A Walk About

There were no April Fool’s jokes played yesterday.  My dad used to wake me up every April 1 with, “It’s snowing,” and I fell for it each time.

We awakened to a beautiful day and after enjoying a croissant amandes et cafe crème on a bench by the Arc, we entered the bowels of the Metro and sped on to Des Halles.  Once the location of Paris’ meat, vegetable and fruit markets (from 1183-1960’s), it is now the world’s busiest subway station, complete with a multi-level mall.  We emerged back to sunlight, noticed spires, and set off to investigate.

They belonged to L’Eglise St-Eustache, claimed to be one of Paris’ most beautiful churches.  Named for a Roman general who was burned along with his family for converting to Christianity, it was built over a period of  105 years, from 1532-1637, on a Gothic plan with Renaissance decoration.  The inside is modeled on Notre Dame.  
                                                     
It is here that a young Louis XIV received communion, Mozart’s mother’s funeral was conducted, Richelieu was baptized, and Moliere was both baptized and married.  I love our church stops and make it a habit to sit in silence, pray for peace, and listen.

We’d seen many photos of the Centre Georges Pompidou, and it was no more impressive in person.  Completed in 1977 and named after the President of France 1969-1974, it’s called the “building that’s turned inside out” so that the inside is uncluttered and flexible.  Among other things, it houses a large public library and the Musee National d‘Art Moderne (the largest museum of modern art in Europe.  Only time for a walk by…
                                                    

In only another block or two, we were passing by another Gothic church, L’Eglise St-Merri, that appeared to be in disrepair, but is still in use.  The site of the church dates back to the 7th century, but the current church was constructed in the 1550s and houses the oldest bell in Paris (1331).  It’s dedicated to the 8th century Abbot of Autun Abbey, Medericus, who went to Paris on pilgrimage and died there.  In 884 he was named the Patron Saint of the Right Bank.
                                                          

More spires?  This turned out to be the Tour St-Jacques, a Gothic tower dating from 1523.  It is all that remains of an ancient church that was noted for welcoming pilgrims setting out for Tours and headed for the way of St. James, the Santiago de Compostela.  The church and tower were built in the early 1500s, and its patrons were the wealthy wholesale butchers of Les Halles.  Blaise Pascal used it for barometric experiments.  The church was demolished in the late 1700s.
                                                    
            Tower as seen from the Conciergerie, with the “Victory Column” of the Place du Chatelet.

Finally, we stopped at an outdoor café overlooking the Seine where we indulged in a café latte and Croque-Monsieur--a toasted ham and cheese (Emmental or Gruyere) sandwich topped with Mornay sauce and baked. 
                                                 
Check out the Bon Appetit website for the recipe of this pictured Mushroom Croque-Monsieur.  YUM.

Refreshed, we crossed the Seine to the Left Bank and walked the Boulevard St-Michel to the Boulevard St-Germain and continued on that until we got to Danton’s statue.  (I think this had been our original destination, and, now, nine hours later, I was tired enough that it would be our last this day.)  Georges Danton was one of the early leaders of the French Revolution, and his statue stands near a small alleyway where the whispers of discontent against the monarchy, aristocracy and religious authority became an uproar.

Time to sip wine at an outdoor café while Bob indulges in moules-frites (mussels and French fries) before we head back to the hotel. 



(Information obtained from Eyewitness Travel: Paris and Wikipedia.  Photos from Wikipedia.)

The TSA (Transportation Security Administration)

September 11th changed the flying experience forever.  It has become interactive and invasive, each rule implemented only after there has been some new breach of security.  Since its inception, I have not felt any safer when I fly, and I resent the loss of our freedoms.  Flying has become a very trying experience, and many unnecessary hours (we’ve waited over three hours several times) are spent standing in security lines.

Several years ago, at a California airport, I was directed  to step into a capsule-like structure, one I had never seen before.  I asked the TSA person (a male) at that location what would happen to me when I went inside it.  He replied that there would be a puff of air (evidently sensitive to bomb-making ingredients…although he didn’t say so) and afterwards I would be sterile!  I felt this was totally inappropriate and wrote a letter but never received a reply.  I felt he should have been fired.  Bob hasn’t been spared by the TSA either.

