Backpacking While Black

Paris, March 2006: Day 5, March 18, 2006, Paris, France (Shopping around Hotel de Ville, Buddha Bar)

On this day, I didn’t mind missing breakfast or anything else because I was so tired. We slept until 12 p.m. almost missing our rendezvous with Francesca and company at 12:30 p.m. Matthew and I were getting used to readying ourselves quickly now that we were used to Paris’ weather and the likelihood that we would walk many miles before we arrived back at our hotel for the night. We took the Metro to the Hotel de Ville station for lunch and met up with Francesca and her friend Stephanie, another Italian living in Paris.

In the city of foie gras, escargot and brie, we opted for steaming hot plastic bowls of paella with fresh pieces of crawfish, fish, chicken and chorizo sausage. Before I left for Paris, I read that the city’s culinary reputation went far beyond its native French cuisine and into a wide variety of international fare, especially Spanish and Asian foods. From the taste of the paella, I realized why the article rated Paris so highly for its international cuisine. We ate the paella at some benches across the street from a curbside market in the midst of Hotel de Ville during a clear and cold Parisian Saturday of shopping.

The food energized me to face the large crowds streaming in and out of the department store BHV (Bazar de l'Hôtel de Ville) and other stores along Rue de Rivoli. From my observations, Parisians took shopping seriously. Shoppers had a look of determination as if they were checking off items on their mental checklists while trying to avoid sideswiping little old ladies with their shopping bags. Street-side sellers didn’t have as much tenacity, but more like a quiet expectation that someone would eventually buy their wears.

Our cadre of American, Italian and French speaking cohorts casually made its way through a variety of clothing stores. Our eyes were as big as saucers as we gazed on the treasure trove of fashion within the neighborhood, but there was one serious problem – there was nothing in Matthew’s or my size. Every perfect jeans, khakis, shirt or jacket we picked up was a European large which is the equivalent to an American medium. The more I tried on clothes, the more I swore to get back on a diet when I got back home. We left three stores disappointed. Stephanie then suggested that we head to Celio (4 rue Halevy), a moderately priced men’s and women’s fashion store known to carry items in non-European sizes.

We took the Metro to the Opera station and for a minute gawked at the ornate Paris Opera House. Our gawking soon stopped as we found Celio across the street from the opera house. The next hour was a complete blur as Matthew and I tried on almost every piece of “cool” clothing in our size. My roommate, Craig, always asks why doesn’t life come with a soundtrack? I never know how to answer him, but as I tried on clothes in the fitting room and paraded myself like a peacock in front of our group, I had “I’m Too Sexy” by Right Said Fred blasting in my head. I walked out with one shopping bag with a jacket and three shirts, but Matthew walked out with two shopping bags with two jackets, dress shirts, casual shirts and ties. I wonder what his soundtrack was?

The sun was starting to set and now as usual, Matthew and I were looking forward to the evening’s entertainment. Francesca casually mentioned that tonight’s festivities would include drinks, dinner and dancing at the renowned Buddha Bar (8/12 Rue Boissy d’ Anglas). I stopped in my tracks as the words “Buddha Bar” left her mouth in slow motion. I’m a budding fan of the bar’s annual electronic/house/ambient music CD release and shamefully admitted that I thought the bar didn’t exist, that it was just a cool name to slap on a CD. Francesca smiled in delight and told me that I was going to be in for a pleasant surprise. Our group then broke up to get some rest and prepare for evening’s events.

Around 10 p.m., we met up at the Place de la Concord station across the street from the American embassy. We walked 50 feet to a large iron door with the words Buddha Bar inscribed above it. I guessed that in the daytime this door was oblivious to passers by, but at night it called to those who craved the excitement, danger and exotic nature of the Parisian nightlife. The doorman opened the door and bid us welcome to the Buddha Bar. As we descended the stairs, I heard the legendary DJ spin Indian-inspired tracks to match the space’s Asian appearance. Much like its cousin, Barrio Latino, that we visited the night before, Buddha Bar is a multilevel space with a restaurant occupying the bottom floor, bars and dance areas occupying the second floor and a gift shop on the third floor. From the second floor I saw patrons dining by candlelight on exquisitely white table clothes over mahogany wood tables. I couldn’t see the entrees, but from the level of conversation and the sheer look of glee on their faces, I knew I was in for a gastronomic treat. Our reservation wasn’t until 12 a.m., so we found a corner with a couch and chairs to have drinks. The drink menu is extensive, but pricey. A draft beer costs me €8 and a mixed drink ranged from €10 to €17. I ignored my wallet’s cautious call and welcomed in the hedonistic atmosphere. As the evening progressed, the place changed from lounged to all out club as people began gyrating to the music within the confines of their bar stools and tables. I thought I was in a hazy, dimly lit dream, but our reservation’s call snapped me back to reality.

