Velib' or die

Today was it. The day I was going to finally mount the Velib and cycle through the streets of Paris. Because I'm so tight, I was waiting until I got my Velib card in the mail that I applied for a couple weeks ago. I didn't want to dish out a whole euro unnecessarily.

However, due to the transportation strike, I found myself far from my meeting on the other side of town without an hour to spend walking there. I walked to the Velib (short for velo libre or free bike) bike racks, and eyed the few remaining bikes suspiciously. I'd done my homework. I knew that you had to check the tires, chains and seats to make sure things were working properly before you headed off.

I decided to give it a go. With help from a friendly veliber, I put my debit card into the Velib meter(it debits the card only if the bike is taken out for more than a half hour or if it is not returned). It spits out a card with a customer number. When ready to take off, you punch that number into the machine and it tells you which bikes are avaible. In my case it told me that bikes 7, 13, 18 and 19 were available. You are then supposed to choose the number of the bike you want. Not so fast, I thought. I had to give them a quick once over, and when I decided, I walked back to the machine and it had moved on. I'd taken too much time deciding. As my other friend had taken off on her bike, my next helper showed my where to sign in again. This time I was prepared, and knew which number bike I wanted. I punched in the number, 18, and then went to unlock # 18. I don't know what I did wrong, but I redid the process again and I pressed a button and #18 was unlocked for me. Woo hoo!

I pushed my bike up the hill to the Arc de Triomphe and decided for my maiden voyage on the Velib to ride down the Champs-Elysees. How exciting. I'm riding down the street on a public bike on the most famous Avenue. I saw a friend and made him take my picture. (Hopefully I'll post this later.) I was totally thrilled to be riding on a pleasant afternoon through the streets of Paris.

I kept on with my plan to go to the meeting on the other side of town even though by this time it's obvious I'll be fairly late. I turn off the Champs and head down a street that takes me over Pont Alexandre III, a stunning bridge, and on toward Invalides. I have a vague notion of the direction I need to go, but unlike on foot, I need to pay attention to the direction of traffic. On the velib, you're supposed to follow traffic rules which is challenging for me. I pass Musee Rodin (one of my favorites) and continue on down Varenne to Boulevard Raspail. Now this road was a little too much for me. It was hard to go from riding on the right side to crossing over to the left lane to turn left on rue de Fleurus. So I pulled over, hopped onto the sidewalk, and walked my bike over to where I needed to be. Not an experienced veliber am I. As I ride down rue de Fleurus I see the Jardin de Luxembourg ahead which is right near my meeting. I'm so excited I'm almost there, and I've biked the whole way.

Part of the joy of the velib is that you don't have to worry (usually) what to do with the bike, because there are bike stations everywhere. I figure there must be one near the Jardin de Lux., and sure enough, there is a station with spaces open to park it. (I had read that sometimes a bike station will be full and you have to find another station in which to park). I pull up to the stand and part of the bike clicks into it, and a light flashes and then turns green, which means I have properly checked it in. (Also important, because if not properly checked in, it might think I've never returned the bike, and then I'm out 150 Euros). Delighted and slightly tired, I head to my meeting, wondering if I'll ride back.

I eagerly head back to the bike rack after the meeting and there are only a couple of bikes, both of which are defective. One has a flat and the other has a seat that's all floppy. Disappointed, I wonder what to do next, and then a man approaches to return his bike. Yeah! "Is it working okay?" I ask him. He tells me all is well and then I launch off for my return trip. Both times I just kind of took off without a plan. I generally know where I'm going and hope it works out.

This time I head north toward the Seine. There are often many other people biking in front or behind. Sometimes I'll be riding alone, but am soon joined by other riders. Totally cool. I cross over the Seine near the Louvre, but the road soon goes under a tunnel. I decide to ride a little bit in the Jardin de Tuileries because there is a lot of room and not too many people, and I certainly don't want to ride through the tunnel. As I see the rue de Rivoli ahead, I wonder at my choice of route. It looks really busy and dangerous. I enter the road and it turns out there is a bike lane and it is being used by a fair number of bikers. My fellows!

I am totally happy riding along and cracking up at times at how nicely other people are dressed while riding. High pointy heels, short tight skirts, fancy headware, suits and all manner of elegant dress can be seen on my fellow bikers.

