Music

Here is what I heard today while wandering around Paris:

My Way, played on a harp
Sound of Silence, played on a double bass
A french guy swearing along with some American (or English) hip hop

And not once while in Paris did I hear an accordian or Ma Vie en Rose (or whatever that stereotypically French song is).

Sigh...

Paris, Day 1

I wandered around Paris today for about 10 hours. It was good, but I had no one to talk to or share my witty comments with, so I will do so now with you. Anything in italics is the running commentary I had going on with myself. Warning, there is likely to be some mild swearing therein.

After a lovely breakfast with my hostess (around 9... I left her a note changing the time, and just told her 8:30 for tomorrow. She looked disappointed, so I assume she is a morning person), I threw my camera, my map, and a lot of euros into my bag, donned my Euro-coat, and hit the pavement. I am staying in Neuilly-sur-Seine, a swanky suburb to the west of Paris. There is a big park near here, so I decided to walk through that towards the Eiffel Tower. This Jardin isn't quite what I expected. Much rougher. Kind of like the woods of Forest Park... That woman isn't wearing very many clothes. Neither is her friend joining her. I thought this was a nice area of town... That woman-- wait, I think it's a man-- getting out of that van isn't wearing many clothes either, and I can see the top of her/his stockings. Where AM I???... It smells a bit like urine... It smells a lot like urine.... Is there a ZOO around here somewhere???... Oh, there's the steaming pile of hay.

Flash forward about 20 minutes, still in the park. Where is that damned tower? I can't see it anywhere. I guess I'll keep going a bit further before I cut over to the little back roads. Another 10 minutes. Okay, where the hell am I? I can't find this little road on my map. I just passed the Italian Embassy... That's a pretty trellis in someone's garden, I'll go check it out... Ooops, that's the Iraqi Embassy. Another 10 minutes, map in hand. How did I get all the way down here? Back-tracking about a mile. No wonder I couldn't see the Eiffel Tower. It is the Eiffel Stump today!

I wandered around the tower (but am saving going up it until it isn't in cloud cover), then headed to the new Musee de Quai Branley (Primitive Art, which they call something like art of the First People). The art was okay, the building was totally cool. There was one object though... What the frig is that? It looks like something from a Dr. Seuss book as interpreted by Terry Gilliam!

From there I went to a chocolatier (it was on my path!), then found some lunch, before heading to the Musee d'Orsay. I thought this was a sidewalk! What the hell is that scooter doing trying to run me over? The museum was nice, until I found the Art Nouveau room, and then it became fantastic. Oh my god, I love this room. I want to live in this room. Who would give up this room to a museum?? I wonder if Dickie can make me this room.

At this point I was getting kind of tired, so decided I needed a hot chocolate. FOUR euros for a freaking hot chocolate???? This better be the best damned hot chocolate I've ever had. I also stopped in at another chocolatier. As it is right here, I might as well stop in and get a few bonbons to compare it to the first place. I continued wandering around various small streets These streets are boring. There is nothing here. Oh wait, I appear to have come across the changing of the guard until I finally came into the Latin Quarter, which seems to be the (window)shopping district. And then something happened to the solidity of the window. Oooh, that is a cute pair of gloves. My hands have been cold... Ooooh, look at that hat. I'll just try it on. I'll just try on all the hats. I'll just try that first one on again. I do have a birthday coming up, and I haven't spent much money (except on chocolate, but no one can prove that I got any chocolate as it is all gone now). And I have been wearing my red apple hat for about 12 years. Maybe I should pretend to be a grown-up.

One new hat on head, I walked out the door. Okay, no more shopping now. I've spent far too much money today, plus look at that. Is that Ben and Jerry's? And there's Old Navy? My shopping time obviously has come to an end-- Oooh, another chocolatier! At that chocolate shop I decided to be abstemious, and only get one chocolate. The guy smiled and handed it to me (no little glacene baggy this time), and said, "On the house." Free chocolate?? This city ROCKS!

I walked on some more, and happened across a (presumable very chic) bridal boutique. Oh my god, if Paris is about 5 years ahead of us in fashion, I can't wait to go to a wedding in 5 years! Seriously, I want to get married, just so I can go in there and try things on... I'd totally get THAT one... And THAT would be my bridesmaid's dress!!!


Past Notre Dame, onto the Ile de Saint Louis I'm home! and to the ice cream shop that was recommended to me by two people If TWO people recommend it, I obviously have to go. Bummer, it is closed. Just going to have to come back tomorrow.

Now it is about 8 pm, and I am beat, so I find the Metro and start home. That 20-something blond woman appears to be American. I'll stare at her for a while... Wow, honey, you afraid of those boobs falling out???? Good god, save some surpises for later! Oh, wait, it's okay, as the old guy with his arm around your waist seems to have his shirt unbuttoned to about the same level.

Maybe tomorrow I'll bring my phone with me, so I can actually have a conversation with someone rather than relying upon entertaining myself. (It could be a loooooooong year!)

