After returning from the states, one thing is apparent. Christmas in Paris has style.
It is decoration with taste. Nothing is too over the top. The music is not ubiquitous. Most places are still the same with just a hint of Christmas – not a deluge.
In the US, the assault is full scale.
There is a reason the dentist presses on your gums when giving the shot of Novocain. The pressure overloads your nerve and it does not register the pain. In fact, most anesthesias work by creating too much for your nerves to do. Overload them and they get too confused to work.
This has happened with Christmas in the US. The constant torrents of Christmas dull the senses. Fun is severed. Meaning drowns in glitter.
And you can do nothing but wait for the effects to subside.
But Paris has it right. Like good cuisine, there is a noticeable change, but it is in hints. There are flavors all over the city, but done aesthetically. The decorations feel more a part of their environment than an invasion of the North Pole.
This style makes the season more enjoyable. The lack of excess makes each decoration special. The best part is that it takes time to notice.
And in that subtleness, there is something to feel.
Monday, December 7, 2009
Sunday, November 29, 2009
Palais de la Découverte
Welcome to the wonderful world of science.
And good news, everyone! It wants to be your friend!
For those familiar with Chicago, think of the palais as an updated museum of science in industry. There is a bit more fun and art within the exhibits. Also in Paris fashion, its abode is magnificent.
The exhibits are standard science fare: the human body, the solar system, geology, mathematics. Many of the exhibits are from a historical perspective. Meaning, what we as humans discovered at what point in time.
There is an interesting temporary exhibition on climate change. This was not solely about current climate change, but encapsulated elements of the earth’s position in the solar system as well as tilt of its axis. The exhibit also included millions of years of climate change on earth to provide context for current dilemmas.
There was also a photographical exhibition on volcanoes and geology. The pictures were stunning, and it was a good introduction to the different types of geological activity that involves heat and explosions.
Activity best viewed from afar.
If you like science, it is a good place to get a refresher, see some history, and sprinkle a few new bits of knowledge into what you know. The museum is appropriately sized and you will be able to do most of it in about 3 hours. It is near the heart and walking distance to a lot of other sights. It is not a must, but is worth consideration before the final cut.
And good news, everyone! It wants to be your friend!
For those familiar with Chicago, think of the palais as an updated museum of science in industry. There is a bit more fun and art within the exhibits. Also in Paris fashion, its abode is magnificent.
The exhibits are standard science fare: the human body, the solar system, geology, mathematics. Many of the exhibits are from a historical perspective. Meaning, what we as humans discovered at what point in time.
There is an interesting temporary exhibition on climate change. This was not solely about current climate change, but encapsulated elements of the earth’s position in the solar system as well as tilt of its axis. The exhibit also included millions of years of climate change on earth to provide context for current dilemmas.
There was also a photographical exhibition on volcanoes and geology. The pictures were stunning, and it was a good introduction to the different types of geological activity that involves heat and explosions.
Activity best viewed from afar.
If you like science, it is a good place to get a refresher, see some history, and sprinkle a few new bits of knowledge into what you know. The museum is appropriately sized and you will be able to do most of it in about 3 hours. It is near the heart and walking distance to a lot of other sights. It is not a must, but is worth consideration before the final cut.
Friday, November 20, 2009
Home Again
Thanksgiving will be the first time home in seven months. The trip is long overdue.
To move to another country is to open you to a new perspective. Sometimes this openness arrives like a blooming flower. Other times, it is like a fireman axing through a building inferno.
A break will be nice.
The plane ride does not seem so long right now. There are many people to see and large parts of life to continue. This trip deserves the want it commanded for the last month.
Though the Paris experience dilutes the desire for permanent Illinois residence, its efforts on the wish to return only enhance the sentiment. It is hard to not feel longing.
Paris is a great city, but missing some important things.
To return to them is happy.
To move to another country is to open you to a new perspective. Sometimes this openness arrives like a blooming flower. Other times, it is like a fireman axing through a building inferno.
A break will be nice.
The plane ride does not seem so long right now. There are many people to see and large parts of life to continue. This trip deserves the want it commanded for the last month.
Though the Paris experience dilutes the desire for permanent Illinois residence, its efforts on the wish to return only enhance the sentiment. It is hard to not feel longing.
Paris is a great city, but missing some important things.
To return to them is happy.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Grande Arche de la Défense
For those not in the know, Paris has a historical axis. Axis meaning in a line and historical meaning old stuff. Included in the official documentation is the Pyramid de Louvre, the Obelisk at Concorde, the L’Arc de Triomphe, and the Grande Arche de la Défense.
The grand arch sits on the west end of Paris in the largest business district in Europe. As such, the space demanded a rather large monument. The concept was an arch that was inviting and not a symbol of conquest.
Apparently a new concept in the world of arches.
You can go up to the top of this structure and enjoy the sights – the panoramic elevators are simultaneously wonderful and terrifying for anyone with a fear of heights.
And unfortunately, they are the best part of the monument.
Suffice is to say, “eh.” Some things had value, but mostly the grande arch is forgettable. The effort taken to build the monument is not continued in the presentation at the top. Taking in its view from inside Paris in the context of the skyscrapers of La Défense is a much more poetic tribute than what is found inside.
My apologies, dear reader, but even though it looks pretty, best to save your 10 Euro.
Sunday, November 8, 2009
Musée de L’Égouts
Only in Paris would you find a museum with the following warnings:
Don’t eat anything
Don’t touch anything
No leaning
And wash your hands when you leave
You must see this museum.
The musée de l’égouts explains how Paris manages the basic element of life. From rain to drought, tap to sewage, resource to ecology, the museum is thorough on everything water for the geography of Paris.
The museum is found by taking a stairwell below ground to a working sewer (see the no touching rule). From there, you first see a collage of clippings and information related to the sewers. Around the corner, and the real tour begins.
You will learn how rainwater is drained and sent to the Seine. You will learn how wastewater is processed. You will see a working sewer in action. You will understand the history of water in Paris.
You will relive Les Misérables.
This engineering marvel fascinates. The quantity of water managed astounds. The reversal of industrial age pollution in the Seine is surprising (it has fish now, who knew?). For something so important that gets taken so for granted, it is eye-opening to see behind the scenes of our modern comfort, the tap.
The trip takes about two hours to see everything and is well worth the 4.30 Euro. The smell is not awful, but it is a sewer. Overall, the musee de l’egouts is packs plenty in two hours and leaves you plenty of time for a relaxing Parisian coffee.
Don’t eat anything
Don’t touch anything
No leaning
And wash your hands when you leave
You must see this museum.
The musée de l’égouts explains how Paris manages the basic element of life. From rain to drought, tap to sewage, resource to ecology, the museum is thorough on everything water for the geography of Paris.
The museum is found by taking a stairwell below ground to a working sewer (see the no touching rule). From there, you first see a collage of clippings and information related to the sewers. Around the corner, and the real tour begins.
You will learn how rainwater is drained and sent to the Seine. You will learn how wastewater is processed. You will see a working sewer in action. You will understand the history of water in Paris.
You will relive Les Misérables.
The trip takes about two hours to see everything and is well worth the 4.30 Euro. The smell is not awful, but it is a sewer. Overall, the musee de l’egouts is packs plenty in two hours and leaves you plenty of time for a relaxing Parisian coffee.
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
Six Months
Hard to believe, but yesterday was six months in Paris. To celebrate, a crepe au nutella was had for dinner.
Ok, it just looked good at the time, but still really tasty.
Anyway, here's to you, Paris. Your parks, your restaurants, your history, and your people. May you forever be yourself and may we never want you any other way.
Ok, it just looked good at the time, but still really tasty.
Anyway, here's to you, Paris. Your parks, your restaurants, your history, and your people. May you forever be yourself and may we never want you any other way.
Sunday, November 1, 2009
New Neighbor
There are at least three layers of security in most French apartments. The main entrance, the second entrance, and your front door.
The main entrance of my apartment is a large chunk of wood, painted blue. It is heavy, over 2 meters tall, and you need a key code to open it from the outside. From the inside, there is a switch that temporarily unlocks it.
Fall is generally wet in Paris. It rains, it is cooler, and thus the humidity lingers. Humidity and cooler temperatures are not good for the front door.
What has been a fully functional first line of defense is now a decorative entrance. In this new weather, the inconvenience of the key code is an issue no more. The door has swelled and refuses to completely close.
Normally, this is not a worry. A lot of people have the code. You hand it out to friends or deliverymen, or the mailman. This is what the second door is for.
My roommate does a lot of traveling around the world. Enter 8AM and his arrival from the airport. Normally, one enters the code to the blue door and it opens.
“Ow!”
“Aroo?”
A vagrant and his dog discovered that the door works well as an alarm clock.
Suffering from heinous jet-lag, my roommate walks past and closed the second door firmly.
The main entrance of my apartment is a large chunk of wood, painted blue. It is heavy, over 2 meters tall, and you need a key code to open it from the outside. From the inside, there is a switch that temporarily unlocks it.
Fall is generally wet in Paris. It rains, it is cooler, and thus the humidity lingers. Humidity and cooler temperatures are not good for the front door.
What has been a fully functional first line of defense is now a decorative entrance. In this new weather, the inconvenience of the key code is an issue no more. The door has swelled and refuses to completely close.
