Picture of the Day: Hail in the Pantheon

All days are nights to see till I see thee

I apologize that this post is so long overdue. Hopefully some of you will return to my blog on some nostalgic whim and actually read this. The last paragraph is especially meaningful to me. Living in Rome was a truly life altering experience. I intend to express my feelings about the city and sum up my experience in this final post. I hope you all enjoyed living vicariously through me!

___

I miss slipping on paving blocks slickened by the moisture from a fresh rainfall. I miss the bustling traffic and the shouts and the horns. I miss the filth left over from the daily vegetable market. I miss the ancient buildings and the outdated appliances and the drafty single pane windows. I miss my enormous front door and the drunken Italians hooking up in front of it at three in the morning. I miss the tiny cars and scooters parked on every fucking sidewalk, street, ally, and path imaginable. I miss the crowded busses and dirty subway. I miss the thieves and gypsies constantly trying to take your money.

I miss Rome.

Rome is just a city, like any other, yet there something about it that is unlike any other place on earth. It was the way I could listen to one thousand conversations happening all around me, yet hear nothing. How I could be surrounded by friends, yet still be alone. How I knew exactly where to go and how to get there, but not know where it was.

While abroad, I developed a love/hate relationship with Rome, and I am glad I did. It wouldn’t have been the same if my experience was all positive because I think that the negative experiences made me appreciate the positive ones more. I must admit, I have never felt this way about a place before. I find myself longing to go back, yet I know that even if I do it will never be the same. I imagine it to be like returning to a childhood home to find it exactly the same as you remember; only something is missing. Some sort of life, some connection that is lacking.

I now understand why they call it the “Eternal City”. You see, time seemed to stop for me in Rome, and I believe that was only made possible by living there. You cannot become part of a city when you visit it. As in any real relationship, there is an element of both love and hate involved. When one visits, they only experience infatuation, lust, and the superficial side of love. But by living in Rome you learn to accept the city for what it is and embrace its flaws, deepening your connection. That, in my opinion, is love.

I regret how only after our time together is up, do I realize how eloquently this city spoke to me. In the words of Kahlil Gibran, “Ever has it been that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation.” I feel like I have buried a loved one. I look back on all of the memories of that person and though I realize I will always have them, I also realize that they are just that, memories, and they will never again be anything more. It is something that I have come to terms with. All things, both good and bad, must eventually come to an end; and I now recognize that, though sometimes tormenting, the pain experienced in parting is critical in the forging of one’s soul.

-BJC

Picture of the Day: "Crystal Rain"

Fait Accompli

Introduction: Up until now, all of my posts have been in the first person. I thought I would try something a little bit different this time by switching to a third person perspective. I suppose, for me, the idea of blogging is a bit mundane. My passion (when it comes to writing) lies in creative writing, so I have decided to use real experiences from Paris to construct a fictional tale. I am not even sure if this passes for "blogging" because I am not actually a character in the story, but so what. Sue me...

“Mom, can we get Kinder Bueno?!” The little girl begged as she looked up at her mother with beady puppy eyes.

“Kinder Bueno! Kinder Bueno!” the younger girl repeated.

“No, sweetie, it is too late. You’ll be up all night.” the woman replied.

“Mom, please?!” the younger daughter said as she jumped up and down

“Amanda, I said no!” the mother shot back forcefully.

“Ok, then can we get some for tomorrow?” Heather, the elder daughter, persisted. There was a short pause as her mother briefly considered the daughter’s request.

“I said no, honey.” The mother finally decided. “Tell you what, if we pass another grocery store tomorrow I’ll buy some then.”

Although both girls made it obvious that they were displeased with the decision, the anticipation of the delicious fluffy candy bars they would be enjoying tomorrow morning was enough to silence them. Amanda continued to stare longingly at the fantastic assortment of strange candy and chocolate in the checkout lane of the convenience store as her mother paid the man at the register for their frozen dinners. The man shivered as he handed her thirty five cents change. There was a fan located directly overhead his register, blowing cool air onto his back. This job sucks he thought to himself.

Rose was not the wealthiest woman on the planet, but she had managed to scrape enough money and discounts together to afford a trip to Paris, France for her and her two daughters. They needed it. The divorce had caused them all a good deal of stress and now it was finally over and that poor excuse of a father was out of their lives for good. It was their second night in Paris and Rose knew they could not afford to eat out like they had the previous evening so, tonight, they would be relying on their hotel microwave for sustenance.

