Pairs: Paris
The city of lights doesn’t disappoint. I danced my way, in the way of Francis, (see songbrids) home from Phil’s last night after a repaste in his flat. The Notre Dame was alight and the Seine glittered beneath the full moon.
This morning I took the Metro to Charles de Gaulle to pick up Piper.
Life is always brighter when she is around.
Her hair is short and though she doesn’t realize it, she now has the same hair cut I got last fall in San Francisco. Only on her small face and in her youth it is better.
We had crepes in the sixth after a long walk around and back. Six of us now, in pairs make up our group. Each of has a child to take care of – Amy and her 12-year old Gulio, Phil and his 17-year old niece Anna and I with Piper, also 17.
After walking some ways, I see that Piper is fading so we walk back to the flat and on the way up stairs I realize I don’t have any keys.
I wander down stairs and back up knocking on doors to find a manager. Then I knock on the below stairs neighbor. There are two men working in there. One of them, answers the door, he is casual but not a workman. Daniel, an architect speaks English and together we try to work out the problem.
“You have no key?” I should think this was obvious.
“It is inside.”
“Hmmm. Is there a window open?”
Alas no, we pear out all the windows together, mulling over the options but realize safety wise even if a window was open there is no way to break in. It is too dangerous.
I can’t imagine how we will get in. Piper is falling asleep on the stairs and we both have full bladders. She is completely wiped out, jet lagged.
“Merci,” I say to him and Pierre several times. “You are so kind to take this trouble.”
“C’est normal,” Daniel says and shrugs.
Pierre brings one after another of heavy duty tools up trying to jimmy the door until at last the wood just breaks off and the door pops open with a shocking splintering sound. It’s a mess, shards of wood everywhere, but we’re in! Piper bumps her way in and collapses onto the bed where she remains for over an hour. Pierre meanwhile runs back to the other flat and returns with tools and wood to create a new door jamb, to fix what he has broken.
Who said the French weren’t nice!? I offer him money when he is done, but he refuses.
I want each day to last much longer than it does. Craving my bed, sleep, is not an occurrence. Instead, I want to squeeze each moment out of each hour, and then stretch the hour like taffy in my hands.
On the streets, from my window, I gaze and gaze trying to sear the sights into more than my brain and memory: I want it in my blood.
I would bleed France if I could.
Tonight the Turks beat Croatia in the EuroCup and the streets are alive with cars beeping, and people screaming, Turkish flags waving.
Amazingly there are only a few days left for me in Paris. I can hardly imagine what having two more weeks here would be like. Tres cher, course. Make no mistake, it is expensive. I keep thinking: 'well we had years of making out like bandits I suppose it's time for Europe to have us by the short hairs.' Though there are lots of tourists here, I see and hear as many Italians as Americans. No I retract that. Americans are the most easily spotted with their baggy pants, untied shoes (always sneakers), bulging waistlines, lack of politeness and inability to even try a few words of French. And to think that in the states people complain about Hispanics, and want English to be the only language.
Who are we state-siders? I've realized (not for the first time) that we are provincial and ignorant; spoiled and intractable; carefree and discourteous; undereducated, under-traveled and eager. Meanwhile the French are restrained and slow to smile. Friend-making is unrealistic. Judy's world of ex-pats from her class was a perfect solution. For me it has been all about my friends, Amy and her son, who are Italian; Phil and his adorable niece Anna, and just arrived other friends from NYC, Mia and Bram. The adults have been friends for 30 odd years. It's glorious to be together here and also odd. Because of the number of us, we have no time for deep conversation. We haul all over town, relegating one person to role as leader, the rest following like the ducklings we spied tucked up against the wall on the Seine.
Travel is the great equalizer. Some people will speak English to us immediately but I prefer to try to understand the French and use it when possible., The frommagier was so happy we were speaking French that he politely switched to English, not out of pity or impatience but because he liked us.
My American voice carries. People stare at me as though I sound like a frog in heat when I speak - I have no idea what that sounds like but I'm sure its quite crude and repellent. I am learning to speak softly, to lean in close to the person I am speaking to. It is also a French mannerism, I see. It provides intimacy, and is respectful--or so I like to think. Just like dressing well everyday shows respect, like table manners. We don't want to make anyone "unwell" as Sarah Turnbull explained in 'Almost French.'
Piper learned all the basics and tried to use them as often as possible. Thin, adorable, long legged, young and with visible lips. The French adored her.
The apartment on the Seine is absurdly noisy, but its much too humid and warm to shut windows. On the Seine side tourist boats float by constantly a guide explaining all through a loud speaker. Cars, buses, motorcycles, police sirens, talking, yelling, beeping etc. Its like living in Times Square. On the courtyard side, there is even more noise. The two flats beneath us are both being renovated. Banging, hammering, chipping, ripping, drills, its a dentist office on steroids. I have to turn up the excellent Jazz stations to drown it all out. It fails to work but I keep at it. The neighbors who do go on a bit late at night, are nothing comparatively.
Never the less the view, location, and pure morning sun spilling over the bed are fantastic. I have been happy here. Though now that Piper has left I wish there was another week in which I could just be alone here. Alone. Alone. I vant to be alone! Greta is imbuing me with a need for solitude, and I've had no one to introduce my self as Sylvie to.
I will make that my goal over the next few days. That and spending more money, eating every thing, and way too much (I look five months pregnant though I walk miles daily). Alors, a bientôt, uh.
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