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Brief intermission – Pee Pay
(actually, after a long pause of how many days, weeks or months, if not years, I forgot)
Won’t it make you feel as if you’re cheated that you have to pay for your urination? We take it for granted, don’t we, that we can pee for free. In train stations in Japan, you can find toilet almost always. So, I was a bit taken aback when I heard the call of nature after strolling through Jardin du Luxembourg and entered a cottage style loo I found, where, inside, a young Middle Eastern looking man stopped me by calling to me “Monsieur” as I hurried towards a urinal to relieve myself. He asked me to pay 0.5 euro so that I could take a leak.
Incidentally, it will be regarded as a matter of course that in tourist spots, resorts, or playgrounds, you have to pay extra, double, thrice or probably more sometimes for whatever you get, such as something to drink or eat. In the Jardin, as I ran out of water, I had to buy a 500 ml bottle of water for 3.5 euro. In supermarkets, I could have bought one dozen or so bottles for the same amount of money. I should’ve been better prepared. For a poor, old traveler like me, this was a good lesson.
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I looked around surveying the place and saw only several people sitting on the chairs reading books, magazines or newspapers. Most of the chairs were unoccupied, creating an atmosphere of leisure around, I thought, therefore, it was all in order to play on my shackhachi then and there.
After having played some of my usual tunes, I saw a man in carmine blouson approaching me. He looked like Jean Marais – once a famous actor who had starred in movies such as La Belle et La Bête (Beauty and the Beast) directed by Jean Cocteau. As he showed interest in my playing the bamboo instrument, I did my best to explain in French “ C’est chanson d’ enfants et je joue de la flûte en bamboo. De nos jours, désolé, personne ne la chante pas encore.” Listening to me speak in his mother tongue, he nodded to my words, but I was not sure if I was having him understand me. So, I asked him if I should speak in English for his better understanding, but he replied saying something to the effect that he wouldn’t use the language and that was his good-bye. He turned around and went away.
Next, I noticed a woman jogging toward me. She stopped and stood in front of me. I said “Bonjour” and she said something in French too fast for me to understand. A moment later she said “continue” smiling adding in English “good music” before she left. I smiled back thinking the word continue was also English, but long afterwards, I realized that the word had been a French verb – continuer – in its imperative case. Come to think of this, I remember reading a book – A History of The English Language – by A.C. Baugh that reminded me of ‘the Norman Conquest’ – an historic event that took place back in 1066 when the Normans conquered the English, which had a real great effect on the development of English language including the vocabulary. No wonder, therefore, I come across lots of French words that are found in the English.
A while later, again there came a lady clad in dark clothes that was emanating a military look. She came striding along in my direction. What occurred to me at first was the impression that she was kind of à la mode, fashionable type of woman paying attention to what she wears. I expected to hear some nice words from her mouth about my music. At that moment, I was playing my favourite tune – “Scolded” and soon I found myself scolded not in the song but in reality. She met my eyes and spoke in English from the outset. “You can’t disturb other people and the peace here. You see, you can’t play music in this place unless you are going to play with other musicians. They will have a concert of music by Chopin tonight.” Although her tone was soft, she flatly denied me my music. “Oh, I’m sorry.” I started apologizing right away. “I didn’t know that it is not allowed to play music here. Sorry for making a noise.” When I said so, she looked a little relaxed and even lenient with a slight smile on her cheek and said, “No, it’s no noise.” I felt encouraged by her word and, seizing on this chance, dared to speak in French. “Je suis Japonais et Je suis ici à Paris la première fois.” She looked at me nodding, and was kind enough to correct my pronunciation of the word fois. I repeated the word time and again but was unable to pronounce it correctly, which I saw from the expression on her face and the way she looked. Finally, she nodded resignedly and off went her way.
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9 - My third day in Paris
This time I got on the metro Line no. 2 from Blanche as before to take one of RER (Réseau Express Régional – a network of suburban Lines designated A to E) Lines at Gare du Nord. I wanted to visit Jardin du Luxembourg, where, needless to say, I planned to play on my shackhachi flute as I took it for granted that whoever wanted to play music could do so there.
So, getting off at Port-Royal on RER Line B, I went out of the station to find myself lost soon. I was walking in the other direction than toward the Jardin. I soon realized it and asked a middle aged couple with a children who happened to come my way.
The man I asked replied in English right away, “Go back and you’ll find it on your right.” Again I was a bit impressed by his ready response in English. French people are real good at speaking English.