Normally, this is not a worry. A lot of people have the code. You hand it out to friends or deliverymen, or the mailman. This is what the second door is for.
My roommate does a lot of traveling around the world. Enter 8AM and his arrival from the airport. Normally, one enters the code to the blue door and it opens.
“Ow!”
“Aroo?”
A vagrant and his dog discovered that the door works well as an alarm clock.
Suffering from heinous jet-lag, my roommate walks past and closed the second door firmly.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Heat
Alas, something new thing not to take for granted.
Paris is full of old buildings. These buildings are called Hausmann’s. These buildings were constructed before central climate control was on the radar of the civilized world.
So what do you do when modernity sweeps in with its fancy central heating?
You get radiators.
Only radiators are nice. You have this thing called a boiler that kicks hot water through a building and fights old man winter.
Safety and security are yours.
No, in Paris you do not get radiators, you get space heaters, the electric version of a radiator. Or as some firemen call them, job insurance.
In my apartment, some of these work well. Scary well. Do not fall asleep with them on well.
Some of these, not so much. The two largest apparently the weakest. Rivaled only in heat by a cigarette lighter.
The restaurant nearby uses them to cook steak.
So here’s to warm clothing.
or to calling the landlord…
Paris is full of old buildings. These buildings are called Hausmann’s. These buildings were constructed before central climate control was on the radar of the civilized world.
So what do you do when modernity sweeps in with its fancy central heating?
You get radiators.
Only radiators are nice. You have this thing called a boiler that kicks hot water through a building and fights old man winter.
Safety and security are yours.
No, in Paris you do not get radiators, you get space heaters, the electric version of a radiator. Or as some firemen call them, job insurance.
In my apartment, some of these work well. Scary well. Do not fall asleep with them on well.
Some of these, not so much. The two largest apparently the weakest. Rivaled only in heat by a cigarette lighter.
The restaurant nearby uses them to cook steak.
So here’s to warm clothing.
or to calling the landlord…
Saturday, October 17, 2009
Guidebook
An estimated 27 million tourists visit Paris each year. Chances are that if you are reading this blog, you have already been counted among the 27 million this year, or plan to be part of a future 27 million.
Maybe you would like some guidance?
Most of the people that write guidebooks have editors and expense accounts. I have neither. Facing this unfortunate fact, a two pronged approach was devised.
First, there will be a focus on what to avoid. Shunning mediocrity is paramount in a city with a bouquet of excellence.
Second, please send requests. Unlike Chicago radio stations, I will actually play a variety. Right of refusal reserved, you are hereby challenged to find something new and/or interesting to put to trial.
So here it goes. Hopefully this experiment will turn out well.
And if not, at least the price is right.
Maybe you would like some guidance?
Most of the people that write guidebooks have editors and expense accounts. I have neither. Facing this unfortunate fact, a two pronged approach was devised.
First, there will be a focus on what to avoid. Shunning mediocrity is paramount in a city with a bouquet of excellence.
Second, please send requests. Unlike Chicago radio stations, I will actually play a variety. Right of refusal reserved, you are hereby challenged to find something new and/or interesting to put to trial.
So here it goes. Hopefully this experiment will turn out well.
And if not, at least the price is right.
Saturday, October 10, 2009
Bien Cuit
A scene from a French restaurant:
“How would you like your steak, medium?”
“French medium or American medium?”
“French medium.”
“Well done.”
The steak, of course, arrived medium rare.
Food is a religion in France. The meal is the rite. Wine is not alcohol, it is culture.
And cooking beef too much is a sin.
In this country it is possible to ask for steak cooked only with the light singe of a cigarette lighter.
Or a raw egg, spices, and salt.
There is a parasite that depending on the source, an estimated large part of the meat eating French populous has. This is less in the US, only by virtue of more fire. Typically, you will never know if you have it. Your reaction time may be slower and you may have cysts in your brain, but you will not feel different.
You will also have a higher probability of dying in an automobile accident.
However, red beef tastes good. Real good.
More Carpaccio, please. More tartar!
Toxoplasma gondii be damned.
“How would you like your steak, medium?”
“French medium or American medium?”
“French medium.”
“Well done.”
The steak, of course, arrived medium rare.
Food is a religion in France. The meal is the rite. Wine is not alcohol, it is culture.
And cooking beef too much is a sin.
In this country it is possible to ask for steak cooked only with the light singe of a cigarette lighter.
Or a raw egg, spices, and salt.
There is a parasite that depending on the source, an estimated large part of the meat eating French populous has. This is less in the US, only by virtue of more fire. Typically, you will never know if you have it. Your reaction time may be slower and you may have cysts in your brain, but you will not feel different.
You will also have a higher probability of dying in an automobile accident.
However, red beef tastes good. Real good.
More Carpaccio, please. More tartar!
Toxoplasma gondii be damned.
Saturday, October 3, 2009
Keep Running
I am a runner. Or rather, I run three times a week. This is necessary. The French, if nothing else, love their food. Their food, loves you. While you will be hard pressed to find American quantities, the French have mastered the art of combining sugar and fat. Some call this desert.
You must get a medical exam to enter the country. In addition, most companies require you to get an exam on site.
The on site medical exam is much like the one to get into France. You give your vital statistics and talk about vaccinations and family history. Still not knowing as much French as to pass through a medical visit, this is interesting.
After your interview, you see a doctor. The doctor does normal doctor checks and continues with questions. Blood pressure, pulse, and breathing are all checked. If necessary, they will also give you an EKG. Apparently, for me, this is not necessary. My pulse rate was something near a zombie. Some may call this healthy; I call this a lack of caffeine. Low pulse rate equates to not needing an EKG.
But far be that from the only reason to run. Paris is an interesting city. While running, I have seen things from rainbows (pretty), to Canadian geese (a bit odd), to packs of gnomes (quite odd indeed).
Of course there are the statues, palaces, and parks to run near.
Running is a win. It is a way to see new things and a good way to stay in shape.
It also means you don’t have to skip dessert.
You must get a medical exam to enter the country. In addition, most companies require you to get an exam on site.
The on site medical exam is much like the one to get into France. You give your vital statistics and talk about vaccinations and family history. Still not knowing as much French as to pass through a medical visit, this is interesting.
After your interview, you see a doctor. The doctor does normal doctor checks and continues with questions. Blood pressure, pulse, and breathing are all checked. If necessary, they will also give you an EKG. Apparently, for me, this is not necessary. My pulse rate was something near a zombie. Some may call this healthy; I call this a lack of caffeine. Low pulse rate equates to not needing an EKG.
But far be that from the only reason to run. Paris is an interesting city. While running, I have seen things from rainbows (pretty), to Canadian geese (a bit odd), to packs of gnomes (quite odd indeed).
Of course there are the statues, palaces, and parks to run near.
Running is a win. It is a way to see new things and a good way to stay in shape.
It also means you don’t have to skip dessert.
Saturday, September 26, 2009
This Fire
Sacre Coeur has the best views in Paris. Not only is it on Montmartre, a high point in Paris, but someone had the insight to build a much larger structure on it. The climb is also interesting in its own right as you wind up and around a one hundred year-old church.
Also, when part of Paris on fire, this view exudes fascination.
It was a gorgeous day in Paris. I was taking my visiting uncle for a trip up the church. Things were going quite well, not that much else was expected.
From the base of the basilica, you can see much of Paris. Looking over the landscape, there was a large plume of smoke in mid Paris. No matter the significant percentage of Parisians that still light up, this is not normal.
We ascend. The initial stairwell is the longest stretch of steps out of the 300 in total. Daylight again, you climb for a bit on the roof of the building. You have some decent views here, but the dome is the best. One more stairwell and you are there.
The dome allows one to spot landmarks with ease. The opera building has an enormous fly space and twin gold statues that beckon your eyes. Smoke is drifting toward it from the east.
I live east of the opera.
In fact, I live right near the source.
I text my roommate, “did you set a fire?”
He responds, “too much effort.”
This is good news on two counts. My apartment is not on fire and my roommate is not an arsonist.
When it is not your direct concern there is a mantra here:
Ce n’est pas ma probleme.
We enjoy the views of the rest of Paris (the parts not on fire). We descend and find an Irish pub to have a drink. There is an unofficial rule in Paris that each church must have an Irish pub nearby. Also, they have beer.
Later viewing confirmed that a restaurant in our neighborhood caught fire. The fire was somewhat substantial and closed a city block for several hours. The restaurant and my grocery store are now remodeling.
Also, when part of Paris on fire, this view exudes fascination.
It was a gorgeous day in Paris. I was taking my visiting uncle for a trip up the church. Things were going quite well, not that much else was expected.
From the base of the basilica, you can see much of Paris. Looking over the landscape, there was a large plume of smoke in mid Paris. No matter the significant percentage of Parisians that still light up, this is not normal.
We ascend. The initial stairwell is the longest stretch of steps out of the 300 in total. Daylight again, you climb for a bit on the roof of the building. You have some decent views here, but the dome is the best. One more stairwell and you are there.
The dome allows one to spot landmarks with ease. The opera building has an enormous fly space and twin gold statues that beckon your eyes. Smoke is drifting toward it from the east.
I live east of the opera.
In fact, I live right near the source.
I text my roommate, “did you set a fire?”
He responds, “too much effort.”
