SPLASHED !!

- New York City , Jan 17 2015

I often wonder, what would it be to see this world with out colors ?

What would it be to look at purple dusk over tangerine groves and melon fields with out the dusky shades of purple and orange  ?
How would a slash of pressed grapes look without the burgandy red?
Or deep, rich chesnuts scattered on a burnt autumn ground with out the earthy brown?
Or the wet beach sand , timely adorned and striped of sea form without the shades of pale cream , golden and caramel?
Or the azure sky on a clear summer's day battling its position between cyan and blue?
Or a vintage wedding decor without shades of muted rose , dusty browns , mauves and taupes?

Wouldn't this world be an altogether different place with out them ? Ever wondered how would a painter paint his emotions , his message , his persona , his style without them ? Vinci's "Mona Lisa" wouldn't have quite been the same hadn't it been for the blushes of pink added to the pale skin tone of Jocondo.It was this cherubic style that set Vinci apart from the painters of his era.Edgar Degas's ballerinas wouldn't have quite carried their grace and elegance without the pastel hues of pink, cream and purple.Veronese wouldn't have done justice to  his "Wedding feast of Cana" with out the medley of pacific blues and eggplant purples ;sedona browns and tan bieges ; autumn oranges and leafy greens.Ah ! what a piece of art ! Bellismo ! Not to forget the Kings of Impressionist era - Monet , Manet , Degas.It was not just the sense of depth and direction that the impressionists brought to the world of art ,but also the colors that they used that set them apart from the rest.The shift from bright and bold to soft and subtle is what separated the symbolism from impressionism.

The clock struck 10:15 am and I knew I was getting late for my class.Gaurav kept hurrying me up.Both of us decided on taking a cab instead of the subway.We stepped out only to find that it was pouring cats and dogs.

"I'm surely going to be late for my first class.", I said out loud.
"Yup, there is no way , you'll make it on time", Gaurav added.
"God knows how my instructor will react",I continued beating myself up.

Gaurav rushed upstairs to get us umbrellas.We made our way to an avenue and hailed a cab.
I scanned through my stash only to find that I was missing my strokes and graphite ! Good Lord! You gotta be kidding me ! Here I was , heading to an Oil painting class without a single brush in my kit.I couldn't help but feel nervous about getting late , about signing up for the class,about not carrying my bristles , my charcoal , about this , about that .While I sat quietly anxious and worried , observing the rain hitting the side windows, we reached , to my surprise on time.It calmed my nerves a bit.

I rushed to the 3rd floor and found my way to the Art Studio.Everyone in the class was just getting setup.I took a deep breath to the sight of what I saw.There were tall, wheatish wood framed easels stained with oil here and there ,one of which I'd be using today.They were arranged on the studio floor in a semi circular fashion around a bunch of still life object on which light was being projected.I figured, that would what we'd be painting today.I settled in my spot and unwrapped my canvas ,carefully placed it on the easel, tightened the knob and made 'it' feel comfortable.It so belonged there :) . I pulled a table towards myself and stuck on it with a rolling tape, two glazed palette sheets.Now was the time to arrange my colors.The sheer splatter from my tubes made me smile.I went from cold to warm , placing them equidistantly so that I had enough room to mix them with my 'Oh!-so-shiny' palette knife.In the end I spurted a big blob of titanium white right in the center.There I was ,ready to get started.

My painting neighbor , Francessa was kind enough to let me borrow her brushes and lead.I held the graphite in my hand for a while ,  analyzing the side composition of the still life placed in front of me.

"I think , you should get started ", said a voice.
I turned around my shoulder and there he stood in a composed disposition,folded arms, encouraging smile.
"You can get started with paint directly but if you are comfortable drawing first, go for it".
"Oh, and I won't tell you anything right now.I want to see how you approach this.Just get started".

I knew right then that I would continue coming to his classes.This was my instructor,Eric Michellson.
After getting my composition sorted ,I finally picked my brush after 'God-knows-how-many' years.I was darn hesitant making that first stroke.What should I get started with, the shadows,cold colors vs warm colors, should I fill in the base first .All kinds of questions came right pouring in.Once again, I just stood there with my brush.Just like a writer has a pen freeze, I was having a brush freeze moment myself :)

I took a deep breath in and made my first stroke.I took another deep breath in and made another and then another and then another.One stroke after the other, one color mixed with the other,and I took off .There was no stopping me there after.I quietly slipped in my zone,my world of colors.Before I knew it , two and half hours had passed by.Gaurav came over and stood behind me.I didn't even realize he was there.

"Done for the day ?" , he said.
I turned back with a lost artist expression on my face.
He looked at me and then at my soiled fingers and started laughing.
"I don't remember leaving you with a white mustache before the class. Looks like you have been SPLASHED ! "

It was a rather silent evening ...

