Sunday, August 30, 2009
Friday, August 28, 2009
CM: Bicycling makes everyone happy.
Nearly everyone looks happy when riding their bicycles (except maybe when they have a heavy load riding in the rain, but that wasn't the case here). We have a good reason for that: we are happy.
Who knew you could get a basket the same color as your turquoise bicycle:
What a great smile:
This girl was so cute, I wanted to introduce her to my mom. Unfortunately, my mom couldn't make Critical Mass this time.
Yay! One thing I love most about Critical Mass is when the drivers get irate from having to wait an extra 5 minutes at a stop light during rush hour in downtown San Francisco (where/when/and they shouldn't be driving anyway) and the cyclists respond by "mis-interpreting" drivers' honks/yells as joining the celebration. After all, what is life for if not to celebrate! This photo reminds me of that.
And of course, shown here is yours truly, happy with the others and well-labeled:
Who knew you could get a basket the same color as your turquoise bicycle:
What a great smile:
This girl was so cute, I wanted to introduce her to my mom. Unfortunately, my mom couldn't make Critical Mass this time.
Yay! One thing I love most about Critical Mass is when the drivers get irate from having to wait an extra 5 minutes at a stop light during rush hour in downtown San Francisco (where/when/and they shouldn't be driving anyway) and the cyclists respond by "mis-interpreting" drivers' honks/yells as joining the celebration. After all, what is life for if not to celebrate! This photo reminds me of that.
And of course, shown here is yours truly, happy with the others and well-labeled:
Thursday, August 27, 2009
CM: Tough guy, happy
This guy scared me a little so that I was reluctant to snap his photo. But when I did, he seemed fine with it. He even posed a little for me, making himself look tougher and less approachable to improve my photo. I love his look.
Once the ride was underway, I caught his likeness again. This time, he glowed. No scowling tough guy was he. Bicycling made him a beaming puppy-dog man.
I almost felt encouraged enough to speak to him... but not quite.
Once the ride was underway, I caught his likeness again. This time, he glowed. No scowling tough guy was he. Bicycling made him a beaming puppy-dog man.
I almost felt encouraged enough to speak to him... but not quite.
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
CM: Socks!
I was quite taken with this guy in his cap, corduroy sports coat, jeans, snazy striped socks, and brown leather shoes texting his pals: "Are you here yet?" or "I'll meet you after the ride..."
I caught up with him later in the life of Critical Mass for a bit more quality time with those magnificant socks....
I caught up with him later in the life of Critical Mass for a bit more quality time with those magnificant socks....
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
CM: Let's Go!
The natives are getting restless.
In San Francisco, Critical Mass meets at 6 PM every last Friday of the month at Justin Herman Plaza. The convening can take a while, and by the time the ride begins, the energy of the event is thick with excitement.
The city called to us!
Deep called out: "Let's go!"
And the Top Models called back "Let's go."
In San Francisco, Critical Mass meets at 6 PM every last Friday of the month at Justin Herman Plaza. The convening can take a while, and by the time the ride begins, the energy of the event is thick with excitement.
The city called to us!
Deep called out: "Let's go!"
And the Top Models called back "Let's go."
Monday, August 24, 2009
Bike sharing in San Francisco...?
The city is inching towards having its own bike sharing system. This idea, made famous by Paris' Velib' program (shown in these photos), could begin in Golden Gate Park as soon as this January. See the SFGate article and link below. Enjoy these photos I took of gorgeous Paris bike share riders earlier this month.
SFGate: Bike Share To Get There
Golden Gate Park could become one of the first test cases for San Francisco's future citywide bike share program.
As part of the Recreation and Park Department's plans to expand traditional bike rentals from its two current locations: Stow Lake Boathouse in Golden Gate Park and the Marina Green, bike rental vendors who vie for a city contract must agree to participate in a pilot bike share program in Golden Gate Park. [SFGate article continues]
SFGate: Bike Share To Get There
Golden Gate Park could become one of the first test cases for San Francisco's future citywide bike share program.
As part of the Recreation and Park Department's plans to expand traditional bike rentals from its two current locations: Stow Lake Boathouse in Golden Gate Park and the Marina Green, bike rental vendors who vie for a city contract must agree to participate in a pilot bike share program in Golden Gate Park. [SFGate article continues]
Critical Mass: Waiting ladies
Every month, I get excited for Critical Mass. I don't necessarily want to ride in it, but I love what it represents: a free-for-all celebration of the bicycle as am important part of San Francisco's culture.
These days, nobody argues that biking is a legitimate way to get around the city. But that wasn't always the case. When I first learned about Mass, it was the the summer 3 cyclists were kill by cars on Market Street (and Lady Di was killed in a car in Paris; though unrelated, the events are linked in my mind).
It was the summer I moved across the bridge to the City where I always wanted to be. The ladies photographed in the post are just waiting for the ride to begin. But they're having fun doing it. This one is showing me her boots.
These pals are chatting away, completely unaware that they are my new Top Models.
This week, I'll release a new post of Critical Mass photographs every day until the ride.
These days, nobody argues that biking is a legitimate way to get around the city. But that wasn't always the case. When I first learned about Mass, it was the the summer 3 cyclists were kill by cars on Market Street (and Lady Di was killed in a car in Paris; though unrelated, the events are linked in my mind).
It was the summer I moved across the bridge to the City where I always wanted to be. The ladies photographed in the post are just waiting for the ride to begin. But they're having fun doing it. This one is showing me her boots.
These pals are chatting away, completely unaware that they are my new Top Models.
This week, I'll release a new post of Critical Mass photographs every day until the ride.
