Hey Hemingway

For the first time in a very, very long time I have the chance to read as much and as long as I want. My french class is over, applications are in (almost) and my work has died down a bit for the online magazine. I've been through three books since arriving back in Paris and am now onto the fourth, ironically titled "The Paris Wife." I picked it up over break, intrigued by its Paris location and the story of Hemingway's (one of my favorite poets) first wife. 

So I am lying in bed, reading, and along comes the address of their first apartment: 74 Rue du Cardinal Lemoine. I couldn't believe it. It was right by my old place and two seconds away from my favorite American bakery where I basically lived my first two months here. Furthermore, the book also delved into how poor and gritty the area was at the time, full of peasants and commoners, and far removed from the intellectual expat scene that Hemingway eventually wound his way into. Ironically that area is now one of the most famous and beautiful in Paris, though it has barely changed. 

Mclain (author) related how Hemingway interacted with Ezra Pound and Gertrude Stein and that Gertrude Stein had visited Hemingway at 74 Cardinal Lemoine. GERTRUDE STEIN. On that street. I couldn't get over it. 

 Mclain also details Hadley's (Hemingway's first wife) wanderings through the streets of the Fifth, over Pont Sully, around Notre Dame and the tiny cobblestoned side streets where bodies huddled under piles of rags, sleeping off their drunk: the Paris homeless. I smiled at how little had changed, particularly the piles of rags sleeping off the night before. Sadly they fill the streets here at the same frequency as Boulangeries. 

I decided to go find 74 Rue du Cardinal Lemoine, mapping my run for the day around it. I hadn't been to my old area very much--even though I adore it--for fear of memories. I've learned that the overwhelming power of nostalgia can taint the way you view a city, particularly when a prior version of yourself, and your life, had found such happiness in one neighborhood. So in order to see Paris with new eyes and move on from the other life I had made here a few years ago, I avoided that area unless absolutely necessary. 

Winding my way past my old metro, apartment, and farmers market, up Rue Monge, past my old favorite bakery and down towards the Notre Dame put me in a daze and I was happy to veer off down some tiny street I had never seen. I imagined Hemingway and Hadley walking past the same doors and stones, as cheesy as it sounds, and to complete the picture a homeless man was curled up in a corner sleeping deeply with a half filled bottle of wine placed beside him. 

I doubled back and up Cardinal Lemoine to number 74. I had indeed walked by this building, multiple times. There was a huge plaque and a store beside it named, "Under Hemingway." I chuckled at how I had missed this blatant historical thing, and that it was right up the street from the American coffee shop where I had studied so intently and worked on my own poems and writings. It's funny how blind you can be at times. 

The old blue door was just like any other Paris apartment entrance: small, a bit weathered, heavy, but beautiful in its own right. I read the plaque, despite being interrupted by a crazy old woman smoking a cigarette and screaming horsely in my ear about God knows what, puffing her smoke into my face and jutting her teeth. She finally stopped once I took several giant steps to the side and put in my headphones. I watched her meander off, talking to herself and gesturing at the sky. Paris is always full of surprises.