Language Barriers

I am in France now, where I, completely unfoundedly, have this perverse belief that I can speak the language. Sure, I was taught French... in second grade. The entirety of my French education was to say "Hello, how are you?" "Very well, thank you, and you?" "Very well." That will get me in the door, but then what?

When I am travelling around, I try my best not to stand out as a crass American. I have this wonderful coat that I got in Rome 18 months ago, and when I wear it I seem to be able to pass myself off as a local. One obviously American woman asked me slowly, "Ou est le Metro?" I happily told her in English that I'd just passed a stop (but whipped out my map just in case). The only problem with appearing to be a local is that people do speak to you in their language. And I open my mouth honestly thinking that French is just going to naturally pop out.

What does come out? German. I haven't been this fluent in German since I was in Rome. The foreign language section of my brain seems to be completely filled with German. (The section must not be that large, because my Deutsch is pretty bad!)

But I keep trying nonetheless. I wandered around Paris this evening, and finally stopped into a little restaurant for dinner at 9:45. (I AM in Europe, after all.) The waiter, who I am sure spoke much more English that I do French, patiently played along with me and spoke to me in French... until I got to the point where I needed to ask for the bill. Mind you by then, after a glass of wine, I would have had trouble asking for the bill in ANY language!

Of course I do have all the French that I really need, though. "Pain au chocolat et vin rouge, sil vous ples." That should keep me going for a good long while!

More about France later. Now, as it is midnight, I must hasten off to bed so that I can be up and functional at 8 am tomorrow, when my hostess is going to be making me breakfast. Very kind of her, but I was fibbing when I said I got up at 8 (I didn't realize that the offer of breakfast would follow the inquiry as to what time I arose), and I certainly don't eat anything for an hour or two after I awake. So I've set my alarm for 7, so that I can at least attempt to be a gracious guest. (Of course she isn't even home from her dinner engagement yet, so maybe I should leave her a note saying nine would be better!)

Voting Day

I am in Rennes, France, visiting a friend from college and his family, and we are all glued to the television waiting for election results. Of course nothing is in yet, but we are watching CNN World News Europe nonetheless. Imagine my delight when, showing how long the voting lines are in such swing states as Missouri, they had footage of the big red doors of New City School!

QP shoot

Every year, my cousins have a "shoot" in the morning and then a bonfire in the evening around Halloween (which happens to be my cousin's birthday, and a few days shy of Guy Fawkes Day, which is the UK's excuse to light fireworks). I've heard about this for years, but this was my first chance to be a part of it... sort of.


Last night was a small dinner gathering (99 people, all catered by cousin Harriet) to celebrate Carol's 60th birthday. It was a lovely event, filled with excellent speeches (including Zuky talking about the family's 'cruise ship'-- a one way passage from Africa to the West Indies-- they used to have a few hundred years ago before someone got morals). Before one knew it, it was one in the morning, and there wasn't even any dancing! So many of the shooters were a bit bleary-eyed when they gathered at 9 am, but off they went down the hill nontheless. I would have joined them, except that clearly I wasn't in dress code. The best part was that they all looked so natural in their ridiculous woolen tweed knickers.

After they had been out for an hour (and I was bored of clearing the tent of the previous night's debris), I wandered down to see what it was all about. Zuky and Harriet were hanging out in a field, staring at the woods, so I wandered over to them, saying I wanted to see something shot out of the sky and chased down by a dog (ducks and pheasants were the goal of the day, although one goose and one rather small bird that shouldn't have been shot also got done in). I said to the two of them that this was my first hunt. "Shoot," they both promptly and firmly corrected me. A hunt is where people in red jackets ride around on horses chasing dogs who are actually doing all of the work in chasing down the fox. A shoot involves men in wellies and tweeds standing in a line stalking birds which are (hopefully) being flushed out of the underbrush by the beaters (aka wives and girlfriends of the "guns"). No one is wearing camoflage, and no one is wearing orange. I guess they assume they won't shoot each other.

At one point the beaters and guns were coming towards us, and a pheasant was pursuaded to fly up, pretty much directly between us and the nearest gun. When he raised his gun, I naturally dove behind Zuky's ATV. Zuky, somewhat surprisingly to me, leapt in front of the ATV and started waving his arms in the air, as if to say "Aim here!" (I think he was trying to suggest to the pheasant not to come our way, but to fly sideways so the guy would have a better shot.) The man did shoot the pheasant... pretty much obliterated it actually, as it was a close shot. The faithful labrador retrieved the remains.

I stuck with it for a little longer, and the gun came up to where I was and we watched the woods together. At one point there were a couple of shots from the woods, and I asked how often people got shot (again, no bright orange anywhere in sight). He said "Quite often." Then it sounded like light rain was falling for a moment, even though the sky was clear, and he added, "We almost just did. Did you hear it? It actually hurts quite a bit when you get hit with falling shot." No kidding.

