Woke up at 12.30 midnight. Finished Morning Star, then read some Ray Bradbury and Bill Bryson before falling back around 3-ish.

What is a tourist? Is there a difference between a tourist, a visitor, and a traveler?

Stuffed down a banana and couple slices of bread and then we walked until her turnoff for school. Took a selfie, which I’m guessing will be the last one we take this week.

I headed to the train station to continue testing out my clunky French. Bonjoured and fumbled my way through je voidrais un Navigo pass, merci, and managed to not irritate the ticket fellow too much. Twenty-seven euros and change to ride the rails of Paris public transit for a week.

Now I’m on the RER 3 to Palais de Tokyo. My plan is a seven mile loop starting there and ending up at the Champs Elysees. Wish me well, oh, and a cup of coffee would be splendid.

Rails to sidewalk

I hopped off at the Pont d’Alma stop and deftly* navigated my way through sidewalks, across boulevards, around tiny pooping dogs and grumpy old smoking men and *ugh* luggage-laden tourists *probably l’American.

Saw the Eiffel again, foggily cracked through buildings as I cut across Avenue Rapp. It was a beautiful view, which might seem a silly and obvious thing to say, but here’s the thing:

It was a different view. That’s a big driving interest for me creatively, is to find new ways of looking at, observing, and appreciating the familiar, whether the subject is people, place, or thing.

It wasn’t the best or clearest view of the Tower. It was foggy, so the top was obscured, and my view was framed and cropped by the buildings in the foreground, but it was a different sort of perspective. It helped me to appreciate it in a slightly new way, sort of like when you’re reading a story with a well-written villain and you feel a sense of understanding for how a misunderstand figure might look different when framed through a different lens; how they’re perhaps deserving of, maybe not absolution, but at least attempts at sympathy or even empathy.

Somewhere in this fast-moving French life, Lanessa and I have covered all sorts of conversational ground and I made some statement at one point about:

“…not being a good initial judge of people, in terms of reading or understanding them immediately.”

I didn’t mean it as a self-compliment, but as I thought about that statement more, I’ve realized how much I want to continue working on that when encountering new people: observing, listening, setting appropriate boundaries, maintaining appropriate wariness and discretion as needed, but also withholding judgment and recognizing my own fallibility in quickly assessing the character of someone.

There’s some idea tossed around about everybody having one book in them; or the the idea that at least a single interesting book could be written about every person. I’d like to also think that everyone has at least one good conversation in them. And if you can talk with people, then you can connect with people, even if the connection is tenuous, mercurial, ephemeral, or transient.

Fresh perspectives on familiar things. Kind of rejecting that whole “familiarity breeds contempt” mindset.

After a handful of days away, there are a thousand thousand little things spring to memory of Becca and the kids. And they are all good.

One of the locals

Also found my way to a little bit of home...

...yeah. I’m not entirely proud of looking for le Starbucks, but A) I wanted to be able to carry coffee around, I’m not yet ready to sit down because I got seven miles or so of walking, not counting the unplanned-for side roads and stops I inevitably make consciously or otherwise, and B) because I wanted coffee, period. And it’s not as easy and simple to find as it is in America…oh no, am I really saying things like that?

*not deftly

Lanessa made espresso two lovely times in two lively days. And then the machine broke. So that is the extent of the coffee I have had in France. And after somewhere between 2-6 hours of sleep for the last four nights, I wanted some...coffee.

I learned that my Starbucks app doesn’t work here.
I learned that a large cup of coffee would be almost five dollars. And that’s okay today.
I learned that when I asked for cream, which I inwardly grimaced at, knowing they would likely internally mock me, that she added another half euro to the price (otherwise it would have been under four euro).

I learned after leaving and walking a half block that they put no cream in. I grimaced again and considered being okay with it, but then I thought: No. I am the son of Lee and Sue, house of Long, and whither we goest in the world we shall hold our heads high, with humble spirit, and demand with confidence and bumbling politeness, what is ours.

In this case, cream.

