There's something both incredibly wonderful and incredibly tragic about having nothing more to do with your day than read books, stare at walls and out of windows. After spending an hour or so online reading about the Chinese mafia and daydreaming about the thrill and danger of infiltrating it with my pasty white charm and shaky Chinese I threw in the towel and returned to CSI. To be honest though, I imagine the Chinese mafia wouldn't be terrifically cinematic, all bulging bellies and cigarette blackened teeth, but idle minds are inclined towards conjuring up a bit of glamour.
Well I suppose I should return to that small window of excitement that my trip to Paris opened on my life. Oh but please note that I am by no means complaining about my current state of vegetation. God no, after the year I've just had. So what came next in Paris? I could just summarise the bulk of the remaining part of my visit by saying we walked a lot. Walking serves many functions- gets you places, saves money, provides interesting things to look at, gives you an opportunity to chat and fills time. And there is the exercise thing of course. The first of the epic trawls was from the south of Paris to the far north to see an old friend who, since our last meeting, had got hitched and spawned. How do people manage these huge life changing feats while I have been aimlessly sketching about and implementing no markable changes on my life in the last 10 years? But he hadn't changed that much really.
Getting there had taken at least a couple of hours, taking in some of the familiar and notable features of Paris, such as those island things in the middle of the river, Republique, and Jardin des Plantes to name a few that I can recall offhand. Our next amble was in the early hours of the morning after we took leave of my friend and his new family. This little stroll took me into uncharted territory. Following my friend's wishes to cross into the next arrondissment to stay at her friends' squat, we embarked on what turned out to be a long trip along one of the ring roads that bound Paris. Some arrondissments are bigger than others. I heard that these ring roads completely encircle the city, and should you have ever walked along one you'll be familiar with the strange feeling of being in some kind of retro-futuristic no-mans land in which cars roar angrily past, and the only signs of life being exhaust grey vegetation. They make Paris into an island, what lies beyond I have no idea, but I like to imagine it is either a luxuriant paradise or an uninhabitable manga-style wasteland.
The northern part of the ring-road is rather more monotonous yet less bleak than the southern stretch. We had already been walking for long enough for my head to be cleared when we ended up having a seat with an old guy who seemed to hold some status among the assorted homeless and shuffling. For his appearance, I wouldn't have even thought him homeless until he sent someone off with his trolley of possessions. My friend shared a beer with him and we listened to his life story, with him at times courteously checking it was within my comprehension range. Even the tramps are bilingual now. A thoroughly trashed young lady who knew our companion plonked herself in our company for a while before staggering off, and then a young shuffler got an earful from our host for his 'bad manners' for asking for a bit of cigarette. Presently, after taking his contact details, or providing him with some- it is all a bit surreal to remember clearly- we took our leave and continued our long trudge. Not long after, a young man in a shiny 'runaround' type vehicle pulled over to, oddly enough, invite us to a party, even more strangely this party was alleged to be in quite a good area. We refused, and then he tried to engage us for a different party in a week or so. Now please bear in mind that we certainly did not look like girls wanting a party, in fact we were dressed more appropriately for a library visit. My friend suggested a lift might be more appealing, to which he consented.
"Stranger danger", I hear you children of the 80s cry, as did my internal neurotic, yet sizing up the little guy, it was clear to both me and my friend that if push came to shove we could pummel him easily with our combined forces. Our token of gratitude for the lift, which did save us a hell of as long trek, was that my friend accepted his number. He had actually seemed rather slimey and not to be trusted with contact details.
And so we ended our evening in a rather palatial French residence, I again taking a grey coverless mattress, this time on a home constructed mezzanine bunk which afforded me good views of the moulded ceiling and blacked strands of spiderweb. Two storeys and a basement, one bathroom, one toilet, a small garden, nice area, and neigbours who appreciate an occupied house rather than having to live next to a crack-head filled derelict, all for zero rent. Not bad at all. And all because an old guy died and his relatives don't want the debts that would come with the house.
And thus ended day 2 of my trip to Paris. What with all this skulking around the fringes of Paris, oiling ourselves with cheap beer and 4 euro wine, you may be suprised where we actually ended up as the week progressed. Never a dull moment in Paris.
