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rue-madame's Diaryland Diary

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Plus Áa change, plus c'est la mÍme chose

My friend Jacques called today from Paris. He was in a taxi on his way to work (he works odd hours as a tech support person,) zooming from the top of the 17th to the 14th. Just listening to the crackle of the cab driverís radio and the sound of traffic filtered through his mobile phone made me so sad and nostalgic.

I miss Paris!

Then I read an article in the New York Times about how Europeans are opposed to G.M.(genetically modified) foods eventhough a bunch of scientist have proven that genetically-altered foods are quite safe. The European Union is not against, but its people refuse to buy and eat frankenfoods. Right on, I say.

I wish I were in France right now. I miss so many things about it. The sounds, the food, the friends, the gray Parisian sky, the smell of wet pavement... I got to thinking about my Parisian neighborhood.

I donít know if I ever mentioned this in my diary when I was living in Paris, but in the building across the street from mine was a luthier. A luthier is someone who makes stringed instruments. From my window, I could see him drinking coffee in the mornings, working on a bow, or carefully bent over a violin. In the afternoons, almost every day, there would be the most beautiful music coming out of his studio. It was magical. Sometimes it would just be him playing, sometimes one of his clients, and it was so, so beautiful. Imagine sitting on your canape in your apartment with the windows open, drinking tea, listening to classical music drift in your place and down the street. It was like a fairytale.

Anyway, as soon as I remembered that, I looked around for some photos of my apartment. I didnít take these, mind you. Theyíre from pagesjaunes.fr. Some guy took photos of every single building in Paris and sold his database to the French yellow pages. What a putain de genius that guy was.

So hereís my old apartment building (17th century,) complete with outline to indicate where I actually lived. I had two floors of the tiniest duplex known to man. The top was my living room with a kitchen built into a closet; the bottom was my bedroom with bathroom and washing machine.

Here's a second view:

Hereís someone walking down my street, passing right in front of the giant blue door to my building:

Terence is looking at Master's Degree programs in Paris. He's as anxious to get back there as me. If I were there right now, I'd run down to the boulangerie and get some chouquettes and walk around the Jardin du Luxembourg.

3:17 p.m. - 2003-02-10

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