Filming, Les Stroud, and Procrastination

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So this morning I happened to wake up around 5:30. On any normal day I would roll over, dive beneath my covers, and fall back into my dreams. Today, however, I pulled myself out of bed thinking, "How many times will I get to see a sunrise in Paris?". So I heated up some joe and popped in a few raisins to energize for the uphill trek. I left the warmth of Jacques' apartment and went out into a scene I had never encountered before: a melange of the night club crowd returning home or getting some sustenance, and the morning workers opening up shop. I weaved through different groups and started up rue Lépic towards Montmartre. After a few blocks I decided that it would be selfish for me to keep this experience all to myself...and it'd be more entertaining to make a short film out of it. So I documented my journey in the style of Survivorman on the Discovery Channel. I could have woken up Stephen to bring along and handle the camera, and thus be more like Bear Grylls, but Les Stroud is way cooler. He's more hardcore because he goes out all alone.

So there I was just like Survivorman, clinging to life while surviving in the streets of Paris--such a harsh environment. I reached the summit and took in my prize: a spectacular view on the city as it rises. I certainly wasn't alone in this moment though. There were several other wandering figures pumping music from their car, swaggering down the steps after a long night, searching through the trash left by last night's young crowd for forgotten cigarettes. I soaked it in for a while and then moved into Sacré-Cœur for a taste of mass and then returned home to make the movie and put off writing my photography paper. Ahh the fruit of procrastination.

April in Paris

Listen to this while reading (click here)

It's pretty much true. April in Paris is wonderful. The trees are blooming. The sun is shining. The birds are singing. French people are still wearing their winter coats. For many here there are only two seasons: winter and summer.

Life has been good here and with only one month to go I'm satisfied. I'll be ready to get on the flight back to the US--not running on to the plane, or regretting leaving France, but content to head home. It's been fulfilling.

In other news I returned from Spring break a week or so ago. It's too far back to go into many details, but Nice, Venice, Florence, and Riomaggiore in the Cinque Terre were all good towns. Good food, good sights, just tried to sink in a little bit and relax if possible. I was able to get on the beack a couple times -- it was spring break after all. Once in front of the blue waters on the Cote d'Azur and another time on Lido island in Venice. And again in Montorossa if you count that; it was freezing and cloudy out. Overall it will probably go down as the most unique spring break ever for me.

Once back in Paris Jacques made a goulash for Stephen and I. Since then I've been walking around and trying to get in some secondary, less touristy and more typically parisian, activities. Yesterday I inhaled a felafel from L'As du Felafel. Its a delectable fried chickpea and veggie pita basically. Walked to a few different parks. And just took in the city.

A few weeks ago while riding the bus home on a Thursday around dusk I was in a state of enchantment. I slunk down into my chair and viewed the film passing by the windows. People were everywhere. Neon lights alluminated the streets as the sky turned from orange to violet while the sun sunk beneath the buildings. Its just an incredible experience for me to be in a city like this. I mean come on it's Paris. Every restaurant I passed was filled with animated couples convivializing at candle-lit tables. The side walks ebbed and flowed with crowds of individuals. People walking along listening to music. Couples strolling talking about philosophy and ideas. Men and women kissing the way french people kiss: the man engulfing the woman's face while they both take a pause from anything going on in the environment around them. French people are accustomed to this; Traffic immediately takes a detour and forms a lane around the island. Its totally normal. I arrive back at Place de Clichy, this busy outpost on the northwest side of the city, and cruise down rue Biot to Jacque's apartment on high. I get back and the windows are open letting in the cool breeze. There's a scent of tree flowers and jasmine in the air and maybe even some of Jacques great cooking. When he's in the kitchen there's always a sizzling sound accompanying him. He snaps to the radio - FranceInter - and cooks a fantastic meal as this melange of everything around me comes together culminating into just one fine evening here. Yes, April is Paris is a good time.

