Freedom Fries and Cafe Creme (11 page)

She looked so kind and trusting that Thomas had no choice but to continue to explain. He owed her that much, after all.

‘Every May and October, instead of actually travelling abroad, I just take the bus to New York for ten days or a couple of weeks.'

Heidi, who had never even been to New York City, was more than eager to listen to Thomas's story.

‘I stay at my brother Jack's place, in the East Village. Jack goes away to Germany for work at the same time twice a year. So he lets me use his place, a nice one-bedroom apartment on a quiet street, which is really a treat in Manhattan.'

‘Don't tell me that, like me, you've never been outside the States?' Heidi asked. ‘You've also talked about Paris like you really went there, but … oh, it's so confusing.'

‘I'm sorry. You'll understand when you know everything.'

Thomas stopped to eat a little of his kebab, then continued with his confession.

‘I used to travel for real.'

‘So you really went to Paris, didn't you?' Heidi asked, her eyes shining.

‘Yes, and several times.'

‘What happened, then?'

Thomas explained that after a few trips abroad he became more and more irritated: longer and longer queues at the airport, overbooked planes, delays, babies bawling in the seat next to him, execrable food and bad movies, lost luggage …

‘Since I'm not an adventurous traveller, and I only speak English, I used to travel with organised tours. But I couldn't afford the kind of trips that would allow me the authentic experiences you could have if money were no object.'

Even as he said it, Thomas knew this last statement sounded a little absurd, and he paused to think it over.

‘Actually I'm not at all convinced that money brings you authenticity … A certain flair, maybe, but not the real atmosphere of ordinary, everyday life. And I think I'd rather not travel anywhere than spend time only in places that offer merely artificial, prefabricated luxury, and which are the same everywhere you go.'

‘That's a good point,' Heidi agreed.

‘Luxury for me is a simple lodging with a bit of authentic charm and a beautiful view, being able to meet and talk with locals, and tasting real dishes from
le terroir
,' Thomas added, still pleasantly surprised at the extent to which Heidi appeared to share his opinions on the subject.

‘Yes,
la cuisine du terroir
– you told me all about it. I wish we were more into it in America. I wonder if your kind of luxury does exist anywhere any more.'

With a big sigh Thomas admitted, ‘It doesn't much, or it's hard to find.'

‘And too many outsiders spoil the authenticity of a place.'

‘Exactly! And the funny thing is that locals don't always appreciate what they have since it's simply part of their daily routine.'

Thomas went on to complain about where he had been taken during his last all-inclusive trips abroad.

‘Besides the barely adequate quality of the food, the run-of-the-mill hotels were also noisy, and there was far too much time devoted to shopping! And there are the same chain stores and restaurants everywhere in the world now, whether you're in St Petersburg or Bangkok! People wear the same kind of clothes, walk about looking stupid with their mouths open all the time, talking endlessly on their cell phones. The same insipid Hollywood movies play in all the theatres; you hear the same boring pop music everywhere …'

‘But the unique sights, the monuments that still make a place so special – what about those?' Heidi asked.

‘Of course, most of them are beautiful, but travelling with a group was becoming less and less bearable for me. I also noticed that many of my travel companions rarely appreciated their new surroundings, and would talk about how much better America was as they constantly snapped pictures of everything they saw instead of listening to the guide and really trying to see and understand the sights right in front of them. I usually had the feeling that I was just part of a group of vulgar tourists.'

Thomas stopped and looked up, realising he probably sounded too resentful.

‘I didn't think travelling could be so terrible,' Heidi remarked.

‘Most people must be a lot more relaxed than I am, otherwise nobody would travel at all. Any little incident bothered me in the extreme.'

‘Come on, Thomas. What about the real atmosphere of a place, a feeling that you can't bring back with you?' Heidi tried.

‘Real atmospheres are disappearing, as I was saying earlier.'

