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6 - A little bit in Korean at Montmartre - continued
The next day after arriving at the hotel, I was having breakfast when I saw within earshot distance a man like me sitting at his desk with his back toward me.
I called to him asking in Korean.
"S shi nugushimunika?" - Who is Mr. S?
In the e-mails I'd exchanged with the hotel, I got in touch with a few people with Korean names, and a man by the name of Mr. S seemed to be the manager.
"Lui-meme." - Me - came a reply in Fremch.
Unknowingly I was asking Mr. S himself who Mr. S was.
Mr. S was such a kind-hearted man as to invite me to a local Japanese restaurant - my very first visit to a restaurant at that toward the end of my half-a-month stay in Paris.
On our way, he took me in a lovely microbus that helps people go up around hilly Montmartr.
On our way back on foot, we dropped in a cafe - again my first visit to a cafe as I couldn't afford to to save money - where he used to enjoy vin rose in the presence of his grandchildren, a girl and a boy, born between his son and a French wife. Mr. S showed me their photo he carried in his breast pocket. I saw there his darlings now in their teens.
They looked angelic. East and West met here giving birth to angels, I thought.
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6 - A little bit in Korean at Montmartre
While searching for a hotel on the Internet, I came upon a two-star one in Montmartre. The hotel had a garden with flowers in bloom and accommodations good enough for me. I felt inclined to decide on this hotel. I like plants and flowers and the place, Montmartre, reputed for a variety of artists now and from the days gone by, was very much attractive as well.
Through e-mail exchanges with the hotel management, it soon became clear that it was run by Korean poeple, which was decisive for me. In the past, having struggled for some five years after made redundant from a shipping line that plied between Japan and Europe, I was a miserable 55 year-old man bound for decrepitude when a stroke of luck smiled on me. Thanks largely to my introduction to a Korean shipping company by one of my former subordinates named M. Saito, whose kind effort for my sake I can never ever forget, they decided to employ me for their Korean/Japan/Korean trade.
Employed, or rather saved, by the Korean shipping company, I heaved a big sigh of relief. The pay was roughly half as much as I used to get from the line on the European sea lane, but I felt I'd finally landed a real job after so many an odd job - I worked breifly as a laborer at Narita airport, sold fishes imported from overseas or exported abroad medical appliances and so forth ad nauseam just to earn a living.
Looking back I still feel thankful to the company and Korean people, who invited me to thier homeland and I set foot on the Korean peninsula for the first time. Back at the time, I remember feeling ashamed of myself having been so ignorant of their culture and language especially. Come to think of it, it's funny that we've paid far more attention to the languages spoken in the West than to our neighbours'. To my chagrin, I couldn't speak a word of Korean nor read their letters at all.
Back in Japan, I started learing Korean and was surprised to see that their language is so akin to ours. Apart from theirs much richer in pronunciation and different in vocabulary, the basic sentense make-up is the same.
I worked with them for about five years until I reached the retirement age of 60, when I had to start all over again to find a job.
More than 10 years had passed, when I was hired as a Japanese teacher of English by a privately owned school operating on a small scale. Out of sight, out of mind, as the proverb goes, my Korean lapsed into disuse and rapidly deteriorated. Somehow, still, some words and expressions lingered in my mind.
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Me playing on 尺八、July 5th 2016, on the bridge popularly known as `Pont de Solferino`.
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5 - My first French in Paris - continued
The third taxi that took me, after all, turned out to be my very first and last taxi I rode in throughout the whole of my stay in Paris.
The driver, a French man in early middle age, was friendly enough to try to listen and understand my French I dared to speak for the first time in my life.
One thing I noticed first of all in Paris with joy was big trees lining the streets. I spoke about that, but in vain. I was unable to make him understand me. After a while, plucking up courage I tried again and spoke this time about fairly many people I saw sitting in cafes and smoking. "Il y a beaucoup de monde qui fume." Then, he replied, "Oui." and even corrected my pronunciation!
"D'ou venez-vous?" He asked me. I was glad. He had some interest in me.
"Du Japon."
I wanted to go on and explain that there is not much left any more for me in life so I'm now here in Paris I've long dreamed of visiting. In an effort to make myself come across, I desperately searched my brain for an apt expression in French and came up with the following - "Il ne me reste pas grand-chose comme la vie."
He responded.
"Comment?"
I said again.
"Comme la vie."
And there was no longer any response from him. He just kept on driving in silence and the car went bumping its way along.
Sadly, I was remembering a Nat King Cole song whose lyrics went in part - "wish my French were good enough, I'd tell you so much more." The song is called, by the way, - Darling, je vous aime beaucoup. -
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5 - My first French in Paris
June 22nd, 2016, at long last, I was in Paris for the first time in my life at the age of 70 plus 9 months. I was so excited. This sort of excitement is something I could never experience if I kept on living just in my home country. I felt myself back in youth again.
The airport bus, le bus direct, took me for 17 euros from Roissy-Charles-de-Gaulle Aeroport to Etoile/Champs-Elysee, where I wanted to take le metro to save money and to satisfy my curiosity as well. The word, metro, itself, sounds alluring probably because of some scenes I've seen in movies or elsewhere. With my heavy suitcase and backpack, I struggled down stone steps to buy my train ticket, but I had trouble getting one. I didn't have any coin with me and my credit card that got me the bus ticket at the airport didn't work here. I. e., the machine kept asking for a 4 digit code number while at the airport 3 was all right. After trying several times I gave up and labored my way back up the steps. A sharp pain shot me in the right shoulder. - Old man as I am, but I'm samurai Japanese, muttering so to myself, I spurred myself.
