Monmartre Bus

As I have said elsewhere, I have left the fourth district (le Marais) and am now living in the ninth district of Paris (Anvers) just below Monmartre.
Now when one evokes Montmartre one tends to think of le Sacré coeur (the modern version of Notre Dame, though design-wise nothing like each other...An interesting tidbit about Sacre Coeur is that it gets really white after the rain because water actually starts a chemical reaction producing white color in the stones used to build this cathedral).
Of Monmartre, one also thinks of artists (painters are concentrated here as well as other artists) and of course, Village ! Montmartre does feel like a village with its small streets, neighborhood shops (still there despite the invasion of chain and less neighborly stores) and markets (food or paintings or junks).

Here I would like to give you a tip of a fun way for visiting Montmartre. This is via the public bus called (appropriately) Montmartre Bus. The bus they use for this route is electric and it is way smaller than the regular buses you see in Paris but bigger than minibuses that may be used for tours by tourist companies. The most interesting part of course is the routing. The bus will take you (if you start at Mairie du XVIIIe area, Métro Jules Joffrin) via all the small streets in Montmartre, passing the interesting places that could be found here (including Place Dalida, named after the famed singer that has become an icon of gay French). From the bus, you would be able to have an overview of Paris, circle le Sacre Coeur, worry about whether the bus would make it up the very steep incline of a very small street without scraping the skin of pedestrians already pinning themselves against buildings, or squeeze past between the sidewalk and a parked car.

The passangers of the bus would tend to be a mix between locals and tourists...the locals seem to know the bus drivers and banter with them freely. Best to sit in way in the back to enjoy the view, especially when the bus circle le Sacre Coeur (when you go from Mairie du XVIII to Pigalle)...you will be treated to a wonderful view of Paris including the eye sore Tour Montparnasse way near the Gare Montparnasse in the south (so you do get to see a long way off from here) as well as (quick though) the Eiffel Tower. Of course you could get off here and take the stairway down (or the little metro like funiculaire to go to the Métro station Anvers).

If you decide to get off the bus at Pigalle, you could see my other entry on Pigalle to get oriented...Indeed, the bus route is interesting also because the neighborhoods change as we mosey on the route...from the very mixed not very rich neighborhood to the rich on top of the hill of Montmartre and down to the, some may think, seedy Pigalle. But don't count Pigalle out (or consider it only for sex). Pigalle is cabaret also, night life, Amélie Poulin and all the rest that we associate with the original Paris!

Paris cold snow and rain (Random thoughts again, stuck at home because of the weather)

2009-2010 could probably be considered one of the coldest, longest and wierdest winter in my memory. Wierd because the temperature yoyoes so much...one day you could be walking along the canal with a light jacket and the next day you have to cover yourself in wool from top to bottom with nary an inch of skin shown and still feel the cold.
Rainy Paris could still be romantic. Indeed my most romantic memory was of a rainy Paris, traversing le pont des arts with my boyfriend. Rain was falling lightly but it was very very foggy. My boyfriend kissed me then amidst the fog and the falling rain with his lips that felt at first cold and then warm and then definitely hot. That was also the last time I kissed him so romantically since in the months that followed, he decided he wanted to be het, married a woman and got fat.
But when Paris gets too cold, it was difficult to go out and walk and enjoy the city. If you decided to take the boatride, go early to secure the seats in the glass protected part in the bottom. Trust me, even if you think you could handle the cold, after 5 minutes in the open deck you would freeze and could not care less if you had just passed the narrowest house in Paris or the Palais de Tokio.
Streets tend to be empty, and just neighborhood bars with regulars might be full (the thought of not seeing each other for these regulars even for one night was too much to bear). The saddest part is that many cafés might be empty simply because smokers decide not to go in the cold cold nights because it was not even possible to sit in the heated terrace to enjoy a cigarette between dinner courses. Yes, ever since the anti smoking law, smokers desert cafés in cold nights because it was just much more comfortable sitting in one's own heated home in front of the telly and smoke to your heart's content.
Talking about heated home (and watching tv), a sad recent observation is the more and more homeless people that could be found in many corners of Paris. Many avoid shelters provided by the city (and in any case, there ware not enough shelters in the city. Sometimes metro stations are left open all night to be used as shelter by the homeless)and opt to camp in parks or in street corners maybe near street grills that let out warm steam. This is one social problem that France has to deal with maybe in more recent times compared to the US, but the cracks are definitely there. The atmosphere that reigns over France today seems to be more of tension, desperation and pessimism. The rich as in many societies of course are spared...but more and more of the French people who are not rich seem to be feeling the pinch.

