Paris.
Paris in summer.
Enchanting, seductive and fragrantly intoxicating.
When my train pulled up at Gare du Lyon in the morning hours
I was buzzing with anticipation.
After having spent hours jumping trains in Copenhagen,
Cologne, Amsterdam, and Brussels to get to Paris, I was worn out.
Tired and very hungry. Not to mention, rather
disorientated, but...still buzzing.
The first thing on my agenda was to find a nice
patisserie, buy a cheese croissant, a caffe latte, and then find
a nice shady spot under a Linden tree to just enjoy
''arriving'' and hopefully, one or two moments of sleep.
Standing outside the station unsure of which direction would
take me to the city center, I decided to follow the Seine river
which I knew ran through it.
Armed with a caffe latte in one hand and a cheese croissant
in my backpack, I started to walk.
Eventually I found my Linden tree in Jardin the Plantes
(Botanical Garden), devoured my croissant and caught up on
a few hours of sleep.
Though there are many composers who have created music
that is exquisite and almost ethereal, let me suggest that sometimes life,
when and if we take the time to really listen to it, now and
then also manages to create its own exquisite compositions.
Laying under the Linden tree I heard children laughing,
birds chirping, leaves rustling, people talking, people walking,
someone singing, someone playing a guitar, and somewhere
in the background, almost like a sostenuto, the low hum of traffic.
Magnifique.
Alas, as time passed, I knew I needed to find somewhere
to stay. I slung my backpack over my shoulder and
headed for Montmartre.
A friendly and English speaking older man informed me that
to get there I had to take the Metro and a bus as it was
far too far to walk.
My French being very minimal, it took me a few hours
and a number of mistakes to finally get there.
Luckily I found a small chambre d'hotes (B&B) that
I could afford. I booked in, dropped my stuff on the floor,
collapsed on the bed and fell asleep instantly.
In the morning I woke up to a gentle knock on my door,
someone saying ''Bonjour'', and the smell of freshly
brewed coffee.
As I opened my door a small woman all dressed in black
and with a black schawl pulled tightly around her head
handed me a tray with two croissants, some butter and
jam, and a glass mug with ''caffe au lait''.
''Merci, Madame'', I said. She nodded in acknowledgement
and then hurried away.
My room had a little balcony so I took the tray
and went outside. As I looked out at my surroundings,
I felt as if I had stepped into a Tolouse Lautrec painting.
Which was amazing because one of my reasons for going
to Paris was to walk the cobbled streets that had once been
trodden by many of my favourite artists; the Impressionists.
Exiting my B&B to explore Montmartre I discovered that
opposite to it was a small park in the shape of a circle.
It had a fountain in the middle and wooden park benches
encircling it.
Almost every bench had someone sitting on it.
When I say ''someone'', I mean men of varying ages smoking
cigarettes and reading news papers.
Except, there was one man who wasn't smoking or reading
that caught my attention.
He was just sitting there, very still, and what seemed to me,
in deep thought. I decided to sit down under one
of the trees and observe him. He looked so sad. Or was
he in pain? What was he thinking about?
After I had been observing him for about ten minutes or so,
the man slowly rose to his feet.
When he did, some of the other men lowered their news
papers, gave the man an approving nod of the head and
muttered something in French.
As the man started to walk I noticed that he
was dragging his left leg. I also noticed that he was wearing
an arm band with the French flag colors and the letters F. F. I
written on it on his right arm.
By the way the other men seemed to honour him with the
nodding of their heads I concluded that he was probably
a WWII veteran. (Perhaps even a heroic one.)
Instantly I was reminded of how hard the French had fought
to save their city.
As I left the park to start exploring Montmartre and other
exciting sites in ''the city of lights'' I counted myself very
fortunate to be able to do so.
''You can't escape the past in Paris, and yet what is so wonderful
about it is that the past and the present intermingle so
intangibly that it doesn't seem to burden.''
(Allan Ginsberg)
Paris, with its galleries, theaters, cafes, ancient winding
medieval streets, grand boulevards and extraordinary
architecture, ....insisting on giving birth to geniuses
ranging from philosophers to the finest of artists.
''He who contemplates the depth of Paris is seized
with vertigo. Nothing is more fantastic.
Nothing is more tragic. Nothing is more sublime.''
(Victor Hugo)
Though I only spent a week in Paris, I absolutely
loved it.
And the man in the park, I never forgot his face.
about the image: acrylic on large canvas,
some editing in Photoshop.
Title: ''Parisian Man''
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