40.Goodbye to Paris

Just got on the train, man said this is for first class…yes I am first class.  Want to write some reflections about my experience, which probably isn’t every ones.

Since I was 15 years old, I have wanted to visit Paris. When you are younger you have those grandiose dreams that life is better and somehow the people that live or visit Paris are better.  Flashback to forty-five years later, and I understand that our infatuation with a City or culture, is all in our own  perception.

Life is no better, people are no better. It is what we have, what we are and what we make of all of that that makes us memorable.  When I visited the graveyards of all the famous people,  there they lay---all dead, lifeless.  However, what made them  different  is if they made an impact on other people’s lives. It seems that each one tried to personally communicate their feelings.  Really nothing is new found or different, some people just have a better talent for communicating, whether through visual or verbal.

So here I sit in the Paris train station, watching people.  I love the games we play in our mind when we are idle.  I think that most Parisiners are not that attractive. They are chain smokers, I see many spit on the sidewalk in front of you as you dodge the spew.  You have to skip over the dog crap that no one bothers to pick up. Many smugly have their nose in the air if you ask them a question, but all in all, it is pretty much like this everywhere in the world.  Some people are taught good manners and behaviors, others are just slobs. 

I love to look at the young women’s fashion. Some can carry it off with perfection, as if they haven’t even tried. Others should just give it a rest and accept the fact that they shouldn’t be wearing tights with their cheeks overflowing.  I saw one petite young blonde woman with her hair twisted up, wearing black tights, spike heels and a red cap. Now she could carry it off and looked very fashionable.  For the most part, I saw Parisianers very sloppily dressed, or disheveled. 

My experience with the food was not satisfying either.  I am so sick of bread, croissants and crepes. I guess I am gluten intolerant because I can feel the dough ball for hours.  I found it fascinating that many Parisianers  would buy a “French loaf” and carry it around with them and share a bit with their partner.  Lots of sweets too. I tried many, but began to get sick of sugar as well. Coffee, however, I found I could not live without , ordering Café Americano…that means a double shot of expresso, a bit watered down,  in a tall cup. 

Yes, goodbye Paris, to the cars running over you even if the green walk sign is on. Goodbye Paris, for all the chain smoking and cigarette butts dropped all over the streets and sidewalks.  Goodbye Paris to bumping into people on the streets and squeezing a chair under a table at a restaurant.  Goodbye Paris to people not smiling.  Goodbye to Paris in the winter when the skies are gray, foggy and rainy.

Now don’t get me wrong, I did meet some pleasant people. Some were very helpful, others just charming. They must be the ones that are happy with themselves or what they are doing. The museums were kept clean and the attendants quite nice.  I enjoyed viewing all the classical art pieces, but I found that my personal tastes were more on many of the unknown artists.  Some of the classical pieces seemed so dark, and dingy or a depressing subject. I thought, ‘Why would anyone give so much effort to painting such a tragedy, or taking so much time.’  I found myself more attention to the bright, colorful and happy subjects.  Guess it is just a matter of taste.  If you have ever read the biographies of most artists, then you tend not to like them as well. Some were very psychotic, manic-depressive, addictive, co-dependent or abusive.  If that is what it takes to inspire art, well then I am ok with liking my light and colorful pieces.

While visiting here, I remember my French teacher, Mr. Cronie.  He was a little character, reminded me of Wally Cox and sounded like the cartoon character, Underdog.  He has this cocky attitude and smugness when he spoke French or talked of Paris.  He had a way of making you feel less than he was. Or you were not good enough because you didn’t speak French and you have never gone to Paris.  I wonder if that was the seed that was planted  in me so long ago?

 If you were not traveling alone, you probably would not be aware of so much.  Sharing anything with a lover, partner or best friend always makes life fun, no matter where you are or what you are doing. So, yes, in that way, sharing a meal, discussing a painting can be exciting.  Taking it in all alone, your senses are more in tune to many other things going on around you.  So, I say goodbye Paris for busting my bubble and making me come back to a reality that I am - and anyone else that does not visit Pairs – OK with who you are!