Photographs and Memories (with a nod to Jim Croce)

For photos from the Hawai'i trip, please visit here: http://www.flickr.com/photos/11609140@N03/sets/72157611983868105/

For photos from Paris and Etrepy, France, please visit here: http://www.flickr.com/photos/11609140@N03/sets/72157612037542962/


More travelogues from the Hawai'i trip are on the horizon! Happy reading!

Unitarian Universalist Fellowship of Paris

Sunday, October 20 in Paris

I spoke with Lisa last night. She is the apartment owner's daughter who has lived in Paris for eight years with her husband and daughter. A few days ago, I mentioned to her that I would like to attend the Unitarian Universalist Fellowship of Paris while I'm visiting here. She was not sure she was going to go, but has now decided that she will accompany me to services. I was a bit relieved.

While I would have been fine going to this service and introducing myself, having someone else there is always more enjoyable. We talked a while; Lisa loves to talk and I'm glad of it. We agreed to meet this morning outside the apartment and take the Metro to the temple. (During our time together, I hinted at the fact that I would not mind company at all on my upcoming journey to my little town of Etrepy and left it open that Lisa might consider accompanying me. She was amazingly fluent in French, we got along well, laughed a lot, so I knew she would be fun company.)

Not long after, we found ourselves at the temple being warmly greeted by folks she had not seen for several years. All of these people were English-speaking ex-patriates from Germany, Italy, Scotland, Canada, and other countries. The temple was beautiful, though not as ornate as many I had already seen during my travels; the interior was in the process of being renovated so there were quite a few dusty corners and dropcloths to contend with once you left the main sanctuary. The pipe organ was grand and the music vibrated to our souls.

Rev. Gretchen Thomas of Australia, former of Paris and Knoxville, Tennessee, spoke in her sermon of the shootings in Knoxville last July and the way that Knoxville's congregation has risen to the tragedy in so many different ways.

Several attempts to get me to stay for the retreat they are having next week failed, but I've gotten an invitation to come next year when the retreat will be a three-day weekend in Spa, Germany. Always good to have unfinished business in Paris, I hear.

Cimitiere du Montparnasse

16 October, Thursday

Received some information from Severine last night regarding the little farming village called Etrepy, in which I spent two years of bliss as a child. The most amazing thing for me is realizing that the town is not "just outside of Paris," but more like two hours away by train and taxi. She thinks I should be able to find my old house rather easily as the village only has 140 inhabitants.

I knew the place was small, but not that small! She printed out train schedules for me and gave me a list of taxi services; my idea was the get a driver to take me out to the place from the nearest town served by a train and then return after a few hours of my wandering around and taking photos for my family.

I'm pretty sure I won't be doing that trip this week, but should start planning early for a day next week, either Tuesday or Wednesday, as I leave on Thursday.

Today, I had planned on doing an artist's walk, but when I got above ground from the Metro near Tour Montparnasse, the weather was terrible. Windy, with the rain blowing sideways; even my oversized scarf did not keep the wet off my face. I decided to skip a few places and pick up in the middle of the suggested walk: The Montparnasse Cemetery. I LOVE European cemeteries; my first encounter was obviously in the French town I had lived in, but when I was in Munich, I felt the same way. Lovingly cared for by family members and plants and flowers were allowed to be physically planted in the ground at the tombstone or marker. Here in the States, visiting my mother's grave does not feel personal at all, as she is interred in a wall behind a plaque bearing her name and my father's names, his death date still, thankfully, not needed.

I stayed close to buildings to avoid most of the rain, and I walked quite a way before entering the tall stone entrance to Montparnasse Cemetery. As soon as I walked through the entrance, the sun came out and shone brightly. I got a grave layout map from the guard and made my way through the rows and rows of graves. I did not see all of them. The ones I did see were magnificent; not necessarily because of who was interred there, but because of the sculptures and art and mementoes left on top of the tombs. This is a quiet graveyard full of artists, philosophers, writers, politicians, and intellectuals.