This is good news on two counts. My apartment is not on fire and my roommate is not an arsonist.
When it is not your direct concern there is a mantra here:
Ce n’est pas ma probleme.
We enjoy the views of the rest of Paris (the parts not on fire). We descend and find an Irish pub to have a drink. There is an unofficial rule in Paris that each church must have an Irish pub nearby. Also, they have beer.
Later viewing confirmed that a restaurant in our neighborhood caught fire. The fire was somewhat substantial and closed a city block for several hours. The restaurant and my grocery store are now remodeling.
Sunday, September 20, 2009
Guests
Truth is, moving overseas can get lonely. Certain countries are better than others at keeping one distracted. However, regardless of where you are, chances are you left your friends and family.
That is where it is nice to have guests.
One advantage of Paris is that, well, it is Paris. There is a lot of stuff to see, do, and eat here. This is probably why France has the most tourist arrivals of any nation.
Thus, if you have friends or family, they have a reason to visit you.
It is much nicer to see Paris with other people. When you live here, you can go see everything you want right away, but why? You live here, you can do that anytime. Months and years later, you forget what you have not yet done. When you have guests, their time is limited. Sure, there are staples that you like to show them, but a lot of times, they have scoped out some things that are truly interesting. Chances are you might not even know that these things existed or forgot about them.
Thus, it is nice to get the perspective that guests bring.
So here is to you, guest. You are welcome anytime.
Just don’t use up all of the hot water.
That is where it is nice to have guests.
One advantage of Paris is that, well, it is Paris. There is a lot of stuff to see, do, and eat here. This is probably why France has the most tourist arrivals of any nation.
Thus, if you have friends or family, they have a reason to visit you.
It is much nicer to see Paris with other people. When you live here, you can go see everything you want right away, but why? You live here, you can do that anytime. Months and years later, you forget what you have not yet done. When you have guests, their time is limited. Sure, there are staples that you like to show them, but a lot of times, they have scoped out some things that are truly interesting. Chances are you might not even know that these things existed or forgot about them.
Thus, it is nice to get the perspective that guests bring.
So here is to you, guest. You are welcome anytime.
Just don’t use up all of the hot water.
Saturday, September 12, 2009
Delousing
As I have said, I live near the Opera Comique. To the right of it, so do bums. Before this story, there were four. Current count is two. Here is why:
The Opera Comique runs, well, comedic operas. Apparently having four bums living on its grounds is not so funny. That, and for the previous month, the bums made the rue Marivaux their latrine. Potty humor is out this year.
Why the bums did not defecate on a different street, maybe one they did not sleep near, leaves much to wonder. Then again, it does vindicate the phrase “lazy bum”.
Something had to be done.
The police were called because bums do not like being told what to do. The bums had convenient grates on the side of the Opera Comique that could house bum sleeping gear. These grates housed this equipment so well that it begs the question, “Why build bum grates if you do not want to attract bums?”.
The sounds of vitamin baton were not heard, but the bums’ protests were vehement. This is France, after all, and if there is something to protest, we come to party.
Next up were the street cleaners. These brave souls had the dubious job of removing from the street what rightfully belongs in the sewer. Lucky for them, every so often along a Paris street there is a magic knob. This magic knob allows street cleaners to flush the curbs, and anything in them, into the sewer.
True magic was performed this day.
Finally, the men in white. These men were in charge of cleaning, and possibly disposing of, the bum sleep gear. They moved in with their hand pumps and meant business.
Tasks completed, work beckoned.
The evening greeted each passerby bum free. The street smelled less of a latrine (one of the bad Paris smells) and more like anything but a latrine (the good Paris smell).
The Opera Comique runs, well, comedic operas. Apparently having four bums living on its grounds is not so funny. That, and for the previous month, the bums made the rue Marivaux their latrine. Potty humor is out this year.
Why the bums did not defecate on a different street, maybe one they did not sleep near, leaves much to wonder. Then again, it does vindicate the phrase “lazy bum”.
Something had to be done.
The police were called because bums do not like being told what to do. The bums had convenient grates on the side of the Opera Comique that could house bum sleeping gear. These grates housed this equipment so well that it begs the question, “Why build bum grates if you do not want to attract bums?”.
The sounds of vitamin baton were not heard, but the bums’ protests were vehement. This is France, after all, and if there is something to protest, we come to party.
Next up were the street cleaners. These brave souls had the dubious job of removing from the street what rightfully belongs in the sewer. Lucky for them, every so often along a Paris street there is a magic knob. This magic knob allows street cleaners to flush the curbs, and anything in them, into the sewer.
True magic was performed this day.
Finally, the men in white. These men were in charge of cleaning, and possibly disposing of, the bum sleep gear. They moved in with their hand pumps and meant business.
Tasks completed, work beckoned.
The evening greeted each passerby bum free. The street smelled less of a latrine (one of the bad Paris smells) and more like anything but a latrine (the good Paris smell).
Sunday, September 6, 2009
Guest Spot
This story came from my uncle about one of his trips to Europe. I like it so much I want to share:
*******************************************
My first night in Dublin, January, 1979, a wonderful soul on the ferry dropped me at a B&B. It turned out to be a warm, comfortable place. I was so grateful to have this, after a terrible B&B experience in London. (Hypothermia was not out of the question.)
Once settled, I ventured out to find the neighborhood pub. I wanted a real Guinness. I read somewhere to stay silent in an Irish pub until a local broke the conversation, so I followed that advice.
I nursed my real Guinness (too warm, of course) until a trilogy of locals found me. We began a conversation. It is one of the few times in my life where my wits kept up with my wishes.
The locals started to talk about the U.S. “Where are you from?” My standard answer was Chicago. (The Europeans failed to understand how large our geography is, so Chicago was my fallback.) Thirty years ago, I usually received the sound of machine guns, simulating the Warner Brother films.
Then we had to go through the John Wayne “Quiet Man” story and sometimes the J. F. Kennedy visit.
The next question took me by surprise. “What is the great American dream?” I immediately responded, “To visit Europe, of course.” The trio went silent. This may have been the brightest moment in my life.
WHM
*******************************************
My first night in Dublin, January, 1979, a wonderful soul on the ferry dropped me at a B&B. It turned out to be a warm, comfortable place. I was so grateful to have this, after a terrible B&B experience in London. (Hypothermia was not out of the question.)
Once settled, I ventured out to find the neighborhood pub. I wanted a real Guinness. I read somewhere to stay silent in an Irish pub until a local broke the conversation, so I followed that advice.
I nursed my real Guinness (too warm, of course) until a trilogy of locals found me. We began a conversation. It is one of the few times in my life where my wits kept up with my wishes.
The locals started to talk about the U.S. “Where are you from?” My standard answer was Chicago. (The Europeans failed to understand how large our geography is, so Chicago was my fallback.) Thirty years ago, I usually received the sound of machine guns, simulating the Warner Brother films.
Then we had to go through the John Wayne “Quiet Man” story and sometimes the J. F. Kennedy visit.
The next question took me by surprise. “What is the great American dream?” I immediately responded, “To visit Europe, of course.” The trio went silent. This may have been the brightest moment in my life.
WHM
Saturday, August 29, 2009
Spy Games (by Special Request)
When you watch a movie like the Bourne Identity or Ronin, you suspend your disbelief. There are spies out there. Spies that fight like ninjas, dodge bullets, and can outthink a pack of hungry jackals.
No one ever thinks that they will come across these people in real life.
Ireland is known for having a few pubs. A funny thing happens in these pubs. People drink.
Sometimes, they drink too much.
So maybe there I was, sitting outside a pub, drinking perhaps. And maybe there were two grown men, dressed in business attire, possibly smashed beyond coherence just a few pubs down. The one man might have started singing while the other used his head to prop up a wall.
This might have a normal evening out, had it not been a clever ruse.
Something alerted these men. Was it a gesture from the woman in the café across the street? Was it a signal from an unknown man barking orders through an earpiece? Had the package been delivered?
“Ready.”
“Ready.”
“Move out.”
Guns drawn, the two men cover each other and move down the street. Alerted to some unseen danger, they deftly fly from cover to cover, communicating and searching for targets.
“12 o’clock.”
The man who apparently lacked the strength to support his head dive rolls behind concrete stairs. His partner peers around from his cover.
“All clear.”
Danger abated, the men stride down the street as if nothing happened.
Could this have been a false alarm? Could this have been an international incident narrowly missed?
It could have been.
However, your pointer finger is devoid of ammunition, stumbling is not he the new striding, and dive rolls should not look that painful.
They definitely drank too much, but bless them for it.
No one ever thinks that they will come across these people in real life.
Ireland is known for having a few pubs. A funny thing happens in these pubs. People drink.
Sometimes, they drink too much.
So maybe there I was, sitting outside a pub, drinking perhaps. And maybe there were two grown men, dressed in business attire, possibly smashed beyond coherence just a few pubs down. The one man might have started singing while the other used his head to prop up a wall.
This might have a normal evening out, had it not been a clever ruse.
Something alerted these men. Was it a gesture from the woman in the café across the street? Was it a signal from an unknown man barking orders through an earpiece? Had the package been delivered?
“Ready.”
“Ready.”
“Move out.”
Guns drawn, the two men cover each other and move down the street. Alerted to some unseen danger, they deftly fly from cover to cover, communicating and searching for targets.
