“Every city has a sex and an age which have nothing to do with demography… Paris, I believe, is a man in his twenties in love with an older woman.” John Berger
Ah Paris! Dad took the family there in 1988. We spent 4-5 days in Paris, it rained the entire time, but I still loved it.
I remember the Louvre, and Sacre-Coeur and Notre Dame, the Latin Quarter. The cafes and the boutiques. At fifteen I felt like an interloper in such a city of style.
This letter really is more about Amsterdam though, I’ll see if I can find more letters from Paris…
Reading Dad’s letters, I am marvelling at how much mileage Dad got from the contacts he made at the New Education Fellowship conference in Delhi in 1959. He spent ten days there, and then travelled for six months on the contacts he made!
Dad always was a natural networker, before that term even came into being. He’s a people person. He will chat with anyone who spends more than ten seconds in his presence, particularly if they are female and attractive!
More on the introvert end of the personality scale, my mum and I would cringe at times when Dad would use a rather nebulous connection with someone to justify contacting them, and somehow being invited for lunch or to stay. No matter where in the world we would go, Dad would know someone.
Older now, I appreciate this skill, the world needs more connectors like Dad, to ease us out of our little protective shells and reclaim that pleasure in sharing life stories. Reaching out to connect with disconnected people, as dad does with Boros. Storytelling is a two way street, and Dad always knew how to listen to stories, as well as to tell them.
Paris, April 1960
Dear Mum and Dad,
By now you should be well and truly back from your cruise which must have been terrific.
Since I have written to Ronald in Geneva, I have been about 10 days each in Germany and Holland, and now Paris – I arrived last night. I have been using the youth hostels in these places which has cut my expenses considerably, and has proved a goldmine for meeting young travellers.
In Germany, it was bitterly cold – down close to zero degrees which contrasts with humid weather in Paris today. The Germans I met were very friendly and they proved very willing guides. Of course we keep away from the discussions of the war which prove very embarrassing.
While in Frankfurt I brought a second-hand camera (35mm) with the help of a German girl who was well informed on the subject. It is a Braun Paxette IIBL and has a built-in light meter and a good detachable lens, case etc. It cost 240 marks (DM) which is about £24 Australian. I can use colour film of course, but I have been practising in black and white. I will send you some of the results when I get them.
There is no doubt about the drinking conditions on the continent, they leave ours for dead. The way the whole family comes down and drinks together in the Inn or Tavern, gives a great spirit to the place.
When I reached Amsterdam I contacted the NEF (New Education Fellowship) branch there and was invited out to lunch twice, to the house of a Mr Kess Becke, who lives in a beautiful village, Abcoude, halfway between Amsterdam and Utrecht.
Mr Becke, who was in his seventies, told me much of his drama-packed life and his efforts to start a revolutionary school. He made arrangements for me to go and see it. It was somewhat like Preshil, with a secondary department, and it was very well supplied with land and equipment.
Later I went to another NEF members house in Utrecht, for afternoon tea. Holland is certainly a beautiful place with its canals, and there is much to see, but the weather didn’t impress until the last days of my stay.
During my stay in Holland, I visited The Hague and the Peace Palace in the International Court of Justice, and I saw in Amsterdam, wonderful collections of Rembrandt and Van Gogh. I also took a boat trip around the canals, which was very good value.
The thing which was very noticeable in Holland was the fact that everyone spoke English as a second language. This is in contrast with Paris where very few spoke English.
I have met a boy in the hostel here called Boros. He is a refugee from Hungary, his parents were killed there. He is working in Paris until next month when he migrates to Melbourne. I gave him your address, in the hope that if he needs any social contact, you would help him. He seems a nice, intelligent, person. His age is 19.
I went to American Express in Paris but there was no mail. I think it may have been there more than two months and was returned. I will have to leave seeing Dad’s girlfriend until next time.
A German girl I met in Frankfurt gave me the address of a friend in Montparnasse and we saw an exhibition of Van Gogh works there today.
I am settling down quite quickly in Paris and now use the Metro as well as I can in Melbourne. It is lovely now in Paris, with the sun and the avenues of trees.
Love Chris
Dad, I remember now, was always the family photographer. He took this role very seriously. He always had sophisticated cameras, and his difficulties with manual dexterity, meant it took him a (long) while to get ready.
My brother and I now have many photos of us grimacing as children, not because we were particularly bad-tempered, but because our jaws had got so sore from smiling for ten minutes straight, that by the time dad actually took the photo, we were grumpy, bored and in pain.
My particular favourite is one of me, aged around five, both scowling and squinting – the sun had to be behind the camera-man of course. As such I had been staring into the sun for a good ten minutes, my eyes were watering and I wasn’t happy. I look at that photo and I can still remember how I felt, but my love for the man in the paisley shirt, brown flares, with glasses and a bushy beard, kept me still, albeit whingey, long enough to capture that moment.
“The more I travelled the more I realised that fear makes strangers of people who should be friends.” Shirley MacLaine
Title image:
Eiffel Tower edge.lovingapartments.com
Amsterdam Canal blog.utrip.com
Abcoude wilmabosma.smugmug.com
La Rotund Montparnasse bonjourparis.com
Dad's travel diaries 