Instead of returning on the Champs-Elysees, I take a deserted Ave. Gabriel to rue de Ponthieu which terminates at rue de Berri which is at a stand still. "So sorry, cars", another biker and I pushed our bikes onto the sidewalk and passed the truck that was blocking the way and continued peacefully down the street. By now I am fairly tired and am facing a few streets that have upward hills to get the last bit home. I'm close enough, and fearing that I might soon be going over my 30 free minutes of free riding time, I see a bike station and check it in. Two people were awaiting a bike, so I was glad to be turning it in.


I'd like to say I finished my walk home and stayed in for the night, but that's not me. Knowing I had the bike for a full twenty-four hours, I decided to take another ride after we put the wee ones to bed. Being the day of a mass transit strike, I looked at two locations for a bike, but found none. I decided to walk to my destination- I really did have somewhere to go, I wasn't just out joyriding, although that it certainly is. On my way back I checked around for other stations. Sure enough, at Place de Ternes I found a bike station. Again, there were two bikes, both defective, and a person in front of me. Luckily, two people rode up to check in their bikes and I was off again.

I called Sean from my cell phone because I was so totally tickled to be riding the streets of Paris at night on my (the city's) Velib. The velib is equipped by the way with a front headlight and a rear taillight. I also wanted to offer him a spin around the neighborhood as I still had twenty minutes left of free riding time. He declined, and I rode back to the bike stand around the corner from our house and checked it in.

It truly is a wonderful thing, this Velib. You get to use a bike for next to nothing, it's easy to park, and most of the time they're readily available. It seems a bit daunting at first to ride the streets of Paris, but once you're out there, you realize that the cars are really very polite to riders most of the time, and there are a lot of riders out there with you, and on some streets there are even lanes for the bikes. Okay, sometimes the bikes share the lanes with the buses, but as the buses weren't running today, it was quite nice. Maybe it is a little crazier when the buses are running, I've seen how close they get to cars and bikes.

So, I say hop on a Velib. It's a totally freeing experience to just hop on a bike and not worry about getting it out, locking it up and putting it away. And you get places quickly while seeing the sights. Give it a go.

D-Day

So today is my 42nd birthday. I find it interesting that exactly half my life ago I was also in Paris celebrating my 21st birthday. I went to a cafe with friends and had cake, a big splurge as I never had or spent money back then.

Today in honor of my birthday, the city of Paris is pulling out all the stops. The first item on the agenda is a transportation strike- subways and buses will not be running. In response, the kids' school is closed, lest the students show up and the teachers can't. I like that the transit system warned us of the strike- they stated the day it would take place, so alternate plans could be made.

So, we're having an "in day". Q has been quite sick the past couple of days, so we're taking it easy. Well sort of. The little monkeys are assembling a 200 piece puzzle, they are actually hard at work, while I catch up on emails and blogging. Sean was secretly hoping his class would be cancelled, but no such luck. He has been busy taking a 20 hour per week French class. No more wandering about town in his pajamas all day.

Looking ahead, I suspect that in 21 more years, we will have returned to Paris and I'll be celebrating my 63rd birthday. I'll be toting my grocery cart on wheels to and from the grocery. Monday afternoons will find me hanging out with neighborhood women watching a matinee. I'll be wearing sensible shoes as I join a group for a tour of the Louvre. But wait, this is what I'm doing now.

Really, I'm just thrilled to be here. I thank my lucky stars (and my husband) for the gift of this experience.

The little beast

I saw my little friend again who bit me, and I decided it would be fun to post its picture. I asked permission first from its owner who was a little put off by my request (but being the jerk I am I didn't let that stop me). "Just as long as you don't make him out be a monster." Heh, heh, heh. Monster indeed. Just look at the innocent face. But just beyond that cute exterior lurks a beast just waiting to attack. Just kidding. Mine was an isolated incident. I was asking for it. In the wrong neighborhood at the wrong time. You know the story.

Pinch me, I'm dreaming

I'm having the best time here in Paris! Saturday night I met a new friend in front of the Theatre Athenee and saw a fabulous play in a gorgeous theatre. The play was Les Negres by Jean Genet. Genet was my kind of guy, locked up in prison for cleptomania, but because of his "free time" he was able to write a great deal. Sartre discovered Genet and his work and then helped him get out of prison and enter a new life as an author.

