Travel Notes

Four more weeks, three cities, travelling, airports, stations, art and architecture, galleries and museums, countless paintings and sculptures, food and beverages, cafes and restaurants, cemeteries, churches, palaces, sundry monuments and other tourist attractions, bridges and the banks of rivers, opera, concert, play, sporting events, parks, gardens and other public spaces, festivals, markets, literary quests, multiple languages, currencies and time zones, walking around, shopping, thinking, reading, photographing, observing , reflecting, lazing and writing. That is the short version of what happened after 25 July. The detailed version is a work in progress.

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Lacking any imagination, I head for the ‘Eiffel Tower’ one day, much the same way I would go to the 'landmark' book store on a restless Saturday afternoon. But, this is not a bookstore in Chennai. This is the one of the leading tourist destinations in the whole wide world and it is peak tourist season as well. One must be PREPARED to stand in long queues when visiting tourist hot spots; I still cannot believe that I did not anticipate the massive crowds.

I would not stand in a queue as long as the one in front of me if it had turned out that Elvis Presley was actually alive and back in the building performing, much less to go up the ‘Eiffel tower’. I decide to just lie down in the surrounding grassy lawns and laze. From this vantage point, the only observations to be made are that it is a large and pointless structure. But after a good half hour lying in front of it and looking, I cannot but feel a grudging admiration for the degree of audacity on both counts; it does require a lot of courage to design and construct something along these lines.

I hate the thought that I am gradually liking something large steel and popular. But, it has a certain je ne sais quoi (an expression I absolutely love as it helps avoid tedious explanations) that it takes to be practically synonymous with Paris, as only the ‘Statue of Liberty’ is with New York, the ‘Big Ben’ with London, the ‘Statue of Christ the Redeemer’ with Rio. Surely, they all must have earned that right for a good reason, I am thinking. Although it feels like the reason is largeness and a lack of utility per se, it is still something.

However, the real charm of the ‘Eiffel Tower’ is not in going up it or near it but the way it comes into view time and again, gently reminding that you that you are in Paris and to buck up and enjoy the experience. That is perhaps why these large and pointless creations become popular.

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The 'Musee du Louvre' has to be the Paris Hilton of museums; it is in the news and apparently very very famous but for no good reason.

I am told that it has been a dungeon, then a royal residence-which does not make much sense-and is now a museum. It is enormous and rambling; it is utterly tiresome to get from exhibit A to exhibit B because of the long walks involved and it is hard to spot any unifying theme or concept from what appears to be a random selection of paintings, sculptures, crown jewels, Egyptian artifacts not to mention the sudden appearances of glass pyramids and carousels.

To say that you have a collection where it will take nine months to view every item therein is hardly anything to proud about, rather it is wasteful. If on the other hand, the collection were to broken into several smaller niche museums, people can access it as per their interests and tastes.

Of course there are huge crowds in front of the ‘Mona Lisa’, the pièce de résistance of the entire collection. Seeing the ‘Mona Lisa’ is a little bit like watching ‘Citizen Kane’, it is very hard to understand why of all the countless amount of works of brilliance and genius in their respective categories this has to be the work; why have they captured the imagination of critics and admirers to such an extent. It is something to think about though beyond the scope of the present discussion. I myself would admire an empty framed canvas if it were the work of ‘Leonardo Da Vinci’, but I can confidently say that not many would give this painting a second glance but for its formidable reputation.

I don’t think that I have earned the right to diss anything but if I had I would say that the ‘Musee du Louvre’ is eminently avoidable. If you merely stumble, you can find something more interesting to do in Paris.

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In order to avoid anything remotely touristy I head for peace, quiet and serenity of Cimetière du Père-Lachaise. Sure, some crackpots (me) wander searching for the graves of Oscar Wilde and Jim Morrison, but they are still barely tens of people walking about, compared to the teeming millions anywhere else in Paris. There is no place quite as peaceful as a cemetery and if you are not given to any morbid fancies the loveliest walk is possibly through a cemetery. The graves themselves are worth looking at-small, huge, plain, ornate, unvisited or much visited, but always a somber tribute to people loved; everything put together conjuring up the lives of persons gone.