Even silence has a sound , if you are keen on listening.

Ever wondered how silent is a snow fall ?
Bit by bit gently covering the ground.
Flake by flake delicately balancing itself on every blade of grass.
Little by little falling persistently.
Without a word , without a noise , unhurried.
Silently, weightlessly, calmly .
Quietly settling on everything it touches.
On that rusty old wooden bench in the park.
On those shriveled branches of leaf less trees.
Atop the cold withered seat of that abandoned bike,
Leave aside the snooty head of the red fire hydrant by the pavement .
It doesn't even spare the strands of wool in that fluffy pink cap.
So gentle and gracious is its touch that it fights none ,faces no resistance.
Nothing around it attempts to escape.
It just falls and stays .
Content and grey.
And gradually everything around it unifies with its whiteness and silence.


I quietly sat at the foot steps of the Opera (Palais Garnier),reflecting on the magnificence with which the day unfolded itself.I extended by legs out hoping the pain they with held would drain through the marble steps.My feet yearned for a hot water dip.My eyes were glued to the marveling beauty of the Opera house carefully admiring the minutest of architectural detail .For a brief moment my focus shifted to the scanty crowd around me.Some just enjoying the laid back evening with a smoke in hand ;some with shopping bags and coffee , taking a much needed break ; others just catching up with friends after school.Soon after,I went back to my thoughts and even sooner my gathered audience dispersed .I decided it was time to head back.

On the way I saw a bedazzling building that glittered with all these 'Ohh-so-many' lights that adorned it .It read Gallery Lafeyette ( a.k.a Harrods of France ).  Closed at that time of the hour , it was still quite a crowd puller.Amidst kids riding their daddy's tall shoulders, I caught a few glimpses of the innovative illuminating Christmas exhibits.I tip toed from one exhibit to another ,smiling to myself wishing to share my child like excitement with someone.

My legs that had recuperated just enough to make it back reminded me that it was time but my mind had a different calling.It drifted me to what my eyes fell for at first sight.Moments later , I found myself in the courtyard of Louvre.The atmosphere was quieter than what I had expected.Not many people were around other than a few souvenir men trying to make their day's last sale and lovers having their evening trysts.

I stood there in front of the glass pyramids just soaking the beauty in .The sheer simplicity and honesty with which they stood is what captivated me - bang in the middle yet not screaming for attention , rather claiming their rightful place with grace and elegance bringing about a grandeur that wouldn't have existed with out them.

I strolled in the courtyard with hands in my pockets , head slightly bent down , taking easy relaxed strides , becoming at one with everything around me.I was no longer anxious to check for the time, no longer worried about not being able to catch the metro, no more hesitant about getting pick pocketed, no longer reflecting on the day , no longer planning for the upcoming events.Nothing excited me, scared me,bemused me,confused me,captivated me , frustrated me or hesitated me.  When the silence became me , I became silent.

It was a rather silent evening ....

That night , I cried ...

One might say that crying is merely a biological process humans and most animals are capable of. A mere act of releasing saline fluid loaded with protein and water from lacrimal glands present in the human eye.Ah! and not to forget, there is definitely this 'forever-complex' neural connection between lacrimose glands and the human brain with the notorious hormones doing their little stunt in between :P but doesn't it seem like there is something more to all of this ? Something more intriguing ? Some uncracked mystery ? Something subtle yet profound ?

Tears say it all, don't they ?

They come out when you can no longer use your tongue to utter words , when you can no longer use your pen to write down your thoughts, when you can no longer use your tactile senses to enact or perform an action, when you have something within you that your heart can no longer endure.An expression that bypasses barriers of all kinds , be it cultural,racial,territorial or lingual.They share no boundaries , no limitations ,no regulations.They are what they are , how they are , when they are ..Tears , plain tears ..

Yes, that night , I cried ...

With the sweetness of macaroons ( from Ladurée ) still tingling my tongue ,I continued on with my journey through the 'Oh-so-amazing !' Champs-Elysées and reached Arc De Triomphe a.k.a Bombay's Gateway of India or even better, Delhi's India Gate .Just that this was a French version of the same monument :) Okay fine, with all respect and giving AOT its due credit , this is the only monument in Paris that gives Eiffel Tower a run for its money.Everyone who goes to see ET visits AOT ,giving AOT its fair share of glory :) Reason ? It's historical significance.It honors those who fought and died for France in the French Revolutionary and the Napoleonic Wars, with the names of all French victories and generals inscribed on its inner and outer surfaces.Told ya ...Ditto , India Gate :P.

So here I was standing in front of this super famous monument wanting to go close to take a self-guided audio tour ,learn more about its historical value and more importantly take a few selfies and put them on instagram but then a question dawned upon me which maxed out my grey cells.The question was,"How do I  cross this damn road and get to the other side?"

