October 17, 2009 – Odds and Sods #3 – La Poubelle???

My garbage can got arrested today. Our doorbell rang. Not the interior doorbell which sounds like a poor man’s cheap alarm clock and which we don’t have a clue about so that when it rings we pick up every phone, cellphone, and electronic gadget in our apartment before we realize it’s our front door… No, this was the exterior doorbell that has the video camera attached. I ran to the screen and saw that this guy was a complete stranger. I buzzed him in anyway and ran down the stairs to meet him.

Clearly my French must be getting a little better because he didn’t speak English and he was asking me questions completely out of my frame of reference. Apparently, he was from the Mairie de Paris [the mayor’s office of our arrondissement]. Somehow, the Mairie was informed that we had an illegal garbage can [la poubelle]. Apparently, all garbage cans are registered with the Mairie de Paris. Apparently our green garbage can is supposed to be blue. He was here to check on the registration number of our garbage can! Apparently every garbage can has a registration number.

What makes this very strange indeed, is that our garbage can is inside our hallway which is locked. And then it is inside a locked closet inside our hallway. I opened the closet and the agent marked down the garbage can number. He checked it against his piece of paper with the supposed registration number of our garbage can. It did not match. Busted. We have an illegal garbage can!

Now the questioning, in French, moved to who lives here, who is responsible for the illegal garbage can, yadda yadda yadda? Yes, I live here but I only rent. The owner, he lives in the States. I have a concierge but she lives in the Marais. I don’t think she has a clue about the illegal garbage can. But, wait, we do have a local concierge or person who cleans the common areas and takes care of the garbage. Would you like me to take you to her? Follow me.

I took him to our local concierge, Maria; a 70+ year old woman who lives a few doors down from us. I left after he rang the bell; no need for me to stick around. I don’t know what happened after that. I think our garbage can got arrested and is doing 5 to 10 in the Bastille. Actually, I think they are just registering our dustbin’s number. I don’t really care because what was really important to me is that I actually understood the French the agent spoke to me….and vice versa. Don’t misunderstand me. I am not saying I am fluent in French; not even close. All I am saying is that today, without any help, I was able to successfully communicate with a local official about an off-the-wall subject.

October 15, 2009 – Odds and Sods #2 – The Mean Streets of Paris

Don’t get me wrong. I don’t mean the unsafe or dangerous streets of Paris. Sure any major city has its share of lovers, muggers and thieves. Hold onto your wallet in the crowded streets that attract tourists to protect yourself from either pick-pockets or scammers selling you gold rings that they found at your feet. No, I mean “look both ways before you cross the street” dangerous.

Paris is one of the most densely populated major metropolitan cities in the world. I mean Paris proper; those 20 arrondissements that the true Parisian considers Paris….not unlike what we New Yorkers consider New York [Manhattan] or a DC’er considers DC [inside the beltway]. True Paris is crowded. Inside true Paris, you buy or rent your flat very close to where you work. You don’t have a car. You use public transport for a stop or two or walk. Sure, you give up living space. A large Paris flat is about as small as what we are living just now, 53 sq.m. [570 sq.ft]. And about 40 percent of the folks live alone!... Don’t get me started on that one….that is material for another blog and why the French all have pets or why there are so many little parks dotted all around Paris.

But public transportation is the rule, although as I observe on my daily run, it’s hard to tell. The traffic in Paris is horrible [and the driver’s are super aggressive]. I think that’s why the city planners came up with an ingenious way to improve traffic flow. One-way streets. Sure, all major cities have one-way streets but not quite like Paris.

Yes, DC [and maybe some other cities] have timed one-way streets [like Rock Creek Park] where during rush hour, the entire roadway is one way or the other. And some other cities have bridges, roadways, or streets that have moving Jersey barriers or are just simply sign-posted to say "in the AM three of these five lanes are in-bound" and "in the PM three of these five lanes are out-bound". But the French have taken it to a new level.

