Cooling Our Heals
Cooling Our Heals…Parc Charmont, Seine, and Amien
Yesterday we returned from mid sized town about 80 miles due north of Paris. We were in search of the quiet floral pathways called Les Hortillonnages, a riverboat market, and France’s largest cathedral. The cathedral was as advertised, gigantic and fortunately for us came with an organ concert. But I have to tell you, after you have seen 10 or so large cathedrals with stained glass windows, true vaulted ceilings, and golden alters, you become less enthralled. While “relaxing” on these little wooden chairs which really sets the stage upon how small we really are, throngs of middle and high school kids came down the church aisles like a pack of well fed wolves looking for mischief. The leaders, middle aged women, had those darting eyes, alert for transgressions. Their sloped shoulders and tired posture though said, “Lord let me get through this.” I said a silent prayer for them.
The riverboat market was rather disappointing. Apparently once a year this market is supplied by the growers from their small river boats coming into town from the fields outside of town. People dress up, there is music, completing the reenactment of hundred of years of history. Today there was 50 yards of nice produce support by Peugeot, Renault, and middle eastern gazole (diesel).
As we aimlessly walked around a lovely park, we considered an early exit from this town. Suddenly two paths converged at a small bridge. A gentleman and his dog appeared. The dog kept repeating a cycle of barking and lunging, and cowering and hiding behind the man. He stopped and asked in broken English if we were tourists. We said yes, which sparked a lively conversation between Gayle and Jean-Luc in FrenGlish. We told him we were staying in Paris and he told us that Paris is not France. It is for the monuments and museums but does not represent this country. Amiens I am certain does!
This mini trip would have been a bust had it not been for the Les Hortillonnages. These are 600 acres of very controlled wet lands that were set aside for the production of vegetables for the town. Today, its riddled with tiny canals and dotted with huts where the people come on weekends to play farmer and then return during the week to the real France! (the owners also play an important role of protecting and preserving this beautiful area) It’s funny, if you visit Versaille, you will learn that the king had a second place built on the grounds so he could get away from all the pomp and circumstance. Then Marie Antionette had a tiny peasant hamlet, complete with servants dressed as peasants, built so she could get in touch of her roots. There were long roots!
For ten euros, we were treated to a 45 minute cruise down what seemed to us a French Bayou. Our guide, shown in one of our pictures, chatted amiably (in French) the entire trip about the history of the Hortillonnages, calling out to friends tending their vegetables and yards along the way. Every once in a while, everyone would chirp out an affirmative. Once I was a bit late and exclaimed “Oui” to one of his statements. The boat chuckled, knowing of course that I don’t understand a word and that the boatman had just said. “I am thinking we should leave these American tourists on one of these islands, what do you think?”
The pictures below, include Parc des Buttes-Chaumont and portions of a romantic evening on the Seine. With the dollar situation, this means, a fair (read, inexpensive) bottle of bordeaux, some bread and cheese, all topped off with cheap Gyros from the Latin Quarter. This is Bob and Gayle getting back in touch with their roots!
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Evening with Jacqueline
Evening with Jacqueline
Jacqueline is our very hospitable and gracious apartment manager. She is the one that came to our rescue when our apartment key did not work. Unfortunately we were so jet lagged that we forgot that we had a second set, which did!
Jacqueline lives a dozen or so Metro stops away in a region called Belleville. It’s a complex enclave of literally dozens of nationalities living in harmony. She recalled a visit to Belleville to meet a friend. She looked around at a few of the tired old buildings, the many colored faces, and told herself that se was glad that she doesn’t live there! Voila, now she does and she thinks it’s grand!
Jacqueline is a French National, who married an American and lived in America for 35 years. When she retired, she decided to return to her beloved Paris and start a new life here. She told us she never felt completely comfortable in America. Something was missing that only France could fill. I suspect that everyone who leaves his or her home country to live abroad feels that way, always a stranger in a strange land.
She had delightful stories to share with us in her roomy studio apartment with an unobstructed, distant view of the Eiffel Tower. I asked her if she gets lots of visitors living in France. She said yes, chuckled and told us the story of a young American girl, let’s call her “Sarah”, who had a pen-pal in France. Sarah had saved up enough money to visit her friend, who turned out to live in a village so small that it barely has a cross street. Sarah hated it. Unknown to Jacqueline, her son who lives in San Francisco and knows Sarah, told Sarah that if she had a problem to call Jacqueline. So, Jacqueline gets an evening phone call from young Sarah, huddle in a corner of the Paris train station telling her that she was to call her if she needed help! Who is this girl and why is she calling me? Am I the American Embassy? Later, her son, recalls telling Sarah about Jacqueline and the “Offer”. His explanation: “I guess I forgot to tell you, mother!”
