Lez Chronicles de Paris, Part Trois.

To be totally honest, the trip went by quickly and ungracefully like a child learning how to walk.

I went to the Cimetière du Père-Lachaise and sat by Colette’s grave waiting for a lightening bolt of literary genius to hit me between the eyes. I found Gertrude and Alice’s apartment on the Rue de Fleurus and stood by the door, thinking about the cobblestones beneath my feet and the sturdy writer woman who once probably stood in the same spot. I went to the 3WKafe on a busy Friday night, appropriately dressed down this time having learned my lesson. I watched the 19-year old baby dykes with interesting teeth awkwardly make out, dance, laugh, argue, and drink, just like 19-year old baby dykes in San Francisco, or any other city or town. I ate a warm Nutella crepe under the Eiffel Tower, watching the snail/escargot line curve slowly to the elevator. I rode a bateaux mouche down the Seine, freezing in my coat, trying to ignore the loud Italians sitting too close behind me. I walked up and down the Champs-Elysees, Boulevard Saint Germain des Prés, Boulevard Saint Michel, Rue de la Paix, Rue de Rivoli, Avenue Montaigne, and Boulevard Montparnasse. I rode back and forth on the metro. I smoked cigarettes and drank framboise at Les Deux Magots with wild abandon. I window shopped at Hermès, Chanel and Dior. I waited (and was cut) in lines at the Louvre. I took pictures in the Sacré-Cœur and got scolded Ne prenez pas les photos ici Mademoiselle! I sat in the Jardin du Luxembourg, Jardin des Tuileries, Jardin des Plantes, Jardins de Versailles, and watched the sun slowly set over young couples and old couples holding hands and pondering the future.

Through all of this I was outside, floating above myself. By the end of the trip I simply moved through the city. I glided.

I was not sad to leave. I felt oddly disconnected. I had in fact not spoken to a soul in the entire city for two weeks, beyond generic ordering in cafes, and other mundane speeches along those lines. I will always think of Paris one way and my trip did not affect the way I see the city. This is a romantic, la vie en rose, perfect vision of the place, that will never ever change.

No humorous stories, no anecdotes, and no awkward run-ins this time around. Just me, a café au lait, and a pen.

Always,

Louise