No! Not the Last, Please!

I write to remember. I remember because I write and revisit memories with my writing. Words and images. In uniting they offer me moments and emotions that would have sadly perished from my mind. So the name of one of my favorite bookstores in Los Angeles brings me a nostalgic feeling: The Last Bookstore. Joy that there is one and sadness that bookstores are probably on the endangered list.

After a quick snap of my shutter, I skip up to the second floor (I am childishly giddy right now). Each step proposing more sections to explore.

I get a grand view of the cavernous, old space, filled with books which I have just combed through.

How exciting… I am entering a labyrinth! Here I will find Science, Fiction & Fantasy. Then Mystery, Thrillers, Tru Crime, and Horror.

I have recently formed part of the jury at a film festival: the Festival Montevideo Fantástico, so Horror is a genre I am partial to.

Many of the genres in the back room are also of my liking: History, Cultural Studies, New Age, Religion, Foreign Language, Business, Travel, and Sports.

You know the Travel section is the one I spent considerable time in.

I love how the books are so artfully displayed, becoming more sculptural than reading material.

I’m not really wondering how they made this tunnel of books but which one I can pluck out without making it all come crumbling down.

Is the spotlight on me right now?

I have no idea of what these are but they seem at home in the horror section.

Art merges with the printed word here. It holds an art collective as well. Am on my way to it now.

As in The Broad, you may not touch the art.

Though you can sit on it.

Photography is an art and I’m happy to see the cameras themselves become one.

Music is an art as well and here, sculpture and music unite.

Art is often political.

Art makes a statement. It was January when I visited but this Christmas tree made out of prescription bottles was not brought down yet. I don’t think this was due to sentimentality; it had a message to relay.

Art makes me contemplative. I’m not into cuss words being used but it seems to be the go-to thing now, to provoke an emotion.

As is the use of animals to elicit emotions.

As I leave the focus goes back to words. The editor in me can’t help but question the “Nuestra Señora la Reina de la Librería Última de Los Angeles” translation from English to Spanish, under this sculpture on the wall.

I say goodbye to this bookstore. I thank it for entertaining me and I’m off to my next adventure.

• 

• 

Down the stairs that run alongside the Angels Flight railway (the shortest railway in the world). Technically it’s a funicular.

And into The Grand Central Market to fill my belly up with German currywurst at Berlin Currywurst remembering having had some in a lounge chair from a vendor on the side of a park in Berlin that had the area covered in sand resembling a beach. Happy memory. It tasted the same!

What next? Follow me!

A Very Strange Unillustrated Morning

As I make my way on the side streets towards the freeway, I have to avoid going over a tabby cat that must have been killed last night. (Yes, it was definitely dead when I saw him). Not a good start to the day.

I could of taken it as an omen. It is Friday the 13th after all, but I choose to see life’s fragility and nurture a determination to live every moment well.

As I crank up my music, I ease myself into the “fast” lane of the freeway, which is bumper to bumper. A Prius catches my attention, a dark electric blue I had wanted mine to be. And I smile because the driver shakes with laughter, covering her mouth with her arm raised in a “v”. I am almost side-by-side to her now. Though she is in fact shaking she’s not laughing, but crying. She brushes the tears forcefully from her eyes. I almost hit the car in front of me. She is oblivious of anything around her . Her signal light goes on. She can’t possibly do this safely in her condition so I slow down significantly, giving her space. She is now in front of me. Her signal light still on. So I help her maneuver lanes by opening some space changing lanes along with her. She’s getting off. Without knowing why, I follow as she exits.

She parks, as do I behind her. I get out of my car and approach hers. I startle her. She lowers her window about an inch, an inquisitive look on her tear-streaked face. She’s a mix, as am I, I don’t much know of what. A thought that everyone should have their DNA test done to possibly eliminate discrimination pops into my head. Her hair, long and semi-straight is not combed. “Are you alright?” What a stupid question I pose. Of course she is not. Her already small eyes recede into her face, her mouth quivers and shapes itself into a grimace. She sobs. I wonder what I’m doing here. “I have a bottle of water in my car. Wait here.” I bring it back and hand it over as she brings the window down. Her naked left hand is placed on my wrist as she grabs the bottle with her right hand, which I notice has huge rings on every finger making her physically as unbalanced as she probably is emotionally. I don’t know what to say. She is looking ahead now, still crying. Stupidly I blurt: “Promise me you won’t drive until you are better”, knowing that it may take a long time and that, in fact, it may never be so. I hold the hand that had held my wrist. I pat it. I ask if she wants me to stay. She briefly and fastly shakes her head no. I go back to my car. I realize that she has not said a word.