The, at, in and La/le/les: How are we supposed to get them right ever?

For non-French speakers, especially Anglophones, French is difficult not only because it is confusing to pronounce (and get a good accent going) but also because of a real headache associated with the gender of things/nouns…In French (like in German, by the way) nouns are masculine or feminine (in German, you may want to add neutral with respect to gender!). Forget about finding some kind of logic or pattern to guess when things are likely to be feminine or masculine. I tried that and there is no logic that I could detect. You just have to memorize the gender of each word. This might have explained why I admired French kids who seem to have no problem whatsoever associating a gender article to words (Actually, after my French got better, I noticed that they do make mistakes though much less frequently than me…And often now I notice their mother correcting the gender of things when they get it wrong).

Foreign speakers tend to develop different strategies to overcome this little problem that the French seem to notice (often, they would indirectly correct you by repeating the noun and emphasizing the right gender of the noun, like “Oh yes, of course, LA table over there is free….”): I have a friend who seems to always mention things in plural (which works for the article itself, but when you have to add adjective….they also have to agree with the gender!); I have also tried to avoid altogether mentioning the gender article if I could (by pretending that I was taking a breath for instance just before saying the noun, or whispering it quickly); or, of course, a last option you mention both genders…like: “Le….(pause) La…table over there is free ?”.
Add to that the use of “of” (de in French), “to” (à in French) that follow certain words. In French, when you want to say “I am thinking OF you” you actually say “Je pense à toi” (I am thinking TO you). And “continue to….” is often expressed as “continuer de…” (literally: continue of). The French also has an additional word to our two “YES” (Oui) and “NO” (Non), namely Si. “Si” is used when you answer affirmatively to a question framed in the negative (Don’t you like what I cooked? SI, bien sur! Or Yes, of course! That is, the YES here is SI and not OUI!).

Of course, if you had a mean streak like me, you would also make fun (privately) of how the French speak English. They certainly have problems with THE….not just in pronouncing it (Often they say Zeh) but in using it too. I saw a graffiti (in English) scrawled on a mail box that read: We want the mail on the time….no guessing the writer was French. They tend to eliminate ‘the’ altogether or use it too much in unlikely places too. FUN is another word that is often used wrong. Fun is an adjective but in their zeal for rules, the French often add ‘y’ to make it really an adjective. So, your friends might say “Oh the party last night was really funny” (meaning, the party was fun!) or “Mr. X is such a funny person” (they might not mean that Mr. X tells a lot of joke or is unusual/weird, but that Mr. X likes to party and have fun). They also use English words bizarrely (and don’t even try to correct them because they would still think that they are right and you have no idea what you’re talking about…please see another post of mine for weird use of English words in French)..for instance, if someone tells you there’s a ‘self’ around the corner he or she probably meant that there is a self-service shop there (and is not being philosophical about finding one’s self). When I go to a bakery and ask for a doughnut they always repeat it to correct me by saying Un (one) doughnutS..yes, the s is pronounced and compulsory even if you’re asking for just one doughnut. But don’t ask for Trois (three) cakes (another English word bizarrely adopted by the French) they will pronounce it like cake in singular (as are most words in French where the plural forms are only noticeable in writing but not in pronunciation except when the words actually change in their plural forms such as mal (ache) that becomes maux (aches)).

Last but not least are what the French call les faux amis (literally, fake friends) referring to words that are similar but have totally different meaning in French and in English. How many times have I heard “Oh but he is such as sensible person”…what the speaker meant was that he is such as sensitive guy…Extra for English speakers means something more (than expected or than usual) but in French it means better than most or the best!

So, next time you find yourself in a funny party, just try to be extra so that you could meet lots of sensible new friends!