So I did so, and with a huff and a sigh she pushed it to me, and I murmured Merci, au revoir, and left for a deux time.

Observations

Russian Orthodox Spiritual and Cultural Center.

From this vantage point, as I’m leaning against a wall in the gray fog, I have the Eiffel Tower and Russian Orthodox Center behind me and the Seine to my face. There are birds flying all over and they are somewhere tres beautiful because even though my hunch is that they are some form of seagull or pigeon, they are somewhere more interesting to me than usual for three reasons:

They’re French
They’re landing on buildings and bridges that are literally hundreds of years old
They don’t appear to be pooping on anything, unlike French dogs, whose excrement seems to be an accepted normalcy. Perhaps French birds are more private.

Parisian pigeons hanging out on their private ledge.

I would love to be oohing and aahing with my daughter over these ancient buildings. I can picture her quietly taking out her phone here and there to carefully frame up just the right point of view, and snapping, and getting that little grin on her face when she’s delighted in a general happiness kind of way. I love that.

Gilded bronze sculpture of a cow and calf in the Trocadero Fountains

A red can / Place du Trocadéro

I glanced down, trudging from the gardens to the courtyard, and there on the ground in a crumpled metal mass, was a can of Coke. An empty can, providing a red foreground that led a vertical line of sight up to the Eiffel, and in that moment, I cared about that red can so much more than that tall tower, because of what it reminded me of: my 11-year old son and his love of the Coca-Cola logo. Has he ever drank a drop of any Coke product? Don’t think so. But he loves the logo and design and

I love, I LOVE his love for inexplicable little things. A wash of fresh missing him buried me.

Finally left after an indeterminate time wondering around Trocadéro Gardens. Me and my little nooks, as Becca would say - and there are some lovely little nooks shelved away from les touristes. Because of course I’m a traveler, un explorer, not a tourist.

Oh wait.

I think I want to identity a Visitor.

A visitor is someone who can joyfully and temporarily inhabit another space, yet show deference and respect and acknowledgement that they are a guest.

I am a visitor, and I am who I am. But I can also adopt, adapt, and try to understand the rituals and ways of living of the place I’m in. Of the place I’m visiting.

I’m le visitor. 😊

Trocadero Fountains in foreground (background: Parvis des Droits de l'Homme / Théâtre National de Chaillot (English: Chaillot National Theater))

More water closets

I’m sitting in front of the Conseil Economique Social et Environnmental, yet another Romanesque oval structure complete with fountain and statue, the names or histories of which I am not familar. Because at a certain point you gotta filter and can’t observe, recognize, and soak in everything.

ALSO! I found les toilettes! I think they might have been construction workers’ portapotties, but they weren’t locked and I strode in with confidence...and had to return a little chagrined after using what I thought was hand sanitizer and turned out to be soap. But I feel much better now, and I think I’ll be done with coffee for un moment.

Palais du Tokyo / Musee d’Art Moderne de Paris

I hadn’t realized before that the large courtyard area I saw from the backside (Rue de New York) was part of this complex. I love it. There’s kids skating all over, including up above closer to the entrances and administrative areas, and it seems to be...okay. Like a normalized part of the structures’ daily ecosystem. Love it.

Teens skateboarding in the courtyard behind the Palais du Tokyo and Musee d’Art Moderne de Paris

I peeked in, and perhaps I’ll peruse some museums at a later point. But for now I am thoroughly fine appreciating the streets and architecture and art and feel of the city, and don’t feel a need to spend time inside any buildings...and yes, I suppose I did just infer that some of these centuries-old museums and buildings are simply “buildings.”

Note: the Modern Art museum main collection is open free to the public.

Boulevard des Invalides area

I crossed over a bridge by the Eiffel again after taking longer than intended on the Right Bank. I didn’t make it far. Now I am sitting next to the bridge, on the third of a nine-step concave segue to the water, and I am wishing my oldest son was here right now to quick-sketch some of this with me, and talk about his favorite obelisks, statues, and buildings. And his many observations and judgments of people and Paris in general. I am so curious to the things he would fixate on and latch onto. I miss that boy-man.

