100daysofparis-blog - Tumblr blog

[100daysofparis-blog]

#epilogue I had a blast these 100 days. I doubted so many times I will not be able to finish, to get to that day 100. So many memories, so many emotions, so many people. Some of the people I mentioned here, got back in touch with me. Some people wrote me they cried when they read some of my scribbles. Some people used ##100daysofparis as a pick up line #really . I am very happy all this resonated somehow. It made my heart beat. I am very grateful for all the support, suggestions and corrections. If anybody has an idea how and what should I do with all this material I will be very happy to hear your thoughts. And yes, the next three years of my life in Paris got even better, but I'll talk about that in some other project. Until the next time! <3 Merci Paris. Merci all of you! 

*my friend Antoine, who I met years later in Paris, has the word PANAME tattooed all over himself. Paname is Paris. It's a colloquial term. L'argot (slang). I searched far and wide to find why Paris is called like that. Apparently all the men at the beginning of 20th century brought and wore in Paris Paname hats from Paname. Where the canal was made at the time. That hat got super popular. Honestly, I need a better explanation.

[100daysofparis-blog]

#day100 If you watch carefully carrousel in front of the Hotel de Ville you can learn many things. As in life, on carrousel, sometimes you get a horse, sometimes you get a fancy car, sometimes you get some weird barrel. I personally, always wanted a giraffe. But on that carrousel there was no giraffe at all. Paris thought me to use what I have, to be less stuck in what I imagined it will be and that look is only an impression. So I sat in the barrel, I opened my eyes and enjoyed the spin. There was always the next ride. A few thoughts to end this: I've heard many many times: "I could never live in Paris, and I have no idea how you do it." Well, Paris is not for everyone. There's nothing that is for everyone. I've heard many times: "It's easy for you, you live in Paris." I watched Paris giving me sometimes wine, sometimes only stains (wine usually spilled from other people's glasses). Life in Paris was not a vacation in Paris. Thou, Parisian macarons made life easier... I've heard many times: "It's hard to meet people in Paris. You really found normal people?" I don't think so. Paris thought me during that first year about the relativity of term normal. Then and later, most of the people I met, I loved and I respected were fighters and dreamers. I am still very grateful for each of them. Near or far. Thank you for making my life glow.

[100daysofparis-blog]

#day99 Whenever I would see the Eiffel Tower my breath would stop for a moment. There was something special in all that iron. There was something hopeful, too. It gave me that feeling of "everything will be all right." I was rarely around the Tower that first year. When I was hosting my guests I would come and drink an ice tea while waiting for them to climb 324 meters. Or I would soak up the sun on the wet ground underneath the mighty Eiffel's structure. No matter how busy the great green field of Champs de Mars was, streets around were calm, lonesome and narrow. I loved how confusing they were in the evening, how busy they were during the market days and how sanguine the were in the early morning hours. And those streets were one of the rare places in Paris where you could actually hear the sound of your footsteps.

[100daysofparis-blog]

#day98 "Voulez-vous couche avec moi?" "Do I like cous cous?" "No, voulez-vous couche AVEC moi?" "Whaaat? No, never. What kind of approach is that?" I was sitting on the stone fence in front of Sacre Coeur, waiting for Elsa and Oscar, sipping my water. It was bright although it was 22.00. Days were long in Paris. I heard that sentence from a movie, well pronounced and somewhat proud somewhere behind me. I turned around and saw two boys almost being slapped. French girls didn't like their (I would say drunk) approach. As the matter of fact, it wasn't the way to approach any girl. "Can I take you out gor a drink to Le Perchoir*? sounds MUCH better. *bar on the roof top in 11eme arrondissement.

[100daysofparis-blog]

#day97 France, although a secular state, it celebrated all possible religious holidays. Conveniently, most of those holidays were happening in May. All those long 3-days-weekends were happening at the time of green leaves, sunny afternoons and longer days. No matter how busy the city was, how loud and how polluted, every full hour, if you would listen carefully, you could hear the church bells. Everywhere in town. I would caught myself in my bed, counting the bell tolls, hoping I woke up at the time to get to work. 7, 8, 9 ruuuuuun. I wasn't sure if I liked the bell tolls. Yet, they were helpful. If I would have to pick one building in Paris that gives me chills, I would go for a church. Not cause of gods, or spirituality or afterlife, but cause of marble, proportions and the position. Sacre-Coeur was a majestic work of art. It was located on the hill. That hill would surprise you when surrounded by the smells of Pakistan down around La Chapelle. It would baffle you from the roof top bars in 11eme arrondissement. And the same hill would make you confused when on the 1st platform of the Eiffel Tower. It was well hidden when looking from there. Beauty of the edifice was present through the continuity of the old gods, new gods and the rules of nature. Each to its own.