For those who do not know ,the roundabout surrounding AOT is the world's craziest.I'm not kidding ! With traffic from 12 major avenues feeding into it, there is a strict 'never-to-ever-dare-cross-this-one' policy slapped onto it :) The roundabout is 10 lanes wide but unlike the roads, roundabouts in Paris have no lane markings making this a fantastic entertainment opportunity.One can spend hours just standing on the side of the road watching the traffic negotiate.The rule for use of these roundabouts is that under no circumstances should you use your indicator to show people what your intentions are. Instead, weave in and out of the ‘lanes’ in a random fashion, and then cut off several lanes of traffic when you reach your exit.Simple ! Now , go figure ! So , there I was figuring out how to cross the road making a few bold attempts but kept zipping in and out .After half an hour or so when I realized I wasn't making much of a progress ,I spotted a European couple , most definitely not French ,struggling with the same ordeal,I decided to just do as they intended to do .So , I stood there waiting for them to figure and just 'cut copy paste' their strategy.I saw them looking for what seemed like a subway and I just put my Sherlock Holmes hat on , carefully placed myself 10 steps behind them and continued with my stalking plan.One step at a time .Only if I had a newspaper , a top hat and an overcoat , would I have really lived the moment but this was fair to start with.Within minutes of my chase , I was there , right in the middle of the road under the Arch's canopy ! Neat ! Only if they had put more sign boards or let's say only if people like me would learn how to read sign boards ;), would it have made my life a little simpler :) Anyhoo, so yeah ! AOT , pretty impressive stuff I would say.However, same story,  different characters .In short, Desi masala curry packaged in a non Desi container. We Indians should learn how to package our stuff better .It will fetch us millions :P Throw in a few self guided audio tours in multiple languages, throw in an extra fee to climb up the Arch , throw in a souvenir shop with jazzy fridge magnets and there you go.Same yellow dal but this time with a spicier tadka ! :D

The dilemma at Arc De Triomphe :P

The Lonesome Obelisk ( Place de la Concorde )

I still had time on my hands before wrapping up for the day that had a trip to Eiffel Tower, Champs-Elysées and Arc De Triomphe laid out for it.I decided to walk back the 2 kms stretch on Champs-Elysées and take the metro from where I started , Hotel Invalids .So I grabbed a cuppa coffee and languidly dawdled down the lane .Lost in the evening humdrum , I guess I might have missed the turn to Invalids and so my direction didn't change .I just kept going straight up till I came to a stop.I was intrigued by a striking columnar structure bang in the center of a huge open space surrounded by palacial buildings ( place de la concorde ).I hadn't seen too many columns with a pyramid shaped top in Paris .This one resembled an obelisk I had seen in Luxor,Egypt .I clearly remembered that our tour guide in Luxor told us that once upon a time , at the entrance of Luxor Temple stood 2 obelisks which looked exactly identical but one was shorter than the other.The shorter one was later gifted to France.So these days, at the entrance of Luxor Temple ,you find Mr. lonesome obelisk standing all companion less.As I was dusting off my memories from year 2010 ,I went up close to confirm and voila ! It was indeed an obelisk.It had a spire on top and a cartouche imprinted on it ! During ancient Egyptian times ,cartouche was the place holder for the name of the pharoah.This oblong print enclosed a group of Egyptian hieroglyphs , typically representing the name and title of a monarch and a pharaoh would have five or more names and hence a cartouche contained a minimum of five figures.

Palace de la Concorde

 I loitered in the fading sunshine and entered Garden of Tuileries(Jardin des Tuileries) . As I walked on the soft wet sand that was glazed by rain drops , I could hear the autumn wind rustling through the tree leaves .I stood by a pond quietly watching the wind blow the surface of water ,pigeons pecking on the edge of pond in the sand,people cozily standing around the fountain, hands in pockets, soaking in the last rays for the remainder of the evening.I closed my eyes to this low crisp whispering and gulped in a big draft of cold damp air.Absorbed in my own thoughts and inner world , I continued walking slowly on a bed of freshly fallen leaves ,along the garden's axis feeling the same wind that was swaying the tree branches , brushing my face.My lungs embraced every single air molecule and invited them to fill every corner of its chambers .My heart overflowed with a sense gratification and fulfillment.My cheeks flaunted a pink winter blush.My eyes gleamed with a blissful smile.

