By Jerina Zaloshnja
Where is this darn bistro? It’s the second time I have gone up and down Rue Mouffetard, checking every single shop, restaurant and brasserie sign … I asked people walking by too … I am tired! It’s noon, and I am hungry.
Dressed heavily with a fur coat (fake, of course) loaded with a heavy bag and, of course, with some of Li’s purchases, wearing Prada glasses that feel like they weigh a kilo on the back of my nose, with feet boiling hot under fur boots I had purchased for our weekend in Paris – even-though it wasn’t that hot outside, about 10 degrees, I was about to pass out in exhaustion.
I clearly remember the phone call from M. She told me exactly to get on Sorbonne, moving up to Rue Mouffetard. “That’s where you’ll find it,” she said. It will be one of those holes in the wall that you like so much, Li complains. It fact, based on M.’s description, “Le Verre Volà©” would be indeed a simple hole in the wall, in one of those street corners, a typical Parisian bistro with wine, cheese and typical bistro fare.
“There are no more than five or six tables, with chefs that come around with big plates and wine that sings to the soul. You sit down at noon and leave at six in the afternoon,” M. had said. “That’s enough to get you fully drunk, feeling like the happiest person in town. But, be careful, you need a reservation.”
“This bistro of yours must have a website,” Li says. Yes, “Le Verre Volà©” did have a website. But it was missing a phone number and information on how to book a table. All it listed were the hours it was open: Lunch 12-14:30, dinner 18:30-23:00. We still have time.
“If you’d like to get to know old Paris, the real old city, go and get a taste of ‘Le Verre Volà©,’” M. had said emphatically.
And who would be enough of a fool not to want to get to know old Paris, the real one, the Paris of the Parisians, not the one of recent arrivals or that of the tourists.
A woman walks toward me.
– “Pardon madame, could you please tell me where I can find a small bistro,” I say moving my body so far in politeness I am about to fall over. “Le Verre Volà©.”
She stops a little, looks at me surprised, her eyes smile, lighting up more than normal. And if you think I am lying, I have Li as a witness.
– “Compliments on your selection,” the woman tells me, and starts to give me detailed directions.
I could figure out little more than the fact that “Le Verre Volà©” is somewhere near Canal St Martin and not where we stood. I was filled with joy!
First, not only had I not embarrassed myself, but in fact I had asked the right questions, leading straight into a soft spot in the heart of a Parisian. Second, Li now understood that going to “Le Verre Volà©” was not just a whim on my end, but it was in fact, how do I put it, getting to know a real institution of Parisian life, becoming part of a certain circle of people, for example, being one of those who know how to enjoy life. Third, we were still on time. We could make it there!
– “Let’s grab a taxi,” says Li. Three are coming our way at once. Li puts up her hand, calls out softly. One slams on the brakes, stopping at our feet. Not even ten minutes later we are standing on the right corner. I glimpse at the rundown storefront of “Le Verre Volà©,” as small, old and charming as I had thought. I get inside! I feel like I’ll suffocate from how real what I have imagined is.
Have you ever had a situation where what you have imagined is exactly what reality presents? It has happened to me! –“La Vere Volà©” is the perfect example, with the exception that instead of the five or six wooden tables, there were wine barrels. You get to drink and eat on a barrel. Only two were taken by other patrons. The rest were free.
A young man heads my way.
-“Good afternoon madame,” he says unsmiling.
-“Good afternoon lad,” I say with a smile, trying to look younger and more attractive, and more polite than I am.
-“I am here from R. with a friend of mine,” I say nodding my head toward Li, who immediately takes on an irresistible pose, “I am here just for you, this weekend in Paris.”
– “And?!”
– “Can we grab something simple to eat?”
– “No madame, we’re closed,” the unsmiling man says curtly.
– “Why not?”
I look at at my watch. It’s 14:15! Fifteen minutes before the places is scheduled to close.
-“That’s not true,” I tell him, looking at my Chinese-made watch. “It says on your website you close at 2:30!”
-“No, no, no madame, that’s an old website, we no longer use it. We close at 2.”
It was an obvious lie! The chefs were all there! I could see them on the other side of the glass. The customers sitting at the two occupied barrels looked at us unbothered, with foggy eyes from the wine.
-“Please,” I try once more. I have rarely seen a type of man so unwilling to negotiate. In my language, we call his type a gdhe, a bonehead! The bonehead then showed me the exit and loudly shut the door behind my back. Prraf!
We were back on the street. I think I mentioned earlier that were were hungry. We were in luck as two steps away we found a brasserie. We ordered two duck breasts in mushroom cream and a bottle of Burgundy. Our plane did not leave until midnight, so we took our time. From Canal St Martin to Montparnasse, and most importantly to Palais Garnier to visit again. From there, we headed to the airport.
Neither that afternoon nor during the return trip did we talk about what happened — the total 100 percent refusal at “Le Verre Volà©.” It was as if we had not started the trip with in mind alone, as if becoming part of the clientele of the “Le Verre Volà©” was not important at all!
It’s not like that at all. I’ve been fixating on on the shut door of that small bistro in a Paris corner. I’m bothered by the inability to try what I wanted. I feel bad about the refusal. Sometimes I tell myself that the feeling of being on the barrel, if they would allow me in as a customer, would be different than what I’d imagined. It could also be exactly as I had imagined. You never know.
What I know for sure, is that I now have only two options: Either to ignore it, as if the “Le Verre Volà©” never existed with the shut door in that corner of no importance; or return to it over and over and over … get back to that bonehead too, 100 percent, just like he shut me out – to return, determined with the type of perseverance that I don’t easily find in myself, until I open that darn door, until I can make it inside!
PS: “Le Verre Volà©” is the title of my new Tirana Times section.