Paris’ favorite eats 2

As I am sure you have your Zagat’s and Michelin guides to restaurants, I wish here to go back to the traditional way of getting restaurant recommendations: I asked a few friends of mine to name their favourite restaurants and cafés or brasseries in Paris (Check out also an older post of mine that mentions restaurants that are good and cheap). As usual, I try to get names of cheapish or non expensive restaurants (though there might be exceptions, not all my friends here are poor, luckily).

For French food, I have these recommendations: L’ebauchoire (métro Faidherbe Chaligny, yes I know a mouthful to pronounce) is French traditional in food, décor and ambiance and has good French wine selection. For crêpes, a friend recommends la Creperie de Beaubourg near Centre George Pompidou. I also like the one on rue du Temple in le Marais towards rue de Rivoli (all kinds of crepes, salty to sweet). Café Féria in Place de la mairie in le marais is great for before dinner drinks (happy hours all is half price) and if you want tapas or hamburgers.

When you think of Paris restaurants/cafés, you might think of Brasserie Lipp, Café Flore and Café Deux Magots and le Zinc, the most famous foursome for Anglophones. Brasserie Lipp with its décor from the 19th century and traditional French dishes still banks on its historical significance as a place where Sartre, de Bouvoir, Hemingway used to dine. It’s not that cheap, but the food is good…and though many have said that the service is not friendly, I have had nothing but very friendly service (and here you find traditional French waiters…older men in black and white). Try their Blanquette de veau (veal in white sauce with rice) or confit de canard (duck confit, though the brasserie is known for its choucroute of course). The meals can be followed, of course, by the Mille feuilles, the dessert they are known for, though I could actually think of more exciting desserts than this. Get a table in the main room with gilded mirrors everywhere and a décor that helps imagine those great minds discuss all and everything oh so deeply...
Restaurant le Marché in Place St. Catherine has a nice heated terrace and French food with a couple exotic dishes thrown in among the choices (eg. Curry chicken). But better stick to French ones, I reckon. Le Zebre in Montmartre (Metro Blanche) has fun ambiance but also good food (le moelleux, a mixed of meat and ingredients refried is their most known dish,...try it!). Great beef tartar too.

For Thai food, a friend swore by Ruean Thai (I identified it in another post) in Belleville. I love especially their dried beef in lemongrass and the green curry. For simple but good Vietamese soup and traditional Asian dessert, try Dalat in Belleville. Restaurant Djakarta Bali is an Indonesian restaurant in a small street near Les Halles. You could try the different rijstafel combinations (composed of different dishes with rice and soup) so that you get to try many Indonesian dishes if you don't know them....very friendly service and this is one of just two Indonesian restaurants here (the other is a cooperative restaurant near le theatre d’Odéon).

For African food, here is a recommendation from a friend (I have not myself it myself): the Senegalese restaurant at 7 rues Poissonnier (18th) where you could eat excellent dishes for apparently very cheap. For Antillais, there is les Montagnards in rue Championnet, also in the 18th that I recently went to. I loved it: ambiance antillaise authentic....many friendly not so young Antillais men who easily conversed with you, great rhum for apperitif, and super banane flambée for dessert. The restaurant area is just to the left of the always crowded bar (and crowded outside too where there are a couple tables). I myself still recommend le Petit Dakar in le Marais (4th district). I love their chicken yassa (lemon and onion sauce) but also maffé (in peanut sauce). You should try their jus au gingembre (ginger drink) with these meals.

So I say you: Bon Appetit !

