Monday, January 8, 2007
Seahawks to Chicago
Well, darn... It's too early for the US websites to be updated with much information and commentary but I liked our chances better in New Orleans. But what do I know? These guys are never dull and hopefully, it will be a good game. And it will start before I go to bed next Sunday--whether I want to keep my eyes on the computer to watch the progress is another thing... I bet there are expat "tailgating" parties somewhere in the city but then I'd have to be social. Probably won't happen...
Sunday, January 7, 2007
Weekend Sights
On Saturday morning (yesterday), outside my windows confirmed that it continued to be cold, gray, and wet (off and on). But each day when I get bundled up and outside mixed up with all the others, it doesn’t seem so bad and I smile. I’m in Paris.I headed for one of the more thought-provoking sights in the city—one well hidden unless you know where or want to find it. It’s the Deportation Memorial and is located on the eastern tip of the Ile de la Cite across a small street behind Notre-Dame beneath a quiet non-descriptive park overlooking the Seine. The city's morgue once stood here so apparently it is a cursed site and appropriate for this monument. The Memorial is dedicated to the French victims of the Nazi concentration camps (1940-1945); and I have visited it several times before because I should. Today I was all alone except for the guard at the top of the stairs who checked my sac.
As you walk down the steps, the feeling is of entering your own prison—walls surround you, the city is no more, and your only view is of a piece of sky and a few ripples on the Seine behind the bars…nothing else. Inside the hexagonal-shaped chamber (like the Star of David) is a hallway lined with 200,000 lighted crystals signifying the French who died; an eternal flame of hope at the far end of the hallway; and the tomb of the unknown deportee at your feet. Above the door: “Dedicated to the living memory of the 200,000 French deportees sleeping in the night and the fog, exterminated in the Nazi concentration camps.” Tiny side rooms are filled with triangles, which are reminiscent of the ID patches that prisoners were forced to wear—one for Jews, one for professional criminals, one for homosexuals, etc. Chiseled in the stone walls are the names of all the Nazi camps and of course the message, “Forgive, but not forget.”
Today was sunny but colder. Additionally, since it is the first Sunday of the month, many museums offer free admission. Everyone, of course, heads to the Louvre, the d’Orsay, the Rodin—I headed for the Cluny, which is the national museum of the Middle Ages located on the Left Bank not far from the Sorbonne (university area). Frankly, I didn’t expect to like it—thought it would be dark and boring. But I was wrong and I found it very interesting—the flow of the rooms leaves something to be desired but each room is elegantly displayed. 
The outer walls of this mansion, originally a hotel providing accommodations for prelates from the abbey of Cluny in Burgundy, protect the remains of Gallo-Roman baths; and in fact, one huge room is the largest Roman vault in France with a 40-foot-high ceiling. One small room displays stained glass panes so close you can nearly leave your nose print. Another has all 21 original stone heads of the Biblical kings of Judah that once decorated the front of Notre-Dame (the current ones are reconstructions). In 1793, a mob of Revolutionaries mistook them for the kings of France and lopped off their heads. But someone quietly buried them in his backyard from where they were subsequently dug up in 1977 by construction workers. The other works of art for which this museum is famous—The Lady and the Unicorn Tapestries. The designer of these six tapestries is unknown (probably French, they say…or hope); they were woven in Belgium out of wool and silk before 1500 AD. Each one of the five deals with each of the five senses (taste, hearing, sight, smell, and touch); the sixth one hints at human sensuality and the awakening of the Renaissance from the dark ages. Not one to even glance at tapestries, I found these to be light, bright, close enough to study, and very, very detailed. 
The only problem with today…. I lost the memory card out of my camera. At some point, I was trying to get my camera out of my purse and it stuck. I pulled and the battery door came open. I noticed the battery in there and was more worried about the door being damaged. I proceeded to take some pictures until the camera told me that my internal memory was full. Huh? That’s when I started searching—but to no avail. It obviously flew out when I tugged on the camera. Fortunately, I have another memory card; I upload my pictures every night; it wasn’t my passport, my credit card, or my cash. It was a lesson to pay attention and also not to obsess, as I tend to do. Let’s hope this is my last “lesson” for the trip.
