roots

i tried to explain to the old ball and chain during our drive back from milwaukee the other week why it is that i love traveling so much.

and i was having troubles finding the right words. hmmm.

i love the flavors, aromas and general essence of a new town. not only the architecture or restaurants or shops but mostly, the people.

so much of our souls are rooted in our early dwellings. our surroundings. as an attempt to keep up-to-date for my current job, i listen to radio quite a bit. as i listen to this kid rock song (haha), singin about 1989 along the northern beaches of Lake Michigan as he is sampling Sweet Home Alabama i think how ironic...why isn't he sampling the Nuge instead? Where are all our roots, man?

And it got me wondering, how many people are sitting around everyday wondering about somewhere else?

I have no idea what the answer is to such a question, perhaps I should take a poll on that one...but I will leave you with another sampling of another 2005 French Breakaway travel entry.

Saturday, October 29th, 2005

11:13 am - ahhhh...paris paris paris

I've completed my first week of living like a Parisian. Holy Toledo. I wish I had camera eyes like in that creepy movie... I finally found a net cafe...in the Latin Quarter. uuugh. I hate net cafes...not very inspirational places. There are people all around me, from all over the world, either researching things to do in Paris or checking their email and there are those two robotic men behind the counter controlling it all. So I leave my suburban homestead each morning, walk a few metres and catch a bus, where a nice portugese man greets me every morning. I ride to the local SNCF station, sit on the train for 20 minutes, surrounded by a melange of strange African languages that I have never heard before, wake up to the Eiffel Tower on the left and arrive in the center of the city. I have no sense of direction in the circular flow of things in Europe...I am accustomed to the grid-like structures of modern-day American cities, thus I have purchased a compass and have honed my intuitive skills even further. I am Rudolphe the red nosed reindeer. Guess I look like I know what I'm doing because people ask me for directions all the time. If only they knew... I have befriended a few fun pals from all over the place. A gal from Pasadena, a boy from Trinidad, and Spaniard, a Texan, an Algerian and a Parisian. Imagine that. My first day here I met a 65 year old Parisian man who offered to buy me an apartment in Paris so I could stay here. Hmmmmmm. WEIRD! Then there are the Japanese business men on the CHamps-Elysees who want to give me 1000 euros cash to go buy things at Louis Vuitton to help them smuggle back to their boutiques. Then there are the men in Montmartre who grab your face and want to paint you. I haven't come up with a good comeback yet but I'm working on it. They're really irritating. It's all just too weird. Everything. But oddly enough, why do I feel more at home wandering these streets then I do in the USA? Speaking of the USA, it's quite a controversial thing to be an American in the world these days. It's like a one nation, Under a Picnic Shelter, chowing down on BBQ ribs, while the rest of the world is on the swingset, famished, getting wet in the rain. I don't think people realize what we've become. I just don't think people really realize. Good thing people think I'm German. I guess. It's been fun walking and exploring and wandering aimlessly here. Makes me believe in destiny again. I stumbled across Ernest Hemingway's apartment in Paris. I can't wait to get back and write my little heart out. Or maybe I won't come back. Or maybe I'll just get a job as an international flight attendant. Or maybe the US government will answer my prayers and give me money for school. Or maybe I'll marry a frenchman and exist in provincial french life the rest of my years here on earth. Or maybe I'll become a revolutionary and start a new political party. I don't know what the outcome will be, but Paris is the place that makes me feel good to be alive....