Are We Having A Good Time Or What?

The boys are all sick. The Exchange down with a sore throat and fever, The Boy with a cold. I called this one. When The Exchange got sick, I knew The Boy would be next. I believe they caught something at one of their parties before leaving Canada. Butterfly Boy is sick with worry about his lost suitcase. The airline has no leads yet as to what happened to it. We are trying to assess what is a reasonable wait for the suitcase. We've done so much in Paris already that it seems like we've been here for days. In reality, we've only been here 24 hours.

Being sick does not deter the boys from having a good time. I've drugged them up well. And they've slept much when they can.

The Boy and Butterfly Boy got in from their concert around 3 am. They wanted to spend the night at a hotel partying with some British travellers they met at the concert. We said absolutely not. This morning, we were all up and out by 10 am.

The boys then went off on their own. The Man and I walked around the neighbourhood. I marvel at how clean the streets are everywhere. Cleaner than Toronto. Garbage bags are hung everywhere and people use them. I see very few full garbage bags so the bags get changed often. Paris is a city made for walking. I have no map. But I keep hitting spots that I recognize and scant memories surface though I can't put them in order or perspective. I just know I've walked on certain streets, sat at particular cafes, and stood at various street corners waiting. I kept asking The Man, Did we do this or that here? He says yes to some and no to others.

Near the Eiffel Tower, we sat on a bench and I recounted the number of times I have been to Paris:

1. With my high school when I was 16.
2. The year I ran away.
3. The summer I went to Dijon and stopped in Paris for a few days.
4. The year I was 6-months pregnant with The Boy.
5. This summer.

So this is the second time I'm in Paris with The Man. We have yet to sit down and eat a croissant at a cafe.

We took a cab to the Louvre just for fun. The year I went to Dijon, they were in the process of constructing the glass pyramid addition. I didn't go to the Louvre the year I was pregnant. The pyramids are now the entrance to the Louvre. They are a tribute to the vast collection of Egyptian artifacts the Louvre holds.

Inside, we walked around and bumped into the boys, exchanged a quick hello, then went our own way again. I didn't want them to think we were tailing them. Later, the boys phoned from Notre Dame and asked for the key to the apartment. They were tired. We met them and gave them the keys.

The Man and I walked around Les Halles while the boys went home. The modern design and colours of the Pompidou Centre used to impress me with how it contrasted the brown history of Paris. Now it looks rather dull, at least from the outside.

Paris has always been cosmopolitan, and now more so. It is weird to be served by an Asian who speaks French and seemingly possesses the Parisian attitude of being dismissive to non-French speakers. Not that they are rude. They are just so sure they are right about everything and try to effect that brusque, Germanic efficiency. Charming the first few times, then it grates on me.

I am really happy to be here with the boys. I love these boys. But I have decided I don't want to visit Paris any more after this trip. To live, okay. I would like an apartment in one of the straight-face buildings with a balcony. I mean, all those patisseries, fruit shops, restaurants, open spaces. But to visit again? That's like a continuous non-commitment. The romance of the city no longer enchants me as a visitor. Give me the whole thing and let me live here or I visit other places.