I’ve always taken sleep for granted. You lie down. You read for a while. You think about the day that has passed and the one approaching. You fall asleep. You dream sometimes. You wake up refreshed. Exactly the way it is described in the FLE text books : Je me couche. Je lis un roman pendant une demie heure. Je pense à ma journée et je m’endors. Je rêve des vacances, des belles journées, de mes amis etc et je me réveille le lendemain en pleine forme.
Simple as that !
Not really.
After having been through a spell of insomnia where I slept barely 2 to 3 hours a day for several months, and had to drive myself to the brink of collapsing from sheer fatigue, in order to fall asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow, and yet find myself awakened rudely just a couple of hours later because of a nightmare that left me in cold sweat, I have a new-appreciation for sleep. I know how precious it is and what a delight it is to be able to sleep through the night without being disturbed by nasty thoughts and nastier nightmares that come creeping up on you and plant fears that are difficult to shake off.
Since I’ve come here, the nightmares have reduced, and most nights I fall asleep soon after getting into bed. But I still don’t sleep like I used to sleep; I still don’t sleep like a baby. My sleep is fraught with the stress of pending work, of expectations I have from myself, of wrong decisions, of unfinished work, of unrealised dreams, of regrets for the past and fears for the future. My sleep is fragmented with wisps of the nightmares from last year and strange, illogical dreams that make me wonder what my unconscious and sub-conscious are trying to tell me – for instance, the other night I dreamt of a friend, with whom I used to love arguing and of course we were arguing in the dream. Only, we were both sporting grey hair and very obviously in our 60s! I was berating my friend’s choice of film, grumbling about having being dragged to yet another terrible film with Abhishek Bacchan (don’t ask me) and Mahima Chaudhary (I’m just as flabbergasted as you) and not having learnt the lesson after Dus (that was the last Bollywood flick I saw with this friend)… I woke up just as I started beating up my friend in the dream! Now tell me what to make of that!
Last night as well, my sleep was broken several times during the night because I knew I had a pile of work waiting for me and when I finally had to get up at 6 am, I couldn’t drag myself out of bed because I was still feeling exhausted. Perhaps more so…
Is there some special fast or prayer we can chant to please the gods of sleep? If there is, please tell me! I’m willing to change my stance on these dogmatic rituals if it brings back my sleep.
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Thursday, March 19, 2009
Artistic Perambulations
I’ve always appreciated art from a purely subjective point of view, depending on whether the oeuvre pleased my limited aesthetic senses or not. Even in my relatively deeper knowledge of the Impressionists, there was a vast ignorance. I could easily identify an Impressionist painting and most of the time, even identify the artist. However, if you asked me to describe the work objectively and analytically, I’d fail completely. So when I was offered the opportunity to take up a course entitled “Initiation to the History of Art” I jumped at the opportunity. I must admit feeling very lost in the first two classes, having absolutely no clue what the professor was rambling about and staring almost morosely at the works she presented. It was only the presence of 2 sessions on Impressionism in the course programme that held me back. Two months, i.e, 8 sessions, later I’m so incredibly glad I stuck with the course, for I now understand and appreciate art better and I can finally talk about it without sounding like a dim-witted blonde gasping about how pretty a painting is, like it was a mannequin on 5th avenue!
We’ve worked our way through Classicism, Rococo, Neo-classicism, Romanticism and Realism, touching briefly on the reflection of the various periods and style on architecture and sculpture before reaching Impressionism. My excitement last week when the professor showed us a slide of Monet’s “Impression of a Sunrise” followed by Renoir’s “Luncheon of a Boating Party” was almost unbridled and I can’t wait to move onto Chagall and Matisse, both artists I know and appreciate, albeit superficially. But even before we reached my favourite artists, I was exposed to works of art that I found myself appreciating; only this time with the appreciation came a certain comprehension of the style.
