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Travel Piece  by Ida Nasatir

Letter from Paris,  by Ida Nasatir, September 22, 1950

September 22, 1950—Ida Nasatir, "A Letter from Paris," Southwestern Jewish Press, page 2:  August 15, 1950—Dear Julia and Mac: One need not be here long to know that Paris is, above all, a woman's town. I do not mean that it is not also a delightful town for men. But in the aspects of its shops one is perpetually reminded that Paris much more than (say) London, ministers to the amusement of shopping—a specifically feminine employment. I still remember the number of shops in the capital on the Thames which are essentially men's shops. But Paris is always murmuring "Place aux dames!" I like to recall that many women of San Diego have the same appreciation for the fashionable and the "chic."  The world renown Rue-de-la-Paix is not big enough to contain all the dressmakers. As you "discover" the Avenue l'Opera and the Rue de Rivoli, you find that the courturiers have spread here as well. Still the Rue de la Paix is the true home of the mode, and its elegant perfumers' and jewelers' shops, its furriers and milliners and shoemakers, it remains the temple of fashion.  Here is an Aladdin's palace, with every conceivable luxury. There is something peculiar in French taste—supreme ingenuity, perfection in detail—which makes Paris the undisputed mistress of fashion.  In the midst of this dedication to the world of Jeanne Lanvin and Lucien Lelong, to Jaques Fath and Jean Patou (world famous designers) one would think athat all is centered about the young and well dressed. This is far from the truth, for one sees so many old women here. I doubt whether there is any other place in the world where old women are so actively a part of life. They cackle together around the market stalls in the early morning. I got up one morning (too early!) to watch them.  They push wheelbarrow carts full of flowers, and carrots, and peaches from street ot street; and with necks hunched in black knitted shawls they scurry in front of omnibuses and clamber in and out of trams. With arms akimbo they swear great oaths at children who annoy them; they stop to wag their heads and chuckle at lovers on benches in the park—for they remember that they were once young. They are full of infirmities, but they do not stay home and nurse themselves. They are eager to enjoy to the last moment the full life around them.  And it seems to me, they are all religious. They wear crucifixes and nickel saints. I've seen them sitting (often dozing) over their sins in dark chapels of old churches, or hobble from station to station clutching by the hand some awe-struck child who dimly wonders at the pale candles and stares curiously at grandmere's gaudy saints. Or they may be seen sitting much of the day beside some sanctuary, selling candles or holy beads, their wizened faces buried in the study of the latest modes in a fashion paper.  Yes indeed. Paris is a woman's town! —Lovingly, Ida Nasatir, American Express Co., 11 Rue Schribe, Paris, France.