Paris - an unclear attempt

This is your second visit to the city, you went there last summer, when you almost fell in love with it. It was beautiful, European, and different from anything you had seen had ever seen before, after all it's paris. You are overwhelmed by the gardens and the churches and the museums and old buildings and bridges. This time though, you feel it is different. You feel different. You are sick of it all, all the 'beauty' and grandness. But this city, you remember that this city was magical. Paris won't be seem touristy or bourgeois. But as you get back into the city and are walking along the same roads you walked on the last time, when you were lost in your dreams, along the river, by the cathedral, you panic, because it seems to have lost it. Lost the magic you remember. You feel cheated, because this is not what the city is supposed to be. Boring. You are afraid, afraid to lose that image in your mind, or is it really something else? The thought comes for a minute and the flies away, as you stare desperately around you, trying to seek those things which astounded you the first time, the charm that pulled in you all directions. Where are the surprises that were around every other corner? You can't have discovered them all last time. You are disappointed. Has the city changed, in just a year? You tell yourself you are expecting too much, wait a while and it will all come back...You wonder why you have such a critical view, why you seem so arrogant that even Paris is not enough to please you? You wonder, what made you change your mindset from that of wonder to questioning? You wonder, where did the innocent fascination go? You accept that the stained glass in the chapel is beautiful, and it truly is, but it is just a face, devoid of emotion. You go to the bookstore, one of the places you absolutely loved. But it fails to capture your attention in the same way. It's charming, but maybe too charming? you think. Aah, you hate your skeptical attitude. All you can see is the commercial viability of the place, not how much effort has been made to preserve the authenticity of the place. It's still a wonderful bookstore, just not the bookstore you remember. You feel weird about how many memories you have associated with a place you have not really spent a significant amount of time in. They are not really memories, of the place, but they are memories of memories, you remember thoughts you had while you were there. Too many things rush back at you. You fight, to pull yourself out of the past and back to the present, to enjoy the moment, which is truly enjoyable. Darkness comes slowly, though the night has come long before, and as things settle down, your head is a muddle of feelings, too many at one time, which you are trying to understand. Friendships, adventures, meetings, conversations, dreams, hopes, all at once. But you are by the eiffel tower, why are you thinking of such trivialities? You are in Paris, a symbol of Paris to the world, tall and steady is in front of you. A bit daunting but so appropriate for this city - it is obvious, man-built and flamboyant. It's the end of the day and you are tired, so you just lie back on the grass and watch, and the tower grows on you. As it gets darker slowly, and the lights go on, and you finally realize why this is nice. It's a weird feeling. The eiffel tower, a symbol of so many things, to the world, and to you. Going up there has been something you have dreamed of doing since you were a child, you had seen it in books and movies. But when your chance finally comes, you are more at peace, sleeping on the damp grass and staring up, watching time pass. As you look around at all the random people around you, singing, laughing, playing, probably from everywhere in the world other than Paris, you realize, you are starting to fall in love with Paris again, but this time it's a different you and a different city. Night falls. This city does not sleep at all. The amount of traffic on the roads was constant throughout the night, whether it's 3 pm or 3 am. The unfortunate thing is that while the city does not sleep, the metro does. You miss your last chance to go sleep in a bed. Now it's you and the city, to battle it out for the whole night. Who will win? You walk along the river and discover a small festival, with fire breathers and fun music. you stop and watch, by the river, and you see this city by night, not as you had seen it before. The bridges are really beautiful, you could sit here and look forever, but hunger proves to me a driving force. 2 am. You ever expect to be able to get anything, but that means you have forgotten where you are. The main street is alive with all the cool people of the city dressed in the finest suits and skirts with high heels enjoying the nightlife. Problem is, paris does not cater to the less well-off, in terms of attitude as well as money. Finally you eat your pizza on the sidewalk, as people stare curiously, as to what you might be doing. A beggar comes by and asks you for some, he is menacing. Scared you tell him there is nothing left. A few minutes later, he comes by with another pizza, and shows it off to you, with a few french swears added in. You give the last piece of pizza to another lady asking for money in the street. Paris is complete chaos. Here rules are broken and life is lived. It's as though the city is an amplifier for everything. Transportation reliably breaks down, as people reliably break it's rules. Two people through the gates on one ticket, crawling over and under bars, it's the way to do things. you, the observer, ignore and partake as necessary. You reach the railway station at 7 am and you see masses of people, of all kinds indians, asians, africans, caucasians, all of to their most important business in the world. And at 3 am, when you are trying to find a resting spot, which will attract the least attention, the same people, are off to do even more important things -- or so it seems. You settle down on a bench on the main road. The guitarist starts playing. You listen to the music, look at the people, and Paris keeps getting better. You watch a poor young man carry a hopelessly drunk woman on his shoulders, he's worried, he cares about her. She offers no cooperation, she is incapable. Taxi after taxi goes by, none of them stop for him. Another drunk guy comes up to you. He's really smiling - the guy is happy. As you try and tell him that you don't speak french, he tells you wonderful stories of the world, of the wonderful alcohol and the wonderful party that made him so happy. He's a good guy, he wants you to go and join in the fun. When he realizes you are boring, he's disappointed, but it's not enough to get him down. He frolics off onto the road, running like a crazy man set just let out of prison. Unfortunately, the police are waiting for him on the other side, and they get him down. As this happens, you are drifting to and from your world of sleep, on the bench and then you start to see the sky change color. It's getting to be dawn, the metro's are working again. In reality, you are quite at peace in your current position, but prior conditioning, and the certain element of default rationality convince you to move yourself and go towards a metro stop. But it's still to early, they are cleaning the station, and the guy kindly kicks you out. As you wait outside the station, you see a bus go past and run to catch it, not entirely sure of where it is going anyway. It's packed, you have to stand neck to neck with other people. what in the world are so many people doing on the first bus of the day at 5:30 am on Sunday morning? You realize that not a single one of them is white, they are various shades of brown, black, and yellow, but almost none white. After a short nap, the next day is rather uneventful. You spend some time going to a museum, but realize that that is not what you really want to be doing. You step into the bookstore again and sit there for a bit and read. It's calmer, darker, with less people, and you like it a bit more. Now, you just want to sit. Just sit, and be. This city is particularly good for that. You walk down underneath the bridges, find a comfortable spot and stare at the river. A dead fish floats by, with it's stomach ripped open, and intestines floating outside goes by. It's another surprise, and it's disgusting, yet fascinating. A postcard also flies into the river from somewhere, and you watch it get wet and curl up so that you can no longer identify the picture on it. it sinks into the river, and you lie down for a while. You've slept everywhere in this city anyway. You get up and you know the city is charming. and beautiful. The people walking past you are still busy. You sit there, still thinking, but peacefully. You want to forget how late it is. Unfortunately, there is a train to be caught, and you must join the throngs of busy people. On the subway, you are glad this is a place where people don't look at you funny when you are smiling, laughing out loud, to yourself, at yourself, with yourself. maybe they know about the bench and the river and the bookstore too. maybe they know the city's secret - it's a mirror. come see what you can see, but remember it reflects.