BE I NG IN P ar i s MARK O ’LEARY MUSES ON HIS RECENT TRIP TO PARIS, AND WHETHER ITS SIGNIFICANCE LIES IN ITS LOCATION OR THE FEELINGS IT INSPIRES.
S
ince my first visit to the city as an adult, last summer, Paris has occupied an almost sacred space in my self-conception. Traveling alone for the first time, Paris was the only place I had ever felt entirely untethered. The city had become a cathedral of the kind of authentic experience that I longed for. Yet twelve months later, as I once again strolled through the narrow cobbled streets of the Latin Quarter, It occurred to me that perhaps it was not the place but its place in my life which was special. The architecture and the repetitive conversations with other travellers had started to turn dry. I stopped for two pints at what was still nominally a little Irish bar, which had by erosion become authentically Parisian. Faded advertis-
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ing for Magners (the defunct name of the Irish cider which is now Bulmers) adorned the front, while the bathroom walls were scribbled with black and red marker, proclaiming ALL COPS ARE BASTARDS. I considered joining the only other patrons, two Parisian girls, but was deterred by the thought of the irritation I would feel if my evening in Tom Barry’s with a friend was interrupted by a French tourist, trying to find the ‘real Ireland.’ Boarding the Metro, I was resigned to meeting some other tourists to spend my evening with. Yet, when after just two stops everybody else in my completely full carriage rushed out the doors, I was driven to see where all of these Parisians were in such a rush to get to. Chasing them up the stairs, we emerged into an indistinct resi-