The statuary and stained glass was what I had come to see and I was not disappointed; beautiful pieces of art adorned the tombs, from weeping women to angels flying homeward to pieces reminiscent of the art nouveau style. One outstanding piece is that of the Charles Pigeon family—Mr. Pigeon was an inventor and created a gravesite that could hold all the members of his family. With notebook in hand, Mr. Pigeon sits up sideways in a full-sized bed, as his wife, both seemingly fully dressed, lays next to him. A guardian angel stands watch over all.

Many notes and mementos were left on Jean-Paul Sartre and Simone de Bouvoir's joint grave, as well as on others. As I was admiring one beautiful sculpture, an elderly woman gingerly made her way to the back row of tombs, picked up a broom, started sweeping away dead leaves, and began having a merry conversation with the deceased. It was heartwarming, but felt very peaceful and normal. I continued on down the row, smiling, wondering what visual treat I would next encounter.

Surprisingly, it was a broom! The cemetery keepers of common ground were gathering leaves and clearing the roads with these awesome brooms—they look like what I would commonly think of as a witch's broom—long straw gathered around a wooden stick. I want one!

After my visit to the cemetery, I walked down a few side streets, where many famous artists have either studied or lived. Tiny side streets with cobblestone streets and filigreed steel window guards with windowboxes of bright red geraniums. The beauty of this city still stuns me every day. Yes, it's a lot of cement, but cement done with style and beauty. A formal beauty made personal by lace curtains at a window or a door knocker that doubles as sculpture. I can't get enough.I walked so many miles today; thank goodness for comfortable shoes! I don't know how these Parisian women do it in heels! The wind and rain had put a damper on the early part of the day, but the sun came out and stayed, while the clouds filtered out to blue sky.

On the way home, I treated myself to some desserts: a flan and a tarte monge. French desserts are wonderful; not too sweet and very fresh ingredients. The tarte had a layer of fresh berries that just burst with flavor when bit into; the flan was creamy and smooth, but still had a density I was new to. I loved the older French man in front of me in line today at the bakery; he was loading up on desserts and sweets and sheepishly looked at the rest of us and said, in French, that, of course, they were not for him. We all nodded knowingly. A demain!

Le Tour Eiffel on a Very Windy Day

Forty-four years ago, I visited the Eiffel Tower with my parents. I was six years old. Even though we only got to the second level that day, I felt on top of the world. Forty-four years later, I am back again. Today, I will ascend to a higher level and feel the Parisian wind on my face and look out on this most romantic city.

As I stood in line for my ticket, I was surrounded by many people speaking many different languages; Spanish, African, German, Dutch, Italian, Indian. My ticket allowed me to stop on all three levels; level 1 had a tourist shop, a restaurant, and a special post office where you could get cards stamped with "Paris Eiffel Tower"; the second floor had more shops (food and tourist), the very expensive and hard to get into Jules Verne Restaurant; and the third floor had the most amazing views (though very windy), and some historical information about the tower.

The Eiffel Tower was built in 1889 for the Paris Exposition and designed by French structural engineer Alexandre Gustave Eiffel (b. Dec. 15, 1832, d. Dec. 28, 1923). Quite a few Parisians at the time thought the tower was a travesty and signed a petition to stop its construction. Luckily, many Parisians did like it and it stayed. After later failed attempts to have it taken down, it has now become on of the most important symbols of Paris.

At the top level, I left the elevator and walked to the edge and looked out at the city. I could see so many landmarks from there: the Notre Dame, the Sacre Couer up and away on its hill in Montmartre, the Arc de Triomphe, the radical new Musée du quai Branly, and the Seine and its bevy of tourboats and barges.

As I walked around the top, the power of the wind increased; on the far side, the wind was so strong that it surprised a man and picked the hat off his head and pushed it through the protective grillwork and sent it sailing out over the city. Wonder where it is now?

As I made my way back down to the lower levels, I stopped to get postcards from one shop and picked up some Eiffel Tower statues at another. I realized I was hungry and walked back the same way I had come; ended up at a small café called "Oh!…Pouvrier."The server was not very friendly, but I was able to order and enjoyed my meal. An older French woman came in and was seated two small tables away and we began chatting. I apologized for my minimal French, but she said she was happy to practice her English. We spoke about the food and Parisian life and then a little about the economy. She was helpful when I said I wanted to take my leftovers with me; seems this is an unusual request in France and the servers were not willing to help me. So, I sat a little longer, ate slowly and finished most of the food. I also learned afterwards that the service is already included in the bill; I'm sure the server was surprised by the extra tip because she never cracked a smile for me.