Last Arlaten Hero

This past weekend was one of the best so far. If it were a movie there main characters would be Vanessa and Alex. The setting is this: Arles, ancient city built by Romans, sitting on the side of the Rhone river down in Provence in the South of France, and also the Camargue, a marshy, moist river delta filled with all sorts of flora and fauna. I know you can't really smell movies, but imagine this and the film only gets better: cinnamon mixed with spring flowers. Nice. And what else do we need to complete this film set-up? How 'bout a genre. We'll say romantic comedy. Ha! No it was good weekend and all, but a romantic comedy wouldn't really be as interesting as say...a Schwarzenegger action film.

So here we find our two main characters fleeing Paris to hindout in the country. Bullets were whizzing by us as we grabbed on to the departing TGV. Of course the doors were already closed so I grabbed the handle with one hand and clutched Vanessa's arm with the other. We climbed on top of the train, headed towards a door in the roof of the traincar ahead of us. The evil villains were hopping the gaps between the cars behind us, shooting all the while. We dove through the doors just before the train shot into a tunnel, wiping the evildoers from the roof. The TGV was a smooth ride for the 4 remaining hours until we arrived in Arles.

The streets were filled with all sorts of menacing characters. We dodged around the alleys and explored the maze of streets for hours taking in the sights like the Arena - a mini colosseum, and the river. When night fell we stumbled on this spectactular moroccan restaurant - a haven of 'bad guys'. We knocked on the door and a tiny window slid open near the top of the door. The shadow of some henchman checked us out, closed the window, and opened the gate to let us in. We swam through the smokey atmosphere to our small table ordering a plate of couscous royale and a bottle of the local rosé wine. A dark shadow puffed smoked in the corner, his gaze set upon us. The glow of his cigarette pulsed. When the food arrived I was only able to have one bite, getting a taste of all the lamb, chicken, and other meats on one fork, when the shadow shoved over his table and floated over to ours. He put out his cigarette in my glass of wine and knocked over our table. Vanessa stood up and karate-chopped the guy's neck rendering him unconscious, while I attempted to fight off his stooges. We left without paying the bill and tossed a grenade behind us as we coolly strolled through the front door.

The following day began early with a croissant and a motorcycle--no a chopper. We set off down the semi-busy streets towards the countryside, hoping to evade danger. Little did we know we were looking it right in the face. We tore up the fields of fresh grass and flowers on our bikes and tried hunting some of the wild horses, bulls, and pink flamingos. All in all that day we ended up riding over 50 miles. A mini tour de france if you will. But Lance Armstrong didn't have to ride while being chased by a league of death robots. We rode by the water, all the while eluding the lazer beams and cars zipping past us. Lunch that day was slightly less eventful and less violent as well. We ate our Camargian fare meanwhile punching every mosquito in the face. Vanessa took extreme delight in this especially as they apparently like her blood a little bit more than that the average person.

The voyage back to civilization led us down a slightly more busy road. We had another adventurous encounter with the criminals as they guided us in the wrong direction home by moving road signs, leading us towards their hideaway. We cautiously snuck up beside the driveway, avoiding the gaurds. We did a sleeperhold on two gaurds and changed into their clothes. By this time the sun was getting low and our stomachs were growling. We happened to find this van inside their hideout that sold pizza so we got one - a provençale with olives and peppers and goat cheese. We couldn't eat very much of it because we were discovered and had to frisbee it, teenage mutant ninja turles style, at a group of gangsters, bowling them over. We sprinted up the stairs of the building looking for the evil children's theater actor with a plot to blow up the moon. He found him without much trouble at all really and an intense battle ensued. He was really no match for us. Actors in children's theater, on average, and he was no exception, puny. As we held him up against a wall with his feet dangling in the air he told us his life story. He had dreams to open a bed and breakfast in the countryside near Arles. It would've been called Mas l'Oustral. There would have been a quaint terrace where you could eat breakfast in the sunlight. It would have been an above average breakfast in terms of french breakfast, but still lagging behind the eggs, bacon, and maple syrup pancakes of the USA. He promised he would change his ways, shed a tear, and his heart grew 3 sizes. So, being compassionate and forgiving vigilantes, we released him. He ran off and so did we. Back towards the city of Arles we went as the sun rose above the horizon. The air smelled a little fresher in Arles from then on as the flowers bloomed and the fetid stench was replaced once again with the smell cinnamon and lavander. We rode the TGV back to Paris and all was well. -- or was it. Dun Dun Daahhh!

