Unlike the sentiments in the jazz standard by Vernon Duke and E. Y. Harburg, April in Paris is pretty miserable weather-wise. The air is damp and chilly, and we still wrap scarves around our necks against the cool gusts of wind.
But lately signs of a warmer spring are appearing; the days are longer, buds are beginning to show, sparrows have returned from their second homes somewhere down in the Midi, and circulars advertising new sushi and pizza restaurants fill the mailboxes.
The surest signs of spring are the filled café tables on the sidewalks. Like grumbling bears just awaking from a long hibernation, Parisians are lumbering outdoors from their caves and staggering to their tables on the sidewalks, scratching, stretching and yawning over their cafés and Canard Enchaîné, faces upturned to the sun. Amid the rumble of street traffic and the watery SWISH! of street cleaners’ brooms are the sounds of tinkling spoons in espresso cups and the clinking and fizz of Perrier poured into a glass. The ubiquitous sidewalk cafes are open.
I’ve traveled a bit around Europe but I’ve never encountered a café culture quite like here in Paris. Even in gray, chilly weather, large gas heaters are switched on near the tables to keep the out-of-doors patrons comfortable. It’s attached to the mindset of the French as nowhere else, like a barnacle on a steel-hulled battleship.
And the culture extends beyond the midmorning and midday break to lunches and dinners. Everyone jockeys to get the best available table outside on the sidewalk, in the sun (if desired) or beneath the awning, away from any sunshine. Friends gather and chat, lovers conspire, and business colleagues meet over beers, pastis, kir, coffee or a demi-carafe of a light rosé. Even in the cacophony of street noises — the jack-hammers and clunking scaffolding, automobile horns and rumbling buses, even the occasional motorcycle grinding its gears on the sidewalk next to you — the out-of-doors is where people want to be.
I’ve always wondered why this outdoor café culture never caught on in America. We love our coffee and we love our out-of-doors. Perhaps it’s our rush to get things done, as much as possible in one day, or between getting the kids to dance classes and sports events we tell ourselves “we don’t have the time” to sit and muse over a glass of something. We grab our lattés, dumping them into our thermal travel cups and plop them into the cup holder as we race off on our errands in cars and trucks (I did, I confess, purchase my last pick-up in Redding based on the quality of the air-conditioning and cup holder).
If we don’t have the time to stop smell the roses, we should at least find time to stop and sip the rosé and chill for a bit and think, like the French do, about what really matters … like what the hell we’re going to fix for dinner tonight.
Doug
Cushman is a former Redding artist and author who now lives and works in Paris. He was born in Springfield,Ohio,and moved to Connecticut with his family at the age of 15. In high school he created comic books lampooning his teachers, selling them to his classmates for a nickel apiece. Since 1978, he has illustrated and/or written more than 100 books for children and collected a number of honors, including a Reuben Award for Book Illustration from the National Cartoonists Society, New York Times Children’s Books Best Sellers, and the New York Public Library’s Best 100 Books of 2000. He enjoys hiking, kayaking and cooking (and eating!). Learn more at his website, doug-cushman.com.