Sunday, August 23, 2009
A perfect San Francisco Saturday
Topics to be cover in this post:
1) Aphrodesia
3) San Francisco Street Food Festival
2) Dan Savage and the campsite rule of dating
4) Backyard BBQ band parties and Danielle's bluegrass band Understory
I was going to open by complaining about the place where I get waxed, but I decided instead to post it on yelp. Sometimes, there's an appropriate place for all things.
Friday night, we went to see Aphrodesia at the Great American Music Hall. I'm a venue snob, and this is one of about 3 San Francisco music venues that I love. Non-loved venues I tend to avoid even when my most-favorite bands play there.
Apparently, it was prom night, and the vocalists donned gorgeous dresses and Henry wore a bow tie. I love their estrogen-fueled afro-beat, so much more accessible than the alternative. I read in the SF Weekly that these mostly-white Americans sang to a village in Ghana in the people's native tongue.
Saturday morning, I moved very slowly, but eventually ended up at the Street Food Festival on Folsom. It was absolute clusterf*#k (in the words of a friend of a friend on facebook). I was delighted that it was so popular, but the street was literally too crowded to walk down. All my crowd control skills painfully learned at Berkeley High School did me no good.
I considered stopping at Philz for a coffee (also with too many people -- maybe I will try again today) and noticed that the woman in front of me in line was texting that many stands had run out of food already (it was 3p and the event was supposed to end at 7p). My unsolicited advice to the organizers for next year: more space, more stalls, more space between stalls.... They are clearly onto something! It should be huge, and it needs huge space.
(Not to be mean but) I was delighted to see women search for parking in my Mission literally in tears and the sidewalks not wide enough for all the pedestrians 6+ blocks from the event. Here are a few cyclists searching for parking with much more calm.
I took my bike a little further away to Ritual Cafe where I used my "heavy drinker" 10-punch card for a free mocha. (There's a story about this I will cover another time.) I read the SF Weekly because it was on the table.
Savage Love this week exposed me to a new concept that I loved: the camp site rule of dating which says you must "leave him in better shape than you found him." I recall the boyfriend I taught to drive, the one who exposed me to the profession in which I still work, and the one I encouraged to take pictures, fix his bike, and ultimately moved from my apartment into one he bought (even if he's still angry with me, he can't argue with the facts). I see opportunity in people, and some of them find me incredibly irritating when I encourage them to realize their potential. But I think I wouldn't mind being left if I was in a better place than when I was found. I like this rule.
Last night was Danielle's band BBQ where her bluegrass group, Understory, played their first public set. But first, on my way over there, I saw these guys playing with red scarves in the middle of Valencia. I'm thinking Valencia may be the center of the Universe.
When Danielle plays the violin, tears literally fill my eyes it's so beautiful. In San Francisco, nearly everyone does something creative and quirky like affluent white kids singing about coal mining. (A random example that just spring to my mind out of now where.) I love it!
1) Aphrodesia
3) San Francisco Street Food Festival
2) Dan Savage and the campsite rule of dating
4) Backyard BBQ band parties and Danielle's bluegrass band Understory
I was going to open by complaining about the place where I get waxed, but I decided instead to post it on yelp. Sometimes, there's an appropriate place for all things.
Friday night, we went to see Aphrodesia at the Great American Music Hall. I'm a venue snob, and this is one of about 3 San Francisco music venues that I love. Non-loved venues I tend to avoid even when my most-favorite bands play there.
Apparently, it was prom night, and the vocalists donned gorgeous dresses and Henry wore a bow tie. I love their estrogen-fueled afro-beat, so much more accessible than the alternative. I read in the SF Weekly that these mostly-white Americans sang to a village in Ghana in the people's native tongue.
Saturday morning, I moved very slowly, but eventually ended up at the Street Food Festival on Folsom. It was absolute clusterf*#k (in the words of a friend of a friend on facebook). I was delighted that it was so popular, but the street was literally too crowded to walk down. All my crowd control skills painfully learned at Berkeley High School did me no good.
I considered stopping at Philz for a coffee (also with too many people -- maybe I will try again today) and noticed that the woman in front of me in line was texting that many stands had run out of food already (it was 3p and the event was supposed to end at 7p). My unsolicited advice to the organizers for next year: more space, more stalls, more space between stalls.... They are clearly onto something! It should be huge, and it needs huge space.
(Not to be mean but) I was delighted to see women search for parking in my Mission literally in tears and the sidewalks not wide enough for all the pedestrians 6+ blocks from the event. Here are a few cyclists searching for parking with much more calm.
I took my bike a little further away to Ritual Cafe where I used my "heavy drinker" 10-punch card for a free mocha. (There's a story about this I will cover another time.) I read the SF Weekly because it was on the table.
Savage Love this week exposed me to a new concept that I loved: the camp site rule of dating which says you must "leave him in better shape than you found him." I recall the boyfriend I taught to drive, the one who exposed me to the profession in which I still work, and the one I encouraged to take pictures, fix his bike, and ultimately moved from my apartment into one he bought (even if he's still angry with me, he can't argue with the facts). I see opportunity in people, and some of them find me incredibly irritating when I encourage them to realize their potential. But I think I wouldn't mind being left if I was in a better place than when I was found. I like this rule.
Last night was Danielle's band BBQ where her bluegrass group, Understory, played their first public set. But first, on my way over there, I saw these guys playing with red scarves in the middle of Valencia. I'm thinking Valencia may be the center of the Universe.
When Danielle plays the violin, tears literally fill my eyes it's so beautiful. In San Francisco, nearly everyone does something creative and quirky like affluent white kids singing about coal mining. (A random example that just spring to my mind out of now where.) I love it!
Friday, August 21, 2009
Muni's hurting.
The bumper on this vehicle is truncated and tied on with a rope. While I applaud the maintenance workers' ingenuity, I am none-the-less very concerned about the lack of a longer-term solution.
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
NYT: Modern Love
I don't know what to think about this.
