hoofing it

No shoes are comfortable enough to compel me to walk for more than 6 hours straight, but walk I did. And for most of the day yesterday. I got to the Louvre in time to be in the first 20 people to get in. I met a lovely woman, from Orange County, in line - she was on her way home after a month here solo - and we ended up meeting for lunch in the middle of our respective tours. She was incredibly sweet and even got choked up as she told me that she was leaving the next day.
Many people have told me that one could spend weeks in the Louvre and not see everything. I felt like I got in a good tour in 6 hours. I suppose that having been to the Met in New York a couple of times as well as SF's Legion of Honor and the Van Gogh Museum in Amsterdam, I have seen a lot of really old and fantastic paintings. I loved the instalations of Napoleon's rooms from Versailles, and the halls wherein they keep the paintings by David, Da Vinci, Velåzquez, Titian, Caravaggio and Delacroix. It was interesting how when walking through the halls, these painters, in particular Da Vinci and Jacques-Louis David, really jumped out at me. So intense. There were many paintings that I did not care for at all. After six hours, I walked a bit more: to the Metro, back to the apartment. Then went out dancing later that night.
I ended up at this little underground club, literally a cave, where a blues/swing band was playing. Lots of people were dancing. I was one of three people there under the age of 50, but you'd never have known by the way everyone danced. It was a blast. Finally around 1am I left, hoping to catch a bus or taxi home. Little did I know what kind of super-human feat that is in downtown Paris on a Friday night. I had never stayed out past the 12:30 Metro curfew before. So, not only was it raining, but I was not wearing waterproof shoes. Nor did I know which bus to take from there, and none of the bus destinations were familiar. I bought an umbrella from a cute Tunisian guy named Karim, who invited me to return next year and go to Tunisia with him. I swear, the men in France are as flirtatious as their reputation suggests. My host is really the only exception so far. Anyway, after about and hour in the rain with wet shoes and absolutely no empty taxis in sight, I ran into a couple of people who were in the same predicament, and after about two sentences of my limited French, the guy (David) broke into perfectly American-sounding English. The girl, Sheila, was from Poland and spoke about as much English as I French. So we spoke a mix of languages to each other which was fun. They had just met that evening through a mutual friend, and post-party, had also been trying to get her a taxi for awhile. When we realized that it was not going to happen, David invited the two of us to crash at the apartment where he was staying, which was a few blocks away. Given the fact that Sheila and David had a close mutual friend, and the fact that they were both clearly kind and interesting peole, I had no qualms about going along. It was one of those perfect traveling experiences, where one ends up somewhere one never expected to be. It was too far to walk home, and I gave Laurent a call and left a message that I would be home in the morning. The lace where David was staying was this lovely flat with a pull-out couch that Sheila and I shared. We spent awhile swapping videos on YouTube (she had not seen "Shoes") and David showed us a few awesome short films. One called Overtime, a very moving Jim Henson tribute, and a Sundance-nominated film by a friend of his called GRATTE-PAPIER. David is the son of Belgian parents who lived in Turkey for most of his childhood. He's a 6'2' tall, blonde, blue-eyed Turk who speaks 5 languages and works in PR. Sheila is from Poland, here because she just started her own advertizing agency. Needless to say, we had a good time hanging out. Got about 5 hours of sleep and then off in different directions on the Metro. Now I"m back at Laurent's place (we've by now figured out how to get a cable internet connection hooked up) and Laurent, his friend Brice and myself are eating chocolatines and critiquing my French workbook. Tonight there's a party after the slam poetry contest Brice's girlfriend is competing in. Sadly, I'll miss the poetry slam, but I'll meet up with them later. I'm meeting some other folks from couchsurfing.com for drinks before that. It's so loud here, but I've been so tired at the end of each night that I've had no trouble sleeping through it all. Angers tomorrow!