“12 o’clock.”
The man who apparently lacked the strength to support his head dive rolls behind concrete stairs. His partner peers around from his cover.
“All clear.”
Danger abated, the men stride down the street as if nothing happened.
Could this have been a false alarm? Could this have been an international incident narrowly missed?
It could have been.
However, your pointer finger is devoid of ammunition, stumbling is not he the new striding, and dive rolls should not look that painful.
They definitely drank too much, but bless them for it.
Monday, August 24, 2009
Bastille Day
Those of us lucky enough to be in Paris on certain anniversary’s are in for a treat. This year, we all happened to be so lucky.
Bastille Day is a national Holiday. Referred to as the 14th of July, this is the celebration of the Republic. On the 14th of July, the fortress at Bastille was stormed for mostly gunpowder and ammo. Typically, this fortress also housed political prisoners, but at the time, no one of major importance was in residence (unless, of course, you talked to their mothers).
The celebration this year took place on the Champ’s du Mars and the Jardin du Trocadero. Wedged in between, of course, is the Eiffel Tower.
The main act of the evening was Johnny Hallyday. This man is a legend in France. Think if Elvis was French and still living. He is a cornerstone of modern French music and certainly a piece of French pride. Being a national celebration and the 120th birthday of the Eiffel Tour, he was a natural choice. The grand finale highlighted with the lights of the tower was a magnificent ending to a wonderful set.
But that was just the beginning.
The most amazing part of the evening was the combination light show and fireworks display. This was a whole new level of show.
As it turns out, a space-age light system is rigged to project onto the tower. This is no ordinary light system; it can project, in full clarity, onto the 324 meter structure.
Pretty bad-ass, non?
The show presented a history of France for the past 120 years. Simply, it was amazing. The artistic vision lit on the tower was moving, even for a foreigner. The addition of music and fireworks were synthesized masterfully.
Even more surprising was the honesty of the pieces presented. True historical miseries were not glossed over. Yes, the national pride overwhelmed you, but even on this evening, it was humbling to see admissions that everything was not perfect in the last 120 years.
This was not some small show, either. 1 million people showed up.
Of course, the metro is not designed for 1 million people.
It was a nice walk home.
Bastille Day is a national Holiday. Referred to as the 14th of July, this is the celebration of the Republic. On the 14th of July, the fortress at Bastille was stormed for mostly gunpowder and ammo. Typically, this fortress also housed political prisoners, but at the time, no one of major importance was in residence (unless, of course, you talked to their mothers).
The celebration this year took place on the Champ’s du Mars and the Jardin du Trocadero. Wedged in between, of course, is the Eiffel Tower.
The main act of the evening was Johnny Hallyday. This man is a legend in France. Think if Elvis was French and still living. He is a cornerstone of modern French music and certainly a piece of French pride. Being a national celebration and the 120th birthday of the Eiffel Tour, he was a natural choice. The grand finale highlighted with the lights of the tower was a magnificent ending to a wonderful set.
But that was just the beginning.
The most amazing part of the evening was the combination light show and fireworks display. This was a whole new level of show.
As it turns out, a space-age light system is rigged to project onto the tower. This is no ordinary light system; it can project, in full clarity, onto the 324 meter structure.
Pretty bad-ass, non?
The show presented a history of France for the past 120 years. Simply, it was amazing. The artistic vision lit on the tower was moving, even for a foreigner. The addition of music and fireworks were synthesized masterfully.
Even more surprising was the honesty of the pieces presented. True historical miseries were not glossed over. Yes, the national pride overwhelmed you, but even on this evening, it was humbling to see admissions that everything was not perfect in the last 120 years.
This was not some small show, either. 1 million people showed up.
Of course, the metro is not designed for 1 million people.
It was a nice walk home.
Thursday, August 13, 2009
Cameos (Filler)
Today was my first experience as a French employee: blowing off a meeting because I will be on vacation.
In that vein, there is more filler this week. But rest not, this filler is good.
A bit ago, some of my friends joined me for a few nights on their Paris trip. One just so happens to be an awesome comic artist. You can find her comic journal of her most recent Paris trip here.
Yours truly has cameos here, here and here.
Enjoy.
In that vein, there is more filler this week. But rest not, this filler is good.
A bit ago, some of my friends joined me for a few nights on their Paris trip. One just so happens to be an awesome comic artist. You can find her comic journal of her most recent Paris trip here.
Yours truly has cameos here, here and here.
Enjoy.
Sunday, August 9, 2009
Sister Cities
France and Chicago are sister cities. This designation is probably no more than the occasional dinner between mayors. Who has said, “thanks to the relationship with our sister city, my life is profoundly better”? Not even the occasional sharing of the “velo” idea will deeply impact the respective denizens.
Good thing corruption is alive and well.
To be fair, corruption is a strong term. In France, this can be good fiscal policy. Not only do you keep people employed, but by their employment, they can purchase goods created by other people. The economic circle of life marches.
St. Cloud is a lovely suburb inhabited by a very nice coworker. Upon returning home from said suburb, one can take the tram into Paris. The tram is different than the train in that it is set up more like a bus on a rail. There is no place for your ticket to enter the track; you must do so on the tram itself.
Unless you live in the suburbs, you have little experience with the tram. Normally, you can get your bearings and realize that you should scan your Navigo or ticket into the appropriate place. This is different than the train or metro as the ticket scan is done at the station. One has no reasonable way of immediately knowing this for the first time.
The tram pulls in, and the first thing you realize is that in spite of a long track, it is short. So short, in fact, you may have to run to jump aboard. I run.
I swipe my Navigo, and so does another person in my party. A third is ticketing around Paris and does not put his ticket in the appropriate slot. This is an honest mistake as the tram is a new French system of public transportation to this person. Also, the six men with batons standing around the machine look a tad threatening.
Good rule of thumb, stay away from French men with riot gear.
A man stops us and performs the usual public transit inspection. I and my one friend show our Navigo’s. Ding! Success.
My other friend shows his ticket. He did not swipe the ticket. This is a tram sin. It does not matter if you are new, or that the French police block the dispenser, or that this system of payment, though train-like, is not like the other train-like systems, or that you had a ticket with the intention of paying. No, this bureaucracy demands prompt insertion into the ticket machine, regardless of circumstance.
You should know or you should be able to talk your way out of the situation.
So the fine is paid. As a final spite, my friend pays the 25 Euro fine with a 50 Euro bill. If you know anything about the French, they despise anything but exact change.
I snap a photo of the guys. They did not like this. Thinking that it could be illegal, I delete the photo for the kind man with the baton. I have a new phone, of course, and cannot quite figure out how to use it.
I ask him when the last RER train is. He tells me even though I use “tu”. Officers are usually “vous”. He is not special, I make this mistake often. At any rate, he realizes my American deficiency and seems fine with “tu”. That, and in the spirit of French irony, he probably thinks this system is bullshit as well.
We all get to our respective homes without further incident.
This episode reminds me of every Chicago parking ticket glued to my car. Regardless of every intention to follow the rules, miss one Draconian clause, and you are poorer for it.
At least we have family.
Good thing corruption is alive and well.
To be fair, corruption is a strong term. In France, this can be good fiscal policy. Not only do you keep people employed, but by their employment, they can purchase goods created by other people. The economic circle of life marches.
St. Cloud is a lovely suburb inhabited by a very nice coworker. Upon returning home from said suburb, one can take the tram into Paris. The tram is different than the train in that it is set up more like a bus on a rail. There is no place for your ticket to enter the track; you must do so on the tram itself.
Unless you live in the suburbs, you have little experience with the tram. Normally, you can get your bearings and realize that you should scan your Navigo or ticket into the appropriate place. This is different than the train or metro as the ticket scan is done at the station. One has no reasonable way of immediately knowing this for the first time.
The tram pulls in, and the first thing you realize is that in spite of a long track, it is short. So short, in fact, you may have to run to jump aboard. I run.
I swipe my Navigo, and so does another person in my party. A third is ticketing around Paris and does not put his ticket in the appropriate slot. This is an honest mistake as the tram is a new French system of public transportation to this person. Also, the six men with batons standing around the machine look a tad threatening.
Good rule of thumb, stay away from French men with riot gear.
A man stops us and performs the usual public transit inspection. I and my one friend show our Navigo’s. Ding! Success.
My other friend shows his ticket. He did not swipe the ticket. This is a tram sin. It does not matter if you are new, or that the French police block the dispenser, or that this system of payment, though train-like, is not like the other train-like systems, or that you had a ticket with the intention of paying. No, this bureaucracy demands prompt insertion into the ticket machine, regardless of circumstance.
You should know or you should be able to talk your way out of the situation.
So the fine is paid. As a final spite, my friend pays the 25 Euro fine with a 50 Euro bill. If you know anything about the French, they despise anything but exact change.
I snap a photo of the guys. They did not like this. Thinking that it could be illegal, I delete the photo for the kind man with the baton. I have a new phone, of course, and cannot quite figure out how to use it.
I ask him when the last RER train is. He tells me even though I use “tu”. Officers are usually “vous”. He is not special, I make this mistake often. At any rate, he realizes my American deficiency and seems fine with “tu”. That, and in the spirit of French irony, he probably thinks this system is bullshit as well.
