A Real, Live Frenchman

Bonjour de Tours!

We arrived in the Loire Valley, Sarah's former stomping grounds, early this afternoon. The river and cityscape here in Tours are lovely, despite the overcast, tepid weather. We hope to get some brighter days ahead when we venture out to the chateaux and vinyards. Thus far, we've established our bearings and plan to go out this evening for drinks at one of the numerous pubs located in Tours's scenic, pedestrian-exclusive centre. Around 25,000 students attend the university here, so there are plenty of places to grab a beer or apperitif. We're enjoying the lower prices here, as compared to Paris, and also the pure, easy to comprehend French dialect.

People in the Loire, by national reputation, speak the truest form of the French language. Personally, I can really tell a difference. After only a few hours, I'm already speaking a lot more of the native tongue in this area. The locals are much more patient, and their clear, well-enunciated accents are music to my ears! I had my longest sustained conversation yet this afternoon with a French nun at the Basilica dedicated to St. Martin of Tours. I told her all about our trip so far, and she said she'd pray for us while we are in Russia. She was a very sweet lady, and I really appreciated that she took the time to let me speak some French with her. C'etait tres sympa!

Now for the update on our final days in Paris. We were definitely spoiled for the last 48 hours because we had a real, live Frenchman to do all of our speaking and negotiating for us. We met Thomas back in the summer of 2006 while working in Rocky Mountain National Park in Colorado. We became good friends with him and always hoped that we'd meet again, preferably on his turf. He now lives in Valence, near Lyons, but made the trip up to hang out with us for a couple of days in Paris. It was great to Thomas after four years. We had a wonderful time!

The afternoon of Thomas's arrival was, as has been typical for our stay in France thus far, overcast, chilly, and intermittently rainy. The weather did hold off long enough for us to make it to the top of the Eiffel Tower, something Thomas had never done before despite the fact that he lived in Paris for five years or so before relocating to the South. We climbed the stairs to the second floor, then took the elevator all the way to the top. My head was spinning a little bit during that ascent; the top is farther up than it seems. The heights didn't sit so well with Thomas. At the top, he started to turn a little green. The observation platform was also packed with people, so enjoying the view took some patience. Still, it was very cool, and a must-do during any visit to Paris.

I'm glad we went up the tower when we did because we were able to witness a pretty rowdy public demonstration occurring in the streets below, on a bridge crossing the Seine to the Trocadero. For those of you who don't know, Europeans take their football (soccer) very seriously. Currently, the World Cup, which only occurs every four years, is in full swing in South Africa. The afternoon of our climb up the Eiffel Tower, Algeria had just lost their game to Slovenia. Many of the Algerian fans (Algeria is a former French colony, so their are lots of Algerians in Paris.) had been watching the game on a huge screen that the city set up on the lawn in front of the Trocadero. After the devastating defeat, the fans stormed a nearby bridge, screaming, waving Algerian flags, and causing a general ruckus. Let me tell you, I'm glad we were above the street and not on it. Traffic on the bridge came to a standstill, and the rioters began climbing on top of peoples' cars. They took a double-decker tour bus by storm, scaling the sides and sending frightened tourists running every which way. (Of course, whoever takes those bus tours deserves to be accosted.) It was one of the craziest scenes I've ever witnessed. Eventually the "bad-ass cops that they save only for breaking up this kind of stuff," as Thomas described them, showed up and ran off the mob. For the rest of the evening, as we walked the streets, we saw Algerian fans everywhere being stopped by police. It was some rowdy stuff.

The next day, we took a not-so-scenic walk through a residential area of Paris to visit the Bureau des Objets Trouves (the police department housing the bureau of found objects) where we hoped someone had brought John's wallet. No such luck. Tant pis. We were grateful for Thomas's help; he did everything he could to make sure we covered all bases in the search. He also helped us inquire at the metro station where he spoke some rapid French that John desperately tried to follow. Eventually, John turned to me and said, "I think I'm out of luck. I heard her say "la poubelle." That means "trash." :(

After these unsuccessful inquiries, we rode the metro out to Pere Lachaise cemetery where a number of famous French people are buried. However, it is best known to tourists as the final resting place of Jim Morrison, who died under suspicious circumstances (well, let's be honest, it was probably a heroin overdose) while in Paris with his girlfriend. We got off the metro into a full-blown thunderstorm, so we rushed into a nearby cafe for overpriced crepes and coffee and shelter from the storm. Once the rain let up, the weather became quite nice, and we enjoyed a good walk amongst the gravestones. We found Jim, and we saw a really great orange kitty that reminded us of Natty.

