Montmartre

Made breakfast in our flat - eggs, potatoes & onions with garlic. We took our time in preparing for our trip to the Louvre since they're were supposedly open late on Wednesdays. I created a make-shift curtain by folding a fringed green towel into the [saloon door] window and latched it shut. The steam from the shower outdid my task by making it all but impossible to see in from the opposite side of the courtyard.

The courtyard is white with metal roofs and red, rusted chimneys. Yesterday we saw a young Middle-eastern guy climb up said chimney at the behest of an unseen man. Presumably he broke into an adjoining apartment, or got un-locked out of his home [one or the other].

Took the metro to the Louvre, made a mistake and had to walk 5 minutes to a change. We stopped for espresso [read: les toilettes] at a very quaint family owned cafe. A family of three, they looked at us very auspiciously, but nevertheless gave us our deux cafes and let us use their restrooms. The restaurant was very clean with colorful light fixtures painted in flowers with colored light bulbs inside. We continued onward, where we learned from the man behind the information desk that you cannot interchange metro stops except at "correspondences" where you stay underground the entire time.

Walked to the supposed secret entrance to the Louve - the [hall] of lions. Sign read in French, English, Spanish, "This entrance is closed Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Fridays." Had to join the masses in the main line at the pyramid. Went quite quickly - 10 minutes or so before we were inside.

The Louvre was a big let down. Too many people. Everyone photographing everything, then moving on. No one standing there staring at the art - absorbing the artists' work. Just trying to prove that they were there. The art was old and redundant. Must have seen 1,000 christ child & suckle teet with Mary. Another thousand depictions of the crucifixion. Nothing but tourist groups and teenage care-nothing's walking through the corridors with the record button held down. The Mona Lisa was a human zoo - a swell of circular enmasse, traveling through quicksand and photographing each step. The highlight was thrusting your child in front of the painting (that could only be seen at a maximum of 12' distance through wooden barrier and bullet proof glass) and cheesing a grin of satisfaction that you saw the thing on the brochure.

We walked for hours. Trying our best to remember the lectures in college. I felt more inspired by the African art than anything else, picture myself as Picasso, looking for some fresh interpretation. The museum was supposed to stay open late on Wednesdays, except for the particular day that we chose to visit. We missed an entire wing due to our lasse-faire breakfast.

Left the disappointment and went shopping. Bought some clothes at an underground mall after walking through a maze of a construction site. The construction will presumably bring part of the mall above ground as opposed to dwelling in the sewer as it currently does.

We emerged from the metro on the way home into what my imagination depicts some African market - where ivory and gorilla hands are traded with Samsung Galaxy S III and Prada stolen goods. Hundreds of people crowd the exit and yell in some foreign tongue. We remark on how at home hipsters would likely feel here.

We quickly head home and then back out for dinner. The Italian place we eyed was full and reservations only accepted at this late hour for dinner (9PM). We circle around the block, surveying our options. We end up at a small grocer, where the produce is kept along the exterior wall and a little man comes running out to print out a upc code weighing all of your picks.

Dinner at home over wine & Amelie - a very idealized depiction of the place we stay, Montmartre. Devoid of dog shit, trash, people, tourist groups, flash photography, stumbling old folks, 17 different languages. The building in which we stay looks identical to hers, with Green doors and centered, golden door knobs, a wooden spiral staircase and soft, yellow lighting. The steps are the same, steep and tall. But the air is bereft of a faint stench, mirrored by trash strewed across the street and sidewalk. The fear of someone walking up behind you... Picnicking in Sacre Coure, a young couple snorted a line of cocaine 10 feet in front of us, while Indian men peddled frozen bottles of Heineken. American couples sat far away and tore at wine bottles with their teeth, unaware of the insanity that surrounded them. We left early.

I lay in bed listening to Meaghan breathe heavily as I try and fall asleep with a million ideas racing through my head - wondering what this trip is about. Is this meant to be some learning mechanism that informs my career or purpose in life? I think through all the things that have happened over the past 2 weeks and am in awe of what is to come over the next 7. So much to learn and see and feel and smell. And I hope I can embrace it with open senses.