Tea and Tattered Pages

Having dinner with my parents last week, we started talking of the time I worked in Paris. Looking back, I realise how much independance I was given. How many parents would allow their 17 year old daughter to live alone in Paris for a couple of months, holding down a full-time job, merely for the chance to exercise her French language skills? (Of course they didn't forsee Geriatric Patrick, but then I didn't choose to enlighten them so everyone's happy).

The conversation sent me meandering down memory lane, and fondly paused at the doors of Tea and Tattered Pages...

This is my ultimate favourite bookstore. For those who have read my rant about Waterstones et al. imagine for a moment the antithesis of those bookstores and you will have an idea of this wonderful little shop.

On my way to work one day I saw a panel advert in a free magazine they give out in the Metro advertising an English language bookstore, located on rue Mayat near Montparnasse. I was hungering for English by this time so the very next saturday I sought it out.

For those who don't know, rue Mayet in the 6th Arondissement is extremely suburban. With growing trepidation I passed along the silent streets entirely made up of quiet houses - no shops in sight - and wondered if I had made some sort of mistake. Then I saw it. Or rather, I saw the higgledy-piggledy pile of books on a little wooden crate. I looked up at the sign and saw the legend Tea and Tattered Pages.

It was tiny, yet held thousands of books. Some without covers, some ancient leather-bound types, some pulp-fiction and some in nearly-new condition. They were everywhere - squashed in shelves, on racks outside, piled in columns on the floor, heaped at the edges of the iron-work spiral staircase and balanced on top of bookshelves. There were a couple of people avidly reading books, and there was a quiet, peaceful, dusty air of companiable calm. A soft squawk made me turn around to stare into the face a benign looking parrot. I was utterly charmed already, but then I heard the clink of a tea cup. I looked towards the back and saw that there was a shabby-genteel tea room. I say tea room, but it was just a few little round tables and chairs surrounded by, yes, more books. I quickly scooted over and sat down and was delighted to have a choice of English teas (if you're familiar with French 'tea' you can imagine my excitement), brownies and fruit cakes. I placed an order with the smiling lady and promptly fragrant leaf tea in a pretty teapot with mis-matching teacup and saucer arrived. She told me to grab a book and have a read while I drank my tea which I duly did. A couple of hours later I drifted out of the book shop with several dog-eared tomes and an amazing feeling of contentment.

Needless to say Tattered Pages became a frequent haunt of mine, and is still to this day my ideal of a perfect bookshop. I sincerely hope it hasn't changed at all, and if you're ever in Paris, look it up and give it my love.