Being a running account of the exciting adventures of Dave during his two-week visit to Paris. No, I'm not wearing a beret.
|
|
| |
|
|
| |
Try emailing me: dbardallis-at-yahoo.com
I can't promise I'll respond.
|
|
|
|
An Ugly American in Paris
|
|
| |
Friday, July 12, 2002
Photos from my trip are now online here.
8:06 PM
Saturday, June 22, 2002
Here is how Hemingway summed up Paris in his memoir, A Moveable Feast:
There is never any ending to Paris and the memory of each person who has lived in it differs from that of any other. We always returned to it no matter who we were or how it was changed or with what difficulties, or ease, it could be reached. Paris was always worth it and you received return for whatever you brought to it.
At the start of this journal, I expressed the hope that I might discover in Paris something of the "mystery and manners" that Miss O'Connor claims lie at the heart of literature. Here I have seen massive stone cathedrals, works of devotion dating to the Middle Ages, the Age of Faith; I've seen the sprawling, Ozymandian ruins of kings, emperors, and revolutionaries; I've observed the imprints left by poets, painters, and poseurs alike; I've walked among the graves of the city's former inhabitants, famous, infamous, and anonymous; and I've blundered my way down many rues and boulevards and into numerous cafés as simply a befuddled tourist on vacation. There is no question there is something here (it would be gauche to say it's a certain je ne sais quoi), something beyond the everyday sensibilities of a people for whom "old" means "built in 1920." The history of Europe is the history of Western Civilivation, and the history of Western Civilization is the history of all of us. There is a vast world out here many of us never really know or consider, and I don't mean of just the geographical variety. A whole world of thought and experience that never touches us in our minivans and sport utility vehicles, fails to reach us in between the moments we take to write out our cable bills or inhale our fast-food lunches so we can get back to work, work, work. It is symptomatic of perhaps the greatest failure of modern life, the failure of imagination.
But now I am touching on a subject too deep for a late-night rant in a foreign country. I have a plane to catch in the morning. Wish me luck with my luggage, and here's to hoping I spend very little time in New Jersey. I may revisit and add to my brief Paris ramblings in the coming weeks, for anyone who is remotely interested, as I have to think more and reflect on the doings of these past two weeks. For now, I'll leave you with a final quote from Hemingway, the one that explains the title of his Paris memoirs:
"If you are lucky enough to have lived in Paris as a young man, then wherever you go for the rest of your life, it stays with you, for Paris is a moveable feast."
Adieu, and thanks for reading.
4:27 PM
Regrets? I have a few. But then again, too few to mention. Actually, no, let me mention a few.
I'm partly sorry I didn't take a little time to see any other part of Europe, such as flying to London or Amsterdam for a day.
I'm also a bit sorry I didn't take a train down to Chartres to see the big, impressive, medieval church there. But then again, I guess I don't feel holy enough to go to such places anyway.
I feel a touch guilty for not spending more time in museums such as the Louvre... but I just don't have the patience (see museum rant, somewhere below).
Maybe most of all, I regret that I did not write more in this journal, and in my paper journal as well. Part of that was beyond my control, though one learns quickly how "to do" often conflicts with "to be." But without the former there can never be much of the latter. I did write a bit, and I've taken a lot of photos, but one can never have too many notes about significant experiences. And while Joyce may have come to Paris for two weeks only to wind up staying 20 years, I have no such luxury. Who can say what will happen in the future? Someday I might return, but more probably I won't, and if I do, it won't be quite like this.
3:38 PM
Well, we didn't make it to Auvers-sur-Oise on account of being foiled by the public transportation system, specifically the trains. We successfully got on the RER out of Port Maillot and took it to the end of the line, a little village called Pontoise, there to be utterly confounded by the bewildering layout of the station and the lack of reliable information on train schedules. At one point we got onto a connecting train we thought would take us to Auvers, only to have a security guy throw us off for no apparent reason, telling us to wait on the quai. Then the train unceremoniously drove off. So we stayed in Pontoise to have late lunch/early dinner and then came back to Paris, where I enjoyed a fine Cuban and a beer before the Mozart concert at St. Severin. It was a fine way to end my two-week exile as a stranger in a strange land. My regrets must go to Vincent Van Gogh, whose mortal remains were thus deprived of one more stupid tourist snapping photos.
