Saturday Lunch

It turns out that there is a fantastic fresh food market just across street from the music conservatory where A. has lessons and solfege class on Sat. am. The choice between roasted chicken and oysters fresh from the sea in Brittany was easy to make. We may just turn this into a weekly habit.

I thought it was Carson McCullough who only ate oysters and drank champagne, but it turns out that it was Isak Dineson (aka Karen Blixen.)  - two of my favorite authors. They once met, along with Marilyn Monroe: the elderly, anorexic aristocrat, the southern misfit, and the insecure actress, and the account of what took place makes for fine luncheon reading. 

Bonne appetit!

After the second week of school

A selection of A's books: this is the Thursday pile. Other days (so not in this pile)  include Latin, English  reading,  History/Geography (French and English,)  art supplies, and a lab coat for chemistry experiments.

The first week of school went by in a flash, and now we're almost done with the second week.

The pros:
Nice kids.
Nice parents.
Mostly nice teachers.
A curriculum that is relatively varied, and so far, not too challenging. (We'll see how this evolves over the semester.)
An international atmosphere.
Growing independence.

I decided to put A. into what is called an international section (British specialization) of a public middle school. A seems to get along with all of the children in his class, which is small by French standards (18 kids.) They are a diverse group, as can be imagined in an international class: what unites them is that they all come from bi-or multi-lingual families. Most of the kids have been here since birth and have been in the French school system since pre-school. They have been a big help to A.

The parents, too, are very welcoming. Several have reached out to us (with playdates at the park that really cheered up A.) They appear to be very organized, google groups and email lists in daily use. I have heard from several people that the administration doesn't really know what to do with such a dynamic set of people. For example, one major complaint is that the children's backpacks are too heavy. (Some days the quantity of books can top 10- 12 kilos.) Instead of accepting this, as most French parents do, there is fundraising going on in order to install lockers. Not what the proviseur really wants (oh, the vandalism, the restrictions on changing anything in a "monument historique!") but may be coerced into accepting.

On the whole, the teachers are good - the English, Latin, and gym teachers are terrific. Math is very easy for A (in fact, he came home from school grinning from ear to ear because he had been called to the blackboard to solve a problem, and the way that he did it was so ingenuous that the teacher spent 10 minutes explaining the ideas underlying his work.) History/geography seems to be challenging: the paper that was due last week asks for more than I remember writing about in 7th grade.  (Since last week was A's first, he didn't have to write this paper, which was a 2 week assignment. But it is probably indicative of what will be expected. The French parents that I have spoken with didn't seem to think that this was exceptionally difficult or extra-ordinary assignment; "ah oui, il est important de rentrer dans le fond de l'argument..." It is important to get into an in depth discussion...)

There are 6 hours of various kinds of technology, physics, chemistry, and biology classes every week. A. came home on Tuesday with a very enthusiastic description of his first lab: the students had had to wear safety glasses, because if they had gotten "the solution" near their eyes, they would be blinded. (They were trying to determine if various things had water in them using dehydrated copper sulfate. I think this sounds so much better than dissecting termites, which is what N. is doing this week in his biology class!

A. is also gaining confidence and independence as he takes public transportation to and from school. Coming home is relatively easy as there are 2 other boys who are on the same bus route as we are, so they ride together. Going to school, leaving the house when it's dark... that's another matter. But this morning, he got on the bus by himself. Waving good bye with a big grin,... My baby is now capable of dealing with a half an hour trip on public transportation in a big city in a foreign language! I think my hair turned even more gray  this morning.

The negatives are not many, fortunately, because they are difficult to deal with.
-Long school days.
-Heavy book bags.
-Violence in the school yard, and outside the school grounds.

The school day is horrendously long and includes a total of 31 classroom hours that are spread mostly across 4 days (Weds. is a short day, with only 2 one hour classes.)  2 days a week, we leave the house just after 7, the other 3 days just after 8. A. comes home on Mon at 5ish, Weds at noon, and the other 3 days shortly after 6. The only upside to this schedule is that it includes a long lunch break (1.5 hours), and the day goes by quickly. Not every subject is taught every day, however, most are taught 4 days a week. The school is experimenting with a couple of classes being taught as a double period. (math, English.) So far, there hasn't been a lot of homework. This is fortunate, because by the time dinner, downtime, and practicing the violin are done, it's already 830 or later. Suffice it to say that the morning comes far too quickly - for both of us.