‘Hmm …' Heidi didn't sound convinced. ‘But what about Paris? You went there, and several times, didn't you?' She was beginning to get desperate. ‘At least that's what you said …'

Her eyes suddenly grew brighter. Paris was her absolute dream, the one and only place abroad she really wanted to visit. She started fantasising aloud.

‘
La plus belle ville du monde
, as my French teacher used to say: the cafés, the Eiffel Tower, the Seine, Montmartre and its artistic soul …'

‘Yes, Montmartre,' Thomas interjected. ‘Oh, I can certainly tell you a lot about Montmartre because I stayed in that neighbourhood the few times I went to Paris.'

‘So, you see!'

‘In fact, there was this adorable little café I really fell in love with. Café du Coin, it used to be called.'

‘Used to be?'

‘Yes,
used to be
. When I saw that my little Café du Coin had been replaced by a coffee shop chain, I cried.'

‘I don't blame you. They are absolutely everywhere.
It's dreadful!' Heidi replied. She no longer went in them since she'd become friends with Thomas.

The two of them looked at each other, as if aware of the spectre of globalisation sitting with them at their small table in this tiny local Middle Eastern restaurant.

Heidi, regaining hope, broke the silence, declaring confidently, ‘If I were to visit Paris I'd definitely go to a real café. Please don't tell me that they've
all
been replaced by insipid coffee shop chains!'

‘Of course not. Fortunately Paris still has lots of authentic cafés. The closing of the Café du Coin was a real shock, though. I used to sit on its terrace every night. The owner, whose name was Josette, was a highly respected woman. She would talk to me sometimes; with her smattering of English and the few French words I knew, we were able to understand each other well enough. She was my image of a real authentic
Parisienne
, with her throaty voice and nonstop banter. There was a group of older men who lived in the neighbourhood who came in every evening to have a drink at the bar and chat with her. I used to watch them enviously. I couldn't understand what they were saying, but I wanted to believe that they had known her for ever and were all secretly a little in love with her.'

Like you? Heidi wondered, but she said nothing.

‘It was a place where everyone knew everyone else,' Thomas continued. ‘These people knew perfectly well where they belonged, and were an integral part of the neighbourhood. Every time I went to Paris, I would ask my travel agent to make sure he put me in a group staying in Montmartre so I could be near the Café du Coin. I
didn't care much for the silly activities they'd organise in the evening at places like the Moulin Rouge, with halfnaked women wearing feathers dancing on stage – well, if you call it dancing. Instead I would spend the evening sipping some Beaujolais, eating the best
croque-monsieur
you can imagine, while listening to CDs of singers from the past, which Josette would play, and listening to other customers talking.'

‘I really love
croque-monsieur
,' said Heidi. ‘I know that they're not that fancy, but they're just delicious.'

Thomas made a mental note of this.

‘I would watch the non-stop “live” show the café and the street offered me,' he told her. ‘The Café du Coin was basically the reason I went to Paris four more times.'

‘Four more times!' Heidi exclaimed, thinking that Thomas went back there more for Josette than anything else.

‘But on my last trip I found that the Café du Coin had disappeared. I immediately started to see only the negative changes: more fast-food restaurants and souvenir stores filled with tasteless, useless gadgets
made in China.
The Paris that I was so fond of seemed to be fading away.'

‘That's sad.' Heidi's tone was understanding. ‘I wonder what happened to Josette.'

‘I suspect she was forced to close because the rent was too high. That must have broken her heart. However, she was a hard worker; she'll make it, I'm sure. So, after all that I decided not to visit “exotic” countries any longer. It was just too depressing. It may sound silly, but that's how I feel deep down.'

What could Heidi say? Should she be angry with Thomas for lying to her, or should she feel sorry for him since he sounded so bitter and disappointed?

‘I know now why you never wanted to send postcards with real stamps on them,' she said finally, going back to Thomas's imaginary travels.

‘Without the internet, I couldn't have “lied” to you like that. I couldn't have sent you pictures that I found on the Web.'

‘They were beautiful,' she sighed. ‘And even if you didn't take them, they still helped me to dream.'

