Mon coeur qui bat …

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If you are lucky enough to have lived in Paris as a young man, then wherever you go for the rest of your life, it stays with you, for Paris is a moveable feast. -Ernest Hemingway

It is impossible to return from Paris unchanged, no matter how many times one has visited. This was my sixteenth visit of the past 24 years and still I saw things I’d not seen and learned things I hadn’t known and fell in love with the city anew. It’s a city that loves you back, one of its most beautiful qualities. 

Still can’t figure out the tipping thing. 

It’s wonderful to experience Paris with someone who is visiting for the first time, to share the bits that I know and love and to see it in a way I never have before. My lovely travel companion showed it to me through a photographer’s lens and I learned from the moment we landed why it is the City of Light, how the skies are different and more luminous, how the streets are lined with language and pictures. Even the vulgar graffiti – and there is much – somehow looks prettier when written in French. 

We did many of the things I’ve done before and never tire of – La Musée d’Orsay, Notre Dame, Montmartre et Sacré Cœur, aperitifs at Les Deux Magots, lunch at La Coupole, la Marché Bastille – and we did some amazing things that were brand new to me. We went to a match between Paris Saint-Germain and Bastia (PSG won 4-0), to Sunday mass at Notre Dame, to dinner on a boat on the Seine. We rode to the top of the Eiffel Tower and drank Champagne. And we explored the Louvre – on my previous visits I’d basically run from Point A (Mona Lisa) to Point B (Venus de Milo) to Point C (Winged Victory) to have had the experience; the immensity of the palace, while too small for Louis XIV (that guy), overwhelmed me. This time we spent hours in its hallowed halls and it was formidable. We visited in it the apartments built for Napoleon (another tiny, humble Parisian) and Josephine. On this visit to Paris I also learned that I had a great aunt named Josephine, thanks to a distant cousin with whom I just connected who loves the city as I do. 

There still remains the paradox of incredibly rich food and a finely appointed populace, despite the fact that gyms are in short supply. The Parisians do smoke a lot less than they used to, and there are electronic cigarette boutiques partout. The city absolutely evolves, but just when you think it’s not what it once was, it will remind you it’s still Paris by throwing in an off-duty mime sipping RIcard in a cafe, or a beret-wearing poodle wielding a baguette on a bicycle. 

There is so much more to say on this visit, so many memories and observations to share, but I am going to save them for a different forum, a project I am very excited to begin. 

Alors, mes amis, we’ll always have Paris.

 

With only dreams of you …

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In the night sky is a perfect crescent of a moon and two blue beams reaching up for the stars. On this night 12 years ago it rained hard, so hard that the clear blue skies and perfect feel of the following morning were a delightful surprise. That Monday we went to a fundraiser, then sloshed through the puddles to Cedar Tavern for a late-night burger. When the skies open up in the city the city comes together. In blizzards strangers offer strangers rides. In hurricanes dogs have more options. I’ve never been as grateful for this town as I was in the aftermath of 9-11; twelve years later I sit in Bottino with a glass of wine and watch the people stream in from Fashion Week and gallery openings and hear them get incensed by the tiniest glitches and in my building neighbors ignore one another and feign ignorance as the elevator doors close too soon.  Every [wo]man for [her]himself it’s a dog eat dog world look out for number one blah de blah blah. Oy vey. Tomorrow night twelve years ago we went to Gus’s on Waverly and Waverly, then (no longer) the spiritual vortex of Manhattan, according to Nicholas Christopher. We went despite it all – we needed to eat – we needed companionship – we had no idea what the fuck to do and all around us was kindness and shock and the stages of grief personified and amplified. Then we met friends at the pub up the road and “rallied” around the one who hadn’t yet heard from her mother, who worked in one of the towers. The towers. I visited them once, on a class trip in second grade; they were new to the skyline. I needed my mum to come with – I was (am) terrified of heights – and she did. Two weekends ago twelve years ago we hosted a surprise 30th for a friend – Yankees/Red Sox then El Parador then plans to go to Windows on the World diverted at the last moment. At the last moment. My lost former love’s last words, “Oh fuck!” from the 96th floor – he was on a conference call and this was reported to his then-wife. Sweet you you’re forever in my heart.

So much more to write – so many Fashionistas and Galleristas in my lines of vision and hearing. I knew this walking in here, but I needed to be around people tonight.

Live, love, laugh.

And, in the spirit of all three, please follow this beautiful project.