My favourite things to capture when traveling are the little details that belie the true life of a local. One may get a general sense of a city from the weather and architecture and language, but to travel and eat and shop like they do here is the most enriching experience.
I’m so lucky to be here.
The hotel manager is something of a bumbling old man who barely speaks a lick of English and wears a checkered sweater and cap even though it’s boiling outside. When I asked him for his name, he said, “Monsieur ________”. “And you”, he said, “are Mr. Laenin”?, as the room was booked under Karin’s name. I laughed and shook my head. “Better you with a girl than a boy with a boy”, he said, touching the tips of his index fingers to represent some nondescript relation he didn’t approve of. Even though it was a completely homophobic comment, his Parisian charm almost let him get away with it. Almost.
Every time I see him now, he asks me if she slept over last night. I think he assumes I came to Paris for some kind of booty call.
It hasn’t quite clicked in that I’m here yet. I was occupied with so much back home that this trip forever felt like it was far away, even when I was flying out the next day. It’s Ascension Day in France — a country made up mostly of Roman Catholics — so everyone has the day off and most shops are closed.
9:30pm and it’s still bright out.
During the day it’s close to 30°C, and the heat makes certain smells come out in Montmatre, reminiscent of Chinese marketplaces (though nowhere near as pungent). The temperature drops to a brisk temperature in the evening though, and one needs to carry a coat or sweater when traveling at night.
I find myself in Paris once again, this time for a video contract over the next 10 days. Karin approached me to work with her in creating several films around this beautiful city, and I have the pleasure of being involved with this amazing personal project of hers.
This is only the second time I’ve been at Basilique du Sacré-Cœur, and both times there’s been weed in the air. I even passed by a man trying to roll a joint while sitting on a park bench, his paper madly flapping in the wind. There must be something really trippy about the church.
I’m doing it better this time. More efficient, lighter luggage. Luckily, I’ve made this trip before and the experience is paying off. Pushing my limits last visit has given me the confidence to handle anything that may happen. I can retrace my steps without a map, remembering where I took what photos on which walks.
It was this succinct wit. She could say so much in a line or two, and anything left unsaid would only serve to feed your curiosity. You’d be given the punchline, this blow that would knock the wind out of you, then wonder what circumstances could have led up to that. I’ve always been after that style, that ability to move people with words the way hers used to move me.
Of course Dolly has to sleep on anything new in the house, regardless of whether it’s your sweater or not. It’s part of the sass, and yet one can’t help but reward her with cuddles and love.
For a few years, I lost her to the happiness (where I hope to lose myself one day) until we spent a rainy day together, blissed out and hopefully obvious only to the check-out lady who scanned all our varieties of chocolate.
Dear Lisa believes in me, and that’s the only reason I believe in myself too.