I'm picking up my friend Nancy at the airport in a couple of hours. Oh how I've missed her. It will be nice to have another Valley girl around. I can OMG, LIKE NO WAY! and ARE YOU SERIOUS? as much as I want without feeling deranged. She's here until Tuesday and as her tour guide, I plan on making the best of our limited time together and the bad weather.
....
My friends have all flown back home: Los Angeles, Ireland, Finland, London. My roommate leaves for Denmark tomorrow night.
My family is in El Salvador visiting my mother's side of the family, for the first time. It pains me that I'm not there.
This time last year, all four of us were exploring Jamaica. We drove the entire length of the island, from Negril to Port Royal, with the windows down while listening to Bob Marley. Little did I know we'd soon be scattered about the globe.
I spent most of my time in Paris huddled underneath an umbrella, shivering violently and avoiding puddles. But as cold and as wet as I was, I couldn't stop smiling and awwing at everything. I find most metro lovers in Madrid pretty gauche (I once tried drowning out the slurping noises by turning up the volume on my iPod. It didn't work.), but in Paris, I couldn't help but smile at them. Good for you. Please, carry on with your public displays of affection.
I licked powdered sugar from my fingers, wiped Nutella from the corners of my mouth and gleefully cracked my crème brulee with a spoon at the count of three.
Paris turned me into a child.
We rode a ferris wheel near Champs Elysee in the rain and a carousel near Sacre Coeur. A song by Edith Piaf was playing.
Oh and then there's that famous tower.
We waited in line for more than an hour to climb the Eiffel Tower in the coldest cold I have ever felt in my life. I swear I felt my heart rate slow down. My feet turned into blocks of ice. But leave now? Yes, we are delicate Californian flowers. But quitters? NEVER! I wrapped my scarf around my face and clutched Raya's arm.
Finally, about 700 steps later and more than 1000 feet above the ground, we reached the top, only to find that not only was it colder up there, but windier.
We ran across "le etoile" (the star), the area surrounding the Arc de Triomphe, which Zoya explained is not covered by insurance companies because it is notorious for car accidents.
We were the only people there, or so we thought until two French guards appeared. Zoya charmed them with her impeccable French and they asked us how we got there because the Metro passageway to the Arc was closed. We ran, she told them. "Well, that's the only way you can get back!" they said.
Cars honked as we dodged traffic in the rain. We laughed nervously, madly, from the adrenaline rush.
We had coffee at Cafe de 2 Moulins, also known as the Amelie cafe. She was everywhere.
The Amelie cafe is just a short walk from Moulin Rouge, in Pigalle, which should always be said with a wink.
We took a muddy walk through Les Tuileries.
I spent my last day at Pere Lachaise, where I paid my respects to Chopin, Edith Piaf, Jim Morrison and Oscar Wilde.
The cemetery cat was there to greet us.
We finally found Oscar's grave. I totally kissed it.
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I was in Paris for four days and I wish I could tell you everything. What it's like to be on the Eiffel Tower when it lights up. How unbelievably small you feel in the shadows and candlelight of Notre Dame.
Paris is magic. You just have to see it for yourself.
Here’s what I can tell you: The French were nothing but friendly and helpful. You can’t have a bad meal in Paris. It will make you lovesick but here, have this macaroon that just melts in your mouth. Better?
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Zoya was glued to her map, as she was for most of the weekend. We were outside the metro station by the opera house, when I saw them.
They were standing across the street. There was nothing overtly special about them. Just another couple in Paris whose preferred mode of transportation is by motorbike. They were on their way to dinner, I was sure. He removed her helmet and her hair fell like a curtain across her face. He brushed her hair away from her eyes, tucked it behind her ears, his hands poised at her temples. It reminded me of a line from a Billy Collins poem. "You hold a girl's face in your hands like a vase."
I just stood there, witnessing this quiet little moment unfold on a wet street corner. That, right there, I thought. That’s Paris.
*Special thanks to Zoya for letting us stay in her flat and for being our unofficial tour guide. You are awesome. And as the French would say "ELLE EST CANON!"*
"I wish I could, but I can't right now. I can't afford it and my life is so..."
