Big City Problems

Living in a large city after a while you begin to forget exactly how many people actually live in the city along side you. There were a couple instances that I began to realize just how big Paris actually is. The revolution came in two experiences where two women fell ill in public. The first time was when the group and I were walking to a cafe at night in Republique and there was a well-dressed woman lying on her back on the street corner. She seemed to be unconscious but had a significant number of people circled around her on their phones and a couple people bent over her. After a couple minutes she began to cough and come to. Not speaking French and not wanting to add to the large group of people we decided letting the people who were already helping her, do their thing we walked away as she began to sit up. The other time something like this happened was when I was on the Metro to Accent when a woman, looking very hot and flustered asked a man if she could have his seat. He got up and she sad down and fanned herself and drank some water. In a couple minutes she went limp and twitched a little. Two women standing next to her held her head up and stroked her hair waiting for the episode to pass. When the woman recovered slightly someone gave the helpers a packet of sugar in which they put in the remainder of her water. I had to get off but I was so moved by help and support these strangers gave this lady in her time of need. These two experiences made me realize how large the city was. I have never really seen a stranger lying on the street, or pass out before. This made me realize that this was bound to happen and be seen in Paris solely because there were way more people for this to happen to than Boulder or Santa Barbara. But regardless of the increase in numbers of strangers in a large city I walked off the metro feeling warm and comforted knowing how kind these Parisians are.

Republique

 For the past week I have been going back to skate Republique as much as possible.  Since I have been there about three or four times now a lot of the locals see me as a regular.  They great me with high fives and smiles, its awesome.  This relationship that I have become a part of really gives the plaza a sense of community amongst young skaters.  Just by looking at these kids one can see that they all care and look out for one another.  For example, while I was riding around I saw a man begin to yell at a skateboarder in a furious tone.  The argument got more and more intense as if this man was going to punch the skater.  I then saw several other skaters get up and rush over to the aid of the original skater.  They told the man to leave and he was not very compliant.  After several minutes the number of skaters grew from about three to ten.  At this point the man saw that these kids were a community that was not to be messed with.  I found this encounter to be especially meaning full to me because many of the kids may have not even known the victimized skater they just knew that he was a fellow skater that needed their help and that was enough.  I felt that even though I may have been a "stupid American tourist" I was still a skateboarder and that they would have had my back if the man had approached me.  To me this was the coolest part of the Republique and is what skateboarding is all about.    

       

A Doug Cartoon

On Wednesday after our wonderful last meal, some of us met at the Pompidou to see the opening of the Lichtenstein exhibit. It was awesome, and a great way to end the trip! Before going into the museum Luke, Leah and I were standing in the large quart yard in front of the entrance. A guy came up to Luke and said something like “you got a funny face…good for drawing”, and after an uncomfortable laugh we decided it would be a good idea to get caricatures. Luke got his “portrait” done first and he ended up looking like Fabio and Thor mixed with Woody Allen! It was pretty great. I was persuaded to go next, and so I sat in front of the little Parisian artist, trying to smile as he captured my face in a rather crude and deformed manner. I looked like a fat frat bro mixed with a chipmunk (pretty accurate, no?). As I looked at the enlarged cartoon of my face, and feeling a little queasy from the beef tartar, I realized I would forever be American, and a goofy American at that! There is no point in trying to be French. All that maters is respecting French humanity, and immersing ones in their culture to the point where a critical moment of human aptitude arises—the moment when you can make friends with a culture outside your own. I learned to always be myself, and to do everything in my power to learn from other’s personalities in order to help my own personality grow. It has been a beautiful journey, and I will forever remember the spellbinding sights of the city of lights! Thanks so much for the memories and the laughs! I have learned and grown more then I ever expected!

Gay Pride Parade

Last Saturday, Robin and me were walking around the Latin Quarter looking for some last minute gifts when we ran into the most lavish cultural splash I have seen in France. It was none other than the Gay Pride Parade! I have never seen a pride parade before, but I had an idea of what one looked like, and my presumptions turned out to be completely true. There were half naked men and woman dancing, kissing, and throwing condoms in a very fabulously gay manner. It was really fun to see how excited and happy everyone was to express sexuality openly without hesitation. The music was loud, and the outfits were even louder! I saw a guy dressed in full drag (a big wedding gown looking dress) and to top off his deva persona, he had white beard! It was absolutely ridiculous, and people loved him! I saw at least ten groups of people, young and old, come up to this guy and pose for pictures. I had such a great time watching the French let their wild side come to surface for everyone to see! We saw pretty much the entire parade, and with it a mass variety of different ways of expressing desire and sexuality. I knew I had stumbled into something boundless when the difference between the floats was weather or not you were wearing ass-less chaps, or dressing like an Amazonian princess. 

