Holiday Disasters in Paris...PT 1
Going to Paris was something I had dreamed about from when I was a teenager. I would sit in French class and listen to the verb conjugations repeatedly echo around the room and stare out of the window, imagining the trees outside to be those bowing their heads at the majesty of the Eiffel Tower or proudly leading the way along the Champs Eylsee to the Arc de Triomphe. I imagined the trendy cafes and fashionable men and women scurrying along the streets in their Lacroix attire and floating in heady clouds of Chanel and Dior. I made up my mind then and there that Paris would be the first stop in a long line of many dreamy travels.
Arriving at the Eiffel Tower I was almost brought to tears for it was every bit as beautiful as I had imagined. The sky was slowly growing darker as the sun disappeared below the horizon. The monument was silhouetted against pink and purple clouds that looked like they had been painted there by one of the great Masters whose ghosts still walked the tiny streets of Montmartre. The evening was cool and the city alive for it was Bastille Day and everyone was celebrating. Small hot air balloons floated along the field in front of the Tower in which were screens that were flickering up images of French history. Music and a strong French baritone filtered through the crowd while lights danced from the ground in a spectacular show of colours. Everyone was spell bound, listening and watching and breathing in the electric atmosphere when suddenly the night sky was set on fire by shooting sparkles of fireworks. The lights stopped, the voice ceased and the explosions of colour danced to the music that carried on playing, becoming more and more hypnotic. Then just as suddenly as it had started, in dozens of puffy colours that lit up the entire sky, it stopped. The crowd errupted into applause and cheers. I was left spell bound.
People started to wander off, but I could not take my eyes off the Tower that was now lit up by hundreds of sparkling lights. That was, until I remembered that I had to get the last train out of the city back to my scattering of wood cabins in the countryside or I would be stuck here until morning. As I arrived at the platform I saw that this was the last train for the night and it was soon pulling out the station so I had no choice but to jump onto it. I reached into my bag to grab the map of where I had to go and thankfully found the same name on the train route inside the carriage. I kept counting off the stops, making sure that I had not missed it.
About two stops before I was due to get off I noticed a fork in the train route, one heading in the direction I needed to go and the other going in the opposite direction. My heart stopped, my hands became sweaty. Outside the city was being left behind and we were now well and truly into the countryside. A few lights scattered in the darkness every now and again and soon I noticed the names along the route of where I was not supposed to be going. I had to get off this train or who knew where I would land up. Who knew where I would land up now infact!
Photography Tips
MS Paint Art
You captured your emotions and fears beautifully.
My French teacher, beyond compare, used to bring in large art books, demonstrating the Master painters of the Impressionist period, all French, of course.
Those images must have left a tiny mark on my brain which would come back light years later to direct me. Fascinating.
I always wanted to live in France for a while, I guess other commitments got in the way.
And to think I have two children and two grandchildren living in Paris and my third child in Dorset, just across the channel, not too far away.
And here I am on my lonesome.
Sometimes, as I hear stories from others, I'm glad, life does have its compensations.
I, like you, have always been a dreamer, but my dreams inspire me in different ways, not a lot to do with art, I must confess.
katyzzz
Australian Traveller
Flashes of memories
You have relatives in France? Ah such a beautiful country, wandering around the gardens of those big chateaus and old cobbled stoned streets of the villages - loved every second of it. England is also such an amazing country - I would love to live back there myself - the history is incredible....*sigh*
we all have to have our dreams - something to work towards in life....
From The Home Front
Enviro Warrior
Dream Herald
Esoteric Bookshop
Mon Cher, what a beautiful symphony I hear as I read your words and breathe the cool night air... mon due, what eez zis? the train eez heading off in ze wrong directione?
*rolling on the floor*
(This spells the kind of disaster that I can REALLY relate too)
*guffawing*
..can't wait for part 2
Lilla