Modern Love: Those Aren’t Fighting Words, Dear
By LAURA A. MUNSON, July 31, 2009
Modern Love: Those Aren’t Fighting Words, Dear
By LAURA A. MUNSON, July 31, 2009
[SFBC] Rad Bike Map Tool
One of my personal social campaigns is to help people understand that the hills of San Francisco are only a problem if you don't know how to get around them. Amar Pai solved that problem with a SF bicycle route planner that shows you a variety of routes for your trip such as the most bike-friendly or the shortest path. The site should work better on mobile phones now, and it will automatically determine your location if you're on a device that supports geolocation (right now just iphone 3.0). Email Amar (jcruelty1 at yahoo dot com) if you have comments on the site, the user interface or any other feedback.You can also find your route the old-fashioned way with the color-coded San Francisco Bicycle Map, which shows the best bike routes across town and is compact and easy to carry. It's free with San Francisco Bicycle Coalition membership.
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
[BBC news] Cleaner Seine hosts salmon again
Wild salmon are returning to the French capital for the first time in almost a century, scientists say.
Historically, Salmo salar - or Atlantic salmon - used to migrate up the Seine river for part of the year to spawn. read more
Historically, Salmo salar - or Atlantic salmon - used to migrate up the Seine river for part of the year to spawn. read more
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Final narrative from this France visit
M was feeling fine for the first 36 hours after her chemo, but then stopped feeling capable of speaking. Friday, the day after the chemo, we had a 3.5 hour lunch, then a nap, then a reasonably-sized walk to a nearby park. Later that day, J gave her mother the shot for her white blood cells (?) that M says makes her bones hurt. Saturday, she only wanted to cook, clean, and rest. We couldn't understand the cooking and cleaning part.
My mother (the one who gave birth to me) and I went to Paris Plage again (I can’t quite get enough of it),
another crepe (I can’t quite get enough of them), and rode the 69 bus which Rick Steves says passes by all the important monuments in Paris.
We didn’t get very far on the bus, as someone had parked their moped on the outside of the 2-wheeler parking zone on a narrow corner. Rather than attempt a 3-point turn, the bus operator preferred to wait for the moped owner to move his bike.
We met J at Place d’Italie at 5 and visited the nearby Asia town per my request. Then she surprised us by showing us Butte aux Cailles, a quiet little village in central Paris with its own fresh water spring. It used to be the center for the communist party; now it just has the some workers’ cooperatives and cute tree-lined streets with restaurants serving food at sidewalk tables.
Dinner was lamb which had grazed on the salty hills next to Le Mont St. Michel in Normandy with vegetables from my mother’s garden. M and I watched The Songcatcher after an extended conversation over dinner about lullabies because we were all so tired. M’s English is basically perfect, but she couldn’t understand perfectly when the mountain people spoke in the movie. We should have put on the subtitles. We both really enjoyed the movie and the music it was about.
My mother (the one who gave birth to me) and I went to Paris Plage again (I can’t quite get enough of it),
another crepe (I can’t quite get enough of them), and rode the 69 bus which Rick Steves says passes by all the important monuments in Paris.
We didn’t get very far on the bus, as someone had parked their moped on the outside of the 2-wheeler parking zone on a narrow corner. Rather than attempt a 3-point turn, the bus operator preferred to wait for the moped owner to move his bike.
We met J at Place d’Italie at 5 and visited the nearby Asia town per my request. Then she surprised us by showing us Butte aux Cailles, a quiet little village in central Paris with its own fresh water spring. It used to be the center for the communist party; now it just has the some workers’ cooperatives and cute tree-lined streets with restaurants serving food at sidewalk tables.
Dinner was lamb which had grazed on the salty hills next to Le Mont St. Michel in Normandy with vegetables from my mother’s garden. M and I watched The Songcatcher after an extended conversation over dinner about lullabies because we were all so tired. M’s English is basically perfect, but she couldn’t understand perfectly when the mountain people spoke in the movie. We should have put on the subtitles. We both really enjoyed the movie and the music it was about.
Sunday, August 09, 2009
Thursday, August 06, 2009
hospital day
“It is rather like a 3-star hotel,” M observes as we sit in the oncology department at a hospital not far from her home. Pale periwinkle plastic padded chairs, orange vertical shades, and round tables decorate the room where three ladies wait for the doctor, and then for the bags of poison solution to finish dripping into their veins. A man in scrubs stops by periodically to offer us something: coffee, yoghurt, lunch which nobody eats. They served all in plastic bowls: 25 radishes, an apple (which M says is full of pesticides), a bread role, butter, a piece of orange cheese and a mystery hot plate the lids never came off. M’s treatment will take the longest. We got here at 8:30 and might get to leave by 5. M and I take turns napping.
M is the only one who bothers with a wig. The other ladies wear their bald heads with pride. They say it is too hot. Yesterday, we found thin polyester caps for 1.50 euros from a clothing store for Moslem women; M bought two for sleeping. She says her head gets cold, but I wonder if she feels modest. She looks fantastic, and (except today) I haven’t seen her this happy in years.
From a conversation about my life, she expressed that in France it is impossible to find a new job if you are over 45. She’s been miserable in hers for years. She told herself that the only way out was to get sick, and her body complied. Meanwhile, her oldest daughter unexpectedly gave birth to twin girls with only one month’s warning to others (the twins knew for 8 months). My paranoid mind hasn’t discovered the cosmic significance of that event yet.
Grayson always said: “the more you do, the more you do.” So, today I can only tell you about the waiting room in the oncology wing of this hospital. I’m grateful to be here for M, but I don’t have much to blog about. I’ve been reading Ilana’s subscription to the New Yorker and Margot’s copy of Refuge, and editing photos of Champagne.
