Monday, September 27, 2010 (Part Deux)

Monday, September 27, 2010

6:07 PM

Paris, France

A park along the Rue Saint Julien Le Pauvre

I had to end my last journal entry rather abruptly as a rather sketchy looking man came over to me as I was writing. He put out his hand and I assumed he was another beggar, so I just ignored him. But suddenly he started talking.

“I no speak French. No one likes me. No one will help me.” I wasn’t sure what this was about now, and the bleeding-heart that I am I looked out of the corner of my eye at the man. He took this as an invite to sit down. Dark skinned, thinning black hair, I thought he was Middle Eastern at first. He smiled at me and I responded with a very wary, uncertain look. He continued to talk, clearly under the impression that I spoke only French and he seemed content to just talk. I carefully put my laptop in my bag and my notebook in my jacket, scanning his person for any signs of a weapon. He seemed harmless enough, but he wouldn’t go away. “Um, how in French? Moi no speak French.”

I was foolish enough to respond slightly to him by which he determined that I could speak English. He began to ask me questions, my name, where I was from. He answered me in kind, taking my hand and pressing it to his forehead at each divulgence of information. His name was Nathan Sama, forty years old, from Sri Lanka, a Tamil. Then he explained his plight. He apparently had been in jail for three days and the French police told him to leave the country. He has a visa for England but needs a stamp. I didn’t really get this until the fifth time he told me, ending each exchange with, “You help me,” then looking away, smiling, pushing a brown tooth back into his gums, and then giving me a very creepy sidelong glance. I finally figured out that he wanted me to go to the post office and get the stamp for him. Not wanting to get involved in international legal problems I quick gathered my things, said I had to go, and left, his, “No one likes me. No one will help me,” fading into the distance.

Yeah. So, that was interesting. Where was I?

Ah, yes. In the next days I did indeed go to see the Eiffel Tower in all its Parisian beauty. It’s massive and looks so much larger, heavier, and stronger than it does in pictures and film. I went through the catacombs of Paris, where bones are stacked like bricks, and skulls make patterns in the wall of death. It’s all strangely beautiful—but, then again, I enjoy the macabre. The stone walls were sanded smooth so that they almost looked fake, like painted arches. The bones were stacked without cement—I lifted a leg. I stared into cracked skulls and the places where eyes used to be and thought about what this person thought about. This person who was surely a peasant. I looked at the legs and thought about the bodies they held up, the ancient Parisian roads they traversed. All that life and history, endless and meaningless in those labyrinthine halls.

Then the gift shop where I believe I put my camera down as I was taking it off my belt—and never picked it up again. Yeah, it’s lost at the moment. I tried visiting the store the past few days, but it was always closed, so I left a note today, asking the owner to e-mail me. Maybe I’ll hear from him, maybe not. All in all, I think it may be a blessing in disguise. I was starting to spend too much time behind the viewfinder of the camera. I need to just wander and allow the scenery to soak into me without thinking each moment, “Should I take a picture of this?” Well, now I have no choice but to enjoy each thing for what it is. Cest la vie, right?

I explored the Egouts de Paris (the Sewers of Paris), which was an incredibly interesting, albeit disgusting little museum. It was in a real working sewer! With womens’ period pads and shit and cigarettes and everything just floating by!

Speaking of shit and piss: I really hate the European convention of saying, “Where’s the toilette?” It’s a bathroom, people. Be polite! Seriously—in no other way do I feel my American-ness so much as in when I have to ask for a toilet.

Anyway, I also visited the Saint Sulpice church of Da Vinci Code fame, explored the Petit Palais, the Arc d’Triumphe, and the Champs d’Elysees. My host for the last two nights was incredible. She took me out to Paris, driving me around the Peripherique, and took me on a tour of the commercial center of Paris. I ate a crepe with ham, cheese, and mushrooms, and we saw a film, “Miral.” At her place we drank wine and discussed English and French. A lovely girl, by the name of Julie Degand.

I feel that I am surely leaving out a bunch of things I wish to write about, but I imagine that they will com back to me later.

I’m discovering even further my increasingly strong desire to learn languages. It’s a very powerful pull at the moment, and I want to explore it further, see if it is a passing interest, or one that requires my full attention. I am still very focused on Norway, but now I can see myself in Paris, too. I look at French, German, and Norwegian, and think of all the incredible doors that would be opened to me. Science, or academics? I am still plagued by this decision which needs to be made. So much fascinates me, and I’m not sure if these journeys help or exacerbate the problem!

Tonight I leave on a night train for Berlin. I will explore the city there for the day and then leave on a night train tomorrow for Munich for two days of Oktoberfest. So now it’s on to studying German for a few hours in preparation of my arrival in Deutschland.