Chapter 7 #2
‘Funny you should say that. I was in Bali a year ago, doing a story on the digital nomad life in Canggu. Interviewing expats who’d made the island home and how much bang they got for their buck.’
‘Really? I lived in Canggu for about six months.’ How strange that all the places on the planet Jasper could visit for a story and he picks Canggu?
‘I’m sorry I missed you. How did you wrench yourself away from there? I stayed for three weeks and I didn’t want to leave. I found Indonesians to be the happiest people on the planet, always laughing, teasing, ready with a joke.’
‘Yes! The locals are a lot of fun. I miss it, actually. The chaos of the island, the smiley-faced Balinese, four family members squished on a scooter.’
‘Would you go back then?’
Would I? Even though it’s only been eighteen months since I left Canggu, it seems like a lifetime ago.
So much has happened since then, and it’s like the Aubrey who lived there then – so free and unencumbered – is gone.
While I loved my time on the island, there’s no point going backwards. My relationship with Miles proves that.
‘I’ll visit again one day,’ I say. ‘But for now, I’d like to live somewhere new. Just me, a new horizon, a different vista.’
Jasper glances away for a moment. ‘Then Paris seems about as good a place as any to hunker down for a while.’ Again, I get the feeling he’s reflecting about himself at times. Is he missing his ex?
‘It could be. Or maybe one of our other stops along the way.’ I haven’t explored as much of Europe as I’d like, aside from some family holidays and many, many destination weddings as my friendship group hit their thirties. The invites are now mostly for baby showers and children’s birthday parties.
‘You’re lucky to live the way you do,’ Jasper muses, running a finger over his lips.
I double-blink and quickly look away. The gesture is subconscious but it draws my attention to the fact he’s got the most kissable lips I’ve ever seen.
In fact, I don’t recall noticing another man’s lips before – kissable or not.
I forget to answer again so he continues.
‘I travel, but have a home base in Connecticut.’ He’s from Connecticut?
My earlier guess of Vermont wasn’t far off then.
‘When I’m working, I only just scratch the surface of each city.
To know the heartbeat, you have to live there long term, at least that’s how it feels when I have to leave so soon. ’
‘Why do you bother with a home base? Why not stay?’
He gives me a rueful smile. ‘Well, Olivia expected me home at some point.’ He stops short, a frown marring his features.
‘Or… maybe she didn’t. Either way, now things are different.
I could live a more itinerant life, but would I yearn for home?
I’m not sure. As much as I enjoy my work trips, I also like my own bed, my own space.
Did you ever miss having a home base? A place to land, family around to love on you?
I guess you must have, to have decided to settle down? ’
I smile as my family and close friendship group spring to mind.
‘Well, I always visited home a lot. There were family functions I couldn’t miss, or a friend’s wedding, so those visits shored me up, and they reminded me that it would always be there and so I didn’t need to be. Does that even make sense?’
‘Perfect sense. You could dip in and out when you like and still get the benefit of living on some island paradise.’
I grin. He gets it. It’s unusual. There’s always pushback when I talk about how I live, like people want to pick holes in my story, as if I can’t possibly enjoy not having a home to go to. A mortgage. Or at least the dream of one.
Sure, I suffer bouts of homesickness, but they don’t last long and a quick call home usually eases it. It’s not like I’m pining for bricks and mortar; I’m pining for my family, or for a deep and meaningful conversation with Freya.
Princess throws herself back between us.
‘Am I interrupting?’ Her witchy cackle rings out.
I shake my head at her theatrics. ‘Not at all. We were talking about our travels and where we call home, or would like to.’
‘Ah, you’re both nomadic by nature! I suppose the three of us are. Isn’t that something? To find others so similar?’
It is, but it doesn’t surprise me, since according to Sabrina this trip has been offered at a discount to many travel industry insiders.
If not for that, then I’m sure Jasper and I would not be sitting here right now, as the cost for a ticket on the Winter Wonderland Express is somewhat prohibitive for the average Christmas holidaymaker.
Just what type of tourist is Jasper when he’s not working?
