For
greater appreciation of the following words, please view the previous
story.
Three
years in the making, a dream to celebrate my 50th birthday
in Paris was about to take off as I waved goodbye to my girlfriends.
Once
on the plane I was far too excited to fall asleep and so instead I
kept on watching French movies, one after the other. All seven of
them to be precise.
They
are usually very deep and real. They make you reflect on your life
and many of them tend to feel like documentaries with a lesson to
learn.
However,
this wasn't the main reason for watching them.
Since
my ability to speak French was buried somewhere in my memory
archives, I was hoping that by listening to the French language I may
recover a few extra words.
This was going to be a top up to the earlier tutorials received from Edith Piaf when listening to her many song over and over.
It
is very hard to get bored with her as she takes you on the ups and
downs of her life.
Most
importantly, it was her focus on the “ups” that kept her going
and ... (I feel) helped many others keep their hopes alive.
Thanks
to Emirates' entertainment selection, I was lucky to get an hour of
snooze just before landing at the Charles de Gaulle airport.
Anyhow,
when you are young (or feeling young) you wouldn't want to waste your
time on sleep! ... would you?
You
just need to stock up on extra adrenalin batteries to keep you going.
Monday,
11th of March 2013 (Paris, France)
The
eagle has landed ... (meaning the plane)
“Take
the RER to the Gare du Nord and then a taxi to ...” were the
instructions given by my host Olivier.
So
now I am waiting to buy my RER ticket in a rather long queue and in
the company of two lovely young guys (is not what you think)
returning home from their six months long holiday in Australia.
Despite
the lack of sleep, I was still bubbling with excitement like a good
French champagne, rather than a sparkling wine with a short lived
fizz.
As
one of my birthday cards said ...
“When
we were born, things were made to last.” (isn't this true!)
About
an hour later, I was safely delivered to the Gare du Nord by Damien
and Jordan as they happen to travel in the same direction.
They really helped me feel as if I was their age again (about twenty) and backpacking around the world.
Though
I could easily be their mum (scary thought ... let's keep it out), I
was very pleased that they opted to address me “tu” rather than
“vous”.
However,
I wouldn't be surprised or offended if afterwards they would referred
to me as this “femme bizarre”.
I
will never forget Damien's words when I asked to have a photo taken
with one of them ...
“I
will take a photo of you with Jordan as he is a better looking.”
To
which I replied ...
“Excuse
me! Would you mind if I decide which one of you is a better looking.”
So
here I am with Jordan ... (and I will keep my preference a secret)
. . . . .
At
the Gare du Nord the boys directed me towards the taxi rank before
taking off to catch another train home.
It
was cold and grey outside, but my backpack kept me warm as I walked
on the bright side of my life looking for a taxi to take me home.
(not a country road, but yes ... to the place I belong)
Contrary
to the bad reputation of Parisian taxi drivers, I was fortunate to
have a lovely Haitian man taking me to my final destination.
. . . . .
We
are now standing on my street ... (meaning me and my backpack)
No 23, Rue des Martyrs is awaiting me with an open door.
(literally, as
you see on the photo)
At
no other time, have I found a street door to be open as it not
supposed to be.
A
few days later I had an “aha” moment and realised that it was
open for a reason which unfortunately I can not disclose to you, but
I did to some of my friends.
(through the next door)
(view over our courtyard from the 4th floor)
A fresh glass of excitement refilled my body as I “bubbled” or rather wobbled with my backpack up to the six floor.
When a generously wide “merry go round” staircase ended on the 4th floor, I noticed a secret door leading to the 5th and 6th heavenly sphere along a much narrower pathway.
As I reached the door to my hideaway, I was greeted by the sounds of J.S.Bach on an acoustic guitar. Heavenly sphere indeed ... (with compliments from the neighbour opposite)
I found the key and two clicks later I stepped into my cosy attic apartment complemented by a grand view of Parisian sky lingering along the roof tops.
With my head in the clouds, I could barely hear the calls of my stomach wanting also to be pleased...
The
air felt much colder by now and the dusk started to descend gently as
I strolled along the Rue des Martyrs to pick up some goodies. Shortly
after a light drizzle decided to join us, but since everything I
wanted was only a few steps away I managed not to get wet. (leaving
“Dancing in the rain ...” for another day)
Upon
reaching my abode a drizzle became a rain entwined by a strong wind.
After putting a stop to the chaotic banging of the window shutters, I begun to unpack my bag while munching on the baguette and cheese.
As
the heater filled the space with warmth I started to feel sleepy.
However, the excitement about my following day's visit to the Edith
Piaf's museum kept my eyes open for a bit longer, so that I could
prepare my metro route before laying my head on a pillow.
While
placing a collection of metro maps on the table, a black cloud came
over me flooding my heart with great fear...
“Oh
no! ... I left the museum address back home. How could I have done
such thing!”
“Yes,
how could you ... (my friends would say). You are always so
organised.”
I
was truly shaken by this horrible uncertainty, even though my
rational mind was well assured of finding the address in time for my
early afternoon appointment with Bernard Marchois.
(photo from the following day)
Right now there was nothing else I could do but get some rest.
Feeling
very tired I climbed to my bed hidden bellow the roof - but found it
difficult to fall and stay asleep as the gut felt anxiety kept on
waking me throughout the night.
I knew that there was something else ...
Something
that justified the intensity of my fear; an invisible, but tangible
play of opposing forces with one of them wanting to sabotage my visit
to the museum.
At
first ...
If
I hadn't listened to my intuition and had not extend the trip by
bringing my departure a day forward, I would have missed out on this
very important aspect of my journey. Believe it or not, this was the
only time slot available during my nine day stay and the booking was
made well in advance.
Then
...
A
delayed departure from Sydney due to a medical emergency on board had
also tried to threatened my appointment - the possibility of missing
my connecting flight was only minutes away from becoming real!
(to be continued ...)
Photography and drawings
by Olga Kulanowska
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