Day One: Natasha aka Schmoopie Boysaw flies in and arrives about 9 hours en retard after experiencing the inconvenience of the striking French at the airport. Fitting really. But, we were finally reunited, jumping up and down like kindergarten bffs after not seeing one another for an entire Christmas Holiday. We chatted well into the morning, and its always so wonderful when you can feel as though nothing has changed... across continents, across time zones, and more importantly across new haircuts and hats.
Our first day took us to cafes, then a brief introduction to the Falafel man, (who after many inquiries I will answer yes, is sort of still around) and chatting in french history museums about art and life more than actually paying attention to the paintings on the wall.
Enters Mlle. Kimmer Novak. Enter Mlles. Martha Gardikas et Devin O'Fallon. The loud laughing American girls taking photos on the subway, causing trouble at Brunch where forks were thrown at us and then right back (metaphorically on the return i suppose), drinking cafes and champagne trying to pretend like we fit in, but in our own quirky way forever standing out. These girls brought a little of New York back to me, reminiscing over our volleyball memories and nightmares and catching each other up on how we all changed, but more so, how we're exactly la meme.
Schmoopie always seemed to take pictures of Kim with a baguette in her mouth. I'm sure I would get some Kimmer hate mail if I posted the others.... Love you Kimmmer!
We had a dinner party with Americans and Frenchies... over pizza and NY cheesecake. Some of us got really drunk and started touching the hostess' face. Others were male Parisians named Eud (pronounced OOOOOD) who called themselves Phillipe. Others decided they didn't like their seats and began their rendition of musical chairs. And all the Americans were messy leaving their marks forever on the french tableclothes while the French looked from their side of the table in horror. God help us.
The next day, we climbed up to Sacre Coeur with soups and smoothies from Kim's find “Smooth and the City” (with a name like that, easily mistakable for a waxing joint), found photo ops around lovely Parisian sights, ate a mushroom apple strudel, had fortunes told at a bar by an 80 year old drunk Frenchman/ tarot card reader , boarded the wrong train that took us out of the city, fell down a couple stairs..... did a lot without doing too much.
The last night Schmoopie et moi recovered ourselves from almost dying several time on bikes and then in the below freezing crypts of the Pantheon, with a veggie meal discussing what we always like to discuss.... hats, Florida in old age , future life excursion and trouble in the making, and how bad we feel for whichever young men would ever attempt to manage either of us. These two ladies are just a little too happy on their own and a bit too difficult to please. But Paris, you've done one hell of a job.
Sometimes it takes some friends from a different time/ place to remind you of parts of yourself. They know you so well, and even if you think you've changed so much...they assure you that you haven't. You remind one another that Mariah Carey still has the best Christmas music around, Martha-isms are still the best -isms around, Butternut Squash said with no teeth is a way to make time and bus rides pass, the inside jokes about waterboys and London hostels will forever and always make you laugh, and that Schmoopies will forever and always be Schmoops...
The great things about friendships spanning over years is that they let you feel as you did when you first met, with less worries, less knowledge, and more importantly more mischief. Whoever said Americans don't keep their friends for life? Ca n'est pas vrai! ...the 4 of us living in 3 diff cities, is just another warranted excuse to travel. A bientot les filles!
Courtesy of Mlle Schmoopie Boysaw for all Black and White Photography. Quotes upon request.