Jardin des Tuileries

A soft glowing light filled the sky , scattering the sun's rays in the atmosphere.Twilight was here.It was a walk to remember.I only realized that I had reached the end of the garden when I saw an Arch.It looked similar to Arc de Triomphe I had seen earlier in the day, only smaller in size .This was Arc de Triomphe du Carrousel. It is triumphal arch in Paris, built to commemorate Napoleon's military victories.Still lost in my nature nostalgia and seemingly disinterested in the Arch, I took reserved and coy steps towards it , through its canopy and then froze to my first sight of the pyramids of Louvre. It was dark.Night had just begun to fall in.The atmosphere was quaint and calming.The pyramids were breathtakingly lit up.My feet refused to move.My hands refused to take out the camera.My jaws refused to close.My eyes refused to blink..And there they came ....rolling off my cheeks , unstoppable .I stood there , just stood there crying.

Yes, that night I cried ...

The splendid Louvre at night ! 

" Sugar , ah honey, honey ....."

Picture this ... A chilly winter morning in November ,sun's rays hitting the ground at a shallow angle, cold winds swooping away the left over heat with them,earth furiously fighting against the wind and holding tight to its scanty warmth,blades of grass struggling to quench their thirst for sunlight,banks of Seine overflowing due to driving rain the night before , air still holding its morning mist,people curled up in scarfs and coats,children placing their fists to their mouths and puffing out into the cold air,a group of girls holding cups of hot chocolate , giggling and clicking pictures over the pedestrian bridge ,couples walking side by side holding hands whispering to each other,souvenir men rambling around with a bunch of Eiffel tower key chains dangling from the inside of their worn out overcoats ,trying to make a sale.Now add faint sounds of birds chirping in the background ,and a constant droning of words in incomprehensible languages that just sound gibberish.Amidst all the hustle bustle, I hovered around the base of Gustav Eiffel's mighty creation for a bit and then made up my mind to leave.

I was strolling along the river with lingering feelings of my newly found romance ,inhaling fumes of cocoa from a distance,humming with every step I took,turning my head from time to time to get a final few glimpses of my lover,smiling to myself at the thought of our tryst,marveling at the moving clouds carefully pasted on the blue sky.They made her appear as though she was walking with me clutching my arm, not wanting me to leave her.The smell of hot chocolate grew intense and my hunger pangs even more with it.I raised my head and adjusted my eyes to focus on a man positioned behind a stand.I walked towards him.

" Tip skillet from side to side until batter covers bottom. Cook until the bottom is golden brown.Splatter a thin layer of chocolate hazelnut nutella spread and place banana slices right in the center... Tadaaaa !!!Presenting a lusciously sweet nutella-banane crepe :) Light, tasty , simply delicious ! "


With my first bite I knew that this truly amazing classic would be my staple for whole of next week :) A crepe ,right after my 669 stepped tango rendezvous with Miss Eiffel , was just the perfect closing treat I could have asked for.I dabbed the chocolate from the corners of my mouth and made way to the metro station.Next stop , Champs-Elysées .

Hôtel National des Invalides , which contains Napoleon's tomb is an unmissable monument when you get off Champs Elysees Clemenca metro station .I walked in its direction ,soaking in the winter sun and got fascinated by a French man roasting some sort of nuts at the corner of the crossing.I went up to him to get directions to Arc De Triomphe and also asked him if he would let me try one of those thingy-bobs.He agreed to it and showed me how to eat them.

So there I was holding coal roasted chestnuts ( Marron Chauds ),in a funneled newspaper , my fingertips blackened from peeling their skin, anticipating my first bite into the charred nugget.To be honest I didn't quite get the taste and to that I said hmmm, " Interesting..." and moved on to my long awaited walk across the 'Avenues of Avenues ! Champs-Elysées !  :).

Champs-Elysées ! How do I put this one ? Hmmm, how about 'NYC's 5th avenue on Steroids' ? :P Btw, only if one is a Parisian or speaks French can one pronounce 'Champs-Elysées' appropriately or maybe it's just me not having my way with phonetics.I got it right after 4 days of persistent attempt.Well, now you know who is at fault :P Okay so, back to the story of Champs-Elysées. Laced with the world's top brand show rooms as well as hub stores on both sides , Champs-Elysées is undoubtedly the grand daddy of the capitalist world but does it scream glory and grandeur ? Hmmm ,maybe , maybe not or let's say I had a different image of it in my mind.I got my ornate architecture , manicured trees , impeccably clean walkways and all that covered but my eyes were looking for something more.Something more aristocratic, something more distinguished , something more noble.I guess my vision was colored by the movie 'Gigi' set in turn-of-the-20th century Paris.I yearned to see pear-shaped women in summer pastel gowns and fancy,floral hats with an umbrella in their hands and gentlemen wearing silk top hats and tuxedos with a flower pinned to it.Though all of this seemed slightly over the top , but I still expected Champs-Elysées to sprinkle a bit of its Parisian charm on me.Instead it was packed with tourists,cafes , restaurants, snazzy theaters (Yep! you guessed it right 'Lido' ( cabaret! wink wink! ) and 'to-be-found-every-where' stores.It was very commercial but then there was one thing , just that one thing that did it for me.That was when I saw Ladurée ! :D

Yep ! Ladurée , the macaroon haven !From the 19th century-style interiors and service to the labyrinthine corridors that lead to the washrooms,this French tearoom had it all.Classic furniture ,dimmed out chandeliers, designed walls, marble flooring , granite pillars ,sweet temptations out for display waiting to be pointed out at and ordered.I think it was the whole set up that did the magic.The whole 'freakin'ly awesome' package.The macaroons and fusion tea held up to their reputation and Ladurée stole the show.Clean sweep !



