Paris 2012

12:52 PM - Off to Paris! I really should give up drinking coffee. I get so impatient waiting. While it is too early, I must move. On the F train to the airport, a woman wearing a Niqab is working on a laptop. There is a young girl in plaid pants with a tattoo of a pig on her left forearm. The pig’s trumpet-shaped snout is charming. I am thinking about how the experience of moving changes the perception of time. How an hour feels quicker when physically in motion, even if sitting on a train. It is if the movement itself is an analog for elapsing time. ...

I sleep until 12:38 and wake to a glorious, sun-filled day, perfect for walking. I have no fixed plans, nor goals, only a loose collection of themes that will guide where I go. I want to find connections to mushrooms, fishing, beekeeping, marionettes, the Romans, rats, and weirdness. While wandering the city, I keep my eyes open for these things. Actually, this isn’t quite true. I have a single goal that I must accomplish here. I want to go fishing in Paris. I brought my spinning reel and some tackle and have researched where I might fish. I need to buy a fishing pole. This hunt will shape most of my first week. ...

I sleep through the alarm until 9:30, which is very late for me. I don’t have the energy to do much. Croissant and espresso for breakfast. I stay close to home in the 14th arrondissement and explore Parc Montsouris to the south. A pretty park with big trees and lake. I think of fish. Once I start moving, it is easier to keep moving than to stop. From the park, I walk around the walled Reservoirs de Montsouris. Like the Jersey City reservoir, it is a gigantic enclosed container built in the late 1860’s to replace provide water to the city. There is not much to see from the outside except large glass buildings. I can’t tell why they are there. ...

I arise earlier each day but am still very tired. Sleep is deep but short. I wake from vivid dreams in the wee hours of the morning. I eat breakfast at the house, cereal and espresso, then rush to be first in line at Les Catacombes de Paris! The entrance is in the Place Denfert-Rochereau, which is dominated by the Lion of Belfort. I am not first. Ahead of me is a group of Australians. We chat. One of the men is an orthopedic surgeon with a house in Brisbane and another on a small island. His wife’s cousin, a Britisher with a vast knowledge of everything, told us that the US Constitution was originally going to be written in German, due to the influence of the Pennsylvania contingent! ...

It is cold and drizzling this morning. Regardless, I am excited by my prospects of fishing in the canal. I need a fishing pole. I reasearch stores. Reve de Peche in the 17th arrondissement, seems promising. From there, I can explore Montmartre, the windmills, and Sacre-Coeur. I eat breakfast at Cafe Deguerre, outside the Denfert station, board the metro, make several changes, and arrive at Malesherbes. I walk Rue Cardinet watching for the store. Wait, did I pass it? I turn around. Damn, it is gone. ...

I am not going to worry about the pole today. I decide to visit Parc des Buttes Chaumont, built under Baron Haussmann for the 1867 exposition. I want to see Gustave Eiffel’s bridge, erected 20 years before the Eiffel Tower. The park is in northeast Paris. I have an espresso at Le Petit Cafe. There are men drinking beer at 7:30 in the morning. I watch as the proprietress leaves the store, returning with a newspaper which she gives to a customer. That would never happen in the US. She doesn’t have any croissants. ...

I get a late start and head out for a coffee. My plan is to buy the pole, then visit the Jardins du Luxembourg. The store is called Des Poisson Si Grande. It is near Napoleon’s tomb. On my way, I pass the Musee de L’Armee and wonder at the green cannons and the long grande avenue that stretches across the Seine and connects the Concorde with the right bank. Was it designed for a triumphal promenade of the army? It would be very effective for that. ...

I sleep late. Today I am going to the flea market, Le Marche aux Puces de la Porte de Vanves. It is on the west end of the Cite Internationale Universitaire de Paris. I am looking for postcards and souvenirs, also old fishing equipment. The place is amazing, row after row of antiques and old clothes. I spend a couple of hours browsing but find nothing that grabs me. As I am leaving, I see a man carrying a fly fishing pole and wonder where he found it. I swear I saw nothing resembling fishing equipment. ...

I get up early. The day is cold and windy and looks like rain. All the beautiful days have gone. It is discouraging but I remember the words, “He that considers the wind shall never sow.” I leave with my pole and tackle, grab a quick espresso and croissant, take the metro to the Gare L’Est and walk to the canal. There are many joggers and dog-walkers. I head to the little park and start fishing. I switch between a Texas-rigged worm and a minnow-style crankbait. ...

I wake up from a weird dream. The strangeness of it sets me on edge. That and the nasty weather that moved in overnight. It is windy and raining hard. It is a perfect day for the Louvre. I get soaked from the short walk to the museum but I arrived early and don’t have to wait long. From below, the pyramid in the courtyard of the Louvre makes sense. It opens into an airy lobby, the many glass panes illuminating the space, and leads you downward into the interior chambers. It works because you no longer see the incongruous juxtaposition against the Louvre. ...