On the way back to the apartment around 4pm. Decided to stop by the cheese shop where I found some beautiful brie and a goat cheese, the bread shop for my baguette and two croissants, the butcher's for a roasted chicken (without feathers!!!!), and the vegetable and fruit stand so that I could make myself a nice dinner in the evening.I went home and feasted, already planning the next day's walking tour around Montparnasse.

Day Two (Kind of): The Swindle

5am European Time (October 14, 2008)

According to the rustic map on the back of the airline seat in front of me, we'll be on the ground in less than an hour. After disembarking and going through security, I'll need to find an ATM to get some Euros and find the stop for the RoissyBus—this is a bus that will take me from the airport into the center of Paris and drop me at the Opera metro stop. From there, I can get on Metro line 8 and ride to Commerce. The apartment is just around the corner from the metro.

11:15pm (same day)

Took me a little while to make my way around Charles DeGaulle airport; they're doing some renovation work and certain areas were closed. Finally found the ATM and got my money; then wandered over to the information desk to find out where the RoissyBus pickup was located.

After I got the info, I passed by a young woman looking at a map. She asked whether I spoke English and we started chatting. She was going to be in Paris for only a day as she was on her way to London for some job interviews. Found out she was from Virginia; the Bristol area. What a small world! I told her about the Roissybus and showed her where the stop was; she thanked me and said she would be back for the next bus as she needed to get her own stash of Euros. The bus arrived; I boarded and gave the driver a 20. He almost snarled at me as he had to make change.

At 8am, it was still dark outside, so I didn't get a real good sense of the Paris suburbs as we were flying by in the bus. Since it was the height of rush hour, I did notice the cars, though, right away. All much smaller than what we have in the States, even the vans and trucks were built on a much smaller scale. What the bus driver lacked in niceties, he more than made up for in driving skill, maneuvering the bus down tiny Parisian streets. I was impressed. After I got off at Opera, I did not get my bearings right away and walked quite a bit before I was headed in the right direction of the metro.

I stopped on a corner right across from the Opera and tried to figure out where the darned metro was; a few people walked up to me to ask directions. Surprisingly, I did help THEM, but at that point, couldn't find my way out of a paper bag.

A few seconds after this group walked off, an man in his 50s stooped down in front of me and picked up a ring that had fallen to the ground. He asked whether it was mine; I said no, maybe it belonged to someone in the tourist group. After some back and forth, he gave me the ring and said I should keep it; then he started walking away. After what I found to be a well-rehearsed pause, he turned around and asked for food money. (The red flags should have gone up at this point!!!) After some haranguing, I gave him some money, then he said it wasn't enough, and stupid me, I gave him a few more dollars.

Now, if I'd been in my warrior mode, as soon as he complained about the amount I had given him, I would have snatched the money back and started off down the street. But I didn't; guess I'm a con man's dream on either side of the Atlantic. Funny thing is, I didn't even make it to the end of the block before a younger woman stoops down in front of me and, heavens to betsy, if she doesn't find a gold ring that had somehow fallen at my feet!!! It was my lucky day! Can you believe it??? I looked at her and told her I'd already been taken once today and to move on. (I saw this swindle happen later in my trip, too, and thankfully, a Frenchman warned the tourists in time to not lose any money.) I still have the ring I got from the first man; I am keeping it as a physical reminder to be on the lookout for these kinds of swindlers no matter where I am.

Finally, thanks to the help of a nice young man handing out fliers, there was the metro; I clunked my luggage down the stairs, bought a "carnet" (a ten-pack) of tickets, got on the metro and finally began to relax. When I came up out of the Commerce Metro, I recognized from pictures the park, then the Passage des Entrepreneurs, then the house! Yay! I had made it; the codes all worked smoothly, the key fit in and unlocked the door, and I was finally at my temporary home!

The apartment was small and cozy; I unpacked and crashed. I thought I might get out to discover a bit of the neighborhood and get some groceries, but I was so tired, I gave in to the overwhelming desire for sleep.