Spontaneous, I bet. The sort of person you’d call when you’re suddenly inspired for a last-minute road trip to visit some crumbling ruins, or when you spot sale airfares and know they’ll say yes without hesitation.
I sense he’d be up for any adventure, and take it all in his stride.
‘Yeah, it is,’ Jasper agrees. ‘What about you, Princess? Where do you call home?’
‘I’m from the Philippines originally. Now that I’ve retired, I’m a rolling stone, but when the urge for my own bed calls, I visit my castello in Tuscany with its verdant rolling hills and vineyards as far as the eye can see.
Or if I’m feeling energetic, I have a loft in Tribeca – I enjoy the New York nightlife, jazz clubs, nightclubs.
My villa in St Lucia is perfect when I’m in the mood for sunshine and cocktails.
My condo in Manila is fun when I’m craving Filipino food like sisig or adobo.
’ She waves her hand as if it’s nothing.
‘I have a few other abodes here and there, but I don’t want to come across as pretentious. ’
At that, we burst out laughing.
‘Are you ready for a whistlestop tour of Paris?’ Princess asks.
‘Ready,’ Jasper confirms. ‘I’d love to find a gift for my mum for Christmas if we have time.’
Loves his mum – check. Actually, no, I’m not checking boxes for Jasper!
‘Would you mind switching with me?’ Princess gives Jasper a coy smile. Switching means Jasper will be seated next to me, instead of opposite.
‘Sure thing.’ Jasper switches and Princess’s eyes sparkle with amusement. I give her an almost imperceptible shake of the head, so she knows I’m not interested. I’m sure she takes absolutely no notice.
As we zoom around Paris, Princess has us in fits of laughter, sharing stories of hijinks she got up to around the city on previous visits, most happening in underground clubs – she’s got the energy of a teenager and it doesn’t ever seem to ebb.
Princess has paid some kind of premium for tickets as we’re whisked in an elevator to the top of the Eiffel Tower, which is not for the faint of heart but the stunning view of Paris below is worth it. We’re back in the car and taken to the next stop.
Once again we skip the queue at the Louvre with a private guided tour to visit the Mona Lisa.
I only wish we had more time at each sight, but it’s enough to whet my appetite for an extended return trip.
‘She’s so tiny!’ I whisper to Jasper, who is shoved in close beside me due to the crowd pushing us forward.
‘Tiny but powerful,’ he agrees, cocking his head to survey the small painting as the crowd push forward, a sea of arms holding phone cameras aloft.
‘I see power too,’ Princess agrees.
Jasper puts a protective arm around me when a burly man gets too close. ‘The hint of a smile shows her quiet determination. She’s a woman who has faced many challenges but persists and ultimately prevails.’
When I gaze back at Mona Lisa with that in mind, the painting changes; a different history takes shape.
Was she a mother, a wife, a woman who suffered heartrending loss but persevered?
Questions that will never be answered but that make the artwork sing its own sweet melody; it becomes not just an object but a story.
This is why I love touring with people. Jasper’s comments have changed the way I view the painting. Art is subjective and up for interpretation and now I’m lost imagining a world this woman once walked.
Sainte-Chapelle is next. Sunlight pools through the stained-glass windows, colouring us in soft rainbow prisms. It’s like being in the belly of a kaleidoscope. Jasper’s mouth is agape, as if he can’t quite believe this is real, and the sight of it makes me stifle a laugh.
‘What?’
‘You look like you’re in love.’
He considers it. ‘I am, I think.’ He flashes me that same winning grin of his, but it’s laced with something else – wonderment, anticipation? Well, who wouldn’t be feeling those same emotions being bathed in vivid light like this?
‘It’s not just the beauty or majesty of these cathedrals that tug on the heart strings, it’s a bigger feeling than that. I struggle to put it into words…’ I say, unable to express the complexity of what I mean.
Jasper and Princess wear the same rapt faces so perhaps they feel it too.
Jasper nods. ‘There’s a word that might fit: numinous, which describes a strong religious and spiritual feeling signifying the presence of divinity. I take it to mean it’s that bolt you feel deep in your soul when you walk into a place like this.’
How can this man be so perfect? A wordsmith who understands big feelings, big thoughts.