[100daysofparis-blog]

#day96 Spain had siesta, England had afternoon tea, France had apéro. Apéro was that time when you would finish your job, and you knew you were very tired but you didn't feel like going home. That time between 5-8 pm. It was the magic moment when light wasn't to strong, when dark wasn't to persistent. When glitter wasn't necessary and yet when you wouldn't mind it. In Paris, lunch time was a special time for food prices in the restaurants. Apéro time was the special time for drink prices. All over Paris cocktail price at apéro time was 5 euros. Well made Long Island Ice Teas, mint full Mojitos and dark, sentimental Oldfashioneds for 5 euros. Fair deal for Paris. My favorite cocktails in Paris were usually not on the list of apéro -happy hour- cocktails. For a good reason. Either they were deadly strong or they had gold worthy ingredients. They were good for early Saturday flings, for apéro touches and late night tears. With lavander oils and piment blinks. Those cocktails were full of compassion. Often they were a friend in need. Often they were my worst enemy. But above all they were the essence of witchcraft.

[100daysofparis-blog]

#day95 I woke up that morning feeling the pulse of #Monday and the craziness of any summer. The usual person asking for money in the street didn't ask me anything. He was baffled by the two walking dolls. They looked like manga caracters obsessed with SARS. Both of them wore neon dresses and a cover on their mouth. 5 minutes down the road, on my way to the metro, now 8.47 am, there was an old naked man dancing. Neither his clothes nor his mind were around. He looked like the god of rain waiting for a storm that will make ground wet. And that will baptize him. The level of entropy looked very promising that Monday. Later, after a glass or three of Cotes du Rhone, I saw a man calmly standing on the busy roundabout of Voltaire. He probably waited for someone to tell him he was dressed up as a ballerina. Often Paris looked like a Dylan's song.I knew that when week starts like this, I had to be ready for anything. Once you decide to live in Paris you had to be ready for surprises.

[100daysofparis-blog]

#day94 Keys, chewing gums, wallet, blush, perfume, phone, hand cream, hand sanitizer, agenda, pen1, pen2, kleenex, chop stick, extra bag, umbrella, scarf. Scarf.#Scarf. I bought many scarfs while living in Paris. At one point I decided to count them. The final number of the scarfs was 47. With every scarf bought I was closer to being a true Parisian. And I was not a horder. Parisian I say.

[100daysofparis-blog]

#day93 In 1900, Line1 was the first line of the Parisian metro. Today the whole system is composed out of 16 line of which only line 1 is fully automated. Which means there's no driver and doors can pinch you. Trent once asked me to come with him and watch his back while he's busking in the metro. Apparently, line 1 was the most prosperous for the street musicians and the safest, too. Trent didn't make millions but he was getting there. On the station Concorde sometimes you had a big orchestra playing. It always made me stop and think about art, spirit and the future of the music. It also took me home and brought me back - home. Many tears were exchanged on the stop from which buses were leaving to the airport. Life is a cycle. Line 1 was only a line.

[100daysofparis-blog]

#day92 Among all the crepes, macarons and croissants that you could find in the Parisian streets, there was a special place in my heart for a savory babe called croque monsieur. And his lady croque madame. Croque Monsieur was a grilled sandwich covered in bechamel with ham and cheese. It wasn't a blephemy to buy it in a boulnagerie (if you find the right one) and eat it. Croque Madame, a variation of the Monsieur, had to be eaten in a bistro, for a lunch with une demi (0,3 l beer) or Badoit (sparkling water). Madame had a lightly fried (or poached) egg on top. It looked like a sandwich with a cute hat! It was a sandwish. On one of those long evenings when we were finishing our archi group projects, I decided to have a croque monsieur from the nearby bakery for a dinner. I asked a colleague of mine if he was up for one. He looked at me, and in the blur between my tired sentence and another drawn line in the photoshop he asked me: "Why would I eat Le Corbusier*?" We were officially brainwashed by villa Savoye and Unité d'habitation**. *a famous French architect ** LeCorbusier's projects

[100daysofparis-blog]

#day91 When we were going out, the area around Bastille was never too convenient for my friends from 17eme and 18eme arrondissement. Area around Montmartre was too far away for friends living in 13eme and 14eme arrondisement. There was nothing happening in 13eme and 14eme. Chatelet was too weird or too busy. Somehow, with everyone, it was easy to agree to meet in the area around Strasbourg-Saint Denis. It was far enough from the teenage vibes of Grands Boulevards. It was close enough to well connected Republique. It had hipster restaurants and cocktail bars on one side and kebabs and the cheapest beer in Paris on the other. At the same time you had the atmosphere of a big city of the middle east and the social pulse of the backyard somewhere in a sunny parts of France.

[100daysofparis-blog]

#day90 I wasn't sure if I've ever understood the idea of a nation. A group of people defined by shennanigans, alcohol preference and a love for Arnold Schwarzenegger was my thing. A tribe of some size was as far as my mind could go. That didn't stop me to respect old national celebrations of other countries. They made me excited. I learned Colombian dishes. I learned the difference between Canadian and American Thanksgiving (except the date). I learned when and what for Straya day was celebrated. People celebrating national holidays of their countries told me how to act - I ate what was supposed to be eaten on that day and drank what was supposed to be consumed on that night. I was baking dishes that resembled specific national dishes of the country in celebration. Paris explained everyone different ways of living one's life. It often showed what each of us brought to Paris. Customs, colors and essences of some places far away. You just needed a will to participate in order to see all the vibrations.

