- Wed 7-14: woke in Zürich, will sleep in Tübingen
- Tues 7-13: woke in Zürich, slept in Zürich
- Mon 7-12: woke on a mountain in Morzine-Avoriaz, hitchhiked to Zürich
- Sun 7-11: woke in a Holiday Inn Express in Geneva, slept on a mountain in the Alps, hitchhiked in between
- Sat 7-10: woke Chamonix, slept Geneva
- Fri 7-9: woke Annecy, slept Chamonix
- Thurs 7-8: woke Annecy, rode bikes with Lisa around lake, slept Annecy
- Wed 7-7: woke Lyon in 15th floor apartment owned by Olivier's brother, took train to Annecy, had to change trains several times because of a fire at a train station ahead, slept in Annecy
- Tues 7-6: woke at Olivier's near Pouilly-le-Monial, went to Georges Du Boeuf's winemaker's Disneyland, slept in Lyon
- Mon 7-5: woke at Olivier's, hiked around, went for frog legs, slept there
- Sun 7-4: woke in Lyon at a hotel, met Olivier at the train station in Villefranche-sur-Saone, slept at Olivier's
- Sat 7-3: woke in Blonay, Switzerland, slept in Lyon
- Fri 7-2: woke in Blonay, slept there
- Thurs 7-1: woke in Fribourg, Germany, mitfahren to Lausanne, train to Vevey, train to Blonay, walked right past Lisa who was sitting in a café, slept in Blonay
- Wed 6-30: woke in Hannover, mitfahren to Mannheim, hitchhiked to Fribourg
- Tues 6-29: woke in Hannover, slept there, found nude beach along the bike path
- Mon 6-28: woke in Hannover, slept there, did laundry
- Sun 6-27: woke in Cologne at a hostel, hitchhiked to Hannover, got picked up by the Polizei who gave me a ride
- Sat 6-26: woke in Luxembourg, was going to stay with someone in Wiesbaden but got no response, went to Cologne on a whim, got one good ride all the way north through Luxembourg and then to within spitting distance of Cologne
- Fri 6-25: woke in Luxembourg (well, really, Arlon, Belgium) and hiked across border with Quentin to save 8 bucks
- Thurs 6-24: woke in Antwerp, planned to meet Quentin at train station in Luxembourg, found a couch that morning, took train from Antwerp to Luxembourg, met Quentin and his bike, picnic in park, good Belgian beers, slept in...Arlon
- Wed 6-23: woke in Brussels, train to Antwerp, met friend from bike tour for lunch
- Tues 6-22: woke in Paris, hitchhiked to Brussels, first couchsurf with Mehdi.
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
a brief break down
I made a list of the the places I've been recently and thought you may find it helpful:
respite oasis: Zuerich
Things have been flying past the windows of the high-speed train so fast I almost can't make out the shapes of things, merely the threads of colors woven together. I'm in Zürich, but it seems almost moot since I'll be headed to Tübingen this afternoon with a ride share. It's worked out really well so far, but recently I've been getting a lot of "car's full" responses. But if it's not ride sharing, it's hitchhiking; and if it's not hitchhiking, it's taking the train. Methods of travel abound, crammed densely together like the towns piled on top of towns in the Swiss countryside. Or the German countryside. The French countryside seems a little more spread out, but I still like the density of each town, even if, en masse, they are further apart.
I've spent almost 2 days here and have gotten a good sense of the city. I think it would be really fun to go out in--there seem to be a lot of night clubs and the like--but as a city to visit, I don't think it merits much more time than a couple days.
First, it's expensive. I was desperate for some coffee (see how our addictions force us to go out there and interact with people) and found some restaurant with a woman drinking a cappuccino at the bar. Lots of Italian restaurants in Zürich, and this was the same. I realized that the coffee might be pretty expensive here compared to other places, and, sure enough, it was 5CHF. A Swiss franc is 90% of a dollar, so the exchange rate is in my favor, but still...90% of 5 is still $4.50 for an espresso. Turns out, though, that the same drink costs 4.50 CHF at Starbucks; the prices of things are just that high. Cheap restaurants have meal prices that start at 15 CHF, and I saw a burger at and Irish pub advertised for 25 CHF. So it is.