The philosophy of things. ‘That’s exactly it, Jasper.
Numinous.’ I roll the word on my tongue; it feels right.
While I don’t follow any one religion, you can’t help but feel the presence of the divine inside these walls.
It adds a buoyancy to my spirit. This is why people truly believe.
It’s hard not to when it touches you like this, like it’s an almost physical thing.
We leave Sainte-Chapelle and are driven to the 1st arrondissement and stop at Place Vend?me to share a bottle of champagne and canapes at the Ritz, which Princess insists on.
I’m not going to argue. It’s all very fancy.
The limo door is opened by a doorman and we’re ushered inside to the sumptuous hotel famous for so many reasons, including being the home of Coco Chanel for over thirty years.
‘Let’s sit in Bar Vend?me,’ Princess says.
It’s as lavish as you imagine, and I pretend for a moment that I eat canapes in swanky places all the time.
The bite-size morsels are exceptional, the company more so, Jasper surprising me with his intellect and his big heart.
Just as I suspected, the guy is the type to shovel snow off his neighbour’s drive and carry shopping to the car for a frazzled mum.
One of the good ones that you only see in romcoms. But there must be a flaw under all that, right?
There always is. Maybe I can ask Rox to do a deep dive on his background…
Until I remember I’m not interested so there’s no point.
After Bar Vend?me, we’re driven to Montmartre. Princess buys gifts at A la Mère de Famille, an artisanal chocolate shop, and I buy a book about the history of the shop, which is so utterly Parisian it’s hard to leave.
Princess points out Café des Deux Moulins, where the French movie Amélie was filmed. We drive past the Vignes di Clos Montmartre, the last operational vineyard in all of Paris. I’m grateful we’ve had the car in which to zoom all over Paris as we covered some distance and managed to fit so much in.
As the day escapes and night falls, my energy ebbs. Princess is still lively chatting away with Jasper and the driver, while I soak up the view of Paris at night, a sepia-hued river Seine, the Eiffel Tower sparkling against the inky night.
‘This is the last stop,’ our driver informs us through the speakers. ‘Marché de Noel de Notre-Dame.’
The facade of the Notre Dame cathedral looks different as evening falls. The gothic structure fills with brooding shadows, the gargoyles perched above like sentinels guarding the city.
Square Rene-Viviani in front is alive with Swiss chalet-like stalls, selling an array of delights such as mulled wine, roasted chestnuts, Christmas ornaments and artisanal crafts.
With the medieval towers of Notre Dame as a backdrop, and the lapping of the Seine close by, it’s the perfect place to stretch our legs and do some Christmas shopping.
‘There’s a Ferris wheel! Who’s keen?’ Jasper asks.
‘I bet the view will be even more stunning from that vantage.’ He points high into the sky.
It’s sweet to see his childlike spirit come alive when faced with a carnival ride.
If Miles were here, he’d insist that was for kids and no way would he be seen dead on it. Why am I comparing the two of them?
‘I’m keen!’ I say. ‘What about you, Princess?’
Excitement shines on her face. ‘I’ve got my eye firmly on my prize. Those big, thick, fat sausages. Look at the girth on those things.’ Before we can respond, she’s marching towards a choucroute stall. I have to practically bite my lips off to stop laughter spilling out.
‘I’m noticing that Princess sees many objects as phallic,’ Jasper muses, trying to rein in his own grin.
I don’t dare tell him about our bauble-decorating experience. For a widow, she sure knew a lot of inappropriate jokes about balls. But who am I to judge?
Is the bawdy humour just a bit of schtick, a persona that Princess puts out to the world in an effort to hide her real heart, a heart that is hurting?
Don’t we all do that to some degree? Show the world what we think they want to see?
Act a certain way to protect the vulnerable parts, the scars, the damage that we hide from the light?
‘Should we get one too and then ride the Ferris wheel?’ Jasper asks.
I’m not sure I can now eat a sausage without thinking of penises and not choke to death on it, and with Jasper in such close proximity. I swallow back a giggle.
‘You’re thinking of penis sausages, aren’t you?’
I bite my bottom lip and fumble with an appropriate answer. ‘Yes.’ We knock into each other, laughing.