



When I got back, Camm wanted to “climb up the stairs” -- so back I went with him. We had a nice wander through several rooms. I tried to answer “What’s that?” in words a three year old could understand.
The next morning we headed off to one of their favorite places – Coram’s Fields-- a fun children’s park. (Adults must be accompanied by a child).





Afterwards we visited the Foundling Museum. We all got in free because of the children. Nice! Maggie took Camm and Anders to a children’s activity room while I looked at the fascinating and moving exhibits. Then I took Camm to the Story Corner to read to him and Maggie was able to visit the museum.
Our afternoon excursion was to the public library where I read Camm more stories. (Are we sensing a pattern here?)
My favorite story time was that night when I read him a book I’d brought from Charlottesville. It was a picture book about Thomas Jefferson. I figured it could be adapted to his age and expanded later.
Here’s how it went that evening.
“This is a story about a man named Thomas…..
Huge smile and excited whisper “Thomas!” ( I knew he was thinking about Thomas the Tank Engine)
“Jefferson. He was playing (picture of him playing). Then when he grew up he built a house in Charlottesville.”
“Charlottesville! That’s where our old house is! YOU used to live there, too!”
(Skipping over the Declaration of Independence, the Continental Congress and the Revolutionary War, I turned to….)
“a BOAT!”
“Yes a sailing ship. When Thomas finished his house he took the boat and went to Paris.”
“Pawis! YOU live in Pawis!”
This story was much more exciting than I had anticipated. Especially the ending.
“And then Thomas went back to Charlottesville and built the University where Daddy and Mommy went.”
Beaming smile.
The next day, my last, three adults, two children, two strollers and my suitcase took the Tube to the Imperial War Museum.
Our goal was to see a special exhibit on rationing during and after World War II.
Camm was quite patient with us but what he really liked was the entrance hall where he was surrounded by tanks and submarines with airplanes overhead.
He pointed to a tank. “What is this amazing thing?’ he exclaimed to the amusement of a museum guard.
After lunch, it was time to say goodbye. Leaving friends is always a little sad. But didn’t we have a good time!

My neighborhood

When I decided to buy a house in Charlottesville in 1986, I only knew the City from a few short visits to my mother. I had few criteria. I wanted a duplex so I could rent one unit and keep the other for myself. My house needed to be on a bus line. And it had to “look like a place I’d like to live in”. The same good fairy that had watched over me 14 years earlier in Paris, when I looked for my first apartment, guided my steps to another wonderful place to live.
About 9 years before the Swedish banker and the French courtier started building my Paris quartier, a wealthy Virginian gave his son-in-law the land that was to become my Charlottesville neighborhood – though it did not even become part of Charlottesville until 1939. The lucky son-in-law was Frank Fry and, since the land contained a spring, useful not only as a water source but as a spa, the land became known as Fry’s Spring. Like other Charlottesville neighborhoods developed from old estates, it is still known by its “estate name” though the spring is now almost invisible unless you know where to look.
I know it's here somewhere....



Yes, I found the springs. Yes, my pants legs are wet because I fell through a rotten board as I was posing for my victory picture. No, I didn't hurt myself.



By the second half of the 19th century, much of this land had been bought by the Maury family. Stephen Price Maury had grandiose plans to turn the area into a recreational center complete with “a resort hotel, summer cottages, a lake, wide residential boulevards, and a circuitous rail car line.” This was to be a family vacation spot. Maury’s advertising brochure reassured future vacationers that the hotel, about two hundred yards from the clubhouse where people could enjoy the springs, would have “no bar room, billiard room or anything that could be objectionable in a family hotel.”





Alas for Stephen Maury , a nationwide real estate crash put an end to his dream. He went bankrupt and had to sell his hotel and most of his land. He did keep a home not too far from his dream hotel.



The hotel continued operating until it either burned down or was torn down (accounts vary) in 1910. But good land never goes to waste. The hotel site has a very different use today.



The land was developed into residential properties. Here are some of my favorites.









Fry’s Spring did continue as a recreational destination until about 1930. The “rail car line” never materialized but was replaced by a streetcar.



People flocked here in the summer months for picnics and dances. If I’d been here then, I’d have been able to see the Wonderland Corporation’s amusement park from my house (or at least hear it). I wonder how many of the residents of this quiet residential street are aware that 100 years ago, they’d have been in the middle of horse show grounds, baseball fields and a dance pavilion!



In 1920, the manager of the local movie theater built a large outdoor swimming pool on the site of Maury’s “Clubhouse”. Since the 1940s the grandly named Fry’s Spring Beach Club has been run as a private club (originally so it could sell liquor!) But it is more a neighborhood hangout than a country club. Thanks to two friends who are members, I spend many happy hours there during my summer sojourn each year.



Though I enjoy all of my Charlottesville stays, I have always had a special fondness for the neighborhood in the summer. I used to think it was just because of the luxuriant foliage of the huge trees in everybody’s yards, the lazy slowness of a hot Virginia summer and the peace of a University Town when the students are away. Since learning the neighborhood history, I’m sure that there’s more to it. I’m enjoying the echoes of over a hundred years of summer fun. No wonder it’s so hard to leave.