A friend inParis

A pleasant morning as I walk through the streets of Paris comforted by my red Chuck Taylor's, I venture out smelling of coffee brewing, croissants finding its way through the alleys with pungency. As the Parisians open up shop with the sounds of yelling, trucks blasting by and the sliding doors opening for a day of profitable ownership. The weather is calm with the possibility of sunshine peering out of the billowy clouds spreading a positive light for all.

I strolled by the recently burned and charred Notre Dame church that shook and saddened the Parisian’s and folks around the world 5 months before my arrival. There was a quietness with the absence of people and only to see it as a construction sight with no word of opening sometime soon. To think that something so beautiful can look so decrepit and weak.

With plenty of historian fashion and color to look at and as a tourist my head wasn’t exactly on the road. As I spun my head around gazing at other buildings, I was abruptly bumped by a crazy man, who was clearly in need of sobering up and seeking out a week detox to clear his head of toxins in his body. He yelled at me with continual rubbish of what I should be doing. I looked at him with compassion and ignored him. He repeated this behavior to two others. The second person was so upset, he looked at me, questioned his behavior and gazing into my eyes at the same time. Was it love at first sight? Was it a chance to educate him on the issues of mental illness and addiction? Was it a chance to question him on the historical building that caught my eye in the first place? Was he flirting? Was I going to end up going to dinner and the obvious things that follow that would eventually make me crazy or completely mortified that I acted this way the next day?

He said, well..that was rude. I abruptly answered him stating that this man was clearly crazy. He said “yes….but he knocked into me like a ten ton truck!” I smiled and said calmly, what is your name?’ He stopped in his tracks and giggled. “My name is Vladimir. and yours? My name is Rose. He began to act in a way of interest and curiosity of who I was. His eyes brightened up with a level of patience to actually smell the roses. By this I mean he was all of a sudden intrigued. The attention was extremely flattering. The conversation continued with the usual questions and what I was doing in Paris. I am from LA and on a little vacation to get away from the madness of the hustle and bustle LA provides with people, traffic and the land of phoniness and entitlement. I continued to say that I am lucky enough to live in a beach town which offers benefits of silence and a spiritual way of living that keeps me away from the crazy’s in the surrounding areas of LA.. He was intrigued and wanted to know more.

I turned it around to start questioning him like bullets from a smoking gun and loud blasts from my vocal chords. I was on fire. It was electrifying.

He was happy to talk about himself for a bit as most people do. Its instinctively in our brain to want to talk and hopefully someone will listen. A French Canadian with a family from Beirut living in Paris to grow his photography business, I became extremely interested as I am an amateur myself and finding a personal interest in his work. I tell him where I work. He drops to the ground and says NO! I say with surprise,….why? He says..I just did a photography piece in your company magazine. I was floored how his employment and ability to show his work would be connected with my place of work. We are connected. We are laughing and instantly bonded. I speak of our meet cute in a way that time was going by and noticed we had walked for 30 minutes up the Seine. He is intriguing and I am curious. He’s handsome and charismatic and has swag. In my mind I’m visualizing a crush. I have jet lag, my hair is a mess but I am keeping up with the pace of historian adventure. We stroll by the ministry of foreign affairs. Wow! This is such a grandiose building I can’t keep up with the facts that he is sharing with me. He says “can I take you to lunch?” 

Oh boy….where is this going? His interest in art and photography are spilling into me like a cup of freshly brewed coffee. The flavor and the vision of how one continues to see the beauty in almost everything. My crush is growing. I am feeling funny in my stomach and I follow him through the streets of Paris with no plan or agenda.

Sitting down for a half American Parisian lunch of typical French fries and a burger on a brioche with a side of Sicilian olives. The flavors are succulent and to my surprise, watering. Maybe that’s his personality getting confused with the actual lunch. We share our photography, our differences in life and how we were raised. I forgot to say, I am 57 and he is 41. No worries, I got this. Laughing and enjoying each other as we had known each other for a lifetime. At ease in my chair he looks into my eyes and says what do you want in life. Well this definitely is not the superficial conversation that I have in LA at lunch. I begin to open up and I was comfortable I wasn’t going to say the wrong thing. I was at ease. He made me feel calm and soothing. Where is this going i thought. Its mid day. Will I leave him after lunch? Will I acquire his presence for a few more hours or marry him, move to Paris and live happily ever after? Um..no, we finish a beautiful lunch and he invites me to Glacé Bachir to take part in a historical way of eating Lebanese ice cream. The people, the staff and the surroundings, making you feel as you were not in Paris anymore. I had traveled to Lebanon all in 10 minutes and more intrigued than when we first met.

He was polite he was hospitable and educating me the style of this particular concoction of frozen delight. Hope you like pistachios, he said with a giggle. 

My crush was growing and as the 2pm hour continued to sneak up on me I was craving an espresso to keep me moving forward. Conveniently located, a quaint little cafe called cafe amor gave the pick up of aroma and energy I needed to go forward. Another two hour stroll with his historian footnotes on every corner, his zest for life and the twinkle of excitement in his eyes, he unfortunately says, I have a show tonight and will have to leave you. You are beautiful. You are zestier than a succulent orange but our day must end. I leave for beruit tomorrow and I am afraid this is it.

He kisses me on the lips and holds me gently. He looks into my eyes with determination and force. I think to myself, I cant believe its over.

Inside I am crushed but as i look at him, gazing into each others eyes, all I see is a beautiful man that took me for a day, enlightened me., swooned me, educated me with no expectations of just plain fun. There is the memory to come of a very innocent gesture of friendship. No expectation. I didn’t have to figure it out. It was clear and it was beautiful. I call this a memory of love and laughter which has stuck with me until today.