Chapter 11: "Lisa? Is that really you?"

Today was the day after the night I realized that in order to not forget anything important during my trip I would need to make a list of to-do's and forgo the slightly sloppy nature I was enjoying so much thus far; there was only so much time and really much more to see than time would allow. I fought hard against such reason but struck a healthy balance as things went on. It was a Wednesday and since it was looking like an indoor day I decided to go to the Louvre. Good call.

The Louvre is big - everyone knows that. What they may not know is that there is a metro stop dedicated for just the Louvre "Palais Royal Musee du Louvre." Actually there are two stops if you count the "Louvre Rivoli," a stop directly before the Louvre that is made up to look like the Louvre's inside. I got off there first just to check it out. American tourist strikes again. When I got off at the Louvre I went out the metro exit and directly into a mini-mall full of gift shops - the Louvre had been built around the metro stop so-to-speak, or maybe the other way around. Paris has the world's oldest metro system but which came first - the Louvre or the Metro? As I pondered ancient history the pain in my bladder beckoned me towards this high class looking bathroom that I had to pay 1 euro to use. It was kind of worth it in a (stupid American tourist) way. The super-sonic air dryer thingy was cool... I went up the escalator and bought my ticket from the kiosk - only 9 euros! Cheap! Back down and around, through a line that ended in an x-ray machine for my bag and I was in a hallway of more gift shops. Is there anywhere I won't find a Starbucks?! Actually, to be honest I kind of enjoyed a small piece of home away from home just this once ;) Through the hallway was a huge indoor promenade and in the center an info booth full of maps in seven different languages and a thoroughly linguistic staff there to assist all the camera-faces. The ceiling was a huge glass window made up of triangle panes. There were three main escalators - one for each wing the museum. The noise of a thousand tourists echoed off every marble surface as normal conversations at deafening volume. I realized immediately that what my mom had said was true: you really could spend an entire week in the Louvre! I had one main thing to do first: find the Mona Lisa.

Like any smart marketer knows, you put your prize attraction at the end of the maze so that everyone has to go through everything else to get to it. I swore many times that I had taken a wrong turn until I saw the familiar 11" x 17" photocopy of the Mona Lisa with the big arrow on it (pointing the way) attached to a metal stand. These were set out at every corner for us mice. The Louvre's architecture inside was equally impressive as it's outside (well, it was nice anyway) with high ceilings with tons of adornment, all marble floors and winding staircases. Very easy to get lost; I did numerous times. There was an incredible amount of work put into transforming the interior for each exhibit - definitely a prized possession of France. Good job dudes.

At the base of a huge staircase I found myself staring up at The Winged Victory of Samothrace. She stood upon a massive base of stone at the stairway's center like a diva holding the spotlight, perfectly complementing the stairways split upwards on either side. There's just something hard to understand about a sculpture over 2,000 years old. The brain no gets it. I went up the left wing and into the royal ballroom where napoleon and others once danced and drank. The ceiling was incredibly intricate with paintings on the walls themselves as well as some that hung in frames (which I think were actually part of the wall meant to look like frames) all adorned by sculptures of angels and grape leaves etc. So cool. Oh - and it was all gold. I forgot that part. That does say Royalty... After a few more twists and turns (and the feeling that this whole Mona Lisa thing was just an elaborate rouse to get me to fly overseas) I caught several flashes out of the corner of my eye from a small, pretty inconspicuous doorway. This had to be the place - I just knew it.

Sure enough: there she was surrounded by guards on either side and a sea of 100+ people all crammed together like the front rows of a rock concert. The room was medium sized and a bit more normal than I expected. Light came through a glass ceiling above like the one from the promenade I saw earlier. She hung inside a thick glass case (flash-proof I'm sure) that was incased in steel and covered to match the rest of the surrounding decor. It was it's own partition in the center of the room - a vault that was constructed to look not so vault-like if you know what I mean. It didn't matter either way; it was pretty rad to be a few feet away from the Mona Lisa. I tried to get closer but everyone was packed so tight and pushing and shoving that I had to do things traffic-style and wait until someone wanted to get out, then grab their bubble before someone else got it. Within 20 minutes I was front and center surrounded by cameras over each shoulder within inches of my head. Claustrophobic? Nah. I took some pictures and soaked up the moment.

