France and Fantasy Island

Greetings everyone,

[Just a quick plug for some new photos, check out the Paris People and Paris Artsy pix at http://www.flickr.com/photos/7531775@N04/sets/ for photos from the end of Sara’s brother’s visit, our friends Anne and Corey’s visit, and Sara’s and my trip to Alsace.]

Now onto the blog…

I know, I know, everyone likes Sara’s blog entries more than mine. Hers are natural, mine are didactic (and use words like “didactic”). Hers put people at ease, mine make people feel “creepy.” Hers provide a disarming peek into daily French life, mine provide an alarming peek into my disturbing thought process.

OK, so maybe I’m exaggerating the dichotomy (there I go again…) for fun. But just in case Sara’s got ahold of a winning formula that maybe I can imitate, I figured I’d take a stab at a blog entry, Sara-style. Sara supports this, she knows I’m just teasing, and that imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. It’s more of a tribute than a spoof. Okay, maybe 50/50.

From my careful analysis, a Sara-style blog entry requires three things:
1.) a compound title for the blog entry, X and Y, or to put it in Mad Libs format, [noun] and [noun]
2.) a pithy but satisfying moral in the conclusion, beginning (in spirit, if not literally) with the clause “Well, I guess that just goes to show that…”
3.) gratuitous fruit and vegetable references

Well, without any further ado, here’s my shot a Sara-style blog:

FRANCE AND FANTASY ISLAND
I don’t know if you’re like me, but I grew up on re-runs of 1970s and 1980s TV shows. Some of my favorites were “The Love Boat,” “Fantasy Island,” “The Incredible Hulk,” and “The A-Team.” These shows were great, because they had some characters that returned each week, there were also new faces each with their own new plotlines each week. These new characters generally were in just one episode, stating their life problem at the beginning of the show, and usually having it resolved by the end of the show.

In “The Love Boat” and “Fantasy Island,” the folks with the problems were a bit more proactive, actually going to the trouble of showing up on the Boat/Island. On “The Incredible Hulk” and on “The A-Team,” our wandering heroes would show up in town and discover the locals’ life problems that way. (I’ve never seen the show, and it’s more recent than the others, but I think “Touched by an Angel” is in this camp too.)

Well, the other day, as I was putting away some zucchini and plums, it occurred to me that we definitely have the makings for the same kind of “problem solver” TV show right here in Paris. Our show would be “Love Boat” / “Fantasy Island” style, though, since our help-seekers come to us, in the form of visitors. Is stress affecting your health? Did you just suffer through a tough break-up? Do you need to get out of your small town pronto? Do you want to finally see if all those insults about the French are really true? Need a romantic getaway? Want to get engaged? Want to celebrate a birthday or an anniversary? Just need to eat, drink, sleep, read, shop, and/or walk an enormous amount? These are all reasons for which people plan to visit us, have visited us, or conceivably could visit us.

You can almost imagine Sara and myself on the gangplank of the Boat or the dock of the Island, greeting our guests Stubing/Roarke-style, shaking hands with our new arrivals as they show up, and hearing their tales of woe. Then, at the end of the episode, we’d be back in our same places, receiving thanks for making everything better. Sara and I would have to film the scenes in the dark and dreary “arrivals” area of Charles De Gaulle Airport, which is unfortunate, but I think it could work. (Of course, we would have to eat lots of mushrooms and other things rich in Vitamin D to make up for the lack of sun.)

[Silly blast from the past, a bad joke from elementary school: What kind of M&Ms does Tattoo like? “The plain, the plain!” Did you know, by the way, that Herve Villechaize was French? And close but no cigar, but “The Love Boat” theme just came up on my iPod?]

When we see how much joy our visitors get from their visits here, and how it goes such a long way towards helping them put their priorities in order, it reminds us just how lucky we are to be here. Being here is not just a gift for us, it is also a gift for our visitors—how many would not have come to Paris if we hadn’t provided them with a convenient excuse/deadline?

For our visitors, the week or two they spend with us are the highlight of their year. We get 52 of those weeks, and even though we realize how spoiled we are, it’s still a very humbling prospect. (Don’t worry, we don’t really have the God complex, we just figure any help or fun folks get out of their visits here is pure gravy!)

Well, I guess that just goes to show that life is like a box of chocolates, or in our case, the two euro grab-bag produce bins at the market—you never know what you’re going to get.

