Spliffs and Paris..........

After I finished High school and before I started Music school,

I had three months of ''freedom''. I decided to use the time to

explore Europe. At that time there was something available called

an ''Inter-Rail Card'' which was basically a train ticket in

the shape of a small book.

For around $100 the ''ticket'' holder could travel 2nd Class 

for one month, anywhere, and at any time, all through Europe.

Not being flush with money, the Inter-Rail Card seemed like a great

way to get a lot of exploring done for very little money.

So I bought one.

A few days later I slung a backpack over my shoulder and boarded

a train in Stockholm heading for Paris.

It was going to take a few days, a lot of stops and changing of

trains, but it was summer, I was still a teenager, and it was the

70's.

There were a lot of us ''hippies'' riding the trains, making new

friends, strumming guitars, singing Peace songs and drinking

cheap red wine. When the train I was on pulled up in Vienna,

I decided to get off. I had never been to Vienna and as it

was a hub for many famous Classical composers, 

it seemed fit for me to find a venue which offered some

live music. Walking the cobbled streets surrounded by beautiful

old buildings and the sweet smell of flowering trees, 

I could hear in the distance a melancholic melody played on a transverse flute.

I recognized it... it was Debussy. I followed the sound and

when I found the source, I opened the doors as quietly as I could

and then sat down in the back row. As soon as the concert

finished I snuck out. 

Realizing that most hostels were closed for the night by the time

the concert had finished, I decided to board a train again.

I found my way back to the Vienna Hauptbahnhof, boarded a train 

heading for Paris, found myself an empty compartment,

and then with my backpack under my head, went to sleep.

When the train pulled up in Zurich some hours later,

 it was time to change trains again.

Thanks to a basic grasp of the German language I managed

to find a train heading for Paris but it meant that I had to get to

the other end of the station in seven minutes.

I barely made it...actually, the train was moving when I reached

the steps to the last carriage.

Standing in the gangway trying to catch my breath, I heard a voice 

behind me saying: ''Was ist los?'' (What's happening?)

''Nichts, ich versuche nur su atmen'', I answered.

(Nothing, just trying to breathe)

The voice belonged to a fellow traveler, a guy my age I guessed.

''Come join us in our compartment, we've got food and wine. I'll

carry your bag for you, come on.''

On wobbly legs I followed him up the gangway to the last

compartment of the carriage. As he slid the door open, clouds

of cannabis smoke engulfed the both of us. 

''Hey, I found a new friend,'' said my fellow traveler as he hoisted

my backpack on to the luggage rack.

''Groovy, man,'' said someone and then I was handed a spliff.

''Why not?'' I thought.

Everyone introduced themselves, food and wine was passed around,

someone started to play the guitar, another spliff was lit, and

a wonderful time was had by all.

(Just in case you were wondering, the minute I stepped into

the compartment we all spoke English.)

Time flies when you're having fun, they say, so when

the loudspeaker on the train announced Paris as the next stop

I was flabbergasted. Hadn't I just got on?

Gare Du Nord. Paris alright.

I said farewell to my newfound friends, donned the backpack

again, and armed with a map of Paris I set out for Montparnasse.

Not only is Paris in summer visually bewitchingly beautiful,

add to that the scents; freshly brewed coffee, crispy breads, 

finely sliced cheeses, salamis, hams, flowers, 

flowering bushes, trees, Gauloise cigarettes, etc.etc.etc.

As I slowly made my way toward Square Loise-Michel,

I realized that I needed to sit down, I was on the verge of

passing out from sensory overload.

With perspiration dripping down my back, I found myself a 

park bench in the shade.

As I looked around the park, I noticed that there

seemed to be old-ish looking French men occupying

most of the benches. 

They all seemed to be wearing black pants, vintage-looking

 suit jackets, and smoking cigarettes.

The way the light filtered through the leaves on the trees

onto the solemn-looking men on their benches, made a

lasting impression on me.

So much so that on a day 30 odd years later and

on the other side of Europe, 

I have a flash-back.

I grab my brushes and my paints, and paint

that memory.