Les Negres is a remarkable commentary of the concepts of race and identity. The presentation of the play was outragious, most of it delivered the way Genet called for (accoring to my new friend L.), including the intermittent wearing of various partial masks and simple costumes which really added a dramatic effect. The 25 year old director added a 21st century element, that of a loud helicopter going by overhead with search lights that shone on the audience; an effectively chilling mood was set. It's showing until the 20th for you locals.

We then had a late dinner at L'Entreacte where we were served by a super friendly older waiter. As he took my order, he kind of nudged my arm with his elbow. This is something I do to people, and I laughed and thought he was mocking me because I must have done it to him, but he wasn't. He said I hadn't "nudged him" with my elbow, it's something he does. It's something I do, I said, too, and then we laughed and elbowed each other a little more. It was totally queer and fun. Our elbows said goodbye to each other after paying the bill. I walked down the street amazed that I am lucky enough to live in Paris (for a while).

I was in such fine humour that as I passed the C&A with homeless people sleeping on pads in sleeping bags at the entrances, I thought, "that kind of looks cozy and fun. A big sleepover on a nice evening." I know homelessness is not a party, but on a beautiful night in Paris, even the most disadvantaged were cast in a warm glow.

la verdure

This Sunday we went to our all time favorite place of worship- the great outdoors. It was a sunny day, so we hopped on some bikes that we borrowed from neighbors.

It was a little dodgy riding in the street at times, but it was wonderful riding through the big green expanse of the Bois de Bologne. You could smell the dampness of the earth and see the leaves falling about as we rode. We passed lakes with people racing radio controlled boats, as well as many walkers, rollerbladers and other cyclists. We stopped to smell dozens of varieties of roses in the Parc of the Bagatelle. We saw swans, peacocks and many wonderful large trees.

Q said it was his favorite day. Amen.

French radio

You hear the best songs on French radio. Sure, you can hear French songs, but they play the most eclectic mix of American songs mixed in with their own. Everything from Roberta Flack to Simon and Garfunkel to Macy Gray could be heard while shopping at our supermarket, Monoprix.

Two songs that I got a real kick out of hearing lately on our home radio are "Winchester Cathedral" a 1920's sounding song which is kind of hilarious and dates back to the 1960's I think, and Arrested Development's (no, not the TV show- I always think people are talking about the band when they are talking about the TV show which really irks me) "Mr. Wendell" with its laid back funky sound.

"Winchester Cathedral" took me back to my childhood when my little brother and I made up a silly dance to accompany the comical sound and lyrics.

"Mr. Wendell" took me back to dancing with friends until the wee hours of the morning and then eating at Perkins on short Vine. Oh the good ole days.

Escape

We wanted to get out of the city and into the country side and get some fresh air and sunshine. We were hoping to go to Fountainbleau, but time and energy got away from us and we ended up at the Bois de Vincennes, just on the eastern outskirts of Paris.

We picked this destination because it is where the line we were on ended, Chateau de Vincennes. We thought it would be interesting to see the Chateau and walk around the park for a while.

The kids did enjoy the castle, though it lacked a throne, and any other piece of furniture. We'll have to go to Versailles for a Chateau complete with furniture.
However, it did have that other type of throne, which you can have a laugh and look at from Quinn's picture.







After our tour of the Chateau, we wandered to the wooded area, where we enjoyed some green.

Bad influences

As many of you know, our boy Q has been underexposed to media. His world is pretty small, and he's figuring that out. He's wondering why he can't see Rush Hour III, (I don't know why myself- know nothing about it yet).

So yesterday Q is walking home with his buddy M and they are enjoying a song on M's ipod. We had to go our way and Q had to give his earpiece back. He said, "Aw mamma, I love that song". The last song he really was moved by was James Taylor's "Going to Carolina" (in My Mind). He also took an intriguing liking to John Prine's music (glad he didn't understand all the lyrics).

Curious, I asked what song it was. Q couldn't remember the title. He sang some words, something like "white and dirty". He said it was gangster music- does he have any idea what that is, I wonder.

Oh dear. I don't really want him listening to songs where women are referred to as b------ and p----, or that glorify guns and violence.