There are no lockers. The teachers do not have permanent rooms assigned to them.

Both of these statements are surprising, particularly the latter. When I look at A's schedule, for example, on Monday he has math in room 014, and the other 3 days in 113. This must be terribly hard on the teachers, for it means that everyone brings everything to every class. Thus the weight of the bookbags.

Is classroom sharing common to every school, or is it a result of necessary allocation due to inadequate space? I don't know. Camille See does not have a lot of floor space: it was built in the 1930s on on just over an acre (including the playground,) and at that time, it was noted that this space was about 20-25 percent of the land that was customarily used for schools. The solution was to build up, not out, and today, the students have classes on 6 floors. Originally, there were escalators between the floors. They were removed in the 1980s (I think, quite some time ago anyway.) So today, it's stairs only. If you have a broken leg, it's just too bad!

The locker question is one that is brought up every year. In reading the historical descriptions, there were originally 1800 steel lockers in the sub-basements. I wonder if that has been overlooked when the excuse of "we cannot change historical monuments" is brought up. And vandalism. What does one do about vandalism? The metro, tram, and buses seem to be relatively free of vandalism. They are certainly cleaner than I remember from the 1990s. Does that mean that the SNCF/RATP spend much time and money keeping things clean? Or how do they do it?

The third negative on the list is the violence that A. has observed on a daily basis since beginning school. When we first signed up for school, his primary teacher, the principal, and the proviseur all told me to have him leave all electronics at home - not because they didn't want texting in school (for example,) but because the stories of kids being shaken down (and glasses broken) for their electronics are legion. In fact, we had to take out school insurance. I thought it was just for field trips but a major component is for broken glasses (including glasses broken in fights.) I suppose that this means that this kind of problem is endemic. So far, A. has not asked to bring his Kindle with him on the bus, and it's too bad that he doesn't feel free enough to be able to read. (He has a good 15 minutes or so when he's w/o friends on the way to school - more if they manage to take separate buses.)

But even outside the shakedowns outside of school are the fights in the courtyard during lunchtime. I have been warned by several parents (French, American, Swiss, Beninois, and British) that play is a lot rougher here, possibly because the school day is so highly regimented. But this really goes beyond horseplay, and A's observations watching bigger kids - probably high-schoolers - taking some of the smaller kids by the ankles and tipping them upside down to get at, money, I suppose, as well as just mean pushing and shoving and worrisome. The group of boys in A's class hangs together, and for the most part avoids trouble, although there is one boy who, in wanting to become part of the group playing soccer, has ended up with his back to the wall on a couple of occasions. This is hard for A. to deal with, and yesterday, he intervened, only to have a very hard piece of bread thrown at his head when he wasn't looking. (It missed.) Sometimes, A smells smoke in some of the corridors. Theoretically neither fighting nor smoking is tolerated, however I have no reason to doubt A.'s claim that it exists. I spent 40 minutes watching lunch recess one day, and was surprised at the lack of supervision, and the rough play that I observed on the playground.

Does this explain the fact that nearly 20 percent of all schoolchildren are enrolled in private schools (unheard of two decades ago?) And I wonder how much is due to immigration/low income issues? None of the parents that I'm meeting on my weekly visits to the conservatory in the 5th (whose children are enrolled in such prestigious schools as Henri IV, Lavoisiere, Fenelon...) seem to have quite this problem. I am honestly stunned by these stories, particularly here, coming from a city, in a country whose pride is the equal education for all (under the national slogan of Liberty, Equality, Justice),  Is there some elephant in the room?

