HOMEWARD BOUND by Armen Pandola
Journeys or odysseys have been a subject of interest ever since the beginnings of Western Civilization. What is measured is not the number of places seen or meals eaten or even new people met, but, rather, the journey is from who you were when you began to who you became when you ended. It's a journey of the mind more than the body.
And there are times when I wished that my body wasn't along for the ride. Nothing is as inherently fearful to humans as the fear of falling from a great height - but we go up in planes and try to ignore that most basic instinct. And nothing is as repugnant as extremely close contact with total strangers - and yet we control that revulsion, too. We do this to travel. To go. To make a journey. To see new places and people. To experience new ways. To find a new us.
I took this journey alone. I never had done that before. Journeys with a partner or friends are different. They are shared experiences and, in many ways, are far richer than solo ones. Math is not always true. 1 + 1 = more than 2 in life.
But traveling alone does force you to focus on who you really are - no partner to appease or friends to compromise with, no need to explain why you decided to turn left or even all the way around or what makes you want to eat here rather than there. No plan once made that cannot be changed by a whim, no one to remind you that what you say today totally contradicts what you said yesterday. No nuthin' but you and what you really want and are.
Of course, along the way, I have remembered past journeys. Places seen many years ago have changed - and so have I. The thrill of turning that corner on Rue Saint-Florentin and for the first time seeing the Place de la Concorde in all its majesty and there in the distance, Tour Eiffel, more a natural outcropping from the soul of this great city than a man-made tower of steel and cement - it happens once, like your first kiss.
But this new journey has cultivated new memories, new stories, new tastes, new people. The young woman at the information center at the airport, looking at this very frazzled American who cannot seem to get his cell phone to work, saying to him, "Use my landline, it's more friendly." The children at the Musee Picasso, delighted that the famous artist whose work they have come to see is just as child-like in his art as they. That first taste of pumpkin soup at Benoit. A group of travelers standing in front of a darkened and roofless Notre Dame, silent and mournful. The dancers on Sunday afternoon practicing at Carrefour in an outlying arrondissement of Paris and transmitting the joy of their movements like it was electricity. The beautifully dressed crowd at Longchamps Racecourse screaming encouragement to the British steed, Encore. The crazy revelers of Blanc Nuit, racing from event to event, staying awake all night for the sheer fun of it. Making bread at Le Cordon Bleu with Chef Boudot. Parisians sporting their stylish scarves. The sound of the Metro and the taste of the best bread this side of my childhood. Pain du chocolate and tart citron and soupe de poisson. Heidi taking us to the best chocolate in Paris while leading us on a tour about the great women of Paris. Da Vinci and Monet and the blue of the sky on a perfect Paris day. Rick was right - and so was Hemingway. Paris is a moveable feast and once you experience it, it will stay with you always.
Tomorrow I head home. I'll have some time to tell you about my airbnb experience and give you some tips on that and on shopping in Paris. But I want to leave you with a poem that expresses why I did this - and yes, it is a little grand, but then, if you aren't going to strive to do the grand things, then why are you here? Tennyson gave me the inspiration to do this - go find yours.
Come, my friends,
'Tis not too late to seek a newer world.
Push off, and sitting well in order, smite
The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds
To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths
Of all the western stars, until I die.
It may be that the gulfs will wash us down:
It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles,
And see the great Achilles, whom we knew.
Tho' much is taken, much abides; and tho'
We are not now that strength which in old days
Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are;
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.