A few things I have learned in conversations: the electric company runs like a for-profit with the goal of expanding business. Thus, it has an incentive to bring electricity to developing countries where France is involved or it will not be able to expand its business. They can do this because no one seems to be critical of nuclear power, which of course can be provided in endless supplies if you’re not worried about human error or what to do with the waste.
If a person’s job is to transition functions overseas to India (in this case, but it could be elsewhere), he would be working to put his colleagues out of work while trying to keep his own job. Is the ideal result for all work to be taking place in India, and the information streams be perfectly maintained by a few people in France while everyone else works in another field or not at all?
The people who say things say that “rules are made to be broken.” The Germans love rules. The French love rules too… particularly for the purpose of breaking them. I appreciate that about this culture. I loved the story in Paris to the Moon where the EU rules for making Rockfort cheese were so strict that it didn’t mold properly. The cheese makers fixed the problem by opening a window to let the night air blow onto the fermenting cheese and bring with it the necessary bacteria.
On the same day (yesterday), both Gwen and J (who have never met) complained to me about Parisiens. They love the city without them. (Everyone goes on vacation in August.) I made the statement here recently that Parisiens aren’t rude, but both these Parisiens disagree. They also love the lack of traffic and many languages being spoken in the streets. I just love Paris.
M is the only one who bothers with a wig. The other ladies wear their bald heads with pride. They say it is too hot. Yesterday, we found thin polyester caps for 1.50 euros from a clothing store for Moslem women; M bought two for sleeping. She says her head gets cold, but I wonder if she feels modest. She looks fantastic, and (except today) I haven’t seen her this happy in years.
From a conversation about my life, she expressed that in France it is impossible to find a new job if you are over 45. She’s been miserable in hers for years. She told herself that the only way out was to get sick, and her body complied. Meanwhile, her oldest daughter unexpectedly gave birth to twin girls with only one month’s warning to others (the twins knew for 8 months). My paranoid mind hasn’t discovered the cosmic significance of that event yet.
Grayson always said: “the more you do, the more you do.” So, today I can only tell you about the waiting room in the oncology wing of this hospital. I’m grateful to be here for M, but I don’t have much to blog about. I’ve been reading Ilana’s subscription to the New Yorker and Margot’s copy of Refuge, and editing photos of Champagne.
A few things I have learned in conversations: the electric company runs like a for-profit with the goal of expanding business. Thus, it has an incentive to bring electricity to developing countries where France is involved or it will not be able to expand its business. They can do this because no one seems to be critical of nuclear power, which of course can be provided in endless supplies if you’re not worried about human error or what to do with the waste.
If a person’s job is to transition functions overseas to India (in this case, but it could be elsewhere), he would be working to put his colleagues out of work while trying to keep his own job. Is the ideal result for all work to be taking place in India, and the information streams be perfectly maintained by a few people in France while everyone else works in another field or not at all?
The people who say things say that “rules are made to be broken.” The Germans love rules. The French love rules too… particularly for the purpose of breaking them. I appreciate that about this culture. I loved the story in Paris to the Moon where the EU rules for making Rockfort cheese were so strict that it didn’t mold properly. The cheese makers fixed the problem by opening a window to let the night air blow onto the fermenting cheese and bring with it the necessary bacteria.
On the same day (yesterday), both Gwen and J (who have never met) complained to me about Parisiens. They love the city without them. (Everyone goes on vacation in August.) I made the statement here recently that Parisiens aren’t rude, but both these Parisiens disagree. They also love the lack of traffic and many languages being spoken in the streets. I just love Paris.
Wednesday, August 05, 2009
kind, gentle, abundant world
I forgot the mention yesterday my feeling upon returning my velib after the first use. I had a moment of anxiety – thoughts like “I need to remember where I put it” And “is it locked up well enough?” but then I remembered that it wasn’t my bicycle to begin with. It belonged to all its users for the moment they were together. I took a breath living in the present moment without attachment to the material. Then, I forgot which bicycle I rode.
This practice is also rather like trusting that the universe will bring you cardboard boxes when you need them and not hording empty ones in your limited closet space. Or leaving a bad relationship knowing that if that love is meant to be, it will find a way back to you… or that the universe has something better in mind for you. It becomes a fine balance, but I think a good analogy is taking care of the bikeshare bike you use so that its next rider has a wonderful experience, and trusting that the previous rider of your next bikeshare bike will do the same for you. Like Never-Never-Land, that kind, gentle, abundant world only exists if you believe it’s there.
I finally found a bikeshare station near where I am staying just outside Paris. The closest one appears to belong in the land of Brigadoon, but the next one out is not that much further. I figured all this out on the website. J, G and JP had told me where the closest one was supposed to be. When I couldn’t find it, G said something about me not seeing it. J replied: do you think it’s possible that Lilia didn’t do everything she could to find that station?
I had to admit that I hadn’t. That was the day before yesterday. Yesterday, I found another station.
There, I found a bike that was completely not broken at all. I rode it to the center of Paris, I figure about 4 miles, to see Gwen.
I’ll do a full profile on Gwen in another post, but we had a lovely time catching up in his atelier (where he does clothing art/fashion design) and a nearly café.
Later, I met J, G and M at Gare de L’Est where M was returning from Champagne (I rode another velib to get there). Her train was 50 minutes late. The day before, one of them asked me how to you say “charcuterie” in English. I said it is the same word. So, we went to Café Strasbourgeous for choucrute garnie, which was a huge quantity of pork and quite delicious (J got de la mer, which is not a bad idea to try at home). I’ve only had it made at home before, either improvised chez moi or at the real thing made by J’s grandmother in Alsace.
This practice is also rather like trusting that the universe will bring you cardboard boxes when you need them and not hording empty ones in your limited closet space. Or leaving a bad relationship knowing that if that love is meant to be, it will find a way back to you… or that the universe has something better in mind for you. It becomes a fine balance, but I think a good analogy is taking care of the bikeshare bike you use so that its next rider has a wonderful experience, and trusting that the previous rider of your next bikeshare bike will do the same for you. Like Never-Never-Land, that kind, gentle, abundant world only exists if you believe it’s there.
