view from a Paris suburb

Paris, France. Paris for me is hot summer's days strolling around the Champs-Elysées and various jardins, chewing on a baguette or a sweet crêpe, with the glorious freedom of being out there in the world with exciting people. Laughing with new friends as the guards of the Louvre scowled at us, daring each other to share our darkest secrets as we were leaving the magic city in a few days and never would see each other again.

I never did see these friends again but I hear the echo of their voices when I finally return to Paris years later. This time I'm colder, more confident, world-weary but not necessarily wiser. I arrive late with my friend and the taxi driver takes us to the wrong hotel. Many euros later we lay down our weary heads in a cheap hotel room. Outside our window is a roof covered in litter and pee and what is probably discarded syringes and I lock the door carefully. All I see of this sparkling city this time is the grey suburbs and the mad Parisian traffic before heading out towards other horizons. Can't wait to leave. Paris, the delights and the laughter of those long-lost friends are locked inside my memories and should stay there. Magic should not be recycled.