Free Man In Paris

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After leaving the suffocating heat of the desert city, and strings of demanding workdays behind, as Joni Mitchell so aptly put it, “I was a free man in Paris, I felt unfettered and alive.”

I woke up to the last birthday of my thirties to find a gorgeous bouquet of flowers from my beloved, with a card that read, “Happy Birthday in Paris.”

My black abaya and scarf were tucked away in the front pocket of my carry-on, all but a memory that would resurface vociferously somewhere between Dubai and Riyadh. Meanwhile an animal print Versace skirt was speaking the common tongue of this city where I had traded in “Salam alecum” for “Bonjour”.

We once again found ourselves on the train, headed toward the Champs-Elysees. We walked the bustling street past the birthplace of Guerlain and Lancome to the L’Arc de Triomphe, settling into a cozy niche in an outdoor café. With laughter, conversation, frites, and red wine, stress seemed a foreign notion sailing away like the Autumn leaves on the Parisian breeze.

When we’re out walking in boring, nondescript places, and someone absentmindedly strolls along, blocking traffic, Michael sometimes turns and says, “What do they think this is, the Champs-Elysees?” For some reason this came back to me and I didn’t miss a chance to ask him that when the opportunity arose. It then became an oft-repeated joke.

We spotted a cute Mini-Cooper by the roadside, a car we are both fond of, and took this snapshot. I’ll always look at it and think, “Happy Birthday in Paris”.

“If I had my way, I’d just walk through those doors
and wander down the Champs-Elysees
going café to cabaret
thinking how I’ll feel when I find
that very good friend of mine…”

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Photos

L'arc de Triomphe
On The Champs-Elysees at Night

Birthday Flowers
Preserved Forever!

Free Man In Paris
"You know I'd go back there tomorrow..."