Early morning, before the sunrise. Outside my window lies American suburbia. The yard, sidewalk, street, a row of houses, and then towering trees behind them. I like Florida.
It’s quiet at this hour, quieter than the Singapore city centre ever gets. In my sleep deprived state I find this attractive. The streets are empty, an American wasteland. Like I could walk out, peek into everyone’s house and take over the neighborhood.
I half expect an army of zombies to come marching down the street.
I leave Florida in a few hours. Have a layover in Washington DC, the trans-Atlantic flight to Frankfurt, and then a connecting flight to Paris, France. Dropping me off there at 10 am on the morning of the 13th.
Air travel still amazes me, it’s as if I’m time warping somewhere. Board the silver tube in Orlando, and aside from a few stops where I will jostle around with other passengers, I go from my American suburbia to Paris. Wheeling my suitcase on cobblestone streets, avoiding the infamous doggy-doo the city is known for. Fumbling with my high school French all the while.
I have no grand plans for what to do in Paris, in fact, I plan to do very little. Aim low, I say! 3 days of wandering around by myself, scenes from Amelie and Before Sunset scatter through my head. However, meeting a quirky charming French girl or having a rambling talk with an old flame probably won’t happen.
I will be satisfied to do:
- Have a coffee
- Eat steak tartar
- Stand outside Notre Dame cathedral (this should be easy, my hotel is 1 block from there)
- Walk along the Seine river
- Go to the Louvre
Pour vous, le monde.