up early

So, I have not gotten cell phone service here yet, nor have I an alarm clock. When I woke this morning, there was just the slightest hint of light in the sky. I figured it was 7:30, maybe. So I took my time getting dressed and closing up the pull-out couch as quietly as possible, and turned on my computer to do a quick email check if the internet signal was strong enough. Voila, it is 6:35. Eeek. As the Louvre, my destination for today, does not open until 8:30, I am taking this very early moment to write about last night.
My host, Laurent works for a local TV station whose sole purpose is to cover the artistic/cultural happenings of a neighborhood nearby that is populated mostly with African immigrants. I was invited to see a performance at a club in said neighborhood with no knowledge of who or what I was to see, or even the nature of the place I was going. The place itself reminded me of west Oakland, in the way people were hanging out on the street at 9pm as the sun went down, but without the same tension. Laurent later told me that it is a neighborhhod known for periodical violence, but I did not sense it in the air as I did every day I lived in Oakland. Everywhere in Paris there is a great diversity of race, and while I have seen some of the protests on TV demonstrating the racial tension, I do not feel it in the way I feel it back in the States. I will be curious to know more about the difference in slavery practices in France historically. I imagine it accounts for some of the difference.
Back to my evening...
Turns out a local school of the arts had a showcase of their students, ranging from some incredible hip-hop dancing to a couple of very modern dance-inspired pieces to live music. It was in a small, old space with stone walls, wooden beams and what felt like a great deal of history. The local 12-15 year-olds were packed into the room in what seemed like great anticipation of the show. So much suppressed hormonal energy.
Well, it turns out that the kids were there because the show was local and gratuit (free). While it was clear that they loved the hip-hop, the more arty pieces were a stretch for their artistic palates. Strangely, though they talked at various volumes during many of the pieces, as soon as the lights went down, signaling the end of a performance, they burst into thunderous cheers, regardless of how little attention was paid the performance itself. I wondered if it was just a release of energy. The performers seemed to have anticipated the crowd and were unfazed by the noise. I like the show very much. Even the modern dance was skillful and not too esoteric, which is what normally turns me off about it.
Afterwards, we went to a nearby Senegalese restaurant for spiced fish and rice and some amazingly delicious hibiscus juice, or was it tea? Hard to say, but it is far better than anything like it I've had before. The food was a new experience as well. Like the Ethiopian food I've had, there were stewed carrots and root vegetables with the dish, but the spices were quite unique. And the rice was spiced as well, I think it was a type of paprika. So good. The only thing that really bugs me about France is the expectation that one will eat everything on one's pate in one sitting. No one takes home leftovers here. So there was a little that went to waste. Most of you reading know how that irks me. I'm debating undergoing the derisive laughter and bringing tupperware to dinner. I suppose I'll just go to tapas restaurants more often.
All in all it was the type of experience I live for, and I am so grateful to have a local connection. Tonight, aprés le Louvre et diner, I plan to catch some local swing dancing, though it is close to impossible to know if anyone will even be there. Laurent refuses to go out dancing, so I will be on my own.

back in the land of cheese

...and my favorite little internet spot in Montmartre, with the same guy at the counter as last summer. It's San Francisco weather here today and I can't say I'm thrilled. It's chilly and overcast. Ah well. I've been awake for well over 24 hours and I'm getting sleepy. It'll help keep me awake.
I saw a gaggle of nuns in the Houston airport so I snapped a photo. I hope they didn't mind. I'd hate to think of them praying to God to smite my ass for impertinence. Is it freaky to say that I felt like I didn't have enough time on the plane to do all the reading I wanted to do? Truly, I could spend days on end reading all the books I have been putting off due to school. The travel here was mostly uneventful I watched several movies in French (try watching The Incredibles in French, it's funny) and started to get it in my ear. On the way from the airport to where I'm staying I had conversations in French with three different random people. Nice to know I can get by. The guy I'm staying with speaks only slightly more English than I do French, so it's a mix. His place is small, but not by Paris standards and I get a weak but useful internet signal there, at least I did earlier today. So, I walked over here from Laurent's place and walked in circles for a little while deciding where to eat. So much good food, such a small stomach. Talked to a local at the cafe over lunch (roasted chicken and potatoes) about Sarkozy and the political direction of France and the U.S. For as much as I hear people say Parisians are rude, I must say, I have met many friendly people here. I think it has something to do with speaking a bit of French right off the bat. I wish that my grammar was better. Soon enough I suppose.
Not sure what I'm doing this week, but I am so happy to be in France again. I hope to swim in the Mediterranean this time. I've been getting emails from a French swing dance list, and if I can find it, I'll be dancing at a party on Friday night. More, I'm sure before I head to Angers on Sunday. The first two photos are of chez Laurent, the little apartment where I am staying while in Paris. The nuns speak for themselves.