Macaroons are small round meringue like cookies, stuffed with light cream.Not that I know anything about how they are made but after having one , I knew I was about to become a full blown macaroon addict and so I shamelessly did :). Champs-Elysées from going 'Boo! Nayyy !!' went to 'Oh baby ,definitely yeah !' :D

Here's to Ladurée ...

" Sugar, ah, honey, honey
  You are my candy girl
  And you got me wanting you
  Honey, ah, sugar, sugar
  You are my candy girl
  And you got me wanting you " !

XOXO
Janisha

A love affair ....

Some one rightly said either visit Paris with a lover or fall in love while in Paris.Since I was solo traveling , the latter was bound to happen.

I woke up to a wind chill that slipped through the open window crack.A battle in my head began - whether to get out of my warm cozy bed and close the damn thing which meant giving up on my morning sleep or huddle myself in a corner in child's pose and continue sleeping.5 minutes later I found my feet carefully touching the cold wooden floor reluctantly dragging me out and finding their way to the window.I didn't have much of a say in it anyway.I stood by the window for a minute and sensed dampness in the air.It felt good.I looked down and noticed wet streets and then figured that it had been drizzling.Cloudy skies with a probability of showers said my weather report.It was going to be a cold day.

Headed to the 4X4 bathroom to tactfully perform my morning chores.Got ready ,slipped my thick warm red jacket on , laced my shoe strings ,strapped my watch which read 7:30 am and was all set to step out.

On my way to the metro,I saw a local boulangerie .The bakery's window flaunted its simple yet warm and inviting presence,with shelves stacked with all kinds of loaves and a front counter heaving with plates of freshly baked cakes, croissants (both plain and almond), slices, danishes, biscuits and muffins.The waft of freshly baked bread filtered into the air as I approached it.I had a tickling in my nostrils.As I stood there staring at the mouth watering divinity ,I realized that holding off to this temptation was futile.I was bound to give in and so I did :) .I opened the door and stepped in.

I went around dazed and confused as to what to pick.Footsteps behind me followed by a local voice approached “Would you like some bread ma’am?” I turned around, somewhat startled as I didn’t wish to seem like a trespasser, to find the voice belonged to a young man.We exchanged a big broad smile and he helped me pick a danish and a croissant.I paid my way and on I plodded with my bag to the station.While leaving I heard him say ," Tomorrow , just follow the smell" :).

By the time I had reached the station, my rolls had been munched away , making the most of its immediate freshness ! Ah ! That indescribable feeling of satisfaction ! :D

I reached the ticket counter and asked the lady on the other side of the 'mouse bill' on how to get to Eiffel Tower. She handed off a pocket metro map to me and directed me to get off Ecole Miltare station.I followed her directions and reached out for my purse to pay for a 4 day pass.My hands were full.A wet umbrella in one , a brown paper bag hosting crumbs from my morning treat in the other, with a loaded hand bag swung around my arms. I tactfully placed my umbrella on stand right under the ticket window and freed one of my hands ,purchased the tickets and found my way through the station.

Metro Map 

The subway corridors were inundated with creative billboard posters.Some flaunted ground breaking art exhibitions while others featured  glittery and glamorous cabaret performances.I loved some of the messages that stood out so starkly apart from the banality of typical billboards with commercial messages.Not that I could make sense out of them , just that I appreciated the curative eye of the designer.

Gripped in the advertizing maze , I was disturbed by an uneasy feeling of not carrying enough in my hands .I recollected throwing the trash away but couldn't understand why I still felt as though something was amiss.Ah ha ! It struck me ! I left my umbrella ! I darted through the passages ,reached my point of origin but couldn't cross the one way entrance besides the ticket counter. The conductor at the station held a confused look and I started playing charades and 'complete the sentence' game again.

"Umbrella ...blue green checks ...rain...umbrella.On the stand under the counter.."

My eyes went to the stand and I found no umbrella there .It had barely been 5 minutes since I crossed the ticket checking machine and I had lost my umbrella ! I was stumped :( My thoughts drifted to what I had read in the Lonely Planet guide .'Be aware of pick pocketers while in Paris'. What I read was apparently true ,though it didn't completely apply in my case , but I was darn convinced that it was true.I clasped the string of my pink sling tightly and dishearteningly walked to the platform.Boarding the train was pretty straightforward .Finding a seat wasn't an issue either .With my mind still upset over the umbrella episode, I reached Ecole Miltare.