Answers to Your Questions
This morning while doing some laundry, I’ll answer some of your questions. (Each of these combination washer/dryer machines are a little different so I had to pore over the directions before beginning. How badly can I screw up towels, though…?)
Yes, I am having a great time; and I really like the apartment. It's bright and one of the two heaters seems to be enough to keep me warm. Since the three double windows look down into a courtyard, I don’t hear any traffic noise; and the neighbors, if any, are quiet. I’m thinking now that the unit above me is another rental and some Americans checked in yesterday afternoon. How do I know they’re Americans? Because they made a lot of noise lugging stuff up the stairs (60 steps for them to the fourth floor) and I heard a distinctively American feminine accent lament, “I brought too much stuff…” Definitely Americans.
No, I have not started a morning café routine at this time. I have stumbled across three Starbucks stores, which makes five that I’m aware of and I have not stopped in any of those. (In fact, I have not returned to the Café au Marche where I met the young man on my first day—don’t know what came over me—must’ve been jet lag.) Because I seem to be staying up so late and since the sun currently does not rise until 8:42, I have had trouble getting out of bed. Additionally, I’m trying to be a good neighbor (to the lady living below) by not hopping in the shower so early. That must change, however; I want to watch my neighborhood wake up—I think there’s a market in the mornings.
Yes, I’m feeling better although my throat is still a little sore. Despite that, last night while the housekeeper was here (every Saturday from 6-8 PM), I walked many miles around the city. I love walking at night because buildings that you would never notice during the day are lit up and so, so very fancy. One couple stopped me along the Seine to ask a question while pointing at one of these beautiful monuments. As they started to speak, I explained (en francais) that I don’t speak French very well—they were actually Italian, and didn’t speak French or English! But I was able to explain that the beautiful golden dome glowing in the distance was Invalides, Napoleon’s tomb. The lady thought I mean Napoleon’s house (villa? she said) and I had a very tough time trying to explain that it was his tomb—not his house nor the place he died. This after I pretended to slash my throat and die. After all our charades, I don’t think I ever got it across to them; but they were sweet, we laughed a lot, and it was a great unplanned moment. Finally, we all gave up and continued on our ways. (Picture is of my favorite bridge, Pont Alexandre III with Hotel des Invalides in the background.)
No, French people are not rude. Anytime I say that I’m going to France, most people make that comment--even the guy at my post office in Houston when I told him on December 30th that I would be gone for 10 weeks. When I explained to him that French people are not nearly as outgoing as we are—in fact, many Europeans actually consider our friendliness and chattiness phony, which is many cases it is—he concurred that, being from Chicago, he’s often put off by Houstonians asking him how he is when he knows they really don't care. We laughed about being Yankees, which many of the people I’ve met in the South consider the ultimate insult.
So when in Rome….I mean, Paris… Typically, you don’t smile or speak to strangers on the street or chat up the service people as we do in parts of the US. You don’t expect to learn all about their family, their jobs, their home, etc. within the first minutes of speaking to them and you also don’t give them a run-down on your life as we tend to do in Houston. In fact, they may think you’re senile when walking down the street smiling and nodding at everyone!
However, I have never had a problem (so far). Everyone is pleasant to me and when I speak their language, they are patient. I let them take the lead—if they catch my eye and smile or say, “Bonjour,” then I do the same. However, the other night when cutting through one of my local parks, an older gentleman sitting on a bench smiled and said “Bonsoir” (good evening) before I had hardly glanced at him. I, of course, taken off guard and distracted by the various conversations going on among the Parisians around me thought he said “Ca va?” (familiar {versus formal} how are you?—which really made no sense at all, knowing what I just explained to you above) and I replied, not missing a pace in my brisk stroll, “Ca va” (familiar I am OK). I hope his hearing was as bad as mine…
Yes, I am having a great time; and I really like the apartment. It's bright and one of the two heaters seems to be enough to keep me warm. Since the three double windows look down into a courtyard, I don’t hear any traffic noise; and the neighbors, if any, are quiet. I’m thinking now that the unit above me is another rental and some Americans checked in yesterday afternoon. How do I know they’re Americans? Because they made a lot of noise lugging stuff up the stairs (60 steps for them to the fourth floor) and I heard a distinctively American feminine accent lament, “I brought too much stuff…” Definitely Americans.