Last night, Thomas called up a couple of his Parisienne lady friends and we went out for dinner. Here is the cool part: apparently, there is a website in France that features one restaurant each month. The only place this restaurant is advertised is on this website. There aren't even any special signs when you get there. The surprise: all the food is 50% off! Hooray!!! So, John and I got to enjoy a fabulous French bistro experience with real French people without stressing over prices. Okay, you know it's coming...here's what we had.

1) Carpaccio de boeuf: Paper thin slices of raw beef, topped with basil pesto and shaved parmesan.

2) Kate: Filet de Dorade (some sort of white fish) with fresh salsa and sauteed spinach. The fish was reminiscent of trout -- white flesh, but a nice, fishy flavor.
2) John: I bet you know what he ate...filet de boeuf. With tender baby potatoes in butter and ricotta. I didn't tell him he was eating ricotta until AFTER the meal. :)

3) Kate: Palet ou chocolat (chocolate lava cake) with kiwi and cactus flower ice cream. Odd flavor combo, but it worked!
3) John: Mousse au Chocolat Blanc with fresh berries and mint. Tres riche!

We had a lovely, delicious meal, and great conversation with Thomas and his friends. It was certainly one of the more memorable meals that I've had traveling, and it's always great to sample cuisine that is traditional, yet of the moment as well. Haute cuisine. The experience was a great ending to our time in Paris, and we had a blast with Thomas. He's great fun!

More to come from Tours! Love you all!

Sight-Seeing and Beef-Eating

La nouvelle de Paris:

We had a marathon of a day yesterday, and the first good weather since we got here. It was sunny and breezy all day long, perfect for walking the streets. We began at Notre Dame de Paris, probably the most famous (and also the largest) cathedral in Paris. Like Sacre Coeur, this church is constructed in the Gothic style, meaning that the interior is a striking contrast between stark, almost rustic, stone columns and ceilings and the delicate, diaphanous stained glass. Notably, at Notre Dame, "flying buttresses" were invented in order to support the heavy structure while also allowing for walls thin enough to display colorful panels of stained glass. The result is quite breathtaking. We were lucky to have the sunshine to illuminate the beautiful windows. The lighting was also ideal for taking pictures of the various facades. We visited the room of treasures housing various holy relics, including a piece of the true cross. Also kept at Notre Dame is Jesus's crown of thorns. However, it is only on display Good Friday and the first Friday of every month. We were able to discern its outline in a red, glass reliquary in one of the chapels. I wish we could have seen it. Our museum pass covered a climb to the top of the towers, but the line was enormous. We probably would have waited over an hour. As we wandered past the line, looking oblivious and sweaty, a little dude dressed like Quasimodo ran up behind John and grabbed his hand. John turned his head, expecting to see me, and then screamed when he saw the masked creature. Everyone in line for the towers cracked up. John just about had a heart attack. It was hilarious.

Near Notre Dame is another notable church called Sainte Chapelle. It is one of the oldest structures in Paris, dating back to the 13th century. The upper chapel is home to some absolutely stunning, and numerous, stained glass windows. There are over 1200 different Biblical and courtly scenes depicted there. It is truly overwhelming, a literal bath in colored light. Medieval art is often overlooked; this period is typically referred to as "The Dark Ages." The lightness of this place certainly counters this assumption, as does the plethora of Medieval works we saw today in the Cluny, but more on that later. Sainte Chapelle is one of the most beautiful places I've ever been, a truly universal experience that celebrates beauty and spirituality.

Also on Ile de la Cite (the location of the aforementioned sites) is the Conciergerie. A medieval palace built in the 13th century on the fortified island, the Conciergerie is best known as the prison where criminals of the French Revolution were kept before their executions. The main chamber of the palace is very well-preserved, and the rest has been reconstructed to represent the experience of a typical prisoner during the Revolution. The museum privileges the experience of one captive, however, that being Marie Antoinette. The exhibits are filled with cheesy-looking mannequins, posing as dejected souls awaiting their deaths. A model of Marie Antoinette sits with her back to the viewer, veiled in black, praying to a small crucifix. It's pretty creepy. The whole aura of that place is pretty messed up, in fact. Over 2700 prisoners passed through there before having their heads chopped off. The violence of that era is staggering, and, with the luxury of historical perspective, rather pointless. The ultimate result of the Revolution was Napoleon -- not quite a portrait of republican ideals. It's horrifying to think that so many people lost their lives in the name of a cause that never really came to fruition. The futility of it all really causes one to consider contemporary political and global endeavors. What sort of cause is worth dying for, or, to be sure, worth killing for? It's a sobering question.

Speaking of death