Tuesday, July 01, 2008

Paris, Rome and back.

Paris, hmmm..., I didn't quite live like a Parisien, but sure got a whiff, a good strong one, of what it would feel like. I spend four days in Paris, and though I'd've loved to stay and soak it in, the few days I spent gave me a sneak preview into the life of a Parisen.

Coming from the US of A, consumerist capital of the universe, its a welcome change, and at the same time, it jolts you a bit. Although I did my fair share of tourism (Tour Eiffel, Pantheon, Versailles, ...), I picked to stay at a place not thronged by tourists. Rue du la Convention primarily had cafés, small fruit and vegetable shops, a bit of fashion (goes without saying, doesn't it?), cigarette smoke, well dressed Parisiens, and life. From three onwards in the afternoon, until eleven at night (doesn't feel that late, sunset is past ten, in June at least), its hard to find a table at a café or a brasserie. If you find one, you just grab it, and wait till someone shows up for your order.

After a little bit of looking around, the thing that hit me most was that there exists no concept of fast food. There is no sight of disposable plate, glass or plastic "silverware". No ones in a hurry here. I'm not trying to say that people are lazy. I'm sure they're not, but nobody here takes a coffee and a sandwich to go and gets on the metro. Dining has its own place, and it gets the respect it deserves. Even if its a stop for boisson, you sit down, chatter a bit, enjoy your drink, people watch, and finally say au revoir.

People here are warm. Go to a boulangerie and though it is hard if you don't speak the laguage, the person behind the counter is likely to entertain you with a big smile, some small talk, jokes, offer a bite of this or that, offer some help choosing -- its a completely different experience. You just end up feeling good.

I don't think in all my wandering around I saw any obese people. Are people just more health conscious, or is there something fundamentally different here? Its not like you don't see people eating ice cream, pastries, cheese, but it doesn't seem to cause a problem.

I went on my last day here to a mall, thinking the experience would be incomplete without seeing how Parisiens shop. I think the place I went competes in size with the big malls of America. Its in a place called Châtelet les Halles and is three stories tall under the ground. Its the sale or the "soldes" season in Paris, and boy do Parisiens like to shop. By now of course I'm biased enough to think that the element of greediness is absent.

It appears to me that Parisiens are more in touch with their lives as opposed to their gluttonous, credit card wielding, robot like American counterparts. I may be completely wrong. However it seemed like something was better there than it is in good ol' New Jersey, and irrespective of my conclusions it made me realize that I wasn't far from that very robot I so despise. I think Paris has taught me that its time to stop and sip my coffee.

Roma, aah..., the land of ancient ruins, cobblestones, graffiti, espresso, biscotti and ciao. Stop by for a gelato, a piccolo, if you can't stomach the grande, and say ciao. Grab your over loaded cone with three of more flavours of the tastiest, softest and smoothest ice cream in the world, say your grazie, and leave with another ciao, a longer one this time, now that you've made friends with the pretty señorina behind the rainbow of gelato, who took fifty cents off your buck and fifty gelato 'cause it was your first.

Lovely Roma, pretty women, laid back señors who take a good two seconds to say per favore, and then two more to say it with their hands.

Espresso vapours wafting through the town, every caffè grind its coffee fresh and makes a shape with with the milk foam that displaces the thickest crema and makes its way to the heart.

In fact, all that can be said about Paris can be said about Roma, the coffee shops, the bars and trattorias, the laid back ways. The only difference, and its really an insignificant one, is that Parisiens exude a certain finesse and sophistication, while Romans seem a bit rustic, with all due respect to the many counter examples. Insignificant that it may be, with my prejudiced world view, I like the Romans a tad more. It all seems a bit more down to earth here. At the end of the day however, I think its all about taking a second to stare at the crema, a minute to wonder about it, and a lifetime to absorb it. When thats over, you can do in Rome as the Romans do, or even play Gladiator.

I'll soon be back home, as boarding time nears, and I'm about to finish this off. I know very well, I'll go back to having Chinese food to go, and cursing traffic. But every time I look at the oil on the canvas, and every time I see marble eyes, I'll remember to take a step back and sit down. If life comes at you too fast, it only makes it worse to rush forward.

The Marlboro Boy

What goes through his mind as he puffs
Clouds of smoke away

Like a man wise and old
puffs to his life.

Intoxicated by the future,
or letting go off his past

He puffs and puffs
Till the last.

Holds that stick of joy
between numbers much too small

He stands the stance of heroes
And puffs wisps so slender

Mamas and Papas watch
And they whisper words of shock,

And the young man stamps the butt
-- and walks.

I looked through the window
And saw him return

To notice my lute and show me
Two thumbs up.

He vanished again from sight
and introduced me to his clique --

One pushed a wheelchair, while the other sat in it,
Between his lips another murder stick.

The glass window it seemed
To insulate me from this grief,

And I turned away to be faced
By the young man who vanished ago.

Thirteen he said
But seemed barely eight,

Gave him the coins I had
For some bread to barely satiate.

I walked away as my flight was going,
knowing too well he'd buy more smoke,

My grief choked as he walked through the
Glass doors to his side of the world.