Hôtel De Nice

The first time I went to Paris (1997), we stayed here on the rue de Rivoli, near the Hôtel de Ville. Our third story room overlooked a little square that hosted four restaurants. [Scrape! Scrape! Scrape! Scrape! Scrape!] early every morning, as the servers moved all the tables and chairs into place for lunch. [Scrape! Scrape! Scrape! Scrape! Scrape!] late every night, as the servers removed and stacked all the furniture to clear the square. And during business hours, for vast stretches of time, an Edith Piaf interpreter would stand bleating into her portable microphone, her vibrato rattling rapidly, as though she were singing into and through fan blades rotating on the “HI” setting. We didn’t know whether to scream with vexation or to laugh. It all formed a sort of sonic universe that always comes to mind and evokes nostalgic affection whenever I think of the Marais.