Bill has decided that Friday night is movie night. Last Friday we steeled our nerves and went to the cinema. Steeled our nerves? Yup...going to the cinema in Paris is huge. Here in the city, there are 153 cinemas or movie houses that feature English (VO: version original) language films...there may or may not be pesky subtitles, but we're used to them now. Within eyesight of our apartment...if you are farsighted and have the ability to see around corners like me..., there are 8 cinemas! I don't know what the total number of movie houses in the city is...but I guess it is around 200-300!
Forget the American experience of movies...megaplexes, popcorn...no, no. Well let me dive in and tell you about our Friday night at the movies and I think you will get the picture...oh haha, a pun, sort of.
So going to the movies is a process. Movies change on Wednesdays in Paris...but if you miss a flick at your local movie house, it will probably be showing at another somewhere in the city. You can search on line or visit the local Presse and buy the weekly mag "Pariscope" for updates. We looked on line for a VO movie (in English of course) and found Invictus, Clint Eastwood's movie about Mandela and the South African Rubgy team...great movie. It was being shown at 9pm at Les Trois (3) Luxembourg just up the boulevard and around the corner...about a 5 minute walk. We enjoyed an early dinner, took the dog for a walk and left the apartment at 8:30 to buy our tickets...this is a smaller theater so they do not have on-line ticket sales as do some of the larger theaters in the Odeon section of Paris. At 8:35 we reach Le 3 and there before us are two glass doors. On one door, it lists a couple of movies, the start times and a large arrow pointing to the ticket counter...on the other glass door, there is a paper listing a couple other movies, including Invictus, its start time and a large arrow pointing to the same ticket counter. Now there is no one in line to buy tickets...glass door # 1 tells us that the featured movie in Salon 1 has already started...Invictus starts at 9...okay. Door 2...our door is closed. We go to open it and the nice man at the ticket counter jumps up and opens the door...tres genial, oui?...Non! Although the young man is very nice, and speaks a little bit of English, he tells us that he cannot sell us tickets for the movie until 8:45. Oh. Okay we'll wait. Bill and I go outside the theater...nope can't wait in the ticket area...and we look at the plethora of Japanese restaurants on the Rue Monsieur Le Prince...a nice hotel over there...and ticket man comes out, worried that we will be bored for 9 minutes and suggests we go over to the Luxembourg Gardens to view the outdoor photo display (see Onlookers blog for more on that)...I say "Bonne idee!" and we take the two minute walk over to the fence and looked at some really cool photos of Nomads. So 9 minutes minus 2 minutes over and back leaves us 5 minutes give or take to peruse. It was a lovely night and we dawdle a bit...I like the pictures of the animals...and we go back to the theater at 8:50! Two for Invictus s'il vous plait...15 Euros. Head up the stairs to Salon 2. Okay...so where is the concession stand...you know popcorn or something?...we follow a couple of other movie goers up the stairs and through the door marked 2 and WC. Voila...Paris cinema. Before us is a room about one third the size of the black box theater at Groton-Dunstable High School...I have seen bigger screens on TVs in most 21st century living rooms in the US! We select our seats in the middle of the room...we had about 60 from which to choose! And we settle into some large, comfy and clean seats...no sticky residue in the floor... that's a nice change. I notice to the left of the movie screen, a door with a big WC sign on it...this is the gender neutral bathroom for the whole theater...right next to the screen! Men and women were going in and out getting more comfortable for the movie I guess.
The 3 Luxembourg is the oldest movie house in Paris, dating back to the early 1900's. It used to have three salons...now it only has two. Although I didn't see salon 1, I am guessing that it is not much bigger than 2. Best guess...this place seats 150 people at max capacity. I'll explain my theory as to how this place can stay in business later. Joining us were about 20 other folks...kinda cool in a quirky way. It is 9pm...and da ta, tah, da!!!...the movie doesn't start. A few people hit the WC again...a young American man walks in and laughingly declares, "What the hell kinda movie theater is this? " I said, "It ain't the megaplex!" He smiles...stows his coat and backpack in the row in front of us and made a bee-line for the bathroom. A few more ticket holders straggle in...American guy comes back, pulls a baguette sandwich and a bottle of iced tea from his pack ...oh, mental note...bring own snacks next time...and the lights go down...9:12! Invictus! No Coming Attractions...no Dancing Coke Cups and Candy Bars to the tune of "Let's Go Out to the Movies, Let's Go Out To the Movies!...the movie starts! You know when you watch a really old movie and there are lines and marks in the film....uh, huh..we saw lines and marks striating the film. Fortunately for us, the story, Morgan Freeman and the supporting cast swept us away and we thoroughly enjoyed the experience.
Our fellow viewers were quiet and polite...they stayed seated to the end of the credits...Sandwich man carefully cleaned up after himself...a few folks popped into the potty before heading out into the cool evening air. We did it; our first movie in Paris!
So how can a little theater...among 152 other VO offering theaters survive? Volume. Theaters start showing movies at 10 am! They may be showcasing a director or an actor or a theme; loads of "art" and docmentary films too...and boom...you have movies running in 1, 2 or 3 salons every 2-2 1/2 hours. Matinees are pretty cheap...a couple of Euro before 4pm. I have noticed at the little cinema across the street, they occasionally have movie packages...see 2 movies and have a meal for one low price and 4 or 5 hours in your day/night. I have also observed that probably to keep noise down, clutter to a minimum and to assuage the many nictotine fiends in this fair city, most smaller movie houses have a two step ticket process. Step one: Line up in your designated queue up to thirty minutes before tickets go on sale and wait your turn to buy tickets. Step two: buy tickets and go back outside and wait in the ticket holders line for your movie. Doors open about 3 minutes before the listed start time...but as we have learned, nothing except the metro, is on time in Paris.
