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The Seine arcs through the heart of Paris before sauntering to the North. From its entrance in Southeast Paris, past cobbled quays and massive stone walls, this alluring waterway inspires and collects stories along its tree-lined banks. The infamous Seine and its environs nurture a thousand secrets, hopes, love affairs and tragedies.

Tango dancers hold sway before festive onlookers in the dying summer sun (a particularly slow death in the summer at 10:30 p.m.!) Party revelers on river boats exchange bon vivant greetings with hundreds of picnic aficionados spread through the shore's gardens. Dog walkers, lovers, friends and the lone man in the tilted beret share the concourses that seem to draw the entire city down to its storied roots.

The "clochards", the homeless who choose the Seine as their back yard, set up homesteads beneath some of the bridges, their few belongings placed against the stone arches. I will not make their poverty my poetry, but they greet you with polite bonjours and seem sadly gentle in their plight.

One early evening, we carried our basket with wine and cheese down to the quay on Ile Saint-Louis. A student marked his spot by the river's edge to read. Others sat as couples or in small groups to talk or play chess or simply to absorb the setting sun. We noticed a man to our right, almost beneath the bridge. He sat in a chair with a plate in his lap. Soon, he entered a doorway we hadn't noticed and returned in a moment to toss water from a bowl into the river. Naturally, we watched with curiosity. "Does he live there?"

Just then, a young looking woman in a skirt far too short for her ample thighs, passed in front of us. Her hair was bleached quite blond, her make-up heavy, and she picked her way along the cobblestone quay in high heels. Certainly, she was not the thin, stylish woman we had come to see as typical in France.

She stopped, then, to speak with the man now seated in his chair. He rose, offered her his chair, and retrieved another from his "room". He ducked again inside the doorway and returned with glasses and wine. "Are there hidden cameras here? Is the director just there on the bridge above?" We couldn't help but wonder. The scene would have been perfect in one of those wonderful French cinematic productions that treat the unusual as commonplace.

Boats, ships and yachts line the waterway to offer passage to the Eiffel Tower or a bistro meal on their lanterned decks. Frequently, we pass large old boats complete with bicycles, trees and on-deck grill, home for the adventurous family that prefers the rhythmic wash of water to the stability of land.

At any point, we can climb the steps from the quay to the streets and bridges above, where myriad museums and cathedrals, restaurants and book stalls invite inspection. We never want for something to do, when the Seine is a few blocks away. In fact, there is a detailed walking tour in a National Geographic travel article that offers abundant insights into the Iles de la Cite and Saint-Louis.

One evening, we wander to the Right Bank and happen upon the World Cup Rugby match shown on a large screen at the Hotel de Ville (City Hall). Another day, we find a tasty baguette sandwich in a local bakery and head to the sunlight on the quay. Nearby, several students dangle their feet over the wall, while near a tree to our left, an older woman bathes topless in the noon sun. Paris. Not surprisingly, Hemingway's description was as accurate for residents as for visitors who have had the good fortune to linger a while in the City of Light.

"If you are lucky enough to have lived in Paris as a young man, then wherever you go for the rest of your life, it stays with you, for Paris is a movable feast."

Learn more about this author, Sandra Sheridan.
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