Oh darling

It was warm and wet and it smelled like Russia yesterday. I was happy. I went out at 4pm for a run in the park across the street from my apartment. It was 15 degrees Celcius so I did not even wear a sweatshirt, and children were taking off coats and hats after running around the playground. There was a couple taking wedding photos by the Roman “ruins,” and a man carrying an enormous bouquet of flowers, presumably to a loved one, with a nervous smile spread across his face. And mothers chasing after their rowdy four-year-olds. I saw people carrying groceries home, laden with enough bags for the upcoming week. And birds floating in the lake. And couples, young and old, cuddling up on benches, intertwining limbs, crossing legs, laughing after exchanged whispers. And a girl screaming into her Mac because she was using the free Internet to speak to someone and had neither headphones nor a microphone. And groups of French men sitting the aforementioned benches, “oohing” and “ahhing” at the spandex-clad women, myself included, that ran by [slightly disturbing, but simultaneously innocently French]. In short, the park was buzzing with people, all of them happy for a warm Saturday in the middle of January. This was my very own slice of tourist-free Heaven, of what a legitimate life in this city is like. And I, listening to Gavin Degraw on my ipod, felt the intense pleasure of being lost in the crowd, of being stripped of all individuality in the mass of moving Parisians, of delicious ambiguity…

Later last night, I had a farewell dinner with the girls across from the Pantheon. The guests were: Chine (French, my roommate when she took a year off at Harvard), Asia (Polish, Harvard student on a year abroad), Sinead (Welsh/Irish, friend from work), Goga (Polish, my roommate), Helena (Brazilian, Asia’s friend), Neike and Nina (both German, part of the group I lived with when I first got to Paris). It was a wonderful evening of brining people who had never met each other together, of meshing some of the different worlds I’ve been lucky enough to be a part of in this city, of putting together people from such varied backgrounds and calling them, both individually and as a whole, “friends.”

I had been saving the Ticket Restaurant (free lunch tickets) that I had left over from work for this particular night because I knew I needed, and deserved, an epicurean splurge. I had red and white wine, shared escargot with Sinead [still in the shell, yes], an almost completely raw Tartare de Saumon (salmon) with delicious potatoes and a salad, and a rather large dessert. In the middle of this, I also ate Chine’s left over potatoes and salad. In short, I ate more than anyone else, which prompted “She’s an American” jokes around the table.

Laughter [of which there was a lot] aside, it was a great dinner and a great way to spend one of my last nights in the city.

Questionable Antics

I will not say much about this, but we had a work party. Meaning, EVERYONE from our multiple offices in Paris came to one of the best-known alternative clubs/bars in the city. I was happy to be far away from our usual fancy Champs-Elysees venues and in East half of the city, at a kind of grungy, alternative place with an incredible live band, a huge dance floor, and more free food and drinks than I had ever seen. The entire place was rented out for us, and, unlike anything I could picture in the US, the bosses danced with the interns, the directors tried to matchmake some of us [cough], and people I saw every day at the office were saying absolutely hilarious things, thanks to the fact that they were far from sober. The opportunity to talk to people in a more informal setting further reinforced my liking of advertising because it became apparent that it gathers a incredible wealth of diverse and completely different people, which at least in my experience, has not been the case with other professions. It was fun and wonderful, not to mention it was great to see everyone roll into work on Friday with 4 hours of sleep….

Knock. I will open.

"I was born by the river, in a little tent, and oh and just like the river I've been running ever since. It's been a long, long time comin, but I know, change is gonna come" - Gavin De Graw

January has been a strange month thus far, because I cannot help but feel two seemingly contradictory emotional pulls:
a.) A sad, melancholic feeling because I am leaving in less than a month, which drives me to want to, in the words of Thoreau, “suck all the marrow out of life” and see/do every possible thing Paris has to offer.
b.) A strange, calm sensation assuring me that Paris has been, and will continue to be, home, that I will be back soon enough, and that sadness is a completely wasted and useless emotion.

My greatest companion on this rollercoaster has been a great Jazz bar on the East of Paris, where I like to go [sometimes with friends] to have a beer and write. Write about Paris, write about home, write about work, or do actual work and preparation for my return, while lively gypsy jazz is being played approximately five feet away from my table. I’ve finally given in to the second outlook, partly because I know I will be back for 2 weeks in a matter of months and that the same people and places and things will be here and I will be granted the opportunity to discover them anew (and speak better French while I do so). What a rare gift, to be able to come back so soon!

Work has been great, although sad because it is coming to an end and our new campaign is JUST launching and I’d love to see it pan out, especially in Russia because I’ve done so much work with their adaptations, etc. I’ve also had several genuinely interesting projects that I will miss, and I am thankful to these people for treating me as more than just an intern and for giving me legitimate work to do. Luckily, I have already liaisoned [this is not the proper conjugation of “liaison”…is liaison even a verb?] with the Worldwide Creative Director and will hopefully be able to do some “freelance” work from the US.