For instance, this particular work by Fragonard, titled “Le Verrou” (The Lock) which presents a couple in a passionate embrace, exploits a theme frequented by the artists in the Rococo period, i.e. liberty of expression seen here in the exaggerated passion between the couple, the bed in a very obviously dishevelled condition, the choice of the deep reds contrasted with the whites and the symbols of the discarded flower and the apple. Coming on the heels of the classicists, the Rococo artists rebelled against all rules and this liberty of expression is seen in their choice of subjects. A stark contrast to the mythological and allegorical subjects of the classicists, the Rococo artists chose subjects and themes from private lives.
Another work I found myself appreciating for its sheer sensuality and eroticism was Ingres’ “La Grande Odalisque” in which the female form is presented in its voluptuous beauty with an obvious disregard to proportions. Yet it is not ugly for there is a certain sensuality expressed through the use of soft tones, the expression on the subject’s face as well as the smooth, flawless lines of the form. David’s “Madame de Récamier” an intimate yet expressive portrait of a woman reclining on a chaise lounge, dressed in an elegant Roman style is another work I appreciated. Falling under the neo-classical style, the work clearly reflects the return to a certain restraint and respect for the form, a deeper contemplation on beauty coupled with simplicity of form.
We’ve worked our way through Classicism, Rococo, Neo-classicism, Romanticism and Realism, touching briefly on the reflection of the various periods and style on architecture and sculpture before reaching Impressionism. My excitement last week when the professor showed us a slide of Monet’s “Impression of a Sunrise” followed by Renoir’s “Luncheon of a Boating Party” was almost unbridled and I can’t wait to move onto Chagall and Matisse, both artists I know and appreciate, albeit superficially. But even before we reached my favourite artists, I was exposed to works of art that I found myself appreciating; only this time with the appreciation came a certain comprehension of the style.
For instance, this particular work by Fragonard, titled “Le Verrou” (The Lock) which presents a couple in a passionate embrace, exploits a theme frequented by the artists in the Rococo period, i.e. liberty of expression seen here in the exaggerated passion between the couple, the bed in a very obviously dishevelled condition, the choice of the deep reds contrasted with the whites and the symbols of the discarded flower and the apple. Coming on the heels of the classicists, the Rococo artists rebelled against all rules and this liberty of expression is seen in their choice of subjects. A stark contrast to the mythological and allegorical subjects of the classicists, the Rococo artists chose subjects and themes from private lives.
Another work I found myself appreciating for its sheer sensuality and eroticism was Ingres’ “La Grande Odalisque” in which the female form is presented in its voluptuous beauty with an obvious disregard to proportions. Yet it is not ugly for there is a certain sensuality expressed through the use of soft tones, the expression on the subject’s face as well as the smooth, flawless lines of the form. David’s “Madame de Récamier” an intimate yet expressive portrait of a woman reclining on a chaise lounge, dressed in an elegant Roman style is another work I appreciated. Falling under the neo-classical style, the work clearly reflects the return to a certain restraint and respect for the form, a deeper contemplation on beauty coupled with simplicity of form.
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Impressions of a Sunset
Sometime back I bemoaned the fact that I hadn’t seen the sun rise nor set over the majestic Alps that surround Grenoble. With the weather slowly changing for the better and spring creeping into the city, pushing winter out, there has been a marked change in the skies. Clear blue skies meet my eyes every day with barely a cloud to mar the horizons and the mountains seem to be standing out prouder, outlined starkly against the almost startling azur of the skies. The days are slowly and progressively getting longer, daylight lasting till almost 19:30 before twilight softly descends on the city. And so it was, that a few days back walking back towards the residence I found myself staring up at the most glorious vision. I can not do justice to the sheer poetry of the scene I witnessed, but I shall try…as I watched the molten ball of orange slowly descended, leaving in its wake a startlingly warm sheath in pinkish-orange which slowly revealed a more passionate magenta which finally transformed into a deep violet before twilight crept up to cover the city in its enigmatic aura.
