First days of SemanaSanta and bumbling into Paris...

HOLYWEEK (or Semana Santa in the language of those who truly celebrate it) is, for the fortunate, the entire week leading up to Easter. Such was my fortune that my holiday began postmeridian Thursday, the week before SS. The plan was thus: wrap up a few cosas around madrid after work then fly to Paris predawn Friday morning (this is 03abril) and spend the day kicking it in the city of lights with my coevals before the rentfolks arrive the following morning. Such was the plan.

Things went a bit more smoothly than predicted that Thursday after, and the kid got it in his head to have a little faux despedida. Chance obliged and some friends and friends-to-be had arranged a gathering at one fine Brazilian bar in Malasaña (Kabokla, which deserves a short approbative post of its own). Live music, cocktails, beer and introductions left one having to finally withdraw just before 2 in the am. Bags were packed, clothes were donned, and alarm was set, all so as to make for fast escape. Hours later I woke up with a yawn, just as the plane was taking off.

In the end the daylight hours were lost but I was able to make it to Paris by nightfall. There I made the fatal mistake of buying a simcard with too much haste from a company never before heard of, only to read in the fine print that all credit on said simcard would expire within 5days of the first call unless it was continually topped up with 10e or more. When I turned on my phone to start writing down contacts for payphone use, I found that my simcard had swtiched automatically to France, removing the need to buy a French card. Lesson: forget airport tellers and clerks, unless its a drink you need, wait until you reach the city. 30e down the drain before I even see a metro.
(Also, lesson: with early flights either stay up all night or sleep before 11. but does anyone really need to be told that?)

This that and the other, I did do one intelligent thing before leaving. I wasn't ready to completely surrender my day of parisian exploration, so I spent a few hours on google streetview, taking a good look at the neighborhoods where the hotel was, where my friend lived, and especially the routes to take on foot from metromouth to doorstep. I emerged on Avenue Victor Hugo feeling like I'd already been there, and walked right up to my friend's place, hoping the directions he sent me were legit. (By the way, this was arranged less than 12 hours before my late arrival. I went to bed the night before with no place to stay in Paris. Only once in my life have I done that, and that was the last time I went to paris. I'm not so sure we are creatures of will. At least, I dont think I am) Well, my brothers, they were fenomenal, and Chance continued to be my mischevious guide and led me to his door literally as he was turning things off to leave.

So we had a shot of the spanish brandy I brought along, caught up on the metro, and headed out to the Latin Quartier for my first bagless and stressless taste of Paris in 3 years. The beauty was palpable yet indescribable, and eluded any pinpointing. Maybe it was coming from the same scenery every day, maybe it was the subliminal measurements of city planning, who can say. The night was a blast as we partied in a masomenos irish bar with the rest of his cordon bleu classmates before heading to a different bar off the champs elysee, 5 minutes from the flat. Many rounds and attempts at french later and it was definitely time to head back. We crashed sometime around 4 after cabbing it round the massive feet of l'Arc, and again I slept with clothes on and bags packed. Just not on purpose this time.

The next morning I woke with a yawn and wondered, for just an instant, what the situation was. Then I recalled that my parents were to have landed sometime around dawn and expected me at the hotel to greet them. It was not quite 11. I rushed to the window dormer (top floor flat) in the kitchen to let out a stream of interjections and dial the hotel number without waking the household, and I beheld before me a sea of beautiful parisien rooftops, all with cream concrete vertical walls producing short irregular terracotta chimney tops, sprouting out of slate mansard rooves. I rubbed the cold from my eye and went for my camera as I shouldered the phone and squinted in the morning light. This was to be the beginning of a beautiful album. Interestingly, the camera would not turn on and I deduced that after taking the foto above, I left the camera on all night and drained the battery.

All this to explain, partly, why my Paris pictures will be so scant. You tell me the lessons here. Much more in the days to come...