Pompidou and a realization

Went to the Pompidou today. Wow. Well, not the art - I am not a fan of modern art. What is stunning is the view. I would suggest for any first time Paris visitor to come here first to see the city. The ticket is €10 and it is worth every penny.

The building layout is a little confusing at first. The main entrance is located not on the main street but at the back center of the building. You go through security first when entering the building. The ticket windows are across the wide expansion towards the left. After getting a ticket, enter the main exhibit areas by going back towards the entrance on the right. You show your ticket and walk outside. The escalator is on the outside of the building. I recommend going all the way to the top and walk along the passage to see Paris. Amazing, simply amazing. There is a cafe at the top. If you do not mind $$$, I am sure it will be good. Once you are finished, return to the escalator and go down two floors to enter the exhibit hall. Return to the first floor to visit the other small exhibit areas.

I found the old "Modern" art area, which is located by taking the stairs within the main exhibit hall, to be more interesting than the current "Modern" art area; but hey, whatever floats your boat.

While admiring the city from the top of the Pompidou, I realized that I really really like Paris. I did not expect this and it is difficult to admit. I wish to point out that I do not have anything but shallow interactions with the French; maybe that is why I like Paris so much. Actually, Nicole tells me that I am very similar to Parsians. I choose to believe that her words are a compliment in the same way that the religious believe in their theology.

A final note, I am impressed that most of the museums and attractions in Paris provide free entry for children under 18. A small number of attractions actually increase the age limit to 25. Do the museums in the US do this? If not, why?

Faffing about

Thank His Holy Noodly Appendage, the Olympics are over. I have been farting around for over ten days. Nothing important is complete. I have watched countless hours of sports(?) on French TV.  No more diving, equestrian, handball, rhythmic gymnastics, fencing, and pool dancing. What will I watch? I guess it is back to the Poker channel. Even the little league world series is complete. Congrats Hawaii!

Actually, it is time to get back to work. I have two projects that need finishing and I am ready to re-enter museums. This will certainly be a busy week.

On a sad note - Mike and the Mad Dog have divorced. Thanks for the good times.

Calling out to my brain trust

Ok folks, let's see how well a group-think works. Please fill out this brief form which will aid me in making a minor but troubling decision. Thanks!

Country mouse all alone

Nicole was off at 6:00am. Since I had only gotten about 2 hours sleep, I returned to bed and slept to mid-afternoon.

The plan for August is as follows:

1. Complete website for a friend
2. Complete project for school
3. Wander around Paris and surrounding areas
4. Take one or two overnight trips around France/Belgium
5. Paint the living room and dining room
6. Have a great time
7. Catch up on my blog
   

Home depot, Leroy style

It is the last day with the rental car so we are going to use it for home improvement projects.

We visited the local garbage transfer station twice and deposited old drywall and other waste products created from an earlier kitchen rehab project.

We then went to a local home improvement store called Leroy Merlin. Not surprisingly, the store contained an art exhibit on the first floor. What did surprise me is that if you buy something, you can get a rebate on a portion of the vat tax if you pay someone to actually perform the work. So you buy the material or goods at the store, let's say a ceiling fan, and then have an electrician install the fan, you can request a portion of the tax back. This seems contrary to the concept of do-it-yourself.

By the way, paint is horribly expensive here in France. It cost Nicole ~$92 for .6 gallons of paint.

Changing a lock

The locksmith, whom I will call Bert, was due back at noon to replace the lock. Surprisingly, Bert called before noon to let us know that he was running late. At 12:30pm, Bert arrived. Nicole and I planned to go to the paint store once the lock was replaced. So much for plans. Around 5:30pm, a second locksmith, Ernie, arrived.

Vadim, Nicole's husband, called and when he found out that French people were still at work and that it was after 4:15pm, he demanded that we take photos of this historic occasion. We declined.

