Friday, April 16, 2010

A Pain in the Ash...

Volcano erupts in Iceland, first time in 1000 years, and now it shuts down a ton of European airports, even the on I need! Yes, it is all about me (just kidding, Becky!).

When I am done with a trip, I just wanna get home, in Star Trek transporter time. I am glad my flight is only delayed; not postponed or canceled, merely delayed. I love the sense of accomplishment after such a trip, but loathe every minute of getting home, since they never seem to pass quickly enough!

Headin' home; always a good song to sing...

Sunday, April 11, 2010

surrealism in real time

I stroll the streets here, knowing they are not, in any way, "mine". I have no connection to them whatsoever, other than the sole of my shoes. I listen to "my music" via headphones, as dozens of them are doing the same, but I know they do not listen to "my music", as I have heard nothing resembling that for the days I have been here. When my phone went off in the Metro confluence of the 8th and 10th lines, it was probably the first time Stevie Ray Vaughan had echoed these halls (they did boo him at Montreaux), at least the first time in 25 or more years...

I am an alien in so many ways, a Cylon even, to the inhabitants here. My music is but one part, my faith, my thoughts on government, my nationalism: all so foreign. Yet, at the same time, these are people not unlike me. People who love where they live, who love their families, who do not mind helping an alien. They enjoy quiet, they enjoy the "bois" (forest), they enjoy the company of friends.

How will I fit into this culture? It will not change me, nor should it expect to do so; I will honor it by recognizing its own history and that I am not here to change them, either. Good, credible human interaction? Yes, I expect it and welcome it, as I hope, no, know they do as well. While the manifestations might be a little different, the Americans and French share a common love for "liberté"...

Friday, April 9, 2010

sitting in a suburb of Paris...

...listening to Emmylou Harris' "Wrecking Ball" album. I am in a hotel in Clamart, France, a "village" that can be described as a suburb of Paris, but also represents a technology center for France. I will be working out of Clamart soon, a very radical change from the 18 years I have spent and largely enjoyed on America's Third Coast: Pam and I have raised our girls there; we've raised our children as other close friends have raised theirs; most of Pam's family has moved there; both our girls and our son-in-law are Aggies (whoop!); we have lots of "old friends" and always seem to be making new ones at the same time (what richness!); we've seen good times and tough times there...

Now, merely an eight hour+ flight east, followed by two of the longest hours I'll ever spend in a taxi, I sit in Clamart, France. In the Grand Hotel du Plessis (48°46'45.99"N 2°15'38.89"E for Google Earth fans), overlooking the intersection of Aristide Briand and Rue de Charles de Gaulle. In two weeks I will repreat this trip, only this time I will be focused on where I will call home (more appropriately, perhaps, "my abode") for the next 2 to 3 years. Will it be in Paris proper, or out here in the Paris 'burbs?

My waiter tonight loves Clamart. He says, "not so many cars, people, or smoke; more quiet here, more green spaces, not so intense -- it is France to me". Quite an endorsement. OTOH, there is no Metro here, you walk or you drive every where for everything (driving here is not high on my priorities), and not a lot of history engulfing you. Still, the thought of walking to work every day has its appeal...

Ah, but Paris, the City of Lights, of which it was said concerning our returning doughboys in 1918-19: "How will we keep them on the farm once they have seen the lights of gay Paris?". I have visited this great and beautiful city eight or nine times, and have often said (though I never thought it would be an option), "Paris is the only city in the world in which I would want to live in the city." Mind you, I am way more comfortable sleeping under the stars where Butch Cassidy and his band once slept, and which is still just as remote today as it was then, but Paris is special. Paris has its wonderful Metro, placing you anywhere in the city in a few minutes; it is rich in history -- one is engulfed by it at every turn; it is lively (with a love for Starbucks, as unholy as that might seem to some French); it represents a 30 to 45 minute commute every day I am in Paris and going to Clamart.

Took an hour-long walking tour of Clamart today, unguided, and required me to ask directions, for which I received immediate help, concluded with a smile (rude Frenchmen??). Clamart has its charms, as my waiter tonight pointed out; I am glad to have this week and the one coming up to make a decision; it is not as easy as I first imagined...