Old stomping ground

Yesterday I ventured into Paris, direction the bank (7th) and my old digs (18th).

I step down to the metro station and come face to face with this ad.   

Really universe?  Really?

Ligne 9 to ligne 10 to ligne 8.  Ecole militaire.  As I emerged from the metro, the buzz of Paris hit me.  A warm day in the city of lights.  Children walking home with their au-pairs in tow, cafés, stores, tourists, postcards of Paris for sale.  I walked down Rue Cler, still one of my favorites, then rue Saint Dominique.

My stint in the 7th was brief, jumping on the metro again at LaTour-Maubourg, ligne 8 jusqu'à Strasbourg-Saint Denis, change trains, help the man with the baby stroller up and down a bunch of stairs (oh the French metro is great for leg work-outs and so inconvenient for anyone with a stroller), ligne 4.  Gare du Nord.  Again, emerge from the metro but in such a different part of Paris, my old stomping ground.  Walked down the boulevard overflowing with Indian shops, the smell of incense, the same beggar lady is still there smiling away as she stands on her single leg.  Marx Dormoy.   How in the world did I manage to live here for so long....this part of town is so busy and strangely violent.  It's tough and cramped.  My body and mind go into defense mode just to cross the street....keep walking, keep walking, find the big black gate, enter the code (it hasn't changed since I left 6 months ago), enter, close the gate.  Breathe.  Made it.  Walk through the courtyard.  Tom's window is open.  I stand outside and whistle.