Remembrance of things past

School's out: West entrance to Luxembourg Gardens.

Every time I visit Paris, an overwhelming sense of nostalgia pulls me to the western edge of the Luxembourg Gardens, the single basketball hoop there and the unassuming Rue de Fleurus just steps away. In 1974, my siblings and I roamed the city unchaperoned, like young wolves. Most mornings we emerged from the Rennes metro stop on Boulevard Raspail and walked to our language school, a Chinese Deer Brand basketball tucked under my arm. Aside from some electric-car charging stations, the Rue de Fleurus is unchanged. It is still filled with antique-book sellers and cafes, and the ecole where I learned to say "Marco reads a book" and "My car is long."

My court. Luxembourg Gardens.

No experience shaped my aesthetic sense more than living in Paris from late November 1973 till Bastille Day 1974. I saw a streaker dash across a stage at a panel discussion on Watergate, witnessed students protest the overthrow of Chile's Salvador Allende, watched a shocked France learn that Pompidou had died, tuned in to the presidential debates on Channel 1 and, in my first political prognostication, said of Valery Giscard d'Estaing: "This guy's gonna win." I had just turned 15.

Notre ecole. Closed on Saturday. Security screen was there in 2008, but the sign has been added since.

It was here that I scoured the city's independent cinemas, seeing "Paper Moon," "Midnight Cowboy," "Punishment Park," and, in a Pigalle theater no bigger than my living room, sat on a folding chair and watched "The Abominable Doctor Phibes" starring Vincent Price. My brother and I hid in a bathroom to avoid paying the readmission fee during a 3-film Robert Redford festival. We must have been in the theater 7 hours. One of the screenings was "Tell Them Willie Boy Is Here."

Today I saw Tony Richardson's "Loneliness of the Long Distance Runner" at Le Champo cinema in the 5th Arrondissement. Truffaut used to hang out here, as did director Claude Chabrol. I used to have this movie on VHS and hadn't seen it in 20 years. When I couldn't make out Tom Courtenay's East Midlands dialect, the French subtitles served as an unexpected translation! Funny how things work out.

Line forms for "Loneliness of the Long Distance Runner" at Le Champo cinema.

On the subway in Paris, it is not unusual to see several people in the same car reading a real book. Parisians get excited about new movies and the latest Lewis Trondheim comic. They know at what temperature every wine deserves to be served, and which cheese goes with it. They are courteous, kind, and talk to one another, and it is such a privilege to be here again.