Day in Paris of
Geometrically difficult drawing of streets and prospectuses is designated as on the topographic map created by the invisible draftsman. Under me the huge body of the city shining in one billion sparks was spread. And I at the level of his soaring soul. At world top. On the last observation deck of the Eiffel Tower.I do not know
whether it was worth climbing up it to get a bird`s eye view of the city similar to hundreds of others. But, certainly, costed for the sake of the warm streaming air penetrated by the blinking beams of searchlights for the sake of enthusiastic eyes and scraps of phrases.international polyphony is distinguished to
B stridently - ringing girlish laughter: “The leveret, I on the Eiffel Tower. It is so high that vanity is not visible and city noise is not heard. Thank you for happiness!“
I listen to own feelings. Like god on the Olympus though I understand that comparison is ridiculous, I watch the dream embodiment. Strange nature of desires. When they come true, on their place emptiness is formed.
to Dream not harmfully, especially in the mornings. The French morning begins for me with a window. The window is cracked to Paris. Through it singing of birds, aroma of the blossoming roses and children`s voices reaches. Without understanding words, on intonation I guess an essence. Children argue. The imagination finishes drawing a mimicry of ten-year-old curly madcaps.
knock At the door. The maid, and is more faithful chamber - the Afro-American in a blue form with unperturbably - a polite look asks for permission to clean number. As I noticed many black citizens in Paris. They wash streets, work in police and even dress white clothes to uplift prayers to God. However, I not about that. It is pleasant when look after you: make a bed, wash. I am almost a princess. It was necessary to zakavychit “almost“.
the Threefold pleasure of the French morning is a breakfast: fragrant coffee, fresh croissant with jam or oil and muesli with milk. “Mnyam - mnyam - mnyam“ or big significant “m - m - m.“ by all means blindly. Any delightful evenings in Russia did not do not only without Schubert`s waltzes, but also without crunch of the French roll. Modestly and with taste. >
Early in the morning it am p in the center of Paris near the Opera. Saturday. The city did not wake up yet. Only lonely tourists wander on streets. Compatriots are recognized from far away not only by loud voices, but also by a look as the satirist Zadornov joked. The Russian eyes are uneasy. Both the fear, and surprise, and grief, and curiosity on the verge of shameless “take a look at our sort“ are reflected in them. The Russian eyes burn with quite intelligent search. And let still early, both shops, and cafe are closed, without speaking about other not less cultural sights. Also only one water carts work. But the Russian companion does not give up. Who looks for, that will always find.
the small grocery market on the way meets. Dealers display the appetizing goods on trays. I hear the Russian speech:
- Sash, let`s sweet cherries buy?
- How much?
- On four euros.
I Fade near aquariums with live fish. Mollusks, oysters, crabs...
Wants to dip a hand into the hills which are accurately laid out on counters and to inhale an ocean smell.
Near the market a church. I come into it and I test new scale of feelings. There is a service. Matins as it is called in Russia. The Holy Father is swarty, is similar to coal. Against its blackness of the nun in snow-white attires as if in the movie “Heavenly Swallows“, seem unearthly creations. In their voices the crystal ring and zephyrous tenderness are heard. And irrespective of knowledge of language and existence of hearing there is a wish to sing along of the Leg beats time and the body asks for a dance together with the solar patches of light dancing on temple walls.
it is imperceptible for itself in beat dance I reach the Champs Elysee. Here where the Russian free spirit and width of soul is felt. Perhaps the same was felt by the merchant Yeliseyev when it appeared here? He providently emigrated from Russia before revolution that allowed it not only to keep, but also to considerably increase the capital.I Cost
opposite to the Triumphal arch and I am broken off between desires and opportunities. The first call me in fitting rooms of boutiques, the second suggest to derive free pleasure from pictures of life of the city.
of the Show-window - the real masterpieces of design registration. I stare on huge, height about the three-storyed house suitcases with an emblem “Luis Vuitton“. I turn around on exotically dressed dummies. One of them winks at me. Oh and it is live!
contrary to big company shops with clothes of famous brands small street cafes, in them it is full of people. Parisians exchange news, read the press. Couples in love kiss.
