Paris

I have done a fair amount of independent traveling over that past years.  It has been a great adventure to face the unknown by myself.  Traveling alone is a great way to make new friends along the way, and you get a sense of accomplishment and confidence you don't get from a team effort.

But lately, the appeal of traveling alone has faded.  At the moment, I feel confident and accomplished, and the adventure feels conquered.

I still have a desire to see new places.  But I would like to have a mission in mind once I arrive.  It's not enough to just show up somewhere and see the sights.

Right now, it feels most appealing to meet up with friends in far off lands.  So for the past few month I have been keeping my ears open for such opportunities.

Last month at a BBQ, my friend A.J. said she'd be heading to London in a few weeks ... and oh yeah, our friends Mason and Grayson would also be there.  Oh and Sonya too.  Oh and Erin as well.  They'd all be visiting our mutual friends who live in London, but who all may be moving away soon.

When would this particular opportunity ever arise again?  Dare I say.... never?

I could feel the fomo pulsating between my ears.  I must have waited about four seconds before beginning the weaseling.

"Would you mind terribly if I crash your party?" I said with a sheepish smile.

It wasn't completely ideal.  It wasn't merely a party.  There were some long distance couples who'd be reuniting across great distances, and far be it from me to clog up their narrow windows of opportunity for privacy.

But I'm sure I can figure out some way to be either present or scarce as the need arises.

This trip would also be great chance to see Sarah again, my lovely friend who recently moved to London herself.  She came to my rescue and graciously offered me refuge.

And vualá!  A vacation is born.  I booked a ten day trip.

But I have been to London already.  A couple times.  I'd like to use the opportunity to explore some place I've never been before.  Perhaps Morocco?  Some nice beach in Spain or Greece maybe?

I've never been to Paris, and it's reasonably close to London.  That seems like a good candidate.  I'll bounce it off some people once I get to England and see if I can come up with some kind of plan.  That will keep my sense of adventure somewhat fresh.

It didn't take much bouncing.  Apparently Rob and Sonya had been considering a jump over to Paris as well, so we worked out a quick trip over for the following weekend.

Both of them knew their way around there and Sonya even speaks French.  That changed the whole flavor of the journey.  Instead of being lost in a big city where I don't speak the language (which can actually be quite fun), I'd have two experienced guides, so we could maximize our time.

So we booked a Eurostar high speed train and an airbnb apartment in the Montmartre neighborhood of Paris.  This was my first time using airbnb, and I was pleased to have Paris be my first booking ever.

Adventure mode engaged!

The two hour train ride dropped us within a ten minute walk of our apartment and we managed to stroll there with ease.

Our hostess, Jennifer, who appears to be in her early twenties, rents out her apartment online for extra money.  When she met us out front, she had her bags packed, ready to spend the weekend at her boyfriend's place.

She told us not to worry as we walked up a staircase that was very literally falling down.  To a Californian like me, it looked remarkably like earthquake damage (7.5 maybe?), but more likely it's the old Parisian buildings in their perpetual fight to stay perched above the marshland below, with only partial success.  She assured us all is fine and the apartment is pleasant and comfortable.

She left us some nice instructions and recommendations for good spots nearby and said we could call her if we needed anything.

But all we needed was some delicious french bread, a cheese plate, and a nice bottle of wine.  I wonder if they have anything like that here.

Although I know absolutely no French, I quickly develop a habit of digging for any words I know that sound remotely French and pronouncing them as French as I can.  Then I giggle to myself.  And my friends pretend it's funny.  Magnifique, no?

I had prepared myself for French people to be rude to me, either because I don't speak any French, or because I'm American, or just because that's the stereotype I have of them.  The folks in London seemed especially down on them. So I braced myself.

But I must say, I did not have even one interaction that was anything but pleasant... often charming.  Granted we were mostly visiting spots that were fairly used to tourists, but I personally never had anyone throw down any vibes that seemed out of place.

The subway was another story.  The trains are packed even on the weekend and pushing is part of life.  Courtesy does not seem to be of interest while under ground.  I saw more than my fair share of unnecessary shouting and bickering.  But it wasn't directed at me for being a tourist.  So I guess I felt better about it.

I also thought it was super weird that the subway trains have rubber tires.  What is that about?  Then I remembered Michelin is a French company.  Got it.

Rob knew of a cool art space that was kind of like a perpetual open studio.  We went down there and they asked us for a one Euro donation and gave us a cup of red wine.  A staircase wound its way up the center of the building.  Every door in the building was open and welcoming with artists there working and socializing.  It was so tempting to buy some paintings.  I really prefer to buy mainly art when I travel.  But walking around with a painting all day in the rain just wasn't doing it for me.