I’ve taken to cooking my food a little later just so that I can watch this magnificent display of colours as my dinner simmers and bubbles and I climb back up to my room, with a soul that is sighing with content and satisfaction.
I’ve taken to cooking my food a little later just so that I can watch this magnificent display of colours as my dinner simmers and bubbles and I climb back up to my room, with a soul that is sighing with content and satisfaction.
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
From the Dairy of a Public Transport Commuter
I have always commuted primarily by public transport, wherever I’ve lived – be it Bombay, Magdeburg, Pune, Montpellier or Grenoble, I’ve mostly relied on the public transport system to get me from Point A to point B. I have been taking buses, trams, metros and local trains ever since I left school and completely believe in the importance of public transport. Every morning, since the past two months I walk down to the bus stop and wait for bus number 26 to roll down the road and transport me to the University. In the evening I repeat the process in the opposite direction. It’s convenient. It’s comfortable. The drivers are courteous and now that they’ve started recognising me, a smile accompanies the perfunctory “Bonjour” when I enter the bus. My only grouse is the fact that there are no buses on the road after 21:00 which means that stepping out during the week and going to the centre-ville in the evening is more than a little difficult, especially if you don’t live near the tram lines.
Each and every time I enter a bus here, I’m impressed. The punctuality and regularity of public transport has ceased to impress me…after the first month in Germany I had started taking it for granted. What impresses me is the smoothness with which the bus drivers slide into the exact position in front of the bus stop, aligning the bus so perfectly with the pavement. Of course there is also the fact that proper pavements and bus stops exist in the first place is also important. Day after day I take delight in watching the drivers casually steer the bus into position so that we can just step straight into the bus, which but of course is at the same level as the pavement! But I’m even more impressed at the obvious thought that has gone into the design and engineering of the buses, that has made it an easy mode of transport for the handicapped. A platform slides out from the central door to form a ramp from the pavement into the bus so that people bound to the wheelchair can enter the bus easily and there are specially marked open spaces in the bus for them, with an easily accessible button to get the driver’s attention when the person wants to get off the bus.
Coming from a country where public transport so desperately needs to be developed, not only from the point of view of it being the most sensible and cost effective way of commuting to and from work but also from the point of view of reducing the pollution, I am forced to bemoan our sorry public transport system. The huge environmental benefits do not need to be underlined. Neither does the fact that it will reduce number of vehicles on the road (notice I don’t just say cars, but vehicles since there are enough 2 wheeled menaces darting around our roads), and solve the problem of congested roads, traffic jams and unbelievably long hours of daily commute. As for the handicapped, what use is it allowing them to enter the bus from the exit and marking special seats for them, when the buses are designed in a way that they can’t possibly enter them? How is a person bound to a wheelchair supposed to get into a bus when sometimes even I with my two sets of able limbs find it difficult to climb into the bus? I wonder if we’ll ever get to the stage of boasting of reliable and efficient public transport system in India.
Each and every time I enter a bus here, I’m impressed. The punctuality and regularity of public transport has ceased to impress me…after the first month in Germany I had started taking it for granted. What impresses me is the smoothness with which the bus drivers slide into the exact position in front of the bus stop, aligning the bus so perfectly with the pavement. Of course there is also the fact that proper pavements and bus stops exist in the first place is also important. Day after day I take delight in watching the drivers casually steer the bus into position so that we can just step straight into the bus, which but of course is at the same level as the pavement! But I’m even more impressed at the obvious thought that has gone into the design and engineering of the buses, that has made it an easy mode of transport for the handicapped. A platform slides out from the central door to form a ramp from the pavement into the bus so that people bound to the wheelchair can enter the bus easily and there are specially marked open spaces in the bus for them, with an easily accessible button to get the driver’s attention when the person wants to get off the bus.