Ecole Miltare ...Ah !!  The place screamed Eiffel Tower ! The air smelt Eiffel Tower ! and within seconds I recouped to my element .I stepped out of the metro and looked around to see if I could spot her from a distance.My eagerness paralleled that of a lover waiting to meet his beloved.Butterflies in the stomach, an astounding feeling of nervousness , an uncanny excitement .I had it all.I turned my head around and voila ! There she was .Amidst all the buildings ,I got a glimpse of her crown .That was it for me.Henceforth I didn't need directions. I didn't even bother looking for signs.My feet sprung from one street to the other.With every glance , I felt I was inching closer to her.There was this unspoken,incomprehensible magnetic pull.I couldn't rationalize what I was feeling and why I was doing what I was doing.I found my heart thumping and pounding very hard , my nervousness growing , my excitement about to shoot through the roof ! and then ...and then , a few mighty moments later ...We stood right in front of each other ... exchanging our very first glances.My eyes stayed fixated at her for quite sometime. There was this distance between us which I purposefully wanted to cover as slowly and carefully as possible .. She seemed so delicate , so beautiful , so pristine , so lady like that I wanted to soak it all in . With every blink , I was even more awestruck by her elegance . With every step that I took towards her, I became even fonder of her grace .With every breath I took , I grew even more foolishly eager to inhale her scent.

Eiffel Tower

Eiffel Tower from second floor, 281m high

But she , she just kept standing there ,tall and confident,toffee nosed,not budging from her stance, so aware of her worthiness and uppity .My eyes carefully shifted focus from her persona to her bronze evening gown draping off her shoulders ,casting a magical spell on everything that surrounded her, saw her or touched her.I felt like a prince dying to ask her out for a dance.My head started singing this song from the movie, 'My Fair Lady'.

" I could have danced all night!
I could have danced all night!
And still have begged for more.
I could have spread my wings
And done a thousand things I've never done before.
I'll never know What made it so exciting;
Why all at once My heart took flight. I only know when he
Began to dance with me I could have danced,
danced, danced all night!  "

I needed someone to pinch me , to tell me that this was reality , that this wasn't a dream , that I was really seeing what I was seeing.Her beauty became overwhelming.I just stood there royally smitten.I knew there was no way I could undo what I felt.I quietly approached her and figured it was me who had to take the lead .That I had to step up and politely ask the lady.To that I surrendered and walked up the stairs for our first dance...

Boxed In ....

They say what is traveling through Europe without backpacking .They say what is backpacking without a hosteling experience .They say what is a hosteling experience without a bunk bed.They say is a bunk bed without a creaking sound.They say what is a creaking sound that doesn't disturb your bunk mate in the morning.They say what is a morning that starts without a curse word :)

I came , I saw , I concurred :P

Metro - Porte de Vanves , the station whose pronunciation I never had my way with but whose sight always gave me a home stretch kick , was going to be my start and end point for the next 6 days in Paris.

Arty hostel, in its true sense arty enough ,was my first crash point amongst the four havens booked for my solo journey through continental Europe.Soberly designed , this somewhat creamy ,  four storied brick building flaunted its presence by putting on display flags from sixteen different nations. Bunched in groups of three , the flags wind socked amidst tiny white windows bordered by red bricks on top and a balcony with no standing space at its base . The entrance awkwardly contrasted the building above. It had grayish blue paint slapped on it. All in all , the building left me with a not so curious , yet not so distasteful feeling about stepping in.



To my delight,I was greeted by burst of colors ,dark pinkish reddish walls and calligraphic welcome messages in different languages chalked on a huge blackboard that stood right behind the main reception desk. One could tell that the furniture was old and overly used .It was worn out but carefully taken care of , gasping its last yet taking pride in its durability looking forward to cater a few more weary budget travelers. The lobby put forth its best with a minimalistic decor.A foosball table bang at the entrance, a couple of printing and internet terminals in the background, walls with holes dug in with 'how to get to ...' flashcards hanging off the hooks,card stands with countless sightseeing pamphlets and offers.I took a quick stage scan and leaped forward to locate a bell on the overly cluttered wooden desk.A clang and young lass appeared to the scene .