Paris - LA : Tradition, Sex and Food

One of my best friends lives and has always lived except for when we were in school in Berkeley, in the LA area. Though during these years he seems to be moving further and further south (Orange county, yuck! and now San Diego, much better) and I fully expect him to someday be over the border in Mexico. Not going to surprise me given his taste in men.
A tradition that has developed throughout the years since I left LA is for him to pick me up at LAX whenever I make my yearly visit from wherever I happen to be living. This is not solely for love for me that he does that. As soon as I landed and through immigration/customs, bags would be secured in the trunk and we would head straight to the adult bookstore near the airport that we have known since we were, euh, a lot younger. The storekeeper is a chain smoking old lady who lets you do whatever you want in the cabins as long as you don’t create troubles. The two of us would cruise there and most of the time we would find our brief but nonetheless memorable happiness with nameless strangers. One Xmas eve, my flight had arrived late and so it was late in the evening when we made it to the bookstore which meant the bookstore was closed (it was open til early evening). So my best friend decided to be a gentleman and walked the two blocks to see if the other bookstore in the hood was open. I got out of the car to smoke a cigarette in the parking lot when a pickup truck arrived, parked and a big black man got out. He walked towards me and asked very politely if I knew where he could get a blowjob. Hello? Am I in heaven? With my best Colgate smile I said Right here and we went in his car. By far this was the best welcome to the United States I ever had….don’t you just love this kind of welcome? Felt such enormous love for the US just then.

Another tradition is that we got to do what I have missed the most during my time away from LA. Once, for some reason, I thought about Denny’s a lot. Maybe remembering college days when we used to hang out there at 3 am drinking cups after cups of coffee (refills were free and free flowing then). I used to also wolf down Grand Slam breakfast at any hour of the day it was a miracle that I did not turn out like the Pillsbury Dough Boy. This time, I wanted that Grand Slam breakfast. Now, my best friend is sort of a refined eater (doing sex in the cabins of adult book store not withstanding), so going to Denny’s to him is like going to Queens for Carrie Bradshaw. But he relented and said that he would go and sit and watch me eat my Grand Slam (actually, the new GS is nothing like the old and is probably better left as a memory not to be relived). He chickened out though when we got to the restaurant and I ended up getting a takeout that I wolfed down while speeding down in southerly direction on the 405 freeway. Our next stops to satisfy my longings: Taco Bell for tacos and the gas station shop to get a couple Reese’s Peanut Butter and I was as good as anyone could ever be (If I wasn’t gay, I am sure I would have patted my tummy and belched loudly right there).

One thing that I would still have to do during my yearly LA stop is a visit to a KFC.
Now I know that there are KFCs in France, but going there in Paris is just not the same as in LA. First, I would have to go alone. None of my French friends ever contemplated going for original recipe or crispy chickens of the Colonel’s. Such is the social pressure that I would have to put on a hat, sunglasses and a big scarf to go to a KFC and hide in the most obscured table to consume my meal (Or I would bundle the box in a plastic bag, hide the whole thing in my backpack and eat it at home). Why is it that my French friends look down on KFC? American junk food, of course, that one poo poos. And I guess eating with your fingers just seem so barbaric to them…the French even eat their hamburgers with knife and fork! (For your information, Carrie Bradshaw and a dude she met did eat KFC chickens in one episode of Sex and the City!) (OK so they were stoned).

Paris comfort food: Soul food and cupcakes.

Soul food
When I started to write this entry, I was going to let you in on a well kept not so secret place called Chez Haynes, a restaurant serving soul food that could be found in the 9e arrondissement in Paris and was unofficially a place of reference for black Americans, American artists and singers, or simply Americans feeling homesick for things such as BBQ ribs or friend chicken in honey and corn bread. Unfortunately, this institution of American soul, southern US, American artists etc. closed its doors just over a month ago.

Googling Chez Haynes you could find its long and illustrious history (founded by African American Haynes, apparently with a varied career from wrestler, actor to sociologist! who made good in France….friend of many French artists, actors, politicians whose photos could be seen in the unpretentious restaurant with a small stage that used to feature, for example, visiting jazz singers who would sing accompanied just by a piano). But I think each person could also tell a story associated with Chez Haynes. Mine was marked especially by meeting a personage in one of my favourite films when I was younger: La Cage aux Folles. Personable, still recognizably La Cage, he no doubt contributed to pull people into the restaurant to its ambiance.
Chez Haynes was also the place where you might encounter unexpected rencontres. Hosting an American college friend (blond as blond can be blond) who is crazy about soul food, we decided to go to Chez Haynes. Having come to dessert (Real banana split like we get in the US), I turned to the people in the next table, a group of African American young men to come face to face literally with my ex boyfriend from days long gone by! He was visiting Paris and of course he did not know that I have been living in Paris (OK, the separation was not that amicable). We looked at each other unbelieving what we saw….it was a good, as we say in French, retrouvaille …. Any regrets have been erased by time so there was just joy in finding each other again (though his then boyfriend might not think so!).
Now, helas, Chez Haynes is no more….another Parisian institution that is gone contributing to the longing that many long term residents feel for old Paris.