Narrative #5

Deciding to visit the Versailles palace and garden on a beautiful sunny Sunday was an easy decision. After touring through the hot, stuffy, still air of the palace bedrooms and hall of mirrors (filled with hundreds of Asian tourists), we were finally liberated with a breath of fresh air outside the palace. Although I had visited Versailles when I was 13, the garden was ten times more spectacularly beautiful and larger than I had remembered.  The view from the central fountain stretched down for miles towards the horizon line. Upon seeing the grandeur of the garden we were free to explore - Elizabeth and I ran towards the thick bush maze, which one inside, felt like we were in Alice in Wonderland. We ran through the maze until we found a turn that shot us back out into the garden.
My sandals became covered in a white powdered dust from the rocky pathways. We stumbled upon two gardens of soaring, tall skinny trees, with trunks like toothpicks and leaves that created a balcony of green covering the individuals picnicking below it. We ran through the shaded garden like over-excited fairies, feeling like we were floating through the trees.
Once we were short of breath, we left the garden and began walking more through the garden. We were once again shockingly surprised with a breathtaking scene: a small lake of couples rowing in white boats while simultaneously trying to balance dripping sorbets. Next to these boats was a large area of beautifully kept green grass, with families, young couples and babies relaxing in the grass by the water. The whole scene reminded me of Seurat's painting, "A Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte" (1884).
The scene was too perfect. We lay there in unbelief and bliss at how beautiful the Versailles gardens were. We discussed leaving society and living in the garden. Throwing Gatsby-esque parties with endless champagne, pony rides, fairy dresses and endless cake. I licked my dripping chocolate vanilla soft serve ice cream wishing we could lay there forever, forgetting everything...

Wherefore art thou restroom?

I think it is not farfetched to say I have been cursed with an abnormally small bladder. It is not a good problem to have in France, where public restrooms are few and far between. Almost three times a day I find myself jumping around and looking around fervently for a bathroom. If we are in a museum, our apartment, or Accent I have somewhere to go. Otherwise I am out of luck and become extremely frustrated. Never before have I been forced to pay so much money for having a small bladder. I can guess the reason there are not many public restrooms is because of the abundance of homeless people that would surely take residence in the restrooms. It does baffle me, however, how unwilling restaurant or café or even McDonald workers are to accommodate someone who has to pee. I also blame myself for my lack of French skills in assisting my pleading. Normally they want you to buy something if you are going to use their restroom, but sometimes I really cant wait long enough to stand in line and buy a coke before I need to rush into the bathroom. Even when I really am going to eat at a café and I go to the bathroom first to use the restroom and wash my hands the people inside say “Bonjour Madamoiselle?” to me like “Where the hell do you think you’re going” when they don’t know I am seated outside. I find it very frustrating. I understand this is a part of the culture and a custom I am not used to, but I also cant really figure it out since it is something every person does involuntarily every day weather they want to or not.

Health, Fat, and Cigarettes

When I came here I had a delusional idea that I was only going to drink coffee and smoke cigarettes and become unhealthily skinny, and then when I went back to America I would become a model or something. Just kidding to the last part, but I definitely didn’t see myself gaining as much weight as I have here. The food is just too good, and there is absolutely no easy way to work out. After tromping around all day to multiple museums I am left with zero to no energy, my feet hurt, and I don’t have the energy to get back on the metro to go to one of the beautiful parks that seem to be the only place people actually run. Back in Boulder or Tacoma I follow a strict workout regime, running or elliptical-ing almost every day for 30-40 minutes. I also don’t indulge in chocolate ice cream, candy, and large amounts of Brie almost every day. Trust me, this is not an overstatement, I do this almost daily. Ask Charlotte. I tried to go on a run once, which was a very interesting experience. I wore pants and a raincoat to cover myself, and I was sweaty and disgusting, and I thought I would be protected from the men that stand around outside their shops, but apparently not. I got yelled at a lot, then I got lost, and I felt extremely unsafe and vulnerable. I tried to understand how all the French women here have maintained their stick thin physique, and have come to the conclusion that they mainly live off cigarettes, which is somewhat verifiable by the appearance of their teeth and the fact they are all chain smoking. Similarly, all the teeny-tiny women in their 40’s and 50’s who were the stick thin girls in their youth are so wrinkly and unhealthy looking I am forever turned off from a diet of cigarettes. Therefore, I will have to tolerate my too-tight jeans, gluten-filled tummy from the bites of baguette I can’t resist, and wait until I get back to the U.S. where you don’t get looked at like an alien from outer space when you work out and treadmills are abundant and easily accessible.

