Friday, November 30, 2007

A summation

Yes, I was home. Now, I am back in Paris. It was not part of the plan but being home was a nice reprieve and I am glad that I made the trip - for many reasons.

Coming back after a short stay at home has been interesting. It no longer feels scary or foreign. I am no longer intimidated by having to speak French. I go boldly. I had a fascinating conversation last night with a Parisian who did not speak a word of English about the race riots, French identity, and the recent strikes - topics I would not have thought myself capable of covering. And trust me, we weren't dancing lightly over them. I went out wandering today - and realized after a few blocks that I had not brought any of my trusted safety lines - my French-English dictionary, my map of Paris, or my guidebook. I suppose I don't really need them as much anymore. I suppose I really am becoming more of une vrai Parisienne.

My plans have changed once again to do yet another one of those fateful, unpredictable occurrences. I am now leaving Paris on Sunday - in about 36 hours. Life is unpredictable so we might as well be able to adjust.

I am going on a driving eurotrip with Alex, an Australian that I met in Bordeaux. For those of you who have seen the movie: yes I was inspired, no I do not want to end up in Eastern Europe with no money. We are leaving on Sunday to stay one night in Strasbourg (hopefully with a stop in Reims to see the cathedral there). Monday we are on to Frankfurt for one night. Then we make our way across Germany to stay three days in Berlin. Then another three (or four) day stay in Amsterdam, followed by one or two days in Brussels. Finally, I will return to Paris for one night before - two weeks from today - I catch my flight home. It will be a wild ride and I am excited.

Sunday, November 25, 2007

Coming home

I really do love coming home. For this, I consider myself extremely lucky. I have a strong attachment to Toronto and no matter where I am in the world, I always look forward to returning.

It is not about comparison - indeed I rarely compare places I visit to my hometown. In my mind, it is on its own plane.

I think that there are a number of reasons for my affection. For my tastes, Toronto has the perfect mix of big city and homey intimacy. It is populous and cosmopolitain. It has reasonably good shopping, great shows and concerts, highly respectable restaurants, and a decent nightlife (any or all of these may and probably will be disputed by some readers). It has enormous amounts of opportunity in many different professional areas - medical, artistic, musical, legal, business, etc. Further, as someone interested in politics, I also like Toronto because it is the provincial capital and teems with municipal and provincial politics on a regular basis.

But Toronto is not too big. It has quaint neighbourhoods and is not so populous that you can't expect to bump into people you know at regular haunts. You don't get lost in the sea of people. It also isn't as harsh and unforgiving as some of the world's larger cities like London or New York - both of which I find hectic and very 'in your face.'

But above all, it is and always has been my home. It is where I have grown up. It is where most of my family lives. It is where most of my friends are. And it is familiar - an attribute I really cherish in a location.

So here, I am, home.

Saturday, November 24, 2007

Life is like a box of chocolates

You never know what you're going to get.

That was more true than ever today. It's definitely true about Paris as a city. It is an unpredictable place. You never know when the road you are hoping to drive down will be closed for a protest, when the restaurant you were hoping to eat at will be closed because - well - they're french and they do what they want, or when an entire sector of employees will go on strike. You also can't predict what you're going to find as you wander. You can turn a corner and suddenly find yourself in the middle of a tiny 'Greektown' or in the midst of only men's clothing shops. I was early for my yoga class today so I decided to explore the streets around it for a bit. I literally turned a corner and was on a street that had nothing but stores about comic books and video games.

Without intending to, I tried out a new yoga teacher today. In fact, it was the very first class she taught at the studio. You definitely never know what you're going to get with yoga teachers. Each one has a different style and highlights different elements of the practice. Non-yogis would be shocked at what a difference a different teacher can make. In case you're curious, she was not great but decent. I think she was nervous.

After yoga, I got a manicure at a place I'd never been to before. Spas are infamously unpredictable. They can look great and even charge high prices, but you truly don't know what type of quality to expect until you've been through it once. Suffice to say, I will never go back there again. I hope she couldn't tell that I was alternating between clenching my jaw to prevent myself from asking her to fix something and holding my breath to prevent myself from laughing out loud.

On a larger scale, you really never know what you're going to get in life. You don't know what people you'll meet who will change your life. You don't know what mistakes you'll make (if you did, you certainly wouldn't make them, now would you?). You don't know what health you'll have. We try to control as much as we can. We work hard to do it. But in the end, a lot is left to - what? - chance? destiny? fate?

One of these fateful and unpredictable situations requires me to go back to Toronto for a few days to support a friend in need. It certainly wasn't what I planned - but I am happy to go back for her and plus I get to sleep in my own bed and see my family and friends.

À bientôt Paris.

Friday, November 23, 2007

Intuition

I had to make a big but quick decision today. I was hit immediately by a thought of what I should do - the right choice. My intuition was telling me which way to go. But we're taught to second guess our intuition. We are taught to be rational, to rely on our logic, and to analyze decisions for the pros and cons, the long- and short-term benefits and drawbacks.

Intuition, as best I understand it, is a remnant of our evolutionary past. It is part of our animal instincts. These instincts helped us find food - and determine the difference between the poisonous berries and the nutritious ones. They made mothers care for their young - to avoid the decimation of a community. They made leaders protect others. They have, over the millenia, helped us survive.

In modern society when we are fortunate enough not to have to worry about our day-to-day survival, our instincts help us navigate other aspects of our lives. I think that they help us determine what is right and wrong - a metaphorical version of which berries are poisonous and which are nutritious. Our intuition is that little feeling that is impossible to describe that seems to push us in a certain direction when we are faced with a decision.

