B"H
of the jealous hedonist. I traveled as a poor man, prepare d
nourishing meals for the all night and the next day maneuvering
through the world thoroughfares without spending a wooden nicke l
on junk food. As such, the journey took on a mysterious aura o f
the subcultures; hunger, filth, disease and the mysterious suspense
of my circulating beneath the apparitions of most world travelers
who for decades have paid excessively in order to make the
transportation industry profitable.
In spheres of human interaction defining the daily routine o f
materialist society, people are fearful to emote the slightest peep :
officers with whistles and badges and undercover agents,
trades men and service people direct everyone quietly through a n
international arena where people gain access equally so long as
the currency is exchangeable. The best word to characterize the
emotion associated with this contradictory portrayal is to
submerge oneself into pa nde monium. One facet of the modern
security checks has been to institute a siphon to prevent spatia l
progress of certain travelers, who may have political inclinatio n
at divergence with the society, which listed as the destination o f
their itinerary.
Turbulence is not uncommon to flights of fancy , but the reade r
should endure if it's his or her desire to arrive at our destination .
As though matter of principle to be identified with the artists o f
old, I arrived the decision regarding my overnight stay en route to
the connecting flight that would take me to San Francisco. Luck
was with me on, and during the jet ride to Paris I made contact
with another passenger with who m I conversed on the flight fro m
Israel. She planned to go into downtown Paris with a fr iend wit h
whom she arranged to be picked up at the Charles de Gaulle
Airport. She was a pleasant wo man, and went to the extent of suc h
kindness that she convinced her friend into taking me with the m
for the ride. The friend had agreed, though it's almost taboo to take
hitchhikers, an act that has resulted in an injurious experience to
so many people.
Within mo ments of arrival to downtown Paris, I took a cab to
the Eifel Tower thereafter to the Moulin de Rouge where I was
refused entry since it was after 11 PM. The wise old ow l
interrogates dutifully, what was I doing at the door of a burlesque
had once been an imagined source of entertainment. Mentality
crisis that may not differ from an identity crisis; I mean, dig this
9