TBM #2

Trivial, boring and mundane. Posting #2.
Time flies by quickly, and the days are blending together. Having accomplished many of the "tourist basics" in the first three months, my time is now consumed by wandering the streets and observing daily life in Paris.

Ellen left last Sunday. Her three strongest memories of France are as follows: 1) Lost luggage - again. 2) A woman trying to break into the locked pay-toilet while Ellen was inside. Undeterred by Ellen's screams that the restroom was occupied, the presumably deaf woman sought the assistance of a railroad employee who tried to open the door with a key. 3) Returning home one night, we saw a sight rarely seen in Paris - people commenting on what someone was wearing. Although the photo does not capture the fashion martyr's true appearance, it does give an impression of how much women will tolerate in their men. Yes, that is his underwear "fashionably" riding above his pants. I don't think these were Parisians, but I'm not sure.

Personally, I'm hoping Ellen will remember a few of the less remarkable (mundane) moments in Paris, like our lunches together and her visit to the "Statue of Liberty."

Waiting in line for a Metro ticket can be excruciating and boring. One young lady got so tired, she sat down on the ground. Really, one shouldn't have to stand in line for15 minutes, but THIS IS Paris. (Yes, I was behind her in line.)

Waiting in lines in Paris is very common. Sometimes I feel like I'm gonna lose my head. Okay, that was a poor segue to today's (trivial) history lesson about St. Denis. During the third century, after pissing off the pagan priests for his efforts towards converting people to Christianity, he was beheaded on the highest hill of Paris, now known as Montmartre (mountain of martyrs.) Ahhh, the good old days. After his beheading, one legend has it that he picked up his head and walked two miles preaching a sermon the entire way. (Oi.) A small shrine was built on the site where he finally dropped dead. Later, the Basilica de Saint Denis was constructed and became the burial place for the kings of France.

St. Denis, the guy third from the left holding his own head, as depicted on one of the arches of Notre Dame. [Click photo to enlarge.]

Everyone in Paris feels like they suffer, so a martyr is an appropriate symbol for Paris - even fashion martyrs like Ellen's guy above or anyone who gets a haircut like one of these!

And, if you don't feel like a martyr in Paris, at least you can be superficial, even if it is rather boring. Keep in mind, this is Paris, and the window display is in English. I think the French understand much more English than they admit.

Personally, I enjoy the "mundane" views that I see every day, such as the ceiling of the Pantheon and the rays of light that shine between the buildings late in the evening. Paris, even when it is trivial, boring and mundane is TBM: Tres Beau et Magnifique. [Michael - Si tu as besoin d'une traduction, tu me demanderais quand je vous visiterai a Jacou. Bisous.]

Thanks Alot. Nice Ass.

Three months have passed and I'm freaking out a little. I can not believe how quickly the time is passing, which I suppose is a good sign as it means that I am enjoying my time in Paris. However, I wish I was learning more French. Fortunately, I'm managing to improve "s'ameiliore" my French by watching television and engaging people in conversation. And I totally appreciate it when someone helps me with my "prononciation."

Apparently, as a typical American, I've learned to say "merci beaucoup" like a typical American. We say "mare-si bo-koo." (Okay, I have limited characters on my keyboard, but you get the idea.) "Beau" means beautiful, for masculine nouns whereas "belle" is for feminine nouns. We actually do pretty well with the "bo."

But, it is the "coup" that we have a problem with. Typically, the French do not pronounce the last letter of a word so "coup" sounds like "cou." Except that we don't really have the same "ou" sound in American English. So we pronounce it "cooo" like we are cooing to a baby, which sounds more like the French word "cul" (remember, the last letter is not pronounced.)

To the French ear, it sounds like the typical American is saying "Merci. Beau cul." Translation: "Thanks. Nice ass."

So, if you visit France, practice the "ou" sound which is spoken from the throat, with rounded lips and sounds more like an "o" than a "u." Unless of course you are complimenting someone on their ass, then by all means, "beau cul" would be quite appropriate.

Some inspirational photos from the School of Beaux Arts. [Pronounced boZ_ar because the second word starts with a vowel, so a liaison is necessary. The last letter of "art" is not pronounced, so it is "ar." If you are following all of this, you will do well during your next French lesson.]

A fun little snapshot of the walkway where I took "beaucoup des photos des beau culs" posted above. [Remember, you can click on photos to see larger image.].

A sculpture in the same courtyard that I thought was cul, errr I mean cool, because it is not on a pedastal and seems more life-like.

Restoration of one of the buildings being restored at the University of Beaux Arts. As I walk around Paris, I see so many beautiful buildings, and this reminded me of how much work goes into each one.

Le Tour D'Ellen

Ellen arrived on Tuesday July 1st from New York via Dublin. Ellen's luggage did not. Apparently, just as there is a "no-fly" list, there is a "lose-luggage" list and Ellen's name is at the top. Last year on hew way to Spain, British Airways lost her luggage in both directions. And then there was a recent trip to Los Angeles where her luggage was also lost. Ellen was not in the best of moods upon arrival. Can you say "pissed-off"? After three calls to Air France / Delta it was becoming obvious that her suitcase was still in Dublin.