There are a few big theaters in the Odeon and Montparnasse neighborhoods ;five or six movies featured each day/night. You can buy tickets on-line and avoid standing on line...ooh another pun. I have been told you can head to the outer ring of Paris and there you will find what might be called an American style megaplex. The movies opening in the States may be shown here within days or a few weeks. For example...Iron Man 2 opens on April 28...about 2 weeks after release back home. So we can keep up:)
Outside these theaters are huge food stands...the preferred snack among movie goers at least in Odeon is candy...gobs of it. Barbe de Papa (cotton candy), Haribo (the European equivalant to JuJu Fruits), chocolates, macarons (not macaroons) and scads of pretty confections are packed up in little boxes...less noisy than bags is my guess. Popcorn is growing in "pop"ularity in France but is still a novelty and is actually savored with gourmet designs in mind. We can get microwave popcorn at a few specialty shops and as our Monoprix is close to college kids, it is stocked there too...have not had the need to indulge though...hmm. Although permitted, not many people eat while watching the movie...probably a good habit to adopt. If you are so inclined to eat or drink, one visits a cafe, bar or brasserie AFTER the movie, thus extending the evening and helping the local ecomony...spread the wealth and all.
I am looking forward to seeing my favorites ...really old classic movies that are featured in many of these movie houses. Across the street, Its a Wonderful Life was the feature in February. Now they are showing The Red Slippers ( Les Chaussons Rouges) and you should see the lines everyday for that film. Amazing! There is a Hitchcock movie marathon at another little theater across from us...The Birds, North by Northwest, Vertigo and The Man Who Knew Too Much...true classics. Up the street is another Hitchcock film...The 39 Steps. Audrey Hepburn movies at the Medici Reflet! Really...how cool?
In each arrondissement, there are "City Halls" and throughout the city there are of course museums, cultural institutes and schools where you can often see informational films and documentaries for free or a small donation!
From Cannes to Rue Cujas...the French love movies!
Tomorrow night we are going to see Johnny Depp (a resident of Paris and some little village somewhere in the French countryside) in Alice in Wonderland.
"Let's go out to the movies, let's go out to the movies, let's go out tonight!"
Thursday, April 22, 2010
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Fashion Statements, Cultural Influences or Stereotypes?
Ah, April in Paris. I guess if tourists had to pick a time to be stranded by volcanic ash, this is the time. Although late this year, Spring has bloomed so beautifully. This is our reward for a terribly dreary, cold and rainy winter.
The city is filled with people milling about the tourist sites. Behemoth busses line the boulevards and block intersections. And then there’s me, with nearly four months of experience, dodging the crowds, ducking down alleys and skirting the crowds of t-shirted, baseball cap donning, backpack toting guided tour groups.
Ever observant, I have noticed some tendencies of various groups visiting Paris. Whether by nationality, age or gender, there are some “tells” of the fashion ilk leading me to my conclusions. For example, American students visiting Paris sport kitschy t-shirts, jeans (boys are wearing Calvin Klein, Old Navy, Joe Boxer briefs...as the exposed waist bands advertise), sneakers or flip flops, hoodies and iPhones as their couture du tour. They are spending more time text-ing or taking photos of each other...oh youth is wasted on the young.
American families on vacation dress similarly but with slight variations depending on who one is in the family unit...let’s take the average American Family...Dad, Mom, teen-aged Susie and pre-teen Sam...Mom is wearing Capri pants, flip flops or Crocs, a striped long sleeve tee shirt (one size too small) and has her windbreaker tied around her waist and a small black back pack. Dad is in faded jeans, a sports themed tee shirt, white sneakers, baseball cap not related to the team on his shirt, a windbreaker, badly refolded map and fanny pack. Susie is adorned, first with an attitude and overly plucked eyebrows, dark sunglasses, hair pulled back in a tight, tight ponytail, an “I heart Paris” t-shirt, pencil jeans, flip flops, and a “insert designer label here” knock off purse, complete with head phones running from clandestine MP3 player...and then there’s Sam...wait where it Sam? “Excuse me lady with the dog...did you see a little boy about 10 years old wearing a Yankees cap, navy blue “I heart Paris” t-shirt with ice cream stains, khaki cargo shorts and untied sneakers. He has a blue back pack...” “Yes, there he is over at that sidewalk stall which features nude photos and porno magazines. Bon journée!” “SAMMY!!”
The Upscale American family can be identified by the labels on every other inch of their bodies...so let’s look at Mom, Dad, teenaged Suzanne and pre-teen Samuel. Mom, skin bronzed, hair colored and coiffed and kept kempt with a pink flamingo beribboned headband is wearing a Ralph Lauren, pink pullover with a white polo shirt, collar popped with tight, white RL jeans and high heeled Anne Klein sandals...a short floral scarf at the neck is jauntily tied, knot slightly askew and borne over one shoulder is this season’s Coach bag. On her wrist is a huge Tommy Bahama watch. Her sunglasses are Gucci and there are diamonds on her fingers, ears and yes, one toe. Dad is decked out in a navy RL pullover, white polo with collar popped, khakis and Sperry topsiders...no socks. His glasses are Oakleys and his watch, Tag Heuer. Instead of a fanny pack, he is toting a small, shiny, silver, hard-sided roller suitcase. He doesn’t have a map because his Blackberry has GPS. Teen queen Suzanne, sports an attitude of ennui and her fashion is straight off the cover of Glamour...black skinny jeans, long oversized white tee shirt adorned with silvered Michael Jackson, belted at the hips, worn over black spaghetti strap cami, metallic grey ballet flats, cropped black leather jacket and black hobo bag, black Gucci sunglasses, black iPhone, complete with Glamour phone app...Young Samuel is his father in miniature minus the Blackberry and his watch is Flik Flak with skulls...edgy! Instead of deck shoes, Samuel is wearing white classic Converse All-Stars. Their most impressive accessory is the Mercedes Benz taxi cab they’ve hired to take them around the city...no slumming it on the streets of Paree...no siree.