Sept 27

Last night I took A. out to eat at one of Paris' traditional brasseries - Zeyer at the place d'Alesia in the 14th. Zeyer's has been around since the beginning of the last century, and the decoration made it very easy to relax into the overstuffed chairs and imagine that we were in Paris of yesteryear. It was a rainy night, and to both celebrate his 12th birthday, and try to coax him out of this terrible funk he's been in, we decided to celebrate with oysters and other typical fare (poulet fermier roti and raie aux capres.) When we arrived, at about 715, we were about the only people there, but by the time dinner was over, a couple hours later, there was a line at the door. A. decided that the Normandy Creuses, followed by the Gillardeau were the best, fines de claires came in last, and now A. can't wait for the oyster farmer to make his appearance at the market. (It shouldn't be long now, the end of Sept. marks the beginning of the 4-5 mo. season.)

http://www.lezeyer.com/presentation.php

L'Opera de Paris - Garnier

We had an hour or so free the other day, and decided to visit the Paris Opera, also known as le Palais Garnier. Built during the 1860s,  it is a monument to the exuberent excesses of the Second Empire. The cost is estimated to have been over 15 million francs (in prices of the mid-1860s,) and to my lay eyes, seems to give Versailles (built 2 centuries earlier) a run for the money. Definitely worth a visit, and next time I come back, I think that a tour would be an excellent idea. Here are some pictures that I took...

First: from the outside - as you can see, the gold leaving (leafing?) glows, even on a relatively gray day.

The inside foyer opens up to a dramatic double staircase.

 

After you go through the door at the top of the staircase, you find your seating. The desired places are in first balcony boxes. One of the doors is here. I prefer sitting in the floor seats, but for those who went to the Opera for, shall we say social reasons, it is quite easy to imagine why a box would be preferable to open seating.

Here's a better view of how the boxes are arranged. The curtain on the front of the screen is actually a "trompe l'oeil" painted screen. If you look quickly, you will be fooled. When the curtain goes up, you can see the depth of the performing space. Although originally built for the Paris Opera, when l'Opera Bastille was opened in 1989,  the  Palais Garnier became the center for the ballet corps of the Opera: the  Opera itself (along with the majority of their costumes and sets) were moved to la Bastille.

We were lucky enough to see some of the technicians blocking out spaces onstage. It gives one an idea of how deep the space is.

 In 1969 the original ceiling design was covered up by a removable painting by Marc Chagall. Apparently, there are many people who do not like this. I loved it, and spent quite a bit of time absorbed in the colors and imagination. Next time I visit, however, I will have to remember to bring my binoculars.

 Here is a view of the "Grande Chandelier" in the middle of the Chagall painting.  It weighs over 7 tons, and in 1891, fell and killed a concert attendee (maybe that's another good reason to have a seat in one of the boxes.) This death was to figure in one of the scenes of "The Phantom of the Opera."

Criticism of the chandelier was deflected by the architect: "What else could fill the theatre with such joyous life? Who else could offer the variety of forms that we have in the pattern of the flames, in these groups and tiers of points of light, these wild hues of gold flecked with bright spots, and these crystalline highlights? (cited in http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Palais_Garnier)

Intermission was (and is) often the highlight of the evening, when friends and acquaintences mingle together over a "flute" of champagne. There is the "Grand Foyer" as a central meeting spot, with many alcoves and secondary rooms and hallways to get lost in - which sometimes is the point!

A side gallery off the Grand Foyer.

Doors between the hallway leading to the seats and the entrance to the Grand Foyer.

Ceiling painting in one of the alcove rooms.

Fireplace and clock detail, hallway

Wall detail

The Grand Foyer: even better than the Hall of Mirrors at Versailles.

Floor mosaic

Ceiling mosaic detail

Detail ceiling

Ceiling mosaic. The individual tiles are tiny!

Reality Check

We're both exhausted., A. and I, and this is frightening to admit out loud. However, the weather outside is awful (lightning storms last night, lots of wind and rain today,) and so, it becomes a little easier to write about what I am feeling today.

I tell myself that it's completely normal to feel like I do - especially when I make the list of what has been happening since the middle of July. The living out of a suitcase, the learning how to deal with pollution (air and noise,) understanding how to use a kitchen whose fridge is about 4 cubic feet big, figuring out things like  how to take the bus, the metro, where the supermarkets and fresh food markets are, where to buy school books, how to provide emotional support to an 11 year old who is not only overwhelmed with big-city living in a foreign language and culture, but who, in missing his friends (and his brother) opens the mailbox at least twice a day - only to find emptiness...