I finally found a bikeshare station near where I am staying just outside Paris. The closest one appears to belong in the land of Brigadoon, but the next one out is not that much further. I figured all this out on the website. J, G and JP had told me where the closest one was supposed to be. When I couldn’t find it, G said something about me not seeing it. J replied: do you think it’s possible that Lilia didn’t do everything she could to find that station?
I had to admit that I hadn’t. That was the day before yesterday. Yesterday, I found another station.
There, I found a bike that was completely not broken at all. I rode it to the center of Paris, I figure about 4 miles, to see Gwen.
I’ll do a full profile on Gwen in another post, but we had a lovely time catching up in his atelier (where he does clothing art/fashion design) and a nearly café.
Later, I met J, G and M at Gare de L’Est where M was returning from Champagne (I rode another velib to get there). Her train was 50 minutes late. The day before, one of them asked me how to you say “charcuterie” in English. I said it is the same word. So, we went to Café Strasbourgeous for choucrute garnie, which was a huge quantity of pork and quite delicious (J got de la mer, which is not a bad idea to try at home). I’ve only had it made at home before, either improvised chez moi or at the real thing made by J’s grandmother in Alsace.
Tuesday, August 04, 2009
Mexico announces new Public Bike System for December 2009
Machine translation from Spanish articleMonica Archundia
El Universal
Mexico City Monday 03 August 2009
monica.archundia @ eluniversal.com.mx
10:25
The head of the Federal District, Marcelo Ebrard, on Monday introduced the new Public Bike System for the Federal District, which aims to be a way of moving the population to approach short metro stations, Metrobus or trolley bus stops.
article continues
Day 4: Paris
Recently, Mose posted a facebook update that said something like: I don’t know why Parisiens go on vacation. Why would anyone want to be anywhere else?
That’s how I feel. Today, it felt like heaven. After a leisurely morning at the apartment and running local errands, I headed out into the world around 1p. I didn’t find the Velib station in Montreuil; so, I took the Metro to Strasbourg/St. Dennis. I was going to visit B’s nephew Gwen at his Atelier, but I realized I wasn’t dressed nicely enough for that report back. Instead I went shopping. The Kookai outlet never lets me down.
I hadn’t eaten since breakfast, but my plan was to get a pastry somewhere. I didn’t see any place to get one; so, I got a Velib and rode to my favorite crepery in St. Michel. It dripped with butter and nutella and was an astounding success. I wanted to go back and immediately get another one, but I have been practicing self-restraint lately. I didn’t.
From there, I walked back across the Seine to the Paris Plage on the right bank.
The installments are about the same as last year, but I am always amused by the exercise machines. What Americans make a chore, the French to make fun. Food also falls into this category.
Can you think of others?
The day had gone by quickly, and I needed to get back to the apartment to check my email to see where I was meeting J, G and Muriel for dinner. So, I grabbed another bicycle and rode it as far to the east as I felt comfortable and then jumped on the metro for the last few stops.
Muriel lives in a converted clothing factory which means loft-style big windows, big open spaces, temporary-style wall-dividers. It’s in central Paris, a beautiful ornate building that even has a fancy French restaurant on the ground floor although the neighborhood is extremely diverse. She says there’s a mosque across the street (which is narrow). I’ve house-sat for her multiple times, and I love being there. We met there.
She just came back from a month of vacation with her Brazilian boyfriend and his family in Brazil. So, she made us caperanas (sp? mine and G’s were virgin) and served us snacks of Brazil nuts and shavings of that sugar stuff I don’t know the name of. None of them had ever had a Brazil nut before, and these are very-worldly Pariens. Eventually, we moved down to a nearby Syrian/Lebanese restaurant. For both dinner and dessert, we ordered the combination option. Everyone got a chance to try just about everything on the menu. Meanwhile, we sat on the sidewalk, had good conversation and watched all the different kinds of people pass by as the light faded on the historic buildings.
The apartment in Montreuil is in a new 9-story building one block from the Metro. It appears to have one car parking space per unit, but I didn’t count the parking spaces – the garage has 2 levels. M and JP don’t rent out their parking space, it never occurred to them to do so, they keep it for their occasional rental cars. I would guess they rent a car 4 to 6 times per year for a few days to take the whole family, including children, seniors or sick people, on vacation somewhere else – often to the home of another family member. About half of the parking spaces appear to be empty whenever I am down there. I suggested to JP they could reduce the number of parking spaces necessary in the building and instead provide rental cars in the building that everyone shares. He had difficulty understanding this concept until I compared it to the electric carshare cars being discussed for Paris which didn’t seem to interest him particularly. This family never uses cars in the carshare style – they would just take a taxi. In fact, I think they take a lot of taxis. Since the parking garage is underground and already built, it doesn’t have other potential uses. There is a video store on the ground floor, but I bet they don’t have much need to store their massive collection of videos (for example).
When I was here last year at the end of August, all the beautiful people were on vacation. That is, all of Paris was on vacation. Now, that isn’t the case. The beautiful people are here, although they aren’t wearing particularly beautiful clothes. And for the record, I haven’t encountered a rude French person in years; as you know, I spend a lot of time here.
That’s how I feel. Today, it felt like heaven. After a leisurely morning at the apartment and running local errands, I headed out into the world around 1p. I didn’t find the Velib station in Montreuil; so, I took the Metro to Strasbourg/St. Dennis. I was going to visit B’s nephew Gwen at his Atelier, but I realized I wasn’t dressed nicely enough for that report back. Instead I went shopping. The Kookai outlet never lets me down.