Day/Night One of Trip to Paris

3pm Monday, October 13
Dulles Airport (from my journal)

Here I sit at Dulles Airport, waiting for my flight to Paris. It is finally sinking in that I'm really doing this; I'm really going back to visit a place I have not seen since the early '60s.

I feel like crying. I feel like jumping up and down with excitement. My heart is pounding. On the ride here from Spotsylvania, Gary decided to take Route 3 as an alternate to the highway. By the time we reached the Orange County line, I was in the throes of a serious asthma attack. I thought I was fine emotionally, but my body was reacting to the stress I must have been feeling anyway.

Water and several doses of inhaler later, I was fine and breathing normally again. We took another shortcut (past farms and vineyards), so the drive ended up being much shorter than expected and I was at the airport much earlier than I needed to be. I was dropped at the door and then found myself totally on my own.

Elliott had stayed at a friend's house last night, so he sent me off with big hugs and lots of kisses all over my face.

Got through the check-in/baggage desk quickly, as well as the security check (a piece of cake), so I stopped in at a café to get a bite to eat, relax, and do some reading to pass the time.

Still had an hour-and-half to wait, but I've always said that I'd rather wait than be late, which has happened only once, on a flight to Mexico.

Now I'm at the boarding area and I just got a text message from a new friend of mine, "Imagine the Possibilities!" I have this person to thank for that positive affirmation which I will keep uppermost in my mind on this trip and those I plan on taking in the future.

I love sitting here watching the people and listening to the different languages. Speaking of people watching: I was taking an escalator up to this floor and noticed a young woman chatting on her cell phone. She stepped on the escalator a few steps before me. I also noticed she was wearing a very short skirt. As she walked up the escalator farther away from me, more and more of what was under the skirt was showing. All I can say about that is that I am thankful she chose to wear underwear today.

A young French woman is sitting across from me chatting on the phone. French is one of the world's most beautiful languages. It is silky. Fluid. Playful. Rich.

Another friend just texted me with: "Bon vacance, mon cherie." Going to take a break now to freshen up a bit before the flight.

A little while later: We've been in the air for 20 minutes. I'm all plugged into the stereo system listening to relaxation music. We're already flying over water; the last time I flew over these waters was in 1974, when my mother and my sisters and I traveled to Germany and stayed for the whole month of June. The primary purpose of that trip was to find out whether my mother would be able to donate a kidney to her ailing sister, Inge. (Just realized that one of the stewardesses on this flight looks very much like my friend Silvia—amazing!)

Anyway, in Germany, the medical tests all came back negative and we came home saddened that my mother's wish to help her sister could not be fulfilled.

Thirty-four years since that flight and 44 years since I've been in France. What will it be like to see Paris through adult eyes? My memories of that city and of Etrepy are colored by my youth and inexperience of the time. I still remember the house where we lived and the courtyard behind the house where a magnificent cherry tree grew—I could never get enough of that sweet fruit.

Had some wine with dinner and am feeling considerably more relaxed, albeit a little flushed. The married couple next to me is from South Africa; they were in the area to attend their grandson's marriage in Annapolis.

Going to get a little rest now; the crew asked us to close the window shades, most likely to help stimulate sleep. Maybe we'll be in France when I wake up.

Coming Back

Coming back to real life after a fabulous trip abroad can be very hard, notwithstanding jet lag and having to catch yourself to keep from saying "merci" to everyone.

Even harder is when something tragic happens to someone you care about while you were out of the country. My good friend, Jim B., suffered a serious stroke four days before I arrived home. For years, Jim has been a stable presence at my favorite coffee shop, Hyperion Espresso (on the corner of William and Princess Anne Streets in Fredericksburg). Jim, in his hat, sitting outside smoking, always with several friends around enjoying lively early-morning political conversations or just some of Jim's bad jokes. I could tell the time by the sighting of that hat as I drove by on my way to work assignments.

Jim is a staunch supporter of local musicians and artists and has developed a website and mailing list to keep everyone apprised of certain local musicians' gigs, new CDs, artists' shows, and other useful information. He does this gratis because he has a generous spirit. From day one, he has also been a huge supporter of me and my house concert production company; early on, he and I would talk for hours about names, marketing, creating a web presence, and how to get the best musicians interested in what I'm doing. We would talk so much we'd end up slap-happy and silly, throwing out the dumbest names we could think of . . . just because.

