July 20, 2006: from the Paris backlog
Posted Thursday, August 10, 2006 @ 12:50 AM
2:18 PM, TGV from Paris to Le Mans
Although it has not been as hot today—only 30, not 36—we still had quite the time dragging our luggage from Rue de Cujas to the St. Michel RER stop a few blocks away, and then again through the underground tunnels, on and off metros, up and down stairs until we reached Montparnasse, where we waited for several minutes while Dad and Rainier purchased tickets. We got standby first class, so we are all seated in the first class car, although separately and among French strangers. Because it is vacation season we're lucky we got seats at all—we should have called early to reserve seats, but since we're usually here in June it's not something we thought of.
Every time I drag luggage through the metro I'm amazed that Montparnasse isn't easier to get to—you'd think they put stairs there only to anger the tourists, but one must remember that Parisians also use the train station. It's hard to say. Regardless, it's frustrating. As we spoke to Jerome last night he explained that he finds the French make it exceedingly difficult to accomplish much; they are very bureaucratic in that sense. If one man doesn't know the precise answer to your question he refers you to another man, and him to another, until it is no longer anyone's responsibility to actually help you. Adam Gopnik wrote some about it in Paris to the Moon—he had a name for it that I can't remember. I need to reread that book.
Sometimes I wish the iSight camera on my computer could rotate to photograph what's on the opposite side of the screen. The man sitting across from me is writing in very French handwriting in a graph-paper journal. The pace at which he writes makes me think it's poetry, although there are no line breaks. He is wearing a white plaid shirt with blue stripes, and has short hair and a gold wedding band. He is right-handed (are there really any left-handed French?) and holds the journal at an angle. The book he has with him, Les Langues de l'Amour by Gary Chapman has this subtitle: "Les actes qui disent << je t'aime >>. " It is a shame I cannot photograph him discretely with my iSight -- the first class car is so beautiful. Not to mention all the sleeping French men within adequate camera distance, who frown slightly as they sleep, some still with eyeglasses on. I am always impressed by the average Joe's incredible sense of style. I suppose when you grow up in Paris, fashion is something you understand from birth.
The French countryside speeds past the window, flat and mostly yellow, dry and beautiful. It is a shame that the more you ride the TGV, the less the countryside impresses you—same with the metro and hearing French spoken in the street. Paris is still charming, still captivating, still French and beautiful, but the wonder you have for a country the first time you visit wears with time, especially when you stay in nearly the same place each time you visit. I don't regret that the wonder fades so much as I am fascinated by how quietly it vanishes, the way years begin to slip as you get older. Still, I think of Jean de Florette and Manon de Source, of French Kiss, of all the movies you see with a train to the South. The 55 minutes from Paris to Le Mans hardly affords time to reflect.
Every day that passes I look forward more and more to studying abroad. I can't wait to arrive in French 201 to study, to cram as much French into my brain as possible before I come back to live and speak. I am part of the International Honors Program at UA, and am required to study abroad for at least a semester, but sometimes I wonder if my parents may have a hard time peeling me away from la Sorbonne even after a year.
Welcome to the past, bucko. You're swimming through the archive of rocket-fish.org. If this isn't where you were headed, I suggest you get out of here while there's still time.
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You know what would be really charming and captivating? If you could get back to Paris by 8/25 to see the Raconteurs perform at Rock en Seine. It's great you're seeing them in Alanta, but Paris...ooh, how sweet! I love those Raconteurs, they're like Led Zeppelin for gay people. Maybe I'll head over there myself.
11 Aug 2006, 12:47 PM.