Paris, je t'aime

My internet access this past week of traveling has been, as I expected, rather sporadic, so I've been writing in the journal I've brought with me. This blogpost will be pretty much transcribed from my journal entries, so apologies in advance if the writing is a bit prosaic--my time online is ticking away at two euro for thirty minutes. So here goes.

March 18, 2009

Today I have...picnicked in front of the Eifel tower. Walked from the Arch de Triumph to Notre Dame. Seen the Mona Lisa. Taken a nap in the gardens of the Louvre. Drank wine in the Latin Quarter. Walked along the Seine as the sun set. Got hit on in a charming fashion by old French men. Added a note of my own to those left in the nooks of Shakespeare & Company (and it really was the bookstore of my dreams), paraphrased from a story I skimmed in the Paris Review in Blackwells before I left Oxford: "a journey doesn't always begin the moment you step foot out the door. Sometimes it begins far away from home.' I will come back." Nothing very profound--I couldn't think of anything truly profound to add--not like the letter written to Anne Frank about how she lived on in the dreams of man, how her words, unlike so many that came before her, will never be forgotten. Not like the owner of Shakespeare & Company, who wrote that Tolstoy and Dostoyevsky were more real to him than his neighbors; that he was still searching for his own Natasha; about peace; about tragedy, about every day failures and triumphs.

I could have added "I am happy." That would have been true.

You know, Barbara was right--I didn't really appreciate Spain at the time--or I did intellectually, in the sense that I knew my mother was spending time and money to be with me, but sentimentally, not as much as later. I wish I would have enjoyed it more--that I wasn't so irritable and jetlagged, that I appreciated exactly where I was, which, only months later, seems like the remnants of a dream--the streets of of Madrid, flamenco shows and tapas bars, the squares at night, the parks, the techos, Grenada, the Alhambra--one of the wonders of the world. Avila and Segovia and Toledo. But at least later I will be able to say "my mother and I spent a week in a four star mansion in Sevilla; we watched flamenco and saw the Alhambra, and she moved me into Oxford." I really miss her. Jens' house is gorgeous--I would love to have a house like that some day-with balconies and terrace doors and a window seat; white and wood and brightly colored plates, fresh bread every morning, flowers on all the tables. But I really miss my mother. Even not talking to her for two days is hard. I am so closely tied to her.

Paris is beautiful. A city you should explore in depth. I wish I spoke French. How will I ever do justice writing about it now that I've seen it it? It both is and isn't what I imagined--maybe it isn't because what I imagine is a city that simply doesn't exist anymore. The one that does is more earthy, more vibrant.

I am sunburnt, my feet ache, and I overpacked. But I am in Europe, living my life. I am here. I am so thankful for that.

I want to see Paris when I'm in love, and I want to see it when I'm settled. I want to know this city in all its forms. I want to come back.


March 20, 2009

Today was Versailles, which was closed (disappointing! 2 days out of the year they probably close and today would have to be one of them!) so we walked around the gardens instead, which although lovely, didn't quite ease the disappointment. Nothing was in bloom--the wrong season--and all the statues were covered. Still, the oppulence of the palace itself was evident from the facade alone. What must it have been like to live there...

The Paris metro was on strike, so we walked for about twenty minutes in search of another station which dropped us off at Montparnasse--haunt of a good many of the writers I love. We saw the local cemetery, where I payed homage to Jean-Paul Sartre and Simone de Beauvouir (leaving my metro stub, like so many people before me), saw the Catacombs, though I had a total panic attack once I emerged, and the Closeries de Lilas, the favorite cafe of Hemingway (he wrote most of the Sun Also Rises there), Fitzgerald, and Trotsky. It was beautiful--a garden terrace, lilacs everywhere, the interior wood paneled, masculine. We drank champagne and ate chocolate in the gardens of Luxembourg, had dinner overlooking the Seine at twilight--wine, baguettes, brie--and I got a text from Ben saying he would love to get together for more than an hour next time, once I return to Oxford.

Trying to find a train running back to Jens', we walked down the Champs-Elysee at night, and saw the Eifel tower all lit up. I can see why they say Paris is the city of light. I think its hte most beautiful place I've ever been.

