I did this in May. By myself. And now it seems that my little blog has taken a much longer vacation than I did. June is tough, so many things wrapping up, exams, tournaments, parties, that I just seemed to forget that I sometimes find myself living in this little online world.Paris in the springtime. It would be romantic and probably beautiful if I hadn't gone there alone (completely in love with my husband) and if I hadn't gone to Barcelona first.
I wanted to tell you all about Barcelona but I find that it's hard for me to talk about without a couple of glasses of wine warming my body and befuddling my mind. I feel the well of it rise up in the spot behind my nose, knowing that it might become tears and that you might misunderstand me. So much introspection is hard on my little mind, filled with daily lists of need to do and should do and what have you.
Barcelona was so good to me and it made me loathe some parts of my life that I just can't seem to shake. But it also filled me with reminders of the best parts of being me. The dichotomy is strong and strange and I can't really explain it so I won't.
Instead, I will tell you about Paris. Which is a beautiful, filthy, graffiti-covered, cramped and gorgeous nightmare. I love the river, I love river cities, I have only ever lived in them, the seaside does not call to me the way that it does for some. It was so sad for me to see this beautiful city with its garbage filled river and it's twinkling lights. The dichotomy of me is so much like the strange and disturbing dichotomy of Paris. I was unnerved by the squalor of the suburbs and the never ending mess of graffiti. I spent more than six hours wandering the halls of the Louvre and struggling to find room for both the art of the streets and the romantic art of those galleries.
The people of Paris were good to me, they allowed me to struggle with my French. They switched effortlessly to English when I needed to understand something clearly. The food was perfect. Light pastries, gorgeous green salads. I shared a bottle of wine with a new Parisian, only there a month, having traveled from Bangladesh and desperate for company in English. He took this picture of me in front of the Eiffel Tower. We parted abruptly and now only a month and a half later I can't recall his name.
I'll go back, six hours was not enough time in the Louvre and the city is full of museums I have yet to explore. I'd like to suggest I'll take my family and maybe someday I will. But right now, in this moment of remembering, all I can think of is how lovely it was to wander unencumbered. See the photo of me, that's how I walked, not even with my cell phone in hand, just the money and identification I needed and my little pocket camera. No backpacks, no extra jackets, I'm not holding any sweaters or a gazillion water bottles. I didn't need to haul along sunscreen or extra bug spray, tissues, wipes, or snacks. I didn't have to wonder where Ruby left her glasses or Avery her hat. No one complained that I was looking at that one too long or that their feet hurt. No one tugged on my clothing or whispered in my ear, there was no whining, no begging for snacks, no need to find a bathroom other than when I needed it for myself. It was some form of bliss and I intend someday to experience it again.
I know that my babies are growing fast, they have proven it to me again and again. I held my new nephew at three days old for hours and marvelled at his smallness, remembering how simple those days were but not longing for them. I adore the unique and individual people that my children are, I hold fast to these days that I have with them, knowing that they will soon be gone forever. But I also know, that I will be fine when they are grown into their own lives. I like myself enough to spend that kind of time alone again. It's a startling and beautiful revelation.
