La Fermeture Annuelle

Paris in August is an equivocal experience. One thinks of the empty spaces of the Tuileries, marked by strolling tourists or perhaps a gravely pacing priest; of rumpled watchmen sitting morosely in the galleries of the Louvre; of American widows writing letters at the little tables in the salons of of the France et Choiseul. The grand restaurants are closed, but there are a few idiosyncratic bistros that have stayed open during the dog days of summer. There, the tourists glare at each other’s intrusive presence and hope the waiter won’t ask them if they desire ketchup. If you know someone who has a house in Senlis, you might be invited out for a long, beautiful lunch in the shade under the linden trees.

Up on the Avenue Marceau, near the Etoile, a place that jumps is Louis Vuitton. Vuitton luggage is one thing in Paris that is considerably cheaper than it is in the United States, and it attracts shoppers like flies, to the point where they are often willing to line up on the sidewalk outside the staid premises for a turn at the counters—although people in coats and ties still get waited on ahead of the T-shirts. French Vuitton is far superior (if only in the imagination) to what is made under license in California. The “hard stuff,” that is the luggage covered with the essential brass hardware, is made only in France still. Who ever thought it would be necessary to be snobbish about suitcase factories?

NK

About the Author

Nicholas King

Featured Tags

Paris in August is an equivocal experience. One thinks of the empty spaces of the Tuileries, marked by strolling tourists or perhaps a gravely pacing priest; of rumpled watchmen sitting morosely in the galleries of the Louvre; of American widows writing letters at the little tables in the salons of of the France et Choiseul. The grand restaurants are closed, but there are a few idiosyncratic bistros that have stayed open during the dog days of summer. There, the tourists glare at each other’s intrusive presence and hope the waiter won’t ask them if they desire ketchup. If you know someone who has a house in Senlis, you might be invited out for a long, beautiful lunch in the shade under the linden trees.

Up on the Avenue Marceau, near the Etoile, a place that jumps is Louis Vuitton. Vuitton luggage is one thing in Paris that is considerably cheaper than it is in the United States, and it attracts shoppers like flies, to the point where they are often willing to line up on the sidewalk outside the staid premises for a turn at the counters—although people in coats and ties still get waited on ahead of the T-shirts. French Vuitton is far superior (if only in the imagination) to what is made under license in California. The “hard stuff,” that is the luggage covered with the essential brass hardware, is made only in France still. Who ever thought it would be necessary to be snobbish about suitcase factories?