Crossed Pont Alexander III and gawked (again) for a bit, then (again) went off my planned route because I caught a peek of Petit Palais and had to sneak a pre-peek. And it gave an excuse to cross back over the le Pont again.

A long meandering through some of the boulevards and back streets. Many of the main sections on the way back reminded me of the more generic big city feel, though in French of course, and I am guessing that the observation might meet with resistance from Parisians. Many shops, restaurants, bustle that felt the closest in spirit to NYC. It would be fun to wonder around and get some of Jonny’s observations and takes with the experience he’s had shooting in different cities and metropolitan areas.

It’s a fascinating thought to me: in an age of homogenization, commoditization, modular swapouts, what differentiates one city from another? Maybe that’s why Paris has enchanted so many for so long: its stubborn resistance to change it doesn’t want to make.

There is scaffolding and fresh construction all over. Perhaps a frenzy of getting ready to host the 2024 Summer Olympics?

Knockoffs

I toyed with the idea of buying my brother Jamey a watch at the Rolex store, but frowned contemplatively as I stretched my memory as to whether or not he already had a good watch. In the end my memory path led to the belief that he does, and I could not stand the idea of getting him a watch if he already has one,

and I could not stand the contempt in his heart and his eyes if I were to faux pas him like that, so in the end I made the right decision and instead of getting him a watch, I got him a picture of the Rolex storefront. I didn’t think about it much at the time, but this will probably be a less expensive gift than buying him a watch from there. If he was here with me right now I would have just done it, or seen if there was a Casio outlet around the corner.

He would be so fun be sitting at a cafe with, eating baguettes and laughing about everything and anything. That is something I love about him: his laugh and his love for people that is so big and generous that it’s hard to have malice in your heart for anyone hearing and feeling the giant generosity of his spirit.

Rue des Saints-Peres / Rue de Verneuil

There’s a moped parked in front of a wall filled with vibrant French graffiti and art. Jonny and I would both alight on this as a topic to shoot, and we would approach it differently, in our own ways and perspectives, and then Jeremy would come swaggering in from Stage Left, throw on his helmet, and roar off on this little moped, his giant coolness enveloping this tiny two-wheeler, and I would hope to not hear a crash as he sped off Stage Left.

Musee d’Orsay

Came around the side down a narrow alley-street and enjoyed the windows and two giant god-figure statues towering over me, before swinging to the front where several teens videoed themselves pulling skate tricks amidst the courtyard statues of elephant, rhinoceros, and wild horse. I looove these big courtyards that are both historic and functional. In this case, art and architecture.

Avenue des Champs-Elysees and Arc de Triomphe

The world-famous boulevard had the biggest Dior store I’ve ever seen, and all sorts of high end fashion malls, boutiques, stores, etc. it would be fun to walk again with Lanessa to chat, observe, and shoot her, but solo, it was underwhelming in the context of everything else today.

The Arc is undergoing some renovation apparently so I didn’t get up close, but it was majestic to behold as the sun slipped.

I took some pictures for a handful of couples, and one Asian woman in her early 20s, and they were pleased, and it made me feel good to be a small part of their memories that will be forgotten.

Return

I looked at the train schedule and it appeared, if I could find it, that there’s a fast train leaving at 7.45, which according to Lanessa, means it may come or it may not.

I’ll never know because I couldn’t find it. And yes, I did realize for the second time in two days I had my mask upside down.

1900 RER A

After taking one train from the Arc to Austerlitz, I was looking for the fast train and after not finding it, had a 12 minute sprint across the bridge to get to RER C back home. Barely made it. Felt good to to sit down.

Etampes

After walking down from the station through some underlit cobblestone alleys that made me feel I was in a Cold War thriller, I unlocked the door close to 9. Gobbled down some bread and waited for Lanessa to get home with brownies.

Which she did shortly thereafter. They were moist and delicious. We talked and then, both fatigued, retired.

I read some Book of Eels and Something Wicked and looked pictures of Mom and Becca and the kids and finally fell asleep until...

...11.30. PM.

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