Caveau des Oubliettes

  It is a cold and rainy Wednesday night in Paris. Fresh from California, and unaccustomed to the realities of Fall, I yearn for something warm and lively. I hop onto the metro and decide to venture over to Saint Michel, confident that something will entice me: maybe a gyro stand, or a hukkah bar, or a salsa club with a floor manager named Moose. The Latin Quarter always has something going on, no matter your mood or your make. I get out and walk along the Seine for a block or two, and take a right just before disappearing into the encompassing shadows of Notre Dame. To my right is the thirteenth-century Gothic church of Saint Séverin, and to my left lies the church of Saint-Julien-le-Pauvre. I slip into the tavern on the corner of Rue Galande and rue Saint-Julien-le-Pauvre, under the protruding letters of Caveau des Oubliettes. The name, as you might have guessed, means “the cellar of the forgotten.” In truth, this small tavern was home to the trademark of the French Revolution—the guillotine, dating back to 1793. Its stone walls and wooden cross beams have been left unchanged, but the ambiance is far from that of a sepulchral vault, as its name suggests. I pass by a few tables of laughing twenty-somethings, and am lured down a small, winding staircase by the swinging melody of “In a Sentimental Mood.” Ducking under a stone archway, I enter a smoky room pulsing with students, all crowded around only a handful of tables (60 people maximum). Wednesday night, I am told, is devoted to Latin groove and the quartet, standing only a few meters away, is definitely grooving. A small sign above indicates that entrance is free, but a consommation is obligatory (starting at 4.50 Euros), so I grab a beer at the bar to my left and then peruse the room for a free seat. Few seem to notice the metal shackles still hanging on the stone walls or the altogether dungeon-esque décor of the place, but all are enjoying the lively atmosphere and good music. The group plays an hour and a half long set of Latin jazz standards, opening up all of the charts for surprisingly well-syncopated solos with tasteful comping (intermittent piano accompaniment). At midnight the group takes a short break, but the crowd thins only a little. Fifteen minutes later, the “boeuf,” otherwise known as jam session, begins. Anyone is welcome to bring an instrument to join in, rotating in new musicians with the old. Two young saxophone players trade fours for a tune, and then a blond trombone player with a small presence but a large sound switches in for two more. Many others await their turn, some young and some old, some shy and others not at all. If only I had brought my horn along. Part of me yearns for my turn to sit center stage, but another happily soaks in the mood second hand. The openness of possibilities, the beauty of notes as well as the silence in between them—that’s jazz. And for the time being, I am happy to remain silent. With a sudden pang of regret, I realize that I must face class at 8 the following morning, and thus the more immediate cold and rain just beyond the tavern walls. I settle my tab and turn for the door. I am torn at first, but the bartender encourages me not to worry—tomorrow they will host a funk group, bebop on Friday and Saturday, blues on Sunday, acoustic on Monday, and an organ feature on Tuesday. I assure him, and myself, that I will be back soon. Bundling up as best as I can, I leave my haven of the past and the present and hum the melody of Caravan the whole way home. Caveau des Oubliettes52, rue Galande75005 ParisTel 01.46.34.23.09Metro: Saint MichelConcerts start at 22h30 Julia Spiegel, a third year undergraduate at Stanford University, is majoring in Political Science and Economics. She is currently studying in France to learn about the building of the European Union and French political life, and aspires to do work involving international relations and human rights promotion. She is also a jazz trumpet player and president of the Stanford Jazz Orchestra.