3:13 PM
Updated and additional observations: As the temperature has risen, shorts have become increasingly acceptable for Parisians to wear, so scratch that about having to be on a soccer team.
Though Parisians enjoy eating (they generally have dinner late, from around 8 to 10pm), there is a noticeable dearth of fat French people. Oh, there are some around, but if America has France beat in many areas, one of them is definitely in the Tubby Quotient.
One thing I like about Paris is all the statues of topless women adorning various structures around the city. I don't think there's any bridge, school, fountain, or tomb that can't be improved by a statue of a topless woman. The French, I think, view the female form as a work of art, a view I have to heartily endorse. Even the department store mannequins have nipples.
And speaking of women and weight, Parisian women all seem to have tiny butts. They wear these tight pants, jeans or black slacks, and no matter their other proportions, their butts are always approximately the size of a postage stamp. I don't know how they do it.
2:48 AM
Today is of course my last day here. As mentioned, Steve and I are going to the village of Auvers-sur-Oise, about an hour northwest of Paris, to check out some Impressionist history and pay our respects to Vincent. Then later tonight, I'll be ending my visit with a concert (Mozart) at St. Severin, a medieval church on the Left Bank near the Place Saint Michel.
Being here has reminded me of why I like New Orleans so much. There are two measures of the civilized nature of a city: street musicians (and/or artists) and whether or not you can drink beer on the street. Both these measures are apparent in both New Orleans and Paris. They don't to me mean drunkenness and panhandling annoyances (though they can be both), but rather a lack of obnoxious state paternalism—at least in the public square—a recognition of the fact that people can and should be left alone to govern their own affairs, to enjoy the life of their city. The architecture—beautiful courtyards, fountains, and structures built to gratify and uplift—are of course also a staple of both cities, and especially Paris. Also in Paris, one is probably far less likely to be mugged or murdered than in New Orleans. But I have to say, though I've had some fine meals here, I think the food is better in the Big Easy.
2:25 AM
Last night marked the beginning, or the entirety, I'm not sure which, of the Paris Summer Music Festival. Throngs of Parisians spilled out of Métro cars and emerged into joyous mobs crowding the streets on and around Ile de la Cité—and everywhere else, so far as I could tell. Drums, dancing, even jazz quintets filled every corner and café, and the rollicking, giddy nonsense showed no signs of abating when Steve and I fought our way back underground to take the train back to the suburbs around midnight.
It was quite a sight to see, as crowded as any Mardi Gras, but with a different flavor. It did not seem so much a special event of the kind that temporarily lights up otherwise boring places. It wasn't the Corn Festival or the Miss Potato Pageant or even the Detroit Jazz Festival. It was just Paris being Paris, but to a greater degree than usual.
2:15 AM
Thursday, June 20, 2002
I've been without Internet access the past few days. Since then, I've visited churches, cafes, bookstores, cemeteries, etc. Tomorrow I'm planning on joining a guided walking tour of Hemingway's haunts and a trip on a local canal. Saturday we are going to go to the village of Auvers, a famous Impressionist site and, if I recall, the burial place of Van Gogh. I'll try to catch up a little more on this thing before I fly out Sunday morning, but no promises.
4:07 PM
Sunday, June 16, 2002
Paris is an interesting city—really. Since I've been here, I've developed a respectable list of touristy things I've done. But I feel that I've only scratched the surface of this lively yet enigmatic town. Of course, two weeks is not enough time to get to know anything—or anyone—even a mind-numbingly boring place like Midland, Michigan.