Hours later, after significant banging, muttering, drilling, muttering, and grinding, we heard the sounds of congratulation passing between Bert and Ernie. I wandered over towards the door as Ernie was leaving. Bert smiled at me and waved me over to try the door. I reached out, grasped the door handle, turned and pulled ... hmmm, the door did not move but I now was in possession of a door handle. I looked over at Bert. He was no longer smiling.

Bert took the handle from me and re-attached it to the door. I tried the door twice more with the same results. Bert and I started talking to one another about this issue. Since I do not speak French and Bert did not speak any English, communication was slightly limited. Basically, Bert was assuring me that everything was ok; that I needed to be more gentle with the door knob. I did not agree. I tend to believe that while it is important to be able to unlock and open a door when standing on the exterior side, it is equally important to be able to unlock and open a door when standing on the interior side of the door. Call me crazy.

Finally, I called Nicole over and wanted her to speak in French to Bert and forcefully demand that the job was not complete until the door could be effectively opened from either side. She looked at me like I was crazy. It seems that French men rarely listen to women. We were in luck though since for the past 15 minutes Nicole had been cornered in the hallway listening to an elderly neighbor while Bert and I calmly dicussed the purpose of a door. She asked her neighbor to talk to the locksmith. After a few minutes of conversation, Bert glared at me, smiled at the old man, and then went back to work. 15 minutes later, after some more drilling and muttering, the job was concluded.

So after about 16 man-hours of labor, our lock is fixed, and the door can be opened from either side. French engineering at is best. Off to bed.

Back in Paris

Left Budapest at 6:45am. Arrived in Paris at 12:15am. Found the apartment door lock tampered with and the key no longer working. Nicole put on a brave face and contacted a locksmith. An hour later we were in the apartment. Locksmith will come tomorrow to replace the locking mechanism. The damage - 1,130 Euros. Strong door! Thieves did not get in but they certainly caused significant damage. Enough excitement for today. Going to sleep. Will post on my road trip over the coming days.

One quick note, find a job in Budapest.

Switzerland - the land of cranes and tunnels

Switzerland is not our goal for this trip - it is simply the flyover zone. What stands out about Switzerland to me is the vast number of cranes. They are all over each city and village we pass. Dubai has more cranes than any other place in the world right now, but Switzerland must be in the top five. I understand that the repair/build season is short so the cranes are necessary, unfortunately it appears that for every fifty cranes, there is only one person trained on how to use them.

As to the tunnels, they are everywhere. I suspect that the Swiss love to build them, either that or, the mob is really strong here. I would not be surprised to learn that many of these tunnels were built and then dirt put over them to justify their existence.

We arrived in Winterthur without any problems. After check-in at the hotel, we drove around until we found the city center, parked, and wandered around for a while. Nicole recommended a noodle restaurant for dinner and I acquiesced. Details of the dinner are not necessary. Let's just say that chopsticks are not my friend, one of my dumplings committed suicide in my soup bowel, and walking around the city with a t-shirt inside out is definitely sexy.

Road trip to Vienna

Today we start our road trip to Vienna. It is about a 12 hour drive from Paris. Since neither Nicole or I have visited the Principality of Liechtenstein, we have decided to drive through Switzerland, stay overnight in Winterthur, visit Liechtenstein in the morning, and go to Vienna later in the day.

Off to pick up my car. Thank god it will not be a Kangoo!

Road Trip and misc. comments

Read the news about the dollar falling in value again. I expect before long it will be more economical for me to wipe with my American dollars than it would be to convert them to Euros and buy toilet paper!

On another front - food. Food is major bad habit. It provides me with warmth, comfort, joy, and a glowing sense of fullness, as well as keeping me alive. A necessary evil. So all week I have been trying to come up with the perfect adjective that will describe the food available in Paris, particularly French food. Today I declare that adjective to be: awful. Much more to come on this front.

Americans are too damn uptight. John Ashcroft, do not come here - too many statutes showing little boys' tinkles or women with bare breasts. My god, look at this ad hung on a subway wall:
 

Going on a road trip tomorrow. Looking forward to Schnitzel and apple stredul!