After I squeezed out of there I went into the room beyond and saw some other nice paintings. It was all red and pretty. Haha! I visited the statues as well, some of which were sculpted by Michelangelo. I think I was there for a few hours but man I got tired fast! Something about the sheer overload of information since I'd arrived in Paris was starting to wear on me I think. What a great way to wear out!

I picked up a few things at the gift shop before I left and sat for a while at the Starbucks inside where a crazy lady made a scene. It felt good to sit and do nothing at all. I sat there thinking about the whole experience thus far: how crazy it was that I decided to just up and go and that right now for the first time ever I was on the other side of the world sitting in a coffee shop wondering what MY side was up to. Well, sometimes the grass is greener and sometimes you really do find the best patch.

On the way home I was looking out the window as the metro came to a stop and I saw mon petit shu (my little cabbage.) All dressed in black (and she's so pale, she's waiting there for me!) she stood there looking down as she balanced on the outsides of her feet while waiting for her metro. She looked just like Amelie! So Cute! We waived goodbye as I departed. That marked the second farewell to beautiful women I had seen that day. How else would things end up in the city of romance?

Later in the evening Lotfi and I jammed a bit. I think I was on the second bottle of wine I had bought since I'd arrived and it was very nice. Jams in the finest wine country can never go wrong...

Chapter 10: Pigalle

Pigalle is kind of the Hollywood district of Paris. I like to think of it as the fresh gum on the sidewalk that you don't want to step in (as you glance down at the last minute and almost break your ankle trying to avoid it.) Yeah, it's cool though. I got off the metro in my traditional fashion of "this looks good, I'll take this stop" and headed uphill where I found a one-legged pirate. No joke; this guy was a one-legged pirate. At least he looked like a pirate. Actually I think he was homeless and much nicer than any pirate you'd ever see. I found a little gift shop that had some cool things and I got a present for a special someone. The guy who owned it was an older Frenchmen who smoked cigarettes inside (there was a haze throughout the store) and had enchanted forests coming out of his ears with gnomes sneaking peaks at the outside world. He spoke very little English but he did his best to translate the meaning of the text on the cover of my present. I enjoyed our attempts for common ground. It began to sprinkle outside. I pretty girl popped her head in to say hi and then went on her way. I felt good. I wished him well and continued upward. Europe is so rad.

Up top I found a lot of Brasserie's (cafe's) and other stores. I sat on the corner of one and ordered a beirre blanche and tried my best to roll a smoke. Prologue to cigarette saga: I had purchased a bag of tobacco a few days prior because I wanted the full European experience. I'm not your habitual smoker (nor will I ever be) but that's how they tend to do it in Paris because it's much cheaper and every penny counts. Plus it's kind of fun - if you're not sitting on a windy corner fighting the rain drops splashing off your table anyhow - and if you actually know HOW to roll one...

After my beer I followed the street west to find a pretty cool old church and then a marketplace with all sorts of good looking foods. That was only a few blocks long and I shortly hit the end where I had a decision to either head uphill to who knows where, or turn back and head down to the Moulin Rouge. I chose wisely. When I got there I thought I’d at least find out what going rate for a show was these days. Turns out it’s dinner and a show for $150 and another late show (no dinner) for $99. F- that. No girl is that pretty. Most of Pigalle’s main drag consisted of porn shops and strip bars with hustlers outside trying to get you to come in and check out their girls. No thanks man, I got cigarettes to buy. These people would even follow me down the street for half a block after I told them I wasn’t interested. I guess we’re all feeling the depression nowadays haha. There was a good amount of cops around which was nice. Towards the lower end of the strip I found myself taking a panoramic photo and I noticed a lady across the street (one of those “hustlers” I warned you about) who was getting agitated. I was pretty far away so I thought there was no way she was actually getting angry at one of the 300+ tourists who take pictures in her general direction everyday, but I was wrong. She was yelling and throwing up her arms and then she spit at me! I was across street - way across – and she was acting like I was going to have to dodge her or something. I was pretty scared but hang on, it gets better. She went back inside and I figured I must’ve broken the law or something and that she must be calling the cops since I remembered about the sign they tore down the other day that said: “NO PHOTOS OF GHETTO STRIP BARS WITH TORN UP BITCHES OUTSIDE.” She came back out with a bottle of Perrier (thank God because I was parched) and started flinging the water out of it at my direction. I have that effect on people :) Stay off drugs kids.

