Posts Tagged ‘Tokyo Palace’

Where Ever The Wind Blows

April 7, 2013

Me.

Nope.

I don’t know.

No.

I don’t care.

Well, a little, I do care a little.

I am just grateful that I have places to go.

In the last day I have been offered another place to couch surf should the need arise in San Francisco and another in Oakland.

Thanks friends!

I was skyping with my darling Shannon earlier, chuckling over many a thing that you can only chuckle over with a girl friend, and I asked her to just tell me what to do.

Seriously.

Somebody just give me some direction.

I will go anywhere.

I had a moment today when I thought, am I taking a geographic?  Am I trying to understand some child hood trauma by moving all over the place and constantly be uprooted?

Or am I just having a traveller’s life?

Perhaps both.

And perhaps it does not matter either way.

I could stay on in Paris, I could.

I could couch surf and work under the table and move constantly.

However, I am not feeling that.

It is too much work and damn it, I do a lot of work already.

Shannon had a novel suggestion.

Why don’t you take a break?

Why don’t you act like you are on vacation in Paris?

What would you do?

Where would you go?

These are good questions.

I have done a lot of the things that I have wanted to do since I have been here.  Although I could stand a little more museum time.  I tried today to go to the Tokyo Palace, but it was just over run.  I am going to go on a day that is not free day.

Same with the Louvre.

I thought I would just whisk through at the end of the day, but the lines were still horrendous when I popped up from the underground and after taking a walk through the bottom of the Carousel, I said, no thanks and headed back to the Metro.

I did, however, get some free museum time in.

I went to the Museum of Modern Art right next to the Tokyo Palace.

I saw some Matisse, some Picasso, some Bronnard, and some Modigliani.

My favorite was the Modigliani “Les Yeux Bleu” which was a portrait of a woman with blue eyes.  It drew me in and I stared at it for quite some time.  I was not the only one attracted to the piece, as I walked back to get some perspective I saw a number of people get pulled into it.

I followed discretely behind a woman with a bright golden orange sack that seemed a piece of art all her own, the way her body listed to the side as she regarded the blue eyes in the painting.  I stopped to take her photograph.

Art regarding art.

Blue Eyes

Blue Eyes

I have 23 days left in Paris.

This go around.

I am not including the days I will be in Rome–I shall be purchasing the ticket tomorrow–so take out three days.

20 days in Paris.

I have not done the big flea market out at Clingancourt.  I have not seen the inside of Invalides.  There are also two wings of the Louvre I could explore.  As well as the top floor of the Pompidou–the observation deck was closed the last time I went there.

I have never been to the top of the Eiffel Tower, as I consistently hear that the view is better from Montparnasse.

I have climbed to the second landing of the Eiffel Tower, so I don’t feel deprived in the viewing of it further.

I could re-visit Pere Lachaise, I have not been this go around.

I do want to take a bicycle ride along the canal, I have not done that yet.  The weather seems to be breaking toward warmer, perhaps this week Thursday or Friday I could get out for a long bicycle ride.  Or not, I just checked the weather and it does say a warming trend is happening.

Accompanied by a forecast of rain for the next six days.

Paris!

Well, that means museums then.  I will do the Palais de Tokyo this week for sure and make a stab at the Louvre.  Not on Tuesday.  Note to self, the Louvre is closed on Tuesdays.

I would like to get in another performance or two at Le Chat Noir–I should be done early enough tomorrow with a babysitting gig to get to the cafe in time to sign up for the open mic.  And even if I don’t I wouldn’t mind just going and listening in, I missed the last week.

I have done a lot of living in Paris.

I have done a lot of writing in Paris.

I have seen the fantasy and the reality are utterly different.

The reality is better, though harder, and more rewarding, ultimately.  I have not a single regret about having done this, and yes, I am afraid to be penniless upon my return, but return I am, so I am going to make hay while the sun shines, even if it’s raining.

There are still streets I have not walked down.

Like today, I just decided to take a route one street over and I discovered great statuary and beautiful facades, lamp posts stacked against the sky and churches I had not know existed, just one block over from the walk I normally do along the Seine.

Church

Church of Armenia

Lamp Posts

Lamp Posts

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Or by walking around the back side of Le Grand Palais, I discover this amazing fountain that has steam billowing forth instead of water.  It was a spectacular sight.

Steam

Steam

There is always just sitting in a cafe as well.  Or, perhaps, should the sun deign to come out more than once a week before I go, outside, on a sidewalk, cozied up with a book or a notebook or both, with my trusty camera, and my inquisitive eye.

There is still so much to see.

In Paris.

So, let me live here, while I am here, rather than in the future where it is grim and dark and friendless.  I am not without friends.  I am not without hope.  I go forward with new experiences and still time to experience them.

I don’t want to look back and think, “man, I wasted my last days in Paris worrying about where I was going to live when I get back.”

Or what job I can do or get.

