It was cold today. Below 10 centigrade at midday. Wet too. The weather reminded me of France, and I was overtaken by a profound nostalgia. The reality, however, is that the details of my time there are an effort for me to remember. There are names I should remember, but which I have forgotten, including almost all of my professors, and even a member of the family I lived with. There are innumerable locations i can't recall-- a fountain here, a monument there, a chapel over yonder. I can picture them, of course, but not recall their appellations.
Strange things those that do stick in the mind. There is a live recording of Sugar Mountain which takes me to a particular metro stop in the 16th , where i can feel the brisk wind blow through the railway tube and over my upturned collar. “Under a Marquee Moon,” will remind me always, i hope, of my RER ride crosstown, listening those mingling guitars as lady liberty waved at me from the west, wishing me well.
I was taking this ride with a close family friend just before leaving Paris. He and my brother came out, and together we all traveled a bit, but that came later. While riding, a man walked through the isle leaving notes on the chairs. These notes let us know about his four hungry children who waiting for him at home while he had no job. The note asked the reader to please leave some change on the chair, which he would come and collect. The French prefer not to look you in the eye, or even speak with you, when they beg. This could be called a weakness of vanity, or evidence of a profound dignity, depending on your point of view. This note was only in French and English, but often they were in additional languages. Thinking about this man's misfortunes, my friend smartly left a condom instead of the usual pocket change.
This route, which I took daily to school, but rarely from it, in turn triggers the memory of the route i took to the house I boarded in. The side door that I would enter. The strangely suburbanite room that was mine. The kindness that the family showed me was remarkable. We sat around at dinner, drinking wine and eating a pie of potatoes and crème fraiche, or pasta tossed with bits of salmon and crème fraiche. We usually talked about movies and the days events. I was so bad at speaking, especially at the beginning. But they were always smiling and telling me about my improvement.
Well, it was cold today. Wet too. Though I didn't mind that at all.
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