I like to buy notebooks and pencils and paper as my souvenirs. There’s always the faint, almost imperceptible, hope that the purchase will inspire me to write something pithy although my penmanship, having been twenty years removed from regular exercise, is so poor that any true insight would be lost to obfuscation. It’s unclear how I was ever able to fill an examination blue book.
Papier + is a quaint store in the Marais that has filled this need when I am in Paris. Upturned sharp blonde and black pencils, ringed paperclips (sold by weight- there is a small center beam scale to weigh them on), photo albums, notebooks and sketchbooks in all shades of the color wheel, and paper - fine, thick, pulpy paper that feels good to the touch: the store is devoted to the craft of paper. There’s also a winding wood staircase in the center of the store that I’m positive leads somewhere cool.
Go there. Find your inner Hemingway or Maugham. Write down that memory of Paris that you will always carry with you because as they say once you’ve been to Paris, Paris will always be in you. (But it still helps to get it down on paper.)