I am drawn to the 'Musée Rodin' for ‘The Thinker’ alone. It is an unexpectedly wonderful experience. Even in a city filled with immaculately landscaped jardins, the garden here is exquisite. It is a stroke of genius to layout the sculptures in the garden. It is a perfect setting for ‘The thinker’ with a helpfully provided seat in front, in case you are inclined to sit down and do a bit of thinking yourself, not to mention other works such as the intriguing ‘The Burghers of Calais’, the magnificent ‘The Gates of Hell’ and the sublime ‘The Kiss’ (located indoors). It is far more enjoyable to be in a small museum focused on the work on one person. Both of these places are the perfect antidote to the tourist madness in Paris.

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I am trying to speak French but on closer inspection it is quite clear that it is not so much French as English spoken slowly and with a bad accent. What is worse, it is not even the right bad accent. It is more the sort of thing you can expect to hear from a character named Tony in a bad mafia movie.

My attempts at speaking French are appreciated by the friendly locals. Many people try to help me pronounce things correctly. But, I have no idea where these French sounds are being produced from; I cannot roll the Rs like that by gargling much less by speaking.

It is a generally held view that the French do not like to speak English. But, that is not true. People I speak to are quietly amused by my lousy French and start speaking English; no doubt to be spared the torture of seeing their beloved language being butchered (Lord knows I feel the same way about English).

It is very painful for a glib and articulate argumentative Indian such as myself to be reduced to a simple profusion of bonjours and mercis; but, not knowing the local language, a situation that I have not been in a long time, actually feels good. I can just tune out the world-because if Emmeline is complaining about her boss to her boyfriend on the Metro, I sure can’t be distracted by it-and be peaceful. In fact, I come to realize how conversation is not really necessary. If it were not for food, the need to identify what on earth is it that I am being offered and if by the grace of the good Lord it is vegetarian, I would have had no genuine need to speak at all.

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I have been in a curious state of mind for a long time now; utterly consumed by this urge to do something. I do many things in terms of experiencing world-class art, sports, music, shopping etc, and I am not underestimating the true worth of these experiences, I do take away a lot from it. But, none of this is nearly as satisfactory as say getting a sentence right on this blog, because this is my work.

To reinforce the idea, let me use the words of Ian McEwan (in 'Saturday'), “For the past two hours (performing surgery) he’s been in a dream of absorption that has dissolved all sense of time, and all awareness of the other parts of his life. Even his awareness of his own existence has vanished. This state of mind brings a contentment he never finds with any passive form of entertainment. Books, cinema and music can’t bring him to this. Working with others is one part of it, but it’s not all. This benevolent disassociation seems to require difficulty, prolonged demands on concentration and skills, pressure, problems to be solved, even danger. He feels calm, and spacious, fully qualified to exist. It’s a feeling of clarified emptiness, of deep, muted joy.” That is the sort of feeling that I am talking about.

But traveling feels like doing something. There is a lot of physical activity involved, there is the physical sense of movement or motion, there is plenty of planning and coping with uncertainty, it is hard work and it is quietly satisfying. I have a pact-apparently with myself-that whilst am obsessed and questioning about how I live my regular life till the point where full blown psychosis often seems merely three doors down; when am away I get to just enjoy the good things in life without any qualms.

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They say Paris is a “walking city”, which is probably true of all of Europe. It is wonderful to discover the city by walking, especially in weather which could not have been better if I had personally ordered it, just around the 22-24 degree C mark, that transition point where cool turns to warm, with no rain, and the air blessedly salubrious. It all boils down to the weather and the quality of the coffee for me. They are both perfect when I was there.

My feet have touched the cobblestones of nearly every arrondissement. The city gets familiar. I am seeing places for the third or fourth time. I visually comprehend the city. I can navigate the travel system even when am falling asleep. It is really sensible, with alphanumeric and color-coded indicators and you can’t go wrong unless you try very hard. It is very charming to make a journey from ‘Alexandre Dumas’ to ‘Victor Hugo’ or walk the earthly ‘Elysian fields’.

I am happy that I get to spend two weeks in Paris; people flit in and flit out of places-‘36 hours in Barcelona’ or a ‘Weekend in Athens’ kind of visits. But, I am not a flitter and I cannot do that to Paris anyway. Paris is a sumptuous treat, best had in small bites. It stimulates all the senses; with it’s sights, sounds, smells and tastes, it’s food displayed so alluringly that it always tempts you, the myriad visual arts, music and opera, -all rich and delectable.