American college students assimilate quickly to French culture/couture...somber colors, European cuts, but with a splash of Americana...a pin or pop culture t-shirt, sneakers instead of pricey Italian shoes...they do a good job of blending in. It is the language that gives them away. I don’t know what it is about young Americans, but they tend to speak poorly, profusely and profanely ...it is a shame.
Europeans, stranded in Europe by the volcanic ash have opted to visit Paris this month as well. I have noticed that German visitors dress as though they are going to hike the Matterhorn...polar fleece jackets, hiking boots, cargo pants with pockets filled with bottles, maps, Swiss Army knives and I think a battle plan of the Maginot Line... and everyone has a backpack...the men usually have a cap with a German Flag, beer, car or sports logo on it. Men and women dress alike!
Italians visiting Paris, much like Americans come in two groups...average and upscale. The average Italians wear jeans and tee shirts and appropriate outerwear (they understand the climate) but the women wear heels and jewels. The men wear a variation on smart casual...jeans, a button down shirt and a sport coat and dark sports shoes...not sneakers. The upscale Italian tourist wears much the same as their average counterparts, but more expensively and a bit more fashion forward.
Many Asian tourists dress for touring: comfortable, utilitarian clothing and shoes...and if with a group, matching caps usually in some unbelievably bright, fluorescent color! Over the shoulder tote bags and cameras are a must. The interesting observation about these tourists is their “go get’em attitude”...no standing on line for them. I have experienced this sadly stereotypical tourist bum’s rush at the Louvre, Notre Dame and on-line for the Open Tour busses...it doesn’t matter if it is a tour group, family or individual...by gum these people are on vacation and no one is going to stand in their way of seeing something RIGHT NOW! My only advice is to gird your loins and hold your ground!
Young Japanese women are a real phenomenon in Paris. First, these adventurers either travel arm and arm, in pairs, or small groups with a token male or two. These women are here to shop. Wearing identical clothing styles, with some minor individual flair, the young Japanese woman in Paris can be identified by her skinny jeans, Hello Kitty tee shirt, and a white sweatshirt hoodie or nylon trench coat. She wears ballet flats that coordinate with a color from the tee shirt. Her make-up is heavy but flawless. Her purse is gi-normous...all the better to put purchases in, my dear. She has an iPhone or camera used to take pictures of the fashions in the couture houses...but she shops at POP, GAP, United Colors of Benetton, Pimkie and Jennyfer.
The French vacation in Paris too. The major differences between French average and upscale families and American average and upscale families are shoes...the French only where sneakers for working out or sports...so they wear dark colored Skecher-style shoes or boots and most women wear heels. I am still wearing flats...too many cobbles for me. I often watch in amazement as French women parade down the walks in heels of 2, 3 or 4 inches high, ankles twisting, teetering and turning, yet never falling and breaking...I trip at least once a day on something! The other difference is the French, having the home court advantage and a strange sensitivity to cold, dress for the weather, (it is 65 degrees today...that’s about 18 degrees Celsius and many a Parisian/French are clad in dark heavy coats), chic belted trench coats, long gauzy scarves and carry umbrellas. Much time is spent outside monuments, museums and sites, discussing animatedly whether or not they should go in or head to a café.
As the weather warms, it will be interesting and perhaps horrifying to observe trends in tourist fashion...I’ll keep you posted!
The city is filled with people milling about the tourist sites. Behemoth busses line the boulevards and block intersections. And then there’s me, with nearly four months of experience, dodging the crowds, ducking down alleys and skirting the crowds of t-shirted, baseball cap donning, backpack toting guided tour groups.
Ever observant, I have noticed some tendencies of various groups visiting Paris. Whether by nationality, age or gender, there are some “tells” of the fashion ilk leading me to my conclusions. For example, American students visiting Paris sport kitschy t-shirts, jeans (boys are wearing Calvin Klein, Old Navy, Joe Boxer briefs...as the exposed waist bands advertise), sneakers or flip flops, hoodies and iPhones as their couture du tour. They are spending more time text-ing or taking photos of each other...oh youth is wasted on the young.
American families on vacation dress similarly but with slight variations depending on who one is in the family unit...let’s take the average American Family...Dad, Mom, teen-aged Susie and pre-teen Sam...Mom is wearing Capri pants, flip flops or Crocs, a striped long sleeve tee shirt (one size too small) and has her windbreaker tied around her waist and a small black back pack. Dad is in faded jeans, a sports themed tee shirt, white sneakers, baseball cap not related to the team on his shirt, a windbreaker, badly refolded map and fanny pack. Susie is adorned, first with an attitude and overly plucked eyebrows, dark sunglasses, hair pulled back in a tight, tight ponytail, an “I heart Paris” t-shirt, pencil jeans, flip flops, and a “insert designer label here” knock off purse, complete with head phones running from clandestine MP3 player...and then there’s Sam...wait where it Sam? “Excuse me lady with the dog...did you see a little boy about 10 years old wearing a Yankees cap, navy blue “I heart Paris” t-shirt with ice cream stains, khaki cargo shorts and untied sneakers. He has a blue back pack...” “Yes, there he is over at that sidewalk stall which features nude photos and porno magazines. Bon journée!” “SAMMY!!”
