First night sleeping the whole way through! Slept from around midnight to seven-ish. First full night of sleep I’ve had in a week.

Lanessa had coffee going; I stuck with a single cup, as the bathroom situation in Paris does not lend itself to convenience, and I am not yet comfortable using the Seine as ein toilette.

Walk

The fog is out and it’s beautiful. Oh, Lanessa and I are also accidentally wearing the same black Salty Raven shirt…me for the second time...shhhh. I’d like for Parisians to continue looking at me as an avatar of Pacific Northwest-representing haute-couture fashion.

Laundry tonight. If there’s time. If it comes down to eating cookies while watching a mediocre Amanda Seyfried film and doing laundry, then…well, we shall face that difficult decision when it arises.

Post-farewell

Raced up the stairs to make the train, which was waiting with its doors open and took off thirty seconds after I jumped on. I have a comfortable seat on the lower level and am planning on spending the day in the Latin and St Germaine Quarters, before heading back for a 7pm supper engagement.

Fontain de Michel / Jardin medieval du Musee de Cluny

The fountain was beautiful. More so than the two women standing in front of it for ten minutes taking selfies.

A five minute walk down to Cluny, where I was affected more than expected by the medieval gardens. I hadn’t thought of what the forest might represent during those times: a place of refuge and security for those in the outskirts of society. There’s a mix of the real and the mythological here that I’m drawn to.

Also; there’s a free public toilet tucked back in the trees. A real treasure.

Square Samuel Paty / Square Paul Painleve

Birds, flowers, a small place with a chateau on the back and blooming with love.

The Streets

Passed a United Colors of Benetton store. Did not go in. I think I still have a full color magazine of theirs from the mid-90s. They’ve historically been known for their controversial advertising that stakes out progressive- and left wing stances while celebrating diversity. I have no idea if their clothes are expensive or not. I wonder how Amazon has changed the role of high-end fashion, and the bottom line and bricks-and-mortar traffic of brands such as Benetton.

Sorbonne

I really love this area. I feel a comfort here. I’m on a bench by the fountains in front of the Sorbonne. I successfully ordered a coffee americano from Pret a Manger, and the woman was very nice and smiled - even giggled? - as I attempted to transact completely in French, forgetting however, in the fluster of le minut, how to say “sugar” or “black” which should have been the easiest parts.

In France, the “normal” coffee drink is espresso. That means it comes in a small cup. Black. Un café, s'il vous plaît. In other words, café is a shot of espresso. To order a big cup of coffee, we say Pour moi, ce sera un américain. - Basically, “…a big cup of coffee for me.”

An americain, or un cafe allonge, is a long black. Basically an espresso with more water, or…a bigger cup of coffee. Un café, s'il vous plaît - “One coffee, please.”

I sat and watched people and defiantly took an unselfconscious selfie, and giggled at myself imagining my children listening to the cafe woman giggle at me, and giggling.

And I missed having Becca to do so with.

The leaves are half fallen and it is golden. People are smoking and on their phones everywhere. Gendarmes and police guarding many places, but less so than the Sainte Chapelle / Palais du Justice area.

There’s a certain internal freedom I’ve found in being surrounded by so much fashion, so many fashionable people arrayed in all manner of avante-garde attire and casual effortless chic...

...and knowing that because I am me, my pockets are bulging, I’m rewearing a shirt, haven’t shaved in days, and possibly present an unidentifiable rendition of an eccentric tourist from somewhere,

and because of those things I’ve let go of any residual illusion that I might look fashionable, or stylish, or cool to passersby. Or anyone. There is a strange comfort in that.

Sort of like remembering that the important thing in conversation is to not bring everything you know to it, or to everything you’ve experienced, because it’s not just about you. It’s about listening and exchanging and listening and asking questions and remembering you are not the center.

And I’m here, in a country foreign to me, and what do I care about what people think of me? I mean, I do, the shallow thing is I still do at least a little. I want to present myself well and maintain a certain dignity. If possible. But more than that, I want to be respectful of the place I’m in and recognize I am a visitor. I can’t pretend otherwise, and I can’t pretend it’s about me. I am a leaf in a river, a passer-through, and I want to soak up and grab snippets to take home and remember and share small parts of...

...but I am a visitor. The respect I show, the dignity I carry, and the memories I carefully curate are the important things.

Medici Fountain

I am interested in the ways a person brings something to the table. How do we bring, no matter where we are, something is valuable or beneficial to others? Something that doesn’t supersede or drown out or draw attention to, but is something we can offer those around us?

Throughout my treks and journeys, I’ve taken a number of photos of others for them. In all but one instance, I have offered. In this case, I saw a couple in their early 30s swapping turns taking pics in front of the beautiful Medici Fountain. They hesitated for an instant before looking at each other and believing my promise that I wouldn’t run off with their phone.

I took a half dozen snaps, moving them around, repositioning for advantageous light and angle, getting a mix of angles and perspectives. I handed their phone back and they smiled big and said thank you. I think they were from somewhere outside of France.

I’m not saying this to toot my own horn. I realize how self-aggrandizing it is to write what I wrote above, as if I’m somehow amazing for doing this. My point is not that I am amazing for doing this, my point is that we all, any of us, can choose to interact with others, and take active tiny steps, to help build something amazing around us. And if we build something amazing around us, then that amazingness moves, and it carries, and it bumps into other amazingness and magnifies. It’s an innocent and child-like way to describe reality, but I believe it. I believe in the ability of small moments, including small moments of shared joy with strangers where we can share a small gift of taking the time to help provide them a good memory and possibly help to unconsciously embed the idea that we can live life looking for the good in people, rather than assuming everything and everyone unfamiliar is a threat.

