Square du Temple

The Square du Temple is not one of the city's grand, expansive parks. It is a green space squeezed into the Marais in the shadow of the old covered market, the Carreau du Temple. The market, a former haunt of second-hand clothes merchants, is in the process of being turned into a “space for all”, including a Judo hall. Whether the area actually needs such a facility remains to be seen, but for now the curling, exposed iron ribs of the partly demolished structure provide a useful landmark for orientation. If I see them, I know I'm on the right track for the park.

The first time I passed through the little green swing gate, my husband turned to me and said: “You'll like this place, it has ducks.” Ducks there were indeed, with their own charming pond, island and duckhouse, prime real estate in the heart of the 3rd Arrondissement, pleasantly shaded with trees and bushes. There were also people. The overburdened confines of the buildings surrounding the square had overflowed out into park, and the benches were crowded. The well-provisioned play area was filled with excited children and harassed parents. It was a warm summer evening and the few remaining Parisians left working in the city in August seemed to have all paused there too, on their way home, ties loosened, sandals kicked off, sweating gently, leaning on the bandstand or reposing peacefully on the lush grass.

At lunchtimes the park can be packed with teenagers from the local schools, jostling for position on the bandstand as they eat their burgers and frites. Prim office girls and shop assistants juggle sandwiches and mobile phones, their hair starting to tumble out of that morning's hastily formed topknot or ponytail. Elderly Chinese couples walk the paths slowly, continuing their daily constitutional from the Place de la Republique and pausing occasionally to rest in the warmth of the sun, watching the pigeons strut from bench to bin in search of food, and lost somewhere in the midst of a thousand memories with faraway looks in their tired, clouded eyes.

One afternoon I sat there in the blazing heat on the only free bench I could find, one that was in direct sunlight. In front of me were sunbathers, bronzed and content to sleep the rest of the day away as they slowly cooked in the city's summer oven, while I barely glanced up from my Kindle. Just me and the collected short stories of Guy de Maupassant, absorbed for half an hour or so in my local park. As I read stories set in a Paris long past, today's Paris was happening all around me. Toddlers made their unsteady way towards the slides and the climbing frames while cyclists wheeled their bikes across the square, cutting off awkward corners and traffic clogged junctions with a peaceful saunter through the calm greenness. Getting up to start the short walk back to the apartment, I exited the park via the farthest away gate, near to the offices of the Mayor of the 3rd Arrondissement. At the bottom of the steps there stood a young couple, just married and smiling. The bride looked relaxed in a simple white dress and with tiny white flowers entwined in her loose, curly hair. Along with her new husband she was surrounded by a small group of well wishers, dressed in their best, laughing and taking photographs. The sun shone brilliantly down on all of them from a huge, cloudless sky. It was a beautiful day to be married in Paris. The park gate clanged shut behind me and I headed back through the Marais streets, smiling as I took each sandalled step. Now boots are the most appropriate footwear and the park benches are often soaked with rain. When venturing to the park on drier days I have to wear a scarf and the ducks on the pond are now fluffed up against the approaching winter, but hopefully that young couple are still enjoying matrimonial bliss as I am still enjoying the Square du Temple, that tiny square of nature so close to the tiny square of Paris that is my home.