from paris

just the next day, after spending the last two in an experience of some the genuine highlights of the bretange region, I'm on to paris for a three day adventure of working with yann and staying in a rented rooftop apartment.

"these are the days..."

beginning our 5 hour drive into the city, I once again find myself passing in and out of consciousness only to be woken for a string of engaging conversation and the occasional turkish pit-stop. with one eye open, I watch an increasingly familiar rolling terrain in an instant turn flat, and then to the very valley that cradles a sprawling paris. with sunlit arms reaching out of its roost, the city capital suddenly engulfs us. we are passing now beside the eiffel tower, as the the arc de triomphe can be seen only in the distance behind us. then is napoleon's tomb under that nearly gaudy glow of the gilded dome church, with the assemblee nationale palais-bourbon, and the grand and petit palais of champ-elysees clemenceau to follow. in hindsight, it is an appropriately paced tour as I watch the colorful swarms of people outside each of these sites, and smile to myself in knowing that this time around is a visit of a different nature. for on now passing outside of the palais de la madeline and the that of l'elysees, we are on our way to my workplace for the next three eagerly employed days.
pulling into the tres, tres riche and premier section of the city, we arrive at the antique book store where we will be assembling yann's custom made display unit for the store's upstairs gallery. entering through the old swinging glass doors and onto its marbled floor way, this is place for an authentically french experience, utterly devoid of tourist traffic, and full of wonderful insights to the customs and inner workings of this haute couture area. beautiful people gracefully enter using immaculate pronunciation as they browse through books ranging in the hundreds and thousands of euros. though worlds apart in my blue jean attire and english drawl, I am tempted myself to spend my days looking through the massive collection of art books alone; and I drool over titles of dada in paris and postmodern design. with such a delectable array right at my fingertips, I fall to the envy of those who can afford to take these affluent texts home.
traveling up a spiral staircase, enclosing the dangling spheres of antique lighting, I linger to look at the line of well framed illustrations, vintage posters, and several other artworks. reaching the top and upon seeming mindful miles later, my vision of the owner is turning in full form. yet, before I am allowed these assumptions any longer, my image rests reassured upon our most vivified meeting.
he is an outwardly flamboyant character, wearing dress pants and suspenders that keep hold of his wildly gesticulating arms. tall in stature and of average build, he walks with his hips forward and often has a cigarette sandwiched between his ring and index fingers. lighting another and swinging it in an extension of his arm, he offers us coffee repeatedly and shows us way to his kitchen and la salle de bain. his zest for this business is apparent in his enthusiasm of speech and eagerness to divulge the extent of his collection. he opens the drawer of a cabinet we're working by and an avalanche of books of an impossible cost pours out of bottom. it was in this manner that I continue to make my discoveries over the course of the next 3 days.
continuing still a most intensive work, such occasions eventually become a welcome means for break as yann's unmatched pace gives new meaning to the phrase lazy american. also, stopping daily a for lunch and a beer at a (tres cher!) cafe, my body thanks me for a moment to refresh.

come the close of a solid 8 hour day, we're driving now to the apartment that sandy has rented via online advertising and a handful of phone calls. atop 6 floors of stairs, this compact unit gives a decent view of the surrounding structures and the overall far less massive paris skyline. with a bed in a charlie buckett style loftspace, I watch out my rooftop window as chimney swifts dive in and out the sunwashed architecture. to my bottom right I see a man painting from his balcony vista; below provides an auditory view of a boy playing in the courtyard; and left is a woman calling out from billowing curtains. hot sounds of the streets, the talk of two men blends a melodic dialect with this and the local songs heard from the downstairs radio.
here are my ears transitioning from the jabbing racket of NYC, as I now press softly to these downy sounds. wrapped in a subtle hum, I drift into a welcomed sleep and my body falls from a hard days work.

a completion to my paris stay, I emerge 2 days later from the city's subway bearing a genuine sense of accomplishment and a more tactile padding in my wallet to show. baffled still, I have now earned more money than spent on this entire french juncture, and I look forward all the more to my increased travels to come...
now, in a strait and narrow shot to the TGV station, I wait for sandy and leon's arrival before we catch our intended train to rennes.
sitting on the steps just outside and facing a bustling circular center, I am approached by a man selling comics, one asking for directions, then two looking for handouts. "je suis desole, mais je ne parle pas francais", is my only reply, and for once perhaps the language barrier has worked in my favor.
...thinking of this, I look up to the dingy carousel before me playing an equally worn record to its slow and irregular rotation. there is an old woman straddled on one of the faded antique horses, as her frizzy gray hair wafts in haphazard arrangement. her wrinkled face, a tale of her age, is heavy with make up but far from depriving it of character. situated just some 2 feet away is a young man in a one-handed use old VHS recorder, holding its wavering lens uncomfortably close to her inattentive face. he keeps suave contrapasto, arm slung back around the pole behind him and I watch the pair go round this way through several of the tattered melodies.
from only in new york to now an indication of paris, i dally in the day and am soon glued to the pavement.

at last, I spot sandy and leon, and we're off in a prompt departure from paris to rennes, from rennes to combourg, and then for only a bikeable drive home. all in all, it's a relaxing 2 hour ride, and as I sit in the cool air pressing bittersweet distance from the tres chaud city, and again, my body only thanks me.