Luxembourg Gardens

Been here for some time now. Think I could spend a full day here. I have probably enjoyed being here in the presence of fellow visitors as much as any place I’ve been. Birds swiping and swooping all around the castle and fountain as les enfants run their little toy sailboats around the ornamental pond. All kinds of families and couples and elderly tourists. It’s a slower rhythm than some of the other “tourist places.”

It’s huge, and there’s all kinds of nooks and hideaways for reading, sketching, napping, talking. And importantly, a public toilette!

It’s remarkably quiet considering the number of people. Or maybe it’s that the noise is music when it’s wind slipping through dropping leaves and coupled with the sing-songs of happy families leisurely existing. There is a peace here that I’ve felt in few places with many simultaneous people.

I ate a banana on the way out that Lanessa packed for me. Thought there might be some who would get a chuckle out of it, although I’m not much of a banana aficionado anymore. My children and one of my brothers might dispute this assertion.

A gentleman was not very much of a gentleman as I was leaving. He was sitting at a table in an area adjacent to the main gardens, where others were playing chess and talking, and I filmed a short clip from a hundred feet away, not pointing at him directly but perhaps on the left side of frame at the beginning as I panned left, and I he didn’t take kindly to it and began yelling. Maybe he was yelling merci beaucoup?

But I don’t think so. I walked away, although I was already a distance away, and although I am no athlete, I am confident should it have come down to a sprint, that even laden with my mid-size fanny pack, that I would have escaped capture and censure. I also know that if I had to choose between running away from an angry old man or fighting an angry old man, that I would take the former 13 times out of 14.

I am very interested in the way we get comfortable doing things. For example, I am gaining confidence and the comfort that comes with confidence - or vice versa? - at this point.

A cautious comfort in navigating around, in ordering a coffee, in asking for help, and in pointing my camera or phone where I need to. With respect and discretion. But also with confidence.

Église Saint-Sulpice

I entered the cathedral and stood for three minutes or so just taking in the space. The stained glass and vaulted rotunda ceiling reaching to God, the ornate decorations , candles, frescoes, statues, small spaces carved out.

Then I sat. For perhaps half hour. No pictures. Just sat and took it in.

It is amazing seeing the structures humanity has built and the art humans have created in the pursuit of Union to God.

The Baroque cathedral was founded in the mid-1600s and is the second-largest Parisian church.

It’s hard not to be humbled by the feats of other humans, and be filled with a sense of awe. Soli Deo gloria. “Glory to God alone.”

Saint-Germaine / Cafe de Flore

From the spiritual to the secular. The jostling, busy arts and literary neighborhoods where Hemingway and pals once drank and groused and examined everything with words. I went here for its historical significance, as opposed to an inherent desire to sit at a crowded cafe with many I doubted had read A Farewell to Arms in the last quarter century.

I sat and ordered a caffe cream, and the waiter, I’m fairly certain, expressed an aggressive indiffernce to my order by taking his time.

Paris, from my visit so far, has a very multicultural cross section. But here, sitting and waiting for my five euro coffee, I realized everyone in here was Caucasian, with the exception of a couple of ethnic Middle Eastern gentlemen.

So what do you get here at the Cafe?

The coffee was fine, and the lunches looked fine, which they should be given their prices. But I’m uncertain exactly what the crowd was there for. The quality of cuisine, or mis-en-scene?

Or, like me, coasting on the spirit of an era and wanting to feel a little of the greatness oozing through time?

Sainte-Germaine neighborhood

I’d like to come back here before I leave. All kinds of bookstores and record shops, patisseries, cafes, bakeries, restaurants, alleys; a different sort of bustle and bustle from Champs-Elysees and one that I am more connected with.

There are so many posters for Edgar Wright’s new film, Last Night in Soho, up. So far, he hasn’t misfired with me yet. Shaun of the Dead, Hot Fuzz, Adventures of Tin-Tin, The World’s End, Ant-Man, Baby Driver. Haven’t seen yet the documentary he did about the musical duo Sparks (big fan), and just realized I never finished Scott Pilgrim Versus the World.

I’m interested in what makes something a singular experience for someone. Tiny example: millions and millions of people have visited Paris before me and after me. But I will be part of a limited contingent of people who will have experienced ubiquitous posters for Edgar Wright films and Yuval Harari books plastered throughout the subway and city. That is a singular tiny shared experience during a point in time; one that most will not notice or remember. That’s fine, as intelligent humans, we gotta filter what we A) say and B) remember. For me, it is a tiny something that I notice and remember and choose to filter as part of a singular experience.

Home earlier than I have been

Shower pre-dinner, and then we picked up a baguette and cookies for our dinner engagement.

A lovely supper with Anita, Jakob, Shwet, and Ozzy. Tomato soup, salad, carrots & beets, followed by chocolate, cookies, coffee. Conversations about proximity of the Rockies to Oregon, the dialects of Germany, Finland, Hungary, Estonia, Spain, and France, as well as talk of siblings and children and gossip of clown school.

Of course we had to watch a little more of the bad but good Amanda Seyfried movie, broken up by a more entertaining repartee with Becca as she prepared herself and four children for the Boo Bash, choosing in the end to save her Handmaid-inspired ensemble for a rainier day.