The Upscale American family can be identified by the labels on every other inch of their bodies...so let’s look at Mom, Dad, teenaged Suzanne and pre-teen Samuel. Mom, skin bronzed, hair colored and coiffed and kept kempt with a pink flamingo beribboned headband is wearing a Ralph Lauren, pink pullover with a white polo shirt, collar popped with tight, white RL jeans and high heeled Anne Klein sandals...a short floral scarf at the neck is jauntily tied, knot slightly askew and borne over one shoulder is this season’s Coach bag. On her wrist is a huge Tommy Bahama watch. Her sunglasses are Gucci and there are diamonds on her fingers, ears and yes, one toe. Dad is decked out in a navy RL pullover, white polo with collar popped, khakis and Sperry topsiders...no socks. His glasses are Oakleys and his watch, Tag Heuer. Instead of a fanny pack, he is toting a small, shiny, silver, hard-sided roller suitcase. He doesn’t have a map because his Blackberry has GPS. Teen queen Suzanne, sports an attitude of ennui and her fashion is straight off the cover of Glamour...black skinny jeans, long oversized white tee shirt adorned with silvered Michael Jackson, belted at the hips, worn over black spaghetti strap cami, metallic grey ballet flats, cropped black leather jacket and black hobo bag, black Gucci sunglasses, black iPhone, complete with Glamour phone app...Young Samuel is his father in miniature minus the Blackberry and his watch is Flik Flak with skulls...edgy! Instead of deck shoes, Samuel is wearing white classic Converse All-Stars. Their most impressive accessory is the Mercedes Benz taxi cab they’ve hired to take them around the city...no slumming it on the streets of Paree...no siree.
American college students assimilate quickly to French culture/couture...somber colors, European cuts, but with a splash of Americana...a pin or pop culture t-shirt, sneakers instead of pricey Italian shoes...they do a good job of blending in. It is the language that gives them away. I don’t know what it is about young Americans, but they tend to speak poorly, profusely and profanely ...it is a shame.
Europeans, stranded in Europe by the volcanic ash have opted to visit Paris this month as well. I have noticed that German visitors dress as though they are going to hike the Matterhorn...polar fleece jackets, hiking boots, cargo pants with pockets filled with bottles, maps, Swiss Army knives and I think a battle plan of the Maginot Line... and everyone has a backpack...the men usually have a cap with a German Flag, beer, car or sports logo on it. Men and women dress alike!
Italians visiting Paris, much like Americans come in two groups...average and upscale. The average Italians wear jeans and tee shirts and appropriate outerwear (they understand the climate) but the women wear heels and jewels. The men wear a variation on smart casual...jeans, a button down shirt and a sport coat and dark sports shoes...not sneakers. The upscale Italian tourist wears much the same as their average counterparts, but more expensively and a bit more fashion forward.
Many Asian tourists dress for touring: comfortable, utilitarian clothing and shoes...and if with a group, matching caps usually in some unbelievably bright, fluorescent color! Over the shoulder tote bags and cameras are a must. The interesting observation about these tourists is their “go get’em attitude”...no standing on line for them. I have experienced this sadly stereotypical tourist bum’s rush at the Louvre, Notre Dame and on-line for the Open Tour busses...it doesn’t matter if it is a tour group, family or individual...by gum these people are on vacation and no one is going to stand in their way of seeing something RIGHT NOW! My only advice is to gird your loins and hold your ground!
Young Japanese women are a real phenomenon in Paris. First, these adventurers either travel arm and arm, in pairs, or small groups with a token male or two. These women are here to shop. Wearing identical clothing styles, with some minor individual flair, the young Japanese woman in Paris can be identified by her skinny jeans, Hello Kitty tee shirt, and a white sweatshirt hoodie or nylon trench coat. She wears ballet flats that coordinate with a color from the tee shirt. Her make-up is heavy but flawless. Her purse is gi-normous...all the better to put purchases in, my dear. She has an iPhone or camera used to take pictures of the fashions in the couture houses...but she shops at POP, GAP, United Colors of Benetton, Pimkie and Jennyfer.
The French vacation in Paris too. The major differences between French average and upscale families and American average and upscale families are shoes...the French only where sneakers for working out or sports...so they wear dark colored Skecher-style shoes or boots and most women wear heels. I am still wearing flats...too many cobbles for me. I often watch in amazement as French women parade down the walks in heels of 2, 3 or 4 inches high, ankles twisting, teetering and turning, yet never falling and breaking...I trip at least once a day on something! The other difference is the French, having the home court advantage and a strange sensitivity to cold, dress for the weather, (it is 65 degrees today...that’s about 18 degrees Celsius and many a Parisian/French are clad in dark heavy coats), chic belted trench coats, long gauzy scarves and carry umbrellas. Much time is spent outside monuments, museums and sites, discussing animatedly whether or not they should go in or head to a café.
As the weather warms, it will be interesting and perhaps horrifying to observe trends in tourist fashion...I’ll keep you posted!
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Top Ten Eye-Openers During My Morning Walk with Reilly
10) 20-something woman wearing 1960's electric blue eye shadow from lower lashes all the way up to her eyebrows.
9) US Senior citizens' tour getting off the bus and they were all the same height...reminded me of the aliens who greeted Richard Dreyfus at the end of Close Encounters of the Third Kind. Too cute.
8) Young woman making out (I use this term loosely) with two men on a park bench while the decent world passes by.
7) Beautiful giant blue hyacinths and white Emporer tulips in a bed at the Jardin du Luxembourg (thank goodness...it offered refuge from the visual assault of # 8).
6) 2 normally nasty Chihuahuas in the garden were actually nice with Reilly this morning.
5) Quintessential Parisian couple...he wearing plaid madras pants, a red and white striped button down shirt with a pink, red, green and orange paisley tie...she wearing a black suit with a hot pink lining and fluorescent orange blouse...as Austin Powers would say...yeah, baby!
4) Ugly American moment...a young "lady" peeling an orange for a friend on the sidewalk outside a cafe...hollered, "I can't peel your f-ing orange." To which I promptly said, "Hey Potty Mouth...say it a little louder, they couldn't hear you over at Notre Dame."...4a) She turned the most brilliant shade of red I have ever seen.
3) The adorable blond, curly locked four year old boy insisting that he cross the street by stepping only on the white stripes in the crosswalk.
2) A woman throwing a man's clothing out her 6th floor window into the tree on Blvd St. Michel.
1) My new friend, the proprietress of The Baker's Dozen greeting Reilly with a kiss on the lips....eww...too cute!
