“Lost your way, have you?” chuckled a voice behind me. I turned to find a woman selling flowers, her face a roadmap of Paris’s history. “Looking for Rue du Puisard? Ah, it’s gone now, swallowed by the city’s ambition.” She pointed a gnarled finger towards a wide avenue. “The grand Rue des Écoles stands where it once was. A bustling street full of students and scholars. But before their classrooms, stood the Rue du Puisard. It took its name from a well, you see, a ‘bon puits’, that quenched the thirst of this neighborhood. Imagine, in those days, water was life, and this street, a lifeline.” She tossed a sprig of lavender into my basket. “The city may forget its small streets, but their stories linger like the scent of these flowers. Don’t you forget that.”
Центральный дом работников искусств
Step through the grand wooden doors of the Central House of the Workers of Art, and you’ll be transported to