However, we have lived through the rise and fall of enlightened civilizations. We even lived through our own civilization's 'Enlightenment.' We advanced through the Industrial Revolution. We pursued universal truths. We landed on the moon. We split the atom. We decoded our DNA. We live in the Information Age. All of this so-called 'enlightenment' tries to put a check on our intuition. It tells us to analyze and use our 'higher being' rationality to make decisions.

There is certainly nothing wrong with analyzing a decision. (I have to say that as I'm one of the most analytical people on the planet, sometimes to my own detriment.) It's good to think about the long and short term ramifications and the pros and cons, etc etc. But this must be done in conjunction with our intuition - that little feeling that has guided us through hundreds of thousands of years.

Luckily today, my analysis agreed with my intuition and I made the right decision. But it was a lesson in weighing the importance of analysis versus intuition.

Thursday, November 22, 2007

A racial Paris

Recently I received a topic request, of sorts. A friend asked me whether I had seen any racial tension in Paris. I assume he was referencing the race riots that shook the city last year.

The simply answer to the question is no; I have not seen any racial tension. I did read a newspaper story the other day about some incidents in the Jewish area that are being attributed to anti-semitism, but somehow this seems just par for the course for modern cities. Maybe I'm just being pessimistic but I feel as though I regularly - perhaps once a year - hear about incidents like that in North American cities. My acceptance of the normalcy of such sentiments and actions absolutely should not be taken as apathy or complacency. I fervently hope that we would all work to reduce the occurrence of such bigotry, no matter at whom it was directed.

My saying that I haven't seen any tension of the kind exhibited last summer does not necessarily mean that it has ceased to exist. It does though bring up another important point. Last summer's race riots were mostly restricted to Paris' suburbs. French cities are notorious for keeping the downtown 'core' upscale, wealthy, and relatively white, while relegating those of lesser means - and different origins - to the suburbs - les banlieues. Paris is certainly no different. A drive from Charles de Gaulle airport into the city will bring you through rundown suburbs and streets lined with graffiti. Once you cross into Paris proper, however, you see only that idyllic, romanticized 19th century, postcard-quality Paris.

Certainly this distribution is better for tourism. The tourists get a good feeling from the city, believing that the whole thing is beautiful, clean, safe, and prosperous. I would be the first to admit that I have profited from this - I rarely have to worry about where I am walking and am almost always treated to clean streets and fabulously beautiful buildings.

Tourism aside, though, one must ask whether such - for lack of a better word - segregation is really better on balance. I certainly think that communities can draw strength from living in concentrated neighbourhoods and take a lot of pride from Toronto's plethora of such communities - The Danforth, Little Italy, Chinatown, etc. What troubles me about Paris is that it feels as though these communities, rather than being celebrated, are being metaphorically swept under the rug.

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In personal news, my shower pressure has been fixed! Eureka! The strike continues but is waning and looks like it will be over sometime this weekend. The construction/renovation on the inside of my building also continues, bringing with it loud noises, people stomping up and down the stairs in the mornings, and lot of dust that unfortunately makes its way into my little apartment. But the weather today was beautiful and I am off to a potluck American thanksgiving dinner with some American girls I met.

Wednesday, November 21, 2007

Carpe Diem indeed

I was thinking about my friend Mike today. I think of him often here actually because the last time I was in Paris I was with him. We were 16 and in the final days of a month-long stay in France that had been mostly taken up by a senior-level high school French course in Nice. Thirty 16-year-old Torontonians. Yes, it was a riot.

Mike was a golden boy. He was extraordinarily smart; he was driven; he was thoughtful and nice to everybody, no matter who they were, where they came from, or what he could get from them. He was fun to be around and always making jokes; he cheered me up many times. He was athletically talented and attractive.

We became quite close during that trip, and though we saw each other rarely afterwards, he always kept a special place in my heart. I was utterly disappointed when he chose to turn down Harvard for the School of Foreign at Georgetown. The boy Mike that I had known when we were 16 turned into an even more impressive adult Mike.

He would have loved what I am doing in Paris. He would loved that I am taking this year off between university and graduate school to travel the world, to take time for myself. When if not now, he would have said. He was a doer, someone who took action - he seized the day.

Mike died this summer. Walking along a beach with his mother, he was struck by lightning.

I try to live every day inspired by his memory. I try to think about what he would have done, what he didn't get to do. I try to live my life better because he lost the opportunity to live his.

Mike would have said go, experience, live. Seize the day.

Tuesday, November 20, 2007

New photos, visitors, etc

New photos are posted. They contain a marked change from my previous albums. Namely, some of them actually contain - none other than - ME! This is because the wonderful Stefan actually took some himself, enabling me to prove that I am actually in Paris as opposed to having paid someone to go around taking pictures for me.

Here is the link:
http://harvard.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2118026&l=9b879&id=1032

Stef leaves tomorrow morning (that is, if we can find him a taxi to get to the airport; with the strikes, taxis are about as rare as a Parisian non-smoker). That means that after almost ten days of near-constant company with various visitors, I am back to solo time. I have really enjoyed my visitors. As I wrote, it is great to share Paris. As a sidenote, I have decided that I am almost good enough now to run a tour company.

