a park in paris is a lonely place

pigment

I've never been to Arizona, but I imagine it would look something like this. 

We drove on a bus for over an hour, winding up and over and around the steadily climbing hills of the Luberon valley and eating tasteless crackers to keep from getting sick. Then we step out and this golden-orange view, peppered through with greenest evergreen trees, is what awaits us. 

We rush to climb and play in the silty dust like children, and the ochre cliffs — run through with brilliant smudges of pinks and oranges and crimsons, even — rub off on our clothes. 

Soon we are covered with it, and traces of color will make their way back on the bus to Aix-en-Provence with us, only to be found hours or even days later by scolding mères d'acceuil, impatient with hanging the laundry outside to dry only to find it still dirty. 

Why they insist on cleaning our clothes is beyond us — the teachers tell us it is a difference culturelle which translates most directly as don't question it. We could wash our things ourselves, but why would we want to when such beautiful color still lingers?

But for now, the earth feels soft like charcoal on our fingers. We are grown but today we are in Roussillon, or is it Arizona, and the old quarry is ours to explore.

facades

London

Rome

Aix-en-Provence

patins en ligne

Going to see the Eiffel Tower and the October streets are full of people. The métro is still running, shuffling back and forth across the City of Light those accidental Parisian revelers who are even aware that it is Halloween, something of a peculiarity to non-Americans. Bon, let me get this straight. You just give out candy?

The tower is still blocked from view by the tawny apartment buildings, and Kiely turns to me as we prepare to cross one last street before everything is clear. The excitement reflects in her eyes like the twinkling, spinning lights that are currently on the Eiffel Tower (we know they're shining, even though we can't see). We are about to take our first step onto the empty road when a Frenchman on rollerblades zooms in from the right.

And then another, and another. Soon there is a whole crowd of them whizzing by under the golden light of the streetlamps, some wearing spandex shorts, others in helmets, one is still in a suit from his work just a handful of hours before. And then there are costumes, too, lots of them for the holiday. I catch sight of a woman dressed like a sandwich, and the slices of cardboard bread are so wonderfully out-of-nowhere and unexpected that I feel a pang for back home.

The whooshing sound of plastic wheels on cool pavement dies away as the last of the rollerbladers continue into obscurity down the street. We can finally cross, and do. We drink Heinekens by the tower — just as tall as Kiely thought it would be, and glittering — and Dan talks about American things in his loud, carrying voice. I think fondly of the sandwich, and then we go home.

autumnal

The Bass Reid Oxford in Oxblood/Oxblood.

Oberlin in the fall.

Yes. I think these will go nicely. 

drew eats a burger

A road trip in January. Destination: Burlington. The absolute coldest 10 days I've ever felt, when I had to wear a down vest and at least three layers under my winter coat every time we ventured out into the snowy city. One such trip was to make a visit to the Shopping Bag, a small convenience store that, oddly enough, had burgers that were said to be the best in Vermont. A few guys with grease-smudged white aprons were cooking them on a small grill set off in the corner, away from the shelves stocked with off-brand candy and cans of soup. Drew got a Scibeck Sizzler to go.

The famed Sizzler.

He started off strong. Look at the determination.

Soon the hot flashes set in. Drew began to remove articles of clothing, peeling them off one by one as the Sizzler settled in his belly.

He persevered.

Then he got a bloody nose.

He never finished the burger.

 Drew took a two-hour nap immediately following his run-in with the burger. Scibeck Sizzler 1, Drew 0.