None of these items are especially negative or unusual in the context of having made a major move from house to apartment living, from the suburbs to a major urban city. (Well, I think I can now make a strong case for the beauty of written mail as opposed to the telephone.) Many of these struggles are known by anyone who has moved from one place to another. The living out of the suitcase bit? Well, China was amazing, and living out of a suitcase for a month there was absolutely worth it. And I'm very, very grateful to my mother-in-law for hosting us for a month while waiting for our apartment (She is one of the most generous people around!) We did find a furnished apartment, within walking distance to several markets, and very convenient to public transportation. The parent support group and A.'s immediate peer group at school are welcoming and supportive. Skype allows us to keep in daily contact w/ home (even when big brother is struggling to not yawn.) And we're in Paris!!! Doesn't EVERYONE want to come and live in this wonderful city?

Well... It's that change is hard, even under the best of circumstances. I could probably come up with some platitudes about digging in and getting through the rough spots, but for now, just realizing that there are bright patches in stormy days is enough.

The Market

Our 4cu.ft refrigerator.

There are markets in our neighborhood every day except Monday. It's a good thing, because our refrigerator is doll-size: a head of lettuce (a big head, granted) takes up half of one of the three shelves, and the area for milk bottles on the door can only hold liter-sized bottles. (Good for wine, maybe not so good for the boy that loves milk at all meals.)

When I first arrive at the market, I like to stroll along the entire length while checking out the various booths. Here is the man who is selling stuff from Grandma's attic, including an old violin with a missing bridge; there is the man who sells chickens that have been cooking on spits for the last hour or so (very tasty.) There are farmers who sell their own produce; there are sellers who have just picked up a truckload of food at the international food market south of Paris - Rungis. Everyone has a specialty - from vegetables and fruit to poultry to dried sausages and ham. To those of us who are used to shopping in American supermarkets, where rows of immaculately displayed soft drinks and breakfast cereals dominate, the diversity of displays and the nuances found between them absolutely enchants the mind.

If you don't reserve your spit-cooked chicken by 10 am, you're out of luck!

My  first purchase, made out of dire necessity, was a pot: the Teflon has been mostly scoured off the pots  in my apartment, and I am completely sure that I am uninterested in finding black spots in my potato puree. This pot is very interesting: the interior  is made out of ceramic, and guarenteed to be non-stick. I must admit that I was more than a bit skeptical when this claim was made. Almost all my pots at home - from the Teflon to the cast iron, in passing by the copper clad - have had that claim made about them at one time or another, and none of them have resisted burnt milk for more than a week. I have now had this pot for almost 3 weeks, have burned a couple things in it, including milk (distracted much?) and I am as much in love with it as the sales rep promised me. I think that I will buy a set and bring it home.


I haven't been here long enough to know where the vegetables are the freshest, or best tasting. Is the long line at one vendor due to the quality of their produce, or perhaps to their prices, or  maybe it is because they are the only ones to have white pomegranites, miniature Egyptian cucumbers, and freshly picked chanterelle mushrooms? I have been dreaming about eating skinny French beans for months now, yet I found out the hard way that not every vegetable that looks fresh is, in fact, tasty.

My absolute favorite stands are the seafood stands, with their abundance of weirdly named fish, heads on, staring me in the eye, daring me to say "Yes, you have already been frozen, twice." The memory brings me back to my early days of working in the consulting world: my very first site visit brought me to a quasi-abandoned freezer unit on an international dock. Semi-frozen fish were being off-loaded from a trawler via pitchfork as our client explained that as long as there was not complete thaw, the fish could be sold as "fresh frozen." That was enough to turn me away from commercially caught fish for a very long time. Luckily, it's hard to make a fish eye shiny (at least I think that this is the way to make sure that the fish is as fresh as possible...) and a choice between at least 20 different fresh fish from the Mediterranean and the Atlantic, ranging from sole to ray to snapper and other varieties that I couldn't identify in English finally was narrowed down enough so that I can close my "caddy" and retreat to my doll-sized kitchen for a fantastic meal.

