I knew going into it, that I was going to be disappointed when tracing Hemingway's steps in Paris. I expected cameras, hoards of people and the typical tourist trappings, but I was resolved to endure it all or block it out. If you've been around this blog long enough, you know I'm a huge Hemingway fan. I love his pared down, direct writing style and romanticize the Lost Generation's time in Paris. There is still a big part of me that sees Paris through a literary lens, and wants to pretend that nothing has changed. There are still notebooks and pencils, charged conversations and meals priced for struggling writers. Today, there are laptops, overpriced coffees, tourists, and get this ... bouncers. Yep, when I approached Closerie des Lilas, two thuggy men in black stood guard at the entrance. For real? I had no intentions of going inside, but was amused by the two men who took their job seriously. They recited their list of rules (no photos, must order a meal, etc.) to anyone who floated close enough to the entrance to demonstrate an intention to step inside. I quickly figured out the imaginary line and stayed just outside of it. This irritated the men in black. They wanted to exercise their power, they wanted to shout "pas des photos!" but I was outside their jurisdiction. I snapped a few photos, and enjoyed watching them squirm. I will never, ever figure out why some Parisians are averse to someone taking photos of a building's facade, but they are. To be honest, it was a funny dynamic. Here I was, an American in Paris, taking a photo of a place another American made famous, and was somehow seen as an evil-doer. Evan stayed far away, and I'm sure thought the whole thing was staged for his amusement. In the end, I got what I wanted. Thugs aside, I enjoyed seeing Paris Moveable Feast style.