Bits and Bites

Having recently received a few emails from friends wondering if I am alive, I'm beginning to think I need to do a few blog posts of my "boring" daily life. I have to concede that not every blog entry will be a great story, and that some can simply provide a peek into my life in Paris.

Swimming IS a contact sport. It's true, at least in Paris. I've come to appreciate what a blessing it is to swim at the University of San Francisco Koret Center and typically splitting the whole lane with one other person. In Paris, I get to be up close and personal with 10-15 other people, thrashing, kicking, hitting and pretending to swim. I estimate that, on average, I hit or bump into more people in one "workout" in Paris than I have in the past 10 years of swimming in San Francisco. Having pondered on the expression "it's all about your attitude" I've decided that I will be much happier if I just accept that it's okay to run over people in the swimming pool. Sometimes when I feel badly about being so aggessive with people who don't wear goggles while swimming or who actually wear glasses (yes, it's true) I remember, that sometimes we can't change our situation, but we can change our attitude. Repeat after me: "swimming is a contact sport, swimming is a contact sport." Allez.

"My" boulangerie, which is the one on my street, is closed on weekends. Fortunately there is one just a couple blocks away that is open. Today, after swimmng I stopped by for a "tradition" and they were out. So, I just asked for a baguette instead. There are several types of breads - tradition, baguette, mult-grain, cereal, talmiere, etc., so you must know what you want. And the best part... it was still warm. 6:00 on Saturday and I'm handed a loaf, errr, baguette that is still warm - so warm in fact that I have to switch hands after half a minute as it cools down. The stereotype is that "madame" takes the bread home under one arm, whereas as "monsieur" takes a bite. I tend to be more discrete and simply rip off the end and start eating it immediately. This is what it looks like when I arrive home.

People ride bicycles everywhere and there is a new service called Velib, which was introduced last July. By May, the service has been used more than 20 million times and has around 200,000 subscribers. There are stations all over the City, more than 20,000 bikes which can be rented on a daily, weekly or annual basis. Daily is 1 euro, weekly is 5 euros and it's only 29 euros for a year. The first 30 minutes of each trip are free. Go shopping, and then get another bike to return home. Each 30-minutes is free. Each additoinal half-hour costs only one euro, so a trip of an hour and 25 minutes would only cost 2 euros more. And, it used by all sorts of people, even men in suits heading home after work. [Anthony - check out http://www.velib.paris.fr/]

Of course, the signage in Paris can be a bit confusing, so be alert while riding a bike.
Other "exciting" things this week: Wandered around with Antonio and checked out a few galleries - he's looking for somewhere to show - or more importantly - sell his artwork. Saw "Sex and the City" - the television version was more risque than the movie. And watched "Indiana Jones et le royaume du crâne de cristal." Definitely implausible, definitely sketchy in terms of facts and history and definitely a lot of fun.

Crazyvores

It’s Saturday night in Paris. Alex, Ariel and I are planning to go to Crazyvores. Ariel had to work, and cancels. Alex wants to back-out. But, I am persuasive. Reminding Alex that what we do is much more interesting than what we don’t do, he concedes. A phone call to Ariel, following a nap, convinces him that it is better to go dancing than to be at home alone on his ninth-anniversary weekend. If he can’t be with Renaud on their anniversary (could it be the manipulative mother-in-law?) then I am happy to persuade him to go out and have some fun.

La Nuit des Crazyvores alternates with La Nuit des Follivores. The origin of the name is not clear, but I like the idea of “carnivore” colliding with “crazy.” French music from the 1980s is the theme for Follivores, whereas English (language) music from the 80s is what we are looking forward to tonight. “Night” or “la nuit,” is a bit misleading as the club opens at 23:45. Apres un petit rendez-vous chez Ariel, we walk over to Boulevard Voltaire (doesn’t that sound French?) and wait… in… line… to get in to Bataclan http://www.le-bataclan.com It’s about 1:00, so technically it’s Le Matin (morning) des Crazyvores.

The place is packed. For a moment, I’m thinking… “what the hell am I thinking?” It’s early in the morning when I’m usually asleep, the place is huge and crowded, I’m feeling old having just past #43, and they’re playing ENGLISH music which I don’t recognize. “Oy.” But then I remember my theme for this trip “pourquoi pas?” “Why not?” And, earlier in the evening it was me who was reminding Alex that what we DO is far more interesting than what we DON’T do. Okay, let’s go!

