The PARIS OF THE PAST

Ahhhh, Paris 1975. "Franco assassin" spray painted on the plywood covering the broken windows on the Champs-Élysées. The riot police taking their positions each night, truncheons and shields. The Parisians gathering inside the cafes to watch. My friends and I standing in front of the buildings that had had their windows broken the night before, figuring the protestors wouldn't hit the same building twice if there was nothing to break. And then waiting, patiently waiting until we just got too bored and sleepy and headed back to our cheap flophouse around the corner.

We'd never hear the riots, for some reason, because I heard the guy next door farting all night, but each morning we'd go back to the Champs-Élysées to see which businesses had been hit while we slept. There was always broken glass to walk around each morning.

From what we understood the protestors would gather each night at the Place de la Bastille and head for the Champs-Élysées. I never saw any of it. I do however have photographs of the police and of the broken windows and graffitied plywood.

Good times. Good times. That's the perspective of a stupid tourist in a place where they don't speak the language and you're in your twenties.


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Ahhhhhhhh...PARIS!

Paris in the spring. Does make one pause with eyes closed and imagine for a moment being there. I've been to Paris twice; once in the spring and once in the late summer.

The trip in the late summer was with two friends. One I am still on good terms with; the other is mostly forgotten.

From the moment we left San Francisco the one got home sick and took it out on the other two for most of the trip. By the time we reached Paris I had had it. We were staying at a hotel on a side street from the Champs-Elysées. Definitely not a 5 star establishment. The walls were so thin you could hear the man in the next room farting. And the wallpaper was like being in a 1960s scene in a movie where everyone is tripping. Bright orange and yellow vertical stripes, floor to ceiling, including the ceiling. Big white polka dots on the stripes. A glass bathroom door that lined up perfectly with the toilet. On the inside of the glass door woodgrain contact paper had been placed so that it aligned with the top of your head when seated on the toilet, the bottom of it aligned with your knees. At some point someone on the toilet must have gotten bored because they scratched two eye holes in the paper. To see what the weather was you stuck your head out into an air shaft.

The wallpaper, the bathroom, the guy next door with the release valve problem all added to the tension until one night I blew a gasket. I went off on the homesick traveler informing her we'd take her to the airport in the morning and she could go home. I didn't want to hear another word from her and I wasn't going to let her ruin the last part of our trip.

My friend looked at me with huge eyes, not believing what she'd just witnessed. I looked at her and said, "Come on! We're out of here!"

And so that is how I ended up spending a very fun and adventurous warm summer night parading along the Champs-Elysées...until the riot police showed up.

Ahh yes, Paris. I would very much like to be there.

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