Paris

Paris is like one of those people who you see from afar and who you just know you don’t like. He runs with that other crowd: you have friends in that crowd and occasionally there is some fraternizing between your crowd and that crowd because, you know, they like some of the same stuff. But this guy, he’s always outgoing with everyone until you come around and then he starts acting standoffish. Geez, what’s his problem?
One time he ends up hanging out with you because sometimes the social die is cast that way. At first you’re thinking “oh God, not Paris, he’s annoying as hell.” But, after a while you bow down before convention and introduce yourself even though he already knows who you are and you know who he is. With all of your prejudice stacked against him you painstakingly initiate conversation. To your complete surprise, he chats right back and the chip that you you’d seen carved deep into his shoulder suddenly disappears and all preconceived notions dissipate. Now you’re buds, hooray!
That’s a bit like how my friendship with the French capital developed. I thought it’d be lame and touristy, and it was. But, there was some Parisian magic that lightened my heart and made me admit that Paris was an okay city.
Max and I arrived mid-afternoon and immediately found a free parking space right next to the Louvre. I had to go find a clinic to get my Hepatitis A and Typhoid vaccinations. Immunization complete; I’m invincible.
I’d booked two spots in a co-ed room at some hostel in the boondocks. Well, Paris doesn’t really have boondocks, but it was on the southern edge in a predominantly Korean neighborhood. The hostel was called Namdemun Guesthouse and they served free Korean food for dinner (included in the 28 euros a night). Not a bad deal. There was a “Free Mumia Abu-Jamal” poster hanging outside and I’m a big fan of Live from Death Row.
My friend Rosalia happened to be in Paris too so I met up with her and some of her friends under the Eiffel tower. Unfortunately, she was back to her home in Spain the next day so our reunion was brief.
Afterwards we happened to run into several of the folk who were staying at our hostel. They invited us to a bar and so we forgot our fatigue and stayed up late drinking with our new friends.
The next morning over a Korean breakfast I met a nice Japanese girl (whose name I still can’t remember) and I invited her to come ride bikes with us. Paris has a bike-loan system where you can take bikes from hubs located all over the city. The first half hour is free and new bikes can be checked out almost immediately after turning in the old one. So, every thirty minutes we’d park our bikes and then grab another set for the next half hour. The bikes were a bit cumbersome and weren’t so good for doing wheelies on, but they handled all right. I managed to cover most of the tourist areas without being hit by a car once!
There were loads of young folk staying at our hostel and I quickly made friends with lots of them. After riding bikes I met up with a girl from New Zealand who had just recently completed a tour through the Balkans. She said Bosnia was great, so it’s on my itinerary now of course. I invited her, a girl from Seattle, and a girl from North Carolina (with a heavy Southern accent) to come back to the Eiffel tower with us that night.
I’d forgotten my metro tickets in another pair of pants so I was forced to jump the turnstile, which isn’t such a big deal because they rarely check tickets. Ha! Just my luck that we walked right into a ticket checkpoint where I was fined 25 euros. Maybe I deserved it, but Max entered legally and threw away his ticket so he was fined too.
In Moscow when you jump the turnstile it plays a little melody and an old woman blows a whistle at you (or sometimes just smiles). Occasionally there are police stationed to look out for turnstile jumpers, but they just turn you around and make you buy a ticket. I was mad about the 25 euros, but that’s the price we pay for legalism. So be it.
Anyway, we got to the Eiffel tower and only Max, our new Japanese friend, and I wanted to go up. The others sat drinking overpriced beer in the park.
The Eiffel tower is a good deal higher than I expected. It’s almost as high as the Empire State Building. Yeah, I know that the Empire State Building isn’t really that tall compared to more modern buildings like the Burj Khalifa, but it’s still an amazing view. Likewise, the Eiffel tower was a good vantage point from which to overlook my new city.
The morning of my departure I met two Israeli guys, one Russian born. We chatted about the Netanyahu administration and Palestine. They had an interesting take on current events- decidedly pro-Israel- but they were really nice guys. You know, there’s a lot more to people than their politics.
I had time to kill before my flight so Max and I went to an outdoor market in some Parisian neighborhood off the beaten track. I bought a baguette and some goat cheese for lunch. All week I’d been finding delicious fresh produce, especially good nectarines. But, the market produce was mediocre- nectarines hard as knee caps.
We sat in traffic a while on the way to Charles De Gaulle International Airport and when I got there I was too early to check in. I bought some overpriced orange juice so that I could sit in a restaurant and I started to write.
The time came and I walked to my terminal. Security screening was uneventful. I sat in the handicap chair at my gate which elicited some glances, but I would have gotten up for an invalid..duh. The room was a bit warm from the sun poring in- the greenhouse effect, you know- and my feet were aching from my new shoes.
The flight was open seating so I ended up being stuck behind a huge group of Finnish high-school kids. Not that I mind high-school kids, I’m not so far removed. But, sometimes you get some young bucks trying to impress the girls and sometimes they need to be knocked down a rung. There was an especially rambunctious kid sitting in front of me who kept messing with the girls in front of him and being goofy. No big deal, just kids like me having fun. But then he started banging his armrest up and down and it was making this obnoxious squawking noise. Everyone was giving him looks but he kept on going: squeak, squawk, squeek, squawk for a good twenty seconds. So, finally I looked fear in the face and, risking derision, tapped him on the shoulder and said “could you cut that out please.” The girl sitting next to me gave a big smile and thumbs up. Yep, fighting tyranny big and small wherever I go.