November 08, 2002
38. Pigeons (Guest Writer: GPC)
Saturday saw us come home from Amsterdam entirely unprepared to do anything. So that's what we did.
The following evening we decided on a night visit to the Paris cemetery Pere Lachaise. Notable graves found here include Oscar Wilde, Edith Piaf, and the lizard king himself, Jim Morrison.
The only thing worse than being alive is being dead. Nobody listens to you, and the worms are a pain in the gut - Oscar Wilde
The next day was a rare workday for Ryan Skraba, and though I spent the bulk of it in slumber, I did make an afternoon visit to the Louvre where I viewed the Mona Lisa and some classics by the Italian and Spanish masters. A favourite of mine was 'The death of the Virgin' by Caravaggio. The Louvre is quite large so I really only got a glimpse in the three hours I spent there - but then again who wants to spend more than three hours in a museum? Exactly.
The next day Ryan and I journeyed to Brussels where we met up with our good friends Keith and Callie. Keith was wrapping up a term of service in Belgium. The reason for our journey to Brussels was as Canadian as drinking maple syrup while watching Roch Carrier's 'The Sweater' on Radio-Canada: to see the Tragically Hip! I had seen The Hip three times previously, the last time in 1996 and all times amongst large arena-sized crowds. Chances were the Hip would not attract such large crowds in Brussels! The concert was excellent - the set list included: Little Bones, Long Time Running, New Orleans is Sinking, Courage, Fire in the Hole, Gift Shop, Ahead by a Century, Music at Work, Escape is at Hand for the Travelling Man, Poets, Bobcaygeon, At the Hundredth Meridian, Grace Too, Fully Completely, plus about five songs I didn't know from the last album.
Our stay in Brussels was a little nicer than Amsterdam and we stayed at the Hotel Mozart. The following day saw us part company with Keith and Callie and journey 20km south of Brussels to the site of the Battle of Waterloo in 1815 where the Duke of Wellington (with timely help from the Prussian General Blucher) defeated Napoleon Bonaparte and ended war forever in Europe.
But we were not destined to meet with success at Waterloo. Because it was the off-season, the monuments closed at 4PM sharp - and the staff refused entry starting at 3:30. Due to some unavoidable train and bus connection mishaps we arrived at 3:35. In North America we would have been ushered through anyway, but in Europe things work differently. The receptionist explained that they must close at 3:30 and the 'Big Boss' would not allow us entry regardless of how far we'd journeyed from. I spent ten minutes explaining the relative foolishness of this position (The site was open for another 25 minutes - and was nothing more than a mound anyway.) But appeals to logic and compassion do not hold much sway amongst the Belgians it would seem. So I walked away angry and bitter - but the German tourist we bussed in with pointed out there was a large hole in the fence about 50 metres away. Fortunately, a strict adherence to bureaucratic principles also goes hand and hand with a general indifference and no one in the shop cared about the hole in the fence or people sneaking through to see the sites. And besides most of the battlefield was not within the fence anyway, so we got a view of the Waterloo site in any event.
The next two days saw us return to Paris and prepare for Ryan's big Thanksgiving party with turkey, stuffing, cranberry sauce, and pumpkin pie (thanks to Sandra for the ingredients). Keith, Callie, and I did some usual touristy things including the Musee d'Orsay, Eiffel Tower, and the Champs Elysees. As an old Paris hand by this point, I was able to act as a tour guide and only got lost a few times.
Ryan now tells the exciting tale of what followed from a chef's perspective.
I had planned a Thanksgiving dinner for the Friday night with the visiting Canadians and some French friends. Most of the French could describe the typical American Thanksgiving, with the whole roast turkey being carved on a table weighed down with food. But I wanted to offer them my traditional experience -- although it had to be adapted to the foods available in Paris (for example, I couldn't find a whole turkey anywhere and I wouldn't be able to fit it in my 28cm oven anyway).