Because of the high tax rate, France has evolved a strong cultural bias to gray market deals. Many folks work with money being passed around beneath the table. Vendors for example are licensed but a large pool of vendors that set up shop at the steamy edges of markets and sell illegally. Technology has caused this need for something-for-nearly-nothing to become big business. Jacqueline told us about an acquaintance who heard about a service that could provide you with cable TV access for almost nothing. The service turned out to be “nothing.” So when he called his cable company and asked to be reinstated, they said fine but there would be a delay. Three months later he could watch the latest version of Paris Survivor! Jacqueline calls this “Punishment.”
Today Jacqueline just got hooked up to a very inexpensive, local phone service using the internet. While we were there, her landline France Telcom phone started ringing and then her new internet phone started ringing. She was running from room to room “Allo, Allo” to both phones. She hopes to disconnect the landline phone but is rightfully concerned over the possibilities of “Punishment” if the new technology doesn’t work!
Sunday, Ralph, Cindy, and Hanna (our Associate Pastor and family), arrive for a whirlwind three day touring visit. We told this to Jacqueline and she laughed and said that Monday should be an interesting day. You see, Sunday is a holiday called “Pentecost”. Historically, the French take off the Monday following the holiday if it falls on a weekend. The French truly enjoy their free time. They have a 35 hour work week, loads of holidays, and generous vacations.
A couple of years ago a terrible heat wave that hit the city. Several thousand poor elder residents died during that miserable summer. There was a huge outcry over the plight of their seniors. You see car registration was started recently to fund support for this class alone! The money unfortunately got spent elsewhere! We’ve all heard that before!
Nonetheless, the French people would not let it go. Several highly appointed politicians were politically guillotined but still the people where not satisfied. Finally a policy was put forward and overwhelmingly approved by all that starting this May Day, that the working French would not take off on May Day Monday and that all the money saved would be used to support the elderly. What an intriguing idea, so un-American in concept.
Well, last year the temperatures were very cool here and the French excitement over the 2005 May Day vacation take back has become cool too. People are saying, “it’s not necessary to do this”, “the old are going to die anyway.” So no one knows what will truly happen until it happens! I just hope the city leaders of Sequim don’t get the idea to take away our Thanksgiving or Labor Day to build another traffic circle, to help the poor elderly people in Sequim get around!
Meeting with Jacqueline in her home was certainly the high point of our day and quite possibly our week!
I have included some pictures from our trip to Giverny home of Monet’s gardens. Also, I extracted some pictures that were taken by Dave and Linda as they explored this beautiful city!
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Dave and Linda Pics
Robbery and Skirmish, Americans 1, French Thieves 0!
Robbery and Skirmish, Americans 1, French Thieves 0!
A not so funny event happened on my way to the Orsay museum yesterday. I got robbed. I decided to take some time off from the crowds, do a few chores, wash some socks, and read a good book. Currently, I am reading “Charm School” a novel set in cold war Russia with spies, intrigue, black market, and KGB thugs. In the first 50 pages the American “good guy” gets robbed and beaten! Humm….
Gayle decided to met Dave and Linda for trips to the Eiffel Tower, Arc de Triomphe and the Orsay museum.
I decided I would meet them at 2:30pm near Manet’s painting, which started the Impressionistic movement. I left in plenty of time but unfortunately the metro I took broke down two times. The second time, to the groans of a car full of locals, came an announcement to the effect that this train is stuck and not going anywhere. Sometimes you don’t need to understand the language to know the meaning.
After changing lines a few times, I decide to take the RER train, which supports the Paris suburbs and happens to stops right at the Orsay. The train was jammed. I could have been in Tokyo, except the guys with the uniforms and white gloves were not there pushing everyone into the cars. Since I only had to go one stop, I smartly, stayed by the door, my hand over my wallet.
We swayed as the train moved out like some kind giant South Seas anemone. Gee if only Nemo was there to help me! Guess what, when we got to the Orsay platform, the train doors opened on the other side of the car! I was forced to “pardon” and part my way across the car. I took one small step, when I felt a something brush my front pocket. I reached back and touched, but I knew my wallet was gone!
Turning around, there were two guys. I immediately shouted and moved till I towered over them, “Give me back my wallet…!” There might have been a few additional universal adjectives and expletives added. I quickly scanned them and saw my wallet in one of their hands. I grabbed for it. In the process, my wallet fell on the floor. A scuffle broke out, moi recovering an illegal fumble, and they trying to pull me off and kick me at the same time. There are times that American football really beats soccer.