However, I do love my time by myself. I get up when I went, get to go to the gym or yoga as much as I want (indeed I find this severely restricted when visitors are here), and generally run things, only encountering opposition when in a more schizophrenic mood. And this is my last run of it. I will be alone from tomorrow morning - the 21st - through a week the following Saturday - the 1st of Dec. My time in Paris is slipping away like a diva's youth and good looks. Time to - what is that old saying again? something about seizing carp?


Monday, November 19, 2007

JACKHAMMER to Namaste

I woke up this morning to a jackhammer. Not like in most city apartment buildings when you are occasionally awoken by construction on an adjacent street, this jackhammer noise was coming directly from inside my building. They are redoing the inside of my building, 'lobby' (if you want to call it that) and stairwell. This would be a good thing if I was going to be in the apartment for more time than the actual work would take. Waking up to a jackhammer - no kidding it sounded like it was right inside my apartment - was a great way to start the day.

It was a bustling Monday here in Paris. The cold spell that hit over the weekend seems to have broken somewhat and the weather is finally good enough to allow one to be outside for more than about five minutes without fear of hypothermia. Ok maybe I'm exaggerating. A little. I had a busy day, including a long visit to the famous department store, Galeries Lafayette. Hustling and bustling and of course ready for Christmas, the department store was anything but tranquil. The walk back along Avenue de l'Opèra, in front of the Louvre, and back to my apartment at rush hour was no different.

Then, I went to yoga. Yoga has a unique ability to calm me down while giving me energy. It is as though it erases all of my worries, cares, concerns, and - really - thoughts, but leaves me a nameless, colourless, indescribable energy. I think that it comes from how hard it is - physically and emotionally taxing. After an hour and a half of pushing your body to the brink while fighting with your mind which keeps telling you to stop, you lie in shavasana (meditation) running separated consciousness over each part of your body, examining it and instructing it to relax.

Now, I am feeling totally at peace, like nothing could ruin this night. So I say to the few readers out there in the void, namaste - the good things in me bow to the good things in you.

Sunday, November 18, 2007

Food

How is it possible that I have not yet written about food? Paris is certainly one of the centres of great food - known for delicacies like foie gras, creamy sauces, tasty cheeses, great bread, and of course fine wines.

I wrote before about the ceremony that goes with eating in France. People take time with their meals. They savour. They sit and eat, while they chat with friends, catching up on the latest news. They do not dine and dash, and they certainly don't do take out. Well, ok, not usually.

So partially because of this attention to the value of food and the time taken to enjoy it, the food in Paris is really exquisite. No kidding. It's worth the hype. Even at unknown little local places (which, if you ask me, are usually better than the award-winning, magazine-write-up-getting five star joints), the bread is fresh, the olive oil is tasty, and the sauces are rich. You can almost always be sure in Paris that you are going to be enjoying - and I do mean enjoying - a dish that has been thoughtfully created, made with fresh ingredients, and solicitously cooked.

I find myself asking why this is. Why the French seem to have a greater appreciation of flavours and textures, sauces and mixtures. It may be because France is the breadbowl of Europe, creating much of the wheat (and therefore bread); it may be because France has historically been one of the primary cheese producers; it certainly may be because France produces some of the (if not simply 'the') world's best wine, which demands high quality food as accompaniment.

I think it is more than that, though. I think that the French have adopted this as part of their collective character, part of how they define themselves as a people. Much like Americans with their laissez-faire commercialism (whether they admit it or not) or Canadians with our 'nice-ness' (God that's boring), the French self-identity comes at least partially from their attention to and obsession with good food.

And you know what? I don't mind it one bit.

P.S. For those paying attention, the strike has not ended and shows no hopeful signs of letting up. Sweet.

Saturday, November 17, 2007

Making an effort

If I may take a moment today as Harvard and Yale go head to head in the 124th playing of "The Game" to fight for the Icy League championship to say: GO CRIMSON. My first time missing H-Y since becoming a Harvard student, I miss all my fellow Harvard peeps.

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Stefan is here, visiting for a few days. For anyone paying attention, he is the Paris virgin I wrote about yesterday. I love his excitement about the city, and I feel great every time he says: I know why you love it here.

Today, at his wise suggestion, we took a river boat trip along the Seine - we went on the famous, Bateaux Mouches. It is a trip along the Seine with a commentary educating tourists about the sights they are seeing. While I had already visited many of the areas we saw, the trip did take us further afield than I have yet walked, showing us more of Paris. On the western and eastern edges of the boat trip are areas that are obviously more modern, more industrial, more commercial, and generally less stereotypically Parisian.

It makes you realize that not all of Paris is the romantic, idyllic setting featured in most photographs (my own included), and that there has been an effort made to keep downtown Paris looking a certain way. It begs the question of how this was achieved.

As someone who generally disapproves of government involvement in people's lives, the idea of the government clearing away houses to build grand boulevards or only granting building permits upon approval of the architectural and aesthetic design of a building seems initially anathema. However, Paris proves its point: a leader showing some 'tough love' and guiding development in this way does work.

The efforts made here have created a central area of the city - quite large actually - that is surprisingly uniform and maintains a beautiful living and tourist destination. It has created a marketable image of 'Paris' that is predictable and relatively unchanging. It is not old or boring; it is beautiful and, well, Parisian.

It takes patience, money, courage, and an iron will, but Paris proves that it works - and it worth it.

Friday, November 16, 2007

Paris virgins

I love Paris virgins. Yes, there are some out there. And for all those whose minds went straight to the gutter - no, I'm not talking about sexually inactive Paris inhabitants. I'm talking about people who have never been to Paris before.