For example, Boulevard St. Michel is a 4-lane street. At one point, it was 2 lanes each way. The city planners decided to make it a one-way street. Then they decided to make one lane dedicated to public transportation and taxis (and bicycles). This is a good idea and not something new. Britain, for example, has been doing this for years. Except in Britain, the dedicated public transportation lanes have been repaved in bright bold red tarmacadam. I know this because I have been pulled over by a friendly Bobby or two who explained to me the difference between the dark black tarmacadam and the red tarmacadam.

However, the Paris city planners decided to make one of the public transportation lanes on St. Michel [and other main streets] travel in the opposite direction from the other three lanes. !!! This is still a good idea except that this one lane is not paved in red tarmacadam. All that is marked on the street is “Danger a Gauche”. So as you are looking to your right onto the three lanes of traffic bearing down on you, that five ton bus coming the opposite way up the “one-way” street has your name on it, en francais!!! Luckily Katherine has snatched me from this perilous situation several times, although she is certain that I am going to “buy it” one of these days when I am out wandering the streets of Paris on my own, sans chaperone…

October 14, 2009 – Odds and Sods #1 – A Tree Grows in …….

I can’t believe it. We are well into our 6th month living in Paris. And my familiarity with Paris has grown so much that it is hard to find the words to fill a blog or eJournal. Don’t get me wrong. I still pinch myself when I run past the Notre Dame Cathedral or get a couple of French “air-kisses” from my local boucherie when I buy my weekly meat from her open-air market stall. So I have decided to write about those little things that catch my eye. Yes, to be sure, there will be eJournal-worthy blogs to come but, for now, as I settle into an actual life in Paris, the big things that knock my socks off, are fewer and far between. But it’s the little things that catch my eye.

For example, on the block between our apartment and our fitness club, is a tree stump. It’s been there since we arrived. I must pass it at least twice a day; more when Katherine drags me out for a walk in the quartier. There are several full grown trees on this block in front of Place de Cluny but this one must have been hit by a car or bus.

I always remember this stump, which I named Brück-Lin and is ancien francais for stump. It just seemed odd that this stump remained. That the Mairie de Paris didn’t just gouge it out and plant a new tree. And then, one day, on the stump where the bark had come away and all that was left was that large smooth oval of under wood that, as a kid, I thought was the mouth of a tree, some artist had painted a face.

And not just any face. It was a sad face. And for emphasis, he drew one large tear falling from its eye. The tree was dead but the artist’s picture gave it life. Where else but Paris would some artist take the time to spruce up [forget the pun] this lifeless stump?

And so, for months, I would walk past Brück-Lin and smile at her painted face. Then, about four weeks ago, voilá, it sprang back to life. Little branches and leaves started sprouting. It was a sight to behold. The branches grew, more leaves appeared. There was life in this old stump after all. But last week…..another one of those massive, French, “we-have-nothing-else-to-do” parades occurred. And when I say “nothing else to do parades”, I mean that. Sure, we had the World War II parade; the Gay Pride parade; the Roller Blade parade; the best cheese in Paris parade [okay, I might be exaggerating] but the “we’re opening a new radio station” parade??? Give me a break.

And what made it even more surreal….it was larger than any of the other parades!! Tens of thousands of drunken French youths, dancing, drinking, smoking [yes], taking off their clothes [okay, that part wasn’t all that bad], puking, peeing, and standing on anything that would give them a better view of the parade….well, Brück-Lin just didn’t stand a chance.

I walked to the club the following day. Those newly sprouted limbs and leaves….gone. That tear in her eye…fitting, once again. Smashed and broken, she was a sorry sight. Katherine and I both thought she was mulch. But today, as we walked to the club, life was stirring. Just over her right “ear” was a bolt of green. I can’t promise she will live. You never know what other important parades Paris will have. But I can tell you this, a tree named Brück-Lin grows in Paris…