Poor Rick Steve’s took most of the abuse as they kept hitting my pack filled with tour books, umbrellas, water bottle, and a double package of molefoam. I never go anywhere without my molefoam. The added cushioning in these situations can make all the difference.
I awkwardly exited the car, checked out my wallet and found all accounted for. The two French thieves were shouting angry insults from the now mysteriously empty train car. I extracted 100 euro from my wallet and gracefully bowed waving the money and wallet as they chugged away. I love it when the good guy wins!
The Orsay, the world greatest collection of impressionistic art, was fantastic as always. Monet, Renior, Pissaro, Degas, Mary Cassett, Van Gogh, what better way to bring you back into the light.
Today we help Dave and Linda prepare for their journey into the countryside, and later this evening we have been invited to the home of Jacqueline for drinks. She is the wonderful friend of Marilee (our apt. owner) who rescued us when we first arrived and our keys wouldn’t open the door, and has been our “go to person” when other small apartment glitches came up. What a treat! Then tomorrow we leave for Giverny, Monet’s home, to see the real lily pond and bridge.
PS: We’ve elevated our security measures to Devcon 2. I am in this cold war mode!
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Pics for last blog entry
Hi,
I have put pictures for the last blog entry. We've been real busy lately doing the town with Linda and Dave and making sure we do all the we must do! Comments seem to be drifting way from the blog. I looks as though interested has abated on it!
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Reawakening
Reawakening
I am always amazed at the power of seeing the world through the eyes of a child. We toured Notre Dame, the Pompidou Center, and the Latin Quarter with our American friends Dave and Linda. Being with them made our world reawaken to the wonder of Paris as it was for us a mere 3 weeks ago. “Wow look at those flying buttresses!”, “Do you see that building, the architecture, the iron work, how old do you suppose it is?”, “Man those stain glass windows take your breath away!”, “It’s crowded here, not like Sequim!”. It’s not of course that D/L are children, it’s just that their fresh enthusiasm, new prospective, wrapped in the fun of escorting them with loving care, makes this a special time.
Later that evening, Gayle and I snuck away to our special blogger update park. It was a bit weird as we sat there under a tree laptop on lap, with dozens of French children running about, while we sipped chardonnay, and researched what’s happening on Survivor, Apprentice, and the Amazing Race. As you can tell, we are starved for “hard news” regarding our homeland.
We then walked back to the Pompidou center where there are street performers putting on shows. We found a smart looking black performer, standing behind a tiny table, working within a fabric enshrouded box. A group of 40 or so families stood watching. Every so often he would hold up his hands and gesture for patience. He fiddled with his music, and continued to adjust unknown objects in the box. This went on for 10 minutes, the crowd increased to 60+, everyone patiently waiting, children now sat on the cobblestones forming an inner ring. I wanted to leave, this was boring! But not a single Frenchman left nor did they show any sign of impatience. In this crowd, if they ran out of the proverbial bread they would wait for cake!
When the show started, it was stunning! He played with fire, made Pepsi disappear (any teen could do this), tore up and reassembled articles from magazines held by watchers, and on and on! When the show was over the spectators quickly queued up to give donations. Only in France!
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Parking, Motorcycles, and Visitors From Outer Space
Parking, Motorcycles, and Visitors From Outer Space
Motorcycles and their cousin scooters buzz and scream around this city like busy bees, Their mission, accessible parking and nimble forward motion. I’ve seen them parked on what were once pedestrian sidewalks, hanging from fancy wrought iron gates, in courtyards, and in picturesque parks. When Parisians drive them it’s not a simple action of forward progress, they’re often talking on their cell phones, gesturing wildly at cars in front and pretty people on the sidewalks. These two-wheeled demons weave between the honking and stalled cars and when necessary to accomplish their mission, they drive on the sidewalks forcing pedestrians into the honking melee of the street.
Watch what you pray for! I was just thinking I would love to see one of the screaming devils wipe out, and 5 minutes later a high-speed scooter abruptly turned into our one-way street, against traffic. This young man splatted on the street mere feet from a waiting car with a police car right behind. No one was hurt besides the scooter but I promised to keep my thoughts to myself from now on. Having dreamt you are the Pope gives you a great deal of power!
Owning a car here means constantly thinking about parking. If you have seen the movie French Kiss, Luc drives his car wildly onto a street corner sending people fleeing for safety. The car pierces the corner like the stem on a pear. The only theatrical portion of this scene was Luc’s was the only car parked in that way. Every piece of asphalt, concrete or dirt is eligible for parking here. In desperate situations you can just pull over, turn on your flashers, and handle that emergency.