Finally, some American songs from the 80s. Of course all of the French “mecs” knew the lyrics better than I. Then, some music from Madonna (is she American or English?) Fortunately, as of February 1st of this year, smoking is no longer permitted in bars, clubs and restaurants, so I could breathe. Well, almost. The lack of ventilation was obvious as I started to sweat despite just starting to dance. Now, for the good news - bad news. Parisian men are better looking, better groomed and dress better than American men. But as Alex pointed out, French guys can’t dance. For some strange reason, I just assumed that “les mecs franciais” would dance better than they do. Instead they dance as poorly as straight men in America. Tonight, I’m not so self-conscious about my own lack of dancing skills.

After a few hours of dancing, Alex and Ariel decide to bail a little after 4:00. My second wind has kicked in and the DJ is starting to play more familiar music, so I decide to stay a little longer. Like Billy Idol – an 80s icon – I am “dancing with myself,” albeit along with hundreds of others. A nice crowd. Fun music. Hot men. Even I was feeling hot – literally. Due to the lack of ventilation, I was sweating like a “cochon.” My shirt was completely wet, which would usually gross me out, but when in Rome (or Paris)… it’s somehow okay.

The Metro resumes service between 5:30 and 6:00, so that is when most people go home. But I am not a crazyvore parisian, and I can walk home, so I leave earlier than most. Moi, je part a 5:15. The streetlights go off while I am returning “chez moi.” It’s Sunday morning in Paris… and time to go to bed.

Nouvelle Star

For those of you who haven't been keeping up... Jules was voted off of Nouvelle Star this evening. I confess to having seen Nouvelle Star more often than American Idol. Maybe it is because I now have Wednesday evenings free. Maybe it's a bizarre desire to see all of the candidates and judges wearing an inordinate amount of makeup, giving them a freakish mannequin-like appearance. Or maybe it's because the results are announced at the end of each show (which is possible because France is in one time zone) and I don't have to wait for a week to know which "candidat" France loves most.

The French love Americans, well at least American "chantuers." All of the final five candidates sang two songs each, including one song in English. Ycare did a decent job with "Bang Bang" by Cher and Nancy Sinatra, Amandine made her way through "Beautiful" by Christina Aguilera, but Benjamin stole the show with "Just the Two of Us" by Bill Withers. Though I was tempted to vote for Benajamin, I decided to save the 50 cents it would cost and put it toward an almond croissant. I guess I love my pastries just a little bit more than my Nouvelle Stars. [Yeah, in France callers pay for everything from voting for their favorite idol to the weather and traffic.]

American movies and music - that must be why so many more French people speak English than vice versa. But I'm still wondering where poor Jules, who was voted off tonight, learned this little stunt. Maybe some performances are universal.

Within minutes of the show's completion, (I had to go search for their logo) all of the performances were already on the web. C'est incroyable! Vraiment. http://www.nouvellestar.fr/videos/

Warning - Rambling and Random

Warning. This blog posting is dedicated to the random and rambling. There is no theme. There is no cohesion. There is no witty commentary. Just some random thoughts and a brief accounting of how I spent my time during the past week. If a picture is worth a thousand words, then this posting includes about 13,500 words worth of entertainment. Well, if it's not entertaining, then hopefully it's informative.

First, let me just say that it is noon and I've just finished "breakfast." Here's some random: egg yolks in France are more orange. My mother claims it is do to a different diet. I think it is because Europeans are less afraid of colors than Americans. Anyway... being too lazy to go out and get fresh bread, I enjoyed my eggs with "lardon" (doesn't that sound yummy? it's like bacon cut into bits instead of slices) and corn tortillas that my mother brought me from Seattle and the best mustard in the world. Yummy! Otherwise, I spent the morning doing email, looking for a French language school, considering options for a trip to Morocco and re-sizing photos for the blog posting. So, this is what it is like to NOT go to work each day. Me likey.

Although I am in a foreign city, my social life has been relatively busy. Last Friday night "we" went out to dinner. The "we" includes: my friend Gavin who was visiting from Seattle; Ariel, who lives in Paris with his Partner Renaud (kinda like the car but spelled differently) who had just returned from his three-week vacation to Argentina where he was visiting his family; Alex, a fellow San Franciscan who also works at Kaiser and is here for two months; his host Didier who actually works in Switzerland and commutes from Paris. It was quite fun and reminds me how we really do have an opportunity in life to weave interesting social webs. And here I was sitting in my own web enjoying a wonderful meal with old friends and new ones.

