Meet Jeff, of Montmartre

While on a layover in Paris, I made a lunch appointment with Laeti to bring her swimming towels she forgot last summer. She had a small studio at the foot of Montmartre, in the IXeme arrondissement, and I was happy to visit a new area of Paris. From the metro Notre Dame de Lorette, we grabbed a small lunch in a Chinese restaurant in her street, and walked leisurely towards the Sacre Coeur, seen here and there between the buildings.

The weather was somewhat sunny and not warm enough to make us sweat, due to a chilly wind lingering under the shades. We strolled slowly, window shopped, caught up on work and the election results. She showed me the cafe des 2 moulins, from the movie Amelie, and we admired the rooftop gardens and the view on Paris from the heights of the streets. I also took note of the different eateries and bakeries along the way, reminding myself I was not hungry.

After a nice windmill at a corner (le moulin de la Galette, which inspired the painting by Renoir), which is now an expensive garden restaurant, my eyes suddenly were staring with fascination at a window displaying an amazingly detailed maquette of a ranch. Inside, someone was motioning invitedly and opened the door. I hesitantly entered the gallery, while whispering to Laeti how I always end up in weird situations like these.

I was fascinated by the maquette, and he seemed eager to find out whether we were artists, which we were not. But he played on my vanity and insisted I was one, since I write, sometimes paint int he middle of the night, and play music (for only myself). He described the maquette in details, indicating the inside of the cabin, which has  dining table with drawers, and inside there are things too, or how the moss is growing, and that it is a hobby of his to make this little ranch. It is a maquette of about 2x1m and the details extend to the mouse in the rocks of the well, or the bird's nest in the tree that contains eggs, or the toilet paper roll in the toilet outside the cabin.

And much like the expat American that he is, he invited us in the back of the shop, where a sunny room with a chimney was occupied by the double bed, and the back garden was seen through old Provencal ceiling to floor windows. Outside had an air of south of France, with a "ceci n'est pas un cafe" colorful store referring to René Magritte's "ceci n'est pas une pipe".  It didn't feel like Paris, wit Bob the cat shyly evading our caresses between pots of plants of a cozy English garden.

He said the backyard kept him sane and brings him joy and calm. I understood and agreed with his point of view, and could only marvel at his achievement of getting this haven of peace and quiet in the middle of Paris. His encounter was one that I remember for his  detailed ranch, which I could look at for hours.

While leaving Jeff's gallery, I was somehow struck with this thought:
" My ideal man would fascinate me this much, in his work and peculiarity, his passion, and artistry"

I was glad Jeff was married and too old to my taste, because I am still superficial despite my nerdiness....