No, but seriously, it was a fun weekend on about the same level as the story I just recounted even if some of the details were a little skewed.

Samoëns Suaverie on Skis

This past weekend I had opportunity and delight to jet off to the French Alps in style. As always in France there was a nationwide transportation strike which affected the train we were to take to the mountains. What could we do? It was the last minute. The eleventh hour. Really more like 11:45. We were up a creek. On thin ice. In an unfortunate situation. But then Bertrand, a staff member and the leader of the trip to the mountains swooped in to the rescue. He ordered up what he called, "A magic Bus". It might not have been magic, but it was luxurious. Honestly like something you'd see on an MTV show of pimp my ride or road rules or something. We met up with the bus around 11 pm on Thursday night, bags and ski clothes in hand. When it rolled around the corner there was silence and you could hear everyone gasp slightly. I'm not sure whether everyone was in awe or hoping that they build bridges high enough for this colossus to slide beneath. 2 floors, 5 flat screens, 12 beds, 2 refridgerators and a chauffeur. We decided to ditch the Alps and drive all over France in our mansion on wheels. No we did go skiing and it was good. But the bus, let me tell you. Awesome. Skiing -- alright. Bus -- Yes.



No, I'm joking the bus was as fantastic as I described, but the skiing was even better. You can't imagine unless you've been there. The photos don't really give this extreme, mountainous destination justice. We arrived through the mountains early in the morning and I was awake. A friend and I walked around the small ski village and ordered a coffee and a croissant while the rest of the group continued to sleep on the bus. When everyone arose we found our bed and breakfast where we would stay and geared up (picture the scene from 'A Christmas Story') for the snow. The weather couldn't have been nicer. Blue skies. Few clouds. Weather warm enough to be comfortable, but cold enough for some snow. It was fabulous. We were carried up to the base of the ski area by the Grand Massif Express, a gondola, and then rode a few more chair lifts to rise up to somewhere near the crest of one of the peaks. 360 degrees of beautiful snow-capped mountains. Everywhere you looked seemed like some painting. It was unbelieveable. The skiing conditions were just as prime. Well groomed slopes that descended seemingly-indefinitely and challenging, but do-able trails. Usually with skiing where we've been in Michigan you choose a steep slope that's short or a longer flatter trail. Here the flatter trails when on forever (about 10 minutes actually) and the steep slopes seemed like they'd never end. It was really amazing and I would strongly recommend to every able body out there to do some skiing in the Alps...now. go.

Every night we returned sore and tired and didn't have much difficulty finding our dreams. We slept well. And after returning I slept even more. My body was aching. My whole face was, and still is, congested. I have a cold. Yesterday I felt miserable. I'm not able to soar down a mountain ripping by the beginners and slow pokes (just kidding Dad). But seriously the fastest I can go now is a jogging pace. Jacques thinks that going up a mountain only to go all the way back down and then repeat is pointless. Well I would say that the goggle sunburn on my face and the weakened condition of my body can only show that I had one of the best weekends ever just going up and down a mountain.

A Day In the Life

just after a dinner party at Jacques.

the day after the dinner party I took out empty wine bottles.

this is my school. There's a small sign just above the codebox that says I.E.S. -- that's all for my school.

this is the viennoiserie/boulangerie across the street. They sell all kinds of breads, sandwiches, and pastries.

my morning metro commute.

a typical breakfast chez Jacques

the boulangerie on our street. We're becoming friends because we go to this one most often.





