Sometimes when I see graffiti, I think of:

– The day one of best friends and I rented bikes and took them along the Canal Saint-Martin far out of Paris. This was before I signed up for the cost-effective annual Vélib subscription, so he and I were racking up a fee, but I think we’d both say it was worth it.

– Sitting along an isolated part of the canal on a warm day having a conversation with a Right Bank mec I knew. It started drizzling, and we skedaddled to find cover. Where did we go? A bar? Was that the day he taught me how to play pétanque? I don’t recall, but I remember the grinning cat graffiti across the water.

I guess there is a lot of graffiti along parts of the canal.

Somehow they hold for me pleasant memories of unrushed afternoons en français.


Sunset on Saint-Martin

Exactly a year ago, I was sitting on the edge of the Canal Saint-Martin with friends. I had just spent the weekend in Marseille, arrived back at Gare de Lyon in Paris, and went straight to the canal with my rolling duffel. My friends all looked lovely and summery and had saved me slices of pizza. A good memory with an even clearer reflection than I remember.canalsaintmartin.2014