Coming from a country where public transport so desperately needs to be developed, not only from the point of view of it being the most sensible and cost effective way of commuting to and from work but also from the point of view of reducing the pollution, I am forced to bemoan our sorry public transport system. The huge environmental benefits do not need to be underlined. Neither does the fact that it will reduce number of vehicles on the road (notice I don’t just say cars, but vehicles since there are enough 2 wheeled menaces darting around our roads), and solve the problem of congested roads, traffic jams and unbelievably long hours of daily commute. As for the handicapped, what use is it allowing them to enter the bus from the exit and marking special seats for them, when the buses are designed in a way that they can’t possibly enter them? How is a person bound to a wheelchair supposed to get into a bus when sometimes even I with my two sets of able limbs find it difficult to climb into the bus? I wonder if we’ll ever get to the stage of boasting of reliable and efficient public transport system in India.
Wednesday, March 04, 2009
Tom Dooley - Kingston Trio
A folk song from North Carolina, based on on the murder of a woman named Laura Foster in 1866, Tom Dooley rendered by the Kingston Trio has long been one of my favourite tracks from the Yesteryears. It's one of those tracks that haunts you - literally. Once I start humming the song, I usually can't get it out of my head for the entire day, sometimes days at ends, much like another favourite, I like Chopin by Gazebo...the only difference being the sightly sinister quality of this song, which once even inspired me to write a story (the only one of all the stories I've written that I deem worthy of being read today!)...
Hang down your head, Tom Dooley
Hang down your head and cry
Hang down your head, Tom Dooley
Poor boy, you’re bound to die
I met her
on the mountain, there I took her life
Met her on the mountain, stabbed her
with my knife
Hang down your head, Tom Dooley
Hang down your head
and cry (ah-uh-eye)
Hang down your head, Tom Dooley
Poor boy, you’re bound to die
This time tomorrow,
reckon where I’ll be
Hadn’t-a been for Grayson,
I’d-a been in Tennessee (well now, boy)
Hang down
(your head) your head (Dooley) and cry
Hang down your head and cry (ah poor
boy, ah well-ah)
Hang down (your head) your head (Dooley) and cry
Poor boy, you’re bound to die (ah well now boy)
Hang down (your head) your
head (Dooley) and cry
Hang down your head and cry (ah poor boy, ah well-ah)
Hang down (your head) your head (Dooley) and cry
Poor boy, you’re bound to die
This time tomorrow,
reckon where I’ll be
Down in some lonesome valley
hangin’ from a white oak tree
Hang down your head,
Tom Dooley
Hang down your head and cry (ah-uh-eye)
Hang down your head,
Tom Dooley
Poor boy, you’re bound to die (ah well now boy)
Hang down
your head, Tom Dooley
Hang down your head and cry (poor boy ah well uh)
Hang down your head, Tom Dooley
Poor boy, you’re bound to die
Poor boy, you’re bound to die
Poor boy, you’re bound to die
Poor boy, you’re bound to .......die
Tuesday, March 03, 2009
Let's Network
It's all about networking these days, about the people you know and the people they know, so on and so forth. And about keeping tabs on those hundreds of people, saying the right things to them, scratching their egos in the right place and playing Mr/Miss Popular/Cool to the hilt. You find better opportunities, professional and personal, by networking. So if you do not know how to network, than I'm sorry that is the door for the socially handicapped.
I first joined a social networking site way back in 2003 at the insistence of a friend who thought it might help me meet like-minded people. With my acute levels of social handicap, I was out of there before the site even registered they had a new member. Several years down the line, that networking site was bought over by Google and suddenly became the place to be amongst the "with-it" crowd. You guessed it right. Orkut. So grudgingly I went back - after all so many of my "friends" were already there, as were several new "contacts" and this was an easy way to "connect." My second tryst lasted approximately a year, in which I found myself getting increasingly disgusted by the superficiality of relationships. Facebook had just about started making its appearance and was rapidly creating one of those cool quotient barriers between Orkut members and Facebook members. Not wanting to be discriminated I judiciously maintained accounts in both places, despite not wanting to be in contact with most of the people on my "friend" list. One thought kept echoing in my head constantly - if I really wanted to be in touch with these people, I would have found a way to stay in touch with them. Do I really need these people and do I really have to exchange trivial nonsense with them? I grew even more distressed when close friends started choosing to "scrap" me in such a public domain instead of writing emails or calling and was downright alarmed when I discovered that I was being stalked through Orkut.
