Look who else rides a bike....

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.

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.

Mexico announces new Public Bike System for December 2009

Machine translation from Spanish article

Monica 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.

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.

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.

[Globe] In Massachusetts, Cyclists now have rights.

New rules for cyclists, motorists, By Peter DeMarco
July 26, 2009

"Passed a couple of bicyclists the other day who were pedaling side-by-side on the street - a no-no according to my last article on biking laws. 'They should be riding single file,’ I preached to my passenger.

"Well, even driving columnists sometimes have to eat their words. With the passage of the state’s new bicycle safety bill, riders can indeed travel two abreast down the street. And drivers can get a $100 ticket for failing to move over for them."
...

Critical Mass

Critical Mass is this Friday, the 31st, and is always on the last Friday of the month. Meet at Justin Herman Plaza on the San Francisco Embarcadero at 6p.

Is Critical Mass a protest or a celebration? I've never know. What do you think?

CM has its own special vogue. Sometimes people wear funny outfits. Sometimes people come right from work.

Sometimes people are just plain gorgeous.

Everyone is always expressing their own unique style.

And everyone comes to have fun!

Thanks, Michele

"at the moment of commitment, the universe conspires to assist you." (goethe)

[Gordon Price] Vancouver's Insane Experiment

Last weekend, after years of debate, the City of Vancouver experimentally converted one of the outbound lanes of the Burrard Bridge to a bike lane, leaving two outbound traffic lanes where there had been three. This should have been a problem on the afternoon peak. The media were out in force, ready to interview angry motorists and stream live video of gridlock. And as Gordon [Price] documents on his blog, nothing much happened.

Info thanks to Tom Radulovich and my old boss Jarrett Walker

VTA Vogue

I commute for about a million years every day. So, it means a lot to me when the cyclists on the trains I ride make a little extra effort to look nice. I noticed this woman immediately in her blouse, slacks and strappy sandals waiting on the platform.

She looked absolutely nothing like the computer/bike nerds I usually ride with, who are very sweet and will look things up in their mobile wi-fi access laptops if you ask nicely. But they are usually just wearing t-shirts and jeans.

BART Vogue

Bike vogue on transit is definitely its own category. Statistically, this is probably the 24th Street Station, but it looks just like 16th Street.

This chyck caught my eye biking in leggings and short jean skirt which is really a perfect outfit to bike in if you think about it. Her elegant black fixie and ergonomic seat tell their own story.

I love the way this photo came out with the flash keeping some things still with others blurry from the long shutter speed to make up for low light.

Nerd Fetish

I have a nerd fetish for which I am widely teased. A cute guy who can fix my computer has an infinitely better chance of getting into my pants than one who can't. So, you can imagine that the Mountain View Caltrain station provides nearly enough fodder to give me a seizure. Computer guys... who ride the train with their bikes... Wow!

The problem, from a Velo Vogue standpoint, is that they usually wear jeans and a t-shirt to work. That doesn't give me much of an excuse to take their photos. I was impressed with this guy's office casual garb.

Lest you think the Caltrain isn't completely packed with bikers, and we don't really appreciate the increased bike capacity on the trains, below is a more typical view of the station shortly before a bullet train arrives. That girl's pretty cute too.

"Excuse me, can I take your picture?" or Fully Suitted

Here's another one I chased and hollered down the block for a photo opportunity. Once I got his attention, he was absolutely accommodating. I asked him where he was going on his bike dressed this way: "to work" he answered.

"Where do you work?" I asked.
"The DA's office," he answered, and I looked at him with puzzlement. It wasn't the answer I expected. "District Attorney," he clarified.

Valencia Street keeps surprising me....

Valencia and Duboce

It's a strange location for a biker bar (Zeitgeist). But when I think of this intersection, I think of the bar. From the outside, it's an auto-dominate edge to our little almost-bike-heaven of Valencia Street, the mucky patch that you must cross before getting to main street, I mean, Market Street.

My photos came out a little blurry, but this lovely lady was well-coordinated. Her shirt matched her bike. Her jacket matched her shoes. And throw in a splash of fun with the floral "skirt" over her pants. The floral print is what first caught my eye.

Bike Share in Newport Beach!

‘European style’ bike-sharing to begin in Newport
July 8th, 2009 · posted by Pat Brennan, green living, environment editor
A Newport Beach foundation will become the first to offer “European style” bike-sharing in Orange County, allowing users to grab a bike at one bike station and leave it at another.

Click to continue reading

This porridge is too hot....