[100daysofparis-blog]

#day89 Over the years I got used to people not knowing where I was coming from. There were people who would google my country right on the spot and ask me historical questions. There were those who knew where my (former) country was, only when I would say the name of the president who died in 1980. Funny enough, there were no Djokovic-s nor Divac-s that would explain where I was coming from as well as Tito could. One way or another, I always ended up explaining the difference between Yugoslavia and USSR. One day a friend of mine came up to me telling me he watched an interesting show about tigers. I loved cats of all sizes, he had my attention. He told me that apparently there were many tigers there, where I was coming from. I replied: Yes. Maybe 4 of them. In the zoos. He said: No, the TV show said they were thousands of them. He looked at me confused. I looked back confused. We stared at eachother for 30 seconds. I looked at him and asked him: Siberia? He said: Yes. That's not even a country, man. He said I confused him with wearing a fur hat on my fb profile photo. Good try!

[100daysofparis-blog]

#day88 On the opposite side of love, or so close and also very far from it, were flings, affairs and one night stands. Like in any big city anybody could find somebody and somebody could find anybody. All means of communication were present. From tender sudden touches under the table and free shots from the other side of the bar to swiping left/right on Tinders, Okcupids and other dating apps. We called it OKstupid and we knew that OK was something we would not be happy with. Amounts of fun were limited also. And more and more of my friends were bored and tired of themselves walking around like empty shells during the night, waiting for the bliss of attraction. They wanted to show how special they were. Alas, when I had to work on Saturdays and Sundays my favorite morning metro sport was counting people coming from one night stands, after parties and wrong addresses. On those moments I could rightfully celebrate dominance of my night cream, tooth paste and that fresh croissant I ate.

[100daysofparis-blog]

#day87 Challenges of human intimacy were omnipresent in any village in the world. They were even more visible in the city of 12 million people. One late Parisian night, out of nowhere, I got a message from Oscar. "You don't have to be taught to play like a stone." Words from Simple Song by the Shins. Somebody who was my friend for a few months only at that point, understood well where I was standing. I was one of the hedgehogs in the Hedgehog's Dilemma. I was standing alone and it was cold and dark. Yet, I was afraid to get closer to anyone cause their sharp spines might have hurt me. It was very easy to be friendly and talk about the quality of Bacardi. It was hard to listen and to be open to total strangers that were yet another hedgehog in the forest. Once I realized how deep that fear of connecting could go I repeated constantly that fear was not an argument. That soft, stomach part of the hedgehog was made of a fur. And every time questions of the connection, disconnection and ignorance were raised, I had one picture in my mind. Once, down on the Quai next to the Seine I saw an elderly couple in matching yellow jackets. They were holding their hands. Across the road, there was another elderly couple in beige matching jackets waiting for the yellow couple to cross the street. They hugged firmly when they met.

[100daysofparis-blog]

#day86 I knew people in Paris who didn't like to go out. They would stay at home and watch Girls. Or surf the internet. Or say that they are tired. Those people lived in Paris as they would live in some village in Bourgogne. Just they were paying their rent at least 3 times more expensive. And they were eating chicken McNuggets instead of real chicken. Apartments in Paris were made small so you had an urge to go out. Weather was mild and it was rarely too cold or too warm so you felt bad if you didn't go out. People were well dressed and buildings were stunning and they were inviting you to go out and see them. If you really wanted to feel Paris you had to be out. Whatever and wherever your out was. That is how I met a lady who did a design for an old Patti Smith's single cover. That is how I met a person who was introduced to me as the prince of Montenegro. That is how I got maps of old catacombs and how I got the secret recipe for special crêpes. Paris was about people and energies that were constantly shared.

[100daysofparis-blog]

#day85 Climbing the Eiffel Tower was always a new experience. Sky was ever changing, clouds coming and going, people gathering or sitting alone deep in their thoughts, shadows were short and shadows were long and the buildings slightly changed their color depending on the weather. Yet the gilded statues on he bridge that got its name after a Russian Emperor were always trying to glitter as much as they could. Extravagance of the beautiful white bridge looked logical in the vast complex surrounded by the grand dome of Grand Palais and the real gold on the Dome Church of Les Invalides. Down the river was an elegant bridge that was rarely noticed. I loved the whiteness of the structure of the bridge in the night, its green fence and yellow art deco lights that looked like some fruits from paradise. That was Pont d'Alma and I was watching fireworks of 14th July that first year from there. One of the last 5 bridges (out of 37 in Paris) was the bridge that I loved simply cause my attention was always dispersed when I was looking at it. I just loved the abundance of information I got while looking at the steel structure. Pedestrians were in a hurry, cars were adding a tone of gray to the green structure, and the beautiful colonnades carried the metro tracks with the best view on the city of lights.