Summer of 1971

Paris is perhaps the worlds most beautiful city. There is beauty so evenly spread out. It's in the air, the sky, the wrought iron balconies.When I was very small, I was taken for afternoon walks to a nearby park by Ma. I was two or three years old then and don't remember much except that the air smelt fresh every afternoon, after the drizzle and the park had the most beautiful railing.

However, nothing to beat the Summer of 1971 I was in Paris on a shoe string budget. Fresh out of School, not yet in College. My Dad thought I was too young for College. My Ma thought it was asking for trouble to keep me at home for months on end. Hence, I was packed off to Europe.

I stayed with a crazy French family, who threw me out every morning at 9 sharp. I was expected to be back by bedtime. So, I walked the streets of Paris with my high school French and an air of very false arrogance. Of course, Paris was overwhelming, but why on earth would people be allowed to understand my apprehension. I walked along the Seine, I walked in the rain, I walked in the parks, I walked the Louvre several times over. Paris roads are confusing, the language rather awkward, the food was expensive, but I survived on fresh air and love  ..... I loved Paris.

One evening the Paris sky was streaked with pink and purple clouds and the air was soft. The drizzle had stopped and the city smelt ever so fresh.I sat on the kerb in front of a bistro looking for a food-cart, and there was a table (at the bistro) with a "Biggles" held over a brown head. 

English! 

Bingo! 

I got introduced to Tim over "Biggles goes to War" Tim was a school-leaving Brit, although 2 years older than me. My French was decidedly better, but he had more pocket money. Furthermore, his family paid for his meals, and of course meals can always be shared ..... whoever did not know that? So we latched on to each other  ....free food for me, and my (broken, but better than his) French to get by with. 

Tim actually lived in a garage! This lifestyle was totally new to me. He slept on a dirty mattress with a Slenvo guitar and a mongrel called Daisy .... for warmth, he assured me. I was 14, Tim was 16 and we went around Paris exploring. We had all the time in the world. We walked and we sang, Tim played the guitar ("Love me Do" most often) and got a few francs on the Montparnasse.Going up and down the butte  (of Montmartre) was a lark for us. We haunted the  chaotic La Rive Gauche till late evening with the artists and the Sorbonne students. The Boulevard Saint Germain fascinated me. On the Right Bank we marvelled at the lights of Champs Elysees. Thomas was a waiter at the Moulin Rouge, and he lived near my villa. Of course he took us to his grand restaurant. No food though. No Can Can either.We got caught in the Paris drizzles (Oh! the drizzle in Paris!) and frequently stole bread and fruit and ate it with the cheapest wine,

On warm afternoons we lay flat on the grass at Champs de Mars and took in the blue Parisian sky. One morning, barefoot and barelegged we were wading in the Seine to get to the Isle of the Swans, except  le flics chased us. Daisy, the dog, chased the police away ! Under the bridges of Paris existed a different and exciting world. We loved it. A Gitane went a long way those days and the short stubby Gauloises had us choking. Today, I believe the French prefer Marlboro. Strange !

It was the most idyllic summer. 

Funnily enough we explored Paris from individual perspectives of History and Geography. In a few months time Tim went on to study History and I came back to India to study Geography. We both became Professors. Rather odd that.

My Dad had arranged for me to stay in London with his Danish friend. Tim and I spent a few months in England. The London we explored no longer exists, but what a summer it was! France and England .... mostly on foot. Sometimes on cycles. Definitely on the wings of wonder. 

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