I am also a slow traveler. I like to wander aimlessly. I like getting off at ‘Bastille’ (metro) not because I have anywhere specific to go but because I have not done that before. I particularly like to get lost. I like to lose sense of time (which I did successfully, I was in an airport looking at the date on a giant screen thinking, ‘it is the 19 th, how interesting and it is August, why I had forgotten that and ah!, it is the year 2007, is it?’). I like to watch people-people with jobs no doubt- go by. I like to experience things with all my senses. But, most of all with the great cities of the world, which are recurrent themes in popular culture and world events, I like to spend time forming my own impressions and understandings of these places.

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I wonder why the Parisians have a bad reputation. They seem friendly enough to me. Not just ordinary friendly, but the will-rush-to-help-me-if-I-have-problem-opening-doors-or-look-lost kind of friendly. But, that may have been me; women even remotely tolerable looking get good treatment or so it has been theorized. So, I cannot definitively comment on this one but am happy to find likeable people.

But something about the nature of the Parisian is revealed by the fact that their first reaction to anything seems to be disapproval. They did not like the Impressionists, hated the Eiffel tower and more recently the glass pyramid. But, they do seem to come around later though I am not sure of the reasons or how the coming around process works. But, the good thing is that they come around.

In terms of fashion, I notice a touch of the whimsical and a focus on accessories. I did not see a single woman in a business suit or something semi-formal, which is a little odd. It is all a tad too informal. Even the newsreaders are reading the news clad in avant-garde creations (which are shocking for someone whose benchmark would be BBC). Avant-garde styles are excellent from the viewpoint of creativity but the aesthetics are often not pleasing and some times they are just plain horrendous. Further, the problem here is that you start life as a young girl, whimsical and fashionable; but this is sort of thing addictive as cocaine, you cannot stop, one day you are sixty, still doing the gothic eyes and gold shoes and then you are just scaring the public.

To me they seem relatively less celebrity obsessed, they don’t seem to have a compulsive desire to do something, even on long journeys, they can simply sit, possibly thinking or may be not, but they don’t have to read or talk or do something, mobile phones are not very visible and the place is full of healthy and supremely bonny babies.

As for the visitors to Paris, even in an age of cheap and easy travel, Paris seems to be an aspirational destination for many tourists. There is a sense of happiness and achievement in having made it here for the early middle aged couple, possibly John and Sally, probably accountants in their native United States, who have always dreamed of going to Paris since they were high school sweet hearts, eighteen years later they are here and they seem to be enjoying it kind of visitors. Then there are the Gino, perhaps a plumber in his native Philippines, with his wife Nikki, clicking photos, joyously posing in front anything that has the faintest touch of artsy, upload the photos on a photo sharing website and send the link to his friends kind of tourists. Then there are the many many young teens and pre teens, mainly from the EU region, being shepherded around by anxious mothers who want to give their offspring that vital dose of culture. Then there are the people like me; vaguely creative types who hope to find their spiritual home here. These are the people in Paris.

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I am surprised by how comfortable I am, how at home. I expected to like and admire Paris but not enjoy it.

I realize that I have a lot of what it takes to be a good traveler. I am curious, excited and open-minded. I have the happy gift of not missing anything; I occasionally crave sambhar and rasam but I am good for 2-3 months eating anything as long as it is healthy and vegetarian. I am happy traveling on my own, so if my plans are subject to any restrictions at least they are all my own. I make friends easily and I revel in the solitude when I am alone.

This is also the best time in my life to travel; not being attached-to employment or any person- is very liberating. My friends and colleagues write to me and call me reasonably regularly, so I do feel connected. In fact, it is a perfect state of being as I feel the pleasure of belonging but not the pain of longing.

Never do I have the desire to be “home”. Home is comfort, home is belonging, home is people you know, home is people who care, home is a routine-a place to go to and a place to return to. It is not necessary that these things can be found only in the place that is designated as “home”. Home to me is the spot that I am standing in and friend is the person next to me. I could be happy just about anywhere.

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To be continued