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.