We all get to our respective homes without further incident.
This episode reminds me of every Chicago parking ticket glued to my car. Regardless of every intention to follow the rules, miss one Draconian clause, and you are poorer for it.
At least we have family.
Saturday, August 1, 2009
I Love Parisian Parks
You may have noticed there has been no mention of the catacombs yet. No Louvre reference seen here either. Eiffel Tower? Non-existent in this neck of the woods. Why?
I love Parisian parks.
The weather in Paris this summer has been spectacular. All right, if you are a Parisian, you are worried that summer is wasting away without any warmth. If you are from the Chicagoland area, however, you marvel at the lack of humidity, the mild temperatures, and the absence of tornados.
Paradise.
My home is near Tuileries. Most Parisians cock their head at me when I say I like it. However, it is close and if you go around the square, not that crowded. True, there are special events, and there are plenty of tourists every dry day. However, being able to run in an open air museum is nice. Further, there are many benches and chairs about the entire park. These are perfect for reading. Statues adorn the scenery and plenty of shade hides fair skin from the sun’s evil rays.
For some perspective, the past two winters transformed Chicagoland into tundra of frigid desolation. Twenty degrees Fahrenheit was a warm day. This spawned in many of us a need to appreciate a day with good weather.
And in Paris, and there are many days with good weather.
If you find the good metro map, the one with the landmarks and green splotches for parks, you realize there are a lot of green splotches. With the good weather, and some free time, I am compelled to explore these green splotches.
When you arrive at one park, it encourages you to explore another. Each park has at least some bit of charm. Let it be a simple statue, or unique positioning within the landscape, or amazing serenity in the middle of a metropolis. Each one has something special and each one encourages you to see what else is there.
There are too many green splotches to have explored them all just yet (and maybe not ever). This is not saddening, as the adventure is not for the completion of the task.
The task is for the adventure.
I love Parisian parks.
The weather in Paris this summer has been spectacular. All right, if you are a Parisian, you are worried that summer is wasting away without any warmth. If you are from the Chicagoland area, however, you marvel at the lack of humidity, the mild temperatures, and the absence of tornados.
Paradise.
My home is near Tuileries. Most Parisians cock their head at me when I say I like it. However, it is close and if you go around the square, not that crowded. True, there are special events, and there are plenty of tourists every dry day. However, being able to run in an open air museum is nice. Further, there are many benches and chairs about the entire park. These are perfect for reading. Statues adorn the scenery and plenty of shade hides fair skin from the sun’s evil rays.
For some perspective, the past two winters transformed Chicagoland into tundra of frigid desolation. Twenty degrees Fahrenheit was a warm day. This spawned in many of us a need to appreciate a day with good weather.
And in Paris, and there are many days with good weather.
If you find the good metro map, the one with the landmarks and green splotches for parks, you realize there are a lot of green splotches. With the good weather, and some free time, I am compelled to explore these green splotches.
When you arrive at one park, it encourages you to explore another. Each park has at least some bit of charm. Let it be a simple statue, or unique positioning within the landscape, or amazing serenity in the middle of a metropolis. Each one has something special and each one encourages you to see what else is there.
The task is for the adventure.
Sunday, July 26, 2009
Coffee
There is a crucial deficiency in French cuisine. Coffee does not come in decent quantities.
But espresso has more caffeine than coffee.
False, or at best, it depends. You need to consider the strength of the brew and quantity consumed. Typical estimates put one strong brew at over two shots of espresso.
But French coffee is stronger.
At one point in time, this could have been true. However, in general, it is rather easy to find or brew strong coffee in the US. In fact, most coffee connoisseurs are probably used to the strongest of French coffees and call them “mild”.
But espresso is more refined.
You get too much sleep.
There is a bias. A former employer of mine was a coffee shop. One of the owners used to take a large coffee cup, load it with six espresso shots, and top it off with some Columbian – every morning.
It is now difficult to call one shot of espresso “strong”.
But, there is one place for a good, strong, American cup of coffee.
That place is Starbucks.
But going to Starbucks in France feels as traitorous as McDonalds or Disney or the Hard Rock. It’s nice to live in a foreign country with foreign things. Even the “American” places here feel different – they are unique outposts in the frontier. The chains are zebra mussels, attaching to everything, staking a claim, and removing diversity in the ecosystem.
Yet… if I can get a good sized cup of coffee…
But espresso has more caffeine than coffee.
False, or at best, it depends. You need to consider the strength of the brew and quantity consumed. Typical estimates put one strong brew at over two shots of espresso.
But French coffee is stronger.
At one point in time, this could have been true. However, in general, it is rather easy to find or brew strong coffee in the US. In fact, most coffee connoisseurs are probably used to the strongest of French coffees and call them “mild”.
But espresso is more refined.
You get too much sleep.
There is a bias. A former employer of mine was a coffee shop. One of the owners used to take a large coffee cup, load it with six espresso shots, and top it off with some Columbian – every morning.
It is now difficult to call one shot of espresso “strong”.
But, there is one place for a good, strong, American cup of coffee.
That place is Starbucks.
But going to Starbucks in France feels as traitorous as McDonalds or Disney or the Hard Rock. It’s nice to live in a foreign country with foreign things. Even the “American” places here feel different – they are unique outposts in the frontier. The chains are zebra mussels, attaching to everything, staking a claim, and removing diversity in the ecosystem.
Yet… if I can get a good sized cup of coffee…
Sunday, July 19, 2009
Filler
I am trying to keep this blog to a regular weekend affair, preferably Saturdays. This week was a bit busy and lack of forward thinking brings you only a tiny bit of advice.
When selecting random cafe's to sit down for a drink, make sure they do not perform magic for you. It can be awkward.
When selecting random cafe's to sit down for a drink, make sure they do not perform magic for you. It can be awkward.
Saturday, July 11, 2009
Getting Internet
One of the pleasant surprises about living in France is that having Internet, TV, and a fixed line is relatively cheap. For 29.90€ you have all three. However, like all things, there is a process.
Normally, most people have a place with a fixed telephone line already working. If this is the case, you can easily obtain its number by dialing 0123456789. Of course, picking up the line in my apartment yielded silence. The nothingness tells you there is no attached line. This, being outside the normal procedure is, as they say, difficult.
There is something called the Freebox from a company called Free that everyone seems to love. Love so much in fact that when I asked about any other company, it was with shock and horror that anyone could conceive of going someplace else. I contact them first.
The sign-up is online. First, France Telecom will come and install the line, next you get the box, and then you get internet.
Step one was a bit rough.
Allegedly, your provider calls France Telecom and then France Telecom comes to your place to install a line. France Telecom should call you, make an appointment, and show up. Free allegedly starts this process.
Only Free did not start the process. So, I e-mail them. They respond, “be patient.” I am patient. After two weeks I e-mail them again, “we don’t have information on your file.”
New lesson: in France, patience is not a virtue.
If someone should give you something, you should harass them until they give it to you. There is a culture in certain companies to “just make the customer go away”. Going away with the good or service you provide is one way of achieving this. However, there are other means to have the customer go away.
No customer, no problem.
So I went away, and tried somewhere else.
SFR is next on my list. They give me the run down of the whole process. Normally, if you have a phone, everything takes two weeks. The phrase “normally, if you have a phone line” worries me. However, they actually do what they say they will do, call France Telecom. Everything from the SFR side works great. If you move here, go to these guys first.
So now I venture into territory occupied by a state owned agency.
The first appointment was made for 10AM one Friday. After waiting for an hour, work became a much better use of my time. At 5PM, the technician calls.
“I didn’t have your front door code.”
Not being fully integrated into French culture, I do not slight the man. Clearly, just because this information was provided to France Telecom, and that everyone in the free world has my front door code, is no reason for this man to have had it.
Game on.
The next appointment is made for 8AM. The workday starts at about 9:30AM at my office. Thus, this gives him enough time to blow me off, and me enough time to legitimately wait before I head to work.
He calls at 10AM.
“Where are you?”
“At work.”
“I’m here.”
“8AM was 2 hours ago.”
“Ok, can we reschedule?”
So we reschedule. You have to have France Telecom, so my thought is to see how many appointments this will take. Two days later, he shows up, even calling me ahead of time to say he is coming. Now this blog comes from the comfort of my own apartment.
Total time from start to internet, 1 month and 3 weeks.
Normally, most people have a place with a fixed telephone line already working. If this is the case, you can easily obtain its number by dialing 0123456789. Of course, picking up the line in my apartment yielded silence. The nothingness tells you there is no attached line. This, being outside the normal procedure is, as they say, difficult.
There is something called the Freebox from a company called Free that everyone seems to love. Love so much in fact that when I asked about any other company, it was with shock and horror that anyone could conceive of going someplace else. I contact them first.
The sign-up is online. First, France Telecom will come and install the line, next you get the box, and then you get internet.
Step one was a bit rough.
Allegedly, your provider calls France Telecom and then France Telecom comes to your place to install a line. France Telecom should call you, make an appointment, and show up. Free allegedly starts this process.
Only Free did not start the process. So, I e-mail them. They respond, “be patient.” I am patient. After two weeks I e-mail them again, “we don’t have information on your file.”
New lesson: in France, patience is not a virtue.