No, I have not started a morning café routine at this time. I have stumbled across three Starbucks stores, which makes five that I’m aware of and I have not stopped in any of those. (In fact, I have not returned to the Café au Marche where I met the young man on my first day—don’t know what came over me—must’ve been jet lag.) Because I seem to be staying up so late and since the sun currently does not rise until 8:42, I have had trouble getting out of bed. Additionally, I’m trying to be a good neighbor (to the lady living below) by not hopping in the shower so early. That must change, however; I want to watch my neighborhood wake up—I think there’s a market in the mornings.
Yes, I’m feeling better although my throat is still a little sore. Despite that, last night while the housekeeper was here (every Saturday from 6-8 PM), I walked many miles around the city. I love walking at night because buildings that you would never notice during the day are lit up and so, so very fancy. One couple stopped me along the Seine to ask a question while pointing at one of these beautiful monuments. As they started to speak, I explained (en francais) that I don’t speak French very well—they were actually Italian, and didn’t speak French or English! But I was able to explain that the beautiful golden dome glowing in the distance was Invalides, Napoleon’s tomb. The lady thought I mean Napoleon’s house (villa? she said) and I had a very tough time trying to explain that it was his tomb—not his house nor the place he died. This after I pretended to slash my throat and die. After all our charades, I don’t think I ever got it across to them; but they were sweet, we laughed a lot, and it was a great unplanned moment. Finally, we all gave up and continued on our ways. (Picture is of my favorite bridge, Pont Alexandre III with Hotel des Invalides in the background.)
No, French people are not rude. Anytime I say that I’m going to France, most people make that comment--even the guy at my post office in Houston when I told him on December 30th that I would be gone for 10 weeks. When I explained to him that French people are not nearly as outgoing as we are—in fact, many Europeans actually consider our friendliness and chattiness phony, which is many cases it is—he concurred that, being from Chicago, he’s often put off by Houstonians asking him how he is when he knows they really don't care. We laughed about being Yankees, which many of the people I’ve met in the South consider the ultimate insult.So when in Rome….I mean, Paris… Typically, you don’t smile or speak to strangers on the street or chat up the service people as we do in parts of the US. You don’t expect to learn all about their family, their jobs, their home, etc. within the first minutes of speaking to them and you also don’t give them a run-down on your life as we tend to do in Houston. In fact, they may think you’re senile when walking down the street smiling and nodding at everyone!
However, I have never had a problem (so far). Everyone is pleasant to me and when I speak their language, they are patient. I let them take the lead—if they catch my eye and smile or say, “Bonjour,” then I do the same. However, the other night when cutting through one of my local parks, an older gentleman sitting on a bench smiled and said “Bonsoir” (good evening) before I had hardly glanced at him. I, of course, taken off guard and distracted by the various conversations going on among the Parisians around me thought he said “Ca va?” (familiar {versus formal} how are you?—which really made no sense at all, knowing what I just explained to you above) and I replied, not missing a pace in my brisk stroll, “Ca va” (familiar I am OK). I hope his hearing was as bad as mine…
Seahawks and Luck
Oh my GOD! First thing I did this morning when I woke up was run--OK, so there's not much room to run in this apartment--to the computer to find out the outcome of the Seahawks/Cowboys game. (I actually dreamt last night that the score was 30-6, Seahawks...) I also had emails from both my daughter and my sister giving me the details; thank you very much for thinking of me. Even Karlee knows to yell "Go Seahawks"--since there's no reason to yell "Go Raiders" anymore.... Sorry, Doug...