There is something absolutely delightful about being with someone who has never been in Paris before. Paris is unlike any other city I have ever been in and I have to imagine that others have a similar feeling about it. When you first experience it, it seems overwhelming. You want to look everywhere; you want to take pictures of everything; you marvel at the enormity of it all.

As someone who has gotten to know Paris better over the past month or so, I love sharing it with newbies. I love pointing out the amazing little nuances that one can miss at first glance. I love explaining the background or history behind a particular thing. I feel as though I am morphing into a temporary Parisian and want to share my adopted city with the world.

It really takes barely one day for someone to understand why Paris is so amazing.

Thursday, November 15, 2007

Checking in

Today marks two weeks that I have been in my apartment and just two days short of a full month in Europe. So I thought that at this point I would finally acquiesce to those of who you have been saying: Yes, yes, the blog is wonderful and all that, but what have you been doing??

As of today, since I have been in Paris (so not counting my adventures in Bordeaux), I have seen/visited/walked through:
  • Musée du Louvre (x2)
  • Musée d'Orsay
  • Avenue des Champs-Élysées (x2)
  • Arc de Triomphe (x2, though not to the top yet)
  • Notre Dame (many times)
  • Musée Dali
  • Musée Picasso
  • Montmarte
  • Sacre Coeur
  • Eglise Saint-Severin
  • Saint-Chapelle (x2)
  • Hôtel des Invalides
  • Tombe de Napoléon
  • Musée Rodin
  • Quartier Latin
  • Palais et Jardin du Luxembourg
  • Place de la Bastille
  • Place des Vosges (including seeing Victor Hugo's house)
  • Jardins des Tuileries
  • Place de la Concorde
  • Le Marais
  • Place de la Madeleine
  • Place de l'Opéra

This is of course along with more restaurants and cafés than I can count and similarly countless tiny streets. I have also crossed many of Paris's magnificent bridges and walked along the banks of the Seine.

You may notice that I have not yet been to (or up) the Eiffel Tower. Yes. I have seen it many, many times, though. It is unmissable. It is as though no matter where you are in the city, you can always see the Eiffel Tower. And it is spectacular. I will go, of course, and probably wait in line and buy a ticket to go up to the top. But I am in no rush.

I would also like to extend an invitation to those of you with ideas. If you have suggestions, please send them my way. I am particularly interested in things off the beaten trail. I have the time and I would love to discover more of the many unbelievable things about this city.

Wednesday, November 14, 2007

STRIKE

Sort of like Camembert and Bordeaux wine, or the Eiffel Tower and the Louvre, there are certain things that are quintessentially French. Strikes are one of them.

As of last night, an enormous number of French employees have begun striking. The entire rail network is on strike, which in a country whose veins are its train tracks is debilitating. All of Paris' transit workers are on strike. So far this means that no one without a car, a scooter, a bicycle, or a hardy pair of feet can get to where they want to go unless they're willing to shell out the big bucks for the hard-to-find, much-in-demand cabs.

These workers are being supported by France's energy and electricity workers, who either are on strike or are about to go on strike as I type this. They are threatening targeted blackouts. Perfect.

Also supporting the transit workers are the students. Now, I know that for most North Americans the idea of students going on strike seems a little bit like kids playing dress-up in their parents' clothes. But student strikes are big business in France. And they usually aren't about Darfur or AIDS in Africa. They are egocentric, self-interested efforts to get the best out of the world. Students have been 'blockading' about 20 of France's 80-something universities for the past week or so protesting a suspected move to allow some universities to accept private donations. Their problem is that this would raise some universities above others. Heaven forbid. Anyhow, the students - already in action mode - are taking further moves to support the transit strike.

I'm told that civil servants, particularly teachers, may also soon strike, as will judges and court staff who are protesting moves to eliminate redundancies in the courts.

This does not look like it will be just any French strike. No. It is organized and it is affecting people across the country. The unions have dug in their heels and appear to be prepared to refuse almost anything. They are up against a newly elected and seemingly popular president, Nicolas Sarkozy, who talks a big talk about taking a hard line with unions and modernizing and streamlining France's bloated, over-paid, and over-pampered public sector.

This, as we say, is showtime. And whether I like it or not, I have a front row seat.

Tuesday, November 13, 2007

New photos

More photos. Here.

http://harvard.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2116712&l=418d7&id=1032

In case you're wondering, I'm just shy of the 400 mark in the total number of pictures I've taken since getting to Europe just under a month ago.

Remembrance and Significance

Remembrance Day was this past Sunday. Known in other parts of the world as Armistice Day or in the U.S. as Veterans Day, we take a moment on the anniversary of the end of the First World War to remember all of those who fought and died for our freedom. We traditionally hear a bugle call the last post and stand for a minute of silence at the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month. I know that in light of the sacrifices that many made, this ceremony may seem somewhat trite, but I place great importance on remembering what those in the past have done to provide for us today the many blessings we have.

Being in Paris, I could not actively observe Remembrance Day. I could not even get a poppy to wear on my lapel. I certainly thought about the meaning of the day and in that way observed it internally.

Walking around during the days since then, I realized something. There are little plaques all around Paris - well, there are lots of plaques around Paris. In a city with this much history, there is information on every other building about so-and-so having lived here in 1743. So I hadn't paid any attention to these particular plaques. Now, though, there is a bouquet of flowers on every one. Bound with a tricolour ribbon and a little sign that says 'Mairie de Paris' (Mayor of Paris), they are a silent observation of Remembrance day.