Music in Paris

One thing I have noticed more and more is the amount of music that I see here in Paris. I have seen all kinds of instruments; guitars, oboes, French horns, saxophones, violins, bass clarinets, accordions, people singing, etc. It is really fun for me to see all of this musical talent and variety of instruments because I was in a concert band for eight years and have spent countless hours around these instruments. I think it is really fun to be able to tell who is talented and who is not, and I thank my mom mentally every time I see or hear a musician for forcing me to be in band all those years and take all those music lessons and practice even when I didn’t want to (almost always). Every Sunday morning Charlotte and I wake up and hear a man up the street in Montmartre playing his accordion. Even though it seems incredibly cliché to open the French doors in our tiny apartment on the sixth floor above a spiral wooden staircase to our miniature balcony and see the terra cotta chimneys scattered along the rooftops and hear a man playing French tunes on his creaky accordion, I absolutely adore it. I love the idea of people who have grown up playing an instrument going out into public and displaying their talents, not because it is the only way to make money but because they love what they do and want to show their talent off while making a few extra coins on the side. And for those homeless people sitting on the floor of the metro playing for money, I think there is no sweeter way to beg then to exchange the efforts and joys of music for a few coins. Everywhere I go, weather it be laying on the grass below Sacre Cur, taking the metro, walking down the street to get to class or a museum, or picnicking under the Eiffel Tower, I feel like I am being serenaded. This is something I am definitely going to miss when I am back in the U.S.

The Baguette and the Braids

The children here scream a lot. I mean they really belly-ache it sometimes, even the older ones. The younger ones will start piping up before 7 am. I talked to my friend Sophie LeClerc and she said that in her opinion, France has kept the same authoritative methods she saw as a child; where children are given no place for opinion and are shoved behind the parent's needs, so they cry a lot.
 I wrote this in a cafe on the second island. 

The Orangerie Restaurant.

The outer crust, resistant as a lobster's shell at first tooth, with a little gnawing soon shattered into crispy fragments of toasted flavor. But the inside was nearly missing - with a few stretched fragments spun like an interior frosting. They were the only reminder of the eager, live dough that was once there. 

  A preschooler wanders by, her dad's arm merely a tagline to keep her on course. Her curved finger points out the marvelous windows. She wears a golf cap whose style would have done her dad well (but in a different color, of course!) askew over her fuzzy brown braids. But it doesn't hide her treasured cheek-splotch, some face painting or sticker tattoo from yesterday. There's no telling if it's a butterfly or a doggie. Its purpose, however, is established. If momma removes it too early there may be tears. 

  I beg of you: let her expression of herself come out until she is satisfied. How else can she ever learn to hear her heart?  

Narrative #4

I have never been able to go to sleep early, as I always find the most sincere silence late at night. Since I have been living in Paris, I walk out onto the balcony usually around 1am when I am having trouble sleeping. It is there that I observe the people and apartments below ours in Montmartre. Most of the windows are black with darkness, some lit up by fluorescent French television, while a single apartment window across from ours commonly shows a woman reading the newspaper in her kitchen.

Down on the street are the movements of intoxicated individuals. What I experience in Paris after midnight is a view from my practically hidden balcony of an unknown Paris to most: a humble, real, unwatched population of Montmartre. I think the reason these "creatures" of the night interest me is because they remind me of this idea of the unknown... I myself can guess where they are coming from or where they are going but I dont really know for sure.

Last night I watched as a hooded man walked towards Rue Lepic in a drunken zig zag, like a kind of snail. He had no air of danger or aggression, he was just happily drunk eating some finger food out of a styrofoam to go box.

