Paris Day 1 - The Arrival II

We decide to explore our surroundings a bit and quickly notice a few cool things. We have a butcher shop, a small grocery market, a wine shop, a bakery and a pastry shop wrapped around the hotel. Additionally, there are two cafes conviently located in our vicinity - L'Arc and Le Grand Carnot.

As we continue our stroll past our newfound neighborhood, we pass numerous residential areas among a slew of other boutiques and cafes. Crossing into Avenue Mac-Mahon we come face to face with the deranged Parisian drivers and the after-work crowd rushing to grab a smoke, a baguette, a coffee, anything they could get their hands on. Finally, hunger sets in and we settle on a cafe called "Beer Station" , and walk into the place signaling that we desire to sit outdoors.

The cool thing about cafes in Paris is that they outnumber people and their chairs all face away from the cafe. It is a vital custom in Paris to people watch, check out what's happening at the cafe across the street, and essentially be a nosy oogler. Parisians love to watch people, it is in their blood. They must stare and mutter something unintelligible. It's part of the game. A thousand stares come down as we sit in a Parisian cafe for the first time, as the natives react violently to the tourist threat. Parisians detest tourists...but more on that later. When in Paris, do as the Parisians do. Order wine - which is exactly what we do. Along with beer...1664 how I miss thee

We take a break from chatting about what we are going to devour to just take in the scene around us. We are in Paris, at a café, how cliché perhaps, but it must be done. Life goes on all around us. Rapid fire Parisians, drinking their coffee. Others staring out into the Avenue. One guy is reading a newspaper. Cafes are like a second home in Paris; a place to kick off your shoes, put your feet up and just unwind a bit. The table becomes part of your real-estate as far as the waitstaff is concerned. They don’t come over and inquire about the quality of your meal, or if you need another beer. They simply let you be. And you can literally sit there the entire day. Bliss.

Cote du Rhone is the wine of choice. Simply gorgeous. Our meals arrive – ‘still alive’ cow with buttery pasta for moi, steak and frites for Melitza. Decent meal with the highlight being the pasta. Delicious. After devouring everything including the bread basket, it’s time to just linger. And that is exactly what we do.

Paris Day 1 - The Arrival

Wednesday July 24^th – Paris Day 1

It is 11:45 AM Paris time, and we’ve finally arrived from Madrid. I actually gasped when the plane landed…Am I really here? Craziness...It’s a hot one today around 86 degrees, and the distinct lack of air conditioner is noticeable at the Orly airport while waiting for our luggage. Melitza had no hope that the bags would arrive given our tardiness in getting our boarding passes at Logan. Luckily, I did not have to wait long. The bags arrived quickly and off we were to use the ATM! Took out 200 Euros and off I went to make my first purchase – an orange soda and a red bull. Yeah, I l know, exciting! Luckily we had already paid for admission to the bus which if my calculations are correct, would drop us off within 5 minutes walking distance from the hotel. 

 

Off we go, on the road towards Paris. Traffic is so weird here… lanes are narrow and cars are small. The bus trots along like an 18 wheeler and I just hope to make it in once piece. As you enter Paris from the South end, you notice tons of graffiti and run down buildings. Looks like a bomb went off here and vegetation has taken over the buildings as its new tenants.

Once we leave the artwork scenery the real Paris comes to light. The buildings, the tiny apartments with their balconies, the tourists, the cafes…! The closer we get to the stop I begin to recognize some of the highlights of Paris.  Pont Neuf, Le Grand Palais, Musee D’Armee and then the Eiffel catches the corner of my eye and that is when I suddenly come to realize, I am actually here. The stop comes to a halt a few feet off the Arc de Triomphe. What a majestic view. Melitza reminds me that I am actually walking in Paris. I just nod my head. There are 6 avenues that end at the Arc, with one of them being Avenue Carnot, where our hotel lies.

We drag our luggage downhill towards the Hotel Astrid, our bones barely hanging on to us, and within minutes we enter. To our left is a cozy room where they serve breakfast. The hotel attendant (I never caught her name) greets us with the ubiquitous Bon Jour. I respond with a Bon Jour of my own though not as guttural as hers. It actually sounds like she ends it with a ‘grrrrr’ of sorts…She quickly surmises that we are tourists. Referring to us as Monsieur and Madame Lopez. This is awesome.  She hands over the key to room 527 (cinquant veinte-sept), which weighs as much as a 20 pound barbell, and off we go.

The elevator is more like a coffin than an elevator. Fits at most 5 people…I take the luggage with me while Melitza decides it’s best to climb 5 stories. Once we finally figured out how to open the door (by sheer luck…), we head in. The room is tiny but cute with a closet, a mounted TV a desk, a small table and a pretty big bathroom. But the highlight of the room is its old style window which opens into an awesome view of the buildings across the avenue, with its red-tiled roofs.  I stick my head out and look towards my right, and there it is… the Arc de Triomphe in all its glory, welcoming us to Paris.