First thing Saturday morning, I decided to reinstall my operating system. My computer was constantly full and took about 15 minutes to boot up. I recently purchased an external harddrive which made it possible to back everything up. The first shock was that nothing looked right. That I should have expected. I mean, I did expect. Consciously.

The second shock was that I couldn't connect to the internet. Dell wouldn't talk to me bc my warranty is expired. AT&T told me they could only help with the network. It turned out I needed to download some drivers that Dell had apparently forgotten to send me CDs for when I bought the computer. I downloaded some drivers at a friend's house, but they were only some of the right ones.

At this point, I had had it. The same friends had worked with a guy in Noe Valley to fix her computer, and it was a good experience. I called him. I also stopped by a place near my house where the guy was vague and looked bored when I spoke. The Noe Valley guy called me back and told me was on vacation, but it sounded like I could fix it myself. I just needed those drivers.

I went back to the place near my house. I told them I could do it myself, but this is a "boy's job." The guy said "apparently not." Finally, he told me I should drop it off, but they couldn't work on it until Sunday (this was Tuesday). I wonder why I would do that.

At this point, I could connect to wi-fi and had adjusted the interface to my preferences. But my computer and wi-fi at home have never worked for me (the wi-fi works for others, and I can connect to wi-fi other places.). I went to a cafe and started downloading and installing all the drivers (having no idea which one was what I needed -- most were not). The cafe power went out. I went to another cafe and downloaded and installed more drivers. They closed. The computer still wouldn't connect to the dsl at home.

Yesterday, I brought the computer to work to download and install more drivers. After 5 pm, under the direction of our brilliant Planner I, I, apparently, installed the right driver finally. Last night, after dinner with friends, I was able to watch the most recent episode of The Bachelorette on the internet. I was horrified by her choice.

Happy Birthday, Vélib’!

Vélib’, Paris' famous bikeshare program, is two years old today. Here is a movie from Streetfilms on the system made in honor of its first birthday.


Since 15 July 2007 here are some of the main use trends and developments for Vélib in Paris (courtesy of Eric Britton):
- 53 million rides
- 36.5 million with long term (annual) passes
- 16.5 million daily or weekly tickets
- The Vélib street terminals have issued close to 7 million tickets
- Increased use in conjunction with rail/transit stations
- Stations are being extended at key use points
- Continuous monitoring and technical upgrading at level of bikes, stations, distribution, and software
- Increased night maintenance and redistribution
- The following credit cars are now accepted: Visa, MasterCard, Europay, American Express and JCB (with computer chip only, American-style cards do not work)
- Stations now offer full text instructions in English, Spanish, German and Italian, as well as French (which Pariens still occasionally use)
- No bikes or parking slots at your station? Try clicking 4, then 5 on the terminal. It will show you the status of nearby stations for both bikes and parking slots. It also scrolls if you are really desperate.
- iPhone on Vélib

New communes in surrounding area
- 17 already have stations opened between April and June
- 136,556 trips in the new areas
- Program has Vélib extensions to 30 communes in the surrounding area (many of them small cities in their own right)

For more, in French

All my exes live in Texas; that's why I live in Tenesse.

Charlotte from Sex in the City once said "I've been dating for 20 years. I'm exhausted." That pretty much summarizes my feelings on the subject recently... or should I say usually.

My love life can be broke down into 5-year increments:
Age 16-22: serial monogamy
22-27: serious LTR
27-32: single
32-38: serial monogamy
...And here I am, tired of all the options.

For a long time, I noticed that all my exes remained single. I wondered if I permanently damage them. My sister said I pick commitment-phobic men.

My highschool sweetheart got married a few years back. (I am still close with his parents.) (I guess he had enough time to recover from whatever damage I did to him.) Then, my college boyfriend friended me on Facebook, and I learned that he is married too. Today, I got an email that another former boyfriend from that cohort who I have been good friends with for years since is planning to get hitched. I wonder if I wait long enough, if the wave of my boyfriends getting married will reach the guy I am currently dating, and he'll marry me.

What is the appropriate reaction to this information? Can you guess?

You guessed it! I cyber-stalked the boyfriend after him to see if he's married yet.

I didn't find out if he's married, but I did find out that he's placing in full marathons and winning regional awards for his cooking (he's a chef at an upscale Italian restaurant). If he isn't married, he's certainly using his time well anyway. He also strangely resembles a more recent boyfriend, and I hadn't noticed that resemblance before.

The one after that is definitely single. We talk all the time.