It is difficult to meet French people. Maybe that will improve as my language skills improve. But until then, I'm happy to meet other nationals. Gavin and I spent a couple days hanging-out with Antonio who is originally from Mexico, who then moved to Spain where he married a German, and just moved to Paris. Yesterday, I met up with Ed, a friend of my friends Phillipe (he is French but lives in San Diego) and Michael. Ed is on his way to a bicycle camp in Italy (it's like his 17th time - very impressive!) Ed treated me to dinner - we both had hamuburgers! [Remember, I did start off with a warning that this posting would be random and rambling and I'm committed to keeping my promise.] Quiz: How many countries were mentioned in the last two paragraphs?

"Rick - get to the photos already. Stop rambling. Please, for the love of G_D, show us the 13,000 words worth of photos!!" "Okaaaay. Fine!"

[Click to view larger images]

Hotel de Ville at night. It turned out better than I expected. I love my digital Elph.

The Eiffel Tour, Place de la Concorde (think guillotine) and the Petit Palais in the background.

Citroen automobile showroom on the Champse Elysee. Yes, they still make Citroens. Yes, those really are cars, and yes it's a lot of steps to climb to the top.

Doggies going in Seine (or at least playing next to the Seine river next to their houseboat.)
Cemeteries fascinate me! Gavin, Antonio and I visited the cemetery at Montmartre, where we stumbled over Dalida's grave and tripped over the one with the family with their toes popping out of their coffins. If I were taller, the third photo would have been composed slightly differently. Either way, if I ever make my way to the pearly gates, I'm sure to be questioned about this photo.

La Defense - Is it really in Paris? The architecture is so different. That's Gavin providing a little human perspective to the office building.

Finally, a dancer and a few fireworks to finish off this show. You may have to click on the photo to see the dancer up close and personal. "So, what did you do last night?" "Oh, I lit myself on fire in front of a bunch of tourists at Notre Dame." It's all in a day's work for some here in the City of Lights.

Paris is not for Parisians

Paris is not for Parisians, especially during the month of May. There are millions of people roaming the streets of Paris, though it is not clear if any live here. I "live" here, though not really as is proven by the fact that any self-respecting Parisian would make vacation plans for May and take advantage of the f-o-u-r holidays. There is May 1st which is Labor Day, May 8th - World War II Victory Day, May 11th - Pentecost followed by May 12th Whit Monday. With a little planning, one could leave on Wednesday, April 30th and return on May 13th and only need to take five days off of work. Although many Parisians leave town, they are replaced by tourists which helps the city reach a population equilibrium.

Of course, some people do remain in Paris. Apparently, those with children remain. Yesterday, I went to the pool, but upon finding 12 - 13 people trying to swim in each of two lanes, and 32 "kids" in one of the other lanes (yes, I'm anal retentive and had to count them) I realized it would be better to return today.

The SDF do not leave Paris in May. These are are not "street people" or "homeless" people, they are politely called SDF - "sans domicile fixe" people without permanent homes. These are people who live in Paris, but don't have a "fixed" home. Five years ago when I visited, there were no visible signs of people living on the streets. Now, it appears San Francisco has some competition. Though I get yelled at by a guy when I took this photo, I thought it was representative of the number of homeless people and how the problem has grown. At the same time it represents how people come together to form a community. They had a kitchen at the far end with cupboards, a camping stove and a dining table. By contrast, someone else managed to establish her own home (she was outside sweeping for a while) under the entrance to the Canal St. Martin. I was impressed with both the size and location of her "home." [Click on photo to view larger image of her home between the Metro tracks and the building.] I hope that some day, the situation will improve. But as Europe becomes more capitalistic, they too will realize that homelessness represents a classic "market failure." Hopefully, the French will find a better balance than we have in the U.S.

Although the influence of the U.S. is on the decline, it is also undeniable. I love Paris, but even here I can not avoid the graviatational pull of American pop culture. Maybe it was because Indiana Jones appeared as though he was about to whip the tourists from Portugal, but I decided it was time to head home. I love my apartment, and this evening, I was appreciating it a little more. And while I was not able to get out of town for the weekend like so many Parisians, I made dinner and watched a little television. Oddly enough, I stumbled across the last half of "Indiana Jones et le Dernier Croisad." It's a good movie, even when dubbed in French. But please don't give me any attitude about watching an American film while in France, especially considering that "Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull" will have it's world-wide debut here at the Cannes Film Festival this Sunday, May 18th. Hollywood - eat your heart out. Oh, if anyone can get me a ticket, I can hop on a train and be in Cannes within a few hours. Please, let me know ASAP if I will be heading out of Paris for the weekend.

Martyrs and Jesus and Ho’s. Oh my!