The plaques mark where French people fell during the Second World War. The fighters of the Resistance fought in the cafes and on the street corners. The plaques recognize the sacrifice these people made, marking the places they fell and indicating that they had died fighting for the freedom of France. They remind us.

Coming from a country that has not been attacked since a bunch of rowdy Americans tried to take Toronto in 1812, these plaques jarred me somewhat. They show how close to home the fighting was, how real it was in the daily lives of everyone in the country, and how much individual citizens were doing. We don't have this kind of history in Canada; we have been incredibly lucky.

So let us - all of us - remember what those before us have given. Let us recognize the significance of their sacrifices. Let us recognize how lucky we are.

Lest we forget.

Monday, November 12, 2007

Making the most of things

Spending a few days with Andrew while he is here in Paris provides an interesting perspective for me. Because I've been mostly alone recently, I haven't had to discuss the day's plan with anyone; I haven't had to check with anyone whether they were ok with what we were going to do that day - I decided and I went and did it. Having a friend in Paris makes things somewhat more complicated. And today was a mild example of why it is so important that the person you are traveling with needs to have a similar idea of what traveling is all about.

Andrew and I have similar ideas about what is interesting - thank god - but somewhat different ideas about what type of schedule we want to have. Quite simply, I would prefer to get up early and get as much out of a day as possible. Andrew disagrees slightly. He prefers starting later and setting a slower pace.

This is not at all intended as a criticism of Andrew's philosophy on traveling; it is merely an observation of a difference. As I said to him, if I had wanted to spend all day lounging around, I would have stayed in Toronto where I can do that much more comfortable, easily, more cheapily, and happily at home. However, I did not come here to do that. I came here to go out, to see the sights, to do as Parisians do - even if that only means going out to a café ordering a café crème (café au lait) and reading my book. But I want to do. I want to experience. I want to live. I want to create memories that will tide me over threw law school finals exams, long work-weeks, etc. etc. Otherwise, why bother?

Sunday, November 11, 2007

Sharing

As I said in a previous post, being alone has certain benefits (along of course with certain drawbacks). I am always free to do what I want when I want and I am forced to spend a lot of time in my head, thinking about how I feel about what is going on around me. On the other hand, being able to share your thoughts and experiences with someone else can be really great too.

Andrew is here. Another Harvard grad, he is spending this year traveling, in a more fly-with-the-wind, everything-in-his-backpack kind of way. He's in Paris for a few days. We spent the day at museums - the Picasso museum and the Louvre. Andrew is a particularly good person with whom to 'share' thoughts about art because we both took an intro art history course this past Spring at Harvard. This allows us to talk about the art from similar backgrounds, bringing up other works of art, historical facts, or criticisms of the interpretations provided to us in readings or by professors.

The morning at the Picasso Museum was interesting. He certainly was incredibly talented and had some interesting ideas about art. However, he is not my favourite. His more extreme cubist work makes me feel - well - stupid. I have so much trouble figuring out what is going on and why those three random shapes represent a guitar that I end up feeling confused and unhappy rather than artistically challenged or fulfilled. Maybe that makes me uncultured, but give me Monet, Degas, J.L. David, Delacroix, or any of the others any day over cubism. Art is, after all, subjective.

Saturday, November 10, 2007

Where was I? A night out.

So some may have noticed that I failed to write an entry yesterday. Yes, despite saying that I would write every day, I missed one. Well, my explanation for where I was will also serve as interesting fodder for today's musings.

I have two older brothers in Paris. No, Earl and John didn't move here. I have two surrogate older brothers here - two brothers who are friends with my parents who have more or less adopted me as their little sister for my time here. I see Damien a few times a week and he never fails to provide extensive teachings in both French language and French culture. Last night was no exception. Damien and his best friend, Stephane, along with a cameo appearance from the other surrogate older brother, Gregory, showed me what a typical night out is for a Parisian.

We started at a local bar/cafe with an 'apero.' Short for aperetif, it is really just the name for whenever you have a drink by itself, without a meal and generally before a meal. The French are constantly having an 'apero.'

After our apero, we headed to this very trendy Asian restaurant where we started with yet another apero before ordering our food. Menus, I've found, provide a special linguistic challenge. The trendy Asian menu at our trendy Asian resto was worse than usual. I did a go-with-the-flow kind of thing and ordered whatever sounded cool. I ended up with some sort of crab cake served in a shell followed by what can only be described as pad thai. Not too bad actually. After we finished our bottle of wine - a must at any French meal - we proceeded to dessert and coffee.

Eating is definitely not something the French take lightly. There is a ceremony surrounding food/cooking/eating that is not to be skipped. You can always tell in a restaurant who the tourists are by how they treat this essentially French practice. Simply, tourists are always the ones to eat and leave the most quickly.

Anyhow, after our lengthy and actually quite enjoyable meal, we headed to an uber chic hotel bar (think: W Hotel style) for drinks, no longer called 'apero' because of course we're too close after the end of a meal. After growing tired of that place, we hopped into a cab to our final destination of the evening, an absolutely packed night club. There we danced with hundreds of our closest friends and of course had more drinks - champagne no less, which really isn't only for special occasions in France.

All in all, an educative and thoroughly entertaining night out. But my thought at blogging when I got home from whatever outing Damien invited me out for at 7pm was obviously not to be.

Thursday, November 8, 2007

You can't miss it...

There are certain characteristics about Paris that are absolutely impossible to miss. The most obvious one would be, well you know, the French. There is also their absolutely incredible attention to quality architecture, their hypochondriac-like need to have a pharmacy (with its flashing green neon cross overhead) on every corner, and their absolute refusal to pick up after their dogs do their business on the street.