“Amanda, Heather, come now, we’re leaving.” Rose said sweetly as she practically dragged her two children away from the sweets.

o o o

Jean-Pierre savored the minty-fresh, germ fighting power of Listerine before spitting it out in the hotel sink. He only used mouthwash with an alcohol base because he found the burning sensation it offered to be much more refreshing than brands like Scope or Colgate that advertised an alcohol-free formula. He stared at himself in the mirror. His angular chin seemed enhanced and defined by his five o’clock shadow. His eyes fixated on themselves and he stood there for a moment watching this person in the mirror stare back at him. He felt like two different people. It was almost as if, at any moment, his reflection would turn around and walk away without him.

“You are a lucky man, monsieur” he said, pointing at his reflection and breaking the silence.

He had done quite well for himself. He was only thirty three years old and his business was already making annual profits in the six figures. He was in the master bathroom of the luxurious penthouse suite he had rented on a surprise vacation for his soon to be fiancé.

Although they both lived in France, she had never seen Paris. He thought it fitting that it be this city in which he would propose. However, that would have to wait until tomorrow. Right now, they both needed rest. In the next room his love, Marie, lay au natural in the king size bed. The milky white sheets hugged the contours of her slender figure, accentuating her irresistible form.

He turned off the light in the bathroom and slid into bed behind her, wrapping his muscular arms around her, embracing her with his warmth. She smiled and kissed his hand.

Tomorrow will be the day. He mused. He took a deep breath, and with the sweet scent of Marie’s hair filling his nostrils, nestled his head into the back of her neck, and slept.

o o o

…and there it was, The Eiffel Tower, standing in the heart of Paris in all its glory. Its graceful curves swept upward, shooting triumphantly into the sky.

Wow! It is much bigger in real life. Eric “Lawn-Job” Ramsey thought to himself as he strolled under the four massive cast iron legs. The arches between the legs stood fifty meters tall and eighty meters apart, forming the basic framework for the base. As if that wasn’t impressive enough, the French built a 275 meter tower atop the magnificent base, making it the tallest structure in the world for over forty years.

Under the tower mingled vast numbers of people waiting in line, talking, and watching street performers break-dance, perform soccer tricks, and do impersonations of celebrities. He wandered through the crowds, photographing everything that caught his eye while he soaked in the atmosphere, embedding the experience deep within his memory. A slight breeze blew through the space, but it felt nice, because it was a beautiful day.

“Hey, Lawn-job!” shouted one of Eric’s friends. “Hurry up, the class is getting ready to leave! We’re going to the Louvre!”

He had earned the nickname “Lawn-job” back in middle school when he starting cutting his friends and neighbors yards for cash. At first he resented the name, but eventually grew to accept it. In high school, a few of his friends jumped on the bandwagon and his summertime lawn mowing gig grew into a landscaping business which he named “Eric’s Lawn Jobs” after himself. He was now a junior in college, going to school with one of his best friends from home. Thus, the nick name carried over, but only within his tightest circle of friends.

Eric took one last photo before dashing off to catch up with his group.

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” he yelled after them.

o o o

Two columns and an archway framed the great glass pyramid by I.M. Pei. As they approached the entrance, more and more of the impressive square that lay beyond was revealed. As soon as Amanda and Heather saw it, they went nuts. Rose smiled as she watched Amanda race toward the fountains surrounding the iconic land mark.

“Amanda! Come back!” shouted Heather, who despite being the eldest, was still just a child herself. Rose knew better than to remind her of that. Her daughter was going to be a teenager soon which meant she was now all grown up, or so she thought. Amanda looked first at her sister and then at her mother for a confirmation of the order. Rose nodded and Amanda began walking back.

She watched her daughter walking toward her and as she did so, colors slowly began to blur her vision. An expression of confusion came over her face. She felt off balance, as if the entire Earth were a large sea vessel swaying back and forth between the swells.

“Mom, are you ok?” Heather asked. Her mother had begun to sway.

“I’m fine, honey, I just need to sit down.” Rose explained as she took a seat on a stone wall toward the east end of the square. Her condition began to worsen. She could see, but her eyes couldn’t focus. It was as if someone had put a semi-transparent piece of glass in front of her eyes.

