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.
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.
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.
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.
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…
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.
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.
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.