It was early in the evening, and was still very light outside. Somehow I felt happy simply for it.
The taxi stand was easy to find, but a middle-aged taxi driver who first waved at me saying something in French turned me down when I tried to get in his cab. I felt at a loss what to do first, but then thought that I must get upset and express my feelings frankly as long as I'm in a foreign land. Silence is not necessarily gold in foreign lands as we've been told.
"Why is it, you were about to take me, and then reject me?"
In a situation like this in Japan, I wouldn't protest or complain and leave it with just "Ah so." to avoid offense. We're as good-natured as other peoples of the world but when it comes to complaining and engaging in ensuing argument, we're not used to nor trained for it and the situation could easily turn into a tense one.
The French driver, dark and as short as me, looked slightly taken aback, and then said in a sincere apologetic manner something in English that he'd just received a call from the centre somewhere in Paris and that he had to follow the order. He further said that the cab behind him was his friend's and the guy would take me for him. With that, he drove off.
Belatedly realizing what he'd said at first in French was the very apology, I wanted to say sorry to him but was of course too late and I looked at his friend's car with an African looking man behind the wheel. The moment I motioned toward him, however, a young French man in a suit and tie appeared from nowhere and climbed in the cab and they sped away.
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4 - My bucket list - continued
"Just hang around in Paris?" She looked askance at me.
"Yes."
"I'm sure no one would take kindly to an old Oriental like you in Paris."
"I don't expect any kindness of anyone."
"Well, then, what's on your mind?"
I was about to answer that I wanted to see the Latin part of the world and Its temperament as represented by French poeple, which should be widely different in culture and society from English speaking countries we 've been accustomed to seeing on far more occasions, but I hesitated to explain my desire to her. We were entering the area where I knew I'd have difficulty making myself understood. She is a realistic type of person who's been critical of my being always sort of daydreaming.
Voir Paris et mourir. See Paris and die.
For all her criticism, I must have my dream come true. Otherwide, I'll go on having nightmares in broad daylight till the end of my life.
Furthermore, I like languages. I must put to use this splendid language - French.
French was, however, all Greek to me. When I was a high school student, some fifty plus years ago, I tried to learn at least basic French grammar to grasp how the language is structured and spent a whole summer, to little avail.
- Again, I'll re-live my young days and try to learn French and fly over to France and speak with French people. What a wonderful idea! I'll entertain them by playing my 尺八.
I started tackling the language - Je m'appelle Ojinjin, je suis japonais et j'ai soixant-dix ans. Cela se dit 古希, coqui en japonais. Pas cocu -.
It's impossilbe, however, needless to say, to learn a foreign langauage in a few months unless you're really so gifted as to be called genius. I'm no genius and should I wait until I become a genius my limited days will have long expired and been gone afar.
Therefore, I just gave it up halfway and visited one of those travel agencies, many of whom are here making money from helping people who plan to go overseas, but when I entered the shop, nobody paid attention to an old man like me nor was there even any leaflet given on Paris owing to terrorists attacks there such as on Bataclan in 11th arrondissement (administrative district) that occurred in November 13th 2015.
Left to my own devices, I looked for airlines and hotels on the Internet for myself, which turned out more beneficial and cheaper.
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4 - My bucket list
It was an African-American English teacher Jtn that first introduced me to this interesting word - a bucket list - just before my dismissal from the school. The word really prompted and urged me to think seriously about how to spend my remaining old age days.
Now, with the nest egg in my pocket, I started making preparations on the secret for my journey overseas - the highest on my list of priorities.
By the way, it was also an foreigner, a Brit Jmy, who encouraged me to engage in doing something abroad as a Japanese. He once heard me play on 尺八, schackhachi or shakhachi, anyways one of our traditional musical instruments made of bamboo. His reamarks kind of rang a bell. I remembered reading a little story about a minstrel when I was in my late teens. Somehow, I felt fascinated by the word - minstrel.
One day, a week or so before my departure, however, my wife discovered what I'd been up to.
"What's this suitcase for?" She demanded. It's an old and small apartment we live in, with three bedrooms, the best of which, located on the sunny side is for her and the dark cold one facing norhtwest is mine. Whatever I do in my room just can't escape my wife's scrutinizing eyes.
"Uh,,,,, I wanna go overseas."
"Where, what contry?"
"Uh,,,,,France, Paris."
"Paris!" She looked a bit surprised, which was rare for her. She is very good at hiding her feelings. In particular when she's cross. As opposed to me, she is no emotional type.
"Where is the money for?"
"I'll pay, anyway."
"Yeah, but,,,,,,,,,,." She fell silent. I was terrified. That was a sign of something ominous brewing in her.
"What're you planning on doing in Paris?"
"Uh,,,,,I just want to loiter in the city."
Unless you are an artist, artisan, scholar, some professional of whatever sort or on business, almost all of us Japanese visit Paris in what is called `package tour` groups of guided people solely for sightseeing purposes. The Eiffel tower, the cathedral of Notre-Dame, the Arc de Triomphe, just to name a few, and there are a lot more for them to enjoy themselves watching, dining, drinking, and the best part of this all is, once back in Japan, they start talking proudly about their `wonderful adventurous days` in Paris. Here, however, I don't mean to belittle nor ridicule my fellow Japanese.
We being an island nation speaking and thinking in our mother tongue peculiar to us which does not belong to the Indo-European languages, getting out of this island itself can be an adventure already, especially for people of my generation.
I'm an anomaly, probably, though. I'm not so much interested in seeing historic monuments, or visiting famous places, trendy bistros or restraurants, upscale department stores and so forth as in meeting local people on local streets osbcure to the world. I just want to mingle with them even in a very casual way.