She noticed several soldiers walk by, their berets tilted sharply to one side, rifles pointed at the ground. However, before she could get up to ask for help, they were consumed by a crowd of college students, their blurred bodies blending into one another, as if they were all part of a single entity. The edges of her vision had now begun to fade to black. She felt agitated and anxious but at the same time disoriented, exhausted, and famished. The world around her began to disappear. All that was left was the worried face of her daughter, Heather, and the confused expression of Amanda. But soon even those faded and everything turned to dark…

o o o

Eric stopped while the rest of his group carried on. He stared at the pyramid in amazement. To his right a woman in red sat with her two daughters, and to his left a man with a fantastic camera was photographing a beautiful young woman in front of the pyramid. People poured into the square from the portal behind him, the masses flowing around his motionless figure as if he were a rock in stream.

He whipped out his camera and began snapping pictures, capturing the square as best he could before switching lenses for detail shots. Totally consumed in his world of photography, he didn’t notice the little girl at first.

“Mom?... Mom?!” she whimpered.

Eric stopped what he was doing and searched for the source of the cries.

“Mom, are you ok?” Heather cried.

“Is she okay?” Eric asked as he approached the couple. The girl looked about thirteen and was cradling the head of who must have been her mother. It was then that he noticed a third girl, no older than eight or nine, staring in confusion.

“I… I don’t know!” the girl bawled. “MOM! What’s happening?” Eric got closer and noticed the woman’s hands trembling, her skin was incredibly pale, like that of a ghost, and a cold sweat had formed on her brow.

“She’s in shock.” Eric observed. “Have you ever seen this before?”

“No, what’s going on?!” Heather demanded.

“Is your mother a diabetic?” he asked.

“A what?” the younger girl interjected.

“Diabetes, does your mother have a disease called diabetes?” He prodded.

“Um, yeah, but what is happening?”

“She needs sugar and an ambulance!” he said “Does anyone have a candy bar or soda?” Eric turned. Several people had begun to gather but nobody spoke English. Eric tried talking to each of them, looking for anyone who knew how to call for help. He pointed and shouted and more people began to gather. They all stood, watching, unmoving. Nobody seemed to understand the situation.

Eric knew this woman did not have much time left. He approached person after person, couple after couple, family after family, but they either did not understand, or could not help him. There was a large crowd around the woman now. Her children cried and the people just watched. Nobody moved or made any effort to help.

Eric needed to find someone to help her. He could not stand this feeling of helplessness! Then he spotted him. For whatever reason, this one couple stood out from the crowd. They were not huddling around like everyone else. Instead, this man’s attention was wholly focused on the woman he was photographing.

“A little further to the left… and… perfect!” Jean-Pierre said to Marie. The shutter of his camera clicked just as a young man came running up to him.

“I am sorry, are you French?” Eric huffed, clearly exasperated. “Do you speak English?!”

“uhh… yes, but-” Jean-Pierre started, but was cut off by the young man.

“Please, do you have any sugar, chocolate, soda, anything?!” Eric interjected

“Please go away, we were just about to leave.” Jean said. He had no interest in this crazy American’s requests or affairs.

“Wait… what?” Eric replied, confused. “Please, it will only be a minute! Someone is hurt!”

“I have no time for you…” Jean said as he grabbed Marie’s hand, turned, and walked away.

Eric stood in disbelief. “At least tell me how to call for help?!” he shouted after them, but they did not hear him for at that moment a gust of wind blew through the space, picking up discarded wrappers and dust and sending them across the square.

o o o

Jean-Pierre and Marie walked, his arm around her waist, past the Louvre pyramid, watching the light reflect off the glass and then the water. There were so many reflective elements in the square, that if they were all positioned upright, one could easily mistake it for a giant hall of mirrors! Instead, however, the angled sides of the pyramids reflected the classical buildings around them, complimenting them in a unique, but elegant way.

“What did that young man want?” Marie asked as she offered a piece of Kinder bar to her love.

“Oh, I don’t know.” Jean-Pierre replied. “He said he wanted your chocolate bar.”

“Strange, those Americans, they cannot seem to ever get enough of their sweets.” She said, shaking her head.

Project 2

Redevelopment proposal for the Porta Portese area in Trastevere