Happy Healthy YOU
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Kelly Spencer - Happy Healthy YOU
(A wellness column by Kelly Spencer: writer, life coach, yoga & meditation teacher, holistic healer and a mindful life enthusiast!)
After a brief stint in England and an hour flight later, I was in Paris. I am feeling excited about the next adventure given that London and Westminster were such welcoming and lovely cities to visit. After collecting my bags and leaving the ginormous Charles de Gaulle Airport, I hop on the train to the Paris city centre.
There are about seven stops or so between Charles de Gaulle and St. Michael's Train Station. After a few stations, I notice something very interesting. I seemed to be the only white English-speaking girl on the train. The train was filled with a diversity of people of all ethnicity and skin color and at this moment, predominately black people speaking the native Français language. Having not been in a situation where I was the obvious minority, I muse that my sister experiences 'minority' frequently at her in-law events, given her husband is Jamaican. Embarrassed, I start to chuckle to myself at my discernible and undeniable stereotypical visions of what a Parisian person would resemble.
The fact is Paris is France's capital, a major European city and a global center for art, fashion, food and culture. And like any major city in the world, it will be populated with people from origins all over the globe, I conclude, much like Toronto. There was one difference. I didn’t understand the language. At each train station as people got off and people got on, I became a titch more anxious with each stop. Before my trip, someone mentioned that Paris was not as 'tourist friendly' to non-French speaking visitors. I started to ponder what I had got myself in to – a 40-something English-speaking woman, travelling alone to a French-speaking country, not knowing anything but the usually greetings that I recollect from my high school mandatory French class.
After some inner dialogue reminding and encouraging myself that I have been guided to visit here and that everything will be okay, I arrive at the St. Michael’s train station in Paris. I clumsily gather my luggage and proceed with the flow of people walking towards the exit stairs up to street level. I have my lap top, a carry-on bag and a large suitcase. My attempt at the first step on the two large tiers of staircases fails, as I miscalculate the weight of my suitcase. Three young men speaking French start to ascend the stairs beside me. I am feeling a bit overwhelmed and alone. Then the spirit of humanity steps up to bat and hits a home run.
The three young dark-skinned men turn to me and say something in French. “I don’t speak French,” I offer apologetically. They repeat their inquiry in English. “Can we carry this for you?” Each of them grab one of my bags and carry them up both concrete flights. My smile was ear to ear. At the top on the city sidewalk, I express my complete gratitude to them. They are kind and sweet and invite me to enjoy my stay in Paris. It was in that moment I felt love. Love of humanity. Love from the City.
Typically, Paris is known as a romantic destination. And although I had moments of longing for my husband to be travelling with me, I cultivated a knowing about this beautiful city that penetrated deeper than the whimsical, poetic romantic version.
The beauty of Paris strikes you at every glance with its elegant and impressive architecture. A walk along River Seine, across the Pont du Carrousel and view towards Île de la Cité leaves you in a wondrous admiration of Notre-Dame emerging behind the old houses. The sidewalks are capped with art, history and nature with cafés filled with people connecting and conversing. The city invites you to slow down, to meander and linger while delighting your senses from every slant.
While on a bus tour, as I stared contently out to the 17th and 18th century buildings we passed, I felt my hand being touched. It was a small Indian girl. She smiled at me. I smiled at her. She winked. I returned the wink. I made a funny face. She mirrored it back. Not a word was spoken before she returned to her seat, just a connection of two people of contrasting age and different skin color. I am even not sure if she spoke French or English. My husband often calls me Mother Goose as I have an energy that attracts small children to interact with me.
With the touch of this little girl's hand to mine, I started to look deeper at the city, beyond the majesty of the Cathédrale Notre Dame, and beyond one of the world's largest museums, the colossal and impressive Louvre. I began to notice the similarities from home. Families caring for their children, couples in love, teenagers texting, laughter and conversation enjoyed, as well as people enjoying solo-time, just taking it all in, as I was. And although I am grateful for the women from New York City, and the exchanged witty banter we shared, I was able to hear the city beyond the language.
Contemplatively, I ponder if the many varied artists and poets over the centuries were inspired by this city. I am curious if the passive pace allows an appreciation of the deeper qualities of humanity and parallel diversity and commonality. I imagine this allows them to tap into the creativity that exists in each of us.
After a few days in Paris, I depart to my final destination and the reason for my trip, to visit family in Wales.
With more confidence than my arrival, and with my baggage in tote, I arrive back at the St. Michael’s train station. I give a quick glance at the two-tiered staircase descending to the underground train and mull over how I will navigate it. I fondly reminisce in my mind of the kind young Paris men that assisted me on my arrival.
Just then a young mother with a small child motions her daughter to continue down the stairs while instructing her in French. The woman then turns to me and reaches for one of my suitcases and offers to carry one. My heart bursts with appreciation for her assistance, as well for my experience in Paris and for the oneness that exists no matter where you go in the world.
Merci de Paris. Je t'aime.
(If you would like to see an article on a specific topic, please email kelly@indigolounge.ca)