To top it off, we had train tickets for early the next morning to go to Brittany, which is in the western most part of France. The french name is Bretagne. Now for today's history lesson taken directly fom Planet Out. " Celts arrived in the 6th Century BC...conquered by Julius Ceasar in 56 BC, the Romans withdrew in the 5th century AD, and Celts driven from what is now Britain and Ireland by the Anglo-Saxon invasions settled in Brittany." The region, contested by both France and England, and despite an attempt at independence, became part of France in 1532 after a series of strategic weddings. [It makes me wonder - if Great Britain is "Grande-Bretagne" then why isn't "Bretagne" called "Petite=Bretagne"?] My understaning is that the poeple here are Bretons first and then French.

We stayed with Ellen's childhood friend Judy and her companion/boyfriend Marcel. They hosted us for the night and Judy prepared a couple of wonderful meals. We also had a chance to visit a couple little towns, most notably Quimper. Why is it pronounced kam-pair? Typically in French, it would be pronounced Kam-pay. Apparently the pronunciation is from the Breton word KEMPer (okay, so I capitalized KEMP to emphasize my name) meaning the 'confluence of two rivers.'

Notice the sign includes both the French "Quimper" and Breton "Kemper."

A long time ago... an angel touched the lips of Father Maunoir to provide the gift of the Breton language to the people of this region. Until only recently, Breton was only a spoken language.

The confluence of two rivers that is "Kemper."

Judy and Ellen


Macarons (not macaroons) are all the rage in France these days. These little cookies are very colorful and melt in your mouth.

The meringue, wrapped in plastic, were also quite colorful.

Before catching the train back to Paris, Judy dropped us off in Brest. I promised Ellen I would avoid making any jokes about this city as it was decimated during WWII by Allied air stikes. The architecture is not particularly intersting, but that's okay because we got to see a cheesy parade and the introduction of:

Le Tour de France
Check out the postman on the bicycle suspended in mid-air.

It was pretty cool to see the introduction of the first two cycling teams before we had to head for the train station. I wish we could have stayed longer. Sigh.

Introduction of equipe (team) "Saunier Duval-Scott."

Bye bye Brest.

During the train ride back to Paris we saw many "arc en ciel" rainbows. Fortunately, luck was on our side and we were able to go to the hotel that Ariel works at and retrieve Ellen's suitcase at 12:30 in the morning. After three days, Ellen would finally be able to put on some clean clothes. It really was MY lucky day!

Gay Pride in Gay Paris

Gay Pride is not what I would expect from "Gay Paris."

The parade and festival in San Francisco are very well planned and the festival offers a variety of entertainment, several dance floors, food, shopping and good people-watching. In Paris, the parade was rather dull. Admittedly, I did not see much of the parade as it moved very slowly and I arrived a bit late. As I walked along the parade route for about an hour, only two contingents passed. Oi.

Gay Pride in Paris is where "fashion-trash" (kudos to Ariel for this expression) meets ghetto. It's only fair however to put this into perspective. In San Francisco we have Gay Pride, Halloween and the Folsom Street Fair. Paris has one event where all of the elements seem to collide. How would I describe this? Well, only photos can tell the story.

This is a test. Please select one of the following for each photo.
a) Gay Pride
b) Halloween
c) Folsom Steet Fair
d) All of the above

Along the way, several spectators found seats a la Velib - the bicycles that are available to rent all over Paris. I thought it was very amusing to see every bicycle seat occupied, and as I took this photo, the guy with the beer began to yell "nous sommes normale." Apparently, even "normal" people love a parade!

I found this t-shirt to be particularly amusing, especially at a gay pride parade in Paris. It's a political statement, right?

Check out this little guy with the matching hair and shirt. Hmmm.... maybe it's time for me to try a new hair style.

The parade ends at Place de la Bastille, the most famous monument in Paris that does not exist. The streets were closed off and there was one stage and thousands of people.

But, it seemed to me that many of the people were there for the music and for the party. Many were from "les banlieues" or as a New Yorker would say the "B&T bridge and tunnel crowd." These young suburban kids were here to dance, drink and maybe even get into a fight. [You may remember that a couple years ago around December, there were several days of rioting in the banlieues and hundreds of cars were burned. Today, some of these kids were in Paris.] Somehow, Gay Pride wasn't seeming very gay. Gay Pride - it's not just for homosexuals anymore!

Beer by the cartload (presumably for sale.)
How old are these kids? Is there a legal drinking age in France? At least there are some paramedics on hand.

But wait, we're not in San Francisco! Are we?

As usual, there were plenty of police and firemen/paramedics around. However, there was less tear gay that at the previous "manifestation" I attended.

Walking around the Marais that evening with Ariel, Phillipe, Gregoire and Sophie was a bit more entertaining. Since it was crowded and smokey on the streets, as everyone was outside on this warm summer evening, we headed inside for some fresh air. L'Amnesia is a cosy bar with a very small dance floor (probably about 9 feet by 12 feet) in the basement. I love this place where the bartender also serves as DJ and plays very danceable music.

I finally arrived home at about 2:30. Time to write my blog posting. Just kidding. It was time for bed. Bonne nuit.