I went off the strip and into the back alleys where I found a surprising amount of guitar shops – I mean a lot – every other store was a guitar store or a piano store of some kind. I wondered how these places didn’t drive each other out of business and why this was the first (and only) area in Paris I’d seen that had them. Then I wondered if the American cliché of sex drugs and rock and roll was the reason for it. Hmm...

In all honesty it was a bit to sexy and druggy and rock n’ rollish for me. I preferred my other adventures over Pigalle, but it was still fun - where else can I see chicks on PCP? I wandered south and caught these two trumpet players dressed as bullfighters doing a call-and-response from across the street to each other. I thought I was in Spain for a running of the bulls. Cool sounds. I ended up walking about a mile downhill to this huge church and took a few pictures. I met a girl in the park who was pretty nice too. This is about the end of my recollection for the day. I remember going back to the Eiffel Tower again towards the evening and staring up into the sky. That still topped it all.

Chapter 9: Montmartre

Montmartre is an interesting area. Kind of urban-meets-tourist-meets-flea market all crunched together. It felt a bit faster paced there than in the other parts of Paris (and Paris in general is pretty fast paced.) It was too crowded and I felt a need to separate myself immediately before I got pick-pocketed. Yes, it was that part of town. Another weird thing that added to the flea market vibe was the large amount of Nigerian immigrant peddlers there. I'd seen them around the Eiffel Tower selling their light-up plastic souvenirs, but this part of town seemed to be a bit more comfortable for them. It was a little intimidating at first for me. Because they were direct immigrants they would forgo certain etiquette that I'd come to expect from living in the states (and big city living in general) and act as they would in their native country: yelling and running around crowded areas, pushing each other (in fun) without regard for the surrounding people and shouting in groups at attractive women as they walked by. Go with the flow Coire heh... Once on my way out of the metro station I was blocked by a crowd of Nigerians blocking the exit and beyond that (although I could not see) I heard large firecrackers going off in front of the local newsstand to which they roared in celebration. These were large explosives - not for sidewalk use - and I wondered how the poor newspaper guy was taking things, where the cops were, and if they were even coming or what. A little weird, that's all. But back to Montmartre: as I got past the first couple blocks I headed uphill and it felt a bit like SF. There's something about a city built on a hill that's complimentary to both man and nature. It makes you feel small, humbled. Looking down the winding streets and alleys was spectacular.

I stopped in a cafe and got myself a mushroom and cheese quiche. The girl behind the counter spoke pretty good English and helped my find the right way through all the twisted roads and odd-shaped intersections to the Sacre-Coeur. I really wanted to stop at a cafe and have a beer but I decided to continue onward; I was too excited to wait. I walked up this back-alley that was in fact a front side path for many apartments and met this sweet old lady and her dog. They complimented each other perfectly. She spoke little English but I appreciated the desire she had to learn about me. I found this kind of openness often during my stay. I looked back down towards the cafe feeling the breeze from above and taking things in for a moment.

The farther up I went the cooler it was to look down. What a view! When I finally got to the top I found several flights of stone steps that weaved up to a winding driveway and the backside of the Sacre-Coeur. I really enjoyed my half-assed (or as I like to call it "unplanned") approach to sightseeing. I liked being one of only a couple people when I got there - nothing worse than meeting a sea of tourists. It began to sprinkle almost immediately so I tried to get a few shots in before I got my umbrella out. Somehow the rain fit the energy perfectly. When I got to the front I saw what the big deal was; I felt like I was in Amelie! It stopped raining a bit and I got a picture or two. Inside was pretty intense as well. They didn't allow pictures, but I remember rows and rows of pews divided at the pillars that supported the sides, and a large path straight down the center leading to a giant gold alter directly under the onion dome that I'd seen from the outside - that was amazing to see inverted sitting underneath it! The alter area had six or so mini-alters each holding a statue, flowers candles and such. The light came through stained glass windows on all sides. I recall the smell of stale musty air, which I thought added to the charm of it all. What isn't charming about a place like that?