Jim was also a good ear for my personal trials over the past few years; he was extremely non-judgemental and helped me realize that one of the reasons I fell for a con man (he knew him also) is that I am the type of person who has faith in people, no matter what. He bolstered me when I was down and would tell me over and over that I was a very good person with a big heart and not to feel any less about myself because of what happened. A week before I left for France, my family and I went for a daysail with Jim and another friend, Barry. It was a wonderful day, full of sunshine, good wind, and tons of laughter emanting from the cockpit. Near the end of the day, Jim took the helm; he stayed there for a good portion of the sail home.

After visiting Jim when I returned home, I realized he has a long uphill journey ahead of him. His doctors say he should get back to 90 percent. That's a great prognosis. Even though I couldn't understand everything he said when he spoke, I could tell that his sense of humor is still very much intact. When Gary called me with the news, he said that Jim told him that the only way I could visit him was if I came bearing a good French wine (is there any BAD French wine?). Needless to say, after several slowdowns and delays at the airport, I was running with seconds to spare to the wine shop before leaving DeGaulle.

To my dear friend Jim, I wish a speedy recovery. That fine French wine is in my wine cabinet, waiting until he can savor it and hold that glass again with his strong left hand while taking the helm with his right. Bonne chance, mon ami!

Adieu for Now (October 2008)

originally written on Sunday, October 12, 2008

This is the last BLOG I will post for at least two weeks; I have decided not to take my laptop to Paris. It will be a bit strange to not know at a moment's notice what everyone is doing or says they're doing. Or to get an electronic invite to a great night of music or an interesting play.

I am hoping that the internet cafes are way too expensive for me to get my fix while I'm gone, too. I need to step away from the screen and live fully.

That said, I get so much out of my various BLOGs' comments and those who do the commenting. The amazing support I've received during my learning time has made the transition to beautiful time just superb.

It's been a great month since I decided to make this trip; things that were hanging on a precipice have finally disappeared over the edge, never to raise their ugly heads again. I had been holding onto a lot of negativity in my life and finally, they were no more. It is such a blessing! Granted, because of that, some dynamics among friends and family have changed, too. Old and new friends have kept me calm and my new mantra is "Imagine the possibilities!" It's all as it should be.

Emily, Tim, and I finished our redemption song and it was sung at the Bistro to a good crowd. I hope Emily will sing it again while I'm gone and that she has huge standing-room-only crowds for the next two Tuesday nights.Speaking of music, as I sit by my window writing this, I am also listening to The Transmitters (a local reggae-ish band) playing at a restaurant right across the street on Sophia. Quite a crowd has gathered as the weather could not be more perfect. Though they do not know it, it's a lovely sendoff for my trip.

I'm still a bit shaky as I ponder the logistics of the trip; getting to and from the airport, through all the rigamarole of customs and baggage pickup. Then I get to decide whether to spend a huge amount of Euros to get a cab to the apartment or take a bus and then the metro. I'm trying to keep my bags to a minimum so that taking these forms of transportation will be doable, but I'm having some trouble. Which shoes to leave behind? Do I really need the heavy coat or will just a lined raincoat be sufficient? (As of today's weather report, it is going to be cloudy for a few days and then rainy. Ahhhh! All the more reason just to relax in a cafe for hours.)

I will learn a lot on this trip. I will make new friends, find new second-hand shops, great cafes, and the best places to get bread and cheese in the 15th. I do not expect that any huge revelations will come to me on this trip; I don't want any pressure on myself to come away with experience away and above from just sensual experiences. My joy at opening the door to a bakery will be sublime as I inhale the aroma of fresh-baked bread. My senses will be awakened to good French wine and cheeses I've never even heard the names of before.

I will be visiting sites and museums and possibly my childhood home, but more for me, this trip is about being in a foreign country, a place I have not seen for 44 years, reminding me of a little girl with big dreams and happy eyes and a snaggletooth grin. I will take her hand and fall in love in Paris.

Until

Here is the link to my old travel blog for perusal until I bring this one up to date: http://www.womanspeak-womanspeak.blogspot.com/

Hope you enjoy and please feel free to comment and follow. Thank you.