Cupcakes
Having left the US, I sometimes have cravings for things that I have not thought of for ages amid the varied and delicious French food. To the uncomprehending look of my French friends, I long at times for Denny’s Grand Slam breakfast, Reese’s peanut butter, and Sara Lee’s strawberry cheesecake. Luckily, a new place in Paris has brought “home” cupcakes, a food that I associate with happier insouciant time in my life. The cosy place can be found in rue Rambuteau in le Marais. Here you can find cupcakes, cheesecake and typical American snack food.

And what cupcakes!!! Forget the cupcakes that you ate when you were a child which was just sugar sweet and not very beautiful to look and either chocolate or strawberry. Here you would find beautiful looking cupcakes and all kind of flavours that you probably never imagined before. My favourites include carrotcake cupcakes (great icing), rose (yes, the flavour of the flower…it is sooo good), or violet (again, the flower). The price of course matches the presentation and the taste of these heavenly cupcakes (and the cheesecake too! I love especially the chocolate
cheesecake) and has nothing to do with the price we pay in the corner shop for 4 cupcakes in a plastic container. But here, the French touch (in presentation and in flavour) has been successfully integrated into what can be considered an American product much like the pyramid is now an integral part of the Louvre! (Ok I am going over the top here, but I am on a sugar high here). The cupcakes thus are to be eaten and appreciated much like other delicacies in France…slowly, admiringly, and with a lot of memories (of childhood) and emotions that they may evoke in you! With a cup of espresso, you could almost say that you don’t care that your Paris lover has gone off who knows where again for the afternoon…

Note: The shop where you can get cupcakes, called Berko, is located in Paris' 4th arrodissement (Le Marais), rue Rambuteau, metro Rambuteau. Another store (Berko's) is also now open near metro Blanche (on rue Lepic just above the Moulin Rouge).

Paris French speak: Accent and Josephine Baker

Having just spent an evening with a nice and good looking French guy who speaks bloody awful English with an accent that was moving further away from ‘cute’ as the evening progressed and not understanding more than half of what he said, I was glad to be home listening to Nina Simone. For all I know I might have missed the most romantic declaration of love ever made by one of the most good looking guys I know (hey, I could dream). The worst part was that he thought he spoke pretty good English and got annoyed when I asked him to repeat what he said (or he would just look at me as if I had just said the cutest but nonetheless the dumbest thing EVER and not repeat what he said). More French people now speak (or more precisely are more willing to speak) English than before (personal experience), especially among the young. And many have pretty good accent and sometimes surprisingly really good accent (resulting from watching American or British movies and tv series). But not the guy that I was with tonight. Words simply got stuck in his mouth and just would not roll out as they should. I finally figured out he was saying “casual” after he said it about 30 times (it sounded to me like “cashow” when he said it…I guessed cashew? Cash cow?). This got me thinking to the days when I did not speak French…
I remember when I could not spit the French words out of my mouth..the sensation being that these words were clunking around my head (admittedly a big cavity when I had to think in French in those days) and to get them out was a big effort, let alone getting them out correctly. It’s like I needed lubricant. Lots of it too. But the worst part probably was the fatigue that I felt when I got home in the evening. I felt as if I had spoken and done hard labor all day. It was such a relief to have found my Anglo friend in a café and to just blab without any cognitive effort and, especially, to be able to express yourself like an adult and not like a verbally constipated 4 year old. This I found extremely frustrating as indeed I counted myself as one of the better students in my French course at the Alliance Française in Melbourne. Yet, there I was, not able to understand a word people were saying here (nor could they me apparently: I booked a ticket with Air France to Nimes in the south of France, and when I went to pick up my ticket I found out that they had booked me on a flight to Niamey instead!).
The thing that amazes me a lot is how my personality seems to change when I express myself in French or in English. In English, I fancy myself a bit of a raconteur that could spin a boring story into an interesting and intriguing one (especially about sexual escapades). In French, though, my goal was reduced to just being understood (rather than being liked, or being considered funny, forget about being adored), and I have developed the habit of trying to find the simplest way of expressing myself (just a step above Tarzan and two above Cheetah I guess) because it was too complex of a cognitive activity to speak pretty and be understandable at the same time. It does not surprise me that my French friends have a totally different image of me than my English friends. Given that how you see yourself is determined in no small
degree by how those around you see you, I have tried to narrow the gap of how my French and my Anglo friends see me if only to keep myself sane (I was beginning to think that I might have multiple personalities…the demure demoiselle for my French friends and the sicko for my English speaking friends). And having always been a worry wart, I not only worry about errors (grammar, conjugation etc.) but also about my accent. Unlike my friend tonight, apparently.
Talking about accent, one of the comforting thought I held on to was that it would come naturally once one spends enough time speaking French. This was cruelly disproved when I met an American who had lived here a hell of a long time and you could still tell he was American the moment he opens his mouth. People may still chuckle when I pronounce certain words….though I notice people are also starting to appreciate foreign accents here in Paris. The best complement I had was when someone told me I spoke like Josephine Baker! Well, ok, if I could never sound like any François, Jean-Claude or Jean-Michel when I speak French, might as well be compared to a grand diva right?