9) US Senior citizens' tour getting off the bus and they were all the same height...reminded me of the aliens who greeted Richard Dreyfus at the end of Close Encounters of the Third Kind. Too cute.
8) Young woman making out (I use this term loosely) with two men on a park bench while the decent world passes by.
7) Beautiful giant blue hyacinths and white Emporer tulips in a bed at the Jardin du Luxembourg (thank goodness...it offered refuge from the visual assault of # 8).
6) 2 normally nasty Chihuahuas in the garden were actually nice with Reilly this morning.
5) Quintessential Parisian couple...he wearing plaid madras pants, a red and white striped button down shirt with a pink, red, green and orange paisley tie...she wearing a black suit with a hot pink lining and fluorescent orange blouse...as Austin Powers would say...yeah, baby!
4) Ugly American moment...a young "lady" peeling an orange for a friend on the sidewalk outside a cafe...hollered, "I can't peel your f-ing orange." To which I promptly said, "Hey Potty Mouth...say it a little louder, they couldn't hear you over at Notre Dame."...4a) She turned the most brilliant shade of red I have ever seen.
3) The adorable blond, curly locked four year old boy insisting that he cross the street by stepping only on the white stripes in the crosswalk.
2) A woman throwing a man's clothing out her 6th floor window into the tree on Blvd St. Michel.
1) My new friend, the proprietress of The Baker's Dozen greeting Reilly with a kiss on the lips....eww...too cute!
Friday, April 9, 2010
Starbucks
"Hey Mom! Look Starbucks!" I heard these words as I walked past the medical school book store on le rue de l'ecole de medicine. In my head, I said I hear ya kiddo! This little American tourist recognized a US icon in a city of "-eries"...brasseries, patisseries, boulangeries...etc. I think I can guess how he felt about it too. Oh look, a little piece of home...right here near the Odeon Metro Stop.
Starbucks back home was always a place to go for the occassional special treat; an espresso truffle tall with a little something to go with it. Bill and I would go once or twice a month to the Starbucks in Nashua, for a change of pace and quiet, confidential conversation in cozy arm chairs...a couple's indulgence.
Here in Paris, I found Starbucks on the first Tuesday of our exploratory trip--thank goodness-- between the stress of house hunting, absorbing the enormity of being on the precipice of a huge leap in our lives, seeing that green mermaid was a life line. After being in Paris and drinking the jet fuel they call cafe, I was shaking with relief and the need to let go in the familiar surroundings in a foreign land. Oh did I NEED that tall mocha!
We sat in the Starbucks on the Avenue de Victor Hugo with Camille...you know...kind and hyper. She and Bill were talking quietly about leases and the ins and outs of utilties. I just zoned out, caught in the aroma of the American style coffee...and the clutches of jet lag and praising Herman Melville. Never before in my life did I need something so badly. I almost cried. Drinking that coffee was like a prayer.
A few days later, Camille took us to the 5th and 6th arrondisments where we would find our apartment--and what do you think I saw; not one, not two, but three Starbucks within a 3 block radius of our building....aaaahhhh! Islands of familiarity there if and when I need them. Often, on that exploratory/business trip, I was alone in Paris. I walked the area, taking this left or that, but I could always get my bearings when I found one of my Starbucks. Each day, I would trek to a different Starbucks, load up on a tall mocha (you order it the same way in French as in English) and a croissant or pain au chocolate and go to the lounge area in order to journal or people watch. It was kind of neat to watch how people in Paris react to this American Institution.
First, students from La Sorbonne and the other universities in the area abound, so that's pretty normal. They spread out over the couches and study tables, connecting to the world wide web with the store's Wi-fi. They study, read and debate fueled by Venti this or Grande that...snacking on pancakes and syrup! Starbucks seems ideal for students...perhaps it feels like a home away from home for them.
Then there are the tourists...I know how they feel...Look!! A word/ name I can read and understand...let's get a Starbucks! And as I said before, you can order Tall Mocha or a Mocha Tall and voila...you get it. And nobody cares what kind of coffee you order and when.
The French have a very precise order to cafe...cafe creme or cafe au lait for breakfast, cappucino in the early afternoon and cafe espress, noisette or cafe allonge later in the day or after dessert. Cafe is served in tiny cups...demi-tasse...cuz if you drink an American sized mug of the stuff, it would take you three days to come down off the caffeine high.
Ah, the locals...Parisians who revel in taking time in their cafes are quite impatient standing in line and more so with the poor barista preparing their order. Students get it...foreigners get it, but the older Parisians have the expectation that Starbucks equals fast food. I am amazed at the number of people who actually go into Starbucks for a meal...not just for coffee and a snack. Parisians are still wrapping their heads around the coffee to go concept--so it is hurry up with my Macchiato so I can go sit outside for hours at your little cafe tables, Mr. Starbucks Man.
With the exception of the first weeks here, when Bill and the girls hit Starbucks two or three times a week, because we didn't have internet yet in the flat, we haven't been to Starbucks much. But there are those cold, rainy days when you want a mug or even the large paper cup to wrap your hands around and breathe in the smell of something warm and familiar. It is ressuring to know they are there...for quiet, confidential conversation in a cozy armchair.
Oh look...Starbucks.
Starbucks back home was always a place to go for the occassional special treat; an espresso truffle tall with a little something to go with it. Bill and I would go once or twice a month to the Starbucks in Nashua, for a change of pace and quiet, confidential conversation in cozy arm chairs...a couple's indulgence.
Here in Paris, I found Starbucks on the first Tuesday of our exploratory trip--thank goodness-- between the stress of house hunting, absorbing the enormity of being on the precipice of a huge leap in our lives, seeing that green mermaid was a life line. After being in Paris and drinking the jet fuel they call cafe, I was shaking with relief and the need to let go in the familiar surroundings in a foreign land. Oh did I NEED that tall mocha!
