Dear June: Week 4

June,

My stomach is in knots as I type you this farewell. I just had to check my calendar and count the weeks to be sure we had come to this. Anyways, I will try to put down in words what has been keeping me up at night for the past couple of days.

When I first arrived here, I thought the ten months I had in this city would ooze by slowly like the melted chocolate in my morning pain au chocolat, but as christmas passed and winter snowballed into spring, I found myself grappling to hold on to this newfound home, this place I had nested in. It is a funny thing being a permanent visitor, a temporary installation, here just long enough to call it my home and *nearly* cease missing the one I left behind, long enough to fall into a routine, but not long enough to stay. Not long enough to be anything more than another tourist who didn't want to leave quite yet. And it stings a little bit, when reality shades back into focus and the brilliant splendor of my year-long daydream comes to a shimmering close, like the night we laid under the eiffel tower as its final one a.m. supernova bursted and collapsed into a black hole of what used to be.

I remember thinking to myself - one night in my tiny studio, staring at the ceiling - that these are the days I will remember. When I'm stuck in class, at work, at home... when I'm old and my legs have given up their ability to chase after the world like a child after a kite string... and I willed myself to hold on tighter. But that's the thing when you're inside a dream like Paris... it's impossible to soak it all up, take it all in, make a part of you what is such an entity of its own. And I think that's why we come here, why we - as artists - become so addicted to it. Because it's everything we strive to be: the enigma and the sheer beauty, the unadulterated prettiness of it, like the poem by Stevie Smith.

I am in my last few days here. And as much as my tiny fingers strain to hold on, I will never be more than a visitor. And I think, June, that I like it better that way.

Here are a few of the photos I have taken in your days and weeks, June. Thank you for giving them to me.

Love always, and see you soon June,

Coral

Dear June Week 3

June, thank you for quiet weekends.
I appreciate your glory, but perhaps more than the bright sunsets and splendid sunrises, the travels and adventures... I appreciate your lazy rays of sunshine between the spring showers, your lengthened daylight hours and long Sundays with a good book and green grass.

Thank you for beautiful and spontaneous sunset strolls to the tower, getting ice cream because we can, and the most genuine of friendships blossoming in the magnificentness that is you, June. You have surpassed all of my expectations. I would resent you for bringing such wonderful people as Sarah (the girl with the ice cream) into my life if I wasn't so grateful to have so many kindred spirits scattered all around the globe.

Thank you.

Love always,

Coral

Dear June Week 2: Roma Part III + IV

On my third day in Rome, Italy gave to me...

...thunderstorms.

But the day began nicely, with a lovely stroll through a sprawling, northern park called Villa Borghese. It was a beautiful, lush, hilly landscape of evergreen trees, blossoming flowers, and ancient ruins.

I stumbled upon this excellent ancient bath sitting proudly in the middle of a field:

After my exhausted limbs begged me to walk back down the hill to Piazza del Popolo, at the entrance of the park, I strolled towards town and stumbled upon two Roman flea markets. They were feasts for the eyes and I was stunned when I saw the star of David patch on one of the seller's tables.

I then wandered over to Trastevere (or "across the Tiber"), a quaint Roman village of cobblestone streets and narrow alleyways. I had a delicious pizza - much better than the previous day's - and decided to hike up a towering hill I'd spied on my way over.

The wind began to blow sand and grit into my eyes and my hair around my face as I walked up the winding slope, but the views were breathtaking as I hopped up on a ledge and eagerly snapped photos of this city I had come to adore in three short days.

As soon as the fog had crept in to distort any distant landscapes the view could offer my camera, rain clouds thundered overhead and the sky broke to shed millions of raindrops over me. My tiny umbrella, bare legs, and ripped converse were soon soaked through. Standing beneath a frail tree, an elderly Roman man pulled up in his car beside me, motioning for me to get in.

I know I shouldn't get in strangers' cars, except I was soaked and freezing and he looked friendly and older than seventy-five.

A game of guess-the-language ensued, followed by a long and awkward silence as I spoke no Italian and he no English. Eventually, he drove me further up the hill to a bus stop I didn't recognize, so I ended up having to walk further down the hill, where I ducked into a restaurant for a coffee and wifi. On may way back to the centre of town, I managed to get caught in a church choir performance type thing for the Pope's visit. Crazy times.

