The following post is part of a series called "DLDGLG Goes Griswold" highlighting my recent trip to Europe from December 19th to the 30th. Stay tuned for additional posts in the coming months...
“Forget Paris,” Ahmad Wright wrote, undercutting my romantic impressions of being a writer.
“Forget Paris,” Ahmad Wright wrote, undercutting my romantic impressions of being a writer.
I was struggling with my work and coming to terms with my life’s ambition when I began corresponding with Wright, a thriving freelancer.
Seeking his professional advice on becoming a successful freelance writer myself, I was hoping Ahmad would steer me in the right direction. He continued:
“I don't know if you've been there, but I haven't. I will no doubt, but the notion of the expatriate writer making millions off of novels and socially conscious, hip articles, while seducing the women of the world is the dominant literary fantasy […] okay well maybe it's mine (smile) but it will not help you get published. Forget lattes and big bottles of wine.”
As I prepared for me and Nic’s trip to Europe, I considered the experiences that I’d be trying to capture. Yet, I couldn’t get this advice out of my mind.
At least, I couldn’t erase the notion that the reality of something is often a far-cry from the fantasy.
Would I be able to resist the shiny veneer so often placed on “The City of Lights” by other writers like Gertrude Stein or Ernest Hemingway? I was sure I’d be capable.
And yet, I can’t “forget Paris” now that I’ve been there. I’ve seen their world with my own eyes. I can only express what I saw, fantasies and clichés be damned.
When Nic and I landed at Paris-Charles de Gualle Airport, we were half asleep and groggy. The pocks of Nic’s eyes opened carefully like little morning glories. It'd been a long trip.
When we exited the jet airliner, we dragged ourselves and our luggage through the airport to the metro train.
I sunk into the metro seat, soaked in jet lag, but happy to be at our destination.
We arrived at the Saint Michel-Notre Dame stop in the center of Paris and the city opened up before our eyes like a kid’s pop-up book, with the overwhelming and gothic Notre Dame Cathedral filling our view.
It’s was early and brisk. It was also a workday for Parisians who were scurrying along, business-as-usual.
We pushed on, down a handful of busy blocks absorbing the beauty of the architecture along the grand boulevards: sagging roofs, Beaux-Arts balconies, neoclassical columns and sculptures.
Our hotel, Jardin de l'Odeon, was a stylish auberge that sits in the bosom of the Latin Quarter.
It was cozy from the start as we checked in to a smiling and warm concierge. Since Nic and I were early and our room wasn't available they stored our luggage and we were free to survey the city.