Europe: Part I

 Room 8 at Hotel Brunnenhof was home for four days in the Kinzig Valley, a scenic river valley that runs through Hanau, Germany. I was there from the 9th of August through to the 13th for a wedding and several meetings with old friends from Germany and England. It was a fantastic time. Then, on the 13th, I took a train from Steinem to Frankfurt and then a second train to Paris where I now sit in bed, at 06:16 (having been awake since 4am), in room 216 at the Hotel & Spa Royal Madeleine. The room is tiny but beautiful and I sit here sipping a coffee contemplating life and loves long lost… loves which now lay silent, in death, and will not resurrect even though there are those that I long for.

This is my first visit to Paris and my initial impression is that it is similar in architecture and flow to Madrid, where I lived for three years. I am sure there are many French and Spanish individuals who would take my head off for such a comparison, but it is merely mine, my first impression. I walked from the train station, Gare de l'Est, to the hotel – just over 30 minutes – and then immediately after checking in walked up to The French Flair bar to watch some English football and have a beer. As they don’t serve food, I crossed the streets into an Irish bar, Corcoran’s Pub, where I had bangers and mash.

But, in spite of that… it is a city of romance, fashion, and history. It is a city associated with Oscar Wilde, Ernest Hemingway, Scott Fitzgerald, Henry Miller, and many others. Browsing over a map this morning I realize that there is far too much to do in two full days and so I will walk around, find Théâtre Mogador where The Clash played on the 25th of September, 1981, visit the Eiffel Tower, walk along the banks of the Seine, and find as many places of literary interest as possible, and consume some alcohol.

The thing I had forgotten about European cities such as Paris and Madrid is that deliveries to the restaurants, bars, and hotels usually begin around 5am. Therefore, it is common to lie in bed listening to an engine rumbling in the still of night whilst the operators load stock. No sooner have they finished and the garbage collection begins… 7am filled with the sound of plastic refuse containers being lifted by hydraulic arms, emptied, then dropped back onto the street. Then the best is yet to come… once the refuse has been collected, the traffic begins and, voila, a crescendo of noise is reached.

It has been a magnificent few days in Paris in which I have managed to see breath-taking world renowned sites and landmarks. However, I must say, my favourite moment in the city arrived in an unexpected manner. I had just returned from the second very long walk in two days, I went to the swimming pool in my hotel and soaked a while (I could not swim due to the ribs I fractured in a car crash a few days before leaving the USA) and then I showered, put on my flip flops, and walked to a local café that is just a few metres from my hotel room, L’Arcade. I sat at the bar and discovered that the bar tender was absolutely beautiful. I ordered a beer and she lovingly poured it with a beautiful smile. I asked her for cocktail recommendations and she suggested the ‘Porn Star Martini’. We began to talk and it turned out that she was a photographer from Valence. When I left she said that it was wonderful to meet me and asked how long I would be in Paris for. My heart raced all afternoon and I contemplated returning, but I didn't want to be a pest. 

Now I am in room 620 of the VP Plaza España Design hotel, in Madrid, I rest and reflect after a tumultuous trip from Paris. A bus ride from Opera, Paris, to CDG airport was frantic to say the least. An elderly lady sat beside me and helping her with her luggage was not good for my fractured ribs, but it was worthwhile seeing the gratitude in her smile. The flight to Madrid was smooth until we approached the runway, then the plane rocked and shook violently. Fortunately, I had consumed enough wine to not care too much. After checking in at the hotel, and having a quick shower, I walked just a few metres in my flip flops to a local restaurant where I had octopus and fell deeply in love with the Madrid way of life once more. But a sadness lingers, too… for there are so many who simply disappeared into the cold, dark night. Too many married, had children, moved away, or simply stopped communicating… presumably for love. Maybe for hatred? But a city that has held so much love now seems somewhat barren. Alas, ‘tis midnight and I need to sleep.

To be continued… 

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