March 22, 2009

Nice was...the French Riviera; strawberry tarts and gelato, wood oven pizza and three spoon ice cream sundaes. The bluest water, winding alleyways, sundresses and winter coats. The Matisse museum--his former villa, high above the city, all terracotta and white walls, a local park on a Sunday afternoon, with a carousel playing Disney songs in French. Naps on the sun-warmed rocks of the beach, a clean and sparse hostel, croissants and honey, pulsing marketplaces--a pale pink pashmina and a bright pink tote. Echoes of Athens and Sevilla, of the Mediterreanean. Of women in black slips, high heels, wide sunhats. Watching the planes land over the beach--a strange feeling of euphoria and sadness. I can't believe a week has gone by already. I'm so in love with France. Maybe that's what I'll do this summer, when I'm busy not finding a job. Intern a day at week at Sterling Lord in the city, cozy up to my GRE prep book, learn French, write regularly, read.

Walking down the waterfront, I realized how perfectly content I was. So far this spring break has consisted of wandering through gorgeous cities, eating, and napping in picturesque locations. Couldn't ask for anything more.

"The day's last one way ticket train pulls in"

Another term has ended--wonderful & bittersweet. My last fiction tutorial was a bit odd--she was distracted by personal issues, which I understood, but it was a bit disconcerting in any event. She told me she had no doubt my talent "would always be guided--and not necessarily by a person either" Alright, I said. What else do you say to that? She also advised me to be wary of working in the publishing industry for a career--that it might exhaust me; sap me dry. Editors don't write books, she said. Maybe there is some truth in that. But if I didn't do that to earn money, I don't know what I would do. "I love photography," I told her. Then work in an art gallery was her response. But I hardly have the qualifications for that. It's a long way off, still.

Friday was...crepes at the French market at Gloucester Green, running into Amy & Sara (who is here visiting, before heading to Paris with me and Amy) & Fayyaz outside the Vaults & Gardens, Spice Lounge for dinner, basking in the sunshine. The Oxford Union for cocktails & the Wadham bop. Getting all the cash out of my wallet stolen; meeting Jeff's golf boys, wondering how on earth will I go back to the States/Sarah Lawrence after this year? There is nothing quite like Oxford..I don't know where else in the world you get this particular conflation of academia & exuberant debauchery; the work hard-play hard dynamic but with this total passion underneath.

Yesterday was London--walking the South Bank, which was beautiful, taking Sara to Westminster, and St. James Park, hot chocolate and belgian waffles in a cafe; a coffee date with a cute Brit who had told Jeff I had "interesting eyes." It would be nice if it came to something next term, but if not, at least it was another experience.

Today was laundry all day, 60 degree weather, packing for my month long travels. Tomorrow will be spent running last minute errands and simply enjoying Oxford. I leave Tuesday morning for Paris, and won't be back to the UK until April 14th. I'm sure I will have so much to write about when I do.

I despise people who feel the need to drink and drive. They always would make us watch those videos and sit through those lectures in middle school health classes, all school assemblies, and drivers ed. They'd bring in women from MADD, or guys in their late twenties horribly deformed by major car accidents, and maybe they'd scare the shit out of you for the hour, or even the afternoon. Maybe it would seem totally hokey, maybe you just wouldn't even think about it. I probably leaned towards the first and then fell into the last.

Talking to my mother on the phone just now, she told me about this email she got from Connecticut College, where my twin brother goes to school, though he's in Beijing currently, studying there for the semester. A girl he knew, a girl he was friends with through the humanitarian work they both did for Africa--him for Darfur, her for Uganda--was killed this morning, on her way to Uganda with six other kids from my brother's grade at Connecticut College. A 23 year old guy coming the wrong way down the highway slammed into the van that was taking all the kids to the airport for their aid mission. He was totally fine.

I don't know anything else about the girl. But it infuriates me nonetheless. I started crying when I got off the phone, and I couldn't even tell you why, except it would probably be why I cry over any of these things, from Eve Carson to any of the school shootings. It is always needless and tragic and horrible no matter what the age of the people involved. But someone your own age, someone you could have conceivably hung out with, had classes with, even just vaguely knew. Someone who was just beginning to go places, who was doing such good. And to be killed like that, over someone else's stupidity? What do you even say? That's why they have those assemblies, that's why they try to scare the shit out of you. I've sat in the passenger seat of cars of friends who had a few drinks hours before we leave the bar, taking backroads to avoid cops and random breathalyzers, bemoaning the Fairfield police. But that's why.

Everyone's got a story like this, though. Hopefully you aren't just working against the tide.