The other Canadians (Callie, Keith and Geoffrey) were pretty accommodating of my insanity. They were even forced to do the pumpkin pie, thanks to my ill-planning on Thursday night (I forgot the evaporated milk). This cost them precious tourist hours in Paris, but everybody appreciated it highly.
Of course, I had my typical difficulty getting everything on the table and warm at the same time, and the turkey breasts I had cooked turned out to be incredibly dry, and I put way too much poultry seasoning on the stuffing. But the wine provided by Philippe helped everything along nicely -- and the pumpkin pie was a hit. I could tell that the Europeans were skeptical of the concept (not to mention some Canadians), but it turned out very light and tasty. Here's the helpful hints from Ryan and the gang: use short pastry instead of sugared pastry for the crust, and crush golden sugar cubes in a garlic press instead of using brown sugar.
By the way, something magical happened to me on Thursday evening. I was buying the bread to make the stuffing (well, stove-top dressing to be honest) and I was explaining to the baker why I needed a loaf of sliced bread instead of my typical baguette. I mentioned that I had to adapt the recipe because my oven was too small, and he told me to prepare the turkey and bring it down to the store to cook! It was too late to take him up on the offer (I had already decided on turkey morsels instead of a whole bird), but it was really generous. The common tourist may find French service to be somewhat lacking, but when you're in 'the community', there's hard-core feel-good evidence to the contrary.
The next day was a big day: Roger's 30th birthday! Although the main party was in Vancouver, we hosted the Paris segment of the bash a la Live Aid - and truth be told for some hours it was the only place at which the party was hopping.
On Remembrance Day we journeyed to the Arc de Triomphe to witness the parade. We had decided to meet on the Champs-Elysées, because Ryan was dropping in to visit his landlord in the morning. Our short-sightedness led us to pick a meeting spot underneath bleachers of dignitaries and past herds of cops. It was purest luck that we ran into each other at all.
Then we went to the Museum of the Middle Ages where we enjoyed the stained glass windows depictions of saints and the 'Lady and the Unicorn' tapestry. This was quite fascinating as it told the story of a young woman sharing a lovely picnic with a lion, unicorn (and assorted jungle creatures including monkeys) with one panel on each of the five senses. There was a wind-up sixth panel with a caption 'A mon seul desir' displaying that a 'sixth sense' of knowledge or wisdom allows man to renounce the sinful pleasures of the senses: a most medieval attitude to be sure!
The museum trip was followed by a Lion Flurry for only 1.80 euros. Although it was tasty, the French don't know how to operate the flurry machine so it was not actually stirred and the bottom half was only ice cream. I'm afraid that I am not 'in the community' and am destined to receive sub-par service at fast-food restaurants for the duration of my stay.
So there passes another week in Paris - it sure went by quicker than the first! Who knows what adventures we'll get into next.
Happy Thanksgiving, dear readers. Don't pop a pigeon, man.
November 01, 2002
37. My Arrival (Guest Writer: GPC)
Paris is the city of smells. Though some are pleasant, many are not. Here in no particular order are the worst of the smells:
- Dog poo. The French do not like to clean up for their pooch friends - and the rotting remains of Alpo and day-old foie gras can be found deposited on most sidewalks and most shoes.
- Cheese. Cheese is a tasty treat enjoyed at every meal. But the expression 'Who cut the cheese?' is common parlance for a reason - the odour of five aging cheeses oppressing a refigerator is easily remembered and none too pleasant.
But enough of my prejudices (for now). Let us begin at the beginning and proceed through until the end. Hopefully we will all be enlightened, a little wiser, and a little drunker (at least I will be - please pass the wine, good Skraba!)
On October 29, 2002, I left Vancouver for my first trip to the continent armed with 13 hours of Lord of the Rings on tape (thanks be to Dermott, my dear brother) and a brand new walkman. Although I had previously journeyed to London and Ireland, this was to be my first time amongst a population of European non-English speakers. I should have prepared for this by learning some rudimentary French phrases, but I had been busy for the previous month at the house of Roger and RJ battling orcs, night elfs, and undead.
