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underground color

maybe i'm amazed at his inventiveness, or his clean expression and observation.
maybe i'm amazed by his voice, all its modulations and moods.

maximum favorite writer, still sending blog post(cards) from paris, wrote a particularly charming one today about riding the metro. i really don't know how he does it. i'm just glad he does.
i love this one in part because it reminds me of the last time i saw paris, which was also my first time to take the metro. (my metro experience was nothing like his--shepherding 5 non-french speaking women through the underground meant that we mostly had eyes on each other--but it's true that public transportation in a foreign city can give you a sense of belonging. or you can pretend you belong. i remember feeling that there.)

mostly i remember liking the
subway art. even the movie posters were elegant. and the stations themselves seemed, like so many things in paris, to me, dreamily dim and cinematic.



but his "metro" also reminded me of the "subte" in buenos aires.

their system is easy, with efficient color-coded lines, A through E -- on a map the lines run mostly straight, they're not an arterial mess like new york's.

during the rush hours, cars are jammed as well (or as badly) as the worst new york train, except that when the the doors open, the crowd will shimmy--impossibly, unbelievably-- closer together to try to get at least one more soul on. and they will do it without grimacing, or rolling their eyes, pushing or threatening. it's actually nice, but also sort of nuts.

there's no air-conditioning. one mercilessly hot night, z and i took the train to puerto madero, and within minutes perspiration was pooling, marring our makeup, making our dresses damp. i came to the ghastly suspicion that my ankles were sweating. i didn't want to know that that was even possible.

but there were nice moments for me--the sunday day i got drenched in a storm, shivered onto the train (in the wrong direction), and was set right by a sweet middle-aged lady, who had just recently visited new york...watching and listening to a young but very big boy, unselfconsciously and energetically (loudly) laughing and cuddling and telling stories about his school day to his mom, and her adoring eyes...

and there were photos...mfw's post reminded me of this one--a favorite--which i barely got before the train left the station. i remember telling z, i am "generally opposed" to graffiti, but really liked how it looks there.


perhaps it's even prettier in paris?