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.

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.

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).

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:

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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