7b.

There are three different parts of Paris now.

There is the tour - The hotels, the bars, the roadies who talk loud English in the Tourist Cafes which line the village where we are. My beautiful Meka, who follows her own agenda, and rightfully so. The hum of the air conditioning, and the Beige Lighting of the corridors and the room I am in. This seems almost like work. And I am not working, I'm an anoymous guest. But I can see now what Meka was describing. It's one thing to travel the world, and another to be so tired all you do is travel to different hotels and see the inside of different stadiums. I try and avoid this place as much as I can. Though I'm walking at least 5 hours a day, and occassionally need to come home and bury my face into the clean, soft Hotel Pillow. Yum.

There is the Paris I have discovered - The streets, the monuments, the famous, the hidden. The desperate homeless who crawl on sticks across scenes so familiar to me. Scenes I have seen hung on a gallery wall. There are the minorities who are stopped by the gendarmes at every corner. The fashionable and wealthy who have an Access All pass, but choose to stay on the correct side of the Rue de Royale. There are the vendors who line the Seine selling books. Books! Books and art! The street vendors sell books and art. That was the first time I truly fell in love with this city, when I saw that. There is cafe after cafe after cafe, all so expensive, and impossible to discern without serious investigation. There are baguettes and donuts and crepes and pastries and wines and beers and bars and girls and lights. Oh my, the lights. And I've seen all of this on my own. Just walking. Hour after hour, day after day, just observing and taking it all in. Knowing that I'll need it, not for this cheap arse travel blog story I'm writing. But for the real thing. And that's the one thing I really feel I have taken in. That this city can light the creative spark, just by being itself. All it has to do is exist. That's what I'm taking in, as I walk the streets. Gallons and gallons of Creative Spark TM.

There is the Paris that is yet to be - Because for all its beauty, Paris is hollow, without somebody to share it with. To hold the hand of the one you Love while taking deep breaths rather than photos, to stop beside the river and touch each other's skin, to make love at night, knowing that this is where Love came home, this is the Paris that is yet to be.

But it will be here soon.

We've made it so.

So in the meantime, I'll walk, and I'll wait, and I'll grin.
Because soon that True Paris, will start to begin.