The Old Neighborhood

Took Nick up to Montmartre yesterday. We made a b-line from our hotel on Rue de Paix to Place de Clichy, which was sort of the back entrance to my old neighborhood.

Looks like Brasserie Wepler got a new awning. Aside from that, P.d.C. remains the same buzzing, gritty, loose, border-of-Pigalle roundabout that I knew, loved and wrote about once upon a time.

Place de Clichy, and Boulevard St. Ouen, which spurs north from it, are parts of Paris that don't get much guidebook attention. There's a layer of dirt on the buildings. Sidewalks are gum-pocked. The faces you see walking up and down the boulevard are darker. Residents are as likely to be central and north African as they are to be home-grown Frenchies. Trannies populate the cafes. Sorry, but you just don't see that in the inner ring of arrondisements.

Oh, and my favorite Zinc bar now has a full blown OTB. Nick and I stopped in to get some hot water for formula and change from the Spitfire to our Lascal perforate-lined baby carrier. It was Friday and a lively crowd of middle aged and older gentlemen appeared to be blowing some portion of their pensions on the ponies.

From the Zinc bar it was a quick walk up Rue Etex (always loved that name) to 71 Rue Ganneron, my old home. I was tempted to ring the doorbell to see if Delphine, who'd leased me her apartment, wanted to get a drink. But then I recalled that Laika had scratched up her front door the day before we left. Best to let sleeping dogs lie (or something like that).

- 71 rue Ganneron