Dinner on the Champs-Élysées

Nicole and I went up to the Champs-Élysées for a walk and dinner. We started at the Arc de Triomphe.

We met my girlfriend in front of the monument. Have I sent you a picture of her yet? If not, here she is. I am not sure of her name, but that trivial detail will be ironed out once we talk some more ... Actually, I guess it was not meant to be. After I crossed the street, she decided to move on with another man. He seemed nice enough and she was too young for me. Such is life.

Dinner was French food. The atmosphere was great. We sat outside and watched as people moved about the street. Several young children serenaded us from a car. Very cute. I applauded.

I am amazed by the number of Muslim women on this street wearing the niqāb. After my week of travel around the city this is the first place I have encountered them. I honestly do not know how to classify them. Are they Muslim fundamentalist, conservative, or something I do not know. When the first woman walked by me, I suddenly started thinking about Scooby Doo. I braced myself for her to suddenly pivot, throw her hands toward me, wiggle her fingers, and scream "boggied boggied boo". (Note to self - learn how to spell this phrase) I started giggling and for the reminder of the night when one passed, I had to be careful to not laugh. In all seriousness, their dress made me uncomfortable. Not, I am going to be blown up uncomfortable; it just felt wrong, alien, de-humanizing. It creates an artificial barrier of isolation between people. It serves its purpose well. I wondered if a woman wearing this tripped and hurt herself, should I reach out and pick her up, try and talk to her? I am not sure. Would reaching out to her cause her more discomfort, cause conflict between her and her family? This outfit screams leave me alone; don't touch me. At least, that is my initial impression. I will say that it is very different seeing these women on film versus walking feet from them.

It was a great day. A long walk during a beautiful day. I learned new things about French history. I felt the energy of the Champs-Élysées and its people. I was able to observe a new culture (I wish I could have talked with some of the women and men). Finally , I got my first up close look at the Eiffel Tower at night.


For my friends in my life and those who have left, I wish that wherever you are, your day was as wonderful as mine. Goodnight.

Let's try the Musée d'Orsay instead

Woke up this morning. Another victory, but one step closer to death. Nicole suggested that I try someplace other than the Panthéon, in particular her favorite museum in Paris, the Musée d'Orsay. She also suggested that I take the subway to the museum and walk home. She is a wise woman.

During our discussion, Nicole mentioned that if I take the correct "sortie", I would end up nearly right in front of the museum. For those that do not speak French, such as myself, "sortie" means exit. Well, from my own personal experience in France, this is only true when there is one "sortie" out of the subway. "sortie" has a different meaning when there are plural "sortie". I have discovered that the when a subway has multiple "sortie", it literally translates to - "no matter which exit you take, it will be the wrong one".

I spent a wonderful day wandering around the 1st, 2nd, 3rd, 11th, 12th, and 14th, however, I finally did something that you would not expect. I entered a building. Entry was free and there were no crowds. It was the Memorial de la Shoah. If you think this is a museum dedicated to school, you would be sadly mistaken. This is my first entrance into a Holocaust memorial and I was deeply moved. My only suggestion would be to add English subtitles or alternative audio feeds for the multimedia pieces. I would have spent the whole day listening if I could have understood the testimony.

Opps, I did it Again

Well, if you guested that I would wander somewhere other than the Panthéon, you would be correct. Once again I made it to Luxembourg gardens - no sweat. I entered the gardens and spent a good hour in a new section. I left the gardens from a new exit and once again decided to take a side road as a short-cut. The weather was nice and I had all day. Several hours of walking later after going through Little Asia, I decided enough is enough, and I started looking at the map.

I would like to say that I quickly found my way back. In fact, after another hour I found that I was even farther from where I should be. I finally jumped on the subway, took it back to the Louvre, walked back across the Seine, found the Green Line, and returned home around 8:00pm. All told, I wandered about six hours today through the 13th, 14th, 6th, and 5th. Tired, but it was worth the effort.

