19 June 2010
Tis the wee hours of the morn (i.e. 9h50), and I find myself in an adorable park with impressively looming trees, not a km from the Bastille. I have just send Kate Schnak on her way to Charles de Gaulle Aeroport (CDG, for you world travelers), and I am meandering through this end of town in search of shelter. I have to admit, it feels sort of dramatic--me, this nomad with all my worldly possessions on my back (by which I mean non-glam things like toiletries and plastic bags), roaming around in search of a place to be un-homeless for a while.
As I sit here, this Saturday morning, watching a remarkably agile older lady perform what I can only assume to be yoga moves, I almost feel compelled to shed the backpack (well, I definitely feel compelled to do that), and hunker down in the cool, damp air and reflect on life--mediate, or something. I'm pretty sure most nomads were pagans, but Buddhists roam, right? Anyway, vagabondism and mediation seem compatible to me.
The roar of cars is steadily rising, and children arrive! What an adorable oasis--soccer balls (excusez-moi, "footballs") and 8 year old (French) trash-talk flies alongside an assembling though wholly unofficial group of old men. From what I can tell, they are puttering around complaining about politics, but that probably went without saying. I sat down here in the first place because I just received the phone number of a friend of Kate's who is apparently willing to lend me her apartment for a couple nights. It turns out I'll be heading to the nearby hostel (the original destination) today after all, but I am so pleased to have found this spot. Parc Trousseau, the sun is finally peaking through Paris's gray ceiling, so I'll be sure to snap a picture. My love to all! Bisous!
J
Note: Lack of PC also means lack of picture uploading!! I did indeed capture the yoga lady, and one remaining puttering old man on film... so stay tuned.
It amazes me how smart those 8-year-olds are over there - they can speak French and all..
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