Friday 26 February 2010

Paris

1st Arrondissement, Paris

Throughout the days I hear French drifting through my consciousness - as I sit on a bench on Ponts des Arts and watch the sun set; as I walk through the crowds of people in Des Halles; as I follow Marie and her friend Paco around on Rue St. Honore as they buy meats, vegetables and breads for dinner. And I realize that I love not understanding French, as my inability to understand what people are saying has opened up a whole new world of quiet for me that I love. I'm left alone. I'm not hassled. I'm not bombarded by inane background chatter, that in the States, especially New York City, is constantly pulling on my attention as I try to navigate through the day - language as psychic assault. Here the language is a pleasant backdrop for my thoughts as opposed to an onslaught of mentally fatiguing garbage.

I'm tired of overhearing people on their phones complaining about someone at work, talking animatedly to their friend, or fighting with their boyfriend or girlfriend. I'm tired of overhearing what people want to buy or don't want to buy. I'm tired of hearing people talking about what they do and don't want. I'm tired of hearing people talking about TV and movies and actors. I'm tired of the inane chattering of people taking up my headspace.

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Thursday 25 February 2010

Paris

1st Arrondissement, Paris

We have a neighborhood fixture here on Rue St. Honore. Every neighborhood has one – the eccentric, strange, interesting, crazy or sometimes all of the above character. I saw Rue St. Honore's fixture the first day we arrived. He swished by us down the narrow cobble stoned street in his all black outfit that hung loosely from his thin frame, black leather gloves, sunglasses in winter on his tanned and aging face, his frosted blond hair coiffed perfectly in an eternal wave. I’ve seen him almost every day since we arrived. Always wondering where’s he’s going. Each time I see him I flash briefly into picturing the rest of his life - what does he do to make a living? Where does he go on his walks? Who does he spend his time with?

Today I had a run in with him again. I saw him when I hit the street in the fading sunlight on my way to meet Marie and her friend Paco at the Musee d’Orsay. I saw him coming towards me sauntering down my side of the street with his trademark Risky Business shades and his coiffed blond hair. I sensed him trying capture my gaze and I pushed on towards Ponts des Arts, avoiding his stare, to see the gauzy sunset over the Seine.

On the way home as I stood on the corner in the dark of Rue St. Honore waiting as Marie and Paco looked into a restaurant he appeared in my periphery stopping to talk to me pulling his shades to the top of his coiffed head revealing a purple and blackened eye as he shook my hand and asking “Comment ca va?”.
“Bien” I said wanting to ask about his eye, but not having the words “Et vous?”
“Ca va, merci. Au revoir.”
“Bon soir.”
And he was off, dropping his shades back over his shiner, as Marie approached, asking me if I knew him.
“No.”

postscript: Marie's sister says that he's the fashion designer Claude Montana.

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Tuesday 23 February 2010

Paris

1st Arrondissement, Paris

Visited Pere lachaise. Wandered through the stunning above ground cemetery trying to figure life out with Marie. Our conclusion: back to the drawing board. Scrap the past. Reinvent. Readjust. Follow passion and direct energy into meaningful endeavors. "I like being with you Corey" she said as we exited through the wrought iron gate back into the streets of Paris.
"I like being with you too, baby" I said as she linked her arm through mine.

Sitting at a sidewalk cafe across the street from Pere lachaise, the red eyes of the art nouveau Metro arch watch the white sphere of the sun dissolve into the watercolor blue of the sky. The 20th Arrondissement: people out in force to feel the promise of Spring air; Belville neighborhood?; people seem more down to earth than the trendy, slightly stuffy 1st Arrondissement where we are staying - no shiny puffy ski parka type jackets that have started to drive me crazy as they seem to be the must have garment for the fashionably in-crowd in Paris. Slightly strange woman at the creperie chats me up as I wait to order, thinks I'm French, invites me for a drink despite my nods glances towards Marie identifying her as my girlfriend sitting a few feet from where we stand - Spring is in the air - ah, the French.

Marie and I make plans sipping chocolat au chaud to get out and explore each day from now on.

So much too see... So little time...

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Paris

1st Arrondissement, Paris

The weather is breaking towards warmer here in the 1st Arrondissement of Paris on the banks of the Seine. It looks like we might be able to get out and explore. The cold that preceded has kept my toes feeling like icicles which has made exploration difficult. Later today: Pere Lachaise cemetery to remind ourselves that we too will come to an end. We'd better get this shit together. This is the one shot - life. And to think that I've been driveling it away working chronic fatigue inducing jobs! JESUS! There's got to be a better way... But it doesn't look like time is on my side or that it's going to be kind... Looks like it's gonna be a dogfight from here on out. Upgrade skill sets. Follow passion. Struggle. Suffer. Suffer. That's okay, my mind is sharp and my body is still intact... Plus, I'm a biter! The days here are filled with reading and writing - all I really give a shit about anymore. But it doesn't look like this misty Paris dream is gonna last forever. Work looms menacingly ominous on the horizon like a plague as Marie asks me again and again in her little sing song voice, "are we going to have a nice life together Corey?".
"That's the plan baby" I tell her. And I try to picture it... A nice little life... This is it... Whatever it is... It's all We've got...

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