People in Paris love artists. I received more smiles, more kind glances, and space was made for me wherever I stood when I was sketching. (Except for the guide in the Sainte-Chapelle, but admittedly I did offend him).
We had a lunch at a place on Rue Mouffetard, old and charming as can possible be. The sign over the doorway read "Ernest Hemingway lived in this building from 1921 to 1925" and if that isn't enough , "in this house died on 8 January 1896 the poet Paul Verlaine".
The restaurant was named La Maison de Verlaine. My great moment came when the owner walked by my table and looked at my sketches. He then brought me a guestbook that he presumably keeps for more famous people to sign. And he asked me to draw in his book and sign it. So I sketched the scene from where I sat, tables, wine bottles, plant growing in the window, random memorabilia on the wall. I left that sketch there! I was so flattered.