I drive two blocks, take a turn and park on a side street. I take a deep breath. I think of how completely useless I have been. I haven’t comforted her, resolved any of her issues, angst, or even know what brought on her crying. I only know that she was in enough pain that she didn’t care that a total stranger saw her breakdown. And though clueless as to the whys of her wallowing in so much sorrow I believe she had a broken heart. Being young, she may not realize there are many more ahead. I drive on.

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I have decided to end my blogs with a song or two. Sometimes related to the blog, sometimes not. For this one, two songs come to mind from an Irish singer, songwriter, musician who displays much empathy and understanding of life. Jamie Lawson was the first act signed to Ed Sheeran’s recording label, Gigerbread Man Records. He became well known by a song that related a lifelong love story: “Wasn’t Expecting That“.

I wish I could have shared “A Little Mercy” and “Sometimes It’s Hard” with the girl:

A Little Mercy

“…There’s no shame in sharing how you’re feeling
There’s no gain in keeping your pain inside

If your sorrows have been left unspoken
Like broken bells, they no longer chime
If you’re coming undone
You won’t be the only one
We all need a little mercy sometimes

Hold on, you’re only a heartbeat away
From turning your world around
Hold on, nothing’s ever over
No matter how far you fall down
All that once was lost can be found…”

Sometimes It’s Hard

“Sometimes it’s hard to get through your working day
And find the words to say
Everything’s okay
When you feel differently inside
You feel you’re gonna break…

“Rest assured this will not last,
Rain that falls it has to pass,
And the sun, it will shine again…”

 

 

Rudeness, Pickpocket and Scam Alert!

The dreaded day is here.  The day Soleil    and we part.  The day we leave our smurf bust.  The day Fifi stays behind.  She certainly has made herself at home.   The last day when I look out the window or off the deck and will be reminded by the Eiffel Tower that I am in Paris. 

I didn’t want the day to come but it’s here.

I very unwillingly pack.  We cross the plank with our luggage and place it in the garden.  One step further from our beloved péniche.    Fifi huddles behind it, probably because of the shade, but I am sure it is because she wants to come with us.   

I pick her up and go to our neighbor in the boat next to us and ask him if she is his and what her name is.  Fifi is now Yaya.   I think Fifi fits her better.

Up until now we have felt nothing but safe and have been on the receiving end of helpfulness and courteousness.  We walk to the station of Passy  where in one swoop all that changes.  We are carrying substantial luggage that can only pass through the gate so I show our ticket and our luggage and ask the attendant how we can go through the gate.  He says it’s not free. I continue to smile and say I understand but how can we input the ticket for the gate (it has no slot)? Not free.  I know. How? Validate through the regular entrance and he’ll open gate.  I do.  He does not.  He is rude, nasty and unhelpful.  Had it not been for a passenger on the other side who opens the gate from the inside we would still be there.

Onward to the train (metro).  Two young women enter our wagon and stand at the entrance. Plenty of room behind them, but as I go in, one moves towards me. In French I ask her what she is doing.  Arreter!  Stop. She continues forward.  I avoid her and go towards the back.  They exit at the next stop and I look down and the zipper of my bag is open.  Fortunately nothing in that compartment for her to take, but it frazzles me a bit.

Onward to the Gare du Nord where we are going to buy tickets to our destination: Amiens.  Gare du Nord is a sea of clashing currents of human flesh.  Busy at all times.  A bit overwhelming to most.  No information booths are manned and we can’t find where to buy the tickets so we go to the machines.  A tad confusing and we must look it because we are approached by a lovely young lady who tries to help.  No, thank you.  Move onto another.  She follows and when we are about to put our credit card in she says that it  doesn’t accept foreign cards and we can pay her and she’ll put hers in.  I don’t think so!  We safeguard our credit card and move far from her.  It’s a well-known scam that has been going on for years.