And there are bikes, though not as many as in Antwerp or even Paris. Probably about the same amount as in Chicago. The city's a little denser, so it's more apparent. But bikes are not the correct way to get around. There are bike lanes and other infrastructure, but the way around Zürich is the tram. Everything seems to bow down to the tram system, with it's streetcar tracks embedded in the pavement and spidery electrical cables overhead. The tracks are, in fact, a danger to cyclists, and the trains coming every couple of minutes make it difficult to walk around. The intersections, in general, seem to prioritize trams and cars over walkers, making walkers sometimes wait at 2, 3 or even 4 separate lights before crossing one street.
I finally found the Niederdorf area--the altstadt--which, though similar to a lot of other old cities I've been to, was nice to walk through. I got another coffee at this place called teecafé; a single was 4.60 and a double was 5.50 CHF. So I got a double--also because I needed it.
I took the tram several times with no ticket and had no problems. The first time was simply because I was too tired from hitchhiking and training and being outside all day and sleeping on a mountain to care. Just like in Geneva, nobody ever checked tickets. And then I found out that one ride costs 4 CHF! The problem with their system is that you don't even know if you're doing it right; there's no affirmation for playing by the rules. At least in Paris and Chicago there are barriers to cross that make you feel accepted by the system, even if it's simply mechanical feedback. At some point I realized that a day pass--24 hours--was only 8 CHF, so I finally started playing by the rules.
I've decided that Zürich, like Chicago, is a good place to live. Get a monthly pass on the tram, get a good job at a bank to pay the bills, and go swimming in the river at night. It seems like a good mix of hustle and bustle and tranquil family and friends time. But to visit, I think it's probably best to come in for the nightlife and then sleep all day.
I've spent almost 2 days here and have gotten a good sense of the city. I think it would be really fun to go out in--there seem to be a lot of night clubs and the like--but as a city to visit, I don't think it merits much more time than a couple days.
First, it's expensive. I was desperate for some coffee (see how our addictions force us to go out there and interact with people) and found some restaurant with a woman drinking a cappuccino at the bar. Lots of Italian restaurants in Zürich, and this was the same. I realized that the coffee might be pretty expensive here compared to other places, and, sure enough, it was 5CHF. A Swiss franc is 90% of a dollar, so the exchange rate is in my favor, but still...90% of 5 is still $4.50 for an espresso. Turns out, though, that the same drink costs 4.50 CHF at Starbucks; the prices of things are just that high. Cheap restaurants have meal prices that start at 15 CHF, and I saw a burger at and Irish pub advertised for 25 CHF. So it is.
And there are bikes, though not as many as in Antwerp or even Paris. Probably about the same amount as in Chicago. The city's a little denser, so it's more apparent. But bikes are not the correct way to get around. There are bike lanes and other infrastructure, but the way around Zürich is the tram. Everything seems to bow down to the tram system, with it's streetcar tracks embedded in the pavement and spidery electrical cables overhead. The tracks are, in fact, a danger to cyclists, and the trains coming every couple of minutes make it difficult to walk around. The intersections, in general, seem to prioritize trams and cars over walkers, making walkers sometimes wait at 2, 3 or even 4 separate lights before crossing one street.
I finally found the Niederdorf area--the altstadt--which, though similar to a lot of other old cities I've been to, was nice to walk through. I got another coffee at this place called teecafé; a single was 4.60 and a double was 5.50 CHF. So I got a double--also because I needed it.
I took the tram several times with no ticket and had no problems. The first time was simply because I was too tired from hitchhiking and training and being outside all day and sleeping on a mountain to care. Just like in Geneva, nobody ever checked tickets. And then I found out that one ride costs 4 CHF! The problem with their system is that you don't even know if you're doing it right; there's no affirmation for playing by the rules. At least in Paris and Chicago there are barriers to cross that make you feel accepted by the system, even if it's simply mechanical feedback. At some point I realized that a day pass--24 hours--was only 8 CHF, so I finally started playing by the rules.
I've decided that Zürich, like Chicago, is a good place to live. Get a monthly pass on the tram, get a good job at a bank to pay the bills, and go swimming in the river at night. It seems like a good mix of hustle and bustle and tranquil family and friends time. But to visit, I think it's probably best to come in for the nightlife and then sleep all day.
Friday, June 25, 2010
Lux
This all began in Antwerp, where I got a hold of Quentin and made plans to meet in Luxembourg. He picked some random town way in the north (like 37km north of the capital) and I planned on hitching or training to mee him. Alas, it was too difficult so I took the train to the capital directly and texted him to meet me at the station. It worked. Odd.
I had secured us a couch and a welcome picnic through the last minute couch list in Luxembourg. A Belgian responded and said he could host but lived 20 minutes out of town--like a suburb or something.
We walked in to town and found a nice ped-mall, a lot of banks, and a big park. Finally, an hour later, after a couple beers in the park, we met up with the picnic which was pretty awesome. People from all over, enough opportunity for me to speak French but everyone could speak english too for Quentin.
Many beers, Belgian ones, strong, and then I joined some frisbee players (I still got it). From 5:30 to 11 we hung out and ate and drank; pretty ideal.
Then, to a bar; some guy from the picnic paid for our beer as a "welcome" gesture--clearly the Luxembourgians don't get enough visitors--but then it was time to go catch the train to go home. In another country. In fact, we took the last train to Belgium, which the Luxebourgish see as a suburb of Luxembourg. Belgium?!?!?
Shit. I knew about this, in fact, before--that we had to sleep in Belgium, but Quentin was a little annoyed, having just left Belgium earlier that day. And then I was annoyed that it was 10€. Shit. It was only 1.50€ to take the train anywhere in Luxembourg. Clearly, crossing the border is expensive. But that much more?!?! The first in a string of unwelcome surprises. Annoyed.
Other surprises, though we got to the apartment at 12:30 am, Pierre had to work in the morning so we had to be out by 7am. Shit. But whatever. We made it, got up, even sneaked in a couple showers--but no breakfast. Then Pierre insisted on powerwalking to the train. So I said that we would say goodbye there and mosey. Yup, mosey. I don't know if he knows that word, but it's really the only perfect word for the situation. We moseyed and decided to avoid the extra border fee and to walk to the next small town in Luxembourg and only pay 1.50€. The hike, of course, ended up being more like 10km, 3 hours, through small towns and over hill and dale. Beautiful. We had a couple fence crossing incidents, but my antibiotic cream saved me from an infection. And I got a big blister. But we had a great time and got to catch up--a little bit of RAGBRAI on foot and in Europe. And sans parties. But lovely.
Luxembourg is nice but it's a little overrun with bratty, spoiled douchey teens. And it's beautiful out--totally summer--which is apparently not normal.
I had secured us a couch and a welcome picnic through the last minute couch list in Luxembourg. A Belgian responded and said he could host but lived 20 minutes out of town--like a suburb or something.
We walked in to town and found a nice ped-mall, a lot of banks, and a big park. Finally, an hour later, after a couple beers in the park, we met up with the picnic which was pretty awesome. People from all over, enough opportunity for me to speak French but everyone could speak english too for Quentin.
Many beers, Belgian ones, strong, and then I joined some frisbee players (I still got it). From 5:30 to 11 we hung out and ate and drank; pretty ideal.
Then, to a bar; some guy from the picnic paid for our beer as a "welcome" gesture--clearly the Luxembourgians don't get enough visitors--but then it was time to go catch the train to go home. In another country. In fact, we took the last train to Belgium, which the Luxebourgish see as a suburb of Luxembourg. Belgium?!?!?
Shit. I knew about this, in fact, before--that we had to sleep in Belgium, but Quentin was a little annoyed, having just left Belgium earlier that day. And then I was annoyed that it was 10€. Shit. It was only 1.50€ to take the train anywhere in Luxembourg. Clearly, crossing the border is expensive. But that much more?!?! The first in a string of unwelcome surprises. Annoyed.
Other surprises, though we got to the apartment at 12:30 am, Pierre had to work in the morning so we had to be out by 7am. Shit. But whatever. We made it, got up, even sneaked in a couple showers--but no breakfast. Then Pierre insisted on powerwalking to the train. So I said that we would say goodbye there and mosey. Yup, mosey. I don't know if he knows that word, but it's really the only perfect word for the situation. We moseyed and decided to avoid the extra border fee and to walk to the next small town in Luxembourg and only pay 1.50€. The hike, of course, ended up being more like 10km, 3 hours, through small towns and over hill and dale. Beautiful. We had a couple fence crossing incidents, but my antibiotic cream saved me from an infection. And I got a big blister. But we had a great time and got to catch up--a little bit of RAGBRAI on foot and in Europe. And sans parties. But lovely.
Luxembourg is nice but it's a little overrun with bratty, spoiled douchey teens. And it's beautiful out--totally summer--which is apparently not normal.
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
Paris->Bruxelles = priceless
It's for days like today that I'm glad I have this blog.
To begin with, I was really starting to have a less than nice time in Paris. All I wanted was to create a little social circle for 2 weeks, meets lots of people and then leave. Is that so much to ask?
Really, though, what got me the most were the broken plans. Genre: I'll meet you at 19h...actually 21h...actually I'm not going to respond to my phone anymore. False promises partout.
I think it's like any big city; people are busy, stressed out, and don't have time for a travelling foreigner with all the time in the world.
Speaking of all the time in the world: I hitchhiked from Paris to Belgium in less than 7 hours.
I started by taking the train to Gallieni, the terminus of the line 3, the one I used to take when I lived near Gambetta. It was like old times. Ironically, the bus line Eurolines is situated at the same station, something I didn't realize until the map in myPhone told me. I spent a good 15 minutes at the entrance to the A3 but didn't feel good about the prospects: people seemed amenable but were going in the wrong direction. So I moved. I walked east, over a stupidly big hill with my stupidly heavy bag and carry on and found the next entrance. I felt better that this time, at least, everyone was going my way; it wasore a matter of finding someone amenable. After not more than 5 minutes, voilà!
The guy spoke French rapidly and with abandon, hard to understand, so I took what i could make out and ran with it. He was adopted from Brazil by Belgian parents but lived 100 km NE of Paris. He mentioned how in that region the society is very closed and his parents had difficulty getting accepted. He was about my age, drove a car that, in the states I would have called a pimped out Honda civic, and was a truck driver. I disabused him of his misconceptions about chicago, and he left me at a toll booth.
I thought this would be a good place too and so waited. I tried out a couple different places but to no avail. After about the 4th place, I decided to get away from the autoroute and try some county roads. I walked a km to a rondpoint and hardly had time to stick out my thumb when a chainsmoking gardener former pharmacist stopped and offered a ride. 20km later, he left me at an intersection that seemed even more remote. I had little hope but was open to the possibility.
Sure enough, the first car to pass was this retired guy who took me only 5 km north.
I put myself at a crossroads and waited around. This time, I figured I was in the best place possible and so waited and waited. And waited. None of the people passing even fit the stereotype of one who would dare pick up an autostoppeur. After 45 min or more, I walked north. I thought maybe I would appear more amenable while walking. Nope. Made it 3km (did I mention my heavy bag?) and stood for a while at another crossroads with a lot more traffic and potential.
Finally, the drought ended when some handyman or electrician stopped, even saying, didn't i see you at that other village? Yup. So he actually went a little out of his way and dropped me off right back at the A1 headed towards Belgium. Back on course. This time, there was a nice shady place to sit (did I mention it was sunny and beautiful the whole day?) and wrote out "Belg" on a piece if paper.
15 min later, this guy stops in a relatively nice Peugot and, though reluctant seeming at first, agrees to take me to the Belgian border. Awesome. Now I finally feel again that I might actually make it, that I won't have to sleep on the side of the road. I came to terms with that reality but was happy not to resort to that.
We have a really interesting convo, still a lot of me disbusing notions, and he deposes me at a gas station at the frontier, still 70km to go.
I was confident in my location but not in the time of day. It was getting to be 7pm at this point and I was seeing a dearth of potential rides: men alone in their car. Lots of couples, families, whatever. I was talking to some Arab guys at one point--of the lowclass variety--and one guy said they could take me to Liege, at 30km fron Brux. I didnt feel quite right with the situation, especially when one of them said: could you help with gas? 5€? I was ok with this. But then when I said ok, he said: well how about 10€? awkward. At one point i had my bags in the trunk almost ready to go but ended up deciding against it.
Then came the best ride. A real Belgian, who does official visits of Bruxelles for dignitaries (and apparently Lady Gaga). Our conversation mostly consisted of him going on about politics or whatever--all very interesting considering the political turmoil in Belgium right now.
He, like most everyone else, was grateful for me coming along, breaking up the monotony of the journey. And his monotony must have been great; he was driving up from Barcelona. 13hrs plus stops.
And then he took me all the way to Mehdi's, out of his way. Then I got fed, was given Pastis, and offered pot. People are such wonderful creatures.
To begin with, I was really starting to have a less than nice time in Paris. All I wanted was to create a little social circle for 2 weeks, meets lots of people and then leave. Is that so much to ask?
Really, though, what got me the most were the broken plans. Genre: I'll meet you at 19h...actually 21h...actually I'm not going to respond to my phone anymore. False promises partout.
I think it's like any big city; people are busy, stressed out, and don't have time for a travelling foreigner with all the time in the world.
Speaking of all the time in the world: I hitchhiked from Paris to Belgium in less than 7 hours.
I started by taking the train to Gallieni, the terminus of the line 3, the one I used to take when I lived near Gambetta. It was like old times. Ironically, the bus line Eurolines is situated at the same station, something I didn't realize until the map in myPhone told me. I spent a good 15 minutes at the entrance to the A3 but didn't feel good about the prospects: people seemed amenable but were going in the wrong direction. So I moved. I walked east, over a stupidly big hill with my stupidly heavy bag and carry on and found the next entrance. I felt better that this time, at least, everyone was going my way; it wasore a matter of finding someone amenable. After not more than 5 minutes, voilà!
The guy spoke French rapidly and with abandon, hard to understand, so I took what i could make out and ran with it. He was adopted from Brazil by Belgian parents but lived 100 km NE of Paris. He mentioned how in that region the society is very closed and his parents had difficulty getting accepted. He was about my age, drove a car that, in the states I would have called a pimped out Honda civic, and was a truck driver. I disabused him of his misconceptions about chicago, and he left me at a toll booth.
I thought this would be a good place too and so waited. I tried out a couple different places but to no avail. After about the 4th place, I decided to get away from the autoroute and try some county roads. I walked a km to a rondpoint and hardly had time to stick out my thumb when a chainsmoking gardener former pharmacist stopped and offered a ride. 20km later, he left me at an intersection that seemed even more remote. I had little hope but was open to the possibility.
Sure enough, the first car to pass was this retired guy who took me only 5 km north.
I put myself at a crossroads and waited around. This time, I figured I was in the best place possible and so waited and waited. And waited. None of the people passing even fit the stereotype of one who would dare pick up an autostoppeur. After 45 min or more, I walked north. I thought maybe I would appear more amenable while walking. Nope. Made it 3km (did I mention my heavy bag?) and stood for a while at another crossroads with a lot more traffic and potential.
Finally, the drought ended when some handyman or electrician stopped, even saying, didn't i see you at that other village? Yup. So he actually went a little out of his way and dropped me off right back at the A1 headed towards Belgium. Back on course. This time, there was a nice shady place to sit (did I mention it was sunny and beautiful the whole day?) and wrote out "Belg" on a piece if paper.
15 min later, this guy stops in a relatively nice Peugot and, though reluctant seeming at first, agrees to take me to the Belgian border. Awesome. Now I finally feel again that I might actually make it, that I won't have to sleep on the side of the road. I came to terms with that reality but was happy not to resort to that.
We have a really interesting convo, still a lot of me disbusing notions, and he deposes me at a gas station at the frontier, still 70km to go.
I was confident in my location but not in the time of day. It was getting to be 7pm at this point and I was seeing a dearth of potential rides: men alone in their car. Lots of couples, families, whatever. I was talking to some Arab guys at one point--of the lowclass variety--and one guy said they could take me to Liege, at 30km fron Brux. I didnt feel quite right with the situation, especially when one of them said: could you help with gas? 5€? I was ok with this. But then when I said ok, he said: well how about 10€? awkward. At one point i had my bags in the trunk almost ready to go but ended up deciding against it.
Then came the best ride. A real Belgian, who does official visits of Bruxelles for dignitaries (and apparently Lady Gaga). Our conversation mostly consisted of him going on about politics or whatever--all very interesting considering the political turmoil in Belgium right now.
He, like most everyone else, was grateful for me coming along, breaking up the monotony of the journey. And his monotony must have been great; he was driving up from Barcelona. 13hrs plus stops.
And then he took me all the way to Mehdi's, out of his way. Then I got fed, was given Pastis, and offered pot. People are such wonderful creatures.
Sunday, June 20, 2010
Saturnicity
Saturday began with me finding 2€ in the street. I felt much better but still had a fleeting scratchy throat that made it even harder to speak French with a believable accent. I'd gotten to the point where people in boulangeries and cafes didn't think twice, didn't even notice how great it is that a Yankee could speak their language. I was tempted to inform them that I was in fact American [there was a period there that people were telling me that, if anything, my accent sounded German], especially when I was sitting next a couple American couples who ordered everything in English, not even attempting to read the French.
Things haven't been going as swimmingly as I would like, but maybe it's more a matter of letting the currents take me. Finding synchronicities, good fortunes, happy accidents are always good signs that I'm on the right path even if it's a path I wouldn't have chosen.
The lessons we need to learn aren't always the ones we want to learn.
So continuing Saturday's fortunes/misfortunes, I was supposed to meet a friend for drinks and then go to a party. But, at the last minute, I got a text that cancelled the plans, citing a feeling of unwellness.
And, surprisingly, I felt actually disappointed, realizing that I haven't actually had too many plans or adventures in the past several days--first being deprived of energie from the cold, second just not finding people--and was looking forward to something that could be cool.
It could also be not cool, but at least it would be new, foreign, and so at least somewhat interesting.
But a door closes, a window opens.
I called my friend Clément who had also mentioned something going on, and he was in the metro on his way already. He asked where I was and had me meet him on the quai, the platform?, of the metro where our two lines would intersect on the way. It didn't seem like the easiest plan, but it worked out; arrived at the station literally 2 minutes before he did.
When things work out like that, it makes me happy.
So we went to this thing, which he explained as a having to do with his girlfriend's highschool friends and "fanfares". Whatever that is.
Turns out, it was a super unassuming space in the villified banlieu [Clément was surpised it was so nice en banlieu], but the people waiting in line to get in all seemed like they were going to some art-music-danceparty--chic but cool.
And it was, in fact, a competition between "fanfares", which ended up being a lot like Emvironmental Encroachment" or "Mucca Pazza" in Chicago but mostly playing covers of pop songs: coldplay, nirvana, etc. My favorite was when the emcee introduced a song as Terre, Vent, Feu!
And it was pretty amazing. Some pretty tight groups, others more theatrical, one that just sucked, but most were pretty good. What a surprise, inattendu.
I put some pictures up on FB and made a recording on myPhone. Good times.
Things haven't been going as swimmingly as I would like, but maybe it's more a matter of letting the currents take me. Finding synchronicities, good fortunes, happy accidents are always good signs that I'm on the right path even if it's a path I wouldn't have chosen.
The lessons we need to learn aren't always the ones we want to learn.
So continuing Saturday's fortunes/misfortunes, I was supposed to meet a friend for drinks and then go to a party. But, at the last minute, I got a text that cancelled the plans, citing a feeling of unwellness.
And, surprisingly, I felt actually disappointed, realizing that I haven't actually had too many plans or adventures in the past several days--first being deprived of energie from the cold, second just not finding people--and was looking forward to something that could be cool.
It could also be not cool, but at least it would be new, foreign, and so at least somewhat interesting.
But a door closes, a window opens.
I called my friend Clément who had also mentioned something going on, and he was in the metro on his way already. He asked where I was and had me meet him on the quai, the platform?, of the metro where our two lines would intersect on the way. It didn't seem like the easiest plan, but it worked out; arrived at the station literally 2 minutes before he did.
When things work out like that, it makes me happy.
So we went to this thing, which he explained as a having to do with his girlfriend's highschool friends and "fanfares". Whatever that is.
Turns out, it was a super unassuming space in the villified banlieu [Clément was surpised it was so nice en banlieu], but the people waiting in line to get in all seemed like they were going to some art-music-danceparty--chic but cool.
And it was, in fact, a competition between "fanfares", which ended up being a lot like Emvironmental Encroachment" or "Mucca Pazza" in Chicago but mostly playing covers of pop songs: coldplay, nirvana, etc. My favorite was when the emcee introduced a song as Terre, Vent, Feu!
