Week 3, 7 photos and 7 stories
And here goes today's story...
Suddenly I was engulfed by beautiful memories from that night a year ago! A smile crept onto my lips. Within seconds I was transported to a gloomy and smoky bar tucked away in a decrepit Parisian street. It was a kind of place where you would expect to meet Nabokov or Picasso sipping a cocktail while listening to “Polka Dots and Moonbeams” play at the piano bar.
Yellow cigarette smoke obscured my view of the bar entrance, and the upbeat tune completely absorbed my train of thoughts. Suddenly I felt a gentle touch on my shoulder. I turned around and saw him just a step behind me. He was wearing an Italian handmade suit, exquisite perfume and a mixture of mature confidence and mischievous innocence at the same time.
“Hello,” he said with a friendly smile and a very charming French accent. “You must be Kristin,” he added, while looking at my hands. I replied, “Yes, it’s me, nice to meet you, Professor Thibaudet.” “Pleasure to meet you too, Kristin, and please call me Jean-Yves,” he smiled again.
My anxiety and trepidations of the last few months simply melted away! We took a table in the corner, right opposite the stage, where the saxophone player was jazzing the night away. After a couple of Martinis and the usual get-to-know-each-other conversation we left the bar and took a taxi to The Conservatoire de Paris in the 19th arrondissement.
Despite the late hour the building was full of the cacophony of various instruments. I could hear Mozart’s Piano Concerto No.9 in competition with Bach’s Cello Suite No.1. At the end of the corridor someone was incessantly practicing scales on a classical guitar.
That moment I felt that I belonged there, I wanted to spend every minute of my life from then on doing what I loved most!
Jean-Yves took me to my practice room and handed over my study schedule. Then, after agreeing to meet the following day at noon to discuss our music program for the first semester, we said good-bye to each other and each disappeared into a starry Parisian night, Professor Thibaudet to his sophisticated apartment in the Marais District, me – to my cosy attic room in Montmartre which was going to be my home for the next four years.