The previous post - being about gods, kings and mothers - needed an appropriate follow-up. But please do not jump to any conclusions or make any unintentional connections. Sure, you may be thinking gods don’t die and martyrs do; some people, such as Pilate, made a connection between Jesus and being King of the Jews; and Jesus who gets a lot of “window time” at so many churches is often seen with his mother and was known to cavort with Mary Magdalane who some thought to be a whore. So, if one were to draw any conclusions about the titles of my blog entries, maybe it’s that we all share some connection whether we be a god, king, martyr or whore. Knowing that I’m not likely to achieve god or king status, it’s time to explore other options! Fortunately, I’ve got some time on my hands.

And now for something completely different… more sites and monuments.



It’s Friday, my mother’s last day in Paris and we’re off to Montmartre. Sacre Coeur, perched at the top of the hill, is a relatively new having been consecrated in 1919. Hordes of tourists flock to this white wonder (it’s not a church, it’s not a cathedral, it’s a bascilica) for the amazing panoramic views of Paris. After enjoying a couple of pastries while looking out over the Paris skyline, we headed inside where it was much cooler. (Hint: on a hot day in Europe, head to a church.) Afterwards we wandered over to Place de Tertre. Montemartre attracted writers and artists in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. Now it attracts tourists, portrait artists and caracturists. And some are pretty darn good.

Winding down the hill, we passed the little market that “Amelie” shopped at in the film. My friend Michael used to live in this neighborhood and told me that one day he was passing by and bumped into someone he knew from high school. She was making a movie. I’ll have to ask if he has seen Audrey Tatou since that random encounter. (As mentioned in a previous post, you never know who you will run into in Paris.)

Further down the hill we stumbled across yet another church. Though not the one we were looking for, it was dedicated to martyrs of World War II. And of course, there’s Jesus on his cross. [Side note: While visiting the Louvre we saw a painting where someone was helping Jesus carry his cross. Apparently we all have our crosses to bear, but I guess even Jesus doesn’t have to bear it alone.]

And then on to Pigalle. Sex. Sex. Sex. Walking along the tree-lined path down the center of the road, we must have passed a couple dozen sex shops on our way to the world famous Moulin Rouge. Being good tourists, we took photos in front of the famous red windmill. Being cheap tourists, we didn’t spend the money to see the “musical dance entertainment for adult visitors from around the world.” Notable performers have included Edith Piaf, Frank Sinatra and Josephine Baker. The Moulin Rouge has lost much of its reputation as a high class brothel – but it’s still an inspiration for many people and films.

It’s late afternoon and we’ve been out all day. Do I ask my mother if she would like to go home and rest? Nope, I suggest we head over to Charles de Gaulle Etoile to check out the Arc de Triomphe. After emerging from the Metro station, my mother’s focus is immediately drawn to… street performers. Unfortunately, we just missed the break-dancing, so I aim towards a tunnel. “Where are we going?” she asks. It just goes to show that in Paris, due to all of the distractions, one can completely miss a major monument right across the street. Yes, we climbed to the top which is where we took our picture. This IS as close as we got to the Eiffel Tour. My mother had seen enough monuments and stairs and paintings and churches and martyrs and kings and tourists for this adventure.

Gods and Kings and Mothers, oh my!

During the past week I spent a lot of time with gods, kings and my mother. Despite having swollen feet after her flight to Paris, my mother was a good sport, massaged her legs, and made her way with me to many of the amazing attractions Paris has to offer.

Versaille, a former hunting lodge turned into a palace by Louis XIV, is immense. First, think of your own home. Now, imagine a “home” with 700 rooms, 2,153 windows, 352 chimneys and a garden with 200,000 trees and 50 fountains. Louis XIV - the Sun King surely saw himself as being on par with the Greek and Roman gods, and so dedicated rooms (or salons as the French like to say) to the likes of Venus, Mars, Mercury, Hercules, Diana and Apollo. The Hall of Mirrors, three quarters the length of a foot ball field, is quite opulent, whereas the King’s bedroom was pretty basic in comparison. The Queen’s bedroom (yes, they had separate bedrooms as they had their own servants) was a nice pad overlooking the gardens – and the site where in 1789 the mobs invaded and returned to Paris with Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette (and presumably their children, though you don’t hear much about them.) [Photo fo Marie Antoinette's bedroom.]

My mother’s experience at Versaille was the opposite of Marie Antoinette’s. She was quite unsettled when we arrived as it was raining and we had to wait in line with thousands of pushy tourists poking us with their wet umbrellas. Eventually, we made our way through the palace and out to the gardens where it was cold and windy. After some fresh air, a little walk and a nice lunch, my mother was quite happy to return to Paris. Of course, she was not going to prison to be tried for treason.

