21. Making Friends with Parisien Locals. Ça C’est Bon!
Local knowledge makes my Paris unique and authentic.
Bienvenue to the 21st article in my Medium publication, Inside Me Inside Paris, a work-in-progress memoir about my 2016 deep-dive into Paris & my journey to find my soul amidst the onslaught of depression…
C’est le dimanche, 17 juillet 2016.
Remember Andrea, my Italian friend I met from the Buddhism men’s meeting and he took me on a scooter ride through Opera? Well, as promised, I met him today to help him write his book.
We linked up today at Juarès metro station in the 19th Arrondissement, taking the westbound line number two, about three stops before the one that welcomes you to Montmartre. We walked along the Bassin de la Villette, a sort of canal that is in reality an artificial lake. The Parisiens were out and about to enjoy the sun. We ate burgers and drank beer at Biim! while we gathered notes for the book Andrea is writing; a story he calls his personal human revolution.
I love experiencing the international flavor of human beings.
He told me an emotion-filled story about how he changed his life after a bad relationship and found his way thru Buddhism to help manifest the path. I tape recorded him as he was telling his journey to me so he could use the recordings as a guideline to organize his thoughts into story form. He’s headed to Italy later this month during the August holidays to dive into his book. I enjoy talking about writing and being involved in the creative process even if it’s not mine. What’s even better is experiencing Andrea express himself with his authentic and vibrant enthusiasm and crisp physical hand gestures. I love experiencing the international flavor of human beings. After a few hours of listening to his stories of a break up that turned into meeting the love of his life, Andrea and I headed over to Montmartre to meet our friend Alex.
We walked up the hills of Montmartre and many stairs, which I don’t particularly care for, we finally found Alex’s place, the Au Petit Théatre du Bonheur, and listened to French folk music.
Afterwards we had dinner at a nearby bistro with some of Andrea’s friends. I met his girlfriend Valeria and they were very much in love and I was jealous but happy for him. I ate a very tender lamb and couscous and drank beaucoup red wine. As the passing tourists were taking in Montmartre, I felt like a local being in the company of Parisiens sitting outdoors in the warm Paris air.
Yet still, as I was taking in all the joyous mingling at my table, I was thinking: I’m meeting new people all the time and they’re French and my lack of French is getting in the way a bit, so there’s something missing in my time here. I’m making nice polite connections but it’s all small talk for me. As you know, I’m trying to only speak in French — I’m proud about that — but it’s so limited that again, it’s another day of being starved from connected human companionship, playing mostly the silent spectator as everyone is enjoying each other’s company.
I’m itching to dive into the underbelly of the Paris nightlife, to include a bit of danger and unpredictable scenarios, but everyone I know in Paris is not very interested in my kind of debauchery. I guess this stuff is only for the youth anymore but I’m still youthful in spirit and dying to shine. I could use a proper wingman.
After bon soir and embraces and French kisses on the cheeks to Andrea and company, with Sacrè Coeur illuminated on top of the hill behind me, I headed to the Anvers metro stop to head eastbound back to my flat in the 20th. I sat inside the subway car, my head pressed against the window to see the French couples with each other and now the voices in my head are back at it, whispering loudly in my ear that this is all futile and what is the point of living. I’m fighting for dear life to stay present and enjoy the moments I’m in, but tonight, I feel especially out of place and in the dark about my future and it’s getting in my head and going back to my flat alone makes it all worse. I called my friends back in Los Angeles to make myself feel better but no one’s answering as they are nine hours behind and just starting their Sunday morning. This is getting monotonous and tiresome and I look out the window of my apartment into the courtyard to hear my neighbors winding down their warm Sunday evening wishing I had some weed to smoke.
Thank you very much for reading this memoir I’m workshopping. Looking for publishers! I’m a writer/photographer based in Burbank, California. Some of my work is visible on my Instagram.