On roads the brisk movement. Citizens generally on small cars move. It is possible to see madam in a business suit on the motorcycle. It is difficult to park, in my opinion. The probability of collision with the next car is too high.
On the traffic light near me is braked by the red cabriolet filled by local “Caucasians“.
- Olya - la! - I hear rough exclamations in the address. We exchange courtesies in a sign language.
- From where you? - ask.
- From Russia.
- From Chechnya?
Topical joke! I burst out laughing, and they did not understand over what.
Paris - the overpopulated city. Therefore citizens compactly are forced to live, to be content with small pleasures, whether it be the small rental apartment in the center or a doggie of a pocket format.
In pet-shop, the stuffy room of 25 meters in size which is on one of small streets through passage, the price of canine friends on average about 1000 euros. If to count quantity of live goods in the cages located tiers, then the shop turns out expensive. Well, for love, leaves, it is necessary to pay.
Rather cheap district of Paris Montmartre is considered. There is “Aprashka“ there: a set of little shops with rags of low quality and the price. For example, Tati network.Having bought
a small bottle of “Bordeaux“ and Camembert cheese, I go Amelie`s road to the local Arbat. By a roundabout with horses and high pink bushes. Montmartre is famous for the creative atmosphere. Once here lived Picasso, Toulouse - Lautrec, Modigliani. At top of the Montmartre hill - beautiful white church of Sakre - Kerr. From it the tremendous panorama of the city opens. I climb numerous steps, beating off importunate Blacks who, taking me for the Pole, shout: “Day is kind!“ Having understood that the Russian, begin to pull a hand, offering souvenirs: brelka in the form of the Eiffel Tower, a card, counterfeit Dior bags and other rubbish: “Cheap!“ I try to break through unperturbably through their crowd, involuntarily associating Blacks with Roma, and they shout to me after: “Russian.!“Purchase nevertheless I make
, but not at them. I am tempted with akvarelka with views of Paris. I gain 4 pieces at once. Sidewalk artists invite to draw a portrait for only 50 euros.
Ya I stop near a being of the unclear floor reminding the tousled sparrow and Gavroche - the child of revolution. The being twists the handle of a street organ and musically whistles. You will listen with delight. One composition comes to an end, another begins. And unexpectedly Gavroche begins to sing by a smart voice of Edith Piaf. The public is struck. Under a cap bright radiant eyes aslant hid.Characters of the Parisian streets surprise with
. Here, having curled up, on a shop the bum in a hat directly has right in the sun a rest. On green lawns in the downtown the youth sunbathes. Here the Russian rule “On Lawns Not to Go!“ does not work Please, roll on health. And the grass does not soil clothes. On embankments of Seine citizens dance a samba, a tango, a waltz. Also it is possible without hesitating to join. You are not able, so will teach. There would be a desire to understand.
In the Arab snack bar very much rejoice to my Russian origin. They ridiculously utter for me: “Zdra - Stu - those“, to - Cyd - nya.“ It is impossible probably in any way. I write on a leaflet with the English letters the Russian words. And they to me make a huge hamburger for 2 euros. Cut a long French roll and fill it with tomatoes, meat, cheese, French fries. Work of the size of a forearm turns out. I do not manage to bite off from it, having hardly settled at the fountain as the maiden of an informal look runs up and in impudent begins to ask to eat. On fingers I explain that supposedly not local. It seems understood, departs.
To its place there comes a young big-nosed cyclist, the typical Frenchman, and pokazushno manufactures on the bike such kolenets, by the way, standing on the head that I remember the brother at the time of his childhood.
