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Soak
it Up
Sunday,
April 16, 2006
"Je
demeurais alors dans une petite rue que vous ne connaissez sans doute
pas..." - Balzac "Facino Cane"
Paris
just sort of seeped in...
I
came here for the first time in 2000. Largely because I was bored
with my adventures in London and I was in a supernatural hurry to escape
Amsterdam.
I
didn't speak a word of French when I first got here. A Swiss gentleman
told me to go for a walk along the river and a group of Irish girls
kissed me on the cheek and wished me good luck.
There's
something to be said for Irish wishes...
What
happened when I left the train station and stepped out onto the
street... What happened? I wasn't gunned-down by lights like I had been
stepping out of Shinjuku Station and into Tokyo. It wasn't shocking like
that. It wasn't blinding.
You
ease into Paris like stepping toe-first into a warm pool. The city
doesn't hammer you from all sides like New York, but floats up and
envelopes you in waves. I had never thought of Paris before. When it was
time to leave, and long after I left, I could think of nothing else.
Submerged,
as I was, I had grown gills and was having a hard time surviving back on
land. I began reading Lemonde, Liberation, even Le Figaro. I started
taking classes at the Alliance Française. Before you knew it I was back
in Paris.
Now
I've been here a long time and I only have vague recollections of having
lived anywhere else. Sometimes, when I'm having breakfast, I stop to ask
myself whether the eyes of last night's bartender were green or blue.
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