One of the most notable highlights of this month has been seeing the ballet flamenco rendition of “Carmen” at the Theatre Champs-Elysees. Speechless, breathless, half-dizzy, Sinead, Chine, and I were absolutely blown away by Laura Rivas’ choreography, which I had heard about but never seen in person. In-credible: live guitars, live singing, and an absolutely flooring [pun intended] flamenco performance. The only “Carmen” I’ve enjoyed more has been listening to Maria Callas sitting on my porch at home on a chilly Florida evening.

Other fun things included a sleepover at Sinead’s, during which we ate an inordinate amount of humus and then spent the night being productive, each in our respective ways.

I also spent a day walking around the Latin quarter [again] and the Jardin des Plantes quarter, which I love. Asia, Helena, and I walked up Rue Mouffetard, which is one of my favorite and liveliest places in the city, then we headed over to the Mosque of Paris for some of tea and baklava, before going to L’Institut du Monde Arab for a contemporary art exhibition. I had never sought out specifically Arab art, and I was happy to discover a bit more of what has defined art movements in places like Tunisia, Iran, and Morocco over the past couple of decades. One of the most memorable moments was going to Arenes de Lutece, a Roman amphitheatre that was used for burials in the 4th century. It is located in between businesses and apartment buildings, and its entrance is almost completely hidden from the street. Once inside, however, this ancient ruin is brimming with life, as thongs of children play soccer with makeshift goals and their elders sit and play checkers on the ground, all on the dirt of a Roman amphitheatre. It’s startling, and borderline miraculous, to see worlds and centuries collide.

I also saw an exhibition of Alberto Giacometti’s work at the Centre Pompidiou. I feel a particular (although arbitrary) tie to him because in Geneva, I lived in a street that bore his name. But I discovered that there are certain pieces of his that I really enjoy, in addition to admiring his approach to sculpture in general. I appreciate when museums show entire collections by a single artist, because the spectator is actually given the opportunity to see the progressions, the changes, the inner monologue of the artist, as opposed to trying to place meaning onto a piece of art hanging on a wall and pretending to understand why it was ever important enough to be purchased in the first place. I also felt this way at the Holder exhibition I saw at the Musee d’Orsay earlier this month. Having seen some of his work at the Kulturmuseum in Bern in 2006 [obviously, since he was the pride and joy of Switzerland], but not being incredibly familiar with his periods, his affinity with nature, etc, I really enjoyed the rather comprehensive and long exhibition, even though some of his landscapes made me miss Lac Leman…

Gladis’ going away dinner was quite the culinary experience, which I feel obliged to mention, although briefly. I had never eaten escargot before, but since they are a French delicacy, I decided to try it. These were cooked in the style of Southern France, meaning the snails had been taken out of their shells and cooked in a sauce. I was surprised to discover that they are delicious, absolutely delicious, despite the slight “earthy” taste! I also had Steak Tartare, which the girls thought was a crazy purchase because it is 100% uncooked beef. As in, the piece of meat has not been exposed to any heat. This was also incredible, especially with a dab of mustard and some potatoes! See my pictures if you don’t believe the beef was actually uncooked…

And here we are, now, jumping ahead, stepping forward, trying to take this city before I exchange it for another favorite, Boston.

Jumping in....

Lyrics: "And won't you kiss me On that midnight street Sweep me off my feet Singing ain't this life so sweet" - David Gray

New Years 2007 – I have spent a year waiting for this moment, purely for the psychological release of being able to say that 2007 is over and done with and 2008 is here. What really changes with this seemingly arbitrary [not entirely, since it is based on the earth’s rotation obviously] beginning? Not much, other than a certain unavoidably refreshing feeling of novelty, of beginning anew. Some of needed it this time.

In any case, I spent the 31st of December and the 1st of January (29 consecutive hours) with my friend Sinead and her friend from Wales, Lee. The three of us spent the afternoon of the 31st on Montmarte, sitting on the steps of Sacre Coeur for a couple of hours listening to live music as twilight turned to dusk. Then we drank some hot chocolate at a nearby piano bar, walked around some more, and went home to have dinner. The countdown to 2008 happened in front of the Eiffel Tower, surrounded by rowdy Brazilians, some fireworks, and greeting every passing person with an excited “Bonne Année!” and a double-kiss!

Then we went back to the apartment, where Lee and I stayed up talking until 6am and he tried to teach me how to play poker and give me a brief geophysics lesson, need I say, unsuccessfully. The next morning, the three of us made crepes and went out to explore the city once again!

Coming home the afternoon of the 1st, from a whirlwind adventure with a good friend and a complete stranger, I could not fathom a better way of starting 2008. I’d made a new friend in Lee, I’d spoken to my parents and could tell they were emotional because I was so far away, and I was ready for the next 12 months, happily so. This makes me think of the David Gray song from above...