Consummate Commute, or "My Commute is a Beaut' "

Greetings everyone,

Sorry for the extended (month-long!) absence from the blogosphere, but one of the lessons this year has taught us is that Parkinson's Law ("Work expands to fill the time available for its completion.") is sadly true. With little to do, we accomplish little. It's the corollary to the advice "If you want to get something done, give it to a busy person." If you don't want something done, give it to me!

One disclaimer as well: when you read our blog entries (like this one), please don't take them as bragging, or worse, as taunting. We're not gloating about our lives being so great, we're just literally shocked at all the crazy stuff we've run into, and, admittedly yes, how lucky we are to be here. Now, onto the blog...

Of the list of things that I love here in Paris, you would probably expect "my commute" to score fairly low indeed. Well, au contraire, mon frere! I love my commute. I walk to and from work, it's about 2.5 miles each way, it takes about 45 minutes, and as I've mentioned in the blog in the past, I'm usually bopping along to tunes from my iPod (thanks, Mom!). To give you a little chance what it's like, I decided to make this blog into a "virtual" commute. So, put on your walkin' shoes and let's get started.

A couple of blocks after heading out the door, we come to St. Medard Church, the church that looks out on the market that Sara often writes about. It's an attractive but unremarkable gothic church, but what's shocking about it (to an American at least) is its age. The church's construction begain in the 15th Century and was completed in the 18th Century. But dates are just numbers unless you put them into context: it took longer to built this church than it has to build our country, its construction started around the time Christopher Columbus arrived in America, and it was completed around the time that our country was born. Humbling history...

After passing alongside St. Medard and turning a corner, we come across a school whose facade is graced with a historical plaque that honors its namesake. The plaque reads in part "Pierre Alviset, an emblematic figure of the Resistance [...] On June 21 [1944], he wrote in his notebook 'I'm 20 years old, a happy age. I want to become a worthy man and a French citizen. Arrested, he was shot in Domont on August 16." This again reinforces the omnipresence of history in this city, and shows how heroes and leaders can sometimes be the person next door.

A block or two up the hill, glancing right, you can see the Paris Mosque at the end of the street. Built in 1926, the mosque is home to a terrific tea room and a hammam (steam bath) that Sara raves about.

1926?!? Fiddle-dee fee!, you say. Even chez Gibson in DC is older than that. Is that the best Paris can do?!? Well, no. Another block up the street, there's a large door under a stone plaque featuring a knight's helmet with the visor down. If you walk through this archway and down a short corridor you will pop out...in a Roman arena. The arena was built around 200 AD, fell into disuse when the Romans left Paris, had its upper levels dismantled by Parisians seeking free building materials, and eventually was filled in with dirt. Rediscovered in the 19th Century during excavations for a bus parking lot, the arena was subsequently...covered back up and had the aforementioned parking lot built above it after all. But following a second excavation decades later, and a "save the arena" campaign that featured Victor Hugo and a small-change fundraising campaign by schoolkids, the arena was saved and became a tourist destination. In a nutty "worlds colliding," only-in-Paris circumstance, the arena, now a Paris city park, was recently outfitted...with WiFi! What's next, an aqueduct leading to the Centre Pompidou?

Down the street and around the corner, we come across what in most other cities would be one of the gems in the town's touristy crown. But in Paris, this would probably rank somewhere in the 500 to 1000 range on the "most important site" list. Oh, it's only a key example of Louis XV-era architecture, a mansion built in 1701. About this place, Paris would say "Oh, that li'l thing?"

A half block away, at the bottom of the hill, on the outside wall of a post office, is this historical plaque. (Paris has great historical plaques--stay tuned for a "favorite things" blog with some of my other favorites, and I'll highlight a few others here that I see on my commute.) The plaque explains that Louis Braille came up with "Braille" on this very site. Interestingly, Braille's name itself appears in Braille on the plaque, but the plaque's eight feet up, so unless your name is Helen Keller Abdul-Jabbar, good luck with that.

Beyond the post office there's a junior high school. I like to check out the cafeteria menu posted outside the school (shrimp and avocado, creme caramel, really?), plus I enjoy raising an arched eyebrow at the smoking and disaffected young French teens that hang out there. And next to the school? The Paradis Latin, one of Paris' most renowned topless cabarets. Check out http://www.paradis-latin.com/ to get a sense of what it's like. The site's NSFW (not safe for work) as the kids say, or at least it is in the US. It's probably A-OK for France, which is why it's allowed to be next to a junior high school, I suppose. This kind of points out the absurdity of the battle in DC to find someplace 1000 yards (or whatever it is) from a school to relocate the strip clubs displaced by the construction of the Nationals ballpark. 'Cuz if we hide the nudity (and the alcohol), kids will lead a happy, sexless existence until they marry!

A block down and across the street is the Tour d'Argent, a 400-year-old (not a typo) restaurant where, for the first time (supposedly) a fork was used. My commute takes me past the place where they discovered the effing fork! Not only that, whenever someone orders duck (the specialty) here, they get a postcard with the "serial number" for their duck. McDonalds ain't got nothin' on the Tour d'Argent. Over a million "servi" (served).

After crossing the street and walking halfway across a bridge, if you turn left, you'll see...

Well, you'll have to wait to hear what you see (though it's good!), because Sara tells me this blog is too long. I suppose you know how this blog is going to end (there's no "Did Josh make it to work?!?", "Did the General Lee fully jump over that pond?!?" Dukes-of-Hazzard season-end cliffhanger). Or is there? Maybe this entire Paris year was just a dream...

A bientot for the conclusion...

Josh