Off to the Panthéon - Another try

Yesterday was fun but not a success if you define success as actually getting to where you planned to go. Today is a new day. I have checked the maps and I am off.

By the way, I was asked two questions the other day.

First question: Where my photos?
Yes, I have been taking a great deal of pictures while walking around the city. The problem is that most of them are piss poor. I made the mistake of actually reading the book that came with the camera as well as a book specifically for my camera that I purchased at Borders. I also recently purchased a wide angle lens and a book on how to shoot with a wide angle lens. All of this new knowledge has made me take a step back from bad photographer to horrible photographer. Hopefully, things will get better with practice. I am storing the not so hideous photos at picasaweb.google.com/mudwasp

Second question: How can I afford this trip?
Short answer - Who said I can? Free lodging helps a great deal. Once I return home, I will go back to the real world, get a job, grow older, pay taxes, and die. Right now I am enjoying my trip. Maybe it is time for you to take a trip??

Somehow I missed the Panthéon

Everything started well.
I reached the Luxembourg gardens without a hitch. Speaking of the Luxembourg gardens, it is a wonderful place. I have spent several hours there and whenever I pass by I enter to see a different area.
Now a straight path to the Panthéon. No problems. Wait. A large crowd appears ahead at an intersection. Maybe I should duck down this small side street and circle around the crowd. Great idea!

About an hour later I find myself crossing the Seine near the Louvre. Who really wants to visit a bunch of dead people anyway? I don't feel overly interested in entering the museum today. I go down the stairs and walk on the bank of the river toward Notre Dame. I could have stayed on the sidewalk by the street, but when given a choice between large crowds and cars versus quiet isolation and the lovely bouquet of urine, I will always select the latter.

Without any trouble, I make it to Notre Dame. I wander around the structure, sit in a park behind the church and listen to some teenagers play music, stop and watch some kids playing in the sand box, and back around to the front of the church. Too many people in line to enter today. I will come back another time or three.



I will try for the Panthéon tomorrow. Homeward bound now.

Off to the Panthéon

I have decided that it is time to enter a building. Since I have unintentionally walked by the Panthéon three times this week, I am confident that I can get there without any difficulty. For those that do not know the Panthéon, here is a short history lesson¹:

Napoleon, unable to steal and transport the real Pantheon from Rome, Italy, orders the building of a new church in Paris. This new building is christened the Panthéon since the French dislike the idea of anything of cultural significance being created that they did not in fact create.

While the Panthéon has rarely ever been used as a church, its primary purpose is as a burial mound for the world's most important humans. Strikingly, these people all tend to be French. Since the French put such a strong emphasis on equality among men and women, there is even a token woman, Marie Curie, buried here. For those that do not recognize her, she is most famous for scientifically proving that you can die from radiation poisoning.

So off to the Panthéon I go.

1. The author makes no claims as to the validity of this lesson. In fact, if questioned, the author will vigorously deny even writing this posting.

Like a rat in a maze

Generally I pride myself on my sense of direction and my ability to get from point A to point B without significant delay or difficulty. Luckily, this pride is still intact due to the fact that I actually have no plans or need to get to a specific point at a specific time. I have taken the approach that anywhere that I find myself is exactly where I wanted to be, otherwise, I fear that manly pride would be in tatters.

To be fair, I have wandered around areas that are not all considered tourist areas and I have attempted to stay off of the major roadways as much as possible. Much of my travels have revolved around the 15th arrondissement. Arrondissement is the fancy French word for section. There are 20 sections of Paris and I have walked through a considerable portion of the 15th, 7th, 1st, 6th, 5th, 8th, 2nd, and 9th. Much of the time is spent trying to find my apartment.

Going somewhere has been rather easy. As I have already stated, if I try to get somewhere and end up somewhere else, ok, it must be god's plan. The difficulty arises when attempting to coming home. On three consecutive days, what should have taken no more than 30 minutes to return home have led to at least 1 1/2 hour journeys.

