Homage to my Hometown*

* "America is my country; and Paris is my hometown." - - Gertrude Stein

First Impressions and Lasting Obsessions

the French windows of our first room

Our first room was faced on the East side of the building, with French windows that overlooked the quaint little street below that housed (among many things) a small copy center, a high-end motorcycle showroom, and the cafe on the corner that would become our regular nightly hangout for drinks and conversation. We immediately fell in love with our windows, the nightstands, and the strings of jasmine flowers we hung on the vase in front of the queen bed. It was not until we'd spent more than just a few brief moments in the room that we realized its shortcomings - there was, indeed, a very wonderfully comfortable queen-sized bed, but there were also in fact three of us - this would mean having to get uncomfortably close to one another or having to unfairly split turns sleeping on the couch and extra fold-down child's bunk (there is a story concerning this bunk, a long jump down onto the queen bed, and my shin, but that is to come later.) Aside from the beds, a main pipe in our bathroom burst and was spraying water above the toilet. This water was then collecting in an obscenely large puddle between the tub and toilet on the white tile floor, making entering the room a somewhat difficult task if one wished not to step into burst-pipe toilet water (thankfully, it was CLEAR.) Needless to say, after some continued badgering of the front desk (a task which I was elected to do on account of my partial French), we were ultimately upgraded four days later into the top room of the hotel. Our new room had very small windows cut into the roof, and we did at first mourn the loss of our valued French windows, that was at least until we realized that these small boxes held a view across the city that looked onto the Eiffel. I made a personal custom of trying to make it back to the room every night in time to watch the Tower play through its light show just before going to bed (pictures of this to come later.)

our view from the second room

Homage to my Hometown*

* "America is my country; and Paris is my hometown." - - Gertrude Stein

Arrival

Nation

I touched down at the CDG (Charles de Gaul) airport after a long, long ride on the plane. I searched for my luggage while constantly redirected by the French guards who seemed not to like me or my Americanisms very much (is it really that obvious that I'm an American girl traveling alone to Paris for the first time?) - Luckily I was mistaken for a true Parisian only two weeks later, so HA! I retrieved my luggage from the conveyor for my gate; a large brown houndstooth suitcase with tan leather piping and trim at the corners, once a possession of my father's or grandfather's. The thick leather handle gripped well in my nervously clammy hand. I searched for the members of my party, having no idea as to whether I might recognize their faces, having just previously met once, and a full three weeks before the trip at that. After lapping the terminal at least thrice, I spotted them nestled amongst their bags near the phone vestibules. Relaxed, we chatted about what we were most excited to see of the city first. The chartered bus took us to the hotel; two more long hours in traffic. We arrived sometime just before 3:00 - at which point we had just enough time to stack our luggage up in the rooms before being called to the Lobby for an immediate orientation rundown. The meeting began at quarter-past three, and I still had not eaten since my in-flight breakfast on the plane (a croissant and some sliced cheese.) By almost five we were let loose to meander the city and find food. Three of us wandered till about 8, at which point it can only be decided that our stomachs had been running on excitement. We stopped at a street market and ate sweet breads and candy with cokes. (Paris began my found love of Coke; I had hated it before, always opting for - cringe - Pepsi.) Coke is pretty much the beverage of choice here as far as sodas go. More wandering until we had covered a quarter of the city, at which point we returned to the hotel to cook a meal of spaghetti noodles we had picked up at our to-be regular market - something of a 7-11. Watching French Tv for the evening until two, at which point we went to our beds.

Monday Morning

monday's outfit: I wore my Enzo Angiolini 'zoot' black leather double zip flat boots,

a solid white cotton men's v-neck tee, black jersey fringe circle scarf from Express,

long-length black leggings, and my Lois Hill circle pendant woven toggle bracelet.

This Monday morning I made plans to grab my much coveted grande-nonfat-chai-with-whip from my neighborhood Starbucks and pick up my on-hold copy of The Royal Tenenbaums from the Library.

As I stepped out the front door and walked outside down the driveway to my car, I felt the weather oddly familiar. The sky was a watercolor of pale grays - with no rain in sight - a reassuring warmth kissed at my face and arms under my white men's tee. My car was steamy, and upon opening the sunroof a swift breeze swept through my fingers.

In an instant my body told me it's remembrance of Paris; the pleasant humid days of overcast skies, warmth encasing your skin abutting the slight cool breezes - and I longed for walks down the cobbled streetshop fronts, walking down the corridors to the Metro, and pain du chocolate.