If someone should give you something, you should harass them until they give it to you. There is a culture in certain companies to “just make the customer go away”. Going away with the good or service you provide is one way of achieving this. However, there are other means to have the customer go away.
No customer, no problem.
So I went away, and tried somewhere else.
SFR is next on my list. They give me the run down of the whole process. Normally, if you have a phone, everything takes two weeks. The phrase “normally, if you have a phone line” worries me. However, they actually do what they say they will do, call France Telecom. Everything from the SFR side works great. If you move here, go to these guys first.
So now I venture into territory occupied by a state owned agency.
The first appointment was made for 10AM one Friday. After waiting for an hour, work became a much better use of my time. At 5PM, the technician calls.
“I didn’t have your front door code.”
Not being fully integrated into French culture, I do not slight the man. Clearly, just because this information was provided to France Telecom, and that everyone in the free world has my front door code, is no reason for this man to have had it.
Game on.
The next appointment is made for 8AM. The workday starts at about 9:30AM at my office. Thus, this gives him enough time to blow me off, and me enough time to legitimately wait before I head to work.
He calls at 10AM.
“Where are you?”
“At work.”
“I’m here.”
“8AM was 2 hours ago.”
“Ok, can we reschedule?”
So we reschedule. You have to have France Telecom, so my thought is to see how many appointments this will take. Two days later, he shows up, even calling me ahead of time to say he is coming. Now this blog comes from the comfort of my own apartment.
Total time from start to internet, 1 month and 3 weeks.
Saturday, July 4, 2009
The Zoology of the Order Beggar
Paris hosts many species of beggar under its canopy. Take the traveling metro minstrels. This fine breed plays music for you while you cruise on the underground river of railway. My personal favorite is the travelling Karaoke star, who croons hits from the 60’s. The rare but remarkable Kurt Cobain puppeteer deserves a mention as well. What it lacks in musical talent, it makes up for in indecency.
During your commute, you often find the stump speech giver. This species runs on a train, provides some oratory, and then ask for a donation for the cause. These former politicians and Enron executives have molted and are now righting society from the first floor.
There are the furry frienders that lure your sympathy with kittens, puppies, cats, and dogs. The distant cousins, the Stephen King creepies, try to lure you with a collection distressing trinkets. Doubts about this species survival are numerous.
Finally, we have the fishers. This species places a cup on a string tied to a stick. Each time a potential centime comes near, instead of luring it to their cup, they bring the cup to it. What fascinatingly evolved strategy!
The once flourishing pickpocket has now been nearly hunted to extinction. While this is good news indeed, there is always the danger of it adapting and re-emerging as a threat to the entire Paris ecosystem, especially the foreign tourist. Constant vigilance around the most precious habitats must be maintained.
While some may find the genus beggar distasteful, they do have a certain charm to others. Some beggars may have obnoxious adaptations, akin to skunks or slugs, but others have found ways to peacefully coexist with their hosts. Certainly, as long as the beggars maintain this harmony with their environment, they will endure.
During your commute, you often find the stump speech giver. This species runs on a train, provides some oratory, and then ask for a donation for the cause. These former politicians and Enron executives have molted and are now righting society from the first floor.
There are the furry frienders that lure your sympathy with kittens, puppies, cats, and dogs. The distant cousins, the Stephen King creepies, try to lure you with a collection distressing trinkets. Doubts about this species survival are numerous.
Finally, we have the fishers. This species places a cup on a string tied to a stick. Each time a potential centime comes near, instead of luring it to their cup, they bring the cup to it. What fascinatingly evolved strategy!
The once flourishing pickpocket has now been nearly hunted to extinction. While this is good news indeed, there is always the danger of it adapting and re-emerging as a threat to the entire Paris ecosystem, especially the foreign tourist. Constant vigilance around the most precious habitats must be maintained.
While some may find the genus beggar distasteful, they do have a certain charm to others. Some beggars may have obnoxious adaptations, akin to skunks or slugs, but others have found ways to peacefully coexist with their hosts. Certainly, as long as the beggars maintain this harmony with their environment, they will endure.
Saturday, June 27, 2009
Medical Visits
Social medicine has its costs. One of these costs is time served at medical exams. In order to enter France and work, you have to go to the doctor.
If you are lucky, your company will work through an agency. This process is blissful compared to everything else. By far, the person helping me (and some of my other expat friends) is the complete opposite of stereotypical French bureaucracy. One considers a new name for any children to be.
The medical exam takes place in the morning. You go to a building in a Southern Paris suburb. Like any other doctor’s exam, first you wait. Then, they bring you into another room. Then, you wait. You chat with some other people you meet going through the same experience. The exam begins.
You start off with basic measurements – height, weight, age. If you are American or a member of certain other nationalities, you are done. If not, you have a urine test. If you are Russian, good luck.
Passing the American test, it is time for the chest x-ray. Why you must have a chest x-ray is beyond me. However, time to take off your shirt and get a healthy dose of gamma rays. Next is the doctor’s exam.
You wait until a doctor calls you into his office. He or she brings you in and asks you questions about your family history. I do not have my vaccine records as I am a very bad person. So, I tell the doctor what vaccines I have had. If you have gone to college in the US, chances are you are fine. You look at the chest x-ray. The doctor gives you the chest x-ray. In my case (not everyone had this experience), the doctor gives you a condom. The condom is for the prevention of STD’s, of course.
I’ll take that as a compliment.
If you are lucky, your company will work through an agency. This process is blissful compared to everything else. By far, the person helping me (and some of my other expat friends) is the complete opposite of stereotypical French bureaucracy. One considers a new name for any children to be.
The medical exam takes place in the morning. You go to a building in a Southern Paris suburb. Like any other doctor’s exam, first you wait. Then, they bring you into another room. Then, you wait. You chat with some other people you meet going through the same experience. The exam begins.
You start off with basic measurements – height, weight, age. If you are American or a member of certain other nationalities, you are done. If not, you have a urine test. If you are Russian, good luck.
Passing the American test, it is time for the chest x-ray. Why you must have a chest x-ray is beyond me. However, time to take off your shirt and get a healthy dose of gamma rays. Next is the doctor’s exam.
You wait until a doctor calls you into his office. He or she brings you in and asks you questions about your family history. I do not have my vaccine records as I am a very bad person. So, I tell the doctor what vaccines I have had. If you have gone to college in the US, chances are you are fine. You look at the chest x-ray. The doctor gives you the chest x-ray. In my case (not everyone had this experience), the doctor gives you a condom. The condom is for the prevention of STD’s, of course.
I’ll take that as a compliment.
Saturday, June 20, 2009
Exploring
There is always something you should do. This particular evening, I should have been studying French, or assembling furniture, or tidying up the apartment. However, when the weather is nice, the outside calls. There is too much to see and do outside in Paris. Doing a load of dishes and going for a run will have to suffice as responsible enough.
Finding myself solo for the evening, I go exploring. I usually start off with a landmark of some sort and wander from there. Paris is a relatively safe city. Unless you are a lone woman at night, you can wander most places without the fear of violence. The worse violation you most likely will face is olfactory.
The omen this evening was meeting the neighbors in the hallway. This is unusual in Paris. Apparently, you only meet your neighbors accidently and try not to borrow sugar often. Walking down the stairs (I am on the 4th floor), I run into three neighbors and their dog (or a combination of neighbors, people that know them, and a dog). The person with the dog runs down the stairs ahead of me. As I approach the bottom, the dog is urinating on the stairs. This is not the accident of a puppy that knows it will be outside, but does not quite have control yet. No, this is the voluntary bladder relaxation of an adult dog who apparently consumed a gallon of water over the last hour.
Enchante.
“Ce n’est pas mon problem”, I continue and explore the side streets winding towards Concorde. A crepe is found and a beverage is purchased. Why they do not sell milk at the crepe store is perplexing. Milk and nutella crepes partner perfectly. Wandering continues.
As I started towards in area that is rather nice and come to often (free wifi), I was not expecting certain things. Have I mentioned that Paris is compact, and it really does not take long to get somewhere? Moving one small block in a new direction I find a min-red light district. I say mini, because I was not near the Moulin Rouge. I was also not expecting street workers.
There is some irony here, because in a lot of ways, it seemed like normal Paris. Cafés, wondering Parisians of all sorts, and gyro stands. However, there were also “DVD shops” and stores with an ominous lack of windows on the front. Or maybe this is promising? Depends on what you are looking for, I suppose.
It is about here that right now I wish something crazy happened, but it did not. I wander back into an area I recognize. It is marked by a “mini-arch”, for which the Parisian’s apparently have an affinity. Yes, certain aspects of America still root strong in my blood.
And thus I return home and pour a glass of water, study some French, and then drift off to sleep.
Finding myself solo for the evening, I go exploring. I usually start off with a landmark of some sort and wander from there. Paris is a relatively safe city. Unless you are a lone woman at night, you can wander most places without the fear of violence. The worse violation you most likely will face is olfactory.
The omen this evening was meeting the neighbors in the hallway. This is unusual in Paris. Apparently, you only meet your neighbors accidently and try not to borrow sugar often. Walking down the stairs (I am on the 4th floor), I run into three neighbors and their dog (or a combination of neighbors, people that know them, and a dog). The person with the dog runs down the stairs ahead of me. As I approach the bottom, the dog is urinating on the stairs. This is not the accident of a puppy that knows it will be outside, but does not quite have control yet. No, this is the voluntary bladder relaxation of an adult dog who apparently consumed a gallon of water over the last hour.