Needless to say, my second-to-last day in Rome ended here, and I made my way back to the campsite thoroughly soaked to find my tent had flooded. Not only that, but on the way home I trekked through the downpour to my favourite pasta shop, which was closed. AARRGH.

On the morning of my last day in Rome, I hiked up Aventine Hill in the serendipitous sunshine, and stepped inside Saint Sabine's Basilica, circa 422 AD.

My shuttle bus to the airport came with a free aneurysm as I waited for a boarding pass for the three o'clock bus, to overhear that the next bus was at five (my flight was departing at six-thirty). I had a mild panic attack before the guy behind the counter noticed that I already had a ticket, and handed me a boarding pass, all blase.

I made it to the airport early as per usual, and the journey home went very smoothly.

I was happy to be home in the comfort of my Paris, for the last two weeks in a city I had made my own. Visiting is nice, but so is having a proper bed with your own blankets, and a warm cup of tea in the morning.

Love always,
Coral

Dear June Week 2: Roma II

~~~Just a quick side note, as I type this I am sitting at a wooden desk in an apartment within which I am pretending to live. It is on Rue St. Paul in le marais, and the nine p.m. remnants from the twenty-five degree day of sunshine are filtering through the blinds as the streets are abuzz with locals and tourists mingling and chatting, having a verre with friends or a crepe at the cafes dotting Rue Faubourg St. Antoine.~~~

My second day in Rome began with a visit to the Vatican Museums. Uncharacteristically of my trips thus far, I pre-booked tickets for 9:30 a.m. so I could skip the queue and head straight in to the miles-long museum complex of winding corridors and gold-leaf rooms adorned with beautiful frescoes.

I grabbed a chocolate croissant (warm and gooey) and a cafe au lait (I have no idea how to say that in Italian) before heading in.

 I practically ran straight for the Sistine Chapel to try and beat the crowds, and it worked to some extent. I had a bit of a Mona Lisa moment unfortunately: the room seemed smaller and less grandiose than legend prompts one to expect. It was absolutely stunning despite this, and I found myself with my neck perpendicular to my chest as I stared disbelievingly at Michelangelo's David and the thousands of other frescoes of scenes which I recognized from the previous day's explorations of ancient Rome. It was a crazy feeling.

I managed to see most of the rest of the museum sans tour guide, although I snuck snippets of what I could hear from the English-speaking guides as I was bottle necked into a tour group of people plugged into a headset, following the guide waving the flag on a stick at the front of their group. They all looked quite comical, I must admit, and I enjoyed my freedom of being able to frolic anywhere in the museum and keep the extra ten odd euros to myself.

After the museums, I found Piazza San Pietro, where I was planning on visiting St. Peter's basilica, arguably the most renowned basilica in the world. Upon arrival, I noticed that the whole square was filled to bursting with Romans wearing blue and yellow uniforms and baffled tourists. After hearing various hymns and a couple speeches, I had a feeling that just maybe, just perhaps, the pope might be in the vicinity. So I waited for what seemed like hours beneath the thirty-five degree sun, and then it happened. There were flatscreen TVs on the perimeter of the square, and it was on one of these that I saw the pope ride out into the crowd on his famous Popemobile, waving and kissing babies' heads as Jesus Christ, You Are My Life blared in the background. It was quite surreal to say the least, and even more surreal as, after countless other speeches and mild heatstroke, I heard the pope give a speech.

I then waited for the basilica to be reopened for another half an hour, and thoroughly enjoyed exploring it, despite my exhaustion and heat stroke.

I then walked along the Tiber river and had my first Roman pizza, which was unfortunately from a tourist place and not very good, but I was starving.

My afternoon consisted of Piazza Navona (Neptune), and the beautiful Navona Fountain, along with the Pantheon, a cute little village hidden away in some sidestreets, and then discovering this amazing street artist.

He had positioned little pieces of wood with various phrases relating to Roman culture beside various scraps of garbage to illustrate said phrase. The result was something like this:

I then found Piazza del Popolo, which was fairly empty due to the incoming rainfall. Dinner was a takeaway tub of 4 euro pasta (possibly the best I've ever had), along with a *free* glass of undoubtedly the best wine I've ever tasted.

I met a fellow Canadian on the Spanish Steps, where I had taken my wine and pasta, and we spent the evening wandering together.

Stay tuned for day three, wherein I explore Trastevere, get soaked in a thunderstorm, and get in an old Roman's car.

Love always,
Coral