Up on my balcony I feel safe, hidden and free to observe the world through my own looking glass. Some walk down the street with purpose - other's merely wander. The top of Sacre Couer peeps up above apartment rooftops like a soft serve vanilla ice cream.

More characters I have observed on 7/1/2013:
A woman walking down the middle of the street, happily pushing her hair back behind her ers, smiling at a friend on the sidewalk, the black tails of her coat flowing weightlessly behind her body.

A drunk man opening the passenger side door of a green car, looking inside for 20 seconds, closing the door and walking calmly back to his friend (I assume) down the street. Now they are talking. Now he is stumbling back towards Rue Lepic, opening the door again, seems to be reaching for something. Before walking back to his friend, looks in the front of his car.

An older man comes out from the back of a large, white delivery truck. Carrying his backpack and a huge pile of folded white sheets, he walks up a side street.

The wetness of the gutter shines a street down, looking as if it's illuminated from something below it, rather, within it.

Narrative #3

After missing our 6:25am train from Paris Nord to Amsterdam Centraal, Elizabeth and I were in low spirits, imagining that our late night of partying with group members at a bar in Montmartre would ruin our long weekend. Fortunately, after buying new train tickets and arriving in Amsterdam later that evening, we felt we had reached the promise land. Wandering through the streets of the Leidspien district was like nothing we had ever seen before. Everyone was laughing, embracing and the clinks of pint glasses toasting could be heard all around. We met a few locals, as well as some police officers from London who said they loved Amsterdam so much they came here almost every weekend. They also told us Amsterdam had an amazing venue where musicians from all around Europe came to play. The next morning we awoke very early to catch breakfast at our hostel and get going. That Saturday was an absolute whirlwind. We started at the Van Gogh museum, which included 4 expansive floors of his sketches, paintings and many of his authentic painting palettes  After spending a few hours there, we visited the Diamond Museum, observing crowns and royal jewels. We then went on the Heineken Brewery tour which felt like a an interactive ride at Disney Land. That night we went on the Leidspien pub crawl and met locals from Amsterdam, Rotterdam and visitors from South Africa. I really appreciated the time we spent in Amsterdam because it was such an outstandingly different experience from Paris. It was extremely interesting being able to observe and interact with a culture that is so close to France, yet so unlike it in it's nature. Though we were sad to leave Amsterdam, it made us both grateful and excited to return to Paris. I was unsure if I felt I belonged in Paris, or that I could consider Paris "my home", but after traveling to Amsterdam I feel it cemented my sense of belonging to this unique, lively city.

A Long Stroll Through Montmartre.

Surprisingly Nicole and I have only been up and down our street for the past 5 weeks we have lived in Montmartre. The occasional walk to the grocery store or Sacre Cœur happens a couple times a week but we have never journey any farther. Sunday was a beautiful day. The sun was out shining for the first time in days. We started on our usually stroll towards the grocery store. On the way we stopped at a couple shops to buy some souvenirs. It was nearly 4 pm by the time we ended our little shopping spree and we decided to explore Montmartre. In no time we were hiking up a hill towards the top of the little town. It was so crazy seeing this side of Montmartre. Less crowded with more character. All of a sudden we see a familiar road and continue up it. In the distance music was playing and two angelic voices were heard. As we approach we realize we are in the famous Montmartre square where all the artist hang out and draw portraits of people walking by. The singing came from a couple dress in traditional french performance gear. The women looked as if she belongs in a cabaret show and the man in striped overalls with a beret on. They sang and sang in a very french way. You could tell they loved to perform together and had a love history together. We continued through the square slowly at the pace of the locals and tourist. About a 100 yards away was Sacre Cœur in the distance and so we decided to walk towards it. Nicole and I have never been in Sacre Cœur so we decided to go in. Luckily it was Sunday mass and we saw the actual priest and nuns singing. I couldn't believe that we were able to catch this experience so unexpectedly. Circling the cathedral we soaked in the atmosphere. It was calm, sacred, surreal, and weight lifting. Exiting the cathedral was sad. It was if we were leaving a sanctuary, our safe haven. Down, down, down the steps we walked. So many steps till we reached our small little fork of streets where our apartment laid. That was the end of our journey. This walk reassure me that I will come back to Paris and stay in Montmartre in the future. I can't wait to return to this place that homed me for weeks.