Unsurprisingly, I couldn’t really pull off a fully Sara-style blog entry. David Letterman says, “There’s no off position on the genius switch.” I suppose there’s also no off position on the Josh wordy/lecturing/sarcastic/vignette switch either. But I guess that just goes to show up…oh, never mind.

Josh

Louis Vuitton and Bastille Day

Summer seems to have truly arrived in Paris—the weather is now warm and sunny for the first time since April (literally). The Parisians seem to talk only of their August vacations (yes, they seem to go away for the entire month), and promise to call after “the rentree” in early September. But as summer has rolled in, so have a few stories from Bastille Day and Anne and Corey’s visit.

The Keiths and Louis
Anne and Corey’s visit concluded our first round of visitors. I think we’ve gotten pretty good at hosting and our guests have all been fantastic. Recent changes: Due to complaints from the peanut gallery (AKA my parents), Josh’s “Death March” of Paris has been modified and now only includes about one third the tour that Jess so graciously endured with a smile. We now have a few more dining spots that we actually know. I would say my cooking has improved but I’m still mildly sulking over the duck that didn’t quite turn out as I would have preferred over dinner with Anne and CK.

Understandably, our visitors have their own agendas, which gives Josh and me a chance to see things we might have missed on our own. In one recent case, we got an unexpected look at one of Paris’s luxury icons. In the quest for a wallet for Kristi Keith (Corey’s mom), we found ourselves accompanying Anne and CK to Louis Vuitton. Josh and I were definitely not dressed appropriately, but since it was pretty clear we weren’t the purchasers, we were mostly invisible.

The store, located prominently on the Champs Elysees, was interesting, extremely large and was so busy, they literally had bouncers at the door. The demographics were a little surprising to me—it was filled primarily with people seemingly from Asian countries. I actually would have guessed I was in Tokyo or Seoul, not France.

Josh and I were enjoying the store’s sites and commenting on next year’s fashion and I found several purses that I would never consider buying since I *know* I saw the same thing on M Street in Georgetown for $10. Anyways, just as Anne and Corey had found the wallet they wanted for Kristi, Josh’s “art” caused a bit of a scene. He reported in on his ‘trouble’ and our conversation went something like this:

Josh: “I had a bit of a run in with the security guard.”

Sara: “You did what? I told you they wouldn’t be keen about you taking pictures in here.”

Josh: “Well, the guy told me not to take the pictures so I nicely asked him to show me where this was written, where the sign was indicating that this was the case. Besides, he was kinda skinny, I could take him.”

Don’t worry, it all ended well—the wallet was procured, Josh did get a few forbidden photos and he even waved nicely to the irritated French Louis Vuitton bouncer on his way out. The guy probably knew Josh and I were just there with friends and wouldn’t be back too soon. Still, it would have been fun to go back, Pretty Woman style, dressed to the nines, carrying many shopping bags from pricey stores, and tell the guard he made a “big mistake.”

Bastille Day

Having missed the Fourth of July in Washington, normally one of my favorite holidays, we decided to vigorously participate in Bastille Day. We figured it would tell us more about the French and seemed like a good excuse for a day of excursions. We went to the parade, to a concert, saw the fireworks and ended our night at a firehouse party (which is apparently a tradition here). The weather was sunny, the Bastille Day events were great, plus we even took a walk through lots of Paris’ sites and enjoyed a nap in a park to boot.

Perhaps the most confounding part of the day for me though was the parade. It was super cool—lots of planes and helicopters and military equipment, but I couldn’t help but think as a lot of military personnel and equipment were rolling down the Champs-Elysees that it felt like recreating an invasion. I also kept thinking, “No wait, I thought only Russia and North Korea had parades like this. Do the French even care this much about the military?.” It was interesting and I wish my dad could have seen it since he would have really appreciated it.

Once again though, just as I thought I “understood” a bit more about France, it tosses me a curveball and a militaristic parade is certainly one big curveball for a seemingly anti-war (at least in recent times) country.

If France were a song, Josh and I have decided that the song that seems to best fit is “I’m Every Woman” or “Bitch” by Meredith Brooks (“I’m a bitch, I’m a lover, I’m a child, I’m a mother, I’m a sinner, I’m a saint…”).

The firehouse dance was a great way to wrap up a big day. Many firehouses across the country host events on the 13^th and 14^th and so we headed toward our local “pompiers”, which is just around the corner. We walked in, mostly expecting old time French music and gruffy French guys playing the accordion due to some of the things Josh had read, and were a bit surprised to see an outdoor dance party complete with fog machine and hundreds of people dancing to techno remixes of American 80’s music.