Back outside I stood looking out upon the city at the top of a giant stairway (another fun thing about coming up the backside was that I'd saved this part for later!) Midway down the first level a guy that looked a bit like Lenny Kravitz played covers of Bob Marley songs through a PA for the tourists. Can't win 'em all I guess. The rain began again and I headed down the steps, which curved around to the right and made my way to the bottom. Past the shops and bars I found the metro and headed back to Lotfi's place. Side note: It only rained five out of the 14 days I was there, but I really enjoyed it- there's just something about the rain in Paris...

After I got home I went down the street for a walk and ended up in a really cool marketplace that was in fact in an alleyway. It was filled with restaurants, vegetable stands, fresh fish, pasta - you name it. I bought some fresh hand-made pesto ravioli to take home. Yumm.. It started raining again and I stopped just east of the pasta stand under an awning and had a smoke. I felt at home in a European alley surrounded by rain.

Later that night Lotfi and I worked out a few songs, but decided it best if we went to Digo's house to get his guitar in trade for the one I was using. He lived just south of Paris so we walked it. Interesting how things change almost immediately after you leave Paris - it's hard to describe. Anyway, we hung out at his place for a bit, which was interesting. My how I love the smell of hops...

Chapter 8: New Morning

I spent the next day hanging out with Jeanne. I had met her through Craigslist emails a few weeks earlier when I was apartment hunting on the off-chance I'd end up actually moving to Paris. I read her ad for a flat-mate and responded on it's merits alone; she wanted an artsy, vegetarian, native English speaking musician to join her house crew of such folks and I was certainly just that. I figured why not hang out while I was in town and get a taste of the other side of the music scene, plus get to know a pretty French girl. Lucky me.

The way we met in person was also funny. I was supposed to met her at some street and I had gotten off the metro, so therefore I was lost (again) and looking at my trusty wrinkled map against a building at the corner. I couldn't make any sense of the map so I pretty much used it as an excuse to people watch 70%, find said-street 30%. During my studies I heard a voice: "Coire? Is that you?" I looked up and there she was: short and cute with an accordion in hand. Will wonders never cease ;) She was also lost and just happened to recognize me while she was standing there. Funny right?! After asking a passer-by I carried her accordion (the case was filled with lead bricks for the gig later) and we walked to her friends art show.

Now although I haven't traveled much I can still attest to the rumors firsthand that say Paris is the artistic Mecca of the world. Absolutely. The whole city is such, and the coming show was to be no exception. A few blocks walk and there we were: a gallery show in a building which inside could've been a barber shop, a retail store or something equally aged and eclectic. It was filled with all sorts of wonderful items - another sensory overload from the Parisian mindset I was growing to appreciate so quickly. Everyone inside the show was super nice and most of them spoke enough English for me to converse comfortably. Some guys were dressed as you might imagine (think lofty) with berets, shirts with huge ruffles, sashes, pantaloons...you get the picture. Pretty cool to see. There was free box wine so I decided to have my very first glass; afterall, I'd been in Paris 3 days now and hadn't had a glass of wine - What gives?! Umm... Not so good. Downright gross to be honest. I guess the finest French plastic bags can only instill so much character sometimes... I met Jeanne's mother there (she was very nice!) and they exchanged some words in French that I translated in my head to be something like this:

Jeanne: "This is the guy who answered the ad that I was telling you about."

Mom: "Oh, he seems to nice! And cute! You should see if he wants to get married someday soon!"

Jeanne: "I was thinking the same thing!"

Not true I'm sure, but I was happy to be in good company nonetheless. I went upstairs to the rest of the exhibit and found myself in the buildings attic which had been converted into a whole experience of its own: covered in odd hangings from ceiling to floor and everything in-between. There was a small circle of four people sitting cross-legged on the floor chatting in French as they looked through some paintings that they must have made. It felt good. Kind of a bit like some old movie I can't quite place at the moment. I took a few pictures outside (mostly secretly as to not offend the party-goers) and caught a few gems for the scrapbook.

We took off shortly after that and Jeanne, her mom and I walked back to the metro stop, me carrying my still unfinished glass of wine - it's bad luck not to finish your first glass right? After walking a block and a half it hit me just how cool that was: I was walking down the street in broad daylight with alcohol in hand for the first time ever. I finished my glass in thanksgiving. We all got on the metro and split midway; mom went home and Jeanne and I went to a really nice jazz club (world famous from what I've heard) New Morning. She knew the headlining band so we got on the guest list. That's how I roll. She met up with a friend from the band (this guy from the UK who played the strings) and we all went for a drink before the show. Guess who ordered a glass of wine instead of a beer. Yup, batting 1,000 this time around...