I hadn’t eaten since breakfast, but my plan was to get a pastry somewhere. I didn’t see any place to get one; so, I got a Velib and rode to my favorite crepery in St. Michel. It dripped with butter and nutella and was an astounding success. I wanted to go back and immediately get another one, but I have been practicing self-restraint lately. I didn’t.
From there, I walked back across the Seine to the Paris Plage on the right bank.
The installments are about the same as last year, but I am always amused by the exercise machines. What Americans make a chore, the French to make fun. Food also falls into this category.
Can you think of others?
The day had gone by quickly, and I needed to get back to the apartment to check my email to see where I was meeting J, G and Muriel for dinner. So, I grabbed another bicycle and rode it as far to the east as I felt comfortable and then jumped on the metro for the last few stops.
Muriel lives in a converted clothing factory which means loft-style big windows, big open spaces, temporary-style wall-dividers. It’s in central Paris, a beautiful ornate building that even has a fancy French restaurant on the ground floor although the neighborhood is extremely diverse. She says there’s a mosque across the street (which is narrow). I’ve house-sat for her multiple times, and I love being there. We met there.
She just came back from a month of vacation with her Brazilian boyfriend and his family in Brazil. So, she made us caperanas (sp? mine and G’s were virgin) and served us snacks of Brazil nuts and shavings of that sugar stuff I don’t know the name of. None of them had ever had a Brazil nut before, and these are very-worldly Pariens. Eventually, we moved down to a nearby Syrian/Lebanese restaurant. For both dinner and dessert, we ordered the combination option. Everyone got a chance to try just about everything on the menu. Meanwhile, we sat on the sidewalk, had good conversation and watched all the different kinds of people pass by as the light faded on the historic buildings.
The apartment in Montreuil is in a new 9-story building one block from the Metro. It appears to have one car parking space per unit, but I didn’t count the parking spaces – the garage has 2 levels. M and JP don’t rent out their parking space, it never occurred to them to do so, they keep it for their occasional rental cars. I would guess they rent a car 4 to 6 times per year for a few days to take the whole family, including children, seniors or sick people, on vacation somewhere else – often to the home of another family member. About half of the parking spaces appear to be empty whenever I am down there. I suggested to JP they could reduce the number of parking spaces necessary in the building and instead provide rental cars in the building that everyone shares. He had difficulty understanding this concept until I compared it to the electric carshare cars being discussed for Paris which didn’t seem to interest him particularly. This family never uses cars in the carshare style – they would just take a taxi. In fact, I think they take a lot of taxis. Since the parking garage is underground and already built, it doesn’t have other potential uses. There is a video store on the ground floor, but I bet they don’t have much need to store their massive collection of videos (for example).
When I was here last year at the end of August, all the beautiful people were on vacation. That is, all of Paris was on vacation. Now, that isn’t the case. The beautiful people are here, although they aren’t wearing particularly beautiful clothes. And for the record, I haven’t encountered a rude French person in years; as you know, I spend a lot of time here.
Sunday, August 02, 2009
Prunelle
I spent a bad night after my nap etc. yesterday afternoon. Eleven pm is an excellent bed time, but not if you wake up a few hours later and can’t get back to sleep. I spent the time thinking about old wrongs and then asking myself “why am I thinking about this?” The human psyche is mysterious. This is the same reason I had my doctor prescribe me sleeping pills – so the mouse running on the wheel in my head can be drugged and put down. Mediation, not that I really know how, does no good.
M woke me up at 11:30a, which was probably good since I was awake so long during the night.
Having just finished lunch, I feel compelled to tell you about it. We’ve been drinking Pierre Callot, blanc de blancs champagne, brut, although one day we had Moet & Chandon brut imperial which we didn’t like as much. For my readers who are not familiar, the typical French meal begins with an aperitif with a snack like breadsticks or baguette and cured meat like salami. Then comes the main course, some form of meat. A cooked vegetable dish is served either with or shortly after the meat. The salad rests on the table this whole time, but you eat it after the cooked vegetables. I have fond memories of my second favorite ex-boyfriend (Eric) sitting down to lunch with the family, serving himself some salad, and passing it to the person next to him. No one had a problem with him eating it first, but the poor guy had to do it on his own since it wasn’t yet time for the salad course. After salad comes cheese (which is the same every day until a given type of cheese is finished and replaced with another wedge either the same or different), and finally fruit which is sometimes served with yoghurt and/or pudding as an additional option. Coffee is another option here or shortly after. The whole process takes about 2.5 hours depending on how much time you have.
M bought a book about the cathedral in Epernay. It took 400 years to build, and the substantial building looks it. After 300 years, it caught fire and partially burned down. When they finished restoring it from the fire, they decided to be done even though it lacked some key components they’d planned for like 7 spires (it has spires, just not all 7). Can you imagine a building now taking 400 years to build? Our political processes would never permit that. People want to see major infrastructure completed while they are still in office so they can claim they did it all themselves. We learned this afternoon that one of the angels, which I noticed right away, smiles. When the Germans were destroying the church, they beheaded all of the angels except the smiling one. Is this a lesson?
After my very long sleep and quick petit dejeuner, we drove to the small town of Hautvillers which didn’t have any underground parking. It definitely rivals other towns claiming to be the prettiest in the world, but it makes no claims. It doesn’t need to. The land here is the most expensive per square meter in all of France due to its ability to produce grapes for bubbly. Don Perignon is buried in the church.
Prunelle came with us to the village. It rained intermittently. So, when we returned, her little paws may have been muddy. She’s a dog; so, very excited a good bit of the time. R didn’t want her tracking mud all over the house of course, and scolded her almost immediately. Prunelle retreated to a tiny little square of carpet and waited there until R had cleaned Prunelle’s little paws. She’s not leash-trained, but otherwise she may be the best, least crazy dog I have ever met.