It was pretty wild. We were pretty tired by that point so stayed long enough for a glass of champagne (because Lord knows you wouldn’t have a party here without bubbly) and a bit of dancing, which is always fun here because while the French are quite cultured, they really are no better dancers than Josh and me.

So, this is July in Paris—all good stuff. Today, after a picnic with some friends, I learned how to play petanque—a bocci ball-esque game that is wildly popular in France. As I finish this, Josh and I just toasted over a chilly French rose (called Cote de Thongues—go figure) and I suppose life could be better, but some days, I’m simply not sure how.

sPg

Even More Vignettes

Greetings everyone, apologies for the prolonged absence from blogging. After much travel and many visitors (all enjoyable but a bit tiring), Sara and I are looking forward to a long summer of…not much. We’ll have good “quality time” together in July and August, enjoying the city and each other, until the next batch of visitors arrives in September.

I have another blog in progress that will be a bit more…coherent, but for now, here are some more vignettes I’ve been sitting on. As we all know, “vignette” is how a Russian mechanic would respond in the negative when asked if there’s a Vehicle Identification Number on file for a certain customer.

· More photos are available for viewing. You’ll see pictures from Andorra (People, Artsy, and Touristy), plus if you look at the three sets of Paris photos, you’ll see our most recent shots, including pictures from Sara’s brother David’s visit (the newest photos are always the first ones you see in each set): Photos: http://www.flickr.com/photos/7531775@N04/sets/ If you have any trouble accessing these, just let me know and I can easily fix it.

· Speaking of Andorra, given that we’re already essentially on vacation here in Paris, you have to wonder how we have the gall to take a vacation from our vacation to go someplace like Andorra. A vacation-within-a-vacation is like a ship in a bottle; you just have to wonder: how did it get in there?

· Also, here’s a progress update on Sara’s and my prolific walking: Sara’s just over, and I’m just under, 2.5 million steps since we got here in January. We’re both well over 1,100 miles walked in that same time.

· Sara and I had a brush with celebrity the other day. We were meeting up with two of my mom’s friends in the lobby of the tony Plaza Athenee hotel, when out of the corner of my eye, I saw an older man with curly bleached hair and white sunglasses slip out of a hidden elevator and through a side door. It was unmistakably Michel Polnareff, arguably France’s best-known singer currently (http://www.rfimusique.com/siteen/biographie/biographie_6058.asp). He was famous in the 1960s and 1970s, then exiled himself to Los Angeles for decades, making only periodic appearances, before staging a comeback this year. A few days later, Sara and I joined over 600,000 people who saw Polnareff play by the Eiffel Tower on Bastille Day. He’s really a cult figure, it’s a bit like Elvis coming back to perform after decades of…exile.

· Not much more than a year into our marriage, Sara and I continue to learn things about each other. Here’s my latest upsetting discovery: in our six months in France, Sara’s used up a kilo of fresh sea salt, several liters of various vinegars and olive oils, cases of sparkling water, bottles of Martini rouge…and approximately one half of one tube of toothpaste. And to think, I kiss that mouth! (Sara points out in the way of explanation that she does brush twice daily, just using very little toothpaste...)

· A few musical items: first, during our recent Alsatian trip, Sara and I were sitting in the first car of train, awaiting our departure. The conductor got on the train and walked into the cabin, all while very clearly whistling… “The Final Countdown.” Perhaps that’s not surprising, since it’s appropriately by…Europe.

· Second, during a recent cab trip, I saw that my driver had one and only one CD in his musical collection…Shalamar!

· Third, a forgotten and overdue musical vignette and iPod update: while watching a Good Friday procession just blocks from Notre Dame, Tina Turner’s “Private Dancer” came on the iPod. Even I felt sacrilegious. And later that day, when the “Golden Girls” theme came on the iPod, I just felt…icky.

· Not far from our apartment, there is an enormous, truck-sized vending machine that sells everything from milk to sandwiches to vibrating condoms (you may remember there was once one of these machines in Adams Morgan). The other day, I bought a camembert cheese from the machine (mainly because I could). I also bought a can of lychee juice, only noticing later that it was “Cock Brand” lychee juice. I’m guessing it’s a translation error.

· When I got the camembert home and opened it, I saw this funny “we’re not in the US anymore, are we?” disclaimer on the wrapper: “The fat percentage listed on our cheeses is now calculated taking into account their water content, as is the case for other milk products…Only its labeling has changed, to better inform you and permit you to more easily manage your diet. This means that your President camembert, which was formerly listed as containing 45% fat will now list 20%, without changing recipes or ingredients.” In other words, they were apologizing for having to “downgrade” their cheese from being 45% fat to just 20% fat. You can bet that in America, someone would have figured out the “water content” game a long time ago, and would have been selling the camembert as “diet,” due to the new “just” 20% fat content!