Tomorrow I will be running to the computer hoping that the Giants beat the Eagles (so we play in NO instead of Chicago next week). I really like my guy, Tiki Barber, so I would be rooting for the Giants anyway. GO SEAHAWKS! Now I can enjoy my cup of tea and my pain au chocolat (croissant filled with two bars of chocolate) that I picked up yesterday at the local boulangerie while reading what everyone has to say about the game.
Tomorrow I will be running to the computer hoping that the Giants beat the Eagles (so we play in NO instead of Chicago next week). I really like my guy, Tiki Barber, so I would be rooting for the Giants anyway. GO SEAHAWKS! Now I can enjoy my cup of tea and my pain au chocolat (croissant filled with two bars of chocolate) that I picked up yesterday at the local boulangerie while reading what everyone has to say about the game.
Friday, January 5, 2007
Henry IV - "Paris is well worth a Mass."
Well, it wasn’t a mass but it was something I didn’t want to miss. And despite my little sore throat (I think I’m better now--thank you, Tylenol Cold), we knew I couldn’t sit still for long. On the first Friday of the month (and every Friday during Lent), Notre-Dame presents the Relics of the Passion at 3:00 PM. These relics include a piece of the Cross of Christ discovered in Jerusalem by Helen, mother of the Emperor Constantine; a nail of the Passion; and a portion of the Crown of Thorns. The Crown kept in Notre-Dame is a band of woven rushes, about 8 ½ inches in diameter, into which long and harsh thorns had been stuck. Over the centuries, the thorns and portions of the crown have been scattered to as many as 13 places around Belgium, France, Germany, Italy, Spain and the UK.A procession of 15-20 priests and holy people marched the relics down the central aisle to the altar proceeded by the priest swinging the incense (forgive my lack of knowledge about the ceremony). I had secured an aisle seat and could have touched the relics as they passed by. Thus, I could’ve gotten a terrific picture but after taking the one of the priests marching towards me, an usher asked me to stop (despite the flashes from other cameras all around me—at least I had the decency to turn off the flash).
Following a short prayer service, each row was allowed to file up to the altar in an orderly fashion. In fact, they stationed some of the priests next to my row (a break in the chairs) to be sure that no one bolted ahead of those of us patiently waiting in the center rows. I was in the last row of a section of about 25 and it was taking a long time….I couldn’t see what was happening at the altar but I begin to think they were handing out communion. Oh no, since I’m Methodist …. well, I don’t believe I’m supposed to take communion in a Catholic church. However, I’ve done it twice in the Vatican and I believe that God loves even Methodists and forgives us for breaking this rule. So I decided to march up there when it was my turn and deal with any thunderbolts if they struck.
As it turned out, there was no communion; each priest took turns holding the crown on a red velvet pillow for a certain length of time. It was encased in a glass container decorated with three turquoise seals surrounded by gold. Worshippers bowed before the crown and then kissed it; priests on both sides of the crown-holder alternately
wiped the germs off the case after each kiss; other priests handed out clean cloths after a certain amount of kisses were wiped away.
As it turned out, there was no communion; each priest took turns holding the crown on a red velvet pillow for a certain length of time. It was encased in a glass container decorated with three turquoise seals surrounded by gold. Worshippers bowed before the crown and then kissed it; priests on both sides of the crown-holder alternately
wiped the germs off the case after each kiss; other priests handed out clean cloths after a certain amount of kisses were wiped away. It was finally my turn—I bowed, leaned to kiss the crown, and MISSED!!! But it was just as well—why give my cold to someone else and/or take the chance of getting something worse. I just pretended that that’s what I planned to do all along and turned and walked back down the aisle. I am such a dork sometimes… When I walked back around up a side aisle to observe some of the others, I noticed one young man step forward, look at it, and turn to the side to return to his seat. So I guess I didn’t need to pretend that I was something that I’m not. Again, God loves and forgives all dorks…
Health/Technical Issues/Observations
I am taking it easy today since I woke up around 4:30 with a sore throat. I'm not surprised since I’ve been bruler la chandelle par les deux bouts (burning the candle at both ends). We all know that I don’t eat well and yesterday, after only about six hours of sleep, I bundled up against the cold; got wet from a few sprinkles; was hot and cold from getting on and off the Metro; and walked, walked, and walked. I must get past the idea that I have to do everything in five days—I am here for another nine weeks, for Pete’s sake. Plus I haven’t even explored all the books, appliances, instructions, etc. here in the apartment.