And that is when I decided my shooting career was over, and I retired to the kitchen, where I was only in danger of gorging myself on pudding (which I proceeded to attempt, of course).

Edinburgh

Long tea break, but I'm back now (having been passed from friend to friend and returned back up north to be with family again).

Charlie and I arrived in Edinburgh on Wednesday evening, right in the middle of rush hour. We located roughly where the hotel should be, but, as Charlie hadn't written down the exact address (not that that would really help in this country, as road names are SOMETIMES posted and numbering buildings seems to be completely optional), we did a couple of laps around the block, finally leaning out of the car window and asking the cabbie stopped next to us at the light where the hotel might be. We checked in, threw our bags down, and, after consulting the little tourist brochure (not the one with the typo mentioned in an earlier post), headed off to dinner.

I had chosen a restaurant called "Iglu", because, when playing Scrabble online with him (when one could still do these things), Charlie had put down that dubious spelling of the word, and because the restaurant advertised itself as organic, and I'm a sucker for such things. It was a walk of about a mile, but down a lovely street, and right by the birthplace of Robert Louis Stevenson... of course I'd planned that all along. (Actually I would have totally missed it, had I not been trying to peer in the windows of all the houses, and wondered why that one was particularly nicely decorated. I thought it might have been a hotel of some sort, and even had a big brass plaque next to the door. That's when I saw what it really was.)

We walked into the restaurant, glanced into the bar downstairs which was empty except for one middle-aged man, and headed up the stairs, which is where the sign saying restaurant pointed us. At the top of the stairs we walked right into the kitchen, where we were kindly directed back downstairs where the food was being served this evening. So down we went (later seeing other people make this same trip, and wondering why they didn't cover the sign directing people up, or adding another one saying that they didn't really mean it), and settled in at a table by the window (despite it saying reserved... the barmaid told us to sit there, and just moved the sign to a different table). At this point the bartender and barmaid (I'm sure that there is a more PC term I'm supposed to use, but I've been here for a month, so I can only hear British English rushing around my head... you should hear me try to say any word that has a short "o" in it, for I get desperately confused as to how I short pronounce it) went over to aforementioned man in the pub, and told him it was time to leave. This went on for about five minutes, with the two of them going on about how he had had his one more drink, and he had promised to leave then. I'm not sure what had transpired earlier, but the poor old guy was pretty pathetic (not to mention apparently pretty drunk). He eventually left, and only returned one more time during the evening.

After that, dinner was uneventful and tasty (sticky toffee pudding goodness!). From there Charlie wanted to head into the heart of Edinburgh, The Royal Mile, the stretch of road leading away from the castle, which is laden with pubs. He said we just had to stop and have a drink there to say that we had done so. So we hiked up the hill and got to the top and saw absolutely nothing. There were about a thousand cashmere and/or kilt shops, interspersed with tea shops, every one of them closed. And not a tourist in sight. He was confused and disappointed. I was amused and reminded of downtown St. Louis (not that I hang out there much, but it is what I imagine most of it is like on a weeknight). We wandered down the street, eventually coming across a tour which Charlie wanted to follow... until I pointed out the vest on one fellow which said "Edinburgh Christian Tours". We walked on. We saw a group mingling, getting ready to go on the Haunted Edinburgh tour, but I thought it was scary enough above ground, so felt no need to go under!

The expected nightlife being somewhat of a bust (totally okay by me), we headed back to the hotel and watched the last 20 minutes of Twister, which, of course, I had already seen in some other hotel in years gone by.

Thursday was a bit brighter. The shops were all open, the tourists were out, and the weather was sunny... when it wasn't raining. We went to castle (almost got blown off the ramparts, it was so windy up there) and did the tourist thing. The castle complex has lots of museums in it, every one of them dedicated somehow to war or the Scottish Regiment or battles somehow. Not my cup of tea, but they were out of the wind, so we went into each and every one.


The first museum we wandered through was unexciting, so we went pretty quickly. We got to the last room, which ended up being on the other side of the courtyard from where we started. I saw a door, but was unsure if any alarms would go off if I opened it. I didn't really want to track back through the museum, so asked Charlie if he thought we could leave by this door. At which point it opened a little bit (showing me that alarms were not going to go off), then close, and then opened all the way. As the ghosts were obviously opening the door for us, I thought it rude not to accept this bit of civility, and we exited.

The rest of the castle, and Edinburgh in general, was nice, but not overwhelming. We met up with Adrian again, had lunch (my first fish and chips of my trip), wandered around a bit more, then headed home.

Put a check next to Scotland.

Typo

As I am still in English-speaking countries, I haven't seen any fantastic English translations yet (although my friends just did look at me askance when I said I had waterproof pants for our walk, as here 'pants' refer to underpants... everything else is 'trousers').

I was, however, quite amused while in a hotel room in Edinburgh reading the tourist book on the city. It was explaining all the varied and interesting things that there were to do there. In Edinburgh there was something "to suit all testes". Not much for the women to do, I guess.