5/6/2014
SOME NICETIES SOME NOT...
As elegant and embracing as she is, there are some not so nice things in Paris as one would expect in any other big city with such diversity, where some people are rolling into each day in survival mode. I discovered this morning, the ticket to the show at Opera Garnier had actually a value of E25, which I paid E50 for. A brief bout of disappointment when I thought I was savoring the niceties of Paris is quickly replaced by "but you had your debut at Opera Garnier, it is worth it"; back to peace. In the afternoon, I finally remember sending a message to the hotel to let them know that i had left my cell phone in my room and ask them to put it in a safe place till my arrival. The hotel staff returns to me with a "Bon voyage Madame!" I smile to myself, "Ok, there is someone who doesn't understand English well here". I ask again "Merci, but I wonder if you were able to locate my phone", the answer is a scary "NO, we didn't find your phone, Madame." Again, that tiny bit of disappointment returns, but I calm myself down very quickly "I bet they didn't understand where exactly I left the phone". I decide to return to the hotel to look for the phone myself to arrive at my peace of mind as soon as possible. Voila! It is exactly where I had left it. Such a relief: Not only for having my phone back, but more so for refreshing my trust at the hotel staff. They are indeed a sweet bunch of first generation immigrants from all over the world...
Sorbonne and its disciplines
At this point, there is no reason to go back to the conference for the last hour of the day. Instead, I seat myself in front of Cafe Notre Dam to have a glass of mint tea as I am reviewing my "Literary Paris" book in preparation for our full day in Paris the next day when my friend Greg will join me. My phone is casually sitting on the table underneath the cover of the book since I consult with it occasionally on its map application. At some point, when I am lost in what I am reading, a sheet in a plastic bag lands on my book and somebody is murmuring something inaudible over my shoulder. I believe he is trying to sell me something, but what does it have to do with this weird sheet; I can't read what is on it, and why in a plastic bag. Luckily instead of turning around to look at who the person is and what he is trying to sell, I instinctively push the sheet away to let him know I am not interested in whatever he is selling. Wow, underneath the sheet is his hand, his fingers reaching under the cover of my book trying to pull my phone out and of course away!! Having been exposed, he pulls his hand and the sheet away and swiftly walks away semi-running. Of course a boy of 14-16, no more. As I am fearfully infuriated, I can't help appreciating the creativeness of his method. I am sure he has or will catch somebody, who will turn around first to ask the guy "What, I don't understand you?" at which point, he will pull a phone, a wallet, whatever he may fancy that is lying on the table and out and off he will go. Despite recognizing the ingenuity of this trap, my guts are filled with an unease and distaste for big city one more time.
A sweet vase in front of a tent makes it home
I spend some more time at the Sheakspeare company bookstore this afternoon. This way, I am able to understand better that, upstairs, there is always a group working on writing projects. Upstairs books are usually old up to several hundreds of years of age or more and most of them are not for sale, but to be read there. More like a library on-site. Downstairs books on the other hand are for sale including those of Shakespeare. I buy his sonnets as a gift.
From there, I head on foot to the Louvre and Tuilerie Garden, which is an open semi-botanical garden. It is a peaceful place in the middle of the city, which houses Muse Du L'Orangerie, where Monet's Lillies are displayed. Near the museum is an orange orchard with trees grown in wooden pots, pretty impressive. One thing that is becoming more and more clear in Paris is that Africans are the ones keeping the guts of the society clean: all restrooms I visited that had an attendant, was presided over by an African attendant. All young or old gentlemen selling souvenirs on-the-run are also Africans. That reminds me of a movie I had watched in the last 3-4 years working on the undercurrent racism around Africans in French society. Not everything in Paris is romantic after all, which is not surprising at all.
Seine River at dusk has a different beauty
I then cross the river heading toward the City Hall of the 15th arrondissement (neighborhood/borough). Our farewell reception will be held there this evening. Initially, I walk around the Parliament and pass through neighborhoods where most of the ministries and governmental buildings in addition to consulates and embassies are lined together. Gradually, past the Military Museum and le Hospital de Invalides, I start understanding what "The belly of Paris" means. The 15th Arrondissement clearly is an ethnic neighborhood with eateries from many countries, small grocery and fresh produce stores and other ethnic stores. Thus, after a 4.5 hours of walking on both sides of the river, I arrive at the City Hall where our closing reception is to be held.
15th arondisement, an ethnic part of town
It turns out to be so rewarding. Not only because of connecting with old colleagues and their spouses, but also with new unexpected people: Dr. Adambaum, who presented new and very important information through the conference tells me her mother and uncle were from Izmir, my home town in Turkey. What is more important is that she tells me her parents and her maternal uncle, who is a radiology professor are also coming to the reception. What an unexpected encounter! When I finally meet them, it becomes clear that they never spoke Turkish because their household languages were Ladino and French not Turkish, just like my dear friend Aron, who is also a Turkish Jew. I sense initially, they are a bit anxious about how I will perceive them since they had left the country in the first place due to discrimination against Jews. How can they know I am most open about discussing and embracing these things. As soon as I give them the clues that I was a pure internationalist with no nationalist streak in me, the relief was tangible. I obtain their family names to ask my friend Aron about their family. It is quite possible that Aron's family might have known them before they left Turkey.
After saying good bye to them, I connect with another group from Australia: she turns out to be a Greek woman, a pediatrician born in Greece, who immigrated to Australia in her 20s. Her husband is a Greek from one of the islands across from Turkish coast. What a sweet hour I spend with them. Both of them but especially her husband is very well read on so called, artificially created Turkish Greek conflict, who shares my politics regarding world citizenship, refusal of nationalism, but also understanding why nationalism was necessary at some point in time in all lands including Turkey. I hope I get to see them again. We exchange contact information to continue communicating.
Another ethnic restaurant from 15th arondisement
As Dimitra, her husband, and I end our conversation, I murmur to myself one more time how much I love this unforeseen "complication" of globalization; this human kinds of all lands coming together, getting to know each other better, developing empathy, interest and warmth toward one another. Globalization move was put in effect for business purposes of course, but just as with any tool, it also created a life of its own, now serving both entrepreneurs in their money mongering, but perhaps more so in bringing peoples of the world together. There may come a time that peoples of the world may refuse to fight against one another just because of globalization ...
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