Local on the Metro

I had heard since the beginning that Parisians generally keep to themselves on the metro. They typically are listening to music, reading, or (what I enjoy doing for the five minute ride) zoning out. Especially when you're standing under someone's armpit and against someone's bust, you typically try not to make eye contact with anyone. The other day when I was taking the metro home by myself during rush hour, an older man scurried in and trying to make the crowded seats more accommodating for everyone, I scooted over and across to another seat so the older man wouldn't have to climb over the 7 foot man sitting on the other side. As he sat down, he mentioned something in french to me that sounded like "Do I smell? You don't want to sit next to me?" Now, when I see this written out, it does sound a little creepy, but it was exactly the opposite. He clearly didn't realize that I was trying to make a seat available for him. He then laughed and I smiled and he began asking me where I was from, what I was studying, and how I liked Paris. He then told me he worked for himself and designed labels for alcohol, candy, and other sweets. I told him that I wanted to get into advertising and next thing you know, it was my stop! He was the first Parisian that began a conversation with a stranger on the metro and it was nice being able to get a taste of what a local is really like when they aren't giving you directions or trying to sell you something.

Traveling in Paris!

The number one way I commute is either by foot or car at home and in Boulder. When coming to Paris, I didn't give commuting much thought, I just thought that I'd be doing a lot of walking. Turns out I was right, but also a lot of metroing! (New word) I typically take a train to NYC or drive, but never take the subway, because I always walk and was afraid it would be too difficult to figure out. I was definitely hesitant about taking the metro because firstly it's underground, Paris is a large city and the constant warning I received about pickpocketing. Within the first days I felt that I understood the setup and was very pleased at how simple it really is to use. Nearing the end of the trip I've also realized how convenient the metro is, with a large city like Paris, the metro is a well needed transportation system. But it is not as if I love the metro, there has been some good and not so good experiences. Traveling at rush hour, which seems to be different times a day, is not a fun experience. There were a few times I realized I was going the wrong way and I started to get a bit annoyed taking the metro everywhere, at times I would've rather walked, but I see that it really is the best and most convenient way to get around Paris. I've also realized that taking Taxis in Paris is difficult, especially on a weekend night, finding a place to get one was the easier part at times, but definitely one of my least favorite transportation. I would in this case choose the metro over taxis, but unfortunately the Metro isn't open all the time! There was also one point that I may have gotten pick pocketed, a bunch of loud kids pushed their way onto the compartment I was getting on and two of the kids tried talking to me as they leaned up against my body, I tried to move away, but they got as close as the could, and I instantly knew something was up. I was with Julia at the time and she told me one of the girls had a messenger bag with her hand in it and it was open on the bottom. We later saw that those kids had gotten caught. I've enjoyed experiencing the city life of Paris, which heavily included the metro as a big part of my trip here to Paris, but it was also fun and exciting at times, seeing all the different types of people and musicians. I may miss it, but more than anything I've loved walking and running in Paris.

        Last tuesday I finally took the time to go out and get a new skateboard.  Cruisin around the streets of Paris with my new set of wheels has been awesome.  After growing up seeing Parisian skaters in magazines and videos it has been a dream come true to finally ride amongst them.  At first it was hard for me to find skate friendly spots because the cobble stone side walks and busy streets can make skating difficult.  After searching and riding the metro for what seemed like for ever I finally decided to get of at Republique and to my good fortune I found skaters riding around everywhere.  A new plaza had just opened right outside of the metro stop and it was buzzing with skaters.  There were several ledges, a flat box, a gigantic fountain, and beautiful architecture all around, a true Parisian skate spot.  After skating for several minutes I began to make friends with some fellow skaters.  They told me how the plaza had just opened and how the police are recognizing it as a public skate spot allowing kids from all over to come and skate.  This was shocking to me because I have never seen such a huge place where both the citizens and the police not only welcome but encourage skateboarding.  This is an awesome step for skateboarding and skaters all across the world.  It is also extra awesome for me because since it is so new and since I am one of the first dudes to skate at this plaza I feel as if I am going down in skateboard history.  I plan on going back several more times with the few more days that we have left and one day telling my grandkids how I was one of the first to skate Republique.