I got up at 6:30 yesterday morning so I could see what time the sun comes up. (The skies finally began lightening up around 8:30.) 6:30 is very late for me in Houston but I am adjusting my days to the French lifestyle. (The guy upstairs {hmmm, why do I assume it’s a guy?} doesn’t get home until around midnight; and Adrian, my landlady, called at 8:30 PM one night to have dinner with her and my neighbor, Pascal—I asked for a rain check.) I try to stay inside until my hair dries but I also like to get out there and get going.
I found the closest Monoprix (cheaper grocery and general merchandise) yesterday—definitely less expensive than the local market I shopped at a couple of days ago—and took my time surveying all the shelves, merchandise, and prices. Since I didn’t plan to grocery shop when I left the apartment, I didn’t have my market basket on wheels. Therefore, I didn’t buy more than two bags—remember the 48 steps….
I then took a long Metro ride to La Defense, where there’s a huge shopping center and a Wal-Mart-type store that I’d read about and wanted to explore. My sister and I stopped at the mall in September when we toured the La Grande Arche. Auchan is enormous; the prices look good; it will require a field trip and a serious shopping list the next time I need stuff.
A note about my technical challenges and issues: I created my email account on the laptop and tested sending and receiving before I left Houston. Here at the Paris apartment, either plugged into the cable or wireless, I can only receive email on Outlook—I can not respond or send email from Outlook (message is “None of your email accounts could send to this recipient.”). So I use Houston Road Runner webmail to send and reply to messages, which is a pain because I have to type in the email address each time. Plus if I want the original message to appear in the email, I must copy and paste it into the email on webmail. Someone out there probably knows how to fix this—or it could be that Time Warner knew what they were talking about when I asked how to read and send email from France. “Use webmail.” This morning I discovered another “pain:” By the time I finished composing my message en francais to my tutor about our rendezvous next week, the session had timed out. #$$#*@
Google loads in English; blogspot (my blog host) loads in French. Some of the pop-ups on the US websites that I access are in French; some are in English. I wanted to watch the only regular show I watch in Houston (Friday Night Lights) on http://www.nbc.com/. It told me that the video wasn’t available from my location. I do have a TV in the apartment; it gets many stations, only one in English, Britain’s Sky News…which repeats and repeats as if you were watching in an airport, of course. I also have a DVD but Suz was correct—I won’t be able to watch my copy of "The DaVinci Code" that I brought from home.
The reason I decided to create a blog documenting my Paris adventure: I didn’t want to spend time repeating all my happenings and thoughts in emails to my numerous pen pals. The blog also allows me to post pictures, which again, I didn’t want to post in individual emails. This has turned out to be a good thing considering my issues with email.
A post script regarding the plight of the homeless: Yesterday, while waiting for the holiday lights to come on along the Champs-Elysees (they didn’t), I saw a barefooted man huddled under an old quilt slowly plodding up the Champs toward the Arc de Triomphe. Even in Houston where the weather varies between mild and ferociously hot, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a homeless person barefooted. And to see him on the Champs among all the stylishness and elegance (me excepted..)…very sad.
I got up at 6:30 yesterday morning so I could see what time the sun comes up. (The skies finally began lightening up around 8:30.) 6:30 is very late for me in Houston but I am adjusting my days to the French lifestyle. (The guy upstairs {hmmm, why do I assume it’s a guy?} doesn’t get home until around midnight; and Adrian, my landlady, called at 8:30 PM one night to have dinner with her and my neighbor, Pascal—I asked for a rain check.) I try to stay inside until my hair dries but I also like to get out there and get going.
