Monday, September 22, 2003
Normandie
21/September/2003
Jerome grew up in Normandy, in the north of France. He invited me to go with him this weekend to visit his sister and nephew in Caen and then we could go to the beaches where the Allied troops landed on D-Day, which were only a few minutes away from Caen.
It was awesome. A vintage US tank in the square of each tiny village, each person with their own story about the the liberation on June 6th, 1944. Jerome's father vivdly remebers a US soldier giving him a piece of gum while his division swooped through their coastal village.
We spent quite a bit of time on Omaha Beach where the US Cemetary is. This is a special niche of solemness in an otherwise pretty hectic tourist area.
I also went to Honfluer, a small coastal village that I visited when I was 5 years old. I even recognized the restaurants and shops surrounding the square quay in the center of town from photos in my childhood album.
It was quite lqte when we started to head back to Paris and we weren't exactly sure how to get to the highway the fastest, so Jerome asked a man and his wife walking to their car to clarify it for us. In what Jerome described as a "strange Italian accent" the man told us to "forget everything you've been told" and to simply follow him. Ok, so we did. After we turned the opposite direction of three or four signs indicating the way to Paris we flashed the highbeams at the car in front of us to make sure he knew we actually were intending to go to Paris tonight.
After pulling over, he looked at Jerome and explained that the highways were a mess with traffic (which he says we could have also noticed if we were looking over the bridges we were crossing) and this way would be faster in the long run. "But, this time," he stressed, "follow faster, ok?!" Ok, so we followed... faster. It wasn't exactly easy keeping up with the new Mercedes while we pushed this older Renault to its limit, but we managed. We were flying through the countryside. Huge fields of crops glowing in the moonlight with whisps of fog rolling around the hillsides. We had to dodge only one rabbit who never moved, even after nearly took it's ears off.
The chase ended in a non-descript intersection in the middle of no where. The man, whom we found out was actually Greek (explaining the wierd Italian accent), and his wife were continuing on the same direction, but he gave Jerome some directions through a small wooded area and said that we would pop out right at the entrance to the main Paris motorway. At the time it seemed highly unlikely that this road would lead anywhere near where we wanted to be. But, ok, we followed his directions and five minutes later we were at the very begining of the motorway, which was not clogged at all. We had to maneuver a bit to get in line to the on ramp to the toll way, but we saw a string of cars going all the way down the main route from Normandie which we just avoided. Who knows how much time we saved, but, as a native from Normandie, it clearly blew Jerome's mind.
Tonight I've learned a valuable lesson about accepting driving directions from shifty looking Greek men in France. And how often do you get a gift like that.
Paris
15/September/2003
Wow. So it is great after all. I admit I've been a Paris skeptic for a long time. Someone would mention how they had a great time in Paris and I would say, "But, hey, have you been to Bangkok?!" And regardless of their answer I wouldn't really be satisfied that they really knew what I was saying. The truth is that I didn't know what I was saying. (Apparently this is a bigger issue for me than I've previously been aware.)
I always imagined Paris to be a EuroDisney minus the colorful costumes. Just another big European metropolis chasing the tourist dollar: cool old buildings coupled with the latest this and that. Not true. Parisians are pretty individualistic, off doing their own thing. First, unlike most very tourist centered cities there is no "Parisian message" being crammed down your throat (ie: "the most beautiful city in the woooooooorld" or "Romance: just add Paris") like you see in some mega-tourist towns across the world. Other than restoration of the buildings and bridges, there seems to be very little management of the city's façade. They seem happy to leave that to the people of Paris.
What's more, there are colorful costumes everywhere! (You see, I was wrong on both counts.) Street performers are all over the city. An elderly couple weaving scarves through the air, a man wearing rainbow colored parachute pants rolling large balls around his body, troupes of comedians banging sticks and drums in a conga line; Paris is a city filled with children and adults laughing in the streets, laying in the grass, shopping at stores, and smiling in cafes.
Now, it is more than a bit touristy. I haven't met or heard more Americans outside of the US than here in Paris. And let's not forget the jumbles of Japanese in their tourist groups. Oddly, all these tourists are something special too, full of smiles and amazement. An extended family equally fascinated with the sights and sounds of the city.