We sat in the Starbucks on the Avenue de Victor Hugo with Camille...you know...kind and hyper. She and Bill were talking quietly about leases and the ins and outs of utilties. I just zoned out, caught in the aroma of the American style coffee...and the clutches of jet lag and praising Herman Melville. Never before in my life did I need something so badly. I almost cried. Drinking that coffee was like a prayer.
A few days later, Camille took us to the 5th and 6th arrondisments where we would find our apartment--and what do you think I saw; not one, not two, but three Starbucks within a 3 block radius of our building....aaaahhhh! Islands of familiarity there if and when I need them. Often, on that exploratory/business trip, I was alone in Paris. I walked the area, taking this left or that, but I could always get my bearings when I found one of my Starbucks. Each day, I would trek to a different Starbucks, load up on a tall mocha (you order it the same way in French as in English) and a croissant or pain au chocolate and go to the lounge area in order to journal or people watch. It was kind of neat to watch how people in Paris react to this American Institution.
First, students from La Sorbonne and the other universities in the area abound, so that's pretty normal. They spread out over the couches and study tables, connecting to the world wide web with the store's Wi-fi. They study, read and debate fueled by Venti this or Grande that...snacking on pancakes and syrup! Starbucks seems ideal for students...perhaps it feels like a home away from home for them.
Then there are the tourists...I know how they feel...Look!! A word/ name I can read and understand...let's get a Starbucks! And as I said before, you can order Tall Mocha or a Mocha Tall and voila...you get it. And nobody cares what kind of coffee you order and when.
The French have a very precise order to cafe...cafe creme or cafe au lait for breakfast, cappucino in the early afternoon and cafe espress, noisette or cafe allonge later in the day or after dessert. Cafe is served in tiny cups...demi-tasse...cuz if you drink an American sized mug of the stuff, it would take you three days to come down off the caffeine high.
Ah, the locals...Parisians who revel in taking time in their cafes are quite impatient standing in line and more so with the poor barista preparing their order. Students get it...foreigners get it, but the older Parisians have the expectation that Starbucks equals fast food. I am amazed at the number of people who actually go into Starbucks for a meal...not just for coffee and a snack. Parisians are still wrapping their heads around the coffee to go concept--so it is hurry up with my Macchiato so I can go sit outside for hours at your little cafe tables, Mr. Starbucks Man.
With the exception of the first weeks here, when Bill and the girls hit Starbucks two or three times a week, because we didn't have internet yet in the flat, we haven't been to Starbucks much. But there are those cold, rainy days when you want a mug or even the large paper cup to wrap your hands around and breathe in the smell of something warm and familiar. It is ressuring to know they are there...for quiet, confidential conversation in a cozy armchair.
Oh look...Starbucks.
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
On-lookers
I may have mentioned once or twice that Parisians barrel their way down the thoroughfares. I have been bumped, nudged, pushed and plowed into on any number of occasions and that’s while I was out walking the dog! This behavior could be the seed from which the idea, Parisians are rude sprouted. They can be rude and most of the time they just don’t give a fig.
Happily though, another quirky thing happens to Parisians on the sidewalks; determined walkers stop on centime! If there is an interesting window display, a Xeroxed flyer on a phone booth, a table of used books under an awning or as I recently discovered an outstanding photo array on the wrought iron fence of les Jardins du Luxembourg, many a pedestrian stops, suddenly, firmly and focused.
Just yesterday, I had to dodge left to avoid a collision. The young couple walking in front of us just stopped, turned and stared at an enormous photo of a camel, yawning in the deep orange dawn of the Tibetan desert. I sidestepped quickly, avoiding catastrophe and continued on my way, with the cutest dog in Paris in tow. I did, however, keep that yawning dromedary in my mind, making note to stop and take a closer look on our way back home.
My method of approaching this incredible exhibit is a bit stealthier and traffic savvy...I start at one end of the exhibit and each day take in two of this pictorials displaying Nomadic life around the world. Actually, I feel my plan is somewhat nomadic as well...I travel a planned route, making frequent stops to “feed” my brain and enjoy the imagery. I wander at my own pace in order to achieve my own goal...and I keep a weathered eye to obstacles, interlopers and fellow wanderers along my route. It should take me about a month to scrutinize the images and meander along the half mile display, anchored to the fence.
I love the fact that every six weeks or so, the museum in the Palais du Luxembourg sets up these amazing photos. Back in January, we saw life along the Mekong Delta, rich in culture, eco-systems and history. My favorite pictures from that and the current displays are of the animals...but the pictures of the faces are captivating too. I also love to look at the faces of the on-lookers as well. Smiles, puzzlements...fingers pointing or poised along one’s cheek...I observe the observers and I wonder what if Harry Potter’s world really existed, what would the point of view be from the pictures’ side of things?
With the warmer weather, people are emerging from their winter dens. Cafes and brasseries are usurping every available inch of real estate along their storefronts...people eager to sit in the sun and watch the hubbub of the city... leisurely savoring a café, a beer or glass of wine... and secretly happy, because Paris is awake and so are her people.
Happily though, another quirky thing happens to Parisians on the sidewalks; determined walkers stop on centime! If there is an interesting window display, a Xeroxed flyer on a phone booth, a table of used books under an awning or as I recently discovered an outstanding photo array on the wrought iron fence of les Jardins du Luxembourg, many a pedestrian stops, suddenly, firmly and focused.
Just yesterday, I had to dodge left to avoid a collision. The young couple walking in front of us just stopped, turned and stared at an enormous photo of a camel, yawning in the deep orange dawn of the Tibetan desert. I sidestepped quickly, avoiding catastrophe and continued on my way, with the cutest dog in Paris in tow. I did, however, keep that yawning dromedary in my mind, making note to stop and take a closer look on our way back home.