Downstairs a French hip hop band played a free show for the young crowd.  They didn't look like any hip hop act from the US though.  The MC was well dressed and cheerful and the cute young flute player had a pretty singing voice.  None of the aggressive posturing common in so much hip hop back home.  It was all very pleasant and fit nicely into my urban Parisian fantasy.

We all got hungry and ducked into a nice little sidewalk cafe and grocery, Comptoir De La Gastronomie, that had some stellar Yelp reviews.  The staff was super nice and found us a table even though we didn't have a reservation.  We feasted on some of the most delicious food I have ever had.  Fully aware of the animal rights controversy, our unanimous favorite was the pan fried fois gras on ginger bread. I will save up all my remaining good karma to return there some day for one more bite.  Sacrebleu!

We spent the remainder of the evening walking the streets around Montmartre and Quartier Pigalle.  Charming cafes and bars abound.  The mood is light and cheerful.  There are plenty of tourists around.  I hear a lot of American English spoken.  Maybe I feel at home because I'm a tourist.  Or maybe it feels a little bit like back home in San Francisco.  We have plenty of tourists, but it somehow rarely interrupts the charm of the place.  Everyone enjoys it together.

As I was walking under a Metro subway sign that evening, it began to dawn on me.  The sign was ornate - a work of art unto itself.  From that moment, I noticed it everywhere.  Art.  Ubiquitous.  Part of the fabric of this place.  Art is valued.  Art is appreciated and honored.

I began to contrast this place with the London I had just left.  These are both old cities with loads of history.  But in London, I never saw much art.  When I toured a fancy English castle, all the paintings on the wall were of the prestigious people who had once walked the halls.  But there was no other art.

At a famous London architects house I toured, all of the expensive decor in the house were rare collectibles from ancient civilizations.  Taken, not created.

Paris seems to have more humanity to it.  They eat well.  They drink wine.  They perform.  They bake.  They paint.  The quality of life here is so clearly different than London only two hours away.

It's so hard to believe these two cities evolved as neighbors.

Back on our block, we stopped in for one last drink at the corner cafe that transforms into a bar at night.

We didn't have much time before closing, but a birthday party of some young local people offered us some drinks and shared their gourmet birthday cake with us.

Parisians are nice.  I have decided.

The next day we had to see some art, so we took a tip from a local and checked out the featured horror exhibit at the Musée d'Orsay.  I'm far from versed in fine art, but it was a beautiful old building full of obvious treasures.  An exhibit of the original scale architectural models approved by Napoleon Bonaparte to build the grand Paris Opera House were my favorite part.  For the first time ever, I felt inspired to check out a proper opera.

After some more luxurious eating and drinking that day and a farewell to Rob who had to return for work, I had the most memorable experience of my trip.

Sonya and I were sipping on Kir Royales at an outdoor Montmartre bar when we noticed a well dressed, suave, though slightly drunk latino gentleman staring in our direction.  He was pointing at me and smiling and was saying something in French.

"Gainsbarre!", he slurred.   "Gainsbarre!"

Sonya managed to discern that he was impressed at my resemblance of long-dead French celebrity, Serge Gainsbourg.  After Sonya invited him to sit down with us, we figured out that he was from Guatemala, but had been living in Paris for many years.  He was a colorful character, and claimed to speak seven languages, but oddly, none of them were English.  So I spoke to him in Spanish and Sonya spoke to him in French.

He pointed out that he had been told he resembled a younger Sixto Rodriguez, who I had just recently learned about and indeed he certainly did.  So that was his new name.

Sixto appeared to be some kind of local ladies man, who may very well have modeled himself off of Gainsbourg himself, who I later learned was legendary for his suave manner.  He offered to show us a large picture of Gainsbourge he had hanging in his flat around the corner.

We declined.

Later as he grew more and more drunk, some of his local bar fly friends showed up and things got kind of weird.  His friends didn't seem to like him all that much. The friendly young ingénue sitting on his lap leaned over to Sonya at one point and whispered something like, "he is not a good man."

Things got a little heated at one point with another friend and our table almost overturned at one point.

Sonya and I were somewhat amused by the local entertainment, but figured it was time to go.

The remainder of the long weekend was filled with more fake French and shouts of "Gainsbarre!".

The French.  Kooky, but kinda rad.

Merci! Au revoir!