As usual though, I really don't like to be a tourist. I much prefer to stay with a friend and get the local flavor of a new place. So Jerome, my friend that I met in Belgium, is hosting my week in Paris. He's got a great apartment very near the center of Paris but even closer to Montmart (where most of Amelie was filmed).
He dedicated the first three days of my stay as an introduction to Paris. We rode his scooter just about everywhere. We visited almost all of the twenty different sub districts in Paris, most of them with a unique character or style, and passed by dozens of famous and not so famous monuments. One of the latter was an unexpected visit to the tacky memorial at the highway tunnel entrance where Princess Diana crashed and died. I suppose this is what you do when you visit Paris now.
Jerome was working most of the rest of the week so I went back to the parts of Paris I enjoyed the most and sat in parks in cafes just talking and reading. (I’ve nearly finished the 'Tales of the City' series by Armistead Maupin.) Reading and relaxing has been the perfect Paris combination for me.
La Ciotat
8/September/2003
My first trip to the Mediterranean Sea. The weather has been perfect since I arrived here at my friend Miriam's house, which is a one minute flip-flop walk to the beach. I'm only going to be here for a few days until I head up to Paris, but I think I choose a good time to come. Miriam says that only a few days ago there was no room to lay down your towel on the beach. But because all the French tourists have started work this week there's a nearly uninhabited stretch of sand the whole way down.
Miriam is half French and half Vietnamese which has led to some really tasty food combinations. When I met her about a month ago and told her that I was (A) going through France soon and (B) that I loved her cooking and company, she invited me to come and have some one-on-one lessons in La Ciotat if I wanted to. So, here I am.
Lyon
5/September/2003
I've arrived in France to an incredibly beautiful place! Lyon is tops. The youth hostel is fun and boisterous with a great view overlooking the town, the public transport is really well done, the main station is pretty impressive and the staff there are helpfull AND friendly. In short, it was not at all what I was told to expect to find in France.
Here's to discovering France without blinders.
21/September/2003
Jerome grew up in Normandy, in the north of France. He invited me to go with him this weekend to visit his sister and nephew in Caen and then we could go to the beaches where the Allied troops landed on D-Day, which were only a few minutes away from Caen.
It was awesome. A vintage US tank in the square of each tiny village, each person with their own story about the the liberation on June 6th, 1944. Jerome's father vivdly remebers a US soldier giving him a piece of gum while his division swooped through their coastal village.
We spent quite a bit of time on Omaha Beach where the US Cemetary is. This is a special niche of solemness in an otherwise pretty hectic tourist area.
I also went to Honfluer, a small coastal village that I visited when I was 5 years old. I even recognized the restaurants and shops surrounding the square quay in the center of town from photos in my childhood album.
It was quite lqte when we started to head back to Paris and we weren't exactly sure how to get to the highway the fastest, so Jerome asked a man and his wife walking to their car to clarify it for us. In what Jerome described as a "strange Italian accent" the man told us to "forget everything you've been told" and to simply follow him. Ok, so we did. After we turned the opposite direction of three or four signs indicating the way to Paris we flashed the highbeams at the car in front of us to make sure he knew we actually were intending to go to Paris tonight.
After pulling over, he looked at Jerome and explained that the highways were a mess with traffic (which he says we could have also noticed if we were looking over the bridges we were crossing) and this way would be faster in the long run. "But, this time," he stressed, "follow faster, ok?!" Ok, so we followed... faster. It wasn't exactly easy keeping up with the new Mercedes while we pushed this older Renault to its limit, but we managed. We were flying through the countryside. Huge fields of crops glowing in the moonlight with whisps of fog rolling around the hillsides. We had to dodge only one rabbit who never moved, even after nearly took it's ears off.
