The peak of Summer
No, the peak of summer was not the hottest day of the year, but the most astonishing moment within it.
Ever since I discovered the world of traveling, I became addicted. I found myself in a dilemma to choose between a life of security, daily habits, and constant comfort, or one that involved constant change and adventure. While both life’s are two-sided coins, I was seduced by the charm of discovery, tourism, and inevitably, learning.
So on my journey this summer, I was brought back to my roots, in Paris. My family and I stayed in our old house, uninhabited, making seem like a haunted house. Memories flushed out the front door as the ancient house breathed for the first time. It had been completely isolated, dead, for the past 5 years, which really seemed like 10. Each of us went off to different parts of the house, reminiscing it’s spirit in our own interpretations. The nostalgic trance was brutally interrupted by the ring of a bell, which for a moment, did not lead us to the door, but to the imagination that we had been here our whole lives, and this was our neighbor who, in this fantasy world, we had dinner with on weekends. Although it was the neighbor, there was a of neglect, as it was our decision, as part of a community, to break off the tree, like a leaf, and see just where the wind would take us.
It is interesting how sometimes there is so much to say, that nothing can be said. This awkward situation could have occurred, if Jean-Michel Massing, an old friend of my father, was not such a dynamic, creative, captivating, intellectual. There was no silence as we talked, although it was not always filled with logicality on his part. However, Massing is the definition of passion. His thick white beard, reminiscent of Santa Clause, each hair curled by time and experience, his glasses, and his cane, create a perfect caricature that King’s college is proud to support. Indeed, he is the professor of ancient arts for the Kings College, which we visited at night, with all its mystical, Harry Potter feel, and during the day, with it’s future potentials crusing through the halls, engulfed in books. The entire town, Cambridge, is truly the meaning of “a university town”. The town itself is filled with museums, but most of all, wonderful colleges.
Next on our destinations was the mysterious Montreal, which so many of our friends knew about, but that we ourselves had never found the time to visit. So, here we are, in a place that looks just like the USA, (big roads, big cars, 7/11s and Wendy’s). The oddity was that everyone spoke french, and I found myself in a dilemma between two worlds. However, the center of the Montreal, called “Le Vieux Montreal” (The old Montreal) reminded us of France, in an aesthetic way, and a cultural way. Furthermore, the “French” which is spoken in Quebec uses different terms and a completely different accent is often ridiculed by inhabitants of France. For example, in Quebec, at the time of desert, they say “let’s sweeten our beaks”, while in France, this is never used. Anyways, the people are very nice and welcoming, and my dad got a free cigar as a welcome gift, a CUBAN cigar!
Ironically, we then hit the road to New York, where Cuban cigars are not permitted. We arrived at night, watching the famous skyline shine its way into the windshield. Times Square was crazier than i could have ever imagined, (no wonder its in so many movies). We stayed at the Mariott, with a view into times square the Chrysler building standing over us, proud and legendary. The next morning was quite a rush, I mean, cmon, 4 days in NYC, where do you start. So we headed to the closest diner to have ourselves a classic American breakfast, bacon, eggs, and baked beans, and toast, and tomatoes, and fries, and coffee, and orange juice. A lot, but that day we sure did alot. We visited central park, the MOMA, featuring a hypnotizing bright light which would eventually pass you out if you stayed there too long. We saw the Metropolitan Museum, the Empire state building, the National Museum of HIstory, and much more. In the end, i was dumbfolded by the complexity of the city. Every little street holds a secret.
