2014-07 Paris

Have you noticed how inertial I am (perhaps you haven’t been paying attention). No BLOG post for two months now 2 in one week. A body at rest tends to stay at rest; a body in motion…

Four years as an undergraduate physics student and that’s all I remember.

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My Carte Navigo (See note below) is dezonage on weekends and jours fériés, 19 of which are celebrated in France, mostly religious, and while the country has become highly secular, the French “religiously” retain an attachment to these holidays.

 

As I was saying, even though I pay only for the city of Paris with my Carte Navigo, on weekends and holidays I am permitted to venture beyond to most of the Ile de France, which, if you have been paying attention, you know refers to Paris and its suburbs, not the entire country of France.

 

So yesterday, one of the 19 jours fériés, (Ascension Day, if you care) I decided to visit Meaux, ville d’Art et d’historie…and brie I might add. It was closed, perhaps due to the holiday, but located on the Marne river with several bridges and the requisite cathedral, I spent a tolerable several hours searching in vain for an open brasserie. All I found open  was a “club” with several sketchy individuals lounging about. I demurred.

This weekend I might try Coulommiers, one of the remaining 2 (Melun the third) in the brie trifecta. Say tuned.

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Not satisfied with a mere 19 official holidays, the French live for those holidays that fall on a Thursday (preferred) or Tuesday. This affords the opportunity to faire le pont (make the bridge) so that the inconveniently intervening workday is taken as an extra day off. Wednesdays can also work, you just take off the preceding or succeeding work days.

But holidays that fall on Monday or Friday or (quelle horreur) weekends are met with distain and despair, an indication that life is truly unfair and cheats the working man. Won’t be long, I predict, before unions discover a loophole to counter this outrage.

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From time to time I feel an odd urge to include something educational or at a minimum useful herein. I am usually able to sublimate these urges…however...

Faux amis, false friends, a term applied to words in 2 languages that appear to be similar but are not, often leading to embarrassment or worse (read on). In fact the French preservative might lead one to stab at the English meaning, but it most definitely does not refer to jams or jellies (think ways of preventing pregnancy). There are many similar, but my favorite is not French-English.

Friend Hilde meets Pilar who is not looking too good.

“Pilar, you don’t look well.”

“I’m not Hilde, I have a bad constapado.”

Aha says Hilde, “I too have suffered from this condition. Take one of these pills. They always work for me.”

The next day Pilar is no better and Hilde says “well here, take 2, which should do the trick.”

Day 3 and Pilar seems worse. “I can’t understand it,” says Hilde “these have always done the trick for me. Here, take 3 and I guarantee it will work.”

Day 4 and Pilar is miserable, crying and shaking. “Oh Hilde, the constapado is no better and now I have this terrible diarrhea!”

Yes, dear friends, one of the translations for constapado in Spanish is a cold or flu…

And the Spanish embarazada means pregnant. Think how that could find you in a fix!

So beware of faux amis, both in language among bipeds.

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And while I’m on an informational jag, the Carte Navigo is a travel pass that can be loaded with weekly, monthly, or annual unlimited Metro, bus, and train travel in Paris, or for escalating prices, in zones that include the suburbs. Monthly and annual (not weekly) Navigos are dezonage on weekends, holidays, and school vacation periods, allowing Parisian to escape the inner city.

Weekly Paris rates run about US$ 28; monthly some US$ 93. Not cheap, but unlimited and a great way to explore the city. Once available only to residents, now the Navigo Decouverte is available to the great unwashed at a cost of 5€ and good for 10 years. Bring a 1” x 1” picture or have one taken in the booths located in most Metro stations. One disadvantage is that the weekly card is not 7 days but from Monday-Sunday.

 

Bientot

2014-06 Paris

Ok, OK, stop kvetching about my indolence.  I’m old and lazy and that is not likely to improve.

Actually I am motivated to BLOG based on an inquiry from an acquaintance asking if I am still alive. At the moment, yes.

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Update since my last BLOG post: Nothing important.

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Except that I returned to Montana for a month and am now back in the land of Gaul, recovering from a solid week of gastronomy with a family member who accompanied me and has now returned to the Rockies.

Spring has sprung in Paris, which means equal parts sunshine and rain, a requirement for the production of May flowers. I am experiencing the rain; awaiting the flowers.

My current abode is in the 7^th Arrondisement, a bourgeois neighborhood within easy walking distance of the Invalides and the Eiffel Tower. A quiet street with a park-like center ideal for running (or in my case slogging).

My housemate is Taos the cat, a geriatric feline who I have been instructed to periodically “provoke” into minimal physical activity as eating and (mostly) sleeping consume the bulk of his existence. My most recent attempt resulted in him putting the claw upon me with a warning to back off. I understand his temperament; I’m an old guy too.

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I tried to sign up for a coming 10k run, but was stymied by the requirement that I produce a medical certificate certifying that I would not spoil the day by dropping dead along the course.

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Things I have learned:

If it’s raining in Paris you probably don’t need an umbrella. Duck into a café for a coffee or beer. It will stop soon. If the sun is shining, you probably do.

 

           Pandora doesn’t work here. Perhaps the French live in fear of Dolly  Parton.

 

I rest my bones on Ave Bret-toy, not Ave Bret-tie (fr: Breteuil), a useful factoid to keep taxi drivers from attempting to ferry you to a suburb 15 km. out of Paris.

 

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Got caught up in a monster union manif last week.  Must have been 20,000 or so marchers, stretching as far as the eye could see. Weekday mid-afternoon, and all seemed to be having a grand time with bullhorns and firecrackers, but none of these folks were working. Probably most on the clock, just not involved in production.

A common theme was Solidarity Contra Austerity, with austerity in my dictionary being defined as ”a state of reduced spending and increased frugality in the financial sector. Austerity measures generally refer to the measures taken by governments to reduce expenditures in an attempt to shrink their growing budget deficits.”

So I gather the union stance is “to hell with deficits, just keep spending.” Pretty much sums up the position of these folks worldwide. A pity that their children and grandchildren (and ours) will be picking up the tab, either that or existing in a collectively universal cardboard box.

But nothing compared to the 25 or so Code Pink ladies (loose term) I encountered several days ago. I thought I had left that nut roll behind in North America, where they wear pink hats and disrupt congressional hearings. But here they have pink raincoats, pink shoes, pink umbrellas, (pink nickers? [I don't want to know!] etc. They were blocking the pavement in front of a building, the contents of which had apparently perpetrated a real or perceived offence. As I politely tried to thread my way, saying “pardon, pardon,” one of the domestic terrorists raised her umbrella in a menacing fashion. I split in haste, choosing to pick my battles where there is a sliver of successful result.

Based on last weekend’s elections, it appears that at least a quarter of Europe wants to junk the European Union. Just when I was getting used to the Euro.

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My temporary abode opens onto a lush garden and opposite a medieval church housing a nunnery. Today white smoke was emanating from a chimney. I wonder if a new Mother Superior has been elected?

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We are in the midst of Paris’ First (hopefully annual) Craft Beer Week. Something to keep me occupied (if not wobbly) for a bit. If and when the spiritual fog clears, I’ll BLOG again.