35. Didier and I Did a Long Walking Tour Through Paris.
The depression has got a hold of me today, but Didier managed to dragged me out of my flat.
Bienvenue to the 35th 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, 7 août 2016.
It’s practically a ghost town here as nearly all the Parisiens have left town for a month long holiday to be elsewhere. The depression has sucked the life out of me this morning. I felt aimless and blasè, but Didier insisted on showing me the best pizza in Paris. I kicked and screamed for a little while, but I finally got up just to shut him up.
From Maraîchers metro stop, we took ligne 9 to Richelieu-Drouot, in the 2nd Arrondissement. The pizza joint turned out to be a chain restaurant, so the pizza was alright the way Pizza Hut and Domino’s are alright, which would be completely acceptable to me, but to say something “is the best,” or is “amazing” is a responsibility on your part to deliver. I’ll take your word for it from the get–go, but you better f-ing deliver.
After pizza, we meandered around the 1st and 2nd Arrondissements. We started down Boulevard Haussmann toward Opèra, then went down to L’eglise de la Madeleine. Then to La Grande Roue (the Grand Wheel). Then down Rue de Rivoli to Place Vendome, close to Hôtel Ritz Paris (Princess Diane stayed here when in Paris), to Harry’s New York bar (the home of the French 75 cocktail)…down Rue Saint Honorè, past the Louvre, to Le Palais Royal to see Les Deux Plateaux, then sat down at Cour d’Orléans du Palais Royal to people watch and drink a Perrier and grenadine. I didn’t have an odometer but it probably amounted to five miles, though dragging the massive anchor of depression made it feel like twenty miles.
Like Louis and every single Parisien I’ve met or known since I arrived in Paris a month ago, Didier has much to say about Paris. For someone who immigrated here from the Middle East, he deeply cares about Paris, knows a ton about its idiosyncrasies, and made the city his own. Didier’s palette for pizza quality may be in question, but he really is a good Parisien host.
Didier and I continued to walk around the 1st, 2nd, 3rd, 5th and 6th Arrondissements in the blazing heat. I know someday, I’ll genuinely appreciate the experience of this day, but today, I really missed my car.
We walked past Shakespeare and Company, past Notre Dame, Hotel de Ville, past le Centre Pompidou, down Rue Quincampoix…through to Ile de la Cite to Boulevard Saint-Michel, then the Latin Quarter to a piano bar. Today was the most Paris I’ve seen in one day.
Despite living in this beautiful city, forging new friendships and immersing in the lovely Parisien culture, the weight of my mental state is such a drag. It suffocates the passion, joy, or love for anything. In small waves, I’m still fun and I’m curious about people and life, but mostly, I feel blasé and burned out. I’m trying to connect with my authentic self and re-define my life purpose, but it escapes me like sand slipping through my fingers. All of it is compounded by both the energy I’m spending trying to wean myself from expectations and negotiating the anxiety of embracing the unknown.
My brain isn’t working right, and experimenting with an anti-depression cocktail mix to keep me even and engaged over the last few years just isn’t working.
I’m not an easy friend. I feel terrible about that. My struggles probably appear self-centered and borderline narcissistic and it’s taking a toll on my friends back home trying to bear with me. It’s nice to be incognito in another country, where I can just be someone new without constantly having to make up for the mistakes of my past. I made quite a few catastrophic ones that I can’t seem to shed.
We ended up on Rue St. Denis where the prostitutes with their desperate eyes, short shorts and heels, were lurking about waiting for their next john. Didier suggested we partake, but since the pizza, I’m questioning his taste for quality.
Instead, I went home, up the six flights of stairs, jumped into bed, and back into the dark.
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.
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