To close, a few recommendations:

- We may have found a new house wine, called Fitou. See if you can find it, it should be available in the US.

- For two enjoyable and hysterically funny French rap videos (by a guy named Kamini who’s the one black resident in a small rural town), check out http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wPJ-xRaw2l8 for and http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6gV5rsO2u_o

- For a funny video of new French President Nicolas Sarkozy, possibly drunk after a meeting with Vladimir Putin at the G8, see http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zzPEH-Ea3DI&mode=related&search=

Hope all's well,

Josh

Polish Politics and Pagan Festivals

Taking a Hoosier-born, self-declared Polish prince to one of the tiniest countries on the planet is always a bit of a dicey idea. As we left Paris for our short trip to Andorra by way of Girona, Spain, I was hoping that locals wouldn’t mistake my younger, 6 foot 4 inch brother David as either a giant (like he is in Paris) or as a diplomatic mission from the “Kingdom of Indiana” because none of us speak Catalan (the language spoken in Andorra, northeastern Spain, and southwestern France).

Side note: It’s possible that you’ve never heard of Andorra, since I hadn’t until a week before we set foot in the country. In case you are like me, here are some top level glimpses of Andorra. Andorra is a small mountainous nation in the Pyrenees between Spain and France that is one sixth the size of Rhode Island. There are no airports or train stations in Andorra, you can only get there by traversing windy roads. Andorrans have the highest life expectancy in the world. and the country was once actually almost taken over by a clever Russian man who called himself Boris I. Other than that, the country is governed jointly by a bishop from Spain and the president of France. There—that’s Andorra in a nutshell.

The locals didn’t seem to stare too much, and in the end, David even built a few intra- Europe ties. One afternoon he was wearing a classy T-Shirt (a gift from Josh, see photo) with the phrase “Poland is for Wieners” and he was stopped in an elevator by a local who wanted to discuss Polish politics. The man asked David his opinion on Poland’s status within the EU. It was a fairly brief conversation and I think it’s fair to say the local didn’t quite get the nuance of the shirt, thankfully.

Never being ones to miss an opportunity to celebrate an obscure holiday, or frankly anything obscure, we were thrilled to hear that our visit would coincide with the celebration of the Feast of St. Joan in Andorra. The holiday was billed as a celebration of independence for the Catalan people (which seemed a bit confusing given that there is no Catalan nation per say, but I may have missed something), but we were excited to hear about the tradition of fireworks, bonfires and dancing.

It didn’t quite take shape as we thought. There were a lot of fireworks, but not the official variety--most of them set off by teens sporting mullets, M-80’s and lighters. That was not my most favorite part of the country.

At midnight, a crowd had started to gather (no small feat when the entire country only has 70,000 people) and so we waited to see if the big bonfire-ready pile of wood was actually going to be lit as some symbolic moment.

We were not disappointed. There was a parade with witches, devils dressed in white fireproof capes carrying fireworks on spools, drums and men dressed in black with fire on a chain. As Josh said, “I think that this might actually be the dictionary definition of a pagan festival,” I think David and I were wondering if we shouldn’t immediately break out some holy water. But everyone seemed friendly and still smaller than David, so we figured it was all probably OK, so we joined in the parade to the bonfire pit.

After marching through the streets, the band of witches and fire people danced around the big pre-bonfire and then a teenager who had some sort of beauty pageant-esque banner lit the fire. With fireworks still going off very close, we decided we had seen all of what we needed for the moment and headed off for a late night dinner at a tapas restaurant, which was not particularly noteworthy except that it was decorated with actual hams with their hoofs still attached hung from the ceiling.

In stark contrast to the fireworks and parades was the time at the spa. The spa, which was more Ikea-esque in its functionality rather than Elizabeth Arden in its luxury, was the perfect way to spend several hours. I was happy that not all of the women were size 0s (I guess there weren’t many Parisian women there) and I suspect that we’ve definitely convinced David that vacations are even better with real r&r built in. I think we might have relaxed so much we forgot to breathe at times.

And now, David has returned back to the States and we have been left chairing the “Dave for French President” fan club. It was a heck of a visit and I even think we might consider launching a small-scale invasion of another country in years to come.

sPg