Another is of course the smoking. It is no exaggeration; the French smoke everywhere all the time. Coming from North America where smoking is as close to banned as politically possible, it is absolutely shocking. I was eating at a restaurant last night and remember a distinctive feeling of surprise when the bartender and three of the waitresses lit up while standing by the bar. Some restaurants have smoking and non-smoking sections, but most are simply too small to accommodate this.

What this prevalence of smoking does is remove the choice. Essentially, those who choose to light up are deciding for everyone - smokers and non - what the air quality will be. Thanks, but I tend to prefer to eat my food without the additional nicotine, tar, etc. Moreover, I have resigned myself to the fact that absolutely all of my clothing, particularly my beautiful new leather jacket, will smell like smoke. I suppose that when everybody else smells like smoke and there is always smoke in the air, no one will notice. What I'll do to fumigate when I get back to Canada, however, is another matter.

The other thing you can't help but notice is the sheer number of eating and drinking establishments. I have been amazed at how many cafes, bars, bistros, restaurants, brasseries, etc there are. And they are all always busy (ok, except for the not insignificant amount of time that they are closed, because hey this is socialist France after all). They pack people in as closely as possible, offering wonderful opportunities to become well - and I do mean well - acquainted with your neighbours.

You may think that the plethora of culinary establishments is because of the tourists. Well, yes, you would be partially right. However, right now is low season, tourist-wise, and I can tell you from experience that the vast majority of people in these places are locals, real Frenchies.

Well, I have figured out why. With apartments the size of shoeboxes and kitchens a fraction of that, no one wants to cook at home anymore. The very culture known for its culinary excellence is no longer cooking! Certainly some of the world's best chefs originate in or are educated in France, but the general population seems to really dig eating out.

Speaking of which, time to go to the local "resto" and get my fill of second-hand smoke and dinner. À bientôt.

Wednesday, November 7, 2007

The lone traveler

This is my first time as a truly lone traveler. In some ways I cherish my alone time in my daily life, finding it an opportunity to be alone with my thoughts. In other ways, though, I love company; I thrive on companionship and have a basic need for interaction and conversation. Actually, I think I'm quite representative of most of us. We are naturally social, but need time by ourselves to reflect and recharge.

Traveling alone, then, brings opportunities as it brings challenges. The basic foundation of the positives are: do what you want when you want. I have the freedom to go to the gym and/or yoga as much as I want without feeling guilty about any travel companions. I can go to whatever restaurant my whim fancies at that instant. I can eat the same thing for every meal if I want (don't worry; I'm not and I don't). I've found three particularly important aspects to this.

First, we all know that a mood can greatly impact an experience. Sometimes you are in the mood to spend six hours looking at art in the Louvre. And sometimes you're really not. Being alone allows me to decide on a minute-by-minute basis what I want to do, what is appropriate to my mood, the weather, the time of day, etc. For example, today was a grey day in Paris and I was feeling somewhat passive, unenergetic, and reflective. So after yoga in the morning, I wandered, mostly.

The second aspect that I like about being alone is no one is around judging what you're doing. If I'm not enjoying something, I leave. No one around to think me fickle or uncultured. You're essentially acting in a vacuum.

Finally, photography. I always feel badly when I make others wait for me as I try to get the perfect shot. I've been taking a lot of photographs and it would be tiresome for my travel companions if they had to wait around while I fiddled with the settings on my camera or walked all around a building to get all the angles. Being on my own affords me all the photographic freedom I can handle.

There are non-positives to being a lone traveler, though (umm, those would be negatives). Mostly, what I notice is not having any opportunity to share experiences. I spend a lot of time in my head and don't have anyone with whom to marvel about the beautiful architecture of that little-known church or ridiculous dress that girl is wearing. In fact, I don't really speak that much at all, leaving me with an ongoing, silent monologue.

I also do everything alone. I decide what to do in a day alone. I eat breakfast alone. I shop alone. I eat lunch alone. I explore alone. I eat dinner alone. I walk home at the end of the day alone. I know that this may seem like an obvious statement, but it's important to separate it out. Think about all of the many things you do in a day. Now think about doing every single one of them alone.

Just some idle thoughts from a non-idle mind. Good to get some of my monologue out of my head, anyhow.

I posted more pictures. Monday, yesterday, and today.

These are more artsy Notre Dame pics:
http://harvard.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2115748&l=01f8b&id=1032
And the rest:
http://harvard.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2115740&l=d0b88&id=1032

And the two other albums for those of you who couldn't figure out how to access them... You just cut and paste into your browser window...
http://harvard.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2115214&l=2865c&id=1032
and
http://harvard.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2115236&l=37f04&id=1032

Tuesday, November 6, 2007

Parisian sharks

Yet another of my very good, very smart friends (I seem to have a lot of those...) gave me two books before I left. "A Year in the Merde" and its sequel "Merde Actually" both by Stephen Clarke. (For those who don't know, 'merde' means 'shit' in French.) I have only read the first, which is an absolutely hysterical novel about the experiences of a British 20-something living in Paris for a year. The book was made even more hysterical by the fact that I could
relate to so much of what happened.

Here is one particularly poignant quote from the book: "Paris is, I was beginning to realize, a bit like an ocean. An ocean is a great place to live if you're a shark. There's loads of fresh seafood, and if anyone gives you shit, you just bite them in half. You might not be loved by everyone, but you'll be left in peace to enjoy yourself. If you're human, though, you spend your time floating on the surface, buffeted by the waves, preyed on by the sharks."

