The Mystery of the Misplaced Cul-de-Sac at the Bibliothèque Centrale

Thursday, October 19th, 2023

Duncan and I woke up Thursday morning and decided on a simple plan for the day: 1) take the 11:15 am RER C train from Versailles into Paris and 2) search for some Parisian trees to hang out with. We’d looked at the satellite view of Paris on Google maps and zoomed in on all the green spaces we could see, finally deciding to head toward the Jardin des Plantes, a free outdoor botanical garden located in the 5th Arrondissement.

The 5th Arrondissement in Paris is home to the prestigious Sorbonne University, the Pantheon, and a collection of science and history museums. The 5th and 6th Arrondissements together make up what is called the Latin Quarter, so named because university studies here were conducted in Latin in the Middle Ages.

Looking forward to a nice, easygoing walk, Duncan and I got off the train at the Javel train stop, in the 15th Arrondissement, and then traipsed our way through random streets in a generally eastward direction toward the Jardin des Plantes.

After 30 minutes of walking, we crossed the high wrought iron gates at the park entrance. Finding ourselves surrounded by happy green plants on every side, we took deep, relieved breaths of fresh air. As fun as it was to meander up and down the city streets, passing by delightful shops and restaurants, we also found our suburban lungs burning a bit from the sudden, concentrated exposure to the vehicle exhaust, sewer fumes, and cigarette smoke that come with the urban environment.

(Tip: Later in our Europe trip, we found some relief from the pollution of the cities we visited by bringing along face masks to pop on whenever we’d walk through heavy pollution zones. Very helpful!)

The air temperature was beginning to rise under the midday sun. Still very pleasant, but all the same, we welcomed the cool shade of the spreading tree branches above us. As we read the informational plaques sprinkled throughout the garden, we learned that some of the trees here were over 300 years old!

I looked up into a magnificent maple tree, brought from Asia by botanist Joseph Pitton de Tournefort and planted in this garden in 1702, and my mind began to drift. This particular maple tree had survived in this same spot through the rise and fall of monarchies, through scores of revolutions, and through multiple world wars. Through the exuberance of cultural renaissance and through the relative quiet in times of peace, its branches had continued to spread and its roots had continued to drive deeper into the soil.

If I were a practiced poet, I’d have dropped down right there in front of this tree and written a sonnet to it. Instead, I contented myself with standing still and imagining its story. Here’s to many more years, amazing tree!

The park benches were nearly all inhabited—old men sitting quietly and looking at the trees, young professionals on lunch break, and little groups of talkative university students on class breaks. A handful of folks were just lying in the grass in the sun, taking cat naps. It was a joy to step into this shared space and enjoy it alongside these Parisian residents going about their lives.

After a morning of slowly sipping my water (I’d learned my lesson this past Tuesday not to overdo it on water before going into the city), I was in search of a restroom. Duncan found a library close by on Google Maps, and we decided to pop in to find a bathroom there before maybe poking around the library for a bit.

Restroom having been visited, we then had to pass by a desk with a security guard in order to access the actual library space. As there were no signs on the desk telling us to stop or scan a card or do anything in particular, I figured the security guard was simply sitting there, you know—just in case?

We exchanged some niceties in French, and I asked if it was okay for us to go upstairs. She said yes. Everything was going swimmingly—I sounded “French enough” to make it through all these interactions without a hitch and without comment from the security guard, asking where I was from or how long I was visiting, etc.

I smiled to myself—sometimes, when I’m speaking in French, which is my second language, I feel a little like a secret agent on some kind of stealth mission. (Playing secret agents with my siblings was one of my favorite childhood games, so this isn’t surprising.) It’s always a fun challenge to see if I can use my French well enough to get away with Europeans not being able to guess where I’m from. Had I maybe even fooled this security guard into thinking I could be a native French speaker?

A moment later, she and I had both paused and were looking at each other, quite perplexed. Hmm, I think I missed something.

She had said yes, we could go upstairs but then had stood up at the same time and gestured behind me toward the stairs, saying “cul-de-sac.”

At least… that’s what I honestly thought she’d said.

I was so confused. An expression like cul-de-sac would be oddly informal to hear in a dignified setting like a library. Maybe she was telling us that this spot in the library was a dead-end, like one of those “you can’t get there from here” situations?

I had to ask her to repeat herself… two more times. The final time, as the utter stupefaction in my eyes met the incredulity in hers, I sensed the last shreds of my pride shriveling up and then disappearing into oblivion. Poof. Not getting that back anytime soon.

My secret agent cover was as good as blown. She may not have been able to guess my nationality, but at this point, I didn’t really want to know what she was thinking about me. It was time to bring out the big guns… a little humility.

I gasped out in French, a touch more desperately than I’d have wished, I’m SO sorry—I speak English, and I’m trying really hard to understand. These words immediately broke the spell—the annoyance on her face disappeared in a flash, replaced by a good-natured grin of understanding. With a chuckle, she said “Ah, je dois juste verifier votre sac.” (I just need to check your bag.)

