rue Saint Blaise
The further I climbed, the narrower the street became. I crossed rue des Pyrénées. I continued to climb. The sidewalk widened. I saw the church, rising up on the left-hand side of the street. I turned to the right, just as my guide had said. I found myself on a quiet street paved with small stones. The buildings were low – two stories, three at the most. I looked back at the church, which sits at the head of this little street, the rue Saint Blaise. Suddenly, I was transported to a small village in deepest France. There was only foot traffic. The noise of Paris, with its buses and motorcycles, was muted. The apartment towers that usually loom overhead were not to be seen.