I went into the Jardin, walked past an elaborate fountain and saw some people enjoying playing table tennis and kids kicking balls. I went through the lane lined with trees then I came upon another gate inside the Jardin, which made me wonder why but I had to go on walking anyway and arrived at a place where there were many people, obviously tourists marveling at the grand palace in all its glory. I avoided the crowd and wandered off in search of some place where it would be suitable to play on my flute. During my search I came across interesting people, who were engaging in Yoga, Zen, or practicing Tai Chi or Karate like martial arts, even some were clad in armor and helmet like ancient warriors. I kept on looking for my place and strolling past tennis courts found an area placed with simple chairs and tables sparsely occupied.
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Soon after I began to play a tune, one of those I used to sing when I was an elementary school pupil, there came a woman with a baby buggy, she stopped a few yards in front of me as if she had forgotten pushing the buggy and looked at me surprised or wondering who I was and what it was that I was doing. I was glad that the young mother with her baby listened to my music that apparently made her curious. I wanted to greet her and, this being my first experience in a situation like this, I made a mistake and said `Allo` instead of `Bonjour`. Further, I kept on making mistakes and introduced myself saying `Je suis japonais et j’ai soixante-dix ans`. Then, looking bewildered and beyond belief, she hurried away from me as though she’d suddenly remembered how to push the buggy. I overheard her mumble to herself, - Soixante-dix ans !- as she was disappearing somewhere into crowds of people over there.
For a while, I wondered what I had done that had her leave in such a hurry. The way I behaved was obviously wrong. But, why? Is it because I introduced myself without being asked to? Was that a breach of etiquette? I don’t know. Suppose it had taken place in Japan, I would’ve behaved in a similar manner and said – もう七十になるんですがね、and would’ve had a young mother with a baby respond in kind, so to speak. Come to think of this, however, in Japan nowadays, it might be more than a bit difficult to think of a situation like this, I mean, a young mother with a baby would, if not never but 99 %, dare to come in touch with an old man like me unless she was musically oriented so much or had her friend or two around together with her so that she could muster courage to speak to me. Anyway, back to France again, probably I should’ve waited until she said something, or asked me some questions. In other words, I should’ve waited for a conversation to start in a very natural way.
Here came again, however, a man in his 30s or at least on the right side of 40 I guess, who stopped me from wondering about the young mother and looked likewise as curious as she did. I was glad again to know that my bamboo flute could attract people’s attentions and I made a mistake yet again.
In my eager attempt to explain to him the musical instrument I play I started speaking in French – Oh, what an audacious man I was! My French didn’t work at all. He looked impassively at me and nodded slightly to indicate that he found me totally incomprehensible and walked away.
I felt a little disappointed in myself, but pulled myself together and returned to my music. Somehow, I was able to play well this time and went on by myself with no audience. But, after a while, I noticed a middle aged man standing a few steps away from me. He made as if to pick his own pocket and then worked magic - or so it seemed to me as when he left I found beside me on the bench two coins lying glittering. Immediately I followed him with my eyes and saw him scurry down toward the metro entrance. `Merci beaucoup` the word came out of my mouse spontaneously. I felt so happy, but not so much for the money itself as for the appreciation he showed me by giving me the money.
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8 – My second day in Paris
In reality, I’ve already started my second day, and the latter half of it as I wrote about my visit to the church, which was paid in the afternoon. I spent the early part of the second day just like this man playing music, sitting on a bench as shown below. He is an accordionist as you see, but I played the shakuhachi, the bamboo flute.
Before heading for the church, I walked about to find the right métro station, `Blanche` on the line no. 2, only to find myself standing in front of a different station, Abbesses. I was at a loss awhile, but had a second thought – I can practice a bit here before going to the church. Around Abbesses station, they have an open space, where people in groups of 3, 4 or a dozen or so were talking to each other or listening to a guide like person, Abbesses as I later came to know it being the entrance to `Basilique du Sacré Cœur` at the very top of `Butte de Montmartre` (Montmartre Hill).
