La demoiselle et le soleil

If there is a better feeling than that which accompanies being 23, drinking a Dutch beer in the Parc des Buttes Chaumont at 4:30 in the afternoon with two friends while eating Petit Ecolier cookies, lying in the grass looking up at blue sky while smoking a Gauloise (yes, smoking is bad, I don't do it, but it was to celebrate), and watching children run around brandishing fake guns and chasing after each other while a friendly Parisian sun shines down on it all with work finished last week and a few weeks left to enjoy Paris, then it can only be playing soccer with aforementioned people and random kids inside of a cave beside a waterfall in the same park around 5:30. Although I can't say for sure what time it was, because I left my watch at home.

I'm on vacation this week. My parents were supposed to be here, but couldn't because of the volcano in Iceland and subsequent ash cloud looming over the continent and subsequent cancellation of transatlantic flights. So instead of biking through Normandy with my mom and dad, I'm spending this week with my Paris friends, doing Paris things, with the knowledge that I'm coming home soon, so I only have to budget three more weeks, and also with the sense of relief that only comes from surviving a truly crappy job. On Monday I finally went shopping with a friend of mine, and then we had delicious Mediterranean food at a place in the Marais with terrible service. We talked and ate and complained at our sidewalk table until after the sun went down. On Tuesday at the Parc des Buttes Chaumon, we watched kids run around and torture each other. We had to wear our sunglasses. And it was t-shirt weather.

Today I went back to Belleville to plan a trip with a friend. We met at the best cafe in Paris, right next to Parc de Belleville. It has ginger juice that tastes like Dakar, cheap coffee, and cheap platters of cheese and meat, outdoor seating on a quiet corner in Belleville, and it's kind of hidden as well. I'm really starting to love Paris's more fringey places. Belleville is out of the way, and it's full of poor people and hipsters. It has excellent parks, the aforementioned best cafe in Paris, and a view of the Eiffel Tower. It also has little Turkish grocery stores where you can find black beans and rice and all manner of deliciousness. The old men who run them are usually friendly and French is their second language too, so no getting corrected on the proper gender of, say, a bag of rice. I kind of like the unattractive parts of Paris. In some ways, they're the best. Although my pretty little quartier is nice too.

And I'm going back to Berlin next Thursday, then Seattle on May 10. The time has gone by fast, although at times it felt glacial.

So, to date, the best memories I have of Paris:
1. the afternoon spent in the Parc des Buttes Chaumont
2. the first French party I went to, where they played "Rock the Casbah" and one of my best friends and I drank gin and talked to French boys
3. that night I went to the movies alone, saw a homeless man get treated cruelly, gave him a euro coin, and thought about how much this year has changed me
4. standing in front of Notre Dame with my parents and Owen on Christmas Eve
5. the entire weekend I spent in the UK
6. ditto Berlin
7. the moment my class of 7-year-olds started rushing me for hugs and good-bye bisous on my last day teaching them -- when one of the little girls said, "Tu vas nous manquer, Megane!" ("We are going to miss you.") I just about lost it
8. any time anyone referred to me as "la demoiselle." I don't care if this is belittling. I think it's cute.
9. watching a video installation outside Centre Pompidou with someone I had just met on Nuit Blanche in October and knowing that we were going to be friends
8. coming back from Italy and realizing that I could speak French
9. going to the top of the Eiffel Tower with Michelle on her last night in Paris
10. writing in cafes for hours for no other reason than I feel like writing some poetry

This list is clearly incomplete.

It's been a weird week since I was supposed to be in Normandy with the family, but it's also been a good week. This post-work time in Paris has this vibe of revelry. It's like carnivale. Like, okay, we made it. We did the hard part. Now we can just enjoy the intensity of being 23 and in Paris until it's time to go home and face the reality of a job and saving money.

And in the sun, Paris is a different city. After a gray winter and a crappy job, I'm ready for it. Here comes the sun.