There is a sacredness in all this walking -- walking over stones and dirt and layers of bones, walls, pamphlets, shrapnel . . . I've traversed over the Gauls, the beginnings of revolutions, the literary birth of Hemingway and Joyce, and the German occupation. It is too much to be be aware of, too much to hold in one's consciousness.
This trip is becoming a pilgrimage of sorts . . . one that started to become such after I read Hemingway's A Moveable Feast, his memoirs of his time in Paris in the early-mid 20s. Before I left, I imagined myself retracing his steps, sitting at the cafe where he met F. Scott Fitzgerald, frequenting the bookshop which is now an homage to the bookshop that fostered the Paris community of Modernists and the best minds of the 20th century, sitting on the left bank of the Seine with a baguette, a bottle of wine, and writing. I have done some of this and will do some of this. Yet there is more. Each spur-of-the-moment decision to walk down one street melds into other decisions . . . some loosely planned, others not. I don't know how much I'll "produce" on this trip, but the emotional, and therefore spiritual, quietness that comes with a journey of purposeful wandering is one that can't help but yield creative musings . . . one quickly discovers why Paris has been both such a haven and catalyst for great art and thought. The city bleeds depth.
As a result, my weekdays have become days of proximal wandering, and my weekends are being reserved for little days trips. For those of you who are reading primarily to keep up with what I'm doing, below is a brief play-by-play of the past three days of sheer wonderfulness.
Friday - I slept in, then took the bus/train in to Paris, near Notre Dame. My first stop was Shakespeare and Company (I'll probably do another post on just this mecca; this is the homage I mentioned above), where I sat in the reading library overlooking the Seine and Notre Dame and read portions of the collected poems of Gerard Manley Hopkins. Next I sat on the bank of the Seine with a sandwich and people-watched while I munched. Mid-afternoon I cued up to go into Notre Dame for the Consecration of the Crown of Thorns (a service they have every 1st Friday of the month). It was glorious...the organ, the chants in the most beautiful tenor voice, the incense...next I crossed to the other side of the Seine and found a spot at a cafe for an apertif just before a deluge of rain occured (I successfully managed the odering and paying in French - yeehaw!). Then my day ended by attending a showing of the film Klimt (2006), which was part of the Paris Cinema Festival currently taking place. It was fabulously abstract and dark -- John Malkovich plays the role of Klimt. Love him.
Saturday - After a fabulous brunch, we drove out to Monet's house and gardens . . . oh the beauty . . . the clouds parted and the rain stopped for the exact two hours we spent wandering the most beautiful gardens I've ever seen (with the famous water lily pond). The day ended by going to a birthday party . . . fun times conversing in broken French and English with people in their very young twenties. Yes, good times.
Sunday (today)- We drove out to Alexander Dumas' house (aptly called Monte Cristo). He was such a man of unfathomable imagination and joie de vivre (sp?). He is the man who gave birth to D'Artagnon and the Three Musketeers, the Man in the Iron Mask, and the Count of Monte Cristo. How does one create such adventures? I haven't the faintest.
So those are my adventures over the past few days . . . I promise not to write every post like this, but thought many of you might like a bit more detail. Tomorrow I'm exploring the rue de l'Odeon and the St. Germain area a bit and attending an author's reading and lecture at Shakespeare and Company. Grin, grin, grin!
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