The madness of it all

I'm in a tailspin. We return to the States next Tuesday and are jamming and cramming in all that we can of what's left on the table. Yesterday's visit to the Palace of Versailles necessitated me staying up late last night brushing up on Marie Antoinette. I must say, my opinion of the her has changed. Clearly, in spite of the totally over the top, outrageous wealth and privilege she enjoyed, the lady was framed during the Reign of Terror. Even her 10 year-old son died a horrible death alone in a dark, filthy dungeon. At least Robespierre, the teabagger type lawyer/politician and one of the instigators of the Reign of Terror, eventually fell into the jaws of the guillotine. It was pure poetic justice that this coward's unsuccessful suicide attempt simply shattered his jaw. For a lawyer, not being able to have the last word is worse than death. The bastard's head was chopped off the next day by the same guillotine that decapitated Marie Antoinette.

Today we go to the Musée d'Orsay. I'm going crazy without downtime. We're out breakfast to bed. I'm drowning in photos. I can't catch a breath. I know. Luxury problem. March me to the guillotine. I'm not asking for sympathy. I'm just howling before launching into action. It's embarrassing. What can I say? It will pass. And, of course, I'm grateful for this fabulous opportunity, even though I've been lock step with my dear, (very) covertly insatiable mother-not-in-law and my darling beloved for two fucking months. Soon enough, my world will shrink back to the Bird Park and I will be writing about who came by for breakfast but today it's off to the d'Orsay. Wednesday is their late night so, of course, we'll be out late again.

Thankfully, there is a small reprieve on our departure so I actually have a bit of time to sit down here and write. Lucky all around. I really needed a little time off. I'll cut my fingernails on the way to the bus.

Photos du jour

PARIS STREET SCENES

Woman and flowers by Quai du Valmy

Homeless guys watching TV under bridge over the Seine.

Mimes along Quai de Valmy

Father and son bazar on Boulevard Barbès.
The son is out of sight but the father is seated inside.

Mannequins on Boulevard Barbès

Five-thousand six hundred and fifty-three

That's how many photos I've taken on this trip so far. 

Honey, you've got a problem.

Well, it's an estimate really because that number

Jesus!

does not include the ones I've deleted.

Get some help. Vous êtes lunatique, ma chérie!

Five thousand is not that many.

Home of forty to fifty-thousand books

There are way more books at the Abbey in the Latin Quarter.

Open mic night

The SpokenWordParis open poetry mic at Au Chat Noir last Monday was really excellent. I'm always an outsider at these things but I read whenever I can wherever I go and, in my opinion, the quality of writing at this event was among the best of any I've participated in. And the presentations were good. Even the poems read in other languages were interesting. And unlike London's Poetry Unplugged,which makes people pay a suck ass cover charge to read, SpokenWord Paris is free for all.

So, if you find yourself in Paris looking for a place to read, or listen, to poetry I highly recommend this event. Not only was the work excellent, but people were friendly and unpretentious. Our friend Karen enjoyed the evening, as did M. Lee which is saying something. Generally, to hear him talk, you'd think a rat had gnawed his earlobe off at one of these things.

I love this guy

May 19, 2012

European tour

I'm leaving in a few minutes for Au Chat Noir for the Spoken Word Paris open mic. It just occurred to me that tonight, combined with the five minute read I did at the Poetry Cafe in London, and now plus the five minutes tonight, in the world of poetry, this amounts to an official European tour. Okay then.

Free day

We finally saw the Paris everyone comes to see because yesterday was free day at the Louvre. It was jammed. The queue into the pyramid was about a mile long most of the day but, just so you know, there is another entrance. Through the underground mall. We walked right in. We did not go to see the Mona Lisa. We'll do that when it's less crowded. But we did see the "Old Guy" aka the Statue 'Ain Ghazal. My new favorite. A very cool guy, oldest in the Louvre, 9000 years old, on loan to the Museum for 30 years. Sorry. Out of time. Pictures to follow. M. Lee is about to assemble us for our trip to the Île de la Cité. Gotta go.

Venus de Milo

I googled Google images for Paris just now. They are nearly all of the Eiffel Tower. Of course, I photographed it anyway.

Night on rue Ordener

Last night outside my window.

Scènes de rue du jour

Forgive me if the French titles annoy you. I'm not trying to be chic. I was too lazy to study any French before we left the US, so this is my way of groping around the local vernacular. We haven't made it to the Paris pictured on postcards yet but, with no further adieu, I give you the street scenes of the day.

Graffiti art dog on rue Ordener

Most of the dogs I've seen in both London and Paris are small and, yes, in Paris I have already, in four short days, seen many French poodles. None in London. So this lovely Shepherd was a unique site.

Art connoisseur dog on rue Caulaincourt

Divan rouge de la rue Caulaincourt

Red couch on rue Caulaincourt

La lampe très rose à Paris

The very pink lamp in Paris

Paris

Once again, no measuring cups or spoons. Our London flat didn't have them either but we assumed Greg and Shareen just didn't cook at home. Their kitchen had all the amenities except measuring devices. But it's the same here. Is this a Euro thing? This is a great flat, four fire places, high ceilings, lots of huge windows, bright decor, hard wood floors, tiny balconies for potted plants. The kitchen is tiny but clever, Ikea style,  but no measuring cups or spoons. And no water glasses (plenty of wine glasses). A French thing? Already M. Lee is in deep withdrawal from London, "The best of all possible worlds", while Paris is "a pinched purgatory" so no measuring spoons is insult to injury. Plus, his mom went out early this morning for a nice fresh loaf of bread but nothing was open. We were shocked to see that business close so early and open so late. And to top it off, unlike London stunning multicultural cuisine, Paris seems to be a one-horse town for vegetarians.

My Paris corner

But hey! It's Paris and I'm half French. I'm feeling right at home. I woke up in a great mood. For whatever reason, my hands are much more limber here. In London I woke up with wooden claws affixed to the ends of my wrists. And I have set up a nice little corner base of operations which has a great view of the flat. A pigeon is roosting next door. And I saw a woman feeding birds in the train station. That would be a £500 fine in Trafalgar Square. Luckily, I did not get caught slipping the occasional bread crumb to the occasional bird. I realized, being forced into stealth mode, that pigeons take eye-contact to be an invitation to lunch.

So today, we're going out now in search of a natural food market. We had camembert cheese sandwiches for lunch. Such a desperate luxury.

Bonne journée Henri, mon petit ami en dépit de tout cela. (translation)




More Henri, if you can bare it.

Tooting Bec to Paris

Fond farewells in Tooting Bec.

Minerva, Ellie, Monkey Dude & Swami in Tooting Bec

We've come to regret bringing bikes on this trip.

Leaving London. Moving is a nightmare.

Home for the next five weeks.

In Europe, what we in the US call the 1st floor is called ground,
the 2nd is the 1st, the 3rd is the 2nd etc.

Elevator to the 3rd (or 4th) floor

John, this one's for you.

This is only half of the cheese selection at the grocery store

Lonesome George, RIP

So sorry, Lonesome George.

I really hate to see you go. Forever.