Buddha Bar’s main staircase descends to the middle of the bottom floor in full view of everyone eating making every party’s seating like a walk down the red carpet at the Academy Awards. As I was dressed in my newly acquired French fashions and I was leading the group, I went down the stairs with a slow and confident stride taking in the stares and wondered if onlookers thought that I was some celebrity. We were seated near the bar’s trademark two-story Buddha statue and were all abuzz with anticipation of a good meal and conversation. The meal didn’t turn out to be a meal, but just appetizers, dessert and more drinks. I was a little disappointed at not having the opportunity to sample the cuisine, but swore that I would return to do more damage to my credit card. I had the steamed dumpling sampler as an appetizer and the molten fudge cake for dessert. The dumplings’ succulent filling of pork and chicken was wrapped in a moist wonton shell with a hint of wasabi. The cake didn’t meet my expectations, but my love for chocolate overrode my criticism. With the music, atmosphere, food and alcohol coursing through my system, I wasn’t the best conversationalist, but the conversations that did take place were full of laughter and sudden outburst of song. Our waiter must’ve been scared to approach such a gregarious bunch because it took him almost 30 minutes to get our check, but the longer he took the more time it gave me to appreciate that I was in Paris, in the world famous/now real to me Buddha Bar, talking with Italians and French and experiencing life to a degree that I could’ve never imagined. Plus the evening wasn’t over yet.

After we concluded our dinner around 1 a.m., we met up with Stephanie’s friend, Josephine, on the second level for even more drinks and heavy dancing. Josephine had also brought along two visitors from Sweden and Denmark. Our group had grown into a mini-United Nations. We might not have understood what each other was saying, but that night we all spoke the international language of drink-induced group dancing, heavy flirting and Matthew and I fending off drunk guys trying to get too frisky with the ladies of our group. We partied until the house lights came on at 4 a.m. Fortunately, we had sweated out the most of the alcohol in our systems and didn’t enter the frigid night stumbling drunk.

As we walked towards the Champs Elysses, we continued our loud laughter and random outbursts of song. We kept stopping to translate, guess the next song or hold our stomachs from laughing too hard. I just had the best evening of my life and it was a fitting way to end my second to last day in Paris. Matthew and I walked the ladies to their bus stations to catch the night buses back to their respective places. We bid goodbye until it was just him and I walking along the Champs Elysses to a night bus stop along Franklin D. Roosevelt. At 4 a.m., the night buses were running every hour and the 35 degree weather with a 20 degree wind chill wasn’t agreeing with our club attire. We decided to take a taxi back to our hotel for €20. The ride was worth the money, not just in saving us from hypothermia, but the ride offered us views of a Paris full of light and energy still at almost 5 a.m. I saw why they named this city the “City of Lights.” Mostly every structure was aglow and the highway was lit with the stream of headlights and taillights. Maybe it was the remaining alcohol in my system, but I was feeling more relaxed amongst this late night hustle and bustle than any quiet evening at home from the past six months.

As we traveled back something felt weirdly natural, like living in Paris over the past four days felt like a return home. It was a feeling of leaving behind everything that troubled you in the past and experiencing something to jumpstart your future. A future destined for more trips to places like Buddha Bar, shopping for designer clothes, seeing some of the most beautiful structures in the world, engaging in thought provoking albeit misunderstood conversation and experiencing a day with endless possibilities. I thought of my home and what it meant to me, but soon came to the realization that my home wasn’t just a place to be missed. It was a feeling that I always had a place to return to find comfort and peace. Home was also carried in my heart, so where ever I went, I wouldn’t be too far away and in tandem, always be at peace. I could find home anywhere just as long as I loved what I did and thanked God everyday for the opportunity to experience the life He’s wanted for me.

posted by Dre' @ 3/18/2006 01:13:00 AM