(8) Paris II: Riding Around the World on a Bicycle With A Girl, Cheese, Wine and a Baguette

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And so I had become French. My Parisian friend Marine (her name means the ocean) who I was staying with kept kidding to me about it. I felt comfortable. I knew at some point I would travel on but for that time I was in heaven; loving the ambience of "La Ville Lumiere".

With my Swedish friend Cecilia, I walked around happily in the rain. She was as fun as college days. We found parks and neighborhoods that were gardens for palaces. There were statues everywhere. The language of love was all around. We drank it in. In all its richness. The city was like a museum in itself. We saw jazz and soaked up the summer sun.

It was midsummer and it would stay light until eleven. I was enjoying the walking tours. We would get a lot of information on the historical sights and I would meet many lovely traveling girls. Besides Europeans they would hail from Argentina, Australia, India, etc...An Island boy was in dreamland.

So many people wonderful travelers and our paths crossing briefly in the thread of organized chaos that is the planet earth- and lasting frames of memory would result.

The histories and or stories that I was inundated with were amazing. Every tour guide had his or her own twist on the city and knew stories to teach to us about the people or the areas and events of the rich city. The guides were in fact like watching a standup comedian or monologist rehearsed at their craft. It made me consider switching professions.

One day we were taking a tour that included the Notre Dame Cathedral, the Joan of Arc statue, views of the Eiffel Tower, Sorbonne Universite; you know all the famous sites in the city center. I was tuning out. Probably daydreaming about a girl or food. Suddenly the guide had a story.

He pointed out a drably random warehouse-like building you would never have taken a second look at. What, amongst the plethora of beautiful architecture on the river? During World War II it had been headquarters of the German forces when they occupied Paris. When the allied forces came to re-claim Paris one of the fiercest battles in the city was fought in this area. In that stone facade were still bullet holes. There were chunks of mortar missing. I could feel the history that I was walking on and picture the World War of nearly 70 years ago that my grandparents had fought in. I took a deep breath in remembrance of our ancestors and thanks that I wasn't speaking German. It was a thrilling example of Deja-Vu!

Altogether I spent less than a couple weeks time in that great city and I felt like a local. Whether it was a remembrance of my own roots as a Frenchman (my middle name is Raphael), the fact that I was staying with a beautiful French girl, or the general ease of mobility in the city; I was a Parisian for the time.

And to be a Parisian is to live life on a cloud. Pleasure, Creativity, Intelligence, Culture.

Cycling around the world in spandex wearing a moustache; accompanied by a deliciously hot brunette, a poodle, roquefort cheese, wine and a baguette. What more can a man desire?!?!

Many a great artist had moved to Paris to continue to live their passions because it has long been known as a city of tolerance and diversity. The city of light is historically known to support the arts and foster that creative talent because of its free thinking. In my journeys I remembered this often and my mind would and does drift back to the city of love and creativity.

It was with "saudade" and sadness that I ventured away from Paris. But it was with great anticipation of something grander. Because even in all its dramatic glory and greatness there is something that the city will never have.

That physical something that I was and always am chasing...Surf.

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