going home

A noon flight out of Paris means that I need to be up and out before 9.  That's easy. Wherever I am on this planet, I always am up and out by that hour. In fact, I'm packed and out of my room this morning by 7:30. Deliberately, so that I can take a stroll before breakfast. To look at Paris one last time.

Yes, the sun rises later here. At 8:04 today. I walk under the thin light of the crescent moon. A croissant moon. 

I could have walked down to the River Seine, but somehow in this warm weather I have too often defaulted toward the Luxembourg Gardens. I find myself walking now in much the same way I will walk toward the train, an hour from now, suitcase in tow. But I'll put away my camera then. It's now that I am unencumbered and can pause to consider, to admire. Streets, cleaned by an early morning spray of city water. 

There's that moon again, now shining ever so slightly, competing with the sun which will be up in the next half hour. The Pantheon, happy to take on the rays of either, of both.

The park is still closed. Official opening at this time of the year: 7:45.

I'm at the gates at 7:40. The guard clicks the padlock. Parisians, regulars I'm guessing (bonjour to the guard, bonjour, always bonjour), are coming in now, cutting across to vast space, to work, to school. But their numbers are small. The park still belongs to the statues.

Next time I see you, it will be 2024.

Out of the park now, back on the streets. That moon! Forcing me to look up, to see the chimneys, the pigeons up there, against a now purple sky.

Oh, it's turning pink! Here's my hotel, against a rose sky. Would I come to Paris this often if I didn't love my stay in this place? I always think - if it's raining, if I'm feeling tired, I can always just stay in my room overlooking this quiet street and read, or write. (Except that I am never feeling that tired! Not yet anyway. Maybe in a year or two...)

I don't go in just yet. I have enough time to see if Paris is waking up yet on the busier intersections of streets, cafes, bus routes.

No, not yet. Tables still empty. No cafe cremes, no croissants, no people.

If I wanted to watch the morning unfold over a period of time, I'd choose my table carefully. Face the streets, pick a block where there is likely to be some activity, but not too much. This might be a good spot!

Idle thoughts. Time to return to the Hotel Baume and grab a breakfast there. Alone today. I didn't want to drag Pawel and Karolina down too early. These people have insane mornings back home. In Paris, they should not rush.

But they do come down in time to say goodbye. I'm so grateful to them that they spent their most precious resource -- time -- to make this trip. That they had the enthusiasm for it. That they gave me all those days of happy smiles and beautiful conversations.

They sit down to their morning meal (their flight to Warsaw is much later), I head out the door. To the RER train station. I'm now totally back to trains, even though I'm a bit overloaded today. But hey! Since my pre-Covid trips, they've built an elevator down to the train station entrance! No more lifting my suitcase down a long flight of steps.

At the airport, there is added security. My terminal has police with rifles drawn. Is it that the war, the far away war, has everyone on edge?

I see a sign announcing that in 2027, there will be a fast train from the airport to the center of town. Just 20 minutes. (Right now, it takes anywhere from 30 to 40 minutes.) Why are these speedy trains popping up everywhere except where I live? 

At the airport, after security (no passport control -- I'm flying still within Europe) I can't resist a final taste of that wonderful morning mouthful.

And then I board the flight to Amsterdam. Yes, that's a bit of a bother -- to fly north instead of west, but the fares were cheaper on this route and so here I am, landing in the canal city, yeah, like the Annecy canals and bridges only different. (And no, I don't go into town: it's just the airport this time.)

From Amsterdam, I'm off to Minneapolis, all fine, all on time, and of course, it's always the last leg then that drags. The many hours at the Minneapolis airport. The now posted delay in the outbound flight to Madison. The hope that it wont in the end get cancelled. Usual travel stuff. Still, it feels very much like I'm already home. Like if I stand on my tiptoes, I could see the farmette from here. Almost!

With love...