I found the closest Monoprix (cheaper grocery and general merchandise) yesterday—definitely less expensive than the local market I shopped at a couple of days ago—and took my time surveying all the shelves, merchandise, and prices. Since I didn’t plan to grocery shop when I left the apartment, I didn’t have my market basket on wheels. Therefore, I didn’t buy more than two bags—remember the 48 steps….
I then took a long Metro ride to La Defense, where there’s a huge shopping center and a Wal-Mart-type store that I’d read about and wanted to explore. My sister and I stopped at the mall in September when we toured the La Grande Arche. Auchan is enormous; the prices look good; it will require a field trip and a serious shopping list the next time I need stuff.
A note about my technical challenges and issues: I created my email account on the laptop and tested sending and receiving before I left Houston. Here at the Paris apartment, either plugged into the cable or wireless, I can only receive email on Outlook—I can not respond or send email from Outlook (message is “None of your email accounts could send to this recipient.”). So I use Houston Road Runner webmail to send and reply to messages, which is a pain because I have to type in the email address each time. Plus if I want the original message to appear in the email, I must copy and paste it into the email on webmail. Someone out there probably knows how to fix this—or it could be that Time Warner knew what they were talking about when I asked how to read and send email from France. “Use webmail.” This morning I discovered another “pain:” By the time I finished composing my message en francais to my tutor about our rendezvous next week, the session had timed out. #$$#*@
Google loads in English; blogspot (my blog host) loads in French. Some of the pop-ups on the US websites that I access are in French; some are in English. I wanted to watch the only regular show I watch in Houston (Friday Night Lights) on http://www.nbc.com/. It told me that the video wasn’t available from my location. I do have a TV in the apartment; it gets many stations, only one in English, Britain’s Sky News…which repeats and repeats as if you were watching in an airport, of course. I also have a DVD but Suz was correct—I won’t be able to watch my copy of "The DaVinci Code" that I brought from home.
The reason I decided to create a blog documenting my Paris adventure: I didn’t want to spend time repeating all my happenings and thoughts in emails to my numerous pen pals. The blog also allows me to post pictures, which again, I didn’t want to post in individual emails. This has turned out to be a good thing considering my issues with email.
A post script regarding the plight of the homeless: Yesterday, while waiting for the holiday lights to come on along the Champs-Elysees (they didn’t), I saw a barefooted man huddled under an old quilt slowly plodding up the Champs toward the Arc de Triomphe. Even in Houston where the weather varies between mild and ferociously hot, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a homeless person barefooted. And to see him on the Champs among all the stylishness and elegance (me excepted..)…very sad.
Thursday, January 4, 2007
Everybody has a Twin?
Did you see the story on "twins" a couple of weeks ago on NBC's Today Show? (Sorry, most of you were working...) Anyway, a photographer found people who were not related but looked so much alike that they could've been twins. And the pictures were pretty intriguing. Well, I've seen the following "twins" in just the last couple of days:
1) Ugly Betty (America Ferrera)
2) Suz's mom on the Metro
3) Jerry Yares, Sam's buddy on the 2000 Rick Steves' tour
4) Pete Doherty walking down the Champs-Elysees with a girl--who wasn't Kate Moss--but then maybe it WAS Pete Doherty....
5) Starbuck's John
6) TO--oh my God! What's Terrell Owen's doing in Paris?? He should be practicing his pouting when the Seahawks shut him down on Saturday!! GO SEAHAWKS!!!
1) Ugly Betty (America Ferrera)
2) Suz's mom on the Metro
3) Jerry Yares, Sam's buddy on the 2000 Rick Steves' tour
4) Pete Doherty walking down the Champs-Elysees with a girl--who wasn't Kate Moss--but then maybe it WAS Pete Doherty....
5) Starbuck's John
6) TO--oh my God! What's Terrell Owen's doing in Paris?? He should be practicing his pouting when the Seahawks shut him down on Saturday!! GO SEAHAWKS!!!
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