along the day...

Many things happened today that are cameos, I suppose, of life on Planet France.

This morning I moved some things into the apartment: some clothes, some "stuff". Afterwards, I decided, that rather than walk the parc again, I should walk the town of Sceaux. It is bigger than I remembered (just as the apartment seems to get smaller each visit). It is very much a mix of old and new France (yeah, I need pictures): across from a very traditional cafe is Pizza Hut to Go!

During the day, I noticed:

1) Men in shopping malls are pretty much the same everywhere, shuffling around with a dazed and lost look on their faces, as though they were unexpectedly dropped into an alien world (but I repeat myself).

2) Even France celebrates Pentecost, or at least it is an official "bank holiday". But, there is some substance: a crowd of young people, lead by a priest, marched through town to commemorate Pentecost, carrying signs and crosses. There were probably a 100 or so youth, all ranging from 16 to 20 years, near as I could tell.

3) With my multiple encounters of French people in "one off" encounters, I would dispel the myth that the French are rude. They would ask that you not confuse them with Parisians, because they don't like Parisians, either (the people in what we call the suburbs are people of villages that have hundreds of years of their own heritage and identity, so although they are less than a dozen miles from the center of Paris, they do not consider themselves Parisians).

4a) My waiter and I had some interesting discussions, with him leading: how ridiculous it is that a person cannot defend themselves against criminals. Your actions against the criminal can be considered the greater crime in France. He thought our way was much more consistent for human rights, as everyone should be able to use whatever force they deem necessary to protect themselves, their family, and their property. He would fit well in Texas.

4b) My waiter also wanted to talk about how impressive American wines are today. He also noted that the biggest difference in the two countries' winemaking was this: France has about 600 different types of grapes from which they make wine (which is helpful when the weather is not as friendly as California, and you can use multiple varietals to get a good tasting wine), and Americans probably only have a few dozen varietals.

5) The chocolate ice cream in France is as dark as a Hershey bar, very rich, too rich for me; I am going back to vanilla...

6) Jokes and stories about family relationships are good sources of humor in almost any culture, I guess because we are not all that different.

7) It is after 11pm, and I hope I sleep...

Day minus 3 of the French Adventure

This day started as any other, the sun coming up, birds beginning to sing....WAIT! STOP! That is what I WANTED it to be! Instead, despite many miles of walking yesterday, the jet-lag stole my night. I awoke at 0100, 1:00 AM and could not go back to sleep. I got online about 0230 and chatted with my honey and some friends, then at 0430, I launched out for my run...

I am running again, and because I let myself gain some weight, I was concerned about possible injuries. I was pointed in the direction of what is essentially "barefoot" running, as a way of low impact running, and studies have shown it substantially reduces injury occurrence. The technique of running barefoot is different, with a mid-foot strike instead of a heel strike, and the strike point occurring below your hips instead of in front of them. It works. I use shoes made for this community of runners (www.vibramfivefingers.com), and despite their looks, they feel and work great.

Enough on that! TODAY IS A BIG DAY! I move some of my stuff to my apartment! Though the apartment is void of furniture at this point, and has no Internet, I am going there to put away some extra things I brought on this trip to make living without all my stuff/junk a little more normal. My mind is still not around this move, even as I filled out the moving insurance forms in the wee hours of this morning. It will not take long for me to take what amounts to half the stuff I have in my hotel room to the apartment, and after that, I can hit Starbucks and IKEA for a few essentials. Then I think I will take some time to stroll in my new "parc"...

Day minus 4 and the move to Paris

I have the keys to the apartment now. Somehow, there has been no renter's remorse, though I have an uphill battle putting in that stupid kitchen. I took a walk along the greenbelt before we had our "inventory" (we would call this a "walk-through") at the apartment. The greenbelt is truly a great asset to this apartment's location. I look forward to many runs and walks in that "parc".

Electrical utilities have been ordered (it is all-electric). Internet/TV connection has been ordered. Rental furniture is on its way (gonna wait and see what that kitchen stuff looks like before I final with IKEA).

Language studies are coming along; that is to say, I am progressing through the Rosetta Stone lessons. Getting the ear trained to hear actually words instead of a undifferentiated stream of verbosity; this is not easy. Perhaps this weekend (they actually say "Bon weekend" because "bonne fin de semaine" is considered too long), I will make a trip to IKEA for two important things: 1) a set of cheap overhead light fixtures, 2) manual coffee grinder, coffee press, coffee cups, and coffee beans -- and the fixings. First things first, after all.

Day minus 5 in France

I am counting down to the day I move into my apartment, "mon maison en France".

I admit this seems a little strange, becoming a resident of a country other than the one in which I was born. Though little is surprising here, none of it is familiar, and everything is a bit of a struggle as I grasp at understanding the language.

New chapter, new development, new adventure; all to be taken in stride

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...

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"...

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...