<Lights Out> <Scene Change>

ACT 1:

Receptionist greets weary traveler .Traveler greets back.Traveler swings backpack off shoulder .Young lass walks traveler through the reservation details.Traveler is given a room key , fresh linen and directions to the elevator . Traveler swings  backpack back on and walks up a flight of stairs ,turns slightly left and presses the elevator button once , then twice, then thrice .Frantic pressing of the elevator button continues for a bit and then stops.Traveler carefully scrutinizes environment.Traveler makes an observation.Hmmm ... elevator has a door, I mean a regular door with a handle.Traveler opens the door and Eureka !!! , finds elevator's sliding doors .Traveler walks in and within 2 mins of journey to 4th floor learns some critical life lessons :)

Lesson 1 : Never enter an elevator with your backpack on.
Lesson 2 : Never overestimate or underestimate the size of an elevator .
Lesson 3 : Never take 'XXXlbs capacity' for granted .
Lesson 4 : Respect and thank who ever designed elevators in US and other parts of the globe because they surely didn't design them well in PARIS !

This is not an outburst of frustration but with all due respect, porta-potties in US are far more comfortable and spacious than that dingy little squat box which the Parisians called elevator ! With my backpack on , the elevator door literally closed at the tip of my nose.I'm not exaggerating ! It could only transport one person and when I mean one , I mean one . No offense , but I think the designer was probably an Oriental and saw only an Asian gene using this masterpiece.A couple of mins in that dudgeon left me breathless and before I could collapse , the door opened and I arrived on the desired floor.Soon I realized that walking through the alleys with my backpack on was also not an option.The elevator experience had some what prepared me for what lay ahead.

<Lights Out> <Scene Change>

ACT 2 :

Traveler enters room and dumps bag on the floor .Traveler runs a quick scan and spots one vacant bed in a room for four.Traveler smells something and reaches out to open the window.Next to the window is a door.Traveler opens the door and enters it yet to learn some more life lessons :)

Lesson 1 : Micro is a word that can be applied rightfully to bathrooms too.
Lesson 2 : Bathing space can be one foot apart from wash basin which can be one foot apart from the toilet bowl.
Lesson 3 : Jeans can be worn strategically with one leg in the bathing space , and another rested on the covered toilet bowl.
Lesson 4 : Under every case and circumstance, it is wiser and advisable to complete pending morning chores in a restaurant's toilet.

Plunder is the word that comes to my mind.That is what it was stepping into Arty's bathroom . It was royally and brutally robbed out of space.I stepped in and closed the door and said to myself, you can't be serious but apparently they were serious .They were darn serious about exploiting the last inch from the room and making something out of it .In this case, they made a bathroom.The one person elevator sized bathing space was merely a foot away from the wash basin which served as the only pedestal vanity in the room .A hot water shower would transform the entire space into a sauna minus the relaxing experience.The basin too just stood less than half a foot away from the golden thrown.I will have to admit , the elevator experience could still be avoided by taking a flight of stairs but there was no escaping this .I was destiny bound :(

I had no one to rant to .Jet lag had begun to hit me .My head was spinning and I knew I had to sleep for a few before being able to soak all of this in.It was already getting too much to handle.I slid my backpack under the bed, put fresh covers and sheets on , reclined in my capsule and grudgingly slipped my way into sleep.

Traveling undoubtedly leaves you speechless and then turns you into a story teller.I figured my saga of storytelling had officially begun ...

Touch down ...

With a spring in my step I headed to the carousel to collect my big ass backpack. I reached the baggage claim area, stood up right, adjusted my watch to its tick ,carefully collected the strands of my hair and tied them together in a bun and wishfully waited for my backpack to arrive .A swing and a miss, another swing and a miss.  I remember waiting for its arrival as though I were five years old eagerly waiting for dad to get back home from work and help me steer my balance on the wheels while I dodgily attempted to complete one round of the park.

"Is it there yet? Is it there yet?” is what raced through my mind. I could feel the tension in my legs building up.’What if' thoughts began to pour in but before they could hog all that was left and drive me mad, there it was --  my only steady companion, naturally progressing towards me ,dying to be held up and piggy backed ! I managed to roll my baby over effortlessly and buckled its waist belts tightly enough to hear them click .I was all set, ready to rock n roll...

The Parisians oh so knew that Paris was about to be set on fire! I could already hear the sizzles!! :P 

Minutes later I found myself making way to the information counter. As I waited in queue to be called upon on, I scurried through my purse foraging for relevant address print outs, slid them in my travel guide and clasped it tightly to my side. Momentarily I was face to face with a mid age, gray haired woman. As she glanced through her round glasses, I picked the unsaid hint and hurriedly reached out for my phrase book that lay buried in my cluttered purse. Amidst the labyrinth of items , I managed to skillfully locate it in time and out went the mighty words , " je je je je  vuuuuu aeeelleeer " which read " je veux aller " ( I want to go to ... ). As retarded as it may have sounded to the woman behind the desk , I went full on with my attempt !

"Madam , Je veux aller Rue des Morillons , aaaa Arty hostel ".

I heard a voice replying back in a language that sounded familiar.

