Pareeeeeee
Paradis. Despite strikes, strange keyboard, stranger men and all, first journée in Paris fits illusions. Strolling around the city unafraid to smile at a moment, the wind flirting, chasing rain water spurting off an awning onto well dressed women. Or at cliche full blown roses in front of Notre Dame. Or from my sheer Donne described ecstasy exploding at and like the fountains I pass partout. I think I am just about the happiest girl. Five weeks and I might burst.
Staying with a divorcee and her sixteen year old son, sefardic jews, keep cacher and invited me to shabbat dinner at her parents. Arrived there late last night after pilot politely called in sick and my flight got switched, politely, to a later one on a jumbojet. They apologized and gave us free drinks, politely. It was London after all. That's right. I was in London. For about 21 hours. Flew from Newark where my parents drove me heroically early in the morning. Stayed with a friend of Deanna's, Tim, in the neighborhood of my favorite hunchback of notre London, Alex Pope. Evening went in the famous jaguar into Richmond and was washed away by the Thames, one spot looked like a moment of the Wasteland, another bend like a Turner painting. Drank British beer with sound guys who wondered why I wanted to go to Paris. They asked with patriotic pride if London was not good enough. In the morning drove around old royal hunting grounds watching herds of spotted deer, tame and hopelessly used to people. On the move, at the airport found flight cancelled but the later flight took all of 35 minutes. Almost as soon as the plane stopped ascending, the angle switched and my glass slid forward. Sipping scotch, stared out as we cut through clouds swathing the wing - ding - seatbelt sign off saying everything is going to be alright, this is the beginning of a new story. Write more praise of Paris soon, have to go laugh at the six oclock sunlight on the leaves of Luxembourg. Did I mention how much I love this place?
Staying with a divorcee and her sixteen year old son, sefardic jews, keep cacher and invited me to shabbat dinner at her parents. Arrived there late last night after pilot politely called in sick and my flight got switched, politely, to a later one on a jumbojet. They apologized and gave us free drinks, politely. It was London after all. That's right. I was in London. For about 21 hours. Flew from Newark where my parents drove me heroically early in the morning. Stayed with a friend of Deanna's, Tim, in the neighborhood of my favorite hunchback of notre London, Alex Pope. Evening went in the famous jaguar into Richmond and was washed away by the Thames, one spot looked like a moment of the Wasteland, another bend like a Turner painting. Drank British beer with sound guys who wondered why I wanted to go to Paris. They asked with patriotic pride if London was not good enough. In the morning drove around old royal hunting grounds watching herds of spotted deer, tame and hopelessly used to people. On the move, at the airport found flight cancelled but the later flight took all of 35 minutes. Almost as soon as the plane stopped ascending, the angle switched and my glass slid forward. Sipping scotch, stared out as we cut through clouds swathing the wing - ding - seatbelt sign off saying everything is going to be alright, this is the beginning of a new story. Write more praise of Paris soon, have to go laugh at the six oclock sunlight on the leaves of Luxembourg. Did I mention how much I love this place?