When I declined champagne at lunch today, R said with shock: “I am probably the descendent of Don Perignon” (the monk who invented champagne). Then the others explained: the monks would visit the houses to explain the bible. They would leave their clogs outside the house when visiting. When the man of the house was returning home and saw the clogs, he would take a little walk instead of entering his home right away.
I said: “I don’t understand.” (Are all Americans as naïve as I am?)
M said: “the monks made more than champagne.”
I still didn’t get it.
M tried again: “many children in the town were of uncertain paternity. But it is only spoken of in very discreet terms.”
At the moment, M is snuggling with Prunelle. The ladies are chatting en francais. JP is napping. I am typing. Perhaps a walk before I return to Paris au voiture avec JP. J&G return from Mallorca tonight, and we’re going to use the rental car to pick them up at the airport. Tomorrow, JP goes to Chine for two weeks for work.
M woke me up at 11:30a, which was probably good since I was awake so long during the night.
Having just finished lunch, I feel compelled to tell you about it. We’ve been drinking Pierre Callot, blanc de blancs champagne, brut, although one day we had Moet & Chandon brut imperial which we didn’t like as much. For my readers who are not familiar, the typical French meal begins with an aperitif with a snack like breadsticks or baguette and cured meat like salami. Then comes the main course, some form of meat. A cooked vegetable dish is served either with or shortly after the meat. The salad rests on the table this whole time, but you eat it after the cooked vegetables. I have fond memories of my second favorite ex-boyfriend (Eric) sitting down to lunch with the family, serving himself some salad, and passing it to the person next to him. No one had a problem with him eating it first, but the poor guy had to do it on his own since it wasn’t yet time for the salad course. After salad comes cheese (which is the same every day until a given type of cheese is finished and replaced with another wedge either the same or different), and finally fruit which is sometimes served with yoghurt and/or pudding as an additional option. Coffee is another option here or shortly after. The whole process takes about 2.5 hours depending on how much time you have.
M bought a book about the cathedral in Epernay. It took 400 years to build, and the substantial building looks it. After 300 years, it caught fire and partially burned down. When they finished restoring it from the fire, they decided to be done even though it lacked some key components they’d planned for like 7 spires (it has spires, just not all 7). Can you imagine a building now taking 400 years to build? Our political processes would never permit that. People want to see major infrastructure completed while they are still in office so they can claim they did it all themselves. We learned this afternoon that one of the angels, which I noticed right away, smiles. When the Germans were destroying the church, they beheaded all of the angels except the smiling one. Is this a lesson?
After my very long sleep and quick petit dejeuner, we drove to the small town of Hautvillers which didn’t have any underground parking. It definitely rivals other towns claiming to be the prettiest in the world, but it makes no claims. It doesn’t need to. The land here is the most expensive per square meter in all of France due to its ability to produce grapes for bubbly. Don Perignon is buried in the church.
Prunelle came with us to the village. It rained intermittently. So, when we returned, her little paws may have been muddy. She’s a dog; so, very excited a good bit of the time. R didn’t want her tracking mud all over the house of course, and scolded her almost immediately. Prunelle retreated to a tiny little square of carpet and waited there until R had cleaned Prunelle’s little paws. She’s not leash-trained, but otherwise she may be the best, least crazy dog I have ever met.
When I declined champagne at lunch today, R said with shock: “I am probably the descendent of Don Perignon” (the monk who invented champagne). Then the others explained: the monks would visit the houses to explain the bible. They would leave their clogs outside the house when visiting. When the man of the house was returning home and saw the clogs, he would take a little walk instead of entering his home right away.
I said: “I don’t understand.” (Are all Americans as naïve as I am?)
M said: “the monks made more than champagne.”
I still didn’t get it.
M tried again: “many children in the town were of uncertain paternity. But it is only spoken of in very discreet terms.”
At the moment, M is snuggling with Prunelle. The ladies are chatting en francais. JP is napping. I am typing. Perhaps a walk before I return to Paris au voiture avec JP. J&G return from Mallorca tonight, and we’re going to use the rental car to pick them up at the airport. Tomorrow, JP goes to Chine for two weeks for work.
Saturday, August 01, 2009
Dizy on bubbly en France
Dizy, Champagne, France
My plane was a few minutes late landing, but I had no checked bags. So, I was able to hit the road right away. I would have arrived at the apartment before 11 if I’d just jumped in a taxi. But, no, I had to take the train of course.
Unless you have Euro coins, Americans can’t buy metro tickets from the machines because the machines don’t accept our credit cards. I waited in line for a long time to get one little ticket to get me into town. Next time, maybe I’ll take the Roisy Bus which drops you off at the Opera, a stop on the 9-metro line, the one I need. I had to transfer twice to get to Montreuil, but I was there by noon.
M was out when I arrived, but JP told me to get washed up and ready for lunch. I took a shower and sorted myself a little. Their guest room is extremely comfortable – I don’t know why they don’t use it for themselves… other than it wouldn’t fit two single beds. The room has a balcony with a splendid view of city hall, which I have mentioned before has been run by a democratically-elected communist government for the longest of any place in the world.
France isn’t perfect (what?!). Outside the guestroom balcony in Montreuil (back in Paris metro region), there’s city hall and the town square in front, and a new theater center to your left, but between it all and this 9-story residential building is a parking lot chained off even from cars. The issue is a historic pharmacy on about 1/15th of the lot which apparently prevents anyone from building there at all. I should add that all this is less than one block from the Metro. I blame the development mentality and the (gasp!) capitalism of land use.
They claimed to have slaved all of yesterday making the lunch, but I think that was secret code for they just pulled it out of the freezer that afternoon. We had stuffed scallops and sautéed veggies, then salad, then cheese, then fruit of course. I ate a plum. It was delicious. Then coffee and chocolate. Of course.