For some reason Bob must fit the profile of a terrorist, as he is almost always targeted for further screening.  I never would have guessed that we should be wary of short, white, gray-haired, 70-year-old men.  Anyway, we recently flew from our local airport to Chicago O’Hare, and, wouldn’t you know it, but the new x-ray machine has found its way to the prairie.  It is supposed to be the least invasive of the machines and only identify body surface “areas of concern.”  First, one must take off all outerwear, sweaters, belts, jewelry, and shoes.  And secondly, one must empty all pockets, even of paper.  I entered the testing slot, turned to the side, put my feet on the “feet patterns,” and then held my arms above my head as shown in the diagram.  I was given the okay to collect my possessions, re-dress, and enter the waiting area.  I didn’t realize that Bob had not been so lucky.  A large yellow square, mid-body, had shown up on his x-ray.  Danger, danger.  He received a very personal hand search inside his pants, practically to the groin area, all over a metal button on his jeans!  Couldn’t the man have seen the button and moved Bob along?

We were discussing the TSA procedures with others on our trip, and a woman who had a double mastectomy mentioned that she cannot wear her prostheses without triggering a personal hand search!  The prostheses show up as dark areas.  Danger, once again.  If this would happen to me, I would feel totally violated.

Life doesn’t come with any guarantee that bad things won’t happened to those of us who fly.  When I first flew in my late teenage years, it was hijackers who were the big concern, and now it is terrorists using planes as weapons.  Yes, flying has always had some risks, not to mention mechanical failure and pilot error, but the TSA has over-reacted.  We have stood by while it has taken away some freedoms, stolen some of our hours, and invaded our bodies.  I say, “Enough.  Back off.”  What about you?

Upon arrival

Yes, our plane did make it to O’Hare, and we found ourselves with time on our hands.  As planned we paid for a one-day pass to the Admiral’s Club and settled in.  Mostly we watched DVDs on our computer, and the time passed pretty quickly.

The flight to France usually takes about 7 hours, which is plenty long, especially in economy.  To my dismay, this plane did not have the seats we had booked that offer more leg room, and I didn’t get the sleep that I had hoped for.  

When the French flight attendant asked one of the passengers whether she preferred the chicken or the pasta for dinner, the passenger asked how the chicken was prepared.  The attendant replied, “Honey, it’s airplane food.”  Another flight attendant described the plane as a “bag of bolts,” but added that it’s still flying fine.  Time for a small prayer.

We traveled during the night and watched the sunrise welcome us to Europe.  We landed during what I call the early morning, 7:00-8:00 a.m. French time.  Blessedly, our luggage arrived with us.  Bob called the Paris Shuttle, for which we had reservations, and we waited in the lovely weather outside.

Four American couples were pretty much stuffed into the van and were quiet and sleepy, except for one southern woman who commented on everything she saw.  When we came to the Arc de Triomphe, she said, “What a cluster#$%*!”  H-m-m-m, never thought of it that way.

Our hotel, the Radisson Blu Hotel Champs Elysees was only a block away on Avenue Marceau, one of the 12 great boulevards that emanate from the Arc, so we were spared any more of the lady’s descriptions.  Being the former Louis Vuitton headquarters, this boutique hotel turned out to be charming.  Our room had hardwood floors, a large tub, free wi-fi, good reading lights, and a French balcony with windows we could open to enjoy people-watching below.  We were ready for a long nap.

Bob awakened and wanted to explore, but my head still felt like it was traveling at mach speed.  Just a block away, he found my new favorite place, Publicis drugstore.  It offers a pharmacy, restaurant, gifts, fancy Paris chocolates, macarons (Paris’ cookies, they can’t be described), books, a grocery, and food to go (including delicious pastries and breads).  Bob brought us back a dinner of baguette and cheese.  Ah, Paris. 

Now some more sleep.  

Off to Paris

We were packed and ready for our trip to Paris, our friend was on her way to our house to take us to the airport, and Bob was doing one last pass on e-mail.  What???  Our flight from Champaign to Chicago had been cancelled and was not being rescheduled?  This had never happened before.  Turns out there was too much traffic at O'Hare.  Bob tried everything, including several different airline reps, to find us another flight from here to meet our 5:00 p.m. flight to Paris, but it was a no go, and there wasn't enough time to drive there.   The final result?  We would leave on a flight early the next morning (if it was again a no go, we had time to drive to Chicago), connecting to another 5:00 p.m. flight to Paris.  Time for rest for the journey.

Hide my smile?

Not smile?  All of my life I’ve been programmed to smile.  It visually demonstrates my Midwestern friendliness.  Why I even get health benefits from smiling.  A frown turned upside down can relieve my stress, release endorphins, and boost my immune system while lowering my blood pressure. But when in France, I must not smile.