We finally get to a ticket booth for SNCF but can someone figure out this billboard for me please? 

The train has little stars on the floor and I am ready to go into bliss zone again.

The countryside    shows up and in no time (about 2 hours) we arrive at the  Amiens station.      Bigger than I thought it would be..

We are close to city center so after checking in we walk to town.  It’s about 8 pm.  It’s still light outside on a still mild night and no one is out.   The city seems deserted, yet it is beautiful and quaint.  Our stomachs (okay, really just mine) is clamoring for food so we sit at a pizza place  and the entertainment comes to us.  A local theater group is walking through the plaza where we are, with the audience in tow.    They stop with the police blocking the road  as the actors perform.  

My pizza arrives and yes, that is an egg in the middle.   More than one pizza is served like that.  I avoid it and eat around it.  I accompany it with my favorite drink:  Schwepps tonic which is not that commonly available in the States in restaurants but is here. 

I decide to not remind myself that it has more calories than a Coke and enjoy every drop.

 The cathedral is ahead.

We will walk there after dinner.  Through the side streets we go ’cause that is the way where many a surprise has been had and today is no different.   An Australian bar to satisfy my partner’s craving for his country though this one has Latino music blaring and a soccer match showing.  Is it crazy that I find this perfectly normal?

And then the cathedral, which is quite a beauty, intricately adorned with sculptures on the outside,  and quite huge.   

The plaza it is in is not bad either and the side streets are charming.  

   

 The carousel is closed and the streets are empty.  

It is time for us to go home.    

We will explore more tomorrow… or maybe we will just chill.  🙂

Doing What You Love in the City of Love

Today is a workday… if you can call loving what you do work (filming) and if you aren’t really part of the crew and if you weren’t in one of the most wonderful cities in the world and if out on your deck   and porthole isn’t the most recognized icon of France itself and if your home weren’t a houseboat on the River Seine.  Fine!!!  It’s not really a workday.

Our little Fifi (Disclaimer: Not her real name, but it fits her.) has made herself at home.  I have decided to not to feed her ’cause she will never leave but it doesn’t apply to quenching her thirst so I open the faucet and she has a blast.  Frankly, so do I just watching her.   
    Oh, by the way, today could also be considered a workday if you don’t wake up to flowers that are there just in case the deck, the Eiffel Tower, and the incredibly beautiful day aren’t enough to make you feel you are just about the luckiest person in the world.  Am I sounding giddy just about now?      But I digress. Back to Fifi. She decided the bedroom is a good place for her to spend her morning.  She gives me an “I’m going to take a nap now.”  look and I dare not move her so I go to the kitchen and look through the porthole towards the other side.   I know the Eiffel Tower is on the other side but just to comfort me I go up to the living room and look out and make sure it is there.  

The filming day ends. I have learned something extremely useful, that a baguette should never be put “face down” on a counter.   And I thought we had the superstition thing cornered in South America!

Tonight Eiffel is back to her regular yellow.  A local tells me that he rarely has seen her all colors as yesterday.   

Sensory Overload. Oh My! Wow! Ay, ay, ay!

Today I left with some sadness the apartment that we called home on Rue de la Liberté for the past 6 days.  But I must admit I am excited about our next abode: a houseboat on the River Seine with the Eiffel Tower on our backyard, or better said back river (Is there such a thing?).  I wait for my taxi and say my final good-byes to the street I am familiar with and the neighborhood I did not feel alien to.  Our 4 bags and I are alone on the cobblestone enclosure on the first floor.  I am to move to our houseboat alone and will be met afterwards at noon.  A few hours before a visual adventure that I will tell you about soon.

I have an address composed of only two words:  Port Debilly and a phone number to call the owner of the houseboat just in case the taxi driver does not know where it is.  I am happy that I have that because the driver did not know where I was going so called Jean and was directed how to get to the péniche (barge).

Jean greets me at the garden and helps me with the luggage.  I would not have been able to do it alone and am happy that he is there.  See the plank I have to cross to get to the boat.    I go in  to a boat with classical music on, a view that is to die for,   a living room that invites reading and marveling at Eiffel Tower,  flowers in the kitchen (or galley),    a porthole through which I still can see the Eiffel Tower,   and a bedroom  with a skylight so that when we open our eyes we can see the leaves of the weeping willow above us,  (and yes, I still get incredible views from here).