"Let's not waste our time. Let's just talk in English! How may I help you? Where do you want to go? "

Both embittered and delighted, I gave in and asked her directions to Arty hostel. She directed me to take the Air France bus, line 4 to Gare Montparnasse and told me that I could walk the distance from there. So there I went ,happily prancing out of the airport, locating the bus station, playing with the ticketing machine, reaching the correct spot and boarding the bus. I offloaded my backpack in to the luggage rack , showed my ticket to the bus driver and parked myself on a comfortable seat by the window ,all ready for the ignition to ignite me even further .45 mins to an hour later with a few shut eyes in between , I reached Gare Montparnasse terminus.

Gare Montparnasse !  Ah ! Gare Montparnasse !  Teeming with people, Gare Montparnasse is one of the largest stations in Paris. Confident, based on my airport experience, I headed to the ticket conductor and asked him for directions to the hostel and WOOOOAAAAHHH ! What do I hear? Blah! Blah! Blah! Blah! I repeat my question a few times, make hand gestures, point out to my print outs, play charades with him but all go in vain. I then head to snack stalls to hear the same story. I stop passengers walking past me and yet again the same story .I remember literally going "Holy Smolly!!What do I do now? No one here understands English!!! “I was about to have panic a attack when my navigational instincts (LOL! -- if you knew me better, you would know that I don't have any) directed me to get out of the station and try asking people outside, conveniently pretending that people outside were any less French than the ones inside :).I laugh at that thought till date but comeon I was weary, tired, lost in an unknown land and didn't speak their language .What more could be expected of me? 

I walked a little further up and came to a stop. I saw a bunch of white tents, trinklets and charms hanging, pottery and other art forms on display, brightly colored fabrics swinging in the direction of the wind,vin chaud ( hot wine ) and hot chocolate stalls and tones of people -- selling , haggling, buying , exchanging glances, laughing but all in an incomprehensible language .It was a street fair , one of the kinds I had imagined but instead of being bedazzled, I remember feeling like a spectator of a silent film. I could see the reel roll in action but it was all mute. I continued asking the same question," How do I get to Arty hostel? Rue de Morillions? Can you tell me which direction? “. Alas! No luck .From their gestures I could understand that they didn't get a word of what I spoke and I didn't get theirs. At this point, my neurons were frenzier than ever and I decided switching on my international data plan and using Google maps completely ignoring a well known fact that I'm directionally challenged and that reading maps has never been my forte. Yet, hoping that today I might behave differently, I took my chances and gave it a shot. I started walking in the direction that I thought was correct and from one 'rue de something something' to another  'rue de something something' ,I got so 'rued' up that I was pretty close to having a nervous breakdown. It didn't take me long to realize that I was going in circles around the terminus. At least one thing was deduced from all this seemingly futile activity - the GOD DAMN terminus was ovular!! I will never forget that! :D
 

Completely despaired with options running out, my eyes located a hotel nearby and I thought to myself there could be a fair possibility that the hotel staff might know English and to my delight I was right!!! It worked!! The receptionist was kind enough to not only direct me to where I wanted to reach but also to tell me that the distance might be a little too much by foot and that it would be wiser to take a bus which would drop me a few steps my destination. She also told me that the 'rue de something something' meant roads/avenue/blvd/streets or whatever you call them in US. What a solid piece information that was!!!

I followed her advice and got to the bus stop .The display showed 18 mins to my bus's arrival. I checked the route on the board and put my back pack on the ground .It was getting a little too much now .My jet lag had started to kick in and the load on my shoulders wasn't of much help. I decided to give myself some rest and landed my butt on the tiny blue seat behind me. A few minutes later, a young black woman came by and I was tempted to cross check with her about my route. By now I had become adept in asking questions with incomplete, unstructured statements.

"Bon Jour ! Aaaa bus 59 ..aaa Rue de morillions (spoken in the manner the receptionist taught me) ....aaaaa Arty hostel " 

And to that she nodded. I felt at ease and went back to my spot. Soon after , an old woman came by and I felt obligated to get up and offer my seat .She gestured me not but I did any way .2 mins to the bus's arrival and I thought it would be a good idea to load up and get ready. I stepped forward for my bag and swung it by one of its arms and as soon as I did that ,I felt a tender touch helping me put the second arm around .I turned back to see who it was and found the old lady ,who was half struggling to keep herself balanced, there. It just melted me .Such an act of kindness! A few moments back I was overwhelmed with the idea of being in this unknown land and the very next I was being so warmly welcomed by a complete stranger. My spirits restored. I thanked her "Merci !", and boarded the bus. 10 mins later, I saw a familiar image, the one I had seen on Google Earth while making hostel reservations in October. The building looked familiar .The flags of different nationalities hanging outside the building also looked familiar. I pressed the stop button and stepped out of the bus. I knew I was at Arty, my destination .I knew I had touched down ...