“Umm..a litle help here?”
“Life’s for the living, Megan.”
That was the observation of Brenda, one of the sisters who had me under her employ in the Dublin café that fed and watered me through college. We were sitting in the café’s basement office and watching the funeral of King Hussein on a fuzzy television screen. We watched the likes of Assad, Arafat and Netanyahu pass through the procession while Brenda chain-smoked and using her talent for word economy to remark on the somber yet significant occasion.
I have no idea why I’ve since retained this memory so clearly, but she was obviously correct. Maybe it’s because the statement was so stupidly simple- and I kind of favor broad concepts- but her voice (and the smell of those Silk Cut cigarettes) has long-since stayed with me.
Sometimes when I’m out and about sans pen and paper (a real rarity), I will painstakingly punch into my ghetto cell phone the random observations that pop into my head. They usually look like the truism above, and indeed, I’m still keeping up this habit in Paris. Sometime last week, for example, I took it upon myself to mash this note into my little Nokia:
Go and live.
Life’s for the living, and we’re all on borrowed time. Yesterday of course, we all got a fresh helping of this stark reminder, and for me that was probably a good thing.
A friend of mine wants us to run the stairs in Montmartre some morning as a workout option. I thought that this would be a great idea….until I started walking the stairs on a routine basis and always feel like an old lady by the time I get to the top. Still, it’s a challenge- and I’m all about forcing myself to take on new stuff….so I guess I’m gonna give that a go one of these days.
I have a tendency to get stuck in a rut from time to time, and it can be a challenge to try and overcome my personal inertia in order to get out and live as much as I can. Even if I’m in a place where I don’t know that many people (and this happens fairly often), I don’t favor chaining myself to the computer and attempting to exist in a netherworld that is governed by Facebook. (Hey, I never said that I already wasn’t an abiding citizen of this vapid world.) I’m just saying that it’s easy to get stalled, but as two friends tell their three year-old son when he announces that he’s “stuck himself” into a predicament- you can only do one thing: “Go unstuck yourself.”
I like this advice.
So here we are in Paris. I can’t claim that there is nothing to do in this city- because in fact, there is so muchto do around here that I feel like I inhabit a Wonka Land of sensory exposure. Accordingly, every day I have been making it a point to go out and do something different. To be out there living. To not get stuck.
I need to start local. Montmartre has loads to explore- starting with the Musée du Vieux Montmartre so I can learn a little history. On this day there was an Iranian film being shot at the museum- which made for a few delays- but it was kind of neat.
This msuem was formerly the studio of some well-known artists and musicians, including Maurice Utrillo, Vincent van Gogh, Raoul Dufy, Erik Satie, and Auguste Renoir. No photography is allowed inside, so you’ll just have to go and see for yourself.
I was able to photograph the side studio; it was filled with children’s paintings (which I judged to be excellent in their own right). This entire museum was an oasis of peace compared to the behemoths located just down the hill from here. Sadly, the Museum of Montmartre is in danger of being shut down due to financial shortages. (That’s another reason why you should visit)
If you know anything about Montmartre, then you know all about the green fairy. I thought it was absolutely awesome that they had little kids painting her likeness. I also found some satisfaction in knowing that there are some francophones who have a shakier command of the language than I do. Yes, even if this little artiste was only five years old….
After the museum I went in search of some provisions for lunch. One of the great things about living in Montmartre is that this area consistently takes home accolades for having the best baguettes in Paris. I don’t know what’s going on up here to make the boulangeries so successful, but the 2010 and 2011 champs are not located far from one another. Maybe it’s the green fairy…?
The 2010 champ. I mentioned this place a few months ago. The baker is actually of Senegalese origin, a fact which I found to be as fantastic as the bread.
I bought my baguette, and headed down the hill to test it out with some soupe de poissons that I had been convinced to buy a few days earlier. I always feel transformed by the vibrancy of Montmartre whenever I get myself together and venture outside. It’s another reason to not sit behind this silly computer and blog about nothing study all day.
I passed this car not too far from my place. Montmartre may still have its gritty parts, but it is partially-supported by a sense of dark humor. The sign here reads, “There’s nothing to steal in this car! There’s no point in smashing the window- I’ve already made my contribution!”
I definitely am unstuck by the pace of life here. And the baguette? Why that was a fluffy, perfectly-weighted baton of goodness that doesn’t appear to be weighing me down in the slightest. Must be a good antidote to that annoying inertia.