The Summer That Was
Once again I found myself walking the wondrous streets of Paris. As if in a haze, I walked by the grandeur of the buildings and their gorgeous french windows. It seemed to me as though they were longing to be opened by someone coming to smoke the last cigarette in his pack while watching the world go by beneath the wrought iron railings or perhaps yearning to have new lovers murmuring sweet nothings, sharing a coquettish grin with martinis in hand.
The french, the say, are arrogant sons of bitches, rude and ridiculously proud and I say why not? They can, after all, put together clothes that look fresh out of the latest Spring collection. They have what it takes to look cool and detached in suits worn in that summer haze while using public transport. They do own the word grandiose and all that the word describes.
Unlike my last time , there were no festivities in the air, people were going about doing their usual business. As opposed to the chilling cold of the last time, this time it felt like the last happy scorching everlasting summer in Paris.
When I left Paris with a heavy heart in the January of 2010 I took with me memories of lifeless skeleton of trees, frozen soils, the stillness of holidays ending, wintry fogs and grey skies. When I returned, it was to unending summer days, to blooming trees, the then dead soils presently bearing green blades of grass. Never was there a stillness in the air; the skies were cloudless and blue, and blinding were the rays of the sun that scorched my skin but brightened my soul.
A walk through the Champs de Mars rejuvenated life like nothing could ever make it meaningless again. The green stretches of Park serving its purpose of existence to the fullest. Familes, young couples and old spreading a picnic on the cool of the grass, tourists finding an empty bench under the shade of large trees, finding respite from the heat, swigging down water. The hawkers approaching resting travellers trying to sell miniature Eiffel Towers for a Euro but never being too persistent, as if they were in need of a break as well.
A little further down the way one could hear the roaring laughter of children sounding joyous, the obliviousness of adulthood all too stark. Just across from this piece of heaven were a family lunching under the shades, wine poured into plastic cups, a private joke going around that made them throw back their heads in quiet laughter.
It felt like being witness to life all the while stealing glances at the tall tower now behind me.
Paris on one's own seems like a very lonely idea but I quickly gathered that it wasn't as scary as one obviously thinks- unless of course you count the strange Italian trying to chat you up while you're running to catch your metro.
Champs Elysees without the lights on is a little dull but that does not deter the serious shoppers, the romantics should stick to the parks- so utterly delicious they were if you wanted to just take out your book and shut the world except for the lovely view of the Louvre stretched in front of you or to just take a quick nap.
The debilitating hot days plastering my hair to the nape of my neck one moment and the shocking chill of the wind in the next- how it does have the ability to make you suffer and enjoy at the same time.
I had been planning a day trip to Versailles but I couldn't bring myself to leave the streets of Paris behind.
Now I am back in the cool, dark underground cellar that is called Dresden. Much cleaner, quieter, damper and comatose!
I wasn't melancholic this time while coming back home, I have a feeling that it wasn't goodbye after all!
The french, the say, are arrogant sons of bitches, rude and ridiculously proud and I say why not? They can, after all, put together clothes that look fresh out of the latest Spring collection. They have what it takes to look cool and detached in suits worn in that summer haze while using public transport. They do own the word grandiose and all that the word describes.
Unlike my last time , there were no festivities in the air, people were going about doing their usual business. As opposed to the chilling cold of the last time, this time it felt like the last happy scorching everlasting summer in Paris.
When I left Paris with a heavy heart in the January of 2010 I took with me memories of lifeless skeleton of trees, frozen soils, the stillness of holidays ending, wintry fogs and grey skies. When I returned, it was to unending summer days, to blooming trees, the then dead soils presently bearing green blades of grass. Never was there a stillness in the air; the skies were cloudless and blue, and blinding were the rays of the sun that scorched my skin but brightened my soul.
A walk through the Champs de Mars rejuvenated life like nothing could ever make it meaningless again. The green stretches of Park serving its purpose of existence to the fullest. Familes, young couples and old spreading a picnic on the cool of the grass, tourists finding an empty bench under the shade of large trees, finding respite from the heat, swigging down water. The hawkers approaching resting travellers trying to sell miniature Eiffel Towers for a Euro but never being too persistent, as if they were in need of a break as well.
A little further down the way one could hear the roaring laughter of children sounding joyous, the obliviousness of adulthood all too stark. Just across from this piece of heaven were a family lunching under the shades, wine poured into plastic cups, a private joke going around that made them throw back their heads in quiet laughter.
It felt like being witness to life all the while stealing glances at the tall tower now behind me.
Paris on one's own seems like a very lonely idea but I quickly gathered that it wasn't as scary as one obviously thinks- unless of course you count the strange Italian trying to chat you up while you're running to catch your metro.
Champs Elysees without the lights on is a little dull but that does not deter the serious shoppers, the romantics should stick to the parks- so utterly delicious they were if you wanted to just take out your book and shut the world except for the lovely view of the Louvre stretched in front of you or to just take a quick nap.
The debilitating hot days plastering my hair to the nape of my neck one moment and the shocking chill of the wind in the next- how it does have the ability to make you suffer and enjoy at the same time.
I had been planning a day trip to Versailles but I couldn't bring myself to leave the streets of Paris behind.
Now I am back in the cool, dark underground cellar that is called Dresden. Much cleaner, quieter, damper and comatose!
I wasn't melancholic this time while coming back home, I have a feeling that it wasn't goodbye after all!
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