Report from the Clouds: Paris Edition

My little notebook and I take on Paris.

In case you missed it, I’ve recently decided to recapture my imagination by carrying a notebook and pen around with me at all times. An attempt to defeat writers block and find inspiration in everyday life. I wasn’t expecting much, to be honest…I certainly wasn’t expecting to fill 26 pages within the first two weeks. (!!!)

I had originally hoped that I would be jotting down story ideas or snippets of dialogue or characterizations of the people around me, but that is not the case. Most are simply observations.

Regardless, they clearly got something inside churning, because the other night I LEAPED out of bed at 2am to run to the Notes app in my phone. With heavy eyelids and a pounding heart, I frantically typed down a story idea. It was a quick simple image of the character that popped into my head, yet she felt so real in that moment that I knew she wouldn’t let me sleep until I documented her. Story ideas are few and far between for me (hence the notebook idea to combat writers block…), but when one comes to me? My God, nothing compares to that feeling. I think I’ll be chasing it my whole life.

Paige: 1
Writers Block: 0
(The match continues, as I’m only 3 pages into this story…)

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Since I had fun sharing some observations with you last week, I’ve decided to share a few more notes from Cloud (Cloud is the notebook. Yes it has a name, show some respect!)

We travelled from Manchester to Paris last weekend, and this is a slice of what I observed…

• 2-9-24: At the Musée d'Orsay in Paris: A group of 50 or so little kids stream in. Must be a field trip. The floor of naked statues is what you first see when you enter. I watch as each kid points at the butts of the statues as they pass, giggling with their friends. A universal truth: butts are funny.

  

• 2-10-24: A small bakery/cafe in Passage du Grand-Cerf: The woman who owns it has high cheek bones and a sharp chin, her face shaped like an upside-down triangle, and she could look harsh except for the eternal smile on her face. Behind her is a watercolor picture of her smiling behind the counter. I point to it and smile, and she tells us in English how an older gentleman once visited her shop and spent time chatting with her. He took her picture when he left, and two weeks later, he arrived with that watercolor as a gift. She pointed us toward a bigger painting on the opposite wall. This one showed her sitting outside the shop, showcasing both owner and storefront. She said she had commissioned him to make it. There were so many things I love about that story: The old man’s kindness with the original painting, the woman’s kindness to pay him for a bigger piece to display, and the lemon olive oil cake I ate immediately after hearing all this. Cake so good I wanted to return with my own watercolor for her.

• 2-10-24: Erik and I go out for dinner at this little wine bar restaurant (maxes out at 20 people, tables no more than 3 inches apart). The waiter is a young man not old enough to legally drink in the States, but here he runs the show. He’s made younger by his face dotted with acne and shirt sloppily tucked in. I’m charmed.
  When checking out, he asks us where we’re from. We say America. He leans back and shouts, “THE AMERICAN DREEEEAM!” When he asks where in America, we answer Pennsylvania. “PENNSYLVANIIIIA!” Well, there’s certainly the cheeriest reaction to Pennsylvania I’ve ever heard. He apologizes and signals with his hand that he’s been drinking a bit. We’re the last table to check out that night — have fun, my man. He asks if we would like a shot with him and the other worker. They start to blast ‘Les Champs-Elysées.’ Erik, knowing French, joins in on the singing. We cheers our bright green French liquor and it goes down easy. He asks us to leave a review, so here is mine: Go to Au Doux Raisin and get the Boeuf Bourguignon. Take a shot with the young waiter if he offers. You’re in Paris, baby.

  

  Au doux raisin

  2-11-24: I don’t know what I enjoyed more: stepping into the upper chapel at Sainte-Chapelle, or watching other people’s reactions as they stepped into the upper chapel at Sainte-Chapelle. Each person’s jaw dropped. A nice reminder that in this day and age, even with photos and videos, we can still be awed.

  

• 2-11-24: On the train to the airport, a mom plops her son (8 y/o?) and daughter (6 y/o?) across from us. The mom stays with the stroller by the doors.
  The son and daughter playfully fight over the window seat. When the brother wins, the sister accepts it by practically sitting on top of him. He tries to shove her off but she’s persistent. He leans against the window. She leans against his shoulder. They keep repeating one phrase over and over as they look outside, giggling. When they leave, Erik and I turn towards each other, both endeared. I ask him what they were repeating. “Dans ma valise… In my suitcase…” Erik said it sounded like they were playing a game. “In my suitcase, I have a phone… In my suitcase, I have a cap.” The simplicity of sitting on a train with your sibling, starring out the window, playing a game. What could be better?

• 2-11-24: From the plane: The lights from below wink up at us, a misty veil pulled over them as we drift in and out of clouds.