"You are making excuses."
"Err, no, it's just that..."
"Stop making excuses. Just buy a ticket and GO!"
He then told me that the last time he went to Paris he would wake up early, leave his hotel room and walk until he got lost. Armed with his camera, he walked, smelled and saw the real Paris, with all of its quarters and street vendors. He knew where his hotel was by just looking at the Eiffel Tower, so finding his way back wasn't so hard.
"I will never forget those mornings in Paris."
This week has been crazy, but as I desperately try to meet my deadline and juggle school and work, I find it comforting to know that I am thisclose to getting to Friday and someday, to Paris, where I too will get lost and find my way back again.
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I wrote that on Feb. 12, 2008, back when I was a funny thing called a college student and "he" was my amazing film professor. It was a conversation I often replayed in my head during those long miserable nights and frantic last-minute trips to the library. Paris became my own personal promised land, which is why I can't believe I'm finally going... in a couple of hours.
I don't really have an itinerary but I do plan on ordering a croque monsieur (just because) and eating my body weight in crepes and macaroons. I'll walk it all off at the Louvre or Musee d'Orsay.
Please cross your fingers that all ze francais I learned au le lycee will retournee, or something like that because while I studied French for three years, it is comme ci, comme ça.
I loved Barcelona. I tried paella and cava for the first time, which is stronger than you would think or maybe I'm just a "very cheap date," like Sarah said.
The palm trees reminded me of LA.
I saw what I had to see. As expected, Gaudi blew me away.
I also had an awesome partner in crime tour guide who thought it would be a good idea to search for a movie theater in the middle of nowhere just so we could watch "New Moon" in English. After an hour of wandering around and asking for directions, we found it and laughed throughout the entire thing, earning the silent wrath of everyone around us. (Glittery vampires are funny. So is crap acting. End of story.)
The rooftop of Casa Batlló, my favorite Gaudi building.
Looking out to Passeig de Gràcia during the audio tour.
I haven't finished uploading all my pictures yet but here are a few.
I bet you if I had a Mini, I would never miss a flight.
I spent my last few hours in Barcelona at this place. It's in Barri Gòtic, the city's Gothic quarter (think dark, narrow and winding streets). Order the chai tea with Baileys. You'll thank me later.
We all need happy pills, every now and then.
I bought this Banksy tote bag in a store near Park Güell.CINCO EUROS, PEOPLE. I love me some cheap Banksy. I used it to carry all the stuff that didn't fit in my bag.
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So Barcelona was great and I had a lot of fun BUT...
There's always a but.
I've spent the last couple of days formulating an opinion about Barcelona and I've come to the conclusion that it is a beautiful cosmopolitan city I could never live in.
Queeeeeee, you say? Estas loca! Maybe. But venturing up north was really eye-opening, in many ways. It made me realize just how traditional Madrid really is. I like traditional.
You know what else I like? I like it when waiters at restaurants reply to me in Spanish when I order in Spanish. (I'm looking at you, waiter at Les Quinze Nits who replied in English to my Spanish, repeatedly. SERIOUSLY? IS MY SPANISH NOT SPANISH ENOUGH FOR YOU? OR IS IT BECAUSE I DON'T SPEAK CATALAN? AND WHAT DO YOU MEAN THE KITCHEN CLOSES IN FIVE MINUTES SO WE HAVE TO ORDER NOW?)
Ahem, moving on.
There were moments when riding the metro that I felt like I had stepped into a dark, post-apocalyptic world. It didn't feel like I was in Spain.
As much as I loved it, I kept glancing at my watch on Sunday night. I was aching to get back to Madrid. When I was roused by the pilot who said we would be landing in 10 minutes, I was so happy. I was going home, to the non-scary metro!
The following day, I was waiting for the train home when a woman approached me. I took out my ear buds. She was lost and needed to get to Diego de Leon (Line 6). I told her how to get there from Line 1. As she walked away, I wondered why -- out of all the other people standing on the platform, not listening to music -- she asked me for directions.
I think it's starting to happen. I'm being mistaken for a Madrileña.
