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Chapter 10
There was so much to see on the drive to the 10th arrondissement, it was like discovering a whole different side to Paris, one that hadn’t been photographed 100 times over. I noticed little details along the way, like the woman polishing the counter in an empty boulangerie and the colourful, wooden toys in the window of a quirky little toy shop. I loved the feeling of darting round the city, being able to zip down the narrow streets that cars would struggle to navigate. I was almost disappointed when we pulled up next to a cobbled quayside.
‘This is where I spend much of my time,’ said Léo, pointing downstream. ‘In these cafés along here. There is a juice bar selling very delicious smoothies, can you see? And over there is an exhibition space and gallery, they have some very cool new artists showing there.’
The area was already bustling with locals sitting outside restaurants and coffee shops on those quintessentially French woven chairs. Waiters in white aprons whipped in and out of doorways carrying plates of eggs and toast and coffee. It was obviously a popular running spot, too, because I counted at least twenty people jogging past in the space of a minute. Across the other side of the canal, a group of young guys were cheering and laughing, enjoying an early-morning basketball game.
‘What did you say this place is called?’ I asked him.
‘Canal Saint-Martin,’ he said. ‘The canal was built by Napoleon in the early 1800s to bring fresh drinking water in to Paris.’
I picked up my camera and took some pictures of the smooth, dark green water that was so still it looked like glass.
‘How far does it go?’ I asked.
‘Until it reaches the Seine. But a little further along, at Place de la Republique, it goes underground for two kilometres, into these dark, eerie tunnels. You can take a boat there.’
I took a photo of a sightseeing boat against a backdrop of some very cool graffiti, and then I turned to look upstream and captured a boxy block of flats framed by a canopy of plane trees.
‘You know the song Les Mômes de la Cloche?’ said Léo, resting his back on the railings next to me.
I took a nice shot of three buildings in the distance, just on the bend of the canal: they were painted in mint green, pink and sunshine yellow, one after the other, like a trio of gelato.
‘Never heard of it.’
‘Édith Piaf sang a version of it. It is about the Canal Saint Martin and the children who lived on the streets here. There is this one line that says: When death takes us, it’s the most beautiful day of our lives.’
‘Jesus,’ I said, putting my hand on my chest.
He smiled. ‘You do not like sad songs?’
‘No,’ I said. ‘Is that what you write?’
He shook his head dismissively. ‘Not really. You are hungry?’
I narrowed my eyes at him. ‘Are you changing the subject?’
‘Absolutely not,’ he said innocently. ‘Now let us get back to you. You need to eat, non?’
‘I’m fine,’ I said, looking at him suspiciously. He was definitely avoiding something.
‘It was not your stomach I heard growling?’ he said.
‘Can’t have been,’ I lied. ‘Anyway, I can eat at the wedding.’
He looked at me as though I was mad. ‘That is hours away, Hannah.’
I rifled around in my bag finding a tube of old chewing gum in the bottom. That would stave off hunger for now. ‘You like your food, then, I see,’ I said, offering him the pack.
‘Of course. You don’t?’ he said, taking one and throwing it into the air, catching it in his open mouth.
‘Sure. But I don’t think about it every second of the day.’
I didn’t know why I couldn’t admit how hungry I was. It was a pride thing, I thought: I didn’t want him feeling sorry for me, or feeling obligated to buy me something.
‘Come,’ said Léo, motioning for me to follow him.
I stayed where I was. ‘Where are you going?’