The Art of Falling

We all fall at some point in our lives. From the time we first attempted to walk to the time we tripped over our own feet staring at someone or something of interest. As a matter of fact, we fall a lot. We have mastered the art of falling in our face, falling down the stairs, falling out of the bathtub, falling out of favor; falling into sharp objects, falling out of love, falling behind, falling out of grace. Well... you get my point.

The narrative suggests that something causes us to fall, and in this context, it is that something that is the driving force behind our many falls. What would happen if we never fell? Would we remain in motion eternally? Would it violate the laws of physics and cause some sort of cosmic tear? Interruptions, that is what I will refer to them. These are the ones responsible for our many falls. These interruptions run the gamut from simple objects of interest...that redhead walking down the street sipping her coffee, a '69 Ford Mustang, the way sunlight reflects off a window, thoughts about the past, worries about the future, betrayals, broken hearts, clumsiness, dishonor - they are pervasive and effect our normal way of walking and of simply being.

Some will say that these are necessary elements of humanity, to fall and rise, like the sun. That these are lessons in courage, hardship and the pursuit of something greater, ingrained in our conscience through generations of missteps. Perhaps all of those are contributing factors to our limited mobility. But what is truly the purpose behind our many falls? Is it our inherent fragile nature, our weak selves? Because in essence, we are weak, we are fragile, as fragile as rose petals. Our perceived strength and drive is rendered obsolete. We drift by like a ship on stormy seas.

It takes so much to fulfill ourselves. It takes such a small misstep to cause us to fall, to feel hollow, to harbor emptiness, to rage against humanity and the gods, to envy. All around us lie simple delights that can overwhelm us with fulfillment and continuity.

Inspiration. Cerca trova "Seek and you shall find"

Quick Morning Thoughts

Illusions                                                                                                                                                              
At some point, the shadows receded and revealed a poignant figure in their mist. Inevitably, one must ask, why does the mist linger? Why does it disguise our fears inadvertently? In disgust, we made our final descent towards the mist and the gaping abyss it represented. Were we to live, we would always look back at this moment, as the moment which bested us - the moment which obliterated our dreams and aspirations. A somber reminder of oppression and despair fully committed to the shattering of our salvation.

From Within

A final look provides solidarity, perspective and affirmation that today’s intricacies are all intertwined. Identities seem scattered, grasping hopelessly for relevance and a renewed sense of self-worth. Increasingly, hostile attempts at combining efforts are proving to be futile in nature and in their inception. To what end do we allow floating memories to simply collide? Is there an ending to collusion or are we merely fighting an uphill battle? Certainly best efforts are being made to protect and shield the successors from the malcontents. Still, the failures attributed to this dilemma are endemic and frightening.

The Nightmare                                                                                                                               
I did not know what time it was. All I knew was that the windowless room presented minimal opportunities for escape. For once I was at a loss for words. I questioned my hearing at first until I pounded on the wall and was able to distinctly hear the hollowness of the wall. I yelled, yet no words were audible. Frustrated, I pounded on the wall some more, angry and helpless, until I felt the wall give a little. Perhaps my instincts were kicking in. All I knew was that I did not belong in that room. I continued to pound and kick the wall, until I felt air rushing in. As I continued to make my way through, it became apparent that I had entered another windowless room. I cursed and was able to hear myself finally. Then the room went dark, and I could no longer see.

Change Your Stars

One of my favorite quotes comes from Paulo Coelho’s The Alchemist, “When you really want something to happen, the whole universe conspires so that your wish comes true.” 

How do you go back to your life? How do you train yourself to breathe again? You question everything; the meaning of you, your memories, everything that has shaped you in one way or another, lost loves, lost dreams. It is startling to feel as if you have just opened your eyes for the very first time. Your center has been found.

The experience was overwhelming. Everything was positioned exactly as it was supposed to be. Riding on that bus towards Paris, I knew everything would change. All I knew or thought I knew would be questioned. And then the Eiffel sneaks up on you. You catch it from the corner of your eye and you finally come to the conclusion that you have arrived. Aside from my kids' births there has not been a more powerful moment.

I sat on that bus dumbfounded. I sat by the banks of the Seine river inspired by the sheer simplicity of that moment. I prayed at Saint Severin's and shed tears overwhelmed by its beauty and serenity. I rode my bike through centuries old gardens and just breathed. I stood by Marie Antoinette's tomb and paid respects. I saluted Napoleon at his. I sat on street cafes and simply observed the city and its inhabitants; their rituals, their joys and despairs written in their faces like faded graffiti. I'd wake around 3:30 in the morning every day and observe the city as it slept from outside my hotel window, wondering if others were doing the same.

For all its gimmicks, the tourist games, the overcrowded Metro, the thousands of steps taken through its honeycombed neighborhoods, one has to simply let it come. Let it embrace you wholly and unequivocally. For that is its legacy, its allure. You simply fall in love.

I sat on that bus at 5:30 in the morning, moving away from Paris towards an uncertain future. Yet, my present was certain, perhaps more certain than ever. Everything I am made of collided with something greater than myself, something magnificent and glorious and inspiring and blissful. And I am a better human being for it.

Thanks Paris.