My method of approaching this incredible exhibit is a bit stealthier and traffic savvy...I start at one end of the exhibit and each day take in two of this pictorials displaying Nomadic life around the world. Actually, I feel my plan is somewhat nomadic as well...I travel a planned route, making frequent stops to “feed” my brain and enjoy the imagery. I wander at my own pace in order to achieve my own goal...and I keep a weathered eye to obstacles, interlopers and fellow wanderers along my route. It should take me about a month to scrutinize the images and meander along the half mile display, anchored to the fence.
I love the fact that every six weeks or so, the museum in the Palais du Luxembourg sets up these amazing photos. Back in January, we saw life along the Mekong Delta, rich in culture, eco-systems and history. My favorite pictures from that and the current displays are of the animals...but the pictures of the faces are captivating too. I also love to look at the faces of the on-lookers as well. Smiles, puzzlements...fingers pointing or poised along one’s cheek...I observe the observers and I wonder what if Harry Potter’s world really existed, what would the point of view be from the pictures’ side of things?
With the warmer weather, people are emerging from their winter dens. Cafes and brasseries are usurping every available inch of real estate along their storefronts...people eager to sit in the sun and watch the hubbub of the city... leisurely savoring a café, a beer or glass of wine... and secretly happy, because Paris is awake and so are her people.
Friday, April 2, 2010
Sans Domicile Fixte: Part One
There are a few issues out there in the world that really push my buttons. Homelessness is one of them. I am usually at a loss as to what to do when I am approached by a homeless person. Sometimes I give the person change...on occassion I may buy a sandwich and bottle of water and go back and give it to him or her. I have provided information about a local church or shelter. My practical response is to give generously at church or to a reputable charitable organization like Project Bread which serves to feed the hungry. Most of the time, and even more so now that I am in Paris, I tend to not "see" these people. And that pushes my own button...
In the US, the cultural "policy" for the issue of homelessness is to allow those professional organizations, whether local government services agencies or charitable non-profits to deal with the problem. I have been advised that these entities are properly prepared to address the wide ranging needs of the homeless people. Many have mental and physical health issues. Others are families who need help to cut through economic red tape. As a passerby, my role is to treat the person with dignity and respect...but that is easier said than done...so I usually look the other way; a character flaw I must learn to correct so as to improve as a human being and still do what is in the best interest of the homeless...tres difficile!
In France, the word homeless is politically incorrect...it is foul language. The French phrase for this situation is Sans Domicile Fixte or SDF. It means without permanent housing. I think the French mean well by using this label, but I think it is a cop-out too. Apparently, for the government, being SDF is a choice. It is also a way to segregate a growing immigrant population, which is something of a sore subject in the EU and especially France these days. SDFs are not treated the same as other EU citizens...on a government level. But in the neighborhoods...something unique happens.
Let me tell you about "Pimkie". When we moved to Paris in January, we noticed all around the city were these odd collections of folded cardboard boxes, newspapers and sometimes bags tucked behind statues, stuffed into crevices of walls and fences. The oddity is that Paris has a very dedicated Public Sanitation Department, with a huge cadre of workers, sweeping, washing, collecting debris from the streets, but these caches of detritus remain untouched. About three days after moving into our flat, we got up early to take Reilly out for her morning constitutional. It was a very cold, windy, wet morning. As we hustled down to the corner, we passed a women's clothing store called Pimkie...cute, modern, trendy stuff, geared for teens and 20 somethings. There on the raised threshold of the door was a makeshift cardboard shelter, soggy and sagging under the assault of the winter elements. From within, we heard snoring. An SDF had taken shelter in this little alcove. Well Reilly's business needed attention so we hurried up the street to the park and the SDF was a short term memory. Reilly did what she needed quickly and started pulling us toward the warmth of home. Back to the corner, across the street and passing Pimkie, our neighbor was awake, rolling up a sleeping bag kind of thing and packing up his shelter, which he would store behind a statue of Montaigne down the street aways. He was bundled up in layers of clothing, and carried his possessions in a pretty big backpack. He took out a towel and wiped down the raised stoop. Just as he was finishing up, one of the store clerks arrived to open for the day. She handed the man, whom we dubbed Pimkie, a cup of Starbuck's coffee and a bag that must have had something for his breakfast. The exchange happened without words or eye contact and we hustled by to our door.
So it seems that Pimkie resided on this step from 11pm to 8am. The raised step is a real find. There is a little niche up off the sidewalk with a bit of a roof, providing shelter from the elements and there is some heat provided from the store. The cardboard house traps the heat and voila, an un-fixed domicile. Also, when the street cleaners come by in the morning with their high-pressure hoses, showering the walks and gutters, Pimkie is up high enough to not get soaked. From what I understand, this is a very typical situation in Paris, SDF's taking up residence in doorways of businesses. And, compared to stories about other SDFs in other neighborhoods, we are lucky that Pimkie is our resident SDF. He does not yell in the night. He does not urinate on the buildings and for a homeless guy, he is pretty clean. Paris provides public toilets and showers for the SDF population, as well as for students backpacking across France or anyone in need of some personal hygiene time.
Pimkie stayed on the store step until a real cold spell in February. One morning, Bill took Reilly out at little later than usual, he noticed that Pimkie wasn't awake yet. The store clerk was calling to him, asking him to leave the step, it was time for her to open the store...but no answer. Another woman in the store appeared to be calling the police. Bill and Reilly headed off to the Jardin. Upon their return, they saw the police and an ambulance at the Pimkie store and the situation did not look good. Apparently the temperatures dropped into deadly numbers during the night and Pimkie died in his sleep. Bill told me about this and I felt so very sad. I also felt guilty and angry. Why did this guy have to die alone in the cold on a stoop of a store? Did Paris respect his choice to live SDF or did Paris ignore a citizen in need? Button pushed!!!
