Postcards from Paris
Two things brought me to Paris: Aldous Huxley’s mention of the Sainte-Chapelle in The Doors of Perception and Heaven and Hell and S, especially S. So I packed a tiny backpack, my trusty Canon, the Dubblefilm Show camera (my new toy), some film, and headed to meet one of the three greatest friendships of my life, as Lin says in Shantaram.
82 Boulevard de clichy paris on Lady Grey Lomography
It was one of those spontaneous trips. We met again in Paris, after several years and, as always, broke. I barely had any warm clothes and wasn’t ready for the cold of the City of Light. It didn’t matter: I was going to see S.
We stayed in one of the cheapest rooms of a hotel in Port-Royal, no bathroom included. The shower worked with ten-cent coins, and every time I managed to get the water running, it stopped again. The heating was so high we had to keep the window open.
We almost missed the trip entirely. I nearly missed my flight, and S almost missed her train. She was living in a small Norman town at the time.
The night before, I got drunk in Madrid on soju and a few spritz, welcoming the holiday mood. My flight was so early I thought I’d never make it to the airport—no Ubers, no taxis anywhere.
I sprinted through the entire T3 of Barajas airport like my life depended on it. From security, barefoot, until I caught the stewardess’s smile telling me silently: you made it. I boarded, still reeking of alcohol, and sat next to the sweetest little couple heading off on their romantic Paris getaway.
Seeing S in the airport parking lot was like spotting her at the end of the hallway of 48 Hortaleza, where we lived together for four years, a crazy, psychedelic, beautiful story.
She looked stunning, her hair longer, her laugh still the same. Meeting her again, to borrow from Yogananda, was like seeing a friend “whose capacity for conversation ignores time and embraces eternity.”
—“Is there anything you’d like to see?”
—“Sainte-Chapelle. The rest we’ll figure out.”
S had lived in Paris for years but had never been there. She loved it.
I loved her company, the simple things. Walking around, eating by the river, running down in pajamas to the bakery across the street for breakfast, sunglasses on, cigarette in hand.
We spent a few days in Paris, then went to her village in Normandy. I reunited with her cats, met her friends, and we enjoyed long dinners with wine, tasting local dishes.
By the time I booked the flight, I only had one roll of Lady Grey film and two Kodak Ultramax. So I decided to shoot the B&W roll with the Canon, and with the Show I aimed to capture those spontaneous moments that make you stop: “the angle of the street,” “the light on a building,” “the sign that matches the mood”… those reflections of inner life in outer reality.
We wandered through Paris as we explored our psyches, and I feel that B&W photography conveys the timeless nostalgia and affection of that moment. Maybe it was because of S, but that Paris felt familiar.