I want to share this and the only one available right now is Tutu so I sit him on a chair akin in color to his.    He complains he can’t see the tower so I place him on a table.   More complaints so I make him the captain and he seems to be happy!

I go out to encounter first hand one of the many tourist boats that will be gracing my back yard.  Most of the tourists are facing the tower but some are facing me and the boat and taking photographs.  What conversations will I be included in with a “How lucky is that Parisian to be where she is?”   What I didn’t expect was two Parisians walking on the Ave. de New York (the street above the dock) and as I look up, one saying to me:  “Madame, vous etes privilegie!” and pointing at the tower. Yes, I consider myself very, very lucky!  And if the Eiffel Tower view weren’t enough, the Sacre Cour is off at a distance.    The Eiffel Tower, the weeping willow (the only one on the dock and the one that is in on the other side of the boat), and the deck.  Oh my!!!  And then a surprise as I look to my left.  A young little cat that seems very much at home on this boat.  I have a feeling she will be another house guest while we are here.  

Dean returns from the first shoot on his film and takes it all in quickly since we have reservations at the restaurant at the Eiffel Tower:  Le Jules Verne.  The day is only at its midpoint and I don’t know if I can take any more excitement!  But we head out there walking since it is only about a 10 minute walk.  Eiffel is even more impressive up front.    The entrance to Le Jules Verne   where you get into a private elevator that catapults  you to the second floor 213 meters up.  

The food was acceptable.   The view beyond compare.    We get some madeleines as a gift when we leave to go out to the viewing deck.   More amazing views.  

And we return to the boat with even more excitement on the way.  A wedding…

A photo shoot (with a car as its protagonist).   We make a side trip to buy stuff for dinner so we can sit on the deck and watch the Eiffel Tower twinkle.  We take the underpass, up some stairs,  buy our stuff and later that night sit on the deck as the tower surprises us by being multicolor in honor of the South African season in France.

I have to go to sleep now because I really don’t think my heart can take any more excitement.  Nighty, night!

Tus Ojos Son Mi Ventana!

Today, again Dean is off to help out a friend on his short.  But contrary to yesterday, for me it’s a day of play.  I intend to say good-bye to my neighborhood by visiting its many alleyways, villas – as the French call them.

As I leave I take a last recognizance look of the cobblestones and door I will cross only a few times more.  The cobblestones take me back to my hometown of Asunción where they are common.  I almost expect to see a horse carriage when I open the heavy wood door.

Quartier de la Mouzaia is a working class neighborhood (and I proved that yesterday with all the chores I did.) It was built between the end of the 19th and early 20th century.  Running down the hills (one where our apartment is located) are some twenty pedestrian street or villas.

Each has its own feel to it.

           I didn’t visit them all but did not tire of walking around.  Of course, there had to be one with a scooter as its emblem .  

Red brick is predominant on the houses   but, as the villas, each has its own unique character. And you see burst of colors which in previous walks I had not noticed.       

And then there is a surprise graffiti that is in Spanish!  

I have yet to visit my local park Parc des Buttes Chaumont and if I don’t do it today I have a feeling I won’t do it at all so I go to the metro Botzaris  where love is in the air and enter the park from a side street.    Boxing, or tai bo, in the open air may be fun.   But a bite to eat at the park’s entrance may be a better idea.   Maybe some sunbathing after that.   While enjoying the view.   Going to ignore vandalism in this oasis.  

As I leave a see a vendor with maté by his side.  I automatically assume that he is either Argentinian, Uruguayan or Paraguayan so I ask him in Spanish where he is from and it turns out he is French but lived in South America for a year and adopted maté as his drink of choice.  It is a small world!

Getting late and I’m meeting Dean at a station at the other side of town so I go back home passing another villa (alleyway / path) where a cat makes sure I understand this is his villa.    

I notice that my front door also provides that burst of color that the Quartier is known for.   And I photograph the inner courtyard.  Everything seems to have character here.  Even a window with clothes drying.  

I get to Portes de Vanves – and I must say I am very proud of myself for getting there on time after two transfers on the metro – (Everyone who knows me knows that I have zero, zilch, no sense of orientation so this was a feat for me!)where we are checking out another possible shoot location.  The market of Antique and Old Books.       Another window I like.    Back to our neck of the woods to have a great Vietnamese meal at Chez Kim.  