Exit social networking sites. I cursed myself for trying to fit into a niche obviously not carved for me - who was I kidding? I wasn't made for these kind of social skills. I was better off in my little puddle, to borrow a term from a new friend. And happy I stayed, content in the reality and the depth of the friendships I had in the real world. I couldn't boast of having 250 contacts in my friend list, 50 of which claimed I was their best friend and said that my entrance would make any room crackle with electricity. But I could boast of having a handful of close friends who accepted me as I was even if my entrance cast a huge shadow on the room.
I returned to the world of social networking sites around 6 months ago, once again on the insistence of a very close friend. This time around I'm very cautious in accepting people and frequently clean up my contacts list by deleting people who are mere decoration on that list. I'm obssessed with cleanliness and organisation in any case, so why not exercise that mania in my contacts list as well? I must admit though, my social skills seem to have improved and I would even dare to call myself vaguely cool this time around! Admittedly most of the contacts on the list are students who have chosen this medium to stay in touch with me and most of the activity on my Facebook wall stems from my students, some of whom have even crossed over that frontier to be categorised as friends. Have I really rekindled the fire in long forgotten friendships? Not really. It's amusing to touch base with someone after ten years and update myself on their current status. But frankly it's at such an impersonal level I usually tend to forget the details even before I've finished reading them. But I must not be completely harsh. Facebook has helped me re-establish links that I once let go - of course I built on those links outside Facebook, so I am not ready to give the entire credit to Facebook.
I spend at least a couple of hours on Facebook these days, doing what I abhorred. Networking. It's a wonderful place to get information from people who are in the right place at the right time. It's a wonderful place to get your ego stroked (at least for me!). It's a wonderful place to spy on people. Spy on them...yes. Though not as open as Orkut, Facebook is still a largely public domain and it sometimes appalls me when people put up such personal details and intimate photos on their Facebook accounts. Trawling through albums of completely random contacts, I found myself almost scandalised at times to suddenly find myself confronted with images of a couple in a passionate lip-lock or a someone posing suggestively for their lover in provocative lingerie. Scandalised, disconcerted and distressed. Distressed because I don't want to be privy to your private life and don't want you to force your intimate moments into my face. Distressed also because I wondered if I'm regressing by this completely unproductive activity...and I felt the bile rising in my throat.
Since the last few days I've pulled myself back and regained the perspective I'd lost after coming to France and finding myself suddenly thrown into this social void where I spend hours (and sometimes days) with only myself for company and started seeking diversion on Facebook. It isn't the evil I'm tempted to paint it as, but it isn't a life sustaining force either. It can not substiute real conversations, real relationships and real people. It is a social networking site. A place to be seen and heard so that people do not forget my existence. A place to network. That's all. Let me not forget that.
I first joined a social networking site way back in 2003 at the insistence of a friend who thought it might help me meet like-minded people. With my acute levels of social handicap, I was out of there before the site even registered they had a new member. Several years down the line, that networking site was bought over by Google and suddenly became the place to be amongst the "with-it" crowd. You guessed it right. Orkut. So grudgingly I went back - after all so many of my "friends" were already there, as were several new "contacts" and this was an easy way to "connect." My second tryst lasted approximately a year, in which I found myself getting increasingly disgusted by the superficiality of relationships. Facebook had just about started making its appearance and was rapidly creating one of those cool quotient barriers between Orkut members and Facebook members. Not wanting to be discriminated I judiciously maintained accounts in both places, despite not wanting to be in contact with most of the people on my "friend" list. One thought kept echoing in my head constantly - if I really wanted to be in touch with these people, I would have found a way to stay in touch with them. Do I really need these people and do I really have to exchange trivial nonsense with them? I grew even more distressed when close friends started choosing to "scrap" me in such a public domain instead of writing emails or calling and was downright alarmed when I discovered that I was being stalked through Orkut.