Turns out he was listening to Weird Al Yankovic's satire of a rap song. Weird Al's version is "white and nerdy". Here it is, if you'd like a listen and a laugh.
http://one.revver.com/watch/65860

So I really do have reason for alarm. My boy likes Weird Al. That's hard to take. Okay, the video is pretty funny, and the tune does get stuck in your head. One of us has been humming a bit of it all weekend- even Maggie. Sometimes we make up our own words based on what we're doing " I want to roll with (pause) my scooter (pause), so I can get to school faster". You get the picture. Not real pretty.

In addition, Weird Al makes fun of chess and segways and Dungeons and Dragons. Enough is enough. I'll have to have a talk with M's parents to see if he has any other suitable songs.

"The Yummerie"

My daughter Mag is a quick study on the French language. When we go to a cheese shop, it's a fromagerie in French. At the butcher, we're at the boucherie. So when we wanted to get a pain au chocolat (a croissant with a couple of delicious sticks of chocolate inside), she asks, "Are we going to the yummerie?" The perfect name for the tasty destination.

Eraserhead

We couldn't resist taking this dude's picture. Yeah, we're that kind of jerks. But, at least he doesn't know his picture is being taken thanks to our special "spy camera".

I hope I haven't stolen his soul. But I wouln't mind having a bit of his hair. He was fluffing it on the metro to increase its height. Teens.

Terrior attack

So I was at a meeting where sixty of us were packed into a tiny space. Next to me was a woman with a little doggy on her lap (only in France). The dog seemed a little tense during the meeting as it barked at a few people (or ghosts). As everyone stood to say a closing verse about peace and serenity, the dog leaped over and bit me on the leg. Here's what the bite looked like after the cool Coke took some swelling down:


After some newly made friends looked after me, a nice pair of French people came over to ask me to translate something for them (which also involved peace and serenity). Was there a message? As I did so, they noticed I was injured, and they offered to take me to the clinic or fire department. I declined their kind help, but was intrigued with the idea of going to the fire department for help. And I might actually need to do something about the bite.


Previously, a nurse had told me that unless the swelling came back, and the leg got hot, I was probably going to be all right, so we decided to carry on with our plans. As we left the building the nice French folk saw me and indicated to go down the street for the fire department. We obliged to make them feel helpful, but then again, curious, I said "let's actually try and find it, they might have something."

In a few minutes we saw the blue and white fire department sign and entered. There was loud techno/dance music playing and they had a variety of mats and gymnastics equipment in the station. I always wanted to be a fire fighter.


I found a fireman and told him my saga, desperate for attention. We all agreed that little dogs are the worst. No offense Pearl or Rosie. I'm sure you two would NEVER bite someone. He pulled out some disinfectant and Sean asked about his gymnastics equipment, obviously impressed, and the fireman, proud of his station, described their workout, then we headed out.

I kept waking in the night wondering if I was foaming at the mouth. So far, so good.

Our first guests

Thursday night, Sean's family from Brussels came to Paris for a visit. It was a fun visit. Their son, J. accompanied Quinn and Maggie to and from school on scooters. During the visit, the three kids had a good time playing hide and seek, making spy plans and playing in the front yard. Hee, hee, we have no front yard. But we do have a very wide sidewalk down below where they can scooter, jump rope, toss and whatever else they dream up.

Our guests were kind enough to drive down with boxes we had sent them. Our only problem now was where to park the car. We needed a special pass for parking which we didn't have, and we had to move the car from its overnight position, so we decided to drive M and K's boxes to their new apartment (which is awesome!) Traffic in Paris was a little rough in their ultrachic neighborhood, but we went ahead and parked illegally while we saw the apartment and tried to figure out what to do with the car next. The logical plan was to park it back in our neighborhood for simplicity's sake.

While stuck in traffic on the rue de Rivoli, we decided to drive down the Champs Elysees (or "Sean's a lee say" as we like to say). I began feeling giddy. I was excited at the possibility of driving down the famous avenue which ends at the most craziest of driving destinations, the Arc de Triomphe.

Ignoring Jane (the bossy GPS voice), we turned onto the Champs Elysees from the Place de la Concorde. We all began to giggle. M, Sean's brother in back, and myself launched some silly shouts out of the car onto passersby. At one point, we realized we better behave somewhat, as we are driving Sean's older and smarter brother , D's car with diplomatic plates.

