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Parisian Monk

There are days I don't talk much. I feel like a monk who has taken a vow of silence. When the sun is shining over Paris, I walk for hours along the Seine. Today I walked back from the library along Le Quai Branly. I felt contented by my full bottle of water and newly acquired Griffin & Sabine stories nestled in my tote. The sun was hot overhead at two o'clock and the gravel path and cream-colored embankments were blinding in the light.

I crossed in front of the Algerian War Memorial where a bouquet of roses lay in ruins by the recent rain. Ahead I saw a photographic exposition installment and felt my day suddenly blessed. The City of Paris offers free expositions throughout the year - a delightful artistic detour to one's day. This exposition is called "Vivants" (Alive) and contains large color photographs of animals in the wild by Yann Arthus-Bertrand. He is best-known for his stunning work called "La Terre Vue du Ciel" (The Earth From Above).

In concentrating his photographic efforts this time on endangered animals, he hopes to instill a sense of responsibility and commitment to saving our planet. He says, "It is up to each and every one of us to realize that we must act by taking some simple and obvious measures. Let us all adopt more meaningful everyday gestures. Now is the time."

I wandered around the brilliant colors of wildlife the world over (and under and above) and felt a peace wash over me that happens in the presence of natural, humanistic beauty. The tourists who spilled out from La Tour Eiffel took snapshots of their favorite animals, translated the captions to their children into Spanish, Italian and Portuguese. The Parisians looked how I felt, proud and blissful, their pocket-sized dogs zig-zagging ahead, noses skirting along the gravel and tails bushy and erect.

The sun pushed me on, having burned out all shade over the expo, and I made my way across le Pont d'Iena. I left the stately tranquility of the quais in the 7th for the bustling tourism of the 16th at La Place de Trocadero. I re-entered the obstacle course of digital cameras flashing this way and that, the clusters of summer visitors strewn upon the hillside and pressed up, slowly up, to the large flat summit at the top. Here it is all about the magic of La Tour Eiffel, haggling over prices for cheap trinkets sold by Africans and taking in a break-dance show or soccer ball acrobat while eating an over-priced crepe au sucre or gauffre with Nutella.

My hunger leads me on. On through the dazzled crowds and down the steps leading to the sidewalk and away from the summer traffic. Up Avenue Paul Doumer, keeping to the shady west side of the street, and past all the closed up mom-and-pops and car salesmen. I sip my water and wipe the sweat from my nose, thinking of the pasta dish I plan to make the moment I get home.

I have not spoken for hours. My stomach is empty and my feet have started to ache. But my mind is clean, vast and full of sunlit poetry only Paris can provide. Another day of enlightenment a la francais.