What’s in Paris?

Paris.

That’s what’s in Paris.

Paris.

I have had a lot of people, today, at Rainbow, today, at the bike shop, and countless times over the last few weeks, ask me, “what’s in Paris?”

Paris is in Paris.

What else?

Hmmm.

The Louvre, you may have heard of it.

The Pompidou, the Musee D’Orsay, the Tuileries, the Orangerie, Notre Dame, Sacre Couer, Victor Hugo’s house, Place de Vosges, the Seine, La Musee de la Vie Romantique, Musee de Edith Piaf, Cafe Flore, the Eiffel Tower, French men, cheese.

Stop me.

I do not need a person.

A job.

Or a reason to go to Paris.

I am going because I am in stinking love with the city.

And like an indifferent lover, I may get the cold shoulder, I may get the brush off, I may be sent to the back of the line.

So be it.

I suspect the pleasure will be well worth the wait.

It usually is.

I am going to Paris because I cannot seem to stay away.  Much like how it was that I came to be in San Francisco.

I am not going to live in Oakland.

Ever.

Well, I will always have a place to land, Graceland, how I love thee.

But I do not think of it as a residence, Oakland, it is still a rather mysterious country, one in which I am not really settled, nor do I actually want to be.

They say once you go Oakland, you never go back.

I am going back.

Er, forward.

Oh, and I am not coming back.

That is the other question.

How long will you be there?

Until they kick me out.

And maybe longer.

I have no definitive idea.  John Ater has said that you do not really know a place until you have lived there for at least two years.

So, shall we agree to say two years? I am going to move to Paris for at least two years.

I do not know if I will come back to live again in San Francisco.

Perhaps.

But that is so distant, so nebulous, so outside of my scope of abilities to predict that I cannot say.  I cannot say how long I will be in Paris, but let me say I am getting ready to leave for good.

The going away party invitation has been sent out.

That was a little weird.

Carolyn asked for a picture to send with the Facecrack invite.  I sent a photograph that was not me and I got a chuckling repsonse to send another.  I did and it is odd to see the going away party is for me.

Who is going where?

Your are going where?!

Paris.

I am also going to go Coastanoa this Sunday and see my darling friend Tami wed.  I will get a day with Joan and a beautiful ride down to the event.  I have never been, I hear it is exquisite.

I have been thinking there are places I have never seen in San Francisco and a few that I have not seen in quite some time.  Before I leave I should make a point of going to some of these spots.

I have never hiked down in and around Sutro Baths.

I have never been to Alacatraz, but honestly folks, it just sounds so depressing.  Who the hell wants to visit a prison?

Yuck.

I have never been to Angel Island.

Hell, there are neighborhoods of San Francisco I rarely go to.  When was the last time I was in Portola?

I would like to go to the ocean a few more times.  I never did get in a surfing session despite all the saying I wanted to.  I have never been the Californian girl who surfs.

I have not been to Stinson in a really long time.   A walk on the beach would do me good.

Or a horse back ride.

Oh.

I know!  I have not been to a night-time beach bonfire in ages.  And I have not spent the night on the ocean in a sleeping bag in ever.

The last time was nine years ago?

Nine.

I went with Dustin Sorge and we camped on the beach when he was visiting from Wisconsin–Stinson one night, I believe, then up the coast to the Redwoods and Eureka.  It was lovely, but odd.  We looked like a couple but we were not.

I would like a do over on that experience.  I was also getting into my drinking pretty hard on at that point, although not so much into the blowcaine yet.

That was a big yet, it was right around the corner.  Oh yes indeedy.

So, a beach night is a must do.

I also have not made a good run on the museums for a bit.  I should go see the Cindy Sherman show at the MOMA.  I can’t remember the last time I went to the DeYoung.  Or the Legion of Honor.

So much to see.

People to see as well.

I have brunch next Sunday with Christy at The St. Francis Fountain, coffee later that afternoon with Jefferson, and of course a few weeks left to work.

Squeeze in a sex session or fifteen.

One?

Ha.

Another date with Mister Busy Pants.

Or not.

I hear he’s busy.

You only have a few weeks left, baby, unless you plan on flying over to Paris.

Which is cool.

Ha!

I have never been to the pinball museum and I love pinball.  I also have a little bit of a hankering to go to The House of Air.  I have been once and I had a fantastic time.

Trampolining in a gigantic aircraft hanger?

Ok.

A walk through North Beach.  Coffee at Cafe Trieste.  Oysters.  I need oysters, although I am sure they are available in Paris.

Clam chowder.

Although, I will avoid the wharf, I may go on a ferry ride, I love the ferry.

A last movie at the Castro theater.

Jesus.

This suddenly got very real.

When am I going to do these things?

Or see everyone?

Or buy that suitcase?

Or sell those clothes.

Or.

Nothing.

There is nothing I really have to do.

The ticket is bought, the passport is ready, the job has been given notice, the party is being planned–without my help–I just need to show up and be present for each day, each moment.

What is in San Francisco?

Stephanie asked me before I moved.

“I don’t know,” I replied, “but I do know this, I will find myself, it is where I am supposed to be next.”

“What is in Paris,” Jerry asked me as I bumped into her in the aisle at Rainbow tonight.

“Paris,” I replied.

I did not add, that is where I will find the rest of myself.

San Francisco birthed this being.

Paris is where I get to go to now that my wings have dried.

I am ready to fly.

Tags: cafe flore, moving, Paris, place de vosges, postaday, San Francisco, travel