I do want to be an adult and I do want to take responsibility.

Ultimately, no one else can for me.

However, I do not want to dwell in what cannot be done today.

Today is all I have.

Today I am in Paris.

 

 

 

Well, That’s One Way

April 2, 2013

To stay in Paris–I could die here.

I thought to myself as I hollered out, “hold the fuck on!” And something intelligible that sounded suspiciously like a whoop of pure joy.

I was at the top of Boulevard Haussmann, heading into the 12 avenue turnabout at the Arc de Triomphe on my sparkle pony, er, my fixed gear Mission Bicycle.

It was not exactly a conscious decision, I had taken one wrong turn on my way towards Avenue George V, and it put me headed up to the round about instead of just below it where I would normally cross the Champs Elysees on my bicycle.

Then again, let me be honest, once I realized where I was headed, I did have the opportunity to change my mind, hop off the bike, cross the street in the cross walk on foot.

But what fucking fun would that be?

Huh.

Besides when I saw someone on a Velibe slowly making his way through the round about, I was like, no way am I going to not do this.

Here’s to having one more feather in my Paris cap–riding my bicycle in one of the more intense traffic scenarios in the world.

I did have a moment, I will not lie, when a bus was coming and a motorists was honking at a woman who was indecisive about merging.

Move, bitch, get out the way.

I was on the side of the honking car, you have got to make the decision and commit.

I committed, rolled past her, stood on my pedals, and whooped some more joy.

I spun around three-quarters of the round about and hit my turn off onto the Champs Elysees, spinning my crank smoothly into the turn and leaning to the right, I almost blew the Japanese tourist, timid on the corner waiting for the light to change, a kiss as I signaled my right turn.

The smile stayed plastered on my face, the adrenalin coursed through my veins, the sun shone on my warm body, my heart beat solid strong and smooth as the pedals turning perfect circles with my sheathed feet in their purple Hold Fast foot retainers.

“Why don’t you take your bike for a ride if the sun comes out,” my room-mate suggested this morning as we were discussing tickets back to the states, money, and what to do about my bike.

I thought in my head, “fuck off.”

I said out loud, “that’s a good idea.”

I had absolutely no intentions of getting on my bike.  I had an agenda and a plan and I knew better.  Besides I have not ridden my bike as much as I would normally ride as I was holding onto it as my last bit of collateral.

I will sell it if I have to.

“Why sell your most prized possession if I’m willing to pay for your ticket and you have a year to pay me back?”  My room-mate said with some wisdom.

Well, because then I would feel obligated to go back to the bike shop, tail tucked between my legs, see I did not make it in Paris, I am a failure, and I sold my beautiful bicycle.  Will you take me back and let me design another.

Then I realized, sheesh, I had to pay a lot of money for my bike, even if I got what it was worth, which I would not, not going to be many takers for my midnight blue sparkle pony whip.  She is a little too customized.

Nice Ride

Nice Ride

I don’t want to go back to work at the bike shop, however.  I realized as I was writing this morning, after my room-mate left and I was alone with the quiet of the pen on the paper, that to sell my bicycle is to be making a fear based decision.

Holding onto the idea that I do not have enough and that there will not be enough is not allowing myself to embrace the abundance and prosperity the Universe has for me.

Hell, it’s only the 2nd of April, all sorts of miraculous things are in the works.

Just because I cannot see them does not mean that they are not.  So, things are not working out the way I want them too.

Usually what I want is near sighted and not nearly as amazing as what God wants for me.  So much so, that I always sell myself short, I say no, that cannot happen and I argue my own limitations.

As the pen stroked the paper it dawned on me bright and clear.

I don’t want to sell my bicycle!

I want to ride my bicycle.

I got so excited, I leaped up and adjusted the saddle and pumped up the tires to 120 psi.

I grabbed my u-locks–one for the frame and the rear rim, one for the front rim–tossing them in my Rickshaw custom messenger bag.  Which just so happens to have been designed to match my bike.

That’s right, bitches, my bag does not match my shoes, it matches my bike.

I got a bottle of fizzy water out of the fridge that I had set aside for the open mic at Le Chat Noir, which I ended up not attending so I could get up early today and take care of some business.  I nearly danced out the door with my sparkle tights on, my sparkle infinity scarf, and my Converse tight on my feet, ready to hit the streets.

The ride, aside from the excitement by Place de l’Etoile, was like signing my favorite song at the top of my lungs in the shower, I had a smile on my face and a, yes, song in my heart.

I had the facile idea that whatever choice I was going to make about the bicycle would be the wrong one.  Knowing, only too well, that I just needed to make a decision, thinking about it was not taking action.

I choose the path of faith instead of fear.

I may be stuck in the hallway of not knowing what is going to happen next, with Paris, with life, with where am I going to live and what job am I going to do, but I don’t care.

I’ll be riding my bicycle there.

Hanging Out

Hanging Out

 

 


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