Enchante.
“Ce n’est pas mon problem”, I continue and explore the side streets winding towards Concorde. A crepe is found and a beverage is purchased. Why they do not sell milk at the crepe store is perplexing. Milk and nutella crepes partner perfectly. Wandering continues.
As I started towards in area that is rather nice and come to often (free wifi), I was not expecting certain things. Have I mentioned that Paris is compact, and it really does not take long to get somewhere? Moving one small block in a new direction I find a min-red light district. I say mini, because I was not near the Moulin Rouge. I was also not expecting street workers.
There is some irony here, because in a lot of ways, it seemed like normal Paris. Cafés, wondering Parisians of all sorts, and gyro stands. However, there were also “DVD shops” and stores with an ominous lack of windows on the front. Or maybe this is promising? Depends on what you are looking for, I suppose.
It is about here that right now I wish something crazy happened, but it did not. I wander back into an area I recognize. It is marked by a “mini-arch”, for which the Parisian’s apparently have an affinity. Yes, certain aspects of America still root strong in my blood.
And thus I return home and pour a glass of water, study some French, and then drift off to sleep.
Saturday, June 13, 2009
The Apartment
When living in Paris, and coming from the US, you must re-orient yourself in many ways. One of those ways is how and where you live.
The apartment is located in the Opera district overlooking the Opera Comique. The view is stellar. There is free classical music on performance nights. There is a quaint place with great croissants on the first floor. Living in central Paris gets you anywhere you want with short metro rides. The train to work is a 10 minute walk (or a really short metro ride).
There are downsides. Hot water lasts 15 minutes. The washer/dryer is more like a washer/steamer. “Furnished” is a loose term. The décor consists of Air France posters. The kitchen is “bachelor size.”
One more?
The second bedroom is an odd shape with weird features.
Oh, and I miss my dishwasher.
To complete the needed furniture, a trip to IKEA was made. Guests now have a choice of standard couch or one that transforms into something more bedlike. Steamed clothes have a place to relax and dry-off. Living out of a suitcase is no more. The “coat closet” is still under construction, but will soon be complete.
Overall, you learn to quickly forget what you are missing. The trades you make to live in the heart of the city are worth it. There is so much to do here in such a small and compact space. It seems like a few years may not be enough.
The apartment is located in the Opera district overlooking the Opera Comique. The view is stellar. There is free classical music on performance nights. There is a quaint place with great croissants on the first floor. Living in central Paris gets you anywhere you want with short metro rides. The train to work is a 10 minute walk (or a really short metro ride).
There are downsides. Hot water lasts 15 minutes. The washer/dryer is more like a washer/steamer. “Furnished” is a loose term. The décor consists of Air France posters. The kitchen is “bachelor size.”
One more?
The second bedroom is an odd shape with weird features.
Oh, and I miss my dishwasher.
To complete the needed furniture, a trip to IKEA was made. Guests now have a choice of standard couch or one that transforms into something more bedlike. Steamed clothes have a place to relax and dry-off. Living out of a suitcase is no more. The “coat closet” is still under construction, but will soon be complete.
Overall, you learn to quickly forget what you are missing. The trades you make to live in the heart of the city are worth it. There is so much to do here in such a small and compact space. It seems like a few years may not be enough.
Saturday, June 6, 2009
A Firemen Ascends
Returning home one evening, I find my front door and security door wide open. Thirty seconds later, after climbing the stairs, a fire truck pulls up my street.
There were some difficulties at first. My street is very narrow with cars parked on both sides. An illegally parked vehicle had to make way for the fire truck, which could not turn the corner without ruining this new Peugeot. This ballet brought horrors about what would happen if there actually was a fire. Paris apartments do not find fire escapes cost effective.
The next obstacle, clearly, was the apartment door. The front entrance was unhindered and held open, but the front door of the offending apartment was locked. No good. Thankfully, someone brought the ladder.
Go time. A fireman commands the truck to put down its four support legs. Ladder ready, it swings into action and shoots to the third floor window. A fireman ascends.
What is this? The window is latched from the inside. Hammer time. The fireman opens the latch and goes inside. The apartment door obstacle easily defeated.
The police arrive. One is brandishing a notebook. They talk to some of the firemen on scene. Situation assessed, they ascend the stairs.
Ladders are firefighter business.
There is some discussion in the hallway. The voices remain calm, but clearly something is not right. The police and fireman resolve the issue. No one originally in the apartment leaves. The police descend the stairs.
The fireman uses the ladder.
This story occurred May 29th ,2009.
There were some difficulties at first. My street is very narrow with cars parked on both sides. An illegally parked vehicle had to make way for the fire truck, which could not turn the corner without ruining this new Peugeot. This ballet brought horrors about what would happen if there actually was a fire. Paris apartments do not find fire escapes cost effective.
The next obstacle, clearly, was the apartment door. The front entrance was unhindered and held open, but the front door of the offending apartment was locked. No good. Thankfully, someone brought the ladder.
Go time. A fireman commands the truck to put down its four support legs. Ladder ready, it swings into action and shoots to the third floor window. A fireman ascends.
What is this? The window is latched from the inside. Hammer time. The fireman opens the latch and goes inside. The apartment door obstacle easily defeated.
The police arrive. One is brandishing a notebook. They talk to some of the firemen on scene. Situation assessed, they ascend the stairs.
Ladders are firefighter business.
There is some discussion in the hallway. The voices remain calm, but clearly something is not right. The police and fireman resolve the issue. No one originally in the apartment leaves. The police descend the stairs.
The fireman uses the ladder.
This story occurred May 29th ,2009.
Friday, May 29, 2009
Bipolar Love Affair
Cliché be damned, Paris is your lover! Albeit, Paris is bipolar. This is not bipolar where the ups make the downs gentler, but where the downs make the ups euphoric.
Starting life in Paris is a measure of your patience. One minute, you are struggling to understand why you need you need a skull x-ray for your metro pass, and the next you discover a 17th century gorgeous statue by merely picking a direction and wandering five feet. Paris is full of surprises, both good and bad.
Take my cell phone experience. The first cell phone attempt made the second look tame. Only three hours to find out that all I needed after my passport, proof of residency, bank account information that dates to the Knights Templar, and my “Carte Bleue”, was to make a withdraw from the ATM. Easy, non?
Now, this could be a case of the foolish American. Most likely this is, and as it is written here, the system does seem to have order and logic. However, as you are experiencing Paris, it is manic, frustrating, and you are continually aware of your hopes and dreams and how easily they can be smashed. For you have no idea the process, and no one else seems to either. It is like the city erases your memory as you complete your tasks. You have a cell phone, but you are not quite sure how you actually got it.
And maybe this is too melodramatic, but it seems that every foreigner has at least eight similar horror stories. There is an air here of ambivalence to some higher power; a god of red-tape and bureaucracy that stalks foreigners and feeds on their accumulating rage. This god is your lover, and it giggles with euphoria as it torments you in ways you never thought possible.
And then there is the other god that is your same lover; the one of love and harmony and bliss that makes you think you have stepped into heaven without the hassle of St. Peter’s gates. You are walking in the Luxembourg gardens, full of 100’s of tourists, encircled by noisy busses and motorcycles, and yet the only sound you can here is running water. You are in the shade, you admire the 16th century fountain, the temperature is perfect, and there is an empty chair waiting for you. You sit, you relax, and you forget. You enjoy the afternoon.
This is Paris. One moment you question your sanity for ever coming to this place, and the next your question your reasoning for ever doubting why you came.
Starting life in Paris is a measure of your patience. One minute, you are struggling to understand why you need you need a skull x-ray for your metro pass, and the next you discover a 17th century gorgeous statue by merely picking a direction and wandering five feet. Paris is full of surprises, both good and bad.
Take my cell phone experience. The first cell phone attempt made the second look tame. Only three hours to find out that all I needed after my passport, proof of residency, bank account information that dates to the Knights Templar, and my “Carte Bleue”, was to make a withdraw from the ATM. Easy, non?
Now, this could be a case of the foolish American. Most likely this is, and as it is written here, the system does seem to have order and logic. However, as you are experiencing Paris, it is manic, frustrating, and you are continually aware of your hopes and dreams and how easily they can be smashed. For you have no idea the process, and no one else seems to either. It is like the city erases your memory as you complete your tasks. You have a cell phone, but you are not quite sure how you actually got it.
And maybe this is too melodramatic, but it seems that every foreigner has at least eight similar horror stories. There is an air here of ambivalence to some higher power; a god of red-tape and bureaucracy that stalks foreigners and feeds on their accumulating rage. This god is your lover, and it giggles with euphoria as it torments you in ways you never thought possible.
And then there is the other god that is your same lover; the one of love and harmony and bliss that makes you think you have stepped into heaven without the hassle of St. Peter’s gates. You are walking in the Luxembourg gardens, full of 100’s of tourists, encircled by noisy busses and motorcycles, and yet the only sound you can here is running water. You are in the shade, you admire the 16th century fountain, the temperature is perfect, and there is an empty chair waiting for you. You sit, you relax, and you forget. You enjoy the afternoon.
This is Paris. One moment you question your sanity for ever coming to this place, and the next your question your reasoning for ever doubting why you came.