The Louvre – yeaaah, not at the top of my mother’s list. It’s hard to see a lot of the top attractions because there are so many people. Each hour, there are more visitors to the Louvre than the population of my mom’s town of Gold Bar, Washington. Despite the craziness, she did get up close and personal with the Venus de Milo and La Giaconda (a.k.a. Mona Lisa) and we had a chance to visit the Apollo gallery which houses, for example, the coronation crown of Louis XV. Mon dieu it’s a crowded place. Time to go.

Paris is a difficult city for us mere mortals to absorb in a short time. It can be overwhelming as there is so much to see and do. As host/tour-guide, it’s tough to find a balance between seeing those things that make Paris such a cultural and historical center while simultaneously allowing a guest to simply experience the esprit de la ville - the spirit of the city. So, I gave my mother the Lonely Planet and the DK Eyewitness travel guides and asked her to check out Montmartre. She finally discovered a place that she was excited about. From gods and kings in the early part of the week, we were about to shift our focus towards real people (mont martre, the mountain of martyrs) and artists. My mother was excited and looking forward to her final full day in Paris. Thank you Apollo.

Anyone can write comments now

I just found a setting that I could change so that ANYONE can leave comments now, not just registered Google users! So, feel free to say whatever ya want!

A Vacation? Hah!

Last week, my mother came to visit me in Paris. I'm not sure, but I have the impression (in retrospect) that she thought it would be relaxing. To that, I say "hah!" There are different types of vacations, but "urban travel" can be a test of endurance. So, for those of you who have never visited Paris, a few words of advice... be prepared to see and do more than you expected, and be sure that you (or your host, even if it is your sadistic son) set reasonable expectations.

Prior to my mother's arrival, I listed a few options of things we could do and visit while she was here. As a point of reference, the Museum Pass alone allows access to over 60 different sites and monuments. We hit seven of them - not bad for a week. We managed to visit Notre Dame, the Crypt beneath Notre Dame, the Pantheon, the Conciegerie, Versaille, the Louvre, the Arch de Triomphe. We also wandered around several other sites and neighborhoods including Sacre Coeur and Montmartre which my mother seemed to enjoy the most. A visit to Paris for a week is enough time to see some highlights, but that still only scratches the surface.
Early on, we made our way to Notre Dame. The interior of the Cathedral (it's not just a church) is spectacular. The views from the top of the towers are magnificent and worth the wait and the climb up thousands and thousands and thousands of steps. A panoramic view of Paris, close encounters with gargoyles and a suicide barrier that may become an inspiration for the Golden Gate Bridge Authority. [Side note: throwing oneself from the Golden Gate Bridge is far less messy and less of an inconvenience. Tossing yourself from Notre Dame would be messy and worth preventing since there are hundreds of tourists below. I pray that the Golden Gate Bridge does not put up some eyesore of a barrier.]

The Crypt below Notre Dame is fascinating. It shows how history builds upon itself - literally. Just tear down an old building or road and build on top of it. Remnants of centuries old building and a road leading back to Rome circa 253 AD can still be seen, one layer upon the next.

The Concieregerie is where the lovely Marie Antoinette spent her final days before being hauled off to the guillotine and having her head lopped off. The photo shows a re-creation of her room. She was lucky to have her own room/cell, since prisoners who could not afford to pay for a private room were thrown into cells where promiscuity and disease was far more prevalent. Lucky queen!

The Pantheon, a tribute from Louis XV to Sainte Genevieve for essentially saving his life, is architecturally amazing. It's THE place where a lot of famous dead French people can be found such as Victor Hugo, Voltaire, Rousseau and Madame Currie. It is also the site of the famous pendulum display by Foucault to demonstrate the rotation of the earth. Check out this site for more details: en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Foucault_pendulum

My mom was intrigued by all of the large doorways throughout Paris, but the Pantheon seems to have the largest I've seen yet.

After an exhausting day, we spent time eating and watching TV. In the US, if you were to say "merde" on television, it would not be a problem. After all, "merde" sound so much better than "shit." In France, if you sing a song and it includes "fuck it all," it's not a problem and the F.C.C. will not suspend your licence for obscenity. I don't remember the name of the television show we were watching, but it was reminiscent of when Mylene Farmer won an award a few years ago for Best Song - "Fuck Them All." Watching French TV has given me an insight into why more French people know English than vice-versa.

Paris: A city with a 2,000 year-old road leading to Rome, hudreds of tourist attractions, where 1,119 people lost their heads to the guillotine, beaucoup de dog "merde" on the street, where you can say whatever the fuck you want on television, and amazing food and restaurants. This is my kind of place for a vacation.