Stepping on Crunchy Leaves in Paris

A week in London. I joined in the family celebration of my Grand'maman's eighty-ninth birthday. Another day I spent walking around London with my brother, ambling from Kensington High Street all the way down to Tower Bridge. Watched the 39 Steps, the comedic version, with the family and I was pleasantly surprised at how well the director pulled off the comedy in this version. And then a night at the Comedy Store with my brother and cousin.

A week in sunless, damp and cool London. Quite the change from warm and sunny Thessaloniki, with its buzzing atmosphere of students sipping frappes and beers. London seems so tame compared to Thessaloniki.

But now I am in Paris. My first night in the city and I met an American fellow who was leaving the next day and would I like to walk around Paris with him since he was going to take one last look before his departure? From the Louvre we walked to the Eiffel tower, ambled towards the Obelisk and back home. It was a pleasant walk to the Eiffel Tower. By the time we got there the lights were off and so the shadow of the collosal structure stood against the night sky. It became quite chilly and our feet were getting sore. After three chilly, sore hours the bed was home. In the morning, my breakfast consisted of a bowl of coffee, slices of bread with jam, juice, and some really sour yougurt.

I met up with a friend from Budapest, but there was a tone of trepidation from him about my crashing on his couch as if the distance in time since we met had somehow altered his perception. And he only had one key. And he was studying. So now I am sleeping at another friend's house where I have my own key and can come and go as I please.

Last night, H took me down into the catacombs. Down we went twenty feet under the surface. It was hard to believe how far down we were. It was comfortable in those dark galleries, graffiti pockmarked along the walls, signs of the streets that were running up above our heads. We met some other cataphiles in a bunker and hung out for awhile. H had explained that parties were regularily held in some bunkers and can you imagine the place full of people with lights and sound? We walked for long periods, taking a break in the Break Room that had been especially made for the men who had to fortify the walls in order to prevent the quarries from collapsing. There was a well at the bottom of ten feet. A man with a friend nearby rappelled down to see and fell unconscious because there was no oxygen in the well. He survived, but it was a scary idea to fall in to that clear water and be gone too soon. Finally, around five in the morning, we emerged from the depths up through a man hole onto a street very far away from our original destination. How strange to be back in society! It was comforting to be down there in the dark and silence.

Today I plan my travels to Belgium and recuperate from last night. I am quite exhausted.