Disappointment, indulgence, forgiveness? Thomas didn't know how to interpret what Heidi had just said. She wasn't looking at him any more. She was staring out at the street. She had a contemplative attitude that he wasn't sure he understood.

A couple of minutes passed in silence.

‘Hey, what about the gifts?' Heidi exclaimed suddenly.

‘You can find anything in New York, and I made most of them myself,' Thomas told her, smiling wryly.

Heidi remembered that the labels on the food gifts he had given her always looked hand-made. Thomas had told her that he did the wrapping himself back home to make sure the pretty paper wouldn't be spoilt on the journey home. She'd believed him. Still, she expected more explanations.

‘OK. And what about the little stories you always told me? Did you invent those too?'

‘I read a lot about the places I supposedly visit, go to special art exhibitions, and see movies and documentaries
while I'm in New York. It's my way of discovering a new country and its culture.'

‘Hmm … and I suppose that for the “exotic” food it was easy to find ethnic restaurants in Manhattan?'

Thomas nodded.

‘The evocative flavours you told me about seemed so real to me. You certainly know how to describe them.'

‘Well, you know that everybody at the agency is aware of my passion for cookery and that's the only thing I seem to get any respect for. So I'd never dare lie about that. I really have tasted all the dishes I told you about.'

Right, Heidi said to herself.

People at work didn't particularly appreciate Thomas because he was too much of a loner for them. Nobody paid him much attention. It made Heidi feel special being the only one of his colleagues he really got on with. However, when it came to his recipes and restaurant addresses, Thomas was willing to share, and then everyone at the agency listened to him. That was basically the only interaction any of them had with him.

‘So what's your secret? TV cooking shows, recipe books, gourmet magazines, cooking classes?'

Just then the waiter approached their table.

‘Would you like some dessert and coffee?'

Thomas and Heidi looked at him with surprise, having completely forgotten they weren't alone.

‘May we have some baklava and two coffees, please? Heidi, is that OK with you?'

‘Sure,' she answered, not even looking at the waiter, whose arrival had just broken their spell of intimacy.

The waiter went away, and Thomas continued with his confession.

‘Well, when I got back from my last trip to Paris, Jack invited me to stay with him for the weekend after I told him about my latest travel frustrations. New York is a city I'd never really liked. I always thought it was too big and too dirty. Jack wanted to show me that it was one of the most magnificent and exciting cities in the world, and since I love ethnic food and restaurants he decided to take me to places you can only find there.'

The dessert and coffee arrived. The baklava looked scrumptious, little diamonds dripping with honey and sprinkled with the soft green of pistachios; the coffee thick, black and comforting.

‘So the two of us went to different French places for lunch, dinner, or sometimes only for a drink. They all seemed pretty authentic to me – even if imported – true to the nostalgic image that I had of Paris. I could even hear Edith Piaf's songs.'

‘So atmosphere can be exported, then?'

‘Only a semblance of it, perhaps, but it's good enough for me.'

‘I suppose it's a re-creation of what has sometimes been lost from the country,' Heidi pointed out.

‘You're right! That's exactly it: a re-creation of what people left behind in order to keep it alive and share it with others in their new lives. It will never be exactly like it was, but it's still to be treasured.'

Thomas was a little happier now. He smiled, liking what Heidi had just led him to say.

She went on, ‘New York is so big and is home to so many people from all over the world. That's what gives it such a variety of atmospheres.'

‘I had so much fun there with Jack that I almost felt I
was
in Paris – well, the Paris that I remembered, or as I wanted it to be.'

They finished their baklava and sipped their coffee slowly.

‘When Jack saw how much I enjoyed myself on our “French tour” in New York, he suggested that instead of spending money on disappointing trips I should just come and stay at his place while he was away in Germany. I could take care of his plants, and I'd discover a new country through the diverse neighbourhoods, restaurants, shops and cultural events in New York. What I needed for a vacation, he said, was some change from my routine, wherever I went. It seemed pretty good to me.'