Mornings, and airports

Ugh, mornings are getting rigorous.

Even as I type, I am wolfing down oatmeal and looking at eggs that will also be consumed at a quick pace. I've got laundry in the dryer that wants folding. I got started early so all I have to do is dress and all the other things I have to do before leaving. I tried to get in here to commune with my blog (it really does seem to make me happier), and I have so little time now to do it.

Once I started the new job, I knew ahead of time that the schedule change would present itself in a way that made morning time seem longer than it is, just because being up and moving with purpose at that time was a new event, and the effect would be transitory. Transitory has arrived. I gotta leave in not very long at all.

I still dream of Paris. I don't have much time to do it, but when I can, it gives my brain a pleasant place to reside, to imagine. I had a delicious flashback of walking through an airport, on my way to Paris. What a great feeling that was, in retrospect. Just the bigness of the buildings; the low-level stress "Am I on-time? Yes? Good..." repeat 30 seconds later, constant temporal vigilance); the inundation of other people and yet near-privacy, because they don't know or care what you're doing; and the occasional uniform to either help you along your way, or more prevalent these days, scowl and scream at people who don't line up quickly enough. 12 hours on a plane still sucks, but is worth every minute at the end.

I hope I have the wherewithal to enjoy the airport next time.

Paris, this spring?

I have good reason to hope that I can go back to Paris again, some time this spring. And so I am allowing myself to dream about it again; not that I ever resist "les reves" too feistily, in any event.

I should see when Rick Steves will next publish the latest 2015 Paris book. (Ooh, their next edition comes out this month!  Yeee!)

I should consider day trips outside of Paris. Or longer trips not in Paris. Or trips outside of France, even. In a very real sense, the sun rises and sets for me in Paris. But in other real senses, of course it does not.

Paris, France has captured my heart's attention quite dominantly, but I know there are other countries, cultures and people to be discovered, explored and enjoyed. I wonder if I will see wisdom in selecting one of them instead, by the time I put my money down.

I ponder it occasionally.

One thing I would like to do better than I ever have before is to connect with people abroad. And it troubles me when I speak this goal aloud and people look at me funny. Is it so incredible that I might want to have conversations and make contacts in another place? Am I the weird one in this exchange? Am I just not expressing my desire correctly?

I feel like my expectations are fairly realistic, at least for someone who wants to do something they haven't tried before. And yet many people I've mentioned it to, online or in person, get that "back away and don't make eye contact" vibe going when I mention it.

I admit some naivete: on my last trip I chatted up a restaurant worker and the front desk guy at my hotel, and exchanged email addresses with them. I sent a few emails after my 2010 trip, of course unanswered. My naivete was in being surprised at this. I should have been slightly more cynical in my expectations. Imagining being a service worker in a major city, it's easy to foresee not giving two shits about the customers on a personal level, beyond serving them as well as you can, day-to-day. And they were kind and helpful in that regard, I am glad of that.

I guess it reaches back to my own desire to connect in general. I thought I was rid of this burdensome pull, but as my last trip to Paris taught me, I am not. Paris always seems to have something to teach me.

I shake my head when I follow these thoughts into their tunnels, to draw my awareness back to open ground. Only so much progress can be made at a time, spelunking these possibilities and the warrens in which they reside.

Speaking of tunnels - did I mention I want to see the catacombs of Paris on my next trip? I have started reading the most wonderful book, "Parisians." It artfully tells stories, old and new, of residents of Paris form their point of view in history. I have read the first few chapters, including perspectives from Napoleon, an underground engineer (whose name escapes me at the moment, and escapes most common history, according to the book's narration), and the doomed flight from the royal grounds by Louis and Marie Antoinette. They sure made it sound like Marie Antoinette's spoiled bungling cost the entire campaign its success. But they are just the types of stories that bring life to places and times in such an iconic city. I have also enjoyed "Is Paris Burning?" a historical account told in a dramatic and narrative style. I like this style much better than some dull and dry accounts I have tried to read. Non-fiction is a lot more fun and digestible when it dresses in a few of the trappings of fiction.

Another item that has enhanced my long-distance mooning over the City of Lights is Google Earth. The ability to zoom digitally over the city (with the "3D Building" option on, of course!) makes something within me squeal with delight. Twirling the Eiffel Tower or Arc de Triomphe on the screen as if on your fingertip dazzles my little brain in a most wonderful way.

Will Michelle accompany me on my trip? Will James, our nephew? Will I go it solo and become my own hero for the year? Will we or I go somewhere unParisian? Will it all fall apart and remind me that tomorrow is promised to no one as it has in the past? It's all wide open at this point. It seems like anything is possible. I like that feeling.