The coffee probably kept me from napping, but after an hour of lying in bed, I feel asleep only to wake up an hour later feeling like my body was encased lead. Jet lag is a terrible thing. They should really find a cure for that.
I managed to get through lunch without a drink but not dinner. We drove to the Champagne region in the late afternoon, and I could hardly refuse a glass of bubbly in its native land. It would have been rude. We’re visiting their cousin, R, in the small town of Dizy just outside of Epernay.
We are in France, so all activities emphasize food. First, we had an appertif in the garden. Then dinner in the “winter garden”. The others watched some television (en francais) and I went to sleep. Petit dejeuner was toast and fruit with coffee. I was delighted that she had decaf. Then, we went to the market in Epernay.
French markets are also a really special experience rather like the horn of cornucopia spilling out of a parking lot. Speaking of parking lots, every little town here has paid parking in its center. People drive, but they rent invisible places to store their cars at their destinations. That way, town centers can be completely pedestrianized.I was particularly impressed with the parking in Reims, but I’m getting ahead of myself.
We went back to the house for lunch and had a leisurely meal in the garden with champagne and all the requisite courses. It went rather long for me, and I slipped away for a nap before the fruit (final) course after two hours. Drinking even one glass of champagne midday puts me straight to sleep ...Not to mention the jetlag.
After a rather substantial nap, we went to Reims to see the town and Cathedral.
Neither M nor I had ever been there before. The parking was 5 stories underground below the pedestrianized city center, and little lights in the pavement indicated vacant spaces.
Drivers paid with their credit cards upon exiting using the same slot where you also stuck your ticket to be processed.
This would be a great region for a little bike trip. Plus, there’s bubbly everywhere which is a perfect reason get off your bike (when there are really only a few good reasons to stop biking).
Here we are again, back at the house in Dizy, getting ready for dinner. The plates we used are hand painted with flowers, and we always have two sets of glasses, one for champagne and one for wine. (I use my wine glass for water generally.) Our napkins go in little doily slipcovers when not in use so we can tell them apart. R is babysitting the cutest little cocker spaniel you ever saw named Prunelle.
My plane was a few minutes late landing, but I had no checked bags. So, I was able to hit the road right away. I would have arrived at the apartment before 11 if I’d just jumped in a taxi. But, no, I had to take the train of course.
Unless you have Euro coins, Americans can’t buy metro tickets from the machines because the machines don’t accept our credit cards. I waited in line for a long time to get one little ticket to get me into town. Next time, maybe I’ll take the Roisy Bus which drops you off at the Opera, a stop on the 9-metro line, the one I need. I had to transfer twice to get to Montreuil, but I was there by noon.
M was out when I arrived, but JP told me to get washed up and ready for lunch. I took a shower and sorted myself a little. Their guest room is extremely comfortable – I don’t know why they don’t use it for themselves… other than it wouldn’t fit two single beds. The room has a balcony with a splendid view of city hall, which I have mentioned before has been run by a democratically-elected communist government for the longest of any place in the world.
France isn’t perfect (what?!). Outside the guestroom balcony in Montreuil (back in Paris metro region), there’s city hall and the town square in front, and a new theater center to your left, but between it all and this 9-story residential building is a parking lot chained off even from cars. The issue is a historic pharmacy on about 1/15th of the lot which apparently prevents anyone from building there at all. I should add that all this is less than one block from the Metro. I blame the development mentality and the (gasp!) capitalism of land use.
They claimed to have slaved all of yesterday making the lunch, but I think that was secret code for they just pulled it out of the freezer that afternoon. We had stuffed scallops and sautéed veggies, then salad, then cheese, then fruit of course. I ate a plum. It was delicious. Then coffee and chocolate. Of course.
The coffee probably kept me from napping, but after an hour of lying in bed, I feel asleep only to wake up an hour later feeling like my body was encased lead. Jet lag is a terrible thing. They should really find a cure for that.
I managed to get through lunch without a drink but not dinner. We drove to the Champagne region in the late afternoon, and I could hardly refuse a glass of bubbly in its native land. It would have been rude. We’re visiting their cousin, R, in the small town of Dizy just outside of Epernay.
We are in France, so all activities emphasize food. First, we had an appertif in the garden. Then dinner in the “winter garden”. The others watched some television (en francais) and I went to sleep. Petit dejeuner was toast and fruit with coffee. I was delighted that she had decaf. Then, we went to the market in Epernay.
French markets are also a really special experience rather like the horn of cornucopia spilling out of a parking lot. Speaking of parking lots, every little town here has paid parking in its center. People drive, but they rent invisible places to store their cars at their destinations. That way, town centers can be completely pedestrianized.I was particularly impressed with the parking in Reims, but I’m getting ahead of myself.
We went back to the house for lunch and had a leisurely meal in the garden with champagne and all the requisite courses. It went rather long for me, and I slipped away for a nap before the fruit (final) course after two hours. Drinking even one glass of champagne midday puts me straight to sleep ...Not to mention the jetlag.
After a rather substantial nap, we went to Reims to see the town and Cathedral.
Neither M nor I had ever been there before. The parking was 5 stories underground below the pedestrianized city center, and little lights in the pavement indicated vacant spaces.
Drivers paid with their credit cards upon exiting using the same slot where you also stuck your ticket to be processed.
This would be a great region for a little bike trip. Plus, there’s bubbly everywhere which is a perfect reason get off your bike (when there are really only a few good reasons to stop biking).
Here we are again, back at the house in Dizy, getting ready for dinner. The plates we used are hand painted with flowers, and we always have two sets of glasses, one for champagne and one for wine. (I use my wine glass for water generally.) Our napkins go in little doily slipcovers when not in use so we can tell them apart. R is babysitting the cutest little cocker spaniel you ever saw named Prunelle.
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