Notes to Self

On my first trip to France I was 29 years old. I had dreamt of going to France since the summer between the fifth and sixth grade, right after I had finished my first semester of grade school French. Even more so after I read A Tale of Two Citiesby Charles Dickens in my high school British Lit class. I wanted it to be my first trip out of the country, and it was.

It took a long time to get there, a long time to organize (ie: buy a one way ticket), and it wasn’t until my father had passed away and left me a little money that I could afford to go. And even then, it was still a few years before I got away. I had gone through art school and university and honed down my desire for visiting France to a desire of visiting the city of Paris – although that first trip was a long one and I visited many more places along the way.

I feel at home in Paris. I feel more at home in Paris than anywhere else I’ve ever lived in or traveled to. I have often wondered about this feeling, which happens to be a feeling in my heart. Like love. But more like home. I have often wondered if it was borne out of my French and Art History professors’ passion for the art, culture, and language of the place, that their passion had rubbed off onto me, or if it was, or is, something deeper within me.

Within Paris there are places that I visit often. Like the Basilica of Saint-Denis. The Winged Victory in the Louvre. And Rodin’s museum. Why? I do not really know, but I feel a connection to these places.

To this day, when I travel to Europe, I fly in and out of CDG, the international airport in Paris. If my destination is somewhere else, then I take the train from there, after spending a week or so (sometimes a month) acclimating to the time change.

Other places have called to me, either by my contemplating on where in the world to go next, or by sheer random invitation. If you believe in reincarnation, and I do, I have often thought that because of the ease of travel in this lifetime I am compelled to travel to places where I have lived and loved before. I also believe that invitations that appear to be random are not, not really, and it only takes a moment or two of contemplation to decide if they are right for me at the moment.

The next time you are thinking of making a trip or traveling to some far flung destination, sit with yourself for a moment and ask yourself where your next destination lies. You may be surprised at the answer that follows, but give it some serious consideration.

The soul always leads in the right direction.

I’ve been mulling over a travel/photo/journal workshop for quite some time now. Thinking about what I’d like out of a summer workshop is what gave me the idea. I’m wondering if anyone else would or could be seriously into it?

When I get to travel, I like to stay in one place for as long as possible, that usually means until the savings account is dry. I like to base my self in one place and explore, visiting museums, hiking around, and taking day trips.

I thought it would be fun to rent a villa for a month in Tuscany, or maybe Provence, have people join me for a week or two, or the whole time, and do a live 3-D version of the PhotoClub. Instead of weekly photo projects, we would do daily projects, with the projects defined by the location along with loosely formed visits to local museums or small daytrips.

I can picture this in my head but it seems like such a daunting task to pull together on my own. It my help for next year if I knew if there might be some interest. Any possible takers?

In my mind I have been hankering for travel. But I haven’t been able to get the body to cooperate. This has been going on since April. It is now the end of December. I know where I want to go. I have personal projects to accomplish in my next destination. A revisit, to a place I’ve been to before. But my heart hasn’t been in to making the definite plans.

I was out in The Escape Pod three days ago, the day before Christmas. I had decided to store campy type things from the van in the house, so I was getting the portable kitchen items out from under the bed when I discovered my old traveling shoes.

I pulled them out from under the bed and held them in my hands. A pair of boy’s slip on Campers with a wide velcro strap. Size six or seven, I can’t remember. I remember buying them at Shoe Pavillion. The last time I had these shoes on I was flying home from Paris. It was 2005. My last long trip.

I held those shoes in my hand and thought about all of the places they had taken me. All over The Yucatan, San Francisco, Paris, Reims, Epernay, Vertus, Fontainebleau, Chartres, Beauvais, London, Berlin, Pottsdam, Prague, Dolni Bezdekov, Kutna Hora, Zurich, Aix-en-Provence, Marseilles, Arles, Tarascon, Beaucaire, back to Paris, and then home, back to the van in San Francisco. And many points in between. Airplanes, trains, boats, and buses. Subways, metros, and trams. From the boulangerie to the cemetaire, to l’eglise. Through all of those little villages in Champagne. Sitting in cafes drinking wine, pivo, or coffee. Shooting photographs. Mulling over decisions. Standing next to the graves of my ancestors. Two and a half months of being somewhere other than the place I call home.

I brought those shoes into the house, with the other stuff, and put them on. Immediately they felt, no, I felt, like I was home in some way. The memories of the places they had taken me came flooding back. I felt my psyche shift from someone who wants to talk myself into traveling to someone who has traveled, who is going to travel. Like, ok, I’m going now.

мебели

They feel so comfortable on my feet. Familiar. I’ve been wearing them for three days, even though both soles are cracked through and they need a shine.

Photos: Above is walking the 2kms between Bratonice and Dolni Bezdekov, the first home of one of my grandfathers. The bottom photo was taken in the square in Arles, opposite from Saint-Trophime.

I just got an email from our Artist Directory member Caroline Wampole who is sitting in a room full of bloggers at Paris cable station France24. Everyone there is blogging about the election results as they happen. Except for Caroline who is just wondering what the heck she is doing there!

It will come as no surprise that American friendly Sarkozy has won the election, beating Socialist Segolene Royal by a medium large margin.

I’m not sure how I feel about this election, as French politics are complicated even for those who understand them. What we think of as conservative, they think of as liberal. What we think of as downright communist is only a little bit of socialism to them.

But when I think of my friends in France and how they become angry on a normal day at what they consider to be the demise of the French way of life, I can only picture them now, watching aghast at the election results.

The Americanization of France … that’s what some are calling the election of Sarkozy as President of France.

Read Caroline’s blog posts.

France24

New York Times profile on Sarkozy.