While sitting outside in a sidewalk café a tiny Peugeot pulled up, snuggled against some plastic street barricades and began emitting distress warnings. Out comes a +6’ tall, stock car racing professional in his Lucky Strike and Michelin leather jacket. He confidently walked beside us into the bar portion of the café and ordered a Pastis. I assume he was so stressed out over the motorcycles he needed an aperitif to settle his nerves. Cars immediately began slowing, drivers craning their necks trying to ease by this distressed vehicle. Not to be hurried, two Patis’ and an hour later, our professional driver mounted up, ready to brave the streets of Paris.
The reason for our long relaxing wait at the café was to meet Dave and Linda. A tad over 2 hours after landing they pulled up in their blue shuttle van. Part of the delay was that their Indian driver, with blasting belly dancing music, was locked into a quest to find a location for a couple who had an apartment that was given to them by a friend of a friend of a friend. The location did not apparently exist, so the moral is never go beyond two degrees of friendship to secure an apartment!
Otherwise, Dave and Linda are fine, safely nestled in their charming but quirky apartment with a full view of the Eiffel Tower (and a yet to be identified gold, domed building). The instructions on getting to their room was a journey unto itself. It started with, “Enter this code number at the door keypad, go inside and down the steps and find the lock box on the rail”. Note: once the door closes it’s pretty much dark and dim in this passage. We felt for the box and somehow entered the code. With the key the instructions continued, “proceed down the passageway and up a flight of stairs to the elevator.” The elevator is only big enough for 1-1/2 Americans or three Parisians with luggage. “Go to top floor and take staircase up one flight, wave hands if light does not go on.” The elevator lurched upward, shuttering side to side several inches between each floor. And Linda said, “If this elevator stops between floors I am going to loose it.”
At the top of the landing, we waived in utter darkness. Thank goodness it did go on, cause the staircase was like going up a lighthouse tower only this tightly, circular wooden staircase was so worn that it smoothly, slanted to the center and slightly down.
“Follow passageway to left and keep waving. Use key when you get to the room.” We kept waving and groping our way forward. All we needed was cobwebs and men with sharp knives. The apartment was not numbered or labeled, so the instructions told us that if we got lost, we were to knock on doors and say “Layman Apartment?” and someone would surely help us. This was a bold leap of faith!
France is a country with lots of history so we knew that time was on our side!
P.S. When we left Dave & Linda, they were still unable to find the light switch for the shower. Maybe if they go in there, remove their clothes, and start waving, it will turn on! Voila!!!
Reunion and Meals
We had a short but sweet reunion with our American friends, Kimball and Marilyn at our little place on the Bastille. We prepared a typical French luncheon for them. In culinary terms, the Parisan’s would say we provided the “hello” and “goodbye” but no food conversation.
Let me give you a sampling of the process to build a pleasant spread. It begins and always ends with ends with the sweet songs of, bonjour “hello”, merci “thank you”, and au revoir “goodbye”. Fromage is a good place to start. When we arrived at the cheese man’s booth in Paris largest market he had one customer. Cheese is serious business. An elderly Frenchman made our acquaintance while we waited for our turn. All of us watched the careful selection made by a madame. Cheeses were squeezed, sniffed, sampled and basically examined in great detail. Five minutes later it was our turn. Our French friend watched in amazement, (or was it amusement?) while we went through the dance. A round of Cambert, a small cylinder of goat cheese, a hard wedge of comte, and a stinky crumble of Roquefort. Our companion smiled and clapped when we were done. He quickly asked our cheese man how much we spent!
The same process extends to the Italian brothers stall for aged Parmesan, our Greek guys for olives, Spanish madame for various tapenades, florists, 3-4 vegetable and fruit vendors and a fresh made nutella crepe from our rosey cheeked creperie lady for some quick energy. On the walk back there were stops for our baker, our dessert shop and we finished up with a wine selection from the good-looking sommelier at the Nicholas wine shop. Yup, 13 delightful hellos, thank yous, and goodbyes, a smattering of French conversation, one new admirer of our purchasing prowess, and we were done! Sometimes buying the food in France is more fun than the eating! It’s no wonder we eat so late and so long, as we savor the entirety of our food experience.
The same evening, we met up with Dave and Linda for a Gospel concert at the American Church. The group hails from the far away village of Seattle in the region of Washington State. They are famous for burnt coffee and bloated, broken software. We had a joyous time, clapping, standing, and swaying with this lively group. One song says, “show me that you have the holy spirit.” Today’s time with Kimball and Marilyn, Dave and Linda, our food celebration, quiet time lounging in the Luxembourg garden, and singing praises, I feel the thankfulness of the Holy Spirit!
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