I can't decide whether I agree with this assessment. I go back and forth. Paris is a tough city. It can certainly be a lonely city. And it is definitely both scary and frustrating at times. If you're not careful, you could get knocked aside, tossed into the proverbial gutter, and no one would notice. Everyone here seems hardened by something. I don't know whether it's just a French thing (maybe something about never having actually won any wars...) or something else.

It's not to say that they are all mean or uncaring. They just are not as open to warmth or sympathy as other places I have been. I have certainly met a number of nice, friendly Parisians. But what I am saying is that in general, these are not a people who will go out of their way to help you. Because who are you anyway, I have to get back to my croissant and espresso.

Doing my level best, as a lowly human floating among the swimming sharks and being beaten by waves (like yesterday's clobbering by the subway turnstile), I decided to make an attempt at French cooking this evening. I won't bore you with the details about how the market was closed at 1pm on a Tuesday or how I absolutely could not find granulated sugar. Just the report:

Ratatouille - not ideal, another attempt may be necessary.
Chicken - even less ideal.
Supermarket Burgundy Pinot Noir - surprisingly decent; great at easing the pain of cooking a mediocre meal.
Strawberries marinated in balsamic vinegar and sugar (from crushed cubes.. grrrr) - A+

Monday, November 5, 2007

A big day

Last night when I went to bed I was determined to have a good day today. I slept well and woke up feeling better (at least hangover-wise, my cold lingers) and with the sun shining down brightly (and warmly) over a welcoming Paris.

I made my first foray into working out in a Parisian gym. No the Parisians don't wear haute couture to the gym. Nor do they smoke on the elliptical nor drink wine when they're dehydrated. Actually, I got in a decent workout and made it out alive.

After a quick shower (ok, as quick as I could given that it takes me double the time to do anything with my pathetic water pressure), I was on my way. Today's destination: Montmartre.

Montmartre is the highest point in Paris. It became trendy in the 19th century for artists and those interested living a more, shall we say, bohemian lifestyle - the impressionists seem to have spent plenty of time up there. It also is home to Paris' oldest church, built in the 12th century, as well as the better-known Sacre Coeur, which stands proudly overlooking the city.

It also happens to be as far from my apartment as I can realistically expect to be going within the city. So it was also subway time! I decided to walk a bit further to catch the subway on a line that would take me directly to the area, rather than having to switch. After one unsuccessful attempt at entry (which involved my getting clobbered by the unrelenting, pliers-like security gate), I was on my way.

It was the perfect day to be up there. As this is Paris, there are always tourists, but November is one of the low seasons - perfect for me. What tourists there are in the city right now were up on Montmartre today - no better place to be on a gorgeous day. It was so hot in the sun that I took off my jacket and sat only in my light sweater. Finding a sunlit patio, I had a very French lunch - a croque complet, which is sort of like a ham and cheese grilled sandwich with sliced tomatoes and a fried egg on top. (I've been doing my best to become better versed in French cuisine.)

And I was so happy sitting there. So totally at peace. Whatever I may not like about Parisians and their city, they do know something about living life, rather than rushing through it. Paris on first glance appears busy. Busy streets, crowded sidewalks, unruly traffic. But if you dig a little deeper, follow one average Parisian through their day, you'll realize how much time they take to savour. They savour their lives. Their time. Their food certainly. Their drink.

There's something to be said for that.

Taking a page from their book, I savoured today. I savoured my moments. I sat down and watched a singer-guitarist perform on the steps just below Sacre-Coeur. He was actually pretty good and I knew all the words to all the songs that he played. And as the sun set, I savoured.


Sunday, November 4, 2007

Photos!





The pictures from the first (parental) part of my trip are now online. I have posted them on facebook and everyone (whether on facebook or not) can access them here:

http://harvard.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2115214&l=2865c&id=1032
and
http://harvard.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2115236&l=37f04&id=1032

Stretching

So I had my first homesickness crisis. Ok, not a crisis. No need to be melodramatic. But I was close to the edge, asking myself what I'm doing here by myself half way around the world and wishing momentarily for something, anything, to call me back to Toronto. You see, I'm not a natural traveler, a natural adventurer. I like routine. I like the familiar. I like home.

But thankfully home is still there and will still be there when I fly back in what really is only a matter of weeks.

Besides, part of the reason I'm here is to test myself. To stretch. To grow. I know that the idea that what I'm doing - a month in Paris with absolutely no responsibilities - could be tough seems strange and that a lot of people would kill for the opportunity I have here. But I am me, and for me, going to a strange country 6000 km from home all alone and trying to speak a language I'm only adequately proficient in is hard. And sometimes little things can bring me to the edge. Little things like the prospect of mice running around my apartment or the discovery of the absolutely abysmal water pressure in my shower. (I'll write more about other 'little things' like the fact that Parisians never pick up after their dogs, leaving a maze of doodoo to avoid.)

But if it wasn't hard, I wouldn't be doing it right. If it wasn't hard, I wouldn't be getting anything out of it. So I'll face it, head on.

Because I was feeling somewhat homesick last night, I went to a Canadian bar near my apartment (truth be told, my apartment seems to be in an incredibly busy, popular restaurant/bar/club/shopping area). It's called The Moose. I'd actually been there once before, when I was in Paris with my classmates after our month-long French course in Nice in August of 2001. Even though it has a touch of overdone caricature to it, it's perfect. A little bit like home. And they even showed the beginning of the Leafs-Habs hockey game. (Go leafs go!)