The chase ended in a non-descript intersection in the middle of no where. The man, whom we found out was actually Greek (explaining the wierd Italian accent), and his wife were continuing on the same direction, but he gave Jerome some directions through a small wooded area and said that we would pop out right at the entrance to the main Paris motorway. At the time it seemed highly unlikely that this road would lead anywhere near where we wanted to be. But, ok, we followed his directions and five minutes later we were at the very begining of the motorway, which was not clogged at all. We had to maneuver a bit to get in line to the on ramp to the toll way, but we saw a string of cars going all the way down the main route from Normandie which we just avoided. Who knows how much time we saved, but, as a native from Normandie, it clearly blew Jerome's mind.
Tonight I've learned a valuable lesson about accepting driving directions from shifty looking Greek men in France. And how often do you get a gift like that.
Paris
15/September/2003
Wow. So it is great after all. I admit I've been a Paris skeptic for a long time. Someone would mention how they had a great time in Paris and I would say, "But, hey, have you been to Bangkok?!" And regardless of their answer I wouldn't really be satisfied that they really knew what I was saying. The truth is that I didn't know what I was saying. (Apparently this is a bigger issue for me than I've previously been aware.)
I always imagined Paris to be a EuroDisney minus the colorful costumes. Just another big European metropolis chasing the tourist dollar: cool old buildings coupled with the latest this and that. Not true. Parisians are pretty individualistic, off doing their own thing. First, unlike most very tourist centered cities there is no "Parisian message" being crammed down your throat (ie: "the most beautiful city in the woooooooorld" or "Romance: just add Paris") like you see in some mega-tourist towns across the world. Other than restoration of the buildings and bridges, there seems to be very little management of the city's façade. They seem happy to leave that to the people of Paris.
What's more, there are colorful costumes everywhere! (You see, I was wrong on both counts.) Street performers are all over the city. An elderly couple weaving scarves through the air, a man wearing rainbow colored parachute pants rolling large balls around his body, troupes of comedians banging sticks and drums in a conga line; Paris is a city filled with children and adults laughing in the streets, laying in the grass, shopping at stores, and smiling in cafes.
Now, it is more than a bit touristy. I haven't met or heard more Americans outside of the US than here in Paris. And let's not forget the jumbles of Japanese in their tourist groups. Oddly, all these tourists are something special too, full of smiles and amazement. An extended family equally fascinated with the sights and sounds of the city.
As usual though, I really don't like to be a tourist. I much prefer to stay with a friend and get the local flavor of a new place. So Jerome, my friend that I met in Belgium, is hosting my week in Paris. He's got a great apartment very near the center of Paris but even closer to Montmart (where most of Amelie was filmed).
He dedicated the first three days of my stay as an introduction to Paris. We rode his scooter just about everywhere. We visited almost all of the twenty different sub districts in Paris, most of them with a unique character or style, and passed by dozens of famous and not so famous monuments. One of the latter was an unexpected visit to the tacky memorial at the highway tunnel entrance where Princess Diana crashed and died. I suppose this is what you do when you visit Paris now.
Jerome was working most of the rest of the week so I went back to the parts of Paris I enjoyed the most and sat in parks in cafes just talking and reading. (I’ve nearly finished the 'Tales of the City' series by Armistead Maupin.) Reading and relaxing has been the perfect Paris combination for me.
La Ciotat
8/September/2003
My first trip to the Mediterranean Sea. The weather has been perfect since I arrived here at my friend Miriam's house, which is a one minute flip-flop walk to the beach. I'm only going to be here for a few days until I head up to Paris, but I think I choose a good time to come. Miriam says that only a few days ago there was no room to lay down your towel on the beach. But because all the French tourists have started work this week there's a nearly uninhabited stretch of sand the whole way down.
Miriam is half French and half Vietnamese which has led to some really tasty food combinations. When I met her about a month ago and told her that I was (A) going through France soon and (B) that I loved her cooking and company, she invited me to come and have some one-on-one lessons in La Ciotat if I wanted to. So, here I am.
Lyon
5/September/2003
I've arrived in France to an incredibly beautiful place! Lyon is tops. The youth hostel is fun and boisterous with a great view overlooking the town, the public transport is really well done, the main station is pretty impressive and the staff there are helpfull AND friendly. In short, it was not at all what I was told to expect to find in France.
Here's to discovering France without blinders.
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