It hit me yesterday afternoon, really hit me, for the first time, in a relaxed, satisfied way, rather than a manic, what-have-I-done way -- I am really living in Paris. I am experiencing daily almost as many interesting, new things as I can safely assimilate. I am meeting people from all over the world. How extraordinary.
I arrived at this emotional place in part because Friday was the last day of my class at the Accord school. As I was leaving, I was surprised at how sad I felt at the thought that I would never see my classmates again. We'd spent only 3 weeks together, but it seemed like more; we had formed bonds somehow below the level of language (since our communication in French was pathetically). The closeness didn't manifest itself (of course) until the very, very end, as is often the case in such situations, probably because at that point the fact the others will be forever missing from your life is driven home, and because the feeling of attachment is completely safe now that no actual attachment will ever be forthcoming. It is emotionally satisfying but wholly without emotional risk, although the free positive feeling is, for me, leavened by a kind of wistful sadness, almost a feeling of homesickness, of considering relationships that might have been.
Don't push "publish," part of me is saying. Contemplating these feelings made me realize that in some ways none of us can say under our own name the things that drive us or matter to us at the most fundamental level -- fears, desires, dreams, hatreds, jealousies, pride, conceits, the lies and the truths we tell ourselves. Perhaps this is why people write novels, to be able to put into the mouths and actions of third parties the things they would never, could never pony up as their own.
But I'm off track ... I came home after class and borrowed my son's IPod and laid down on the couch and turned on my favorite band and spent 45 minutes reliving through the songs times when I was younger, feeling very content and happy that I am older now, wondering if the young students in my class had ever heard any of these songs, wondering what their young lives are like, while at the same time feeling gratitude that I do not ever have to be 18, or 22, or 26 again. Then a song would end, and in the pause the sounds of the street outside would rush in, the cars and the voices, and I would be pulled back from the cross-country trip I took in 1984, back to the present, and I would think ... that is Paris out there, and this is me lying here, the same confused, agitated kid that listened to these songs for the first time so long ago ... and then the next song would start and I would be off again to some other time, a time now warm in the glow of nostalgia.
That evening, we all went to the movies. We took the No. 4 Metro line to Montparnasse (the line seems designed to pick us up and deliver us directly to the movie theater -- the entrance is a block or so away from our apartment,
and it deposits us directly across the street from the theater, with no transfers required) to the Gaumont Parnasse Cinema, which in the daytime looks like this.
Suzie and I saw a wonderful, wonderful French movie called Bienvenue Chez les Ch'tis, a warm and absolutely hilarious comedy about a manager in the French Post Office who gets transferred to what the French apparently believe is akin to hell on Earth -- Nord-Pas de Calais, the very northwestern-most part of France, next to Belgium. The plot was simple enough (and I know just enough French) to follow the story. I laughed so hard that I cried at times, even though (or maybe because) the gags were often pure slapstick, although very, very well done. The movie works because it has a heart to it; it is an ode of sorts to the Nord-Pas de Calais by the film's director, Dany Boon, a native. And, because it has been out a long time, our tickets were only 3 euros each, even though it was Friday. (The boys, in their typical fashion, chose to see Journey to the Center of the Earth, in English.)
Today was another good day. I went out fairly early to get the boys some breakfast, but first I bought a newspaper and went to the brasserie on the big Place near our house, ordered a cafe au lait, and sat there for 30 minutes, alternatively reading and watching the people go by. After that I bought some pain au chocolat and pain aux raisins for me and the boys and came back home. Later that day we went shopping; it is the sale season, and Suzie and the boys have found a lot of nice clothes for very, very reasonable prices. (One observation I'll add about Paris here, at least the parts I've mostly been in: It must have more womens' shoe stores per capita than any other city in the world. It seems there are at least three on every block, and they are not small.)
While out shopping the boys decided they wanted to come home (!!), and Suzie and I went to one of the free museums that she had found referenced in a book at the Alliance Francaise, the Musee d'Art Moderne de la Ville de Paris. Located just north of the Trocadero, across from the Eiffel Tower, it has a nice, small collection (we are not sure we saw it all). We stayed for about an hour and a half (including an ice-cream break on the patio), then returned home. After Suzie and I went grocery shopping at a painfully packed Champion store (it is a must here to buy groceries on Saturday, since most stores are closed on Sunday), Suzie cooked an excellent dinner (beef and little French tater-tot type things, and a salad), and we spend the rest of the evening relaxing.
We did have one exciting thing (well, sort of) happen today, but since the hour is late, it will have to wait until tomorrow. More pictures from today follow. Don't push "publish," it's still saying but, as you know, I did.
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment