A Mystery of Paris

I love Paris. I really do, even if I am not fluent in French. I love what I see and understand.  I love the differences. And I love what I don’t understand; things that make you look twice and you’re still not sure what you’re looking at or why something is what it is.  For example………

Ever since last year I have been puzzled by two things. First there were these rolls of carpet that seemed haphazardly placed in the gutters all over the streets of Paris. Then, there were all kinds of padlocks that appeared on the Pont des Arts, the walking bridge between the Louvre and the French National Academy.

Now these rolls of carpet, about 1 ½ feet long and 4 to 6 inches thick and tied with a piece or two of string, just lie about in the gutters.  Which is hard to understand because the "maires de Paris", the mayors all 20 of Paris' arrondissments have the Green Machine (cleaning crews) out every day cleaning the streets. And these cleaning crews don’t mess around. They descend on streets in teams of 4 to 8 [maybe even more]. You can’t help but notice them; all dressed in their bright green uniforms. Everything about them is green. Their clothes, trucks, cars, street-cleaners, hoses, even their plastic garbage bags that they place on the garbage can hoops that are located all over Paris.

These guys come driving down a street; their water truck alongside the men with their hoses, power washing down the sidewalks. All the debris is directed into the street. Then they turn on the street water to flush the debris down the drains. Whatever doesn’t float or move into and down the drains, gets swept into the middle of street so that the street-cleaning truck can pick it up. But nothing or nobody removes the rolls of carpet?!?! They are like the Terminators of debris. Mini-monuments to street debris like plastic bags and cigarette butts that will never degrade.

But like a French foreign legionnaire looking for an oasis in the desert, I kept looking for an answer to these rolls of carpet.  I mean, they are just plain ugly and left in the gutters to unravel when, lo and behold, someone tosses out the old one and replaces it with a new fragment of carpet carefully tied with string!  The mystery is not too hard to unravel once you walk around when the gutters of Paris are being flushed.   You see, Paris has two water systems - the one that supplies fresh water to homes, businesses, etc and the other that flushes the gutters all around Paris.  Anyone who's been to Paris can't fail to notice this marvellous Parisian street water system.  The Green Machine turn them on to flush the debris down and into the sewers. You can’t walk through Paris without seeing at least one street with a gush of rushing water flowing down one or more streets and into a sewer. So you write it off as street cleaning; which it is. But then there are these rolls of carpet……

One fine morning just a few weeks ago, I woke up around 6 AM. A great time to get a jump start on the day. Do some grocery shopping or watch the marchés and the merchants set up their stalls. So on my walk around the neighborhood, there they were, the Green Machine out in full force, right in front of my apartment in the "Quarter Latin."  What a perfect time to ask about those carpet rolls. 

I must have spoken correctly, because without a word, one of the Green Machine "mecs" walked me down the street to the nearest carpet roll. Still silent, he kicked the carpet roll to one side of the water coming out from the street hydrant, looked up at me, and smiled. Then, he kicked the carpet roll to the other side of the street hydrant and exclaimed, “voilà.”  And the penny dropped. These carpet rolls are not the terminators of debris, they are water diverters placed strategically to shunt the water to either side of the spout from which the water is gushing (and the water can be quite torrential at times!).   Mystery solved….it is so endearing to think that although the French have invented and implemented the most ingenious of street cleaning systems, they have nevertheless come to rely on little pieces of rolled-up carpet tied with string to make the sytem work more efficiently!   You have to love it!   The only question that remains is who actually makes up these carpet rolls and puts them in place - is it the Green Machine or is it the proprietors of the shops and businesses?  I have a mental image of members of the Green Machine sitting around smoking (probably in some place where smoking is strictly "interdit,") chatting away and tying up these little carpet rolls!  Where do these little uniformly-sized pieces of carpet come from? Perhaps one of our French "amis" can enlighten me?   And what about those padlocks on the Pont des Arts???.....aaaah, more to follow.

Just A Quickie

Apparently, I seemed to have caused some confusion with my last blog.  From the comments received, I appear to have suggested that it was my last blog and that I must, as Hemingway, continue to write.....Okay, maybe Hemingway is a bit of a stretch.  So to set things straight, here is a quick update on our latest Paris adventure.

As is customary for this time of year, Roland-Garros [the French Tennis Open] started this week.  I've blogged on this last year so I won't rant on about the French and how they think this is the most important tennis tournament in the world.  Every match, every stroke, every serve, is televised.  And Wimbledon, what's that?  You're lucky if you even get a box score.  But I digress.

On Friday, Pierre [you all remember him from an earlier blog....he taught me how to butcher and prepare my own rabbit],  came over for a drink.  With Roland-Garros on the telly, I was reminded of Pierre's friend, Olivier, whom we met at a dinner party chez Pierre last year.  Olivier is "un orfèvre," a gold and silversmith,  who owns "Lapparra" an ancient and highly renowned  Atelier in the Haut-Marais.   Lapparra has been in business since 1893, so it is one of Paris' venerable institutions.    And, to the point, Lapparra designs and fabricates the Roland-Garros trophies; the big one that you see the champions raise and the individual ones that they each get to keep.  They also design and manufacture by hand, important trophies for various events, including Longchamps - for those of you who are horse-racing fans.  So I asked Pierre if it was possible to visit Olivier's studio.

Turns out that this weekend was the "Nomades 2010," an annual event where over 100 art studios and artisans in the 3rd "arronde" open their galleries, factories and studios to the public.  So on Saturday, we took a walk to the Marais and Olivier's studio.  Et voilá, there was Pierre to greet us  - turns out Pierre was helping out in the Lapparra showroom while Olivier gave tours.  We joined up with several  people as they embarked on Olivier's tour of the "Atelier."

For security reasons, we didn't take any pictures, but Katherine was absorbed looking at all the gold and silver bits and pieces that were hanging around waiting to be joined up to form a trophy or punch bowl or some such item.  Just listening to Olivier describe and demonstrate how the artisans shape the gorgeous knives, forks and spoons that they make was fascinating.  I was blown away by the antiquity of the tools and machines used to fabricate the tableware and artifacts.  It was amazing to hear how much manual labor went into preparing a trophy, cup, or spoon.  I was even more fascinated by the "piles" of gold and silver "trash"-scrapings, dust, ribbons of gold and silver filling up trash cans.  I even touched some dust and discovered that I now had a 24 carat fingerprint! 

After the tour, we spent the next hour in the studio talking with Olivier and Pierre about some of the more exotic creations like a huge centerpiece made for the King of Morocco.  You have to see it to believe it.  One table was set with an entire line of Art Deco silverware which is destined for an upcoming showing in New York. 

So if you ever make it to Paris, visit Lapparra.  You will be warmly welcomed and amazed at what you see. Here is the URL:

http://www.lapparra.fr/en/goldsmith-silversmith-lapparra.htm

La Rentrée - Part 3

Today was an incredible day; incroyable! It’s Saturday and we’re off to our local market, Marché Maubert, just a couple of blocks from our apartment. The market is here 3 days a week (Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday) but Saturday is the “big one”….at least for our little neighborhood. Our merchants come from as far away as Normandy to sell their wares. These are the merchants who have given me advice on how to cook the meat I was buying, what wine I should serve, to the cheese that should follow, and the dessert. A different merchant for each course. I have to tell each one what the meal is, based on the input from the previous merchant. It’s hard for me because it’s all in French but it’s the raison I am living in Paris.

Today was the first time since I left Paris in December that I was in the market again. Would they know me? Would they remember me? Would they still be in business?...Talk to me?...Give me advice? La crise économique has been difficult. As we walked along Blvd St. Germain yesterday, we noticed that Duriez, one of our favorite stationery stores in Paris, was closed forever.



But today was beautiful. Unusually warm for avril and dry. Blue skies, light breeze, and very few tourists. The marché was busy with locals and a few tourists (that’s not us, we’re locals!). Even last December we had more tourists but the nuage de cendres from the volcano was still wreaking havoc although it doesn’t seem to be making the news anymore [at least here in Paris]. And all the merchants were busy. There seemed to be an abundance of fruit and veg folks. But I was determined to start my purchases at my favorite boucherie.

And there was Stella. Busy with a line of locals buying their weekend meats. I snuck in at the end, determined to be incognito until it was my turn. It worked. She didn’t see me or Katherine until we said “Ça va”? And then 3 months of missing us, came out in one sentence, maybe two. I’m not sure, my French is getting better but not when the French talk at lightning speed. But Katherine got it all. And apparently, our Stella missed us. She thought we were coming back at the beginning of April…probably because it was me who was telling her when we would be returning. So there it was; somebody remembered us.



And as I paid for our meat and turned to leave, there was Katherine chatting away (en français, naturellement) to her jewelry vendor. I didn’t know Katherine had a jewelry vendor but apparently she does. And apparently the vendor remembered her since they were deep in conversation ….but I am not sure I am happy about this merchant knowing us [or Katherine]….



The line in front of our fruit and veg man (fermier artisanale) was short; at least for him; only 3 or 4 people. But as we approached and got on line, he stopped, came over to shake our hands, and asked us how the winter was in the States and welcomed us back to Paris….he remembered us! We loaded up on veggies and started to make our way over to our wine shop.

We never made it. Before we got there, our local vintner was walking across the market. He stopped us in our tracks and asked us how we were doing. I don’t think this is because we buy a lot of wine. I think it’s because I fracture French so badly when I discuss wine with him that I am unforgettable as opposed to memorable.

So we trundle back to our flat, laden down with fruit, veg, meat, bread, wine (but no jewelry). Just as we are entering our building, our local creperie guy comes up to us with a big smile and says bienvenue à Paris! We chatted for a few minutes about le commerce and the cold, long winter they’ve had in Paris. This is like your local BurgerKing guy saying “hey, I haven’t seen you in a while; welcome back”. We’re so glad he remembered us and so glad we’ve come back to the same apartment – it’s like coming home. After unloading all of our market goods, Katherine is dying to walk up to the Jardin du Luxembourg – it’s a beautiful afternoon and spring has definitely sprung in Paris.

And it looks great. All the flowers are in bloom. It’s probably the first really warm day and weekend day since last autumn. Winter was hard in Paris this year. Not much snow but very cold. I think every Parisian was here in the gardens. The trees that had been stored for the winter in L’Orangerie were already out basking in the sun. New beds planted and in bloom. And every seat, bench, and more, occupied…especially in the chess and bridge area. So we walked over there and got a few nods, winks, and Ça va’s? from the regulars that I played with last year.

And then there were the “regulars” who play boules. No we don’t play boules or pétanque but we remember the ones who do. We love watching them play. Teams of men, women, and young lads….they all play and they all play together. Some of the young lads and women are better than the men. It’s quite a melting pot and a pleasant way to pass a Saturday afternoon.

But in the end, whether we were remembered or not, it’s April in Paris and it’s merveilleux.

La Rentrée – Part 2

With much trepidation and a good night’s sleep under my belt, it was time for me to check out my Paris. Has she changed? How did she change? Was anything the same? Was everything the same? So I laced up my running shoes and hit the Seine. I figured a familiar run would blow away the cobwebs and show me Paris.



It was cold. Colder than my normal Delray Beach runs but warmer than a winter DC run. The streets leading to the Seine were the same. Same crowds of tourists and locals. Same restaurants slowly preparing for the lunchtime meal. Quickly running past these shops, across the street towards the Cathedral, and down the steps to the Seine, my run begins.

I decided to go east towards the Peripherique, familiar territory, passing Notre Dame, towards the Jardin du Sculpture en plein air. Still the same old same old. But a quick look up towards the sky reminded me of a very complex tic-tac-toe board; criss-crossing contrails showed that displaced travelers were still trying to get back home in the worst way. Mother Nature still rules.

Past the Sculpture Garden the trail was being ripped up. Improvements that to me, looked like they were increasing flood protection with higher brick and stone river banks. No signs to say what was going on nor when it was going to be completed. Oh well, I had no trouble running around the construction.

Next on my run was the fluvial police station. A floating office on the Seine with lots of speedy river boats in the parking lot…ready to dash in case of trouble on or near the river. The parking lot was also closed off for repairs….no sign why or when it would be completed. So I ran back up to street level and over the police, and then back down to the river. I’m running under a building that has always puzzled us. The front part, the west side, is part of a design center. The rest of the building is supposed to be the Port du Seine. It’s a huge building that you can walk or run under. It must be sharing the space because there is a sign in the empty field in front of the building that says they are constructing the Port du Seine here. It says they are starting the construction July 2009 and completing the construction July 2011. From the looks of it, this place hasn’t changed since I began running here last May. Worse, from the looks of it, there hasn’t been any work here, period. So we have a sign that says we are working, please excuse the inconvenience but no work is being done, and where there is construction, back at the Sculpture garden, there is no sign, no explanation, and no termination date…..C’est la vie parisienne…..

Now I’m running towards the Gare d’Austerlitz. And just beyond the station is Piscine Joséphine Baker. It’s a floating barge that houses a public swimming pool. It’s undergoing a cleaning. The French do this pool cleaning once or twice a year. They are very concerned about public cleanliness….too bad they have a completely different perspective on personal cleanliness. It’s a French thing. Us Yanks are overly concerned and sell all sorts of products to cover up sweat, odor, and dirt. The French have a different appreciation for the aroma of the body. And quite to the contrary, the last time Piscine Baker was cleaned was last July. Perfect timing…who wants to swim in the summer? Seems like they got it right this year.

My run continues past all the peniches. These haven’t changed from last year. They are the same floating barges that are either homes or restaurants. I love’em. Gardens and bikes and cars on the home barges and tables and chairs and sound systems on the restaurant barges.

Almost at the half-way point. At the east end of the Peripherique there is cement factory. It’s a good location. Work barges go up and down the Seine loaded with sand, rock, and whatever else it takes to make cement. Cement trucks come here from all over Paris and beyond. Their sign explains it all: “Convoi fluvial = 250 camions dans la ville”. Makes sense to me. And it makes me understand why the French are building the Port du Seine.

I turn around and instead of going back on myself, I run back up to the street and into the Jardin des Plantes. Smaller than Jardin du Luxembourg but just as pretty. JdP is crowded with school children on field trips, people sitting on benches, reading newspapers, and runners. Nothing has changed. Different flowers are blooming but that’s seasonal not permanent.

I feel good. Nothing has really changed. The Paris I left in December is the Paris I am returning to. My Paris. My neighborhood. My runs. My Seine. Just a few small changes. I can put up with that. As I start to end my run, I am running along Boulevard St. Germain. Familiar restaurants, familiar shops, and even a few shopkeepers who nod “bonjour” to me.

But it is warmer now than when I started my run. People are jockeying for tables in the sun. Lunch is being served. I’m feeling warm; sweat is running down my face. And then I remember the French and their love for the sun. And there, at a table, drinking her coffee, is a sweet young thing wearing a tube top…about as low as you can legally wear a tube top, catching the rays. Life is good.

But looking up, there is Brück-Lin….or not. Those of you who have been following my blog know Brück-Lin. [If you haven’t here is the link http://vivelafrance-mark.blogspot.com/2009/10/october-14-2009-odds-and-sods-1-tree.html]. Those of you who visited me last year, saw Brück-Lin. Only it’s not Brück-Lin. Brück-Lin was pulled up by her dead roots and chipped into tree heaven. After putting up with myriad parades, my tree stump with a face is gone. I don’t know….maybe for the better? There is a brand new, young, fresh tree planted in her place but I still miss Brück-Lin’s sad “visage.”

So there you have it. I am sad. My tree stump is gone. It’s only been 2 days. What else has changed? Will my bucherie remember me? Or my vintner, vegetable guy, baker, or fromagerie remember me? I don’t know….tomorrow is market day but today Paris is still Paris.

La Rentrée– Part 1

We can’t believe that these past 3 1/2 months flew by so quickly.  It seems like only yesterday that we arrived back in Miami from Paris and were driving up to Delray Beach on New Year’s Eve.  But here it is, April 20th and it’s time for our “rentrée” to Paris.

With some trepidation, we went to the airport to board our flight to Paris.  This was sort of a crap shoot.  After 5 days, Eyjafjallajokull was still erupting and Eurocontrol was still restricting all flights.  By the time we got to Miami International, over 20,000 flights had been canceled.  The air carriers were going ballistic.  Hundreds of thousands of passengers were stranded all over the world.  But Lufthansa had said our scheduled flight was leaving so we were packed and ready to go.

And we did…..but not before a 2 hour delay.  The news was reporting that the volcano, after seemingly slowing down for a few hours, had started spewing out even more ash.  Maybe Eurocontrol was reconsidering allowing our flight to leave?  But no, that wasn’t it.  It seems that the canny Germans were checking our jet engines for ash damage!  They were taking videos and still pictures of the engines and sending them back to Frankfurt for analysis.  The German engineers gave us the all-clear.  We knew nothing of all this until we were actually in the air…nor was it explained that the reason for checking the engines was that on take-off from Frankfurt, the jet passed through the ash plume.  What was explained was that every precaution was being taken and that depending upon the ash plume location, “certain landing procedures” might need to be invoked.

“Certain procedures”….now there’s a calming expression.  What they meant was we would be cruising at our normal altitude until we approached Frankfurt airport.  Then, depending upon the location of the plume, we would nose-dive, rapidly, and land.  If any of you are familiar with the landing procedures at San Diego airport or John Wayne airport, then you have some sort of idea of “certain procedures”.

But we made it.  Two hours late but we’re in Europe…..and joining the other hundreds of thousands of passengers who are stranded!  With the exception of the German airports, the rest of western Europe is closed.  No flights to Paris.  Time to figure out how to get to Paris.

Fortunately, our bags were checked through to Paris even if we weren’t.  And once through customs, we could talk to the Lufthansa agents about getting to Paris….which is exactly what we did…we talked to agents but didn’t get any help getting to Paris.  We were on our own.  But we had several things working in our favor.

One, K’s German is pretty fluent.  Two, we didn’t have to worry about schlepping our suitcases all over Europe trying to get to Paris.  And three, we had Lufthansa on the hook for getting us to Paris, or at least covering all or some of the expense.  Well, more on that in a later blog.

So after checking out all our options, we handed over about €400 and boarded an ICE train [the German equivalent of the TGV] to Brussels and then connected to the Thalys train for Paris.  All direct trains and buses to Paris were completely booked.  In fact, our train was so overbooked that it was SRO.  I managed to sit from Frankfurt to Köln but then had to stand for 2 hours to Brussels.  In fact, most of the people on our train were stranded folks trying to get to London.  All trains from Frankfurt to Brussels – booked.  The Eurostar from Paris to London – booked.   We were so overbooked that in Köln they announced that anybody standing had to get off the train and take a bus to Brussels because they felt it wasn’t safe to operate the train.

Well, excuse me mate, but no one was about to give up their SRO to get on a bus that might or might not reach Brussels in time to catch the Eurostar, the Thalys or whatever connecting train we had all paid a fortune for!  So after 20 minutes and no one volunteering and the German conductor threatening us all with grievous bodily harm if someone didn’t get off the train, the train started moving slowly out of Köln (accompanied by much cheering and applause by us passengers).  Herr conductor advised us all that for safety reasons, he would have to operate the train at less than high speed…which meant we would arrive in Brussels 30 minutes late and possibly cause everyone to miss the Eurostar to London.  At the last moment, after keeping everyone on tenterhooks, he finally announced that they had arranged to hold the Eurostar an extra 10 minutes but then told everybody to RUN after de-training!  And, we barely made our Thalys train which then sat for another 30 minutes to allow other passengers from connecting trains to board.  Ah, on to Paris at last! 

But the train trips were enjoyable; everybody exchanging travel horror stories; 2 day business trips lasting 7; total strangers stuck in Budapest agreeing to share a room in order to split the outrageous room charges; or multi-nights sleeping in an air terminal.  We even met several  Glaswegian girls who happened to live only two streets from Katherine’s sister in Netherlee.  Even on our Thalys train to Paris, a fellow passenger who got stuck in New Delhi and managed to get back to Frankfurt, could only make it as far as Paris that night - he lives in Nice so he’s bunking on a cousin’s couch in Paris tonight and will see what travel delights tomorrow brings…

But we’re here.  We’re back at our apartment on rue de la Harpe in the Latin Quarter. This is the same apartment we had last year.  Amazingly, we arrived at the apartment only 7 hours later than originally scheduled.  And after a good night’s sleep we were awakened by a taxi driver who said he was on his way with our luggage.  Who knows, maybe this Paris thing will work out well again???