Paris Velib 2 years on: Gripes, personal crises and danger

It is now nearing two years since Velib came into being in Paris (see my older post on Velib in this blog). The Velib allows you to take out a bike from a station (there is one practically every 200 m in Paris), ride it to wherever you have to go and return it to another station. Free for 30 minutes, and increasing fee for each of 30 minutes fragments added.
Velib has promoted cycling in Paris more than ever. As soon as the sun comes out, you would see hordes of Velib riders on the streets of Paris (the Velib bikes are easily recognizable by their grey like the sky of Paris color and their somewhat testosterone-pumped look compared to ‘normal’ ones as they include more safety features). To know the hard core riders, you should see who are out on the Velib when it rains (me and a few others). Velib has now been extended to neighboring cities that join Paris at its edges.
Though there is no doubt of the ecological and economical gains of the Velib for some (the company that manages Velib for instance and the city of paris), the negative consequences of its popularity could be felt by individual users…..leading to crises that could make an adult cry.
The popularity of Velib means that often you get to a station and there is no bike available. Indeed there are trucks that supposedly move the bikes among stations all the time, but they might seem to not be there when you want them. On the other hand, when you arrive at a destination station after pedaling uphill for a good half hour, you may find the station full and cannot thus return your bike. A friend of mine had a teary crisis because of this. The day when everyone in France took to the street to demonstrate, my friend checked a bike out of a station near her house and rode to where the demonstration was supposed to start to participate…Arrived at destination, all the stations nearby were not only full but there were long lines of people waiting to return their bike too. She cycled and cycled covering larger and larger areas, past her house where she started before finding a station with an emptly lock slot to return her bike. By this time she was cold, her hair was a big mess, and was in tears as she not only had leg cramps but also had missed the start of the demonstration.
Velib can also be dangerous for some. Who says that sex is like riding a bicycle, that is, you never forget how to do it? But, oh yes, I think you do forget (for both). This may be more of a question of how you do it rather than whether you can do it or not: sure everyone can fuck or ride a bike, but not everyone is a good lover or a good bike rider. Comes Sunday if the sun is out, many who obviously have not got on a bike do so. Fine, good even. But these people would ride as if having consumed a couple beers for breakfast, scattering pedestrians on sidewalks and getting on the nerves of car drivers and other riders on the road. An important implication of their behavior is the intergroup perception and relation that inevitably results in these kinds of situations: the cyclists and the pedestrians and the car drivers.
Now, some of us cyclists are very aware of our image. We want to be good examples to other groups by respecting traffic rules and being polite. Scattering pedestrians on a sidewalk by careening like a bat out of hell towards them of course is not good for our image among pedestrians. And they will get back at cyclists and, unfortunately, they will get back at any cyclist and not the one who acted like the crazy bat. Then there are the drivers….whom I wish to teach road manners more than ever (especially the taxi drivers). They used to be kings of the road I guess and now they have to share this with a bunch of sometimes equally aggressive riders (though how smart that is on the part of cyclists, I wish not to say anything). Sometimes I could positively see the desire in their eyes to flatten me out with my bike as I wait for the red light next to them (must be those who have had a bad brush with the Sunday cyclists). I must admit though that Parisian drivers are slowly accepting us as part of the road scene…but often we have drivers coming from outside Paris who looked at cyclists as if they had just landed from Mars threatening to kidnap their big haired girlfriends (or boyfriends in some cases).
All in all, Paris has had a great success with the Velib. I was interviewed by a radio once (about Velib) and was asked if it was true that Velib stations have become a place where you could cruise and flirt with other riders. I don’t know about that. All I say is that I love the technicians (mostly young good looking men) who repair the bikes. They make waiting for a bike to be repaired and available feel a lot shorter than it really is!