2 weeks later, the school assignment

Bureaucrats may be nice (see my earlier post about the CASNAV,) but apparently those that put postage on papers are not in too much of a hurry. I couldn't help but thinking of my Swiss friends' great expression "Il n'y a pas de feu au lac," when A. came bounding up the steps yesterday noontime,with the official school assignment letter from the Rectorat. The postmark was the 10th, but the letter was dated the 6th. How we would have loved to get the letter before the weekend. But we didn't, and it's turned out to be a good thing, I think.

My poor son is somewhat bored out of his mind: bi-weekly karate lessons and daily museum visits keep him occupied, but he would so love to start school and make some friends! By the time last Thursday rolled around, I had begun to panic, as every other child in France had already started school, and so I had sent off a couple of emails to the couple of names that I had in an effort to find out what was happening. My response came in the form of duplicata: I received 3 envelopes each containing 3 copies of the official letter. Ah yes, bureaucracy. Why answer the phone when you can send parts of dead trees, after all? (Don't answer this question!)

To return to the story: while waiting for the letter that hadn't yet made it to our mailbox, fortune smiled on us.. We arrived at church somewhat late on Sunday morning - the bus had a detour around a road race, and what was planned to be an arrival in time for the prelude turned into banishment to the balcony. This suited us just fine, actually, as the acoustics are wonderful and children don't have to sit completely still. (In fact, there were a couple of young girls who were delighted with their freedom to leave their seats and peer through the railing at the packed church below. (Sunday school begins next week.) Next to me was a family with children roughly A's age. Being that balcony seating coupled with a boring offertory anthem equals conversation, (ahem,) I asked them where their children went to school. The details had to wait for post-prelude - a riveting Alleluia (Mozart) sung by a travelling Philippine University choir - but it turned out that my new friend is active in the parent's association for a college that began an IB program in 6eme (6th grade) 3 short years ago, and she knew that there were openings in 5eme, which is the level that A. had been placed into by the CASNAV.  To make a long story short, Monday morning Bernard was on the phone, charming his way past 3 levels of secretaries, and managed to get a testing time for A. on Tuesday afternoon. (My earlier attempt to get through the screen had completely failed. Abysmally failed. Different countries, different strategies, I reassure myself. Or maybe it's just that I would be a complete flop if I had to do cold-call sales. Yeah, that's probably more likely...)

After the testing was done, A. was admitted on the spot, and we found out that the words "aucune changement," from the official letter really means, "no change unless..." The examiner, who will also be A's primary teacher, tried very hard to sell us on the program, and she succeeded. If all of A's teachers are as sweet as she is, he will have a fantastic semester. I was told that the classes are small (about 22 children as opposed to 29-30 elsewhere,) that the other boys are extremely nice, that their interests are diverse, the families are bi-(or tri-) cultural, and A. will fit in very well. The downside is, well, this is France after all, so some of the teachers say (maybe even yell) "No," but really mean "Maybe," and you just have to take a deep breath and keep going. This will be a life lesson, (getting along with people who are not so nice,) and we will have on-going conversations about this, I'm sure. Forewarned is forearmed, however, and I'm glad to have that information.

We are very excited about this school - le College Camille See.  More info (in English) is here. Tomorrow we will go over to the school for the paperwork, and A.'s first day will be Monday. The schedule looks pretty heavy, although Bernard has re-assured me that French schools tend to give less homework than American schools. I hope so, otherwise there will be little sleep in our apartment for the next several weeks. Monday: 8:00- 15:30
Tuesday: 9:00-17:30
Wednesday: 9-11
Thursday: 8:00-17h30, and
Friday: 8h-17h30.

Public Transportation, bis

Today was the first rainy day that we've experienced in quite some time - since July 15, in fact - and so, I can't complain too much about how I feel about dark skies. I do have to laugh at the expression used as our American equivalent of it's raining cats and dogs: il pleut comme une vache qui pisse. I saw cows doing exactly that this past summer over at Appleton Farms, and yes, today was one of those days. I'm not alone in my opinion, I think: judging by people's faces, it seems clear that Parisians like the rain as much as DC residents over the age of 10 like snow.

