And so it's begun. Internet taken care of, electricity is just waiting for the date to check my counter, and more notably --
some of the furniture has begun to leave for new homes.
Two folding chairs, and half my coffee table, to be precise.
They were packed up and strapped to Andreas' back ("I will tell them that these chairs came all the way from a monstre in Paris!") and bundled into a train heading for Germany last night.
The trip to the train station was an adventure in itself, of course, Andreas had to refuse to let me carry the smaller bag because it was TOOO HEAVY and so of course I had to insist. (It was filled with bottles and books)
My arms are very sore, and there's a large bruise on my hip from carrying it like a squirming five-year-old child, but it only had one grip and was shaped roughly like little Vincent when he curls into a foetal position from laughing too hard.
"monstre, you have strong arms like a mother"
"That's from hugging"
"Canadians are SO cool"
After seeing off the boy, it was girl's night. Maja and I headed off into town to find Cristal and Wallace and we ended up in this tiny Indian restaurant, gorging on spicy things.
Of course, they toned down the spices for french people, and at Cristal's urging I politely asked if they could add a little more red to my shrimp.
They did, and watched me taste it, and not react.
Much commotion ensued, an audible uproar arose from the kitchen, and then this steaming bowl of something intimidatingly flame-coloured was handed over reverently, and everyone stood watching.
The waiter, the dishwasher and cook (and his wife!) who'd come out into the dining room, my friends, the other patrons...
I swallowed and dipped in a piece of Nan, and tried to prepare to suffer.
It was delicious. It was perfect. It was exactly the masala spice that Kruti's mom used to make with me. Pungent and just enough tomato and just enough spice and just enough cilantro to wake up my senses but not send me gulping for beer.
The waiter's eyebrows went and hid in his hairline, and the moment passed, the cook came to shake my hand and congratulate me in broken english. "You're obviously not from around here, he said..."
And Wallace answered "not for long, at any rate."
We ate and laughed and told a myriad of stories, like how half the cabs I've taken in Paris always forget to turn on the meter.
"It's because of your face" announced Cristal.
"It's more likely the hour at which I take them, I think, ma ch�re. There are far more beautiful women, painted and perfect, climbing into these same taxis."
"Ahhh, but you're not painted."
The affection in her voice was tangible.
I blushed and wiped tears on my sweatshirt, and grabbed my girls by the arm before wandering out into the street hours after we'd walked in, stopping to again shake hands with the entire staff of the "Samsara" who had lined up by the door.
I didn't believe a word of what she'd said, but... I stood amidst the imposing stone of the 1er, and felt a different sort of beautiful. The loved kind.
We walked to the furthest metro we could think of, along the Quaies de Seine, past the beaches and partyers and monuments, past a rodent pet shop, past a carnivorous plant shop, past smiling winos and grimacing bourgeois girls.
And we sang. Maja tried to teach me (it's difficult without the tablature to visualize what I'm singing) the love song from Carmen, we did our entire Edith Piaf repertoire with Cristal, a few drinking songs, a few geek songs, and then we were at the m�tro and going in different directions.
We lingered. We took photos. They dressed me up in Cristal's bright red hat, and we hugged REAL hugs and took more pictures of hugging and we promised that it wasn't goodbye but only "au revoir" and Wallace ordered me to return SOON, and promised to try to find an internship in Canada next spring, and Cristal looked me straight on and announced just how sick of the city she was, and how she refused to live in it without a monstre.
On opposite sides of the m�tro platform, we sang one last rendition of "Milord" and both trains arrived and we kept singing into the doors as the cars pulled away from each other.
Maja and I sat down, sighed, and instantly broke into "Stairway to heaven", much to the amusement of an american couple behind us.
When we started "Stand by me" (with a courageous attempt at harmonizing), they joined in, then the couple next to them, and then the entire car.
That's the first time that's ever happened, the entire car, not looking at each other, not really acknowledging anything, but singing all together to some nostalgic campfire song.
When it was finished, we sang "Carmen" again and emerged, grinning and flushed into my neighbourhood to a backdrop of sudden applause.
I was still thinking about Cristal and her sudden vehemence that she needs to leave.
It's typical, though, that a monstre would leave it all behind, the bed, the shelves, the furniture and glassware and pots and pans and everything
except my towel
my books
and my loves.
This morning Maja and I traded excercises, she showed me her morning routine for breathing and stretching, I showed her the corresponding bits of katas that I could still remember.
It would appear that every passionate discipline begins with a toning of the body.
She twists her hips this way, I twist mine that way.
It would appear that I am far too flexible. I figure it's the lack of muscle getting in the way.
Either way, Maja and I would have made good roommates, as we'd once considered staying an extra year and finding a bigger place together.
Instead, we get one night, and we get a piece of this afternoon before I walk her to her trainstation
and then I'm back to focusing my energies on my own proper getaway.
I have a list of worried emails from the grapevine "will we get one last chance to see you before you leave?" and most of them (except perhaps Tuan and a few others who've made it clear that they just want to know if I'm willing to rescind the last time I refused to sleep with them) are getting the cut-and-paste "yes, as soon as I'm organized and know when everything's happening..."
At least this way I have my email invite list all ready.
What I want to know is how there came to be so many of them, in what seems so short a time...
I have a meeting with the bank first thing Wednesday morning to pay off my loan and discuss how to work the transfer, Mr. Van Der Poel is on vacation until then.
I stopped by my cave to say goodbye and the lady who never laughs (not even when Mr. Pyke was visiting) smiled at me and made a gift of the Champagne that I had come to purchase. One Chardonnay, and one Pinot Noir, in her fanciest bottles.
I waved at the little boys that lean out their window, screaming, when I walk by every day. My arms protested the effort, my heart memorized the moment for the hundredth time.
I said goodbye to the woman at the boulangerie who offered me a goodbye petit four.
And now I am again facing the brave sun bouncing off the stone of my cour, my heart awash with wonder,
And I have the urge to say goodbye to even my garbage bins.
I haven't called my cousins yet, not the ones, here, not the ones in the south, not the ones in Brusges, I haven't called the Brussels contingent of partyers, I haven't called a handful of people here or in Marseilles or Limoges or London or Germany or anywhere I won't get the chance to hop a train to for a while.
I tell myself that I am waiting for my flight date.
I tell myself a lot of things.