Later in the week, we noticed that the store clerk at Pimkie had left some cardboard sheets on the store stoop. This is not the usual way of recycling boxes. We soon realized her reasoning. We were coming back from Reilly's last walk of the evening and there on the stoop at Pimkie was a cardboard shelter. A new neighbor moved into his SDF. And next to his domicile was a little handle bag from Starbucks.
We do not have a nickname for this man...it doesn't seem right somehow. He's just the guy. Now that the weather is warmer and it is not quite as rainy, the guy seems to be sleeping elsewhere, but when the forecast is for rain, we are pretty sure to seem him on the raised stoop...after 11pm. Location, location, location.
I have learned from my new friend, Jannine, that Paris does have a policy for dealing with SDFs. After 11pm, the police go out into the city in their "paddy wagons" and round up any homeless person who wants to go to the jail for a hot meal and a night inside. The choice is up to the people, not the police however. And the aforementioned public toilets and showers are advertised for the people's use. Is it enough? I don't know enough to say...but I am learning.
In the US, the cultural "policy" for the issue of homelessness is to allow those professional organizations, whether local government services agencies or charitable non-profits to deal with the problem. I have been advised that these entities are properly prepared to address the wide ranging needs of the homeless people. Many have mental and physical health issues. Others are families who need help to cut through economic red tape. As a passerby, my role is to treat the person with dignity and respect...but that is easier said than done...so I usually look the other way; a character flaw I must learn to correct so as to improve as a human being and still do what is in the best interest of the homeless...tres difficile!
In France, the word homeless is politically incorrect...it is foul language. The French phrase for this situation is Sans Domicile Fixte or SDF. It means without permanent housing. I think the French mean well by using this label, but I think it is a cop-out too. Apparently, for the government, being SDF is a choice. It is also a way to segregate a growing immigrant population, which is something of a sore subject in the EU and especially France these days. SDFs are not treated the same as other EU citizens...on a government level. But in the neighborhoods...something unique happens.
Let me tell you about "Pimkie". When we moved to Paris in January, we noticed all around the city were these odd collections of folded cardboard boxes, newspapers and sometimes bags tucked behind statues, stuffed into crevices of walls and fences. The oddity is that Paris has a very dedicated Public Sanitation Department, with a huge cadre of workers, sweeping, washing, collecting debris from the streets, but these caches of detritus remain untouched. About three days after moving into our flat, we got up early to take Reilly out for her morning constitutional. It was a very cold, windy, wet morning. As we hustled down to the corner, we passed a women's clothing store called Pimkie...cute, modern, trendy stuff, geared for teens and 20 somethings. There on the raised threshold of the door was a makeshift cardboard shelter, soggy and sagging under the assault of the winter elements. From within, we heard snoring. An SDF had taken shelter in this little alcove. Well Reilly's business needed attention so we hurried up the street to the park and the SDF was a short term memory. Reilly did what she needed quickly and started pulling us toward the warmth of home. Back to the corner, across the street and passing Pimkie, our neighbor was awake, rolling up a sleeping bag kind of thing and packing up his shelter, which he would store behind a statue of Montaigne down the street aways. He was bundled up in layers of clothing, and carried his possessions in a pretty big backpack. He took out a towel and wiped down the raised stoop. Just as he was finishing up, one of the store clerks arrived to open for the day. She handed the man, whom we dubbed Pimkie, a cup of Starbuck's coffee and a bag that must have had something for his breakfast. The exchange happened without words or eye contact and we hustled by to our door.
So it seems that Pimkie resided on this step from 11pm to 8am. The raised step is a real find. There is a little niche up off the sidewalk with a bit of a roof, providing shelter from the elements and there is some heat provided from the store. The cardboard house traps the heat and voila, an un-fixed domicile. Also, when the street cleaners come by in the morning with their high-pressure hoses, showering the walks and gutters, Pimkie is up high enough to not get soaked. From what I understand, this is a very typical situation in Paris, SDF's taking up residence in doorways of businesses. And, compared to stories about other SDFs in other neighborhoods, we are lucky that Pimkie is our resident SDF. He does not yell in the night. He does not urinate on the buildings and for a homeless guy, he is pretty clean. Paris provides public toilets and showers for the SDF population, as well as for students backpacking across France or anyone in need of some personal hygiene time.
Pimkie stayed on the store step until a real cold spell in February. One morning, Bill took Reilly out at little later than usual, he noticed that Pimkie wasn't awake yet. The store clerk was calling to him, asking him to leave the step, it was time for her to open the store...but no answer. Another woman in the store appeared to be calling the police. Bill and Reilly headed off to the Jardin. Upon their return, they saw the police and an ambulance at the Pimkie store and the situation did not look good. Apparently the temperatures dropped into deadly numbers during the night and Pimkie died in his sleep. Bill told me about this and I felt so very sad. I also felt guilty and angry. Why did this guy have to die alone in the cold on a stoop of a store? Did Paris respect his choice to live SDF or did Paris ignore a citizen in need? Button pushed!!!
Later in the week, we noticed that the store clerk at Pimkie had left some cardboard sheets on the store stoop. This is not the usual way of recycling boxes. We soon realized her reasoning. We were coming back from Reilly's last walk of the evening and there on the stoop at Pimkie was a cardboard shelter. A new neighbor moved into his SDF. And next to his domicile was a little handle bag from Starbucks.
We do not have a nickname for this man...it doesn't seem right somehow. He's just the guy. Now that the weather is warmer and it is not quite as rainy, the guy seems to be sleeping elsewhere, but when the forecast is for rain, we are pretty sure to seem him on the raised stoop...after 11pm. Location, location, location.
I have learned from my new friend, Jannine, that Paris does have a policy for dealing with SDFs. After 11pm, the police go out into the city in their "paddy wagons" and round up any homeless person who wants to go to the jail for a hot meal and a night inside. The choice is up to the people, not the police however. And the aforementioned public toilets and showers are advertised for the people's use. Is it enough? I don't know enough to say...but I am learning.
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