the piano shop on the left bank by thad carhart

You’re either invited in or you’re not, and it generally takes time for familiarity and trust to build up with the French.

How hard is it to gain access to this other Paris?

That’s one of the main things I try to evoke about the piano atelier without being too analytical about it: it’s part of a way of life that could only be found in Paris. Behind all those huge doors and inner courtyards and high walls there’s a Paris that’s infinitely attractive, a city of tightly knit neighborhoods and long-term relationships that is rich in the ways of the past without being the least bit old-fashioned. And this “elsewhere” is really the hidden part of Paris, an aspect every bit as seductive as the tourist haunts but much harder to break into. They’re an important part of the landscape, but life goes on elsewhere. After all, if you live in Paris you don’t really spend much of your time on the Champs-Elysées or visiting the Louvre. There’s a lot of substance behind this seductive image of Paris, but it’s only part of the picture. It’s beautiful, yes, but so are plenty of other cities, and yet Paris alone stands above the rest as the capital of romance, the center of style and sophistication, the pinnacle of culinary arts, the international crossroads for artists, musicians, diplomats, writers, and endless tourists. Part of the answer is that Paris does a terrific job of selling itself to the world. From the very beginning I realized it would make a great story if I could capture the ambience of friendship, enthusiasm, and French humor that I had serendipitously been made part of. I’d lived in France for long enough to know that it’s almost impossible to gain access to the private, non-touristy side of things without a personal introduction, and here was a whole world I virtually stumbled into. It gave me the idea that I could take piano lessons again as an adult after being away from the keyboard for more than twenty years. I met the owner, Luc, and he eventually let me into the back room where pianos were disassembled, fixed, and stored, I’ve always loved pianos-both as musical instruments and as huge pieces of furniture-and roaming around the shop was like being a kid in a candy shop. The front window had a strange array of piano repair tools, and curiosity finally got the better of me and I decided to knock on the door and see for myself what was inside. It was a funny little storefront that I passed by every morning as I walked my children to school, and I always wondered what was behind the sleepy facade. Some years ago I happened upon a little shop in our Paris neighborhood where used pianos are repaired and sold.

I’ve lived in Paris since 1989 where I initially took a job in corporate communications before focusing full-time on writing and freelance journalism. How did the idea for this book come about?

The piano shop on the left bank by thad carhart