As soon as I hear the bell ringing, I rush to the window to see what this guy is doing. At just a glance, I instinctively know he's an
affûteur -- a knife sharpener.
My knives have been dull for a good half year, and just yesterday I finally stopped procrastinating and brought them in to the sharpener. So this morning, when I see him walking on the street below, I'm distressed that I don't have any knives to give him; then I realize we have one old, cheap, chopping knife that came with the apartment that barely cuts butter. So I run down with it (yes, running with knives) in my pajamas, with my camera. It's 5€ to sharpen a knife I don't use or care about, and it's worth every penny just to get the photos. Note that he's powering the wheel with his feet on wooden paddles.
I suspect some of these old professions won't be around much longer, so it feels good to get my knife sharpened in the streets while I still can. For more about these old professions dying out in France, check out the story at
A Year in Fromage, which I write back in May; however, I've had to update it with this morning's encounter with the knife sharpener. The fact that I catch up with the knife sharpener -- by accident -- in just the right spot to photograph him with Notre Dame in the background just tickles me.