Paris does not cease to surprise with the richness. Is in it and pass New - York - De Fans`s region. There are offices and shops. Among white-collar clerks in the magnificent bright skirt I feel as a floret. On numerous steps of a pyramidal construction in style hi-tech people - ants as if from pelevinsky “Life of insects“ potter about. It seems that it is worth lifting up the head and you will see starprobe vehicles or some other aircraft of the future against the pale and far sky. “Skyscrapers, skyscrapers, and I are small such...“ > it is so easy for p to feel
In Paris lonely, but it is so difficult to remain alone with itself.
It is possible, in search of provincial silence I go to Versailles just like which Petrodvorets was created. But I will fairly notice that the analog in many respects loses to the northern copy. As a rule, French do not restore, and preserve the ancient monuments. Their sculptures do not shine with gilding and include water in fountains several hours a day. Here you will not see grandiose luxury on display. Another surprises: reasonableness of each detail of ensemble, harmony, scope and magnificence of a general view of park. Looking in a palace window, I represented how Pyotr looked at the cascade of fountains, and the Gulf of Finland on which the ships with the guests hurrying on a ball floated seemed to it in the distance.
It is undoubted, there is in Versailles the charm what not to find in Petrodvorets. For example, a garden with tangerines and palm trees in tubs which in severe climatic conditions of Russia have no chance to survive. There is a mirror hall of the royal palace with the ringing chandeliers where you begin to understand remotely how was to Through the Looking-Glass. Wandering about avenues among figurno the tonsured trees, it is possible to come across the small pond with the croaking frogs which in actual fact was rusted that is, the preserved fountain. And around a pond - the cozy arbor twined the blossoming ivy. Here it, a unification instant with the present. But once you approach slightly closer, from a bench from depth of an arbor the woman - the security guard which politely asks to depart on half-meter rises.When you watch
at a map of the city or you ride a ship across Seine, distances seem such small., It seems, all clearly, and from one historic center is surveyed several others. But in practice I 2 hours if it is no more, went from Louvre to Notre dame de Paris - “A cathedral of their mother“ as one our tourist called it. And then as much time understood the subway to reach the Eiffel Tower.
In the first day I had the real stress or as one my acquaintance speaks, to me there was an attack of a strange female illness under the name “topographical cretinism“. In total nothing if somebody told previously about the Parisian subway if I knew language or was in the company of well guided people. But I had to learn independently that in the same place there are RER - the high-speed subway and usual. In high-speed - cars two-storeyed. Trains run to timetable designated on a board. But stations do not declare, and it is necessary to be guided on a final destination of that branch on which there is a necessary stop. Parisian subway dirty, stuffy and ugly. I had an impression that black natives, poor students and tourists use it. In the subway to me there was an incident. The acquired ticket needed to be stored until the end of a way, and I safely lost it so to own shame and general pleasure it was necessary to remember the childhood and to creep under a turnstile.
One more ridiculous moment happened to me in the morning on Montmartre when we with compatriots bought small small bottles of wine. Usually they without traffic jams - you turn off a cover and you drink. But we were not lucky. Those bottles were corked tightly, and the corkscrew, naturally, was not, there were no native man`s faces around and. However, on a shop near us the black fellow accommodated. The sign language is big and mighty! Exactly thanks to language, or rather a thumb of an overseas hand of a stopper forced the way in bottles. We were rescued and drank red wine for world peace and for black princes on a white horse or without it, not an essence important.
It is important when you stand in Louvre at Leonardo da Vinci “Mona Lisa`s“ picture and you look it in the face (or it in eyes to you), understand that one more dream came true. Also new is already composed.Put
in Paris - as small cinema in which you both the director, and the actor, and the viewer at the same time.
In the night sky, like the queen of a ball and a New Year tree, the postcard symbol of the city - the Eiffel Tower sparkles. I twist a neck both again, and again I turn around, trying to imprint in the heart festive mood from the city which should be seen at least once in life.