Retour a Paris

In his posthumous memoir about life as an expatriate in 1920s Paris , Ernest Hemingway asserts "If you are lucky enough to have lived in Paris as a young man, then wherever you go for the rest of your life, it stays with you, for Paris is a moveable feast". He recounts road trips and drinking binges with F. Scott Fitzgerald, encounters with James Joyce, Gertrude Stein and other literary titans. The book reads like a treasure map, naming specific cafes, streets, parts of the city and habits fundamental in his development as a young writer. One cannot help but feel the same magic Hemingway was in tune with; an ancient reservoir of ideas, thought and culture.

We join our hero on the descent of his transatlantic, earthbound in the golden dawn as the Eiffel Tower keeps watch over the stirring slumber. An awakening, familiar and mysterious at the same time, aware of the opportunity that abounds in every back alley and tree lined avenue. Our hero strikes up rapport with the adjacent passenger who offers him a ride into town. Longing for the grit of the RER C train but remembering the luggage in tow, he accepts. Door to door service can't be beat.

The old neighborhood is coming to life. Children skip to school, scooters bob and weave, elderly women cross the street with their early morning market purchases. He cracks a smile at the energy and humanity contained within these few city blocks. The Parisian women move with purpose and elegance, their seemingly thrown together look extremely calculated and intentional. Their grace and confidence renders any imperfection nearly invisible. 

From a secure facility deep underground, our hero retrieves his wheels. The legs seem a bit sluggish at first but it's to be expected. Immediately back into the rhythm, taking turns tight, drafting buses and navigating the urban jungle with jaw dropping efficiency and stylo. His set is still tight and the wit, perhaps, sharper than ever. The coffee is rich and robust with delicate flavors that elude the hot cardboard water of his homeland. American culture continues to take baby steps towards what makes the European lifestyle so attractive and has endured for years; cafe culture, vibrant public spaces, fresh local foods. 

Our hero continues to be fascinated by the dichotomy of life in Paris. Very much an outside city, the public space is the social place. Parks and restaurants, street corners and plazas. While everyone exists and lives within close proximity with one another it is very rarely acknowledged. Standing next to someone you don't know on the metro or being squished next to a strangers at dinner is normal; engaging them is not. Social yet completely individual.  Community oriented yet selfish. It's a fascinating duality that could only develop from hundreds of years of fucking and fighting in the streets. As a culture, they've seen it all and nothing surprises them. Our hero could don a court-jester hat, Armani tux and jingle bell curly toe boots and no one would bat an eye. Despite the seeming indifference, he plans on turning some heads.