It was great. So great that I spent most of today hung over. But tomorrow, Monday morning, my hang over will be gone, hopefully my cold will finally start to go away, and I will head out for as many adventures as Paris can give me.

Saturday, November 3, 2007

Universals

Today has been focused on the body. I wandered over to a gym I had heard about to see about a month membership. A nice place, I nearly sold the shirt off my back for a month-long membership. When I noted the price difference between there and Toronto gyms, the woman said something about the price of real estate in Paris. Ya, ok, I kind of get it. It was a bit weird to go into a modern gym in a building that was likely built before my country was founded.

Then I made a fantastic discovery. I found an amazing yoga studio. Only about a 10-15 minute walk from my apartment, it is clean and full of light. A mix of languages fills the air and the teachers teach both in English and in French. And everyone seems so nice. I walked back to my place, changed, and went back in time for a class that seemed as good as any to start out on. I was nervous after not having practiced yoga for a few months and because this class was primarily in French. But yoga really is a universal language. We're all there for the same reason and the poses are the same no matter what language you speak.

I left feeling refreshed and a little bit more myself.

My post-yoga positivity was shaken back into reality when I returned to my apartment to encounter another universal. Problems with apartment buildings. This morning I thought I heard some scratching. I strained to hear more but couldn't, and dismissed it. My friendly neighbour knocked on my door a few minutes ago asking to use a broom. There are mice in the building, she told me unhappily, and she thinks that she may have caught one in the traps she set earlier today.

It's all a learning experience. At least, that's what I'm telling myself.

We'll see what happens next.

Friday, November 2, 2007

Transitions

Today was a transition day. I said goodbye to my father and began my time alone in Paris. I had two amazing weeks with my parents. We spent five days in London, a week in Paris, and then my father and I toured vineyards in Bordeaux for four days. All absolutely spectacular.

London was beautiful but frantic. Restaurants and shows, museums and the Tower of London. And since when did I have so many friends in and around London? It was a whirlwind few days.

And Paris. J'adore Paris. I always breath a big sigh of relief/relaxation when I arrive in Paris. There is something about this city that just sits well with me. (Don't get me wrong; there are a lot of things about this place that irritate and/or confuse the hell out of me and I'm sure I will expound at great length on those topics in future posts.)

And my little trip down to Bordeaux was educational and entertaining. Perhaps on a slow day here I will share some of the hilariousness that ensued. But between adventures, we learned a ton about wine and saw some of the most beautiful countryside I have ever seen. And perhaps most importantly, I got to spend four uninterrupted days with my dad talking mostly about (what else?) wine and maps.

Traveling with parents is unlike traveling with anyone else or by yourself. Quite simply: the relationship we have with our parents is unlike the relationship we have with anyone else in our lives. For most people, there is no one in life with whom you have more history. So when spending time with them, we tend to fall into our traditional roles.

We slip into these roles as into well-worn shoes: easily, comfortably, almost with relief. For example, I suddenly become a follower. Not my usual m.o., I have been forced into this familial role by having a father who loves maps and isn't much for wandering. However, like old shoes, the old roles can be outgrown or require adjustment from time to time.

But now I am toute seule, with a full month to be whoever I want to be, to fill whatever role I want to fill. To wander aimlessly or stick to a strict, mapped-out schedule. And I am excited! Excited to go where I want when I want. To not have to care what my travel companion thinks about the painting I want to sit and stare at for an hour. And to meet people! Yes, it is much easier to meet people when you are on your own. I met a guy today at the supermarket. He was wearing a Harvard athletics (DHA!) sweatshirt so I walked up to him and said hi - which is stranger than it seems at first glance because we are in a French-speaking country where nobody says 'hi'.

So yes, even if it is daunting that for the first time in my life I have nothing to do, no responsibilities, no appointments to keep or assignments to finish - I am excited!

The name

Why is my blog named 'Jeux de mot'?

Well, I asked yet another smart friend of mine for advice. She wisely suggested that it be something in French with a double meaning.

'Jeux de mot' is literally: word games. This is different from 'jeux de mots' (motS plural) which means 'puns.'

So the name tells a lot about what to expect: fun with words, creativity, (hopefully) not taking oneself too seriously, and general literary lightheartedness.

An introduction

So I'm going to blog. Or at least, that's what I'm telling myself at the moment. For anyone who doesn't know (and if you don't, why are you here?), I am in Paris for a month by myself. It is part of an almost-yearlong series of travels I am doing before turning back into a real (read: responsible) person and going to do my law/mba.

I think that the easiest way to introduce this blog is to explain how I came to decide to do it in the first place. I've never been much of a personal writer - I never kept a diary. But I sure do think a lot and I enjoy expressing myself. After realizing just how much writing I did on the campaign, I decided that I wanted to keep it up. The more you do it, the better you get. Or something like that.

In addition, it seemed like a good way to ensure that I thought about and documented my time here in Paris - and probably my future travels if this little experiment succeeds. It also - obviously - is a good way for anyone interested to keep apprised of my escapades.

Finally, I asked a friend for advice. And he really hit home with me when he said: "i say start the blog if you have stuff you want to say. i've never been much of a diarist and find writing for the sake of writing to be pretty damn painful but when there's something to say...i'm all for it."

So I guess that I have stuff I want to say. I can't promise that it will be on any particular topics nor necessarily in English (though I am realizing that I will need some way to keep up my mother tongue). I can just promise that it will be me, unplugged, live on location.