We moved closer and closer to the arc de Triophe, and I know Sean was going to make the most of it. He is the only person on earth, other than random tax and bus drivers, that I would drive around the Arc de Triomphe with.

We boldly approached the circle of traffic that constantly surrounds the Arc. Amazingly, as we pull straight into this busy circle, the cars to the left slow or stop and allow us to enter the circle, except for one van to which we come extremely close. We buzz excitedly around the circle. As we try to get to the outside of the circle, it gets trickier. A woman reading a menu and talking on the phone while driving barely scrapes by without incident. Unbelievable. As there are 8 streets that head outward from the ARc, we had to pay close attention to the street signs. Thank goodness for the good reader in the back, M.

We head away from Etoile and contine our trip without incident to our neighborhood where we were lucky to find a spot. I finally figure out that you have to buy the special parking permit at the "tabac" where alchohol, coffee and cigarettes are sold. Go figure.

We all had dinner together at our apartment, and all shared about our day.

Saturday morning had (almost) everyone packed into the station wagon again, this time to see M. play soccer. After an agressive game, her team tied, and M. collapsed on our couch for the next few hours while the kids played around the apartment. The adults and M. went to experience M and K's new neighborhood, as well as experience Nuit Blanche. As far as I can tell, Nuit Blanche was a night where galleries were open late, and there were cultural and art activities taking place in various locations.

At one point, we lined up to get into a Catholic church (my mother's dream- people waiting in line to get into a Catholic church) to have a multisensory experience. People were chanting(?), there was a light show on the altar and ceiling. Bodies were stretched out on carpet taking it all in, which was a cool way to experience it (and a good way to raise my leg from my dog bite-see future post).

The next day, our Brussels family took off in the wagon, with our children waving and chasing the car down the street. Quinn was very sad to see J. go. We're hoping to visit in November when spirits may be sagging. Nothing like the town of Tintin and seeing cousins to cheer up a couple of kids.

Allez les Bleus!!

We were out on the town exploring Nuit Blanche, when I remembered that the deciding match between New Zealand and France was on. I made haste with Sean to Hotel de Ville to join the tens of thousands of people watchcing the game on a huge screen in front of city hall complete with astroturf.

As we approached, shouting and cheering from the streets greeted us. I love the excitement of people gathered and cheering on "the team". We hopped up on some sculpture to get a good shot of the crowd. The crowd was so thick, it was hard to move. The entire place was packed, including all the surrounding streets. More shouting and then flares and smoke began to appear.

We found a better place with a good view, but there was a youth in the crowd shouting "All Blacks!" in favor of New Zealand. As close at the game was, we were afraid a fight might break out around this guy. Me moved on.

We finally found a post near the edge of the crowd, where we could see the screen and watch people pulling each other up on the newstand to get a better view. Yikes. It was crowded up there.


The score was 13 to 13 for a while when one of Les Bleus busted out and made a "touchdown". (I'll try to add our vidoe of this soon.) The crowd went wild. The score went back and forth for the last 10 minutes of the game. It was thrilling. The crowd was shouting "Allez les Bleus!" The young man in front of me kept answering my pesky questions about the score and minutes remaining.

I was excited for France. They were definitely the underdogs in weight and were expected to lose. The All BLacks were a shoe in for the victory.

But not tonight. France leaps to a 28-18 victory, and can now continue the fight for the World Rugby Cup. Even if they don't get the cup, they certainly took down the giants tonight.

A little time alone

What do I do when I find myself with a little time to myself alone in the apartment?
I decide to explore this little bathroom feature.


It looks unassuming. It's name is simple. Bidet. It sits in the corner behind our laundry rack which is in constant use. Sadly, I recently researched how to use it because frankly, though francophile with a few trip to France behind me, I've never actually used one.

The other women in my family have. My mom loved to soak her feet in one when she visited in 1986. "This is the best way to end the day" she'd say. My daughter has recently used it to wash her feet after a day in her Crocs on the dirty streets of Paris. Actually, I HAVE actually used it once to epilate my legs.

It seems that we have all had the wrong body parts interacting with the bidet.
As the instructions indicate...

So, finding myself alone for an hour or so, and having the laundry rack set in front of a sunny window allowed the moment to happen. I didn't want a child to come in, see me naked on this little white bathtub and say, "mamma, what are you doing?" As many of you know, there is no privacy with children. The worst part of this imagined scene would be the fact that I truly don't know what I'm doing. But it's time to find out.