I sat on a bench facing the open space. On the other side of the bench were 3 young guys studying their guidebook or some map obviously consulting with each other about places they were planning on visiting. I heard them speak in Korean. One thing I notice, incidentally, during my days in Paris, was rather many Korean people, male or female, who ventured into Paris, a city having recently been attacked by terrorists multiple times, and it was no wonder I was mistaken for senior one of them. In other words, it was so rare to see my fellow Japanese. So far as I can recall now, well, once in a métro train, I saw a middle aged motherly woman with probably her young daughter in her late teens or early twenties. Also while trudging uphill through Montmartre little streets, I think I heard briefly a couple in their middle life who went past me mumbling some words in our tongue. I wondered if the reason I saw far more Korean people was because they were more courageous than we Japanese, who were worried and afraid of terrorists infested Paris at this time and shied away from coming to this lovely city in their otherwise usual and ubiquitous tourist groups. Are Koreans brave and Japanese timid? I don’t know. For one thing, I guess, Japanese people may tend to be on the cautious side. “Discretion is the better part of valour”. I seem to hear some intellectual Japanese say so. I’m no intellectual person at all, that’s why I’m here in Paris.
Sitting on the bench, I started playing on my bamboo flute. The young Koreans didn’t seem to be interested except that one of them noticed and shot me a cursory glance. I asked him in Korean if they had come from Seoul. But here I made a mistake between ‘come’ and ‘go’ in Korean, namely, ‘oda’ and ‘kada’. Where I should’ve said “Have you come from Seoul?” I erred and asked, “Have you gone from Seoul?” This doesn’t make sense, of course, but the young guy was a nice man and immediately understood my mistake and nodded in the affirmative. He was a good man and looked at me a lonely old man akin to him if not a kinsman in a bit worried manner and said “take care” looking back at me when he departed together with his friends. This kinship feeling he left me with gave me a big encouragement and I started back again on my flute.
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After a seemingly nervous exchange of look at each other, the two women started speaking in English in a timid way but with no apparent reluctance. Both of them extolled my musical performance, saying that I must be a professional musician. I told them I’m only an amateur player of the bamboo flute, but they didn’t take me at my word and were kind of insistent on my being professional and kept on praising me to the skies. I felt, frankly, a little embarrassed. But, the next moment, when they offered me to play together with them in their church, I was overjoyed. One of the women was as she introduced herself a pianist. How glad I was! I’d dreamt of playing 尺八 with other instrumentalists in France. Back in Japan, there was a time when I used to practise with Koto, 琴、roughly speaking, a harp in a horizontal version, and sometimes with a bit guitar like Shamisen, 三味線instrument with three strings. So I know how wonderful it is to play a tune in collaboration with other players. Likewise, therefore, I wanted to play here in Paris AND on the very first day in Paris I was given the opportunity.
The next day, I repaired to the église (church) they’d referred to that was located near Centre Pompidou (Centre national d’art et de culture Georges-Pompidou) just a stone’s throw from station de metro Rambuteau on the 11th.
I followed the address they’d mentioned but the church was hard to find. I searched for minarets or crosses or buildings looking like a church, say, with a spire or belfry at the top but in vain. Finally, I found myself standing in front of a massive building with a courtyard inside, beyond which I had a glimpse of some people moving in a large window facing the yard. I approached and spotted one of the women I met the day before. She also noticed me coming in. Thus I joined a group of people she introduced me to, mostly young ones comprising a variety of human races as it seemed to me, one guy, for instance, looked like a Korean and another a dark skinned man, but for the most part Caucasians. I felt strange. There wasn’t a single sight of an elderly, priestly man nor a nun like lady I imagined I’d see. Why so many young people, instead? Among them, anyways, there was the other woman I met at Parc de Monceau and it so went I played my bamboo flute with her playing on a small organ. The tune was the same - le Nouveau Monde, i.e., the New World. That was all. She stopped playing and another woman started talking about mass they were going to hold the following day and they eagerly invited me to take part. I felt confused. I made sure by asking them if I’d be expected to play some tunes in front of a congregation, but their reply was in the negative. After all, they wanted me to join and follow the divine service like they do, worshipping God, confessing your sins and so forth. Now, it dawned on me why they had praised me so high at the park. As it turned out, they were missionaries, one from California and the other from Canada, both keen on recruiting a new member for their religion that originated in the USA in early 19th century. Out of literally religious zeal, they got in touch with me and praised my music so much. They were not at all musically oriented.
Disappointed, I left the group of religious people saying good-bye and trying not to disappoint the two lovely ladies in particular I added - I can’t promise but I’ll do my level best to come back -
Actually, in my mind, I started listening to a song by the Monkees I often heard in my youth, it started with a phrase -Disappointment haunted all my dreams,,,,,,,,only this first part kept repeating like a broken record in my ears.
