An American (Holga) in Paris

What do you do when your digital camera leaves this mortal existence (whether by suicide, assassination, or natural causes I'll never know)?
Why, you take your plastic toy camera on the town, of course!

And there's no better place to soothe the grief-stricken heart of an amateur photographer than the Latin quarter. I checked.

First, I suggest the ever-looming towers of Notre Dame to play with some double-exposing and think about Victor Hugo. Did you know he had a fifty-year love affair? That's perserverance if I ever heard of it. Also, Gracie almost died in his house (slippery stairs and worn-out soles.)I had a conniption when I found out Charles Dickens had been in the same room in which I was standing. Pffff, forget Victor (gah! Just kidding! That felt awful).

This place is so photogenic. It never ceases to amaze me. 

I, on the other hand, am working on it:

Just off of Rue Mouffetard, the best, cutest street of all the streets

I make the camera go blurry.

Next, I suggest crossing the river for a magical time surrounded by ceiling-high stacks of books (In English!)at Shakespeare and Company [here].

It's too dark inside for little Miss Holga, but she was able to capture a little bit of the ambiance

Then, why not spend some more time with some of your favorite literary dead guys? You can visit them all at their final resting place in the incredible Panthéon (just a hop, skip, and a jump past the Sorbonne),which gives you a lovely panoramic view of your favorite city.

Also blurry, in case you didn't notice. I'm working on this.

 Here, Gracie was followed around by a lonely Polish man (and fellow lover of literature) who offered to buy her a drink if she guessed his country of origin. 

She guessed the Bahamas.

It's so hard to capture the beauty and charm and just feel of everything I'm experiencing. Especially with only this little plastic camera that's designed for 7 feet away max and prefers everything to be blurry (I mean it's an artistic choice...). I feel a bit like these lovers here. So smitten, but squished between gargantuan pillars that overshadow and consume me. There's no way to capture it, really. It speaks for itself.

 But I'll just say that the Latin Quarter is a haven of my favorite things: books, food, and Parisian beauty. What is was makes it what it is, and what is is is somewhere I will dearly miss.

Love, Pizza, and Voltaire,

Banana