And enjoy our last sunset in this part of town.  

Wait till I take you to where we are moving to tomorrow!!!!

Double Decker Fun and in London I Am Not

The washer dryer for our floor is very conveniently located next to the apartment and since I have woken up early I decide to be domestic and do a load of laundry.  I go out in my pajamas for I intend to climb back into bed and write my blog.  And I do so, however I am not alone.  Sox decides that I am an okay human to cuddle up to and as I go into bed he jumps up and snuggles.  I try to put my computer somewhere on my lap but Sox is quite big and heavy and is already asleep.  And I wouldn’t want to disturb him.     I have other errands to run once my laundry is done and, fortunately, Sox decides he will continue his nap under the sun so I am free to go to the shoe repair place.  I have brought my Born boots that served me so well in the fall when I went to Paris and I hope that they will keep my feet warm and dry in the cold that we will encounter in New Zealand.  But the heels are worn and I want to have them in tip-top shape for the trip.   Once I hand them in I’m off to the bus (I’m so glad to have my bus pass.   This is a pre-pay only bus. ) that will take me to Circular Quay which is where I saw a stop for the City Sightseeing Hop on-Hop offbus that I am taking today.

The tourist bus stop is in front of the Customs House (which is a library now, as you must know by now).  The place is not very busy today and a Silver Gull (the most common of gulls around here) is the one who greets me.    

  Today I am focused on reflections and the juxtaposition of old and new construction.  Sydney has a lot of that to offer.      But I am visually digressing.  I must get my tourist mode on and jump on the Sydney Sightseeing double-decker bus to get a lay of the land and get an idea of what areas I would want to revisit.  The bus is $40 for 24 hours.  It’s a bit breezy today but I am just taking the plunge.  Here we go…   We pass the area of Kings Cross that I would equate a bit to 42^nd St. in New York when it was filled with adult entertainment both in the buildings as on the streets.   Woolloomooloo with its converted warehouses (into apartments –flats for the Aussies- on the upper floors and hip restaurants on the ground floor) also offers a really nice view of the city.  May be a place I would like to revisit.    

Harry’s Café de Wheels is famous for its meat pies which is a staple for Australians.    Terrace houses are my new obsession.  They were built in the 1800’s and are heritage protected so, at least on the outside, they are exactly as they were back then.  They are everywhere and my camera likes them just as much as I do so please bear with me for I will bring them to you a lot.    

Mary’s Cathedral will definitely also bring me in at some point. 

 The new always follows and this is the RTA (Road and Transportation Authority) headquarters building.  

Back to the old.  Central Station’s (train terminal) clock.  Second to the Customs House it is a very common meeting point.  

Onward to Darling Harbour where the only casino in Sydney is.  It is also a huge shopping center.  Bustling.

    

Still liking the new/old overlapping.       And still enjoying looking at now familiar fixtures from a not so common perspective.  Here is the Harbour Bridge from below. And the top of old buildings at eye level.   So far this has been a “hop on and just don’t get off” bus for me but as soon as I spot the Sydney Tower Eye I know I’m hopping off and getting on that elevator to the top.   Bus Driver, please stop!  He did.  I buy a ticket for the Tower at $25 so I won’t have to wait on line and though it would later turn out that there was no line, I did save $1 by buying it on the bus.  As expensive as Sydney is, every little bit counts!  Just in case I am not going to get dizzy enough up on top, the stairs to get to the fourth floor from where the elevator departs, is dizzying enough! There is a Skywalk where you actually walk outside but it’s very windy, you have to change into what looks a skydiving outfit, I’m scared of heights, I can’t take my camera and it costs $40 so I am content to just look outside through the windows.  The photos speak for themselves so I’ll shush up now and let you enjoy.  

 

        

  It’s getting late      so I must take the ride down  (2 ½ min)     I take the double-decker to a few blocks from home.  Turns out I could have taken it there all along.  Ay!

I delight in the snapshots of daily entertainment the bowling club provides me as I walk home.       I look up and love what I see.   And once home am happy that it is not dark enough and I can still grab a quick view of the water from my window.    Feeling almost as if I’m a part of it all here.