Riding the bus when the skies have just opened up is somewhat of a chore, probably because the thousands of people that normally walk or ride Velib bikes have decided that the wait for a bus beats dodging raindrops and slick streets. It becomes difficult to find a handhold (other than a neighbor's shoulder) to grab onto when the bus suddenly accelerates or goes around a corner. There are drippy umbrellas and raincoats that soil newly polished shoes; ears are deafened by babies screaming because, I imagine, they were recently rudely awakened by large drops of water falling from the bus roof onto their sweet faces; papers stick together, even if contained in waterproof backpacks... but perhaps the most perfidious action is that normally kind bus drivers turn into honking maniacs behind the wheel, barely stopping at every stop (but nonetheless advancing at a speed somewhat akin to a tortoise due to the crazed drivers blocking the bus lanes.) It is far too easy to get to the bus stop a second too late (because you have been standing in a doorway nearby, trying to stay dry-ish ) - only to stare at the rear lights as the bus pulls out towards its next stop. An easy way to become late for the afternoon appointment.

The metro is, of course, somewhat less problematic simply because there is a corridor to dry off in when walking from the entrance turnstile to the  train side. And the regular schedule, free from the above-ground complications of rude and incompetent drivers means that it's much easier to calculate one's journey time from point a to point b: 3 minutes per station, and 5 extra if you have to switch lines.  However, I learned a new phrase today: "grace a un incident technique sur la ligne, le metro est au rallenti." Our driver was kind enough to let us know that this un-named technical problem would keep us at the station for a good 10 minutes. By the time that he shut the doors and we were able to continue on our journey, we were barely able to move (I was channelling the Hong Kong metro at this point.) and at every stop, the faces of those waiting visibly fell as they realized that their long wait was to continue.

I'm hoping that this doesn't happen every time it rains. We're in for a very long fall if it does.

Hong Kong Concerns

One of the big discussions around the lunch table during our stay in Hong Kong involved education. Apparently, the mainland Chinese want to re-write the school curriculum, emphasizing the progress that has been made since 1949, while omitting reference to such hard issues as 1989's Tiananmen Square riots and forced abortions. The overriding sentiment of the people we spoke with in Hong Kong was fear of their children being brainwashed, and that their standard of living, introduced by the British, would gradually fall to that of the mainland. In July, there were demonstrations against the proposed ed. changes by at least 100,000 people. Although a fraction of the island's population, this number is indicative of strong sentiment: in July many people are on vacation, and those that were there were focussing on work. The pressure isn't going away, as this article points out.

Polls suggest Hong Kong public distrust towards China is at a record high some 15 years after the former British colony reverted to Chinese rule in 1997, with many fearing Beijing's hand encroaching increasingly into the city's cherished freedoms and political affairs.

Many of the protesters were young students who flocked to the demonstrations straight after their first day back at school, some heckling Leung to scrap the scheme or step down.

Government control is a huge subject, and education in HK is but one small aspect. But with it so omnipresent, it is no wonder that so many parents mortgage their own lives so that their children can leave to go to school in the US and elsewhere abroad.

Finally!

As much as I love being on vacation, and as much as I appreciate my mother-in-law's hospitality, there is no place like home, and I'm very glad that today is moving day. Taxi's coming in 10 minutes, and it's off to the next stage of this adventure.

Mont Valerian

This seems to be the month for going up things: museums, skyscrapers, and today - a hill. Mt. Valerian is just outside of Paris in Surenes and is easily accessibly both by the T2 tramway leaving from the Porte de Versailles and by a suburban train from St. Lazare.

Mont Valerian is small at just over 162 meters above sea level, but it is high enough to give a decent view of all the buildings that pop out from the Parisian skyline. Most notable in the center were the Eiffel Tower and the Montparnasse Tower, and on the west, the group of high rises that constitute the (new) business neighborhood of La Defense. I put new in parenthesis because new, in this context, means about 30 years old. The name reminds me of the last place where I worked: I arrived shortly after a new wing was built, and 10 years later the classrooms were still being called the new-wing classrooms. Any suggestion to change the name was met with glazed eyes. When, I wonder, is it appropriate to drop the adjective? Oh yeah, New Testament. I guess a couple millenia might not even be enough.

