I am not the foodie that my friends are. But I had to take a photo of the signature salad at this nearby cafe, Au Petit Fer a Cheval. The meal, the glass of chardonnay, and the after-dinner espresso was the end to a pretty great day, and dare I say a well deserved award after 5+ hours of walking. Over coffee, while watching the world go by, I knew I had a grin that wouldn't quit. There were three young women who sat next to me, and one kept looking over in my direction. "Does she know something? Does she see something I don't?" I thought she might be thinking. I think seeing someone who is sitting alone smiling is probably a rarity here.
I'll be the first to tell you that the whole week hasn't been like today. Aside from battling jet lag, I probably have been battling a few other things that I could not allow to come to the surface until now, until I was able to be far from loved ones, from responsibility, far from my own expectations as how I ought to behave. Other than a couple of long weekends here and there, this is my first trip traveling alone, and it's a learning experience. There are parts that I anticipated feeling, and there are parts I hadn't (though I had anticipated the unease). I have been taught that the only way out of something is to work through it. And so while I am here, I hope to surround myself with the inherent beauty of Paris, and perhaps channel some of the latent energy that some of its great thinkers and writers have left behind, to help fuel my journey.
Many things came together today to make it a splendid day. First is the 1.5L of water I had last night--never underestimate the power of staying hydrated. Second, the sun was out. Third, I visited the Musee d'Arts et Metiers. This museum is dedicated to how things work. It's divided into these exhibits, in this order: Scientific Instruments, Materials, Construction, Communication, Energy, Mechanics, and Transportation. I have an interest in how things work; I like to tinker. At one point in my life, I entertained becoming an engineer, and in wandering through the museum, I wondered what could have been if I had. I spent a disproportionately long amount of time in the first section. I was connected to it in a way that I rarely am in museums. In moving through the other exhibits, I realized what my connection to it was. The instruments on display were examples of man's first attempts at understanding the world and stars around him and to measure his place within it. Some of you may have heard me say that I am not sure why I was so compelled to come here, and after today's visit, where I literally had a moment of "oooooooooooooh" with myself, it is to find my place. Where do I fit in this world? What constitutes my world? What do I not see that might be out there? How can I see it? What aids are required, and can I create them? (As I write these questions, I can sense the return of the grin I had at dinner!)
After a brief interlude with a docent, I took off for Canal St. Martin. I reached it from the south end, chose the west side so I could admire the sunlight falling on the buildings to the east, and began my stroll northward. This is a working canal, but I only saw one boat move through it today. It was very peaceful. I stopped at a cafe--right at the dogleg of the canal--and wrote. People of all kinds walked by--families, businessmen, travelers toting luggage on wheels. There was one man, who had his mostly-white hair pulled back in a ponytail, his shaggy gray mustache covering his mouth, but not his stubble nor his deep brown eyes framed by his monstrous eyebrows. He was sporting a blue shirt, blue jeans, a blue jeans vest, and was holding...wait for it...a blue jeans jacket. This man was in stark contrast to the tall, slim, stylish, young black man I saw yesterday. He was well groomed, dressed in a black leather jacket with shoes and bag to match, while everything else was by Burberry, cap, scarf, and slacks in the signature plaid. There is just about everything inbetween, too. My preference leans toward the man who has a trimmed beard, longer hair and a strong chin. However, I am not sure if I'll find one who speaks in a register lower than mine.
The demographic I enjoy watching the most, however, is the timeless Parisian
femme. The one who is north of 50, who does not put on makeup but rather "applies" it, who is properly coiffed, who wears a silk scarf, and whose style can only be described as classic. Younger women, though attractive in their own right, do not have this
je ne sais quoi that only age can provide. In time though, they too will join the breed who, even standing at 5'2", can still look down on you. And does.
Voila... I am still in disbelief that I am here. It's a crazy feeling to be so anonymous in a city of 11,000,000 people (which slightly exceeds the population of all of Greece) trying, vying, and wanting to find my own little place within it. I shall continue to walk through this city, watching, wondering and of course grinning.
More to come...