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Radio Silence (Apologies)
In spite of most rumors,
And many of the French, it seems, are choosy.
I concede, the word “choosy” may be a bit unfair. Conservative is more appropriate. If living in
1.) Opening a bank account
2.) Obtaining a cell phone
3.) Renting an apartment
4.) Getting your metro pass
5.) Dealing with an internet provider
Many things are much harder to get here than in the
Thus, many things are difficult to get, and the radio has been silent for far too long. This blog will get on some regular schedule as regular internet becomes available. Until then, expect some chop.
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Timing
Many of my colleagues that have made an international transfer have given the same warning:
“It will go fast.”
How they speak the truth.
This debacle started in December with the mere suggestion that one phone call could get me to France. This news was a bit flooring (few have the luck to get an overseas assignment). After accepting and going through the process, it was February. Many things have happened: negotiations, moving companies, transitions at work, meeting up “for the last time”, property listings, and taking an inventory of everything important in my life.
Wednesday or Thursday my visa should arrive (maybe another story?). Friday, the plane departs for Paris. Saturday and Sunday I discover a new time zone and Monday work begins. I get weird looks for taking such a short path, with not too much time to complete everything. Tasks expand in perceived complexity as the timeframe extends. Apparently, my journey is beginning to look like evidence in favor of this statement. I do not have much time to stew about everything to accomplish.
Simply, I must accomplish.
This experience is a good lesson. Though, tight timelines can be stressful if you are punctual, they can also get you to accomplish more. Once you start making progress, the successes are encouraging. And nothing better to get you started then having to start. Necessity is the mother of invention. Invention must also have a brother, initiative.
Speaking of, time to get packing.
“It will go fast.”
How they speak the truth.
This debacle started in December with the mere suggestion that one phone call could get me to France. This news was a bit flooring (few have the luck to get an overseas assignment). After accepting and going through the process, it was February. Many things have happened: negotiations, moving companies, transitions at work, meeting up “for the last time”, property listings, and taking an inventory of everything important in my life.
Wednesday or Thursday my visa should arrive (maybe another story?). Friday, the plane departs for Paris. Saturday and Sunday I discover a new time zone and Monday work begins. I get weird looks for taking such a short path, with not too much time to complete everything. Tasks expand in perceived complexity as the timeframe extends. Apparently, my journey is beginning to look like evidence in favor of this statement. I do not have much time to stew about everything to accomplish.
Simply, I must accomplish.
This experience is a good lesson. Though, tight timelines can be stressful if you are punctual, they can also get you to accomplish more. Once you start making progress, the successes are encouraging. And nothing better to get you started then having to start. Necessity is the mother of invention. Invention must also have a brother, initiative.
Speaking of, time to get packing.
The Beret
Everything has its cost. Flight to Paris, renting an apartment, visas, brand new suits, and yes, your last day at the office.
My coworkers are great. Only slight was the embarrassment, but all of it in good fun. Tacky, yet masterful, decoration of the cubicle, farewell complete with bread and cheese, pie (not cake, mind you), and items that they do not have in Paris, such as Oreos and peanut butter (who knew?). But there was one more item.
The beret.
This is no ordinary beret. This beret has white top, blue band, and red (orange-ish, clown-ish) puff ball. This beret is now the price of visiting.
Now, I will not make anyone wear said beret all the time. That would be mean.
I have heard of people taking pictures all over the world with various objects. Some friends of mine had a penguin, or as they called him, “el penguin”. I remember el penguin being lost, not sure how. Really, I was not there and it is best to move on from these things.
Just remember that penguins cannot fly (especially stuffed penguins).
At any rate, I think the new beret will be said object. So, the price of admission to either a stay in the heart of Paris or a tour guide that semi-speaks French: one beret photo. This is a small price, but I think it will be fun. Who knows, maybe I’ll forget it and “c’est la vie.”
Don’t get your hopes up.
My coworkers are great. Only slight was the embarrassment, but all of it in good fun. Tacky, yet masterful, decoration of the cubicle, farewell complete with bread and cheese, pie (not cake, mind you), and items that they do not have in Paris, such as Oreos and peanut butter (who knew?). But there was one more item.
The beret.
This is no ordinary beret. This beret has white top, blue band, and red (orange-ish, clown-ish) puff ball. This beret is now the price of visiting.
Now, I will not make anyone wear said beret all the time. That would be mean.
I have heard of people taking pictures all over the world with various objects. Some friends of mine had a penguin, or as they called him, “el penguin”. I remember el penguin being lost, not sure how. Really, I was not there and it is best to move on from these things.
Just remember that penguins cannot fly (especially stuffed penguins).
At any rate, I think the new beret will be said object. So, the price of admission to either a stay in the heart of Paris or a tour guide that semi-speaks French: one beret photo. This is a small price, but I think it will be fun. Who knows, maybe I’ll forget it and “c’est la vie.”
Don’t get your hopes up.
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
Cleanliness
On a particularly easy to guess website where you shop for roommates you are asked what level of cleanliness you maintain. If memory has not failed me, it is something around dirty, moderate, and neat freak. When you are showing your condo, you must enter the neat freak.
Being a neat freak is not bad if you were born with the appropriate neural pathways. As an added bonus, there is no major known moral obligation to shed your orderly ways. Neat freak, I salute you. Someone has to be this way, and thankfully it is you.
This is good, because it is not me.
Now, however, I must reach the Zen-like state of constant attention to detail. No more may my work bag carelessly sleep on the couch. Gone are the days of having a dirty dish in the sink. Unfolded laundry?! Inexistent.
For someone without the neural wiring of a neat freak this constant attention to detail is rough. It is a new job to learn. It is time out of the day better spent doing the things I talked about last post. Worse, it is plain not fun.
On the other had, there is a certain pleasure to coming home to an absolutely clean house. This feeling is new and it is helping me understand some of the neat freaks I know a bit better. In fact, there may even be hope of conversion.
But don’t hold your breath.
Being a neat freak is not bad if you were born with the appropriate neural pathways. As an added bonus, there is no major known moral obligation to shed your orderly ways. Neat freak, I salute you. Someone has to be this way, and thankfully it is you.
This is good, because it is not me.
Now, however, I must reach the Zen-like state of constant attention to detail. No more may my work bag carelessly sleep on the couch. Gone are the days of having a dirty dish in the sink. Unfolded laundry?! Inexistent.
For someone without the neural wiring of a neat freak this constant attention to detail is rough. It is a new job to learn. It is time out of the day better spent doing the things I talked about last post. Worse, it is plain not fun.
On the other had, there is a certain pleasure to coming home to an absolutely clean house. This feeling is new and it is helping me understand some of the neat freaks I know a bit better. In fact, there may even be hope of conversion.
But don’t hold your breath.
Monday, March 30, 2009
Tick Tock
Time’s oppressive march forward is reality. However, today, it seems more existent. The big question is “how do I do it all?” The answer…
You can’t.
So then what? How does one triage? There are always things we must do. Breathe, eat, sleep, exercise. There are obligations we have. Work, family, friends, church, weddings, funerals, happy hour. Then what about things we like to do? TV, movies, reading, blogging, the great outdoors, play. How we do we juggle it all?
You do your best.
In childhood, boredom was defined as having nothing to do. As an adult, it is doing something uninteresting. As we progress through life, it is choosing what to do, not finding an activity. When was the last time you had nothing to do?
Becoming one with the couch is something. However, it is how you feel when you are done. Accomplished? Rested? Depressed? Angry? Not all events are easy to predict. The more drinks you have, the more likely it is you will have a hangover. However, one has a difficult time predicting if their MBA will be worthwhile. That process is risky because it is a significant investment in time with an uncertain outcome. Sure, there are many successful people with MBA’s. However, just like when prophesying, it is best not to count the misses.
With one month of a US permanent address left, I am thinking a lot about what I can do. My list grows longer and my time ticks slowly to zero. Events like these help give clarity to how we prioritize our lives. Certainly, after I disembark the plane, there will be things I should have done and things I should have let fall. It is natural to not get 100%.
Here’s to still looking for an “A”.
You can’t.
So then what? How does one triage? There are always things we must do. Breathe, eat, sleep, exercise. There are obligations we have. Work, family, friends, church, weddings, funerals, happy hour. Then what about things we like to do? TV, movies, reading, blogging, the great outdoors, play. How we do we juggle it all?
You do your best.
In childhood, boredom was defined as having nothing to do. As an adult, it is doing something uninteresting. As we progress through life, it is choosing what to do, not finding an activity. When was the last time you had nothing to do?
Becoming one with the couch is something. However, it is how you feel when you are done. Accomplished? Rested? Depressed? Angry? Not all events are easy to predict. The more drinks you have, the more likely it is you will have a hangover. However, one has a difficult time predicting if their MBA will be worthwhile. That process is risky because it is a significant investment in time with an uncertain outcome. Sure, there are many successful people with MBA’s. However, just like when prophesying, it is best not to count the misses.
With one month of a US permanent address left, I am thinking a lot about what I can do. My list grows longer and my time ticks slowly to zero. Events like these help give clarity to how we prioritize our lives. Certainly, after I disembark the plane, there will be things I should have done and things I should have let fall. It is natural to not get 100%.
Here’s to still looking for an “A”.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)