Paris( random) thoughts : African visa, passports and travel

Looking at Mali as a possible holiday destination, I got a bit discouraged to learn that an entry visa is required of citizens of many countries (including French, Americans, and Australians). Looking at other African countries, I found the visa requirement puzzling indeed. Gambia, for instance, requires a visa from Americans but not from Australians. Ivory Coast requires visas from Australians, French and Canadians but not from Americans.

This got me thinking as to what passport would be “best” for a hassle free travel. Checking the internet I came across a ranking of passports easiest for travel, in term of the number of countries NOT requiring a visa for the passport holders. Denmark tops the list (with 157 countries, source: Henley & Partners), followed by Finland, Ireland and Portugal. These were followed by a number of other western European countries plus the US, Japan, Canada, and Australia. On the opposite end, the passports whose holders would have to get a visa to enter most countries are Afghanistan and Iraq! That really sucks, your country is in war, and you cannot even go to another country without the visa red tape hassles! Life is indeed not fair.

Passport, though primarily a piece of identity, these days implies more than that. Indeed, from travel discussion in the forum it may even be a question of life and death! In these forums, there are those who expressed being happy to have a third world passport because (they said) if their plane ever got hijacked, they would most likely be let go (vs. citizens of big powerful first world countries)….this reminds me of when I finished college (in the US) and, with a friend, were getting ready to do a European trip. Advices for the trip for my friend who looked extremely apple pie and dressed very American, ranged from stitching a Canadian flag on your backpack and not waving your American passport in public. Others said best passports are those from a first world but small and insignificant (politically) country such as Switzerland or NZ (In fact, I would put Denmark in this category too): No one is likely to hate you and you can still travel without visas like the big, rich but sometimes hated countries. Aside from ‘reciprocity’ that may determine rule whether a country requires a visa from citizens of other countries, money apparently is a big factor (the poorer your country the more likely you are to be required a visa to travel most places).
It is also interesting to discover that the US probably has one of the lowest percentages of people who have a passport compared to other developed nations. And to think that it is the US requirements that make nations across the world change their passport systems (going biometric) at considerable cost and invasion of individual privacy!

Paris walking: sidewalk, dogpoo and parks

Paris is a city that ought to be visited on foot. It is compact and hides many treasures that one can easily miss sitting on a bus! If the grand buildings and monuments can be viewed from a bus, on foot you discover many other aspects of Parisian life. In Ile St louis, for instance, you could read all the small plaques above the entrance or on the front wall of the buildings indicating what famous (or not so famous) poets, artists, philosophers, painters, writers used to live there. In Pigalle, you may wonder into small streets that have old houses with gardens or seemingly run down buildings that hide grand old courtyards complete with fountain you could peek in (or even wonder in if you’re bold enough to follow a resident that happens to enter while you’re peeking). Many of these buildings would bear the date they were constructed and by whom (I found near where I live a building that used to serve as a dormitory for ouvriers or laborers centuries ago, complete with a common bath etc.). Paris also has many ancient arcades many of which now house small shops, tailors, coffee shops and restaurants. These are capillaries of Paris that connect the arteries and provide riposte from the hustle bustle (you can start near metro Grand Boulevard or Richelieu Drouot).
So, put on a good pair of shoes (still stylish though) and just go walkabout in the city.