Exit social networking sites. I cursed myself for trying to fit into a niche obviously not carved for me - who was I kidding? I wasn't made for these kind of social skills. I was better off in my little puddle, to borrow a term from a new friend. And happy I stayed, content in the reality and the depth of the friendships I had in the real world. I couldn't boast of having 250 contacts in my friend list, 50 of which claimed I was their best friend and said that my entrance would make any room crackle with electricity. But I could boast of having a handful of close friends who accepted me as I was even if my entrance cast a huge shadow on the room.
I returned to the world of social networking sites around 6 months ago, once again on the insistence of a very close friend. This time around I'm very cautious in accepting people and frequently clean up my contacts list by deleting people who are mere decoration on that list. I'm obssessed with cleanliness and organisation in any case, so why not exercise that mania in my contacts list as well? I must admit though, my social skills seem to have improved and I would even dare to call myself vaguely cool this time around! Admittedly most of the contacts on the list are students who have chosen this medium to stay in touch with me and most of the activity on my Facebook wall stems from my students, some of whom have even crossed over that frontier to be categorised as friends. Have I really rekindled the fire in long forgotten friendships? Not really. It's amusing to touch base with someone after ten years and update myself on their current status. But frankly it's at such an impersonal level I usually tend to forget the details even before I've finished reading them. But I must not be completely harsh. Facebook has helped me re-establish links that I once let go - of course I built on those links outside Facebook, so I am not ready to give the entire credit to Facebook.
I spend at least a couple of hours on Facebook these days, doing what I abhorred. Networking. It's a wonderful place to get information from people who are in the right place at the right time. It's a wonderful place to get your ego stroked (at least for me!). It's a wonderful place to spy on people. Spy on them...yes. Though not as open as Orkut, Facebook is still a largely public domain and it sometimes appalls me when people put up such personal details and intimate photos on their Facebook accounts. Trawling through albums of completely random contacts, I found myself almost scandalised at times to suddenly find myself confronted with images of a couple in a passionate lip-lock or a someone posing suggestively for their lover in provocative lingerie. Scandalised, disconcerted and distressed. Distressed because I don't want to be privy to your private life and don't want you to force your intimate moments into my face. Distressed also because I wondered if I'm regressing by this completely unproductive activity...and I felt the bile rising in my throat.
Since the last few days I've pulled myself back and regained the perspective I'd lost after coming to France and finding myself suddenly thrown into this social void where I spend hours (and sometimes days) with only myself for company and started seeking diversion on Facebook. It isn't the evil I'm tempted to paint it as, but it isn't a life sustaining force either. It can not substiute real conversations, real relationships and real people. It is a social networking site. A place to be seen and heard so that people do not forget my existence. A place to network. That's all. Let me not forget that.
Monday, March 02, 2009
Spring is here
The day my passport got stamped with my latest visa, I was expecting a Schengen visa and had several plans to cross over the Franco-Italian, Franco-Swiss and Franco-German (but of course) borders and travel in Europe like I've done on the previous occassions. So when I got a visa only for France, I must admit I was hugely disappointed.
