I’m home now, but I am going to try and finish the travel notes to you. While we were in Paris we were so busy running around on the metro trying to soak up the city that there was never a time to sit down and write. Also, due to the surgery I was a little tired and spacey, though Leea claims no one would notice. Grin. Then I caught a nasty cold which has hung on for two weeks. So I am home in the US resting once again. I will try to write Paris over the next week. Grin. I will try to write Paris over the next couple of days, and then I have some memories of people and situations from the hospital I would like to share with you. And finally, I would like to go back to our first day in Barcelona and a friend we met that day.
On Thursday we arrived in Paris on the over night train from Barcelona. When I was studying art in graduate school, the art history professors would talk about the light in Paris and how it affected so many artists, especially the impressionists. I thought, oh hooey, light is light.” But on my two trips to Paris, I have discovered they were right. There is something soft about the light in Paris, almost like you are seeing the world through glasses with the slightest of blue tints. Paris light has a soft gentleness to it. And Paris is green. There are parks, gardens and trees everywhere. Truly, just being there is amazing.
Much to my surprise, my loving caretaker daughter turned into a brutal prison warden and would not let me leave my room. In an ironic turn of events, I am grounded, forced to stay in my room and twiddle my thumbs. What terrible crime or wrong doing caused this punishment? Having the incredibly bad judgment to need surgery in Barcelona? She tells me in the sternest tone that I need to rest. Indeed. I am the mother here, am I not? Apparently not. So off she went to do recognizance and see the Arc de Triumph and soldiers with AK47’s which I saw on my last visit. I am convinced that she has told the people at the desk not to let me leave, so I rest that afternoon.
When the warden finally returns, she decides that I can go to dinner. After all there are regulations about the inhumane treatment of prisoners. So we go in search of food. We found a wonderful, and I do mean wonderful, sushi restaurant down the block and around the corner from our hotel, but it wasn’t going to open until 19:00 (7pm). It was 18:50. So we decided to walk around and familiarize ourselves with our new neighborhood.
We found a store that sold goods from India, including ceramics so we went in to look around. I was meandering around the store looking at items and when I came to the ceramics I picked up a bowl. I always like to look at the foot of a bowl or cup to see if they are handmade of molded. I am startled out of my revelry by the shopkeeper’s voice. But she is speaking French and from the tone I think she is telling me I cannot touch the merchandise. We exchange a few phrases and she says in English that she was only saying that if I needed any help to please let her know. But there is the “look” which we encountered many times in Paris which roughly translated means, “What are these buffoons doing in my lovely city, they can’t even speak French.” Oh well.
We returned to the sushi restaurant to find it was just opening for dinner. We went in and sat at an open window table. We ordered a sushi tray with 18 rolls of three varieties. It came with soup and salad. We opted for two soups. It was delicious and the bill was fifteen euros. It was the cheapest dinner we had on our trip. And right around the corner from our hotel. We had to resist the temptation to eat there every lunch and dinner.
After dinner we returned to our hotel for a good night’s sleep. Well that worked for Leea, but the anesthesia they use when they do surgery, really messes with my sleep patterns and I cannot sleep more than three or four hours at a time. So I slept a little, then got up and organized pictures from the day.
No comments:
Post a Comment