Paris
Came Thursday evening and found David's rented flat on Rue Custine. Close to Montmartre, on some kind of boundary between a predominantly black area and the upscale neighborhoods surrounding the high point in Paris renowned for it's Bohemian past. A past which has been repackaged for tourists. But first I got oriented to the little apartment. Small bedroom, small main room, small bathroom, small kitchen. Everything necessary. Out to dinner and a walk around the perimeter of the hill. At the cafe a couple was seated next to us, an older gent, a bit frail, with an air of sophistication tempered by the fact that he seemed half asleep, and a vivacious younger woman, 30's maybe, 40's possibly with a theatrical sparkle to her, all in black, plenty of makeup. She broke the ice with us and we began a conversation. The usual, 'no we do not speak French… Americans …. what do you do" led to the discovery that she is in cinema' and the gent, a certain Andre Labarthe, is a significant figure in the world of French new wave. Actor, director, but mostly, an interviewer and documentarian who had met..(long list including Huston, Cassavetes, Hitchcock, Truffaut,…. and on and on). Her name, Layla, addresses exchanged, maybe for Kim to catch up with some event to take place in new york on the new new wave. Or is it the old new wave? Made for an interesting intro to Paris and surprised by the warmth of the encounter. Actually I was sitting on a seat over a radiator and it was, indeed, quite warm. Went back and hit the computers to find out about laBarthe 81 yo. He really is a 'who's who'. Dave was vexed that he had bothered the guy for an autograph on the paper place mat only to leave it on the table.
Next day we climbed the Montmartre. A tourist zoo. Souveniers and couple dozen artists drawing portraits in the square. Dave got suckered by the gypsies canvassing 'for the handicapped' who get you to give them your personal ID (just in case they manage to pickpocket a credit card or two) and then demand money for having stopped to sign their fake petition. I know better having experienced this on a train in Spain (mainly on the plain). We did a lot of walking over the two days and ate at various cafe's, going back to the Cafe Franc….(?) a couple times. Friday night Dave booked tickets to a gypsy jazz artist in the jazz district, rue Lombard. Then thought he had booked it for Thursday and we had missed it. Lot's of pithy advice from me about how to let it go as he berated himself over and over. Turns out that he was looking the booking date, not the performance date and the gig was Friday after all. Dave and I have a lot of similar space out tendencies. And this compulsive way that we are always doing things 'the other' way, or putting something in a new spot only to forget where that new spot was. And then going into a panic the moment we think we have lost, or forgotten something again.
So Friday night we did make the show at Sunset/Sunside on Rue de Lombards. It really was the center of the jazz scene with the three venues that Mia from Paris who I met in St. Hippolyte, jotted down for me on my Iphone… all packed together on one small street. We had a nice dinner nearby and then packed ourselves into our seats. It was too close and I was so miserably uncomfortable that the first set was just unpleasant. I told dave that I really couldn't sit there again and would just stand at the back. Went outside and walked in the rain and then came back. It was better standing at the back or in the stairway, albeit smoky from the sidewalk cafe crowd up above. The music was better and as some people left I had a chance to sit and truly enjoy. Tremendous musicianship, not gypsy jazz, but based upon it with the rhythm guitar behind every piece.
Saturday, New Year's eve. We got up and out too late for a breakfast so we had lunch back at 'our' cafe. Dave left his cap. Then a long wander around the opposite side of Montmartre to a train ticket boutique so I could get my ticket. Too much time frustration the night before and then the fares had gone up… doubled. Dave and I also tried to work out the car rental…without success. Finally settled on a plan of him coming 1/5 to Nimes and then rent, or just take the bus from there to St. Hippolyte. I may be able to come up with a car rental/borrow that will save money in the meantime. The train boutique was closed on NYE. Oh well. Dave got another hat and we found ourselves in front of Le Moulin Rouge where the hippest of touristic party goers could make an evening of it for a mere 650 Euros. I got a real coffee in a real paper cup at Starbucks across the street and we sat and watched the crowds. A mass of tourists standing on the traffic median snapping pictures of themselves in front of MR. Then to the train station where Dave and I got our tickets. A short extra wait for an English speaking agent who was friendly and relaxed, with a genuine big smile for us. Nice.
Trying to discuss music and such with Dave made me realize that I am really handicapped without a keyboard. He started leading me in the direction of using a midi controller and garage band or band in a box to compose and play. I did some searches and it looked interesting. So on the way to the train station we passed Star Music and I went in to check it out. Ended up getting an Alesis 49 key unit for about $100. No big risk in damage or loss. Making the move to get the keyboard made me realize how much of a deprivation it has been to be away from the piano and my daily ritual of playing, and how much I have ignored the feeling of missing it. A memorable moment at the turnstile as a old guy tried to us his pass card to no avail. I had bought 10 paper tickets for the metro and had a few still in my wallet. Pulled on out and gave it to him. Why not. Merci. No problem.
So last night we made dinner from frozen selections bought at a frozen food specialty market down the street. Kind of a rejection of tradition for the French, but the quality is a cut above Hungry Man. Dave set up my keyboard connection to the computer with the accompanying software and I got a first look at it. Tremendous possibilities. Then we watched Midnight in Paris on Dave's laptop … fifth time Dave has seen it. It may have something to do with his inspiration to come to Paris. I really enjoyed it, and seeing most of the places I had visited on the trip. Montmarte the steps and streets, the Seine, the Cite, Notre Dame, Shakespeare & Co., Moulin Rouge. A story of a character who feels pulled to a different life and time and the conflict of following. a satisfying story.
Then Dave fell asleep at the table and I decided to go out again. Not tired at all. Why not do NewYears from Montmartre. I wandered up to the crowds and then down a side street a bit until I heard live piano music. Decided, OK. A very modest place. I sat next to the piano and got the sound and the view of the player's hands. Incredible agility and fluidity, constantly moving into different variations. I envied him. When he stood up he moved stiffly as if almost paralyzed, except from the shoulders down. Be careful what you wish for. I would not really want to trade places with him. New Years came and people shouted and honked. A couple young men came in and gave everyone a good 'moi moi' and a toast. I raised my empty glass and the one poured some champagne into it. Happy New Year.
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