Oooooooh my gosh, of course, I thought, as I internally face-palmed a half-dozen times. Not cul-de-sac, of course—she’d actually been saying “controle des sacs,” which means “bag checkpoint.” I’d thought she’d been gesturing towards the stairs behind me, but she’d actually been pointing to my bag.

Well, that was awkward, I thought, but no real harm done… except to my pride. After the quick bag check, she smiled at us again and said we could go upstairs now.

My cheeks were burning a bit as we walked up the staircase, but I pushed myself to smile and laugh at myself. A little humble pie is good for you here and there, Ingrid. On the landing way, we cautiously pushed open the door to the library space. The librarian at the desk asked in French if we had a reservation. Oh no, I thought, what have I misunderstood now?! Wasn’t this a library?!

We said we were just visiting in the area and wondered if it was okay for us stop by. The librarian kindly explained that this was a research library, so visitors aren’t usually permitted. But then he leaned forward confidentially and whispered in French, but since you’re already up here, go ahead and take 2 minutes to walk around, okay? I don’t mind. How kind of him!

I suspect my IQ drifted upward by a few points as I walked past the researchers, towards the book shelves by the windows. I wondered what each researcher was studying. And how did each of them end up here in Paris?

At 2 minutes on the dot, we thanked the gracious librarian, headed back down the stairs, said goodbye and thank you to the security guard, and were on our way.

We sat down on the stairs outside the library to take a little break. You know the word “testy?” The Oxford Dictionary defines it as feeling “easily irritated, impatient, and somewhat bad-tempered.” So I guess you could say I was feeling a little testy at this point. It was a perfect storm of travel circumstances: jet lag, fatigue and frustration from trying to communicate in my second language, sore feet, a slight dehydration headache, etc. Traveling is such a privilege and a joy to do, but it’s also true that it can throw your body and emotions into a bit of a tizzy.

After a nice sit break, a pear snack, some microscopic sips of water, and a hug, we felt recharged and ready to find some lunch. At this point in the day, dozens of university-aged students were lining up at the cheapest, quickest street food restaurants to pick up lunch. I decided on a chicken shawarma wrap from Saveurs d’ailleurs (“Flavors from Elsewhere”), and Duncan ordered a veggie pizza from an Italian spot next door.

We walked back to the boulevard of museums to enjoy our lunch in the shade and to people-watch. Jogging groups were running laps around the museum loop and chatting good-naturedly. A dozen school groups (probably all on field trips to the museums) were planting themselves at intervals under the shade trees for lunch. A gaggle of sandwich-wielding 7-year olds were squealing as they attempted to play tag while eating—that is, until their teachers got wise to their shenanigans.

After lunch, we thought we’d try to find the Sorbonne. We purposely walked more slowly today. We didn’t have anywhere in particular to be, so why rush? We walked past the Pantheon and the Sorbonne University before landing in the Luxembourg Gardens. Even mid-fall, there were still so many beautifully colored flowers! What a feast for the eyes. We found some chairs to sit down and look at the flowers.

Luxembourg Gardens

As we planned our transit home (using Google Maps and the SNCF website), we noticed that the RER C was unavailable for some reason. So we switched plans and headed over to the Gare Montparnasse where we hopped on the N line, a gorgeous, brand new shiny train. The huge Montparnasse train station was really impressive and even had a shopping mall inside!

I so appreciated how easy it was to use the weekly electronic passes we’d purchased for transit in Paris. Changes to plan were much less stressful this way because we hadn’t bought any particular kinds of tickets ahead of time. No stress trying to get refunds. All transit we used this week was included in the single $35-ish fee we paid.

When we got back to the apartment, we packed up our bags. Tomorrow would be a full travel day as we headed to Florence, Italy for 2 weeks. I was relieved that the clothes we’d washed two days earlier were finally dry. Until this morning, we hadn’t realized that the dehumidifier in the apartment had gotten full and turned off earlier in the week. With all the rain we’d gotten, the air in the apartment had ended up very damp, making it nearly impossible for our clothes to dry in the small space.

Tip: if you’re traveling in France and planning to do laundry: keep in mind that most of the places you’ll stay at likely won’t have a dryer. In Europe, it’s much more common to hang dry your clothes. (During our 2-ish months in Europe, only 1 of our 10 AirBnbs had a dryer.)

We decided that going forward, as much as possible, we’d just keep our dirty laundry in a separate bag inside our luggage and then just wash it all as soon as we arrived at our next AirBnb. This way, the items could dry at their leisure, and we wouldn’t end up having to pack wet laundry in our suitcases. This system ended up working well for us throughout the rest of our trip.

As Duncan and I shared some of the things we were grateful we got to do during our few days in Paris, we both realized how much we’d enjoyed the adventuring—and also how much we were looking forward to settling back into a daily workday routine once we were in Italy. For now, it was time for sleep. Big travel day tomorrow.