Jacque's kitchen.
Jacque's exotic dining room.

the view from my room.


the bathroom. (Notice the lack of a shower curtain; also see our dryer in the top left hand corner)

the first thing I see when I open my eyes in the morning.

Pictures now, then words later when I have more time. I'm going skiing this weekend in the Alps!

Sinking into the Culture

Well, it's about time for somethin' new huh? Life has been treating me well here in Paris; Classes are underway and they're going well. So far they're not entirely challenging, but very interesting. I'm in a modern art class which is fantastic because we've had the opportunity to go to the Musée d'Orsay to see the real works that we study in class. Our teacher shows up at the museum and walks around while explaining the precise details of the pieces of art and their artists. The Musée d'Orsay has an impressive collection of impressionist works among others. We walked by the priceless art of Van Gogh, Monet, Manet, Seurat, Gauguin, Renoir, Degas, Pissaro, and so many more.

Since my last post I've been to Belgium (Brussels is not great and Bruges is calm with canals running throughout the city, like veins that give the romance to this small place) and Provins, Rouen, and Dieppe. I've also been busy working on plans for the future: Skiing in the Alps next weekend, London the last weekend in March, Wine tasting somewhere in France the 1st weekend in April, Springbreak in Nice, Venice, Florence, and Cinque Terre after that, Mont St. Michel, Munich, then I'm finished with school. I guess my schedule is packed.

This past weekend, after spending some quality time with Vanessa in Rouen and Dieppe (Dieppe only for an afternoon for some beachtime and lunch), I returned home to Paris for a Dinner party Parisian style at Chez Jacques. The. Food. Was. Amazing. It was a soirée of conversation, good food, wine, and discovering just how many cigarettes french people can go through in an evening. 12 or so. Not so many I guess. Jacques doesn't smoke luckily, but it's no big deal to smoke in his apartment and it doesn't smell bad at all. We sucked Moules (with is french for mussels) out of their shells, in a soup of carrots and coriander, aided our digestion, apparently, with some fresh -- not like cheese can really be fresh at all -- camenbert, Stephen's favorite. It's like brie, but not at all the same according to Jacques and any other french cheese lover. Then we finished the meal off with some cooked apples. mmm. I feel like I should mention a few of the highlights of my wine education thus far here: first off, in order to taste wine here are the steps: 1) pour wine into glass ending the pour with a slight twist 2) swirl the wine around the glass so as to aerate the beverage 3) stick you nose into the glass as if you're attempting to breath it up your nose 4) then. drink a little --don't swallow, but instead swish it around you mouth and definitely taste it on the underside of your tongue 5) then have another glass because I have yet to find a wine that's not good here in France, but of course I haven't been developing my taste for the grape drink since I was 9 years old like Jacques and many others. It's a large part of their culture.

Jacques has commited himself to teaching me how to prepare several french dishes. He is an excellent cook and I can't wait to learn and bring back some choice recipes including chocolate mousse, cassoulet, pot au feu, couscous (yeah not actually french), and just some general cooking styles.

Go America!

Well I had the opportunity to see a slightly different side of Paris last Thursday when walking around Les Halles in Paris. A slightly slummier area. I also recognized a penetration of American chains. Hordes of young parisians grasping venti paper cups of Starbucks coffee, groups of people, each with a medium pizza in hand from Pizza Hut, KFC's bland red sign lighting the street very much like the neon light from Kenny Roger's which blinds Kramer in Seinfeld. Are these lights blinding the French too? I remember reading rumors and seeing pictures of french people -- all skinny, all healthy, most of them living longer than the average American. It won't be long before we conquer France and then the rest of the world. MacDo's is a very popular restaurant here in Paris. They're visible at all the recognizable spots: Champs-Elysées, L'Opéra, Le Louvre, and many other notable destinations. Well don't worry America we'll get 'em. We'll succeed in fattening france and filling it with our restaurants empty of character and charm.