I perch on the edge of the little porcelain "tub" facing the faucet. I believe that's what the directions say, but the water doesn't reach anywhere near me. I turn the other way, and still no contact with the water. The temperature of the water, by the way can be controlled by the hot/cold faucets.

Then I realize that I have only slightly turned the faucets on. I turn them on more, and finally the water hits the intended parts. A curious comfortable tingly sensation.

French women are smart. This little appliance should have a more royal name and place in the apartment, but for now it retains it's humble demeaner in the corner of the bathroom. I agree with my mother. It is the best way to end the day.

An outing with Madame B.

Late Thursday night, we checked in Maggie's man bag for school, and there is a note marked "urgent" from Madame B.. Dread. What now? Has someone already gone and thrown themselves down the stairs? It's only the end of September.

We read the note. Mme. B. would like to take the kids on a field trip to see fruits and vegetables made into works of art. They need two bus tickets and she is hoping for two chaperones in order to make the trip. Great, they're going to go exploring Paris a little, and this is my chance to go along and "spy" on the class.

Friday morning I deliver Maggie and ask Mme. B. if she needs a chaperone. Yes, you are the first here, and I need at least two. Okay, I'll go. I say that she can call my husband if she is in a bind. (Aside: Mme. B sneaks a phone call to Sean in a whisper. The main teachers have all told the students they don't understand or speak English, and only speak French to the parents in front of the children. I actually think this is a good idea. So Sean cracks up because here is Mme. B. calling him at home and whispering for him in perfect English to come on the field trip with us. It turns out later that there are two other mothers and Sean is not needed. He is relieved.)

I tell her I'll try to be on time, but I may be a few minutes late. We decide if they are not at school, I'll meet them at the bus stop. The little pumpkins were already at the bus stop and had already let one bus go by in order to wait for me- very kind of Mme. B. and the kids. We wait for 15 more minutes for the next bus and the kids are getting a little restless.

"I don't know if we can do a field trip again," says Mme. B. solemnly, "they get very restless wating". Oh my goodness, the success of future field trips depends on this.

I kick into Mary Pat M. (or Elizabeth Edwards) mode and suggest we sing a song. Mme. B. started singing a song she taught the kids that morning about firemen and the kids joined in. Quite cute to hear the little darlings singing French. I also like to know that Mme B. is singing happy little children's songs.

The bus comes and we hop on and head to Jardins du Luxembourg where the exhibit is on display in the Orangerie. The kids are a little rowdy on the bus, but another parent, J. and I have no problem telling them to sit or assigning them new places. The success of future trips depends on this, I think.


We enter the building and enter a gallery of art made with fruits, vegetables and natural objects. It is light and easy to move around. There are faces, people and paintings made out of produce. Mme. B. is full of enthusiasm and the children love it.

One man is carving beautiful designs in squash and another is creating little mice and other creatures out of radishes and tomatoes. There is also a demonstation of a magimix juicer from which we got to try fresh carrot and apple juice. Quite tasty. We also tried tomato juice with mozzarella at another stand. Art and tasty snacks all at one exhibit. I'm starting to like this Mme. B..



As a way to find out if she is reading french books to the class, I tell her there are some fun books for kids about fruits and vegetables at the exhibit if she reads to the children and is interested. Oh yes, she reads many books to the children, but appreciates the tip and has a look while I watch the kids. We're a team.

We look around the exhibit once more and then head for the bus. This time we're on in a pinch. Mme B. pointed out a great kids bookstore along the way. She mentioned that one day, she intends to take the kids to the market and buy a few things. "Oh and then go back to school and make a soup?" I quip in my usual smart a-- way. "Yes", she affirms "a potage". Excellent.


The year is looking a lot brighter already. I'm glad I went on the field trip. Not only to see the children safely on and off the bus (I worry), but to experience Maggie with her class. She had a couple of girls who stayed close to her which was nice to see. Mostly, it allowed me time to spend with Mme. B. and see a lighter side of her.

She again thanked me this morning for going on the field trip and said that J. and I were very professional and did a great job, and hoped we'd be at the next field trip. We passed! Yeah! There'll be another field trip!