Smiling at strangers or customers is not part of the French culture.  There isn’t even a French word for “friendly.”  French people do not smile without a reason.  No crinkling eyes and upturned corners of the mouth for them,  instead, it is a funereal expression that is painted on French faces.  It’s a bit daunting when interacting with them, almost harder to not see a smile on the person in front of you than to not smile yourself.

Another thing.  The French don’t admit mistakes.  It’s culturally unacceptable.  Odile Challe, Professor of Organizational Behavior at the University of Paris-Dauphine, says that, “One does not have the right to make a mistake in France.” [translated]  It’s all a matter of saving face and appearing strong.  In dire circumstances, one might admit to an erreur but never a faute.

I think Americans often feel like we’re the center of the universe, and everyone does everything exactly the way we do.  One of the joys of traveling is finding out that it’s not true.  Another of the joys is trying to assimilate into a different culture.  It’s not always easy, but my heart leaps each time I’m addressed in French and not English.:-)

To understand more of the cultural differences between the French and the Americans, you can turn to the book French or Foe? by Polly Platt.  My thanks to Paula for the gift of the book and also to a French cultural ambassador who tried to explain some of the differences to us.

Where I'm From, #1

I am from the British Isles
and the provinces of France
that are sometimes German,
and from Cherokee blood and
probably that of slaves--
my very own melting pot.

I am from the prairie
where grasses and wildflowers
once reigned, now replaced
with soybeans and corn,
the soil, black and fertile,
life-giving.

I am from the flat land,
where only silos break
the rhythm of the horizon,
and the sky is so big that
I can see sunrise and sunset,
stars, and infinite possibilities.

I am from a town of faculty
and business people, and poor
without hope.  For some it leads
to riches, for others to new discoveries,
and, for the invisible, it is only
a dead end.

I am from a family where
I was the only child and loved.
I lived in a make believe world of dolls
and playing school, and books and books
and books, escapes from the
anxiety that controlled our real lives.

I am from friends and cousins
who have become my siblings,
who played with me, distracted me,
and today help keep my memories alive.
I hold them in my heart, and
they accept me as I am.

I am from daydreams and
wonder, silence and solitude,
on a journey of my own,
looking for that peace
that transcends all understanding,
filled with an internal fire to achieve.

I am from dust,
created in Her image,
holder and reflector of Her
light, Her hands and feet
in this world, until I am
dust again,
born into eternal life.


A writing prompt based on “Where I’m From” by poet George Ella Lyon

Yes, Yes, Yes

Poetry is when an emotion has found its thought and the thought has found words.

                   ~Robert Frost

A man should hear a little music, read a little poetry, and see a fine picture every day of his life, in order that worldly cares many not obliterate the sense of beautiful which God has implanted in the human soul.

                  ~Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

Poetry is a deal of joy and pain and wonder, with a dash of the dictionary.

                  ~Kahlil Gibran

Me? I think poetry is all those things and more, but high school ruined my enjoyment of it for a long time.  If ideas were conveyed directly with words, then I was fine, but I didn't have the experience or insight to understand all of the layered meanings that the teacher insisted were being shared.  Forget all those literary devices.  Mostly I memorized the poem, including all of the punctuation, and passed the class.

 My friends have introduced me to wonderful poets and poems through books they have given me.  Some include ten poems to set you free by Roger Housden, Rilke's Book of Hours--Love Poems to God, Thirst by Mary Oliver, and She Walks in Beauty--A Woman's Journey Through Poems, selected and introduced by Caroline Kennedy.  I recommend them all.

Right now, I am intentionally reading a poem a day through the Library of Congress' Poetry 180 Project that daily e-mails a poem for American High Schools.  If you're interested, the address is loc@service.govdelivery.com.  Today I received poem 126--one of my very favorite, and I wanted to share it with you.  I encourage you to read different poets--Billy Collins, Langston Hughes, Gwendolyn Brooks, Kay Ryan--you may just find the words for what you've been feeling.

  

God Says Yes To Me 

           by Kaylin Haught

I asked God if it was okay to be melodramatic
and she said yes
I asked her if it was okay to be short
and she said it sure is
I asked her if I could wear nail polish
or not wear nail polish
and she said honey
she calls me that sometimes
she said you can do just exactly
what you want to
Thanks God I said
And is it even okay if I don't paragraph
my letters
Sweetcakes God said
who knows where she picked that up
what I'm telling you is
Yes Yes Yes