That’s right. I’m in Paris.
Well I made it down to that one suitcase… and one book bag.
Yesterday, I was dropped off at Pearson International Airport in Toronto with all I own.
I then took said suitcase and hauled it on a plane bound for Paris, France. Upon arrival, I met a nice girl from Toronto and we figured out the metro system together. Slightly harrowing navigating stairs and escalators with a suitcase. That was when I realized something very important:
One suitcase is still too much if it’s too heavy.
When I reached my apartment, I tossed said suitcase down with a thud and went off like a cat to scout out my immediate surroundings.
Navigating the streets of Paris.
Yes, that’s a baguette in my bag.
As luck would have it, I’m near this old street in Paris. I know. Shocker. And on said street, they have cheese shops and bakeries, fish mongers, chocolate shops, wine shops and all that good stuff. They should have called the street “Vices Ave” because it’s a food addicts dream, but they called it “Rue Mouffetard.” Fine, call it what you’d like. I won’t argue.
I bought some tasty vittles for the apartment and walked my way toward Notre Dame Cathedral. Not because of any great need to get there, but that’s where I ended up once I collected my bag full of goodies.
At the entrance are these dudes who seem to say, “Hey there good lookin’ come on in.” So I did.
Mass was starting as I walked into the cathedral so I sat down to partake. My feet needed the rest anyway. As I sat there, I remembered the times when I had imagined going to Notre Dame Cathedral in Paris to go to mass, like it was some monumental thing. But here I was, wandering in without a plan and boom! There it is.
Sometimes dreams come at us sideways.
Catholic masses are all the same around the world. Even the cadence at which the priests speak is the same. You may not realize it until you go to other churches in different languages, but it’s easy to follow along. They all say the same thing in the same way. And since I rarely listen even in the English masses, I felt quite at home.
At one point I felt myself falling into a deep meditation. But when I came to, it was just jetlag and I had nodded off.
I guess they all can’t be spiritual experiences.
After getting all holy, I zipped through St. Germain, the Latin Quarter to find me a crepe. I had a crepe filled with egg, mushroom and cheese.
I almost fell over, it was so good.
I mean, it was… there are no words for how good it was.
Street art in Paris makes the whole city feel like a gallery.
This one is by Jef Aerosol.
This one is by Jef Aerosol.
Street art mixes nicely with everyday life in Paris.
I watched the guy in the photo above pile up his oranges in little pyramids. I couldn’t tell if he was content or bored. Some things get lost in translation. I feel like the lady in the painting behind him is serenading him as he makes his little pyramids.
First day in Paris. Pas mal. My friend Jeff said, “Pretty soon you’ll be a Peugeot-drivin’, bagguette-eatin’, wine-sippin’, Louve-lovin’, Truffaut-movie watchin’, Canadian/American ex-patriot.”
That’s worth aiming for.