It's been a little over three months since my arrival in France. I don't know where November went, it flew by so fast. Yet like many of our study-abroad students I experienced a difficult period during my second month. Once I finally stopped running around Brittany with Béatrice I had to find other things to do on the weekends, and not knowing anyone in Paris my age I found myself suddenly very alone.
It's passed now, once again thanks to the fiddle. I tried different things: swing-dancing on weekends, long walks around Paris, dances at the Mission Bretonne. And then someone turned me onto an Irish jam at a bar called the Quiet Man, in the part of Paris called the "Marais." There in the cramped basement, slow and fast Irish jams take place several times a week. I never thought I would end up doing the Irish thing again, but here I am. As in the US, the musicians are very serious, playing Irish and only Irish, tune after similar tune. But one night at around 2am the jam thinned out and I finally got the names of some of the musicians I was playing with. The other fiddler, Aléxis, admitted to being a fan of American old-time. We played a waltz. Then, a young trumpeter who'd been sitting in the back all evening broke out into blues.
It just so happens that Béatrice had been visiting that weekend. When I
finally looked at my watch it was nearly 3am and the metro had long
stopped running. We followed some of our new friends to a bus stop, but
while we were waiting Béatrice turned to me. "I don't want to get on a
bus. Why don't we walk?" she said, turning to me. I had walked from the
Hôtel de Ville to the 16th arrondissement once before and knew it would
take us a good 2 hours, but I was feeling good, too, so off we went.
We made good time following the northern side of the Seine, empty of
it's usual tourists, cars, and bicycles. There was a bracing wind which
from time to time whipped up fine spits of rain, but overall the weather
held. As we reached my apartment around 4:45, the birds were singing
and the buttery smell of freshly-baked croissants was wafting out of the
corner bakery.
Eiffel Tower at 4:30am from the Palais Trocadero
Béatrice on a bridge over the Seine
Views from the boat ride on the Seine with Béatrice
