TRACKING THE WENDIGO

Yes, that IS about as good as my french gets.

First thing's first - if anyone happens to read this on a regular basis, I think the chances of me managing to maintain a twice-a-day post rate are pretty slim. Noora and I get on the road properly on Saturday morning so from then on my presence online might be somewhat sketchy...

And I think I'm just going to copy from hand written journals if I can - out of laziness and ease etc.... So here goes:

Slept in until 1pm!! Some adventurer me... Then Noora and I dressed spiffy and went a-roving. We raided a local Supermarché for croissants, champagne, crepes, blueberries and raspberries etc. Searched for a park but lost it's scent and by 3pm we were so hungry we found a bench on which to enjoy our champagne breakfast. As the city was getting humid and the rain began we careered through the streets taking our fill straight from the champagne - turns out that such delinquent behaviour is less acceptable in these non-Viking countries. BAH!!

We jumped on the Metro down to Chatelet and acquired a neat circle of vacancy around our alkey selves. We found Notre Dame as the rain began to get heavier.

We stumbled onto the Rue St Jacques and spotted a sign above a little shop:

Heavy dark red door leads to small shop with antique bookshelves supporting a most fascinating collection of tomes... All in French of course, including a collection on/by Gurdjieff (cheers Kev!), which tempted me. A giant Alsatian lay on the floorboards like a sad-eyed familiar.

The old woman with the horn-rimmed glasses glances between the collections on Crowley and the empirical investigations on La Diable. Another woman entered between Noora and I and was ushered instantly into a back room where an old man was hunched over a large mug of beetle tea. Voices were raised. We left, perhaps prematurely. On the same road were 5 or 6 comic book shops that reminded me of Lampeter folk. We stormed out of a "Manga Café" that served no coffee. Instead we found Zig Zag Café, gorgeous place on the Rue Lanneau. Noora and I discussed the morals of shop-lifting, the potential fall of Capitalism and the fraternité between the imagery of the Russian Orthodox Church and the effective practice of Tarot.

Then we stumbled upon the twisted bestial gargoyles and gothic-hippy-ascetic-fortress-Euclidean arches of the Eglise de St Severin. Walking in there was akin to an aesthetic awakening - as if - OR - by what I mean is - it didn't strike me as a religious building - in as much as - I imagined it had no specific religious connotations - stunning - pure tranquilité - the sober - NO - the LUCID feeling of an intensely good place.

Then back to the apartment for dinner and SUPERB wine.

This weekend is the National French super-mega-happy-funtime-party!!! (Yes, I did in fact forget it's real name), something to do with culling the toffs of yesteryear... VIVE LA REVOLUTION!!

Tomorrow will be more exploring, perhaps La Louvre et La Cemetiere du Pere Lachaise.