I am back from Paris now, but very much still under its influence. My final night in Paris, I walked down to the Seine River just before midnight. A light drizzle was falling, but I did not care. If anything, the rain made everything more beautiful, creating additional reflections on the cobblestone streets. As I crossed a bridge over the river, I could see the Eiffel Tower all lit up, its searchlight piercing in and out of the clouds. It was magical!
I was having a great time trying to capture the scene when suddenly the lights on the tower went out. It was as if the Eiffel Tower had suddenly disappeared. I knew that the tower’s lights were not on all night, but I did not expected them to be extinguished right at midnight. Reality sometime has a way of crashing in on moments of fantasy.
One of my readers, Michael Scandling, challenged me to be out walking the streets at midnight to see if I might end up in the 1920’s having a drink with Hemingway. Obviously he too had seen the 2011 movie Midnight in Paris. The lead character played by Owen Wilson spends a lot of time wandering the streets of Paris and suddenly at midnight he repeatedly ends up in the 1920s, rubbing elbows with famous authors, actors, and artists of that era. Who wouldn’t want to have a chance to talk to icons like Cole Porter, Picasso, Gertrude Stein, and Salvador Dali? The movie additionally has wonderful footage of many places in Paris that are very familiar to me. It is one of the few DVDs that I have purchased in the past ten years.
Alas, real life does not generally play out as it does in the movies. Instead I quietly continued my walk, watching as waiters stacked up chairs in restaurants and lights began to dim as Paris prepared to sleep. For many in Paris, it was the end to just another day, but for me it was special, it was midnight on my final day in this special city, at least for this trip.
© Michael Q. Powell. All rights reserved.
These are great photos, Mike. I’m sure you have many memories and photos from what sounded like a wonderful vacation. Happy Thanksgiving!
Thanks, Dan. Happy Thanksgiving to you too, Dan, your first one as a “free” (i.e. retired) man. 🙂
Thanks Mike.
You made me all misty, Mike. Beautiful, beautiful photos. Thanks for the ride.
Adriana: I can never decide whether Paris is more beautiful by day or by night.
Gil: No, you can’t, you couldn’t pick one. I mean I can give you a checkmate argument for each side. You know, I sometimes think, how is anyone ever gonna come up with a book, or a painting, or a symphony, or a sculpture that can compete with a great city. You can’t. Because you look around and every street, every boulevard, is its own special art form and when you think that in the cold, violent, meaningless universe that Paris exists, these lights, I mean come on, there’s nothing happening on Jupiter or Neptune, but from way out in space you can see these lights, the cafés, people drinking and singing. For all we know, Paris is the hottest spot in the universe.
Now I am the one getting misty-eyed. I’ve been back now a bit over 24 hours and I can feel that sense of enchantment slowly slipping away. My everyday suburban life has trouble competing with those three weeks in Paris. Yet if I keep even a part of those feelings alive, if I can somehow nurture those creative impulses there, then maybe somehow I will have rekindled the feelings I first experienced as a twenty year old student spending my junior year of college there.
My advice: see the movie.
I actually have the DVD–I got it shortly after a 2011 trip to Paris– and will rewatch it soon, once I remember where I put it.
I’m sure it’s rentable on Netflix. I know it’s on iTunes.
Wow! Beautiful story. Amazing photography. This is what it’s all about.
Thanks, Karen. Yeah, that is about as real as it gets, a moment in time that was (and is) special to me.
My grandmother’s favorite perfume was called Midnight in Paris and I would save my pennies all year to buy her a bottle at Christmas.
Thanks for the memories.
I love that you captured that beam of light – wonderful to see.
This post is a bit bittersweet, Mike. I think you left your heart in Paris. 😉 Au revoir!
Thanks, Eliza. Throughout this trip I’ve tried to share my feelings as well as my photos. There is a real danger about writing when the feelings become so intense and are so near the surface. I suspected that was true when I wrote this posting very early this morning (jet lag kept me from sleeping) and your characterization, Eliza, of the posting as “bittersweet” shows that my emotions came through pretty clearly. And I’m ok with that. Sometimes it seems like people want to portray perfect lives in their postings on the internet, but that often comes across to me fake. Real life has emotional ups and downs–some days are sweet, some are bittersweet, and thankfully very few are actually bitter. 🙂
As it should be. I think most of us appreciate vulnerability and find it connects us as humans. We see ourselves reflected in others in all our ups and downs.
And, yes, Eliza, I definitely left my heart in Paris. Back when I was a serious student of French literature, several friends told me that my personality changed when I spoke French, that I came out of my bookwormish shell and became more expressive. I like that part of me.
Perhaps it is time to cultivate that side? It sounds like it is your essential self. I wonder if there is a French group you can join here stateside? My sister lived near Furman Univ. and used to go to a weekly chat group to practice her French and stay connected to French culture.
I enjoyed your series about your sojourn in Paris, Mike. I wish we had a chance to meet while we were both in France. I look at the architecture and countryside where I am in Normandy. My homeland still amazes me with its riches every time I return, even after 38 years living in Australia.
Thanks, Chris. I spent my junior year of college in Paris at a time when I was deeply immersed in French literature. My French language abilities are still surprisingly intact more than 40 years later to the point where I was rarely recognized as an American when I was speaking French during this trip. On the flight back, I talked with a man who retired and bought a house in Sancerre in the Loire River valley and spends half of every month there. He noted that he is one of only three Americans in the town of about 1800 inhabitants. I dream of doing something like that. Perhaps we can time it right sometime to meet in France–after all I managed to meet with an Irish poet in Paris whose blog I follow. 🙂