'Half-grown hobbits, the hole dwellers' rarely left my lips as I slept soundly on a British Airways 747. However much like that party's descent into the mines of Moria, all was not well on arrival. The British airline company that I shall not name, for fear of legal action, had misplaced my luggage and I was forced to wear the same clothes for two days until it eventually arrived. But as I was now in Paris and living the life of a Frenchman, this had been my plan all along. And due to my missing a connecting flight in London, my erstwhile host was not present to greet me at the RER station. A simple matter you suggest - give the scoundrel a call and clear up the matter. A simple plan in spirit, but our dear host does not believe in voicemail so my plaintive cries for assistance fell on the deaf ears of an endlessly ringing phone. At this point the always helpful Glenn Karlsen of Alcatel Vancouver was able to reach the missing Mr. Skraba and arranged for a meeting. All looked good!
We had originally planned to spend the first weekend in Barcelona, but due to a change in my career plans brought on by an unfortunate layoff perpetuated by my former employer, a large French telecom company that I will not name for fear of legal action, I decided to stay in Europe for longer, and to stay in Spain for longer as well. So it was agreed upon that we would 'play things by ear' and not plan ahead further than the next meal. At least this was my plan, Ryan would actually buy groceries and cook meals, but this rarely involved me.
On walking to Ryan's apartment I noted several things of Paris:
- There are no growing things in Paris! The French hate green living things. Any grass you see in the city has a small fence around it and you must walk on brown dirt paths. Why? Grass is meant to be enjoyed under the feet! You even see the future Dugarry's and Zidane's kicking the ball around on concrete - no wonder the French lost in the first round!
- There are no houses in Paris. Every building is high and straight.
- The French don't believe doors should be standardized. Deciding whether to push or pull on a handle is always a baffling ordeal.
A night of drinking fine French wine followed as I adjusted to the time zone.
The next day was spent on foot, exploring the inevitable Eiffel Tower, Arc de Triomphe, Louvre, and Notre Dame.
As it was Halloween at this point, we looked for the crowds of children in devil costumes but did not see them - until it got dark - then we saw a few. At our local boulangerie a small crowd stormed the building and demanded candy. Ryan tried to ascertain what was the usual command instead of our North American 'Trick or Treat'. The answer was 'Donnez-moi des bon-bons ou je jeterai un mauvais sort.'
So on November 1st, we decided to visit the local cemeteries to observe All Saints Day. There are many dignitaries interred at Montparnasse (please see the excellent and clearly written write-up in travel log 3).
On a whim we decided to visit Amsterdam without making any prior arrangements. This would prove exciting!
Arriving in the city on the Amstel at 10PM on a Friday night (with a light rain falling) we discovered a few things:
- Amsterdam is a popular destination for young, drug-seeking, weekend tourists
- There is not enough hotel space in the city.
During hours of wanderings, we were unable to secure even an empty doorway to sleep in. I interpreted this as a signal to commence the enjoyment of the city's nightlife. This time was not primarily spent in the red-light district but it is worthwhile to comment on this area of the city. It is truly odd to walk on a main tourist street filled with all manner of peoples: young and old, female and male and see window after window of small rooms with neon red bars filled with non-dressed local entrepreneurs. The coffee shops were also very interesting. Amsterdam is a truly tolerant city. Other highlights of our nocturnal strolls included a visit to Anne Frank's house (or huis) where she hid from the Nazis before her capture and untimely death by tuberculosis at Belsen in April 1945. Amsterdam is as flat as a pancake and filled with canals.
Fortunately the weather was surprisingly mild and we were able to sleep in the park near the Rijksmuseum.
We decided to cut the trip short after a pleasant Saturday of coffee, further wanderings and napping.
One night in an Amsterdam park was fun and interesting - two would have been folly.
So we returned to Paris on the night of November 2nd happy to have enjoyed the experince, but none too anxious to repeat it.
The trip was just getting started.
Alright, to answer the unasked question, we just visited the coffee shops out of curiousity. We didn't smoke any drugs during our visit, legal or otherwise.