Six Flights Up

it was hell getting here. this means language snafus, ticket lines, and a train from the airport filled with elderly Spaniards transfixed by the fear that they were going to miss their stop. anxiety that is this mundane creeps up on folks as they age, like weeds in a garden. great, something else to be vigilant about.

when we finally arrived and stepped out into the station, Dolly Parton came on my iPod and we found ourselves surrounded by Parisians heading for their Friday routine of cafes, bars and restaurants. it felt electric, and when we emerged, there it was, la ville-lumiere in full swing.

the place we're staying in my cousin calls a "real Paris garret." it's teeny, the kitchen is located next to the bathroom and ... it's six floors up - with no elevator. the stairs are in the form of a tight helix, or nautilus-like shape which makes the climb pretty arduous. when i reached the summit i felt a little dizzy but wasn't sure if this was due to the effort of climbing the stairs, or if the air was perhaps thinner way up here. tho very small, the place is sweet with views that make you pull up the chair, open the window, put your feet on the balcony rail and just enjoy what luck, circumstance and planning can bring.


in this case, that means a priceless lil place in Paris at no charge with the French Open scheduled to begin tomorrow, Sunday, May 25.

***
after making up the beds with clean sheets we headed out into the Marais for some salmon and a bottle of white at Le Gamin de Paris ... and then a walk around Notre Dame, before heading to a relaxed outdoor gay cafe, Les Marrioniers.

today started out sunny and warm. after picking up the grey hoodie that i didn't realize i'd been waiting forever for and simply had never been able to find, at Muji--along with some sparkling white tee shirts--i gave myself over to the vast and efficient public transportation offerings of The Metro and rode out to Roland Garros, to catch all the pre-open tennis action.

the ticket to get in was only 18 Euros and it allows you to wander about and watch all the warm up sets and practice matches, along with the last round of qualifying. a tennis fan's dream, really. as soon as i got there, i almost literally bumped into Jose Higueras, the legendary Spanish tennis player from back in the day who now among other things has been brought on by Roger Federer to help coach him to victory on the notorious and punishing red clay of Roland Garros.

and then it began to pour. play was suspended and since i was sporting shorts and a tennis warm-up jacket type deal, i was getting soaked. and then I saw they were selling souvenir rain ponchos. so, i bought one, complete with the French Open logo on the back and pockets.

20 minutes later i settled in on Court Suzanne Lenglen and watched a set of doubles featuring Mats Wilander, Jonas Bjorkman and Henri Leconte played with such relaxed flair and savoir faire that i suddenly felt i understood how to play the game about 25% better than i had before i sat down. later i caught Scots wunderkind Andy Murray practicing them baffling and fluid strokes of his before segueing over to observe Aussie Alicia Molik hitting the shit out of the ball, her coach instructing her to get on the outside of it when she hit it cross court.

for those who've never hit one, there are few things in life more satisfying than hitting one deep into the opposite corner. after watching all this, i was just itching to pick up a racket and take a few swings. but luckily for everyone involved, myself included, i managed to "stay my hand," to paraphrase a funny line given to me by someone i knew about 1.2 million years ago.

and then the rain really started coming down. folks were fleeing for dry land, commandeering niches under roof overhangs huddling under umbrellas set up outside the snack bars and cafes.

but not me.

a little wet maybe, but i walked unfettered and alive through the grounds wearing a souvenir tennis poncho during a spring rainstorm in Paris surrounded by red clay tennis courts as i made my way back to a little garret i know, six flights up.