Ok, now come the unpleasant aspects of walking in Paris. First, you have to watch
out for dog poo that you will inevitably encounter on the sidewalks of Paris. Despite the law requiring owners to pick up after their dogs, many do not. It is easy to recognize Parisians from tourists by the instincts they seem to have for avoiding these canine bombs that are lethal for your shoes (I have thrown many pairs of shoes because the smell just would not go away after I washed them or because my shoes were just too icky for words). Parisians would be walking along chatting away looking everywhere but down and they NEVER step on these bombs as if their feet had dog shit radar (akin to gaydar for gay men I guess, who could detect another gay man a mile away). Tourists and non Parisians constantly step on them while admiring buildings (On the up side, it is said that stepping on a dog poo brings good luck and happiness!!).
Second, you have to watch for aggressive Parisians of course. Often, they think they are the only people on earth and look at you with a big huge surprise as they bump into you or poke you with their umbrella. Many will apologize while you scream in pain, but many will not. To avoid them, best to walk on weekdays and not during lunch time or when they go to work or return home.
What’s worse than a Parisian on foot? A Parisian on a motorcycle of course! Don’t go into conniptions when you see someone on a motorcycle careening on the sidewalk (streets are small and with the traffic jam, the motorists may not think twice taking the sidewalk). Best to pin yourself to the building and let them pass.

My favourite neigborhoods to walk include le Marais (only on weekdays and I avoid it at all const on the weekends. Too many people!). Here, you could wonder and admire all the 18th century buildings where people live (grand doors with ornate decoration, beautiful courtyards), museums (Picasso, Jewish history and art museum, and of all things, door handle museum), and eat falafel in the Jewish street or take coffee in the many gay coffee shops with cute waiters (who do speak English!).
I also like Pigalle where you could bump into prostitutes in broad daylight (if they seem old and fat, don’t feel smug just yet. I have seen cute young men bargaining to sleep with these old fat ladies!) or transvestites with too much make up, and sex shops with their usual motley collection of the curious, the tourists or people seriously in need of a quick sex. Aside from sex shops though, Pigalle also has lots of music shop and is a heaven for any musician. This changes as you go up towards Montmantre where you will find the old Paris pleasant neighbourhood where people still shop in local merchants (complete with chats and banter, so better not be in a hurry) and sit on benches to read or just soak up the atmosphere (or the sun on the rare occasion that the sun is out). In Montmartre, you may bump into artists, happen on a little vineyard, and admire houses tucked in unlikely places and corners (Montmartre is very hilly), studios (painters) and theatres (many known ones are here but the area is also littered with small theatres where you can see plays in intimate ambiancee).
In Belleville, you could find Asian shops and restaurants that make you think you were in China complete with men who spit in public. The restaurants often are cheap, yummy and authentic though the ambiance may leave a lot to be desired. This is the place to get Asian ingredients and real good instant noodles!
In the late afternoon or evening, you should walk along the Canal St Martin from République/Goncourt towards Jaurés. Along this canal you would find little bars (right hand side if you’re heading up to Jaurés) that would sell drinks to go. You take them to sit by the canal, as many Parisians do, and just contemplate how lucky (or unlucky) you are to be in Paris.
You could always to go parks in Paris (Monceau, Luxembourg, jardin des Tuileries and Jardin des Plantes), but often these parks bizarrely prohibit walking or sitting on the grass ! These are very landscaped gardens that make me long for Central Park or the Botanical Garden of Melbourne (both in city centers) that are wild and where one can run and sit anywhere (the park Buttes Chaumont is a wonderful exception to this). In Paris, no sooner you put your butt on the grass, a guardian will surely materialize out of nowhere to shoo you off the grass!

To tell you the truth, the night I felt most Parisian was when a few of us left a party and walked leisurely toward the metro station, champagne in a flute in one hand and a cigarette in the other…felt so sophisticated and civilized between sips and puffs! C'est Paris.