EXCERPT FROM SARA’S JOURNAL
September 18, 1999
Chambre de Bonne
We're looking for a place to stay in Paris -- a place to spend our
final week abroad before returning to Canada. When my friend Suzanne spent
part of her Canadian Literary Prize for Poetry on a summer here she found
a tiny room on the seventh floor of a typical Bourgeois home in the sixth arrondissment,
or borough. Paris is divided into these districts by way of a spiral, with
the first arrondissment at the centre of the city, and winding
itself outward to the outskirts. Because the arrondissments are relatively
small for such a large metropolis, one can easily walk from district to
district and take in the unique flavours of each. The Tour Eiffel teeters
above the seventh arrondissment; the Musee de Louvre in the in the centre; the Opera
around the eighth, and the Sorbonne University is in the fifth. The fifth
arrondissment is also where you'll find the oldest street in Paris- the
Rue Mouffetard -- a Roman road that now crawls with a daily vegetable market and
small shops. The fifth arrondissment juts against the botanical Jardin du
Luxembourg, the shopping Mecca Boulevard Sainte Michel, left bank
intellectual cafes like the Deux Magots and the Cafe de Flore. The fifth
arrondissement is where we've ended up.
I'm standing before a woman in a black dress -- red lips, cool
eyes. She's a tourist agent. I'm trying to explain about a
chambre de
bonne -- or "good room" -- the type of room explained to me by
Suzanne -- it's cheap, with a kitchen, perfect for travelers who are
looking for something more authentic than any hotel. She crinkles up
her nose, and then her expression turns to pity. "Oh no, no,
no", she sighs. "This room is very sad. Very sad. This room is
up seven floors and the roof is like this." She's motioning her
arm in a slanted, sideways gesture -- like a ski slope. "This room is
very small. No, you don't want this sad room. There is no
elevator." I nod my head with encouragement. "Yes, that's
right, that's what we want. A Chambre de Bonne. Can we rent one for the
week?" The tourist agent reaches into a drawer and reveals a brochure
entitled Paris Lodgings - Apartments and Townhouses for Foreigners
Living
in Paris. "This is better", she coos.
Within an hour we're here in the fifth, behind the solid bourgeois door
of an 18th century rowhouse, up only three flights but still ducking
dormers. The walk-up is a groove of dented marble stairs and ill-fitting
windows. Our hostess lives in the apartment next door. She's having
problems with her computer. After some troubleshooting, a
conversation about Quebec, and a Visa swipe: "If you need anything, I'll
be right here. Go to the fruit stand on the left side of the street, it's
better. And have a wonderful time in Paris."
