Serendipity in Paris

Many amazing things are happening... I have spiralled my way back to Lake Chiemsee in Germany, little paradise enveloped by the Alps, warm still days with unpredictable yet always intense thunderstorms, like an exclamation point stuck awkwardly in the !!! sentence. I've been working long long hours in the kitchen though, peaking anxiously through the windows at the colors outside, and many thoughts have arisen in my mind. these thoughts are cementing into changes, and as I look ahead to the unknown decisions I can't help but feel.... confused. but I feel it's worth rewinding the tape a bit, back to where I last wrote in Lisbon. For why do I write anyway? if i may humbly ask. i figure writing is for the writer, re-thinking and re-feeling what happened to get a grasp on what is now; i definitely need this so-called 'grasp'. if you care to join me in this catharsis then I am most honored........

Riding the train from Lisbon to Biarritz, I had a week left with my dad before we were due to part ways, him back to US and me to Lake Chiemsee. The wheel of time would come to a confused full circle, 38 years having passed since my dad was here, and he would re-meet some old acquantainces. This was odd, because so much time had passed - we were staying at Francois's house, the 15year old grommet surfer turned 53 with wife and two kids. The town of Biarritz is great, many pretty girls driving scooters with big helmets and skimpy clothes, warm croissants and cheerful little houses. in the Basque country bordering Spain, the coast has waves, with mountains nearby. We stay here a few days.

I walked out of my room one night and the moon was full, and the light was exceptionally clear. This is what they call a 'moment'. Patchy thick clouds covered the sky, the moon sometimes hidden sometimes peaking out between the gaps. Backlit clouds with very precise white rims, yet a very black black interior; and when the moon finally found a large enough hole it stood as an intense beacon, the wind pushing the guarding clouds around. i held my breath, it was so quiet, then a car drove by. there was also a cat. when the moon was covered by the cloud i went to sleep, only to awake several hours later with an sharp pain in my stomach. i went outside feeling the need to throw up, bent over and then I looked up for a second and saw the moon was still there, very orange near the horizon now. Cloudless sky. try as i might the noxious substances in my tummy wouldn't leave and when the moon set behind the mountain I crawled back into bed in enlightened frustration. I couldn't tell if I should feel sorry for my condition or thankful, but I spent all morning in bed and that wasn't fun.

on July 13th we drive north toward Paris, and stoped at Chateau Chenonceaux for the evening. Castle built on rockbed in the middle of a river, with a network of moats around its gardens. We came at night and the castle was lit up outside, classical music playing and tourists crusing about, couples making out. Erase all of that and you see this place as a glorious/repressive powerfigure, defensible by the surrounding water and tall walls, its inhabitants under siege and stranded by the barbarian hordes. The peasant population working the surrounding fields paying tribute or whatever. the whole thing is romantic, noble, and depressing.

The next morning we drive into Paris and turns out not one but TWO friends of mine are here by chance. Paul arrives from a month in Reunion Island this morning, and Mina arrives from touring with a fellow Indian 'gypsie' band. I meet Mina at a restaurant with his troupe from India, with their broad moustaches and flowing clothes. We spend the next day running amok at the Louvre, the Arab Institute, all mixes of old and new, glass pyramids and steel frames with medieval stone monuments around, carvings and artifacts. The evening is exciting as an approaching thunderstorm sparks anxiety all around, we're trying to find a restaurant with my dad, things aren't flowing and fall apart when the crazy rude taxi drivers refuse to cooperate. Th popular belief that everyone is rude in Paris is not true, but the taxi drivers seem to embody that notion with great force. I say goodbye to mina but still I havn't seen Paul. Evidently he's at a certain Hotel Printemps but there are 8 such hotels in Paris, we are even staying at one just in case Paul happens to be there. Finally at midnight we connect after a long sequence of scribbled notes and emails, spend a few hours with him at an Egyptian hukkah bar then I leave the next morning with my dad, start our return to Frankfurt.

These have all been a series of mini climaxes, but the turning point when I arrive in Chiemsee is still to be ahead...