Paris? Forget it. She attracts you with her coquettish charm and beauty, but keeps herself at a distance until she knows you are serious. Frivolous suitors, one-night-stand tourists, they will never really know her. But I am grateful for having these few dates, to be able to bring to her my own peculiar demons, so far less menacing than those of her past lovers, and to have her laugh them away with all the captivating lightness of her being.
I was advised I should "complain" less in this journal, and so to make it clear: I am having a good time in a city that pulses with life and laughter. The only things that might add to my sojourn are the intimate looks and conversation of a lover—for Paris is not jealous.
4:19 PM
Happy birthday to me! I don't feel older, except when I breathe. So what have I been doing for the past few days? Well, with age comes an increasingly decrepit memory but let me try to recall.
On Thursday, I went to the Centre Pompidou, an enormous (and enormously ugly) building where repose all sorts of works of modern art, mostly paintings from 1914 to the present day. There was an exhibition on surrealism, so I paid the extra euros and went to gawk at bizarre canvases from Ernst, Magritte, Miro, Dali, a few from De Chirico, and etc., etc. After about three and a half hours wandering around that confusingly laid out building I began suffering from museum overload and had to leave, even though I am sure there were plenty more things I would have liked to have looked at. Damned if I could find them though.
On Friday, I finally got around to going up in the Eiffel Tower. It's quite big, about 1000 feet tall, and I went up to the 3rd deck, which is 900 feet up. The nice thing was that you can order beer up there too! So I did.
On Saturday, I went on a walking tour of Montparnesse, where plenty of famous artists and writers used to hang out, including Hemingway, Pound, Soutine, Modigliani, Picasso, Sartre, and a bunch of other people who I can't remember right now. A lot of them decided to stay there permanently—in the local cemetery. Some got there naturally, but many seem to have hastened their demises with a touch of suicide. Tortured artists and all that. Following the tour, Steve and I had a delicious (and expensive) dinner at a famous haunt of many of the aforementioned artistes called La Coupole.
Today I did little but sit in different cafés and drink and watch people walk by. Paris is a good city for people watching.
3:41 PM
Saturday, June 15, 2002
Still here... been out late the last few nights. Details to come.
3:33 AM
Wednesday, June 12, 2002
I just wanted to say I've been checking my email regularly and getting your comments, even if I don't reply. Oh, and here's Steve's Paris page with some photos of the city and his apartment, etc. Bon soir!
3:40 PM
I spent the evening at a café in the rue Cler, a quintessentially Parisian street full of bakeries, wineries, and at least one "fromagerie." It felt good to just relax, sip my l'Abbaye de Leffe, and reflect on the things I've done so far, the things I still want to do, and some general observations. I'll start with the last first:
Nothing says "Hey, I'm an American tourist!" like wearing white tennis shoes and/or a baseball cap. Oh, and shorts are right out, unless you're on a soccer team. (Speaking of which, defending champion France's team got booted out of contention for the World Cup Tuesday in the first round by Denmark.) I think my moustache must say something too, since I see few French people with them. On the other hand, not shaving for several days seems like a fairly common fashion statement (such as "my razor is broken"). Deodorant, for some, seems to be optional. Sportcoats are common. Jeans range from "normal" to this weird style that's dark on the sides but lighter in the middle of the leg. Bell bottoms, jeans or otherwise, also seem to be thriving.
Parisian apartments are small, which must explain why Parisians' dogs are, too. You see these overgrown rats, leashed or unleashed, everywhere, trailing behind their indifferent owners, often gracing the sidewalk with "souvenirs." But I know what you're all really wondering. Are Parisians rude or unfriendly? I hate to deflate a cherished myth, but if they are, I haven't seen it. What I have seen is many small acts of kindness, from men helping women carry luggage up a staircase or giving up their seats on the bus to an older lady offering unsolicited help to an obviously confused Chinese tourist studying a map in the Metro station. Some customs (whether specifically French or generally European, I don't rightly know) are different from ours, and when misunderstood, can seem a little rude. But on balance I'd say people here are no ruder than those in New York, and probably quite a bit friendlier.