Landing in France to a bitterly cold, grey and wet Paris I wasn't too delighted and my first few weeks in Grenoble didn't stir my soul much, except when I was confronted by the sight of the majestic snow-capped Alps in front of me. The last few weeks have changed all of that - my (almost painfully) short trip to Bordeaux, much akin to my first trip in December 2003 was full of delightful discoveries, both gastronomic and cultural and heart-warming, intelligent conversations. I had left behind a cold and windy Grenoble where they skies were still prominently grey and the nasty wind pushed me to walk fast even when I was tired and wanted to drag my feet back home. Bordeaux was delightful with clear blue skies, streets bustling with activity and cafés and bars overflowing with people having animated discussions, smiling, frowning, waving their cigarettes about, wholesomely alive! There was already a hint of spring in the air and I fell in love all over again with the city.
I came back to a city which was still bitterly cold, but over the past week it has gotten progressively warmer...from last monday, when one of my professor's asked if we've noticed the first primevères, to this saturday when every green patch in the city had primevères pushing their way stubbornly through the earth to announce the arrival of spring. I stepped out on saturday seeking information and had intended to be back in my room within a couple of hours - I ended up staying out the entire afternoon for it was a lovely spring afternoon. A sunny day with a clear blue sky and not a cloud to mar its glorious beauty, a cool breeze blowing in from the Alps which are still capped with snow - it was the perfect day for a picnic and I could see that most people were of the same opinion. For the first time since I got here, I saw all the squares in the city were crowded, the cafés and bars overflowing, the air buzzing with animated conversation, the city alive with activity. I decided to leave my usual labyrinth of streets in the centre-ville and set off to explore a slightly different part of the old city and found myself climbing the Bastille to get a better view of the city stretched out below me and later stumbled on to charming squares previously unvisited...and I fell in love with the city. I returned home several lovely hours later, my feet tired from walking almost 4 hours, but my soul and my senses satisfied from all they had experienced and I must admit, I felt the slightest pinch of sadness that I didn't have anybody with whom I could share this perfect day.
Spring is here - and with it, the time for beautiful days which make beautiful memories. Amen.
Landing in France to a bitterly cold, grey and wet Paris I wasn't too delighted and my first few weeks in Grenoble didn't stir my soul much, except when I was confronted by the sight of the majestic snow-capped Alps in front of me. The last few weeks have changed all of that - my (almost painfully) short trip to Bordeaux, much akin to my first trip in December 2003 was full of delightful discoveries, both gastronomic and cultural and heart-warming, intelligent conversations. I had left behind a cold and windy Grenoble where they skies were still prominently grey and the nasty wind pushed me to walk fast even when I was tired and wanted to drag my feet back home. Bordeaux was delightful with clear blue skies, streets bustling with activity and cafés and bars overflowing with people having animated discussions, smiling, frowning, waving their cigarettes about, wholesomely alive! There was already a hint of spring in the air and I fell in love all over again with the city.
I came back to a city which was still bitterly cold, but over the past week it has gotten progressively warmer...from last monday, when one of my professor's asked if we've noticed the first primevères, to this saturday when every green patch in the city had primevères pushing their way stubbornly through the earth to announce the arrival of spring. I stepped out on saturday seeking information and had intended to be back in my room within a couple of hours - I ended up staying out the entire afternoon for it was a lovely spring afternoon. A sunny day with a clear blue sky and not a cloud to mar its glorious beauty, a cool breeze blowing in from the Alps which are still capped with snow - it was the perfect day for a picnic and I could see that most people were of the same opinion. For the first time since I got here, I saw all the squares in the city were crowded, the cafés and bars overflowing, the air buzzing with animated conversation, the city alive with activity. I decided to leave my usual labyrinth of streets in the centre-ville and set off to explore a slightly different part of the old city and found myself climbing the Bastille to get a better view of the city stretched out below me and later stumbled on to charming squares previously unvisited...and I fell in love with the city. I returned home several lovely hours later, my feet tired from walking almost 4 hours, but my soul and my senses satisfied from all they had experienced and I must admit, I felt the slightest pinch of sadness that I didn't have anybody with whom I could share this perfect day.
Spring is here - and with it, the time for beautiful days which make beautiful memories. Amen.
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