And it was pretty amazing. Some pretty tight groups, others more theatrical, one that just sucked, but most were pretty good. What a surprise, inattendu.
I put some pictures up on FB and made a recording on myPhone. Good times.
Friday, June 18, 2010
Odeur pt. deux
Still on the smell thing: the parc where I get my internet fix has its own smell, subtle but revolting. I hardly noticed it at first but now the slightest whiff makes me feel dead inside. It's something like rubber--of the burning variety--and it seems to be mostly localized around the playground area, probably emanating from the rubbery "safety floor" that has replaced stones or woodchips in parks around the world. It's an even trade: no more infected wounds for a mild exposure to VOCs.
Thursday, June 17, 2010
distilled
Ah the smells of Paris. To be fair, I wasn't smelling so hot when I arrived: 2 days of travel, sleeping awkwardly in the plane, not really eating but nibbling. But there's no competition with Paris.
While I may not love the smell of the metro, it's pretty unique and always brings back happy memories. That said, however, the offensively pungent stench of whatever the "clochards" have left behind is something I could do without. It goes so far beyond a quizzically tangy urine smell: it's almost as if the clochards are embarking on some secretive distillation of bodily essences. It's like the walls themselves have absorbed years and years of vagrant piss and are now giving it back. It's like karma: for all the years we have ignored the homeless, now we have to suffer the consequences.
But it's not just the homeless. Lots of people do it. I learned that public drinking is not technically legal but is tolerated in certain areas. One of those places must be on the westernmost point of Ile de la cité. There, I saw at least a dozen couples romantically picnicing on the banks of the Seine, a couple groups, and, of course, some drunks. (the problem
in France isn't so much public drinking so much as public alcoholism.) All those festivities were on the south side of the island, being in the sun, but as soon as I turned the corner, in the shade, I found several fresh pungent puddles.
This tolerance is instilled in the French very young. As I was typing this, sitting in a public park called "Square René Legall", I saw several nannies, all of African descent, take their toddlers over to the grass to piss. "Tu dois faire peepee?"
And then there's body odor, which I don't yet understand. All I know is that my own body seems to be more vulgar than usual. Maybe it's and infectious disease? Maybe it's the fromage "puant"? Maybe it's part of my continuing effort to fit in.
And there's also the pollution which is pretty much how I rememeber it but so much worse than Chicago. And smoking. Which is no longer legal in cafes and bars (and has caused a decline in frequentation) but is still all over: on the teraces of cafes, the apartments of friends, at open-air picnics. Neither is good for this pestering cough that I've been fighting for a couple days now.
While I may not love the smell of the metro, it's pretty unique and always brings back happy memories. That said, however, the offensively pungent stench of whatever the "clochards" have left behind is something I could do without. It goes so far beyond a quizzically tangy urine smell: it's almost as if the clochards are embarking on some secretive distillation of bodily essences. It's like the walls themselves have absorbed years and years of vagrant piss and are now giving it back. It's like karma: for all the years we have ignored the homeless, now we have to suffer the consequences.
But it's not just the homeless. Lots of people do it. I learned that public drinking is not technically legal but is tolerated in certain areas. One of those places must be on the westernmost point of Ile de la cité. There, I saw at least a dozen couples romantically picnicing on the banks of the Seine, a couple groups, and, of course, some drunks. (the problem
in France isn't so much public drinking so much as public alcoholism.) All those festivities were on the south side of the island, being in the sun, but as soon as I turned the corner, in the shade, I found several fresh pungent puddles.
This tolerance is instilled in the French very young. As I was typing this, sitting in a public park called "Square René Legall", I saw several nannies, all of African descent, take their toddlers over to the grass to piss. "Tu dois faire peepee?"
And then there's body odor, which I don't yet understand. All I know is that my own body seems to be more vulgar than usual. Maybe it's and infectious disease? Maybe it's the fromage "puant"? Maybe it's part of my continuing effort to fit in.
And there's also the pollution which is pretty much how I rememeber it but so much worse than Chicago. And smoking. Which is no longer legal in cafes and bars (and has caused a decline in frequentation) but is still all over: on the teraces of cafes, the apartments of friends, at open-air picnics. Neither is good for this pestering cough that I've been fighting for a couple days now.
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