As for what I've done, I'd say I've gotten about half of the touristy junk out of the way. I have a couple more days to get the rest done this week, after which my museum pass expires. I have yet to get anywhere near the Eiffel Tower or the Louvre, and I still need to get out to Montmartre to see Sacre Couer. I hope to finish up the "must-see" tourist stuff this week so that next week I can begin my vacation from my vacation.
2:59 PM
Another day of whirlwind (if whirlwinds walk in Nikes) tourist stuff. I began the day at the Arc de Triomphe, climbing the 248 or so steps up to the top. Twelve avenues, including the Champs Élysées, converge around the Arch, creating an amazing mess of traffic. Somehow all the drivers manage to figure it out, but it's beyond me. Driving in Paris in general looks really scary, but whatever works for them....
On top of the Arch is a great view of the city. To the northwest, down the Avenue de la Grande Armée is the suburban Grande Arche de la Défense, and to the southeast, down the Champs Élysées, is the Place de la Concorde, where the guillotine shortened thousands of people by about a foot during the Revolution. Standing in the place now is a strange 2,300-year-old obelisk with hieroglyphics on it, apparently a present from some Egyptian muckety-muck to a previous French king.
On the Champs Élysées, I couldn't resist stopping at Le McDonald's for lunch. Laugh all you want, but the place serves something besides ham and it is far and away the cheapest chow I've seen. Besides that—and here is one thing Europe gets right—you can order beer with your Big Mac. Lest you think I am TOO "americain," I did successfully complete my entire order in French. And a few days ago, Steve and I ate at a decent Chinese restaurant. As for "authentic" French cuisine, I am still on the lookout. I've been here nearly a week and I still have no idea what the hell it is. Unless it's ham.
After sipping my McBeer and scoping out the bustling Parisians and tourists, I headed down to the Place de la Concorde, then crossed the river and headed over to Les Invalides. Les Invalides, which includes the tomb of Napoleon, may be the only site in Paris where German tourists can't snicker. Speaking of which, there were a lot of Krauts around today. Maybe they are planning another invasion?
2:27 PM
Tuesday, June 11, 2002
Today's adventure involved lots of walking. I returned to the Île de la Cité, hoping to climb the towers of Notre Dame (I didn't yesterday because I got there late) but there was a huge line and I was too impatient. So I walked over to the adjoining Île Saint-Louis and from there over to the famous Left Bank. I wound up at the Musée d'Orsay, which houses western art from around 1848-1914. This means Impressionism mostly, but there is also a lot of other stuff there. Van Gogh, Monet, Manet, Seurat, Gauguin, Toulouse-Lautrec, and others were well represented. You could spend an endless amount of time in such a place, but I'm not a big fan of museums. Not that I don't like art, but I am decidedly uncomfortable with throngs of gawking morons and walking from one big room with paintings to another big room with paintings over and over for hours at a time. I suppose when I do the Louvre, it will be much worse. Still, I'm not sorry I went. It's something you have to do.
3:46 PM
The latest installment of "the same but different" came tonight with a trip to the grocery store (or supermarché), where I bought about $50 (sorry, 50 EUROS, which is roughly the same thing) of chow for the next week or so. Eating in cafés is ridiculously expensive, so I'm going to avoid it as much as possible. Anyway, tonight's shopping excursion was not so much the same as it was different. Pop in strange-looking 1.5 liter bottles is hardly the oddest thing. Suffice it to say, I don't really know what I bought. Beef is not the favored meat here; ham is. In fact, beef is really hard to come by. Pizza doesn't have pepperoni on it. Ever. Period. Even the frozen "pizza l'americain" I bought has ham and mushrooms, but no pepperoni. I also got some beer (of course) - a couple six packs of pretty good Belgian ales. But the apparent normal size of beer bottle is 25 centiliters, which is I don't know what. It looks like around 8 ounces or something. Doh!
3:21 PM
|
|
| |
|
|
|