The problem is that Paris is a giant maze. Most streets are narrow with buildings uniformly five to six stories high without any breaks between buildings; you can not see any landmarks, the sun, or other streets. There is no such thing in Paris as a yard. I have found that taking a side street as a short-cut is only a wise approach if you wish to extend your walk. Nicole tells me that even Parisian walk around the city with a guide book. This is probably not true, but bless her heart for trying.

If I could start the week over, I would not change a thing. This is how you learn a new city and I would have missed a ton of small parks and those quirky little things that make a place unique.

I feel like Speedy Gonzales

Since arriving in Paris I have spent most of my time walking. Walking up and down streets, gardens, and around places of interest. Note that I have not actually entered any places of interest other than gardens. One thing that I find funny is that here in Paris, I am an exceptionally fast walker. Those that know my walking style will find this difficult to believe. If asked to describe my mobility, I think I would say that for a man of my size, I am deceptively slow. Perhaps an example is warranted.

Earlier this year in Gainesville while walking by a group of big beautiful Nubian princesses, they turned toward me and one spoke to me in a deep southern drawl. She said, "You sure are the slowest white boy I have ever seen!" I replied with the best come hither smile I could generate, "My pace allows me the most time possible to gaze at beautiful women." (Well, something to that effect.) Predictably, her response can be best summarized as "Not a chance". In my defense, I was only walking at two-thirds my normal speed, but I think you can get the picture.

So I feel like Speedy Gonzales here in Paris because everyone else moves so slowly. I can understand the tourist since they do not seem to know where they want to go or how to get there if they did. What is up with the French? My first hypothesis is that they are attempting to conserve energy. Why you ask? To avoid having to eat the food.

My first week in Paris

My basic plan for the week is to walk the city and get a good overview of its layout and architecture. I do not expect to enter any of the monuments or museums yet. I will also get comfortable with the bus lines and subway system.

Today is Bastille day, a national holiday. Parades, speeches, and fireworks. I intend to avoid them. I thought it might be nice to visit Bastille, but Nicole assures me that nothing is left of the prison. Hmmm, Who know?

Time for a walk.

Entering Paris

Arrived in Paris last night around 7pm. Since it was early, we decided to drive around so that I could get a quick look at the City of Lights.

First, I would like to say that overall my sister is a good driver. I am generally a nervous passenger since I always drive and because I am a better driver than everyone else. How do I know this? Ask me, I will tell you so. No, this is not a control issue - I swear on my mother's grave. So the driving until now has been good. Things changed in Paris. I watched with growing anxiety as my sister turned from a reasonably safe passive (though left-lane hog) driver into an obvious extra driver for Death Race 2000. I think it took only about 45 minutes to drive by every monument and museum in Paris worth seeing, but I am not positive. About fifteen minutes in I started having vision problems and head pain. It took me a few more minutes to recall that what I was experiencing is called a headache. Seems my ex-wife had co-opted my headaches years ago and used them for what I can only describe as nefarious purposes when she was not able to generate her own. I may be getting off track ... anyway, the ride was great fun and I am happy that it ended without any serious injuries.

I would like to make a suggestion to the French traffic police. I suggest that once a month, a driver of a car be allowed, without any repercussions, to open their window and tip over a person on a motorbike or scooter. These people are deserving of much worse. For example, during our foray around Paris a man on a motorcycle started hammering his horn because we were blocking him from continuing down the street. He happened to be driving on the sidewalk and had the misfortune of being blocked by inconsiderate pedestrians. We were blocking his passage due to a red light that for some reason Nicole was obeying. I rolled down my window in case he passed us on the right but he decided to cut off the car behind us and veer into oncoming traffic so that he could get in front of us. I begged Nicole to take him out but she was too busy muttering about stupid American tourists and counting how many points she could earn at the next intersection to pay any heed to me.