We were on the corner of a surprisingly ethnic neighborhood (or surprising I thought for my expectations of Paris living) and I think I can honestly say that I was the only tourist there with the exception of my Brit friend. Finally a real taste. Yes...

After the drinks we went in and I caught the opening band. By the way: what a cool place! It was the perfect balance of gritty and cool, class and character, beauty and wear. Ah the things I am missing now that I live back in the states! Alas my poor eyes and ears! The music of the opener Blancheneige Bazaar Orchestra, a local band, fell within the borders of gypsy jazz but believe me: it was far beyond anything I've heard. Fuckin-A! Her friends A Hawk and A Hacksaw were fabulous as well. Think what it would sound like if The Decemberists got lost for six months sailing on a pirate ship with the guys from Primus aboard while only drinking absinthe - that's what I'm talking about. Pretty hefty tunes. I remember the bartender working that night: she had a pretty smile.

After the show Jeanne, strings-man and I went back to her place and she made us some pasta for dinner. She lived just outside the city limits (or "the door of Paris" as they call it) where the rent is much cheaper. I listened to the both of them catch up on old times. They had known each other since childhood and I felt as if I was standing across the room looking in on their conversation - on there entire lives - even though I was sitting right there at the table with them. We were all vagabonds (we travel without seat belts on) and I had grown up in England and moved to France several years back. Jeanne was a close friend, this other fellow was an old friend from college and we were catching up on things. They were near and far to me like the way I felt before and I was beginning to understand the power of traveling, that ultimate drug called "experience," that immersion that fuels the human spirit.

I think that was the first real nights sleep I'd gotten since I'd arrived, or maybe the jet lag was finally wearing off - take your pick. Jeanne was up about the same time so we had breakfast together and talked a bit more. I met her roommates on my way out who seemed very nice and indeed "artsy." I thanked her for letting me crash there and asked if she'd like to meet up the following day. She invited me to another show later that same afternoon but I had other things planned: I was off to Montmartre to see the Sacre-Coeur.

Chapter 7: Walker, Parisian Ranger pt. 2

We took a path through a rich part of Paris that filled my camera up with lots of nice nighttime pictures. They have public toilets in France that are essentially porta-potties. Weird I know. I never used them and that is why I am typing this today. We got to this large square that was centered around a tall stone rod erected by Napoleon after he conquered Germany. My, how that sentence was worded haha... I found it eerie: the stone had a bleeding texture to it and the eagles on the corners looked more like gargoyles. At the base was a creepy pair of double doors and an equally creepy gate surrounded it. Pretty cool at night.

After viewing Napoleons rod we headed back the way we came and hopped on the metro. At least I think we did - my memory is fading and like I said before: random thoughts as organized as possible. When we got off the metro and cleared the building at our side there she was burning in the distance: the Eiffel Tower. Between it and I was a promenade (a great lookout spot) and two staircases about 15' wide leading down to a park. In the park's center there was a fountain which flowed from one pool to the next in steps as the ground descended. I heard the sound of acoustic guitar and singing from some kids and others were sitting on blankets. Beyond the park there was a bridge that led over a river filled with ferryboats and trees at its border. At the end of this stood the Eiffel Tower. I'll never get over the epic movie-like scope of it all.

We went down through the park and across the bridge. I can't explain how awe-struck I was standing at the base of the Eiffel Tower. THE EIFFEL TOWER. What?! Trust me: there are some things you MUST do once in your life and this is one of them. I stood there reveling in how man could have constructed something so massive and so beautiful. I loved the way the beams bent, how every curve was complementary esthetically and structurally, the rivets, the accents of the latticework and how it had a certain path to its overall shape as it climbed up into the night sky. It really was perfect in every way.

I couldn't pull myself to leave easily but I knew that my gracious host had to be getting home soon so we started walking alongside the river where we passed a street crepe vendor. We each got one. Mine was strawberry and delicious. Walking and eating is a Paris pastime I hope to relive someday soon. I don't remember if we walked home or not, but I do know that I walked for around 12 hours that day and when I got home I was grateful to sit down. Sure enough: blisters on the bottoms of both feet. Worth every step I promise you. I sat there that night with another feeling I can't begin to describe.