To return to this hill:  for a long time, at least since the Romans and possibly earlier, grapes were grown, harvested, and made into a decent wine. At the same time, the hill was associated with diverse religious groups (hermits and the like,) which made it a place to go on pilgrimage, particularly during Holy Week. Both these activities came to a halt, first with the French Revolution and its attack on the Church, then later in the early 19th century when a decision was made to protect Paris with a series of 16 forts: Mont Valerian being the largest and most important. From around 1840 on its history is rather bloody (cf. the Commune, the Franco Prussian War), and during WWII, it became a torture center for the Nazis: over 1000 people were killed here.

Memorial for those killed by the Germans during WWII.

Today there is still a military presence in the fort, but it is surrounded by many leisure activities: tennis courts, a pony club, fields for picnicking and throwing balls for one's dog, playgrounds. There is also a trail that surrounds the fort that has overlooks with maps, a "parcours sportive" (ie: various places for pull-ups, push-ups  climbing poles,and stair exercises,) The trail has many walkers and joggers, and  is a nice place to escape the noise of the city on a lazy Sunday afternoon.

A quick visit to l'Institut du Monde Arabe

Before starting out, A. received a gift in the mail: a letter from one of his friends at home. He was happy - I think this is the first time that he's actually had a letter addressed to him. Magazines, junk mail, sure. Not a letter, though.  Master of texting, email, and skype, he was a bit at a loss with the actual paper, and took his time turning the envelope gently in his hands before finally carefully opening it.

This made me think of what our speed has done to us. Do we remember what we have said and done as well as we did when we paid attention to our handwriting?

When we were in China, we learned about the importance of calligraphy. Excellent, artistic writing is highly valued, and considered to be a mark of one's place in society. Our visit to the l'Institut showed us that Arab societies value calligraphy just as highly. I have heard, although cannot confirm, that this is because the Coran, as the direct word of Allah, is the basis for all written word, and messy handwriting is not dignified enough for 

The outside of the museum was fascinating: pieces of metal that open and shut depending on the position of the sun. Inside, we needed to take an elevator to the 7th floor to begin our visit. I have never visited a museum where the visit begins in the air, and one walks down to continue the visit, as is the case here, but I must say that it totally makes sense. No going up!







The elevator was equally stunning, and although I don't think of myself as being height-adverse, I had to tell myself that it was safe.  (If you click on the picture, you'll have a better idea of what it looked like from the inside of the car.)

The museum itself was worth about a 45 minute visit. The highlight was a video of different men playing instruments: drums, lute, an instrument that resembles a trumpet with fingerholes, but sounds like a double reeds, and a plucked string instrument similar to a dulcimer. There were many interesting objects from the last 3000 years, but unforunately the explanations were written on the wall of the glass cases that protected the artifacts and were extremely difficult to read. We arrived just after a free tour of the museum had set off: I would imagine that this tour would be the best way to really see the museum.



The 9th floor is open to the air and to the public. There is a restaurant where you can order a 15 euro cup of tea (not this visit!), and fantastic views of the eastern part of Paris. A. thought this was the best part of the visit, and I agree.



Notre Dame from the back, with the sculpture of St. Genevieve, the patron saint of Paris in the foreground. This carving is on the Pont de la Tournelle, and was sculpted by the Franco Polish artist Paul Landowski- perhaps better known for the huge Christ the Redeemer statue in Rio.

 A view of Ile de la Cite... some of Paris' most exclusive mansions.

Moving in closer, a building is offset from the Seine by a small garden. The dome of the 17c. Jesuit church of St. Paul in the Marais is in the background.

 Here is a closeup of the roofs looking over towards l'Hotel de Ville (Paris' City Hall.) During the Middle Ages, the river went right up to the edges of the gardens that surround this building.

At the end of the day, it is nice to find a free, clean place to use the toilette. You push a green button on the outside, the door opens, and you enter to do your business. After you leave, the inside is sanitized with a clorine-smelling solution. (Eau de Javel was invented in Paris, after all!) A. tells me that there is a sign on the inside saying that if you stay longer than 20 minutes inside, you will become the victim of disinfection. I suppose this is a way of keeping homeless people from using the toilet as a temporary shelter. And there are many homeless people here, unfortunately, and surprisingly.