20 days prior

i have been in France for 20 days!
including epic holidays: Groundhog Day and Valentine's Day.

according to my 2009-2010 walking guide of Paris, i have strolled
the Village Paris, Glamorous Paris, Timeless Paris, Artists' Paris,
Monumental Paris, Mythical Paris...i've done well for myself.
although i have yet to conquer Cosmopolitan Paris,
boat tour on the River Seine,
the all too fantastical Musée Du Louvre,
and locate the chocolate behind the doors of Debauve & Gallais
(the oldest chocolatier in Paris, opened in 1800, who made delicate
treats for the Kings of France, m*tha f*ckas!)

i have mastered the Metro.

not nearly eaten my weight in snails (there's time for that, for sure).

drank the champagne that was sent over from the table of regulars
at the late night cafe in Vanves...the 2 bottles of champagne, no less.

ate off of the plate, off of the fork, of Cristof, on the Boulevard de Clichy,
across from the Moulin Rouge. drank his wine, smoked his cigarette,
and know he is part of the development department for a large,
successful, energy conservation corporation. he also plays squash.

i want to eat a baguette every morning.
i want it with an espresso.
i want soupe d' oignon for a midday warm-up.
i want the truffles from Jeff de Bruges on Rue Lepic.
i want snails, snails, and more escargot.
i want to speak more French.
i want to hug my cousin everyday.
i want to stare under the gold skirt of the Eiffel Tower.
i want a crépe of nutella, banana, and almond from
that one guy on that one corner.
i want to kiss as that heart shaped balloon floats by the Sacre Coeur.
i want to keep cheering for the French in the Winter Olympics.

i want to keep waking up
to hear a language i do not follow,
and smile
the smile
i smiled
out of the terminal,
and into Paris,
20 days prior.

namaste, little escargot i have yet to devour.

enchantè, Paris

enchantè, Paris!

enchantè, Vanves!

enchantè, and namaste!

i have again been on the go-go, my friends!

i walk. i eat. i browse. i pause. remember to breath, then continue walking.
i read every foreign word; i smile and i can ask for the check and apologize
like a professional. i can take you to where the sales are, where couture dines.
i walk. i worry i am lost. i most likely am. then, i accept that fact, and
continue walking -
into the snow flurries, against the sadness of rain, away from the sunlight.
i watch everyone smoke. i smoke, too. sometimes. here and there.
sometimes from here to there. i accept my immature smoking status
amongst a city of avid inhalers/exhalers. damn, they make smoking sexy.
again. yes, i just said smoking is sexy, again.
i look into crowded - understatement - cafes sifting
through the talking heads
to find a suitable table worth writing at for a time. worth investing 6 euros
for a cafe au lait, a cafe creme, espresso.
worth 2 hours - understatement - deciphering the french that swarms
through the smoke and into my hair and kisses the white foam
of my creme confection.
their vowels purse and i, with envy, of their lips that oui and oui
past the foam to create a creamy sentence of gossip
or business
or friendship.
i flirt. with anyone selling me my pastry. young girl. young-ish boy.
salt and pepper, or just salt, cardigan button down.
Egyptian. selling up front while yells to mom in the back,
Oz behind the curtain. lever pulling, croissant counting.
i flirt hoping this time it will be free.
this time they will sell it to me for less than advertised.
this time, i have most certainly lost my marbles,
and the romance of a country like that may never exist in this time again.
i side step the rain, i Lindy hop it.
i look up to washout sadness.
when eet rayns een Paris, eet ees really quite saad. eet ees.
yes, she says.
beautiful, steell, but sad, yes. and she knows. she lives here.
but, steell, walk, she urges. steell, walk, eet will bee beautiful.
so i trust my gorgeous cousin Cristi Ros. i always trust family.
so i do. i walk until the sun appears behind the tower after a snow cap.
the cars dusted as my pastry crust.
the windshield,
the pane of glass, i point through when ordering.
smiling. mildly flirting. hoping for free but will receive full price.
always full un-romantic price.
i walk. i flee. i navigate. i shock myself with a matter of following my instinct.
a left. a right; past the US Consulate into the roundabout.
past the marble. all the marble. follow until the light.
follow until you reach the light.
follow your footsteps into your light is reached.
follow your light.
always.
well, lately i tend to follow it closely.
i follow.
i follow the masses to the sortie, the exit? yes, the exit.
and up into the day. the river walk awaits.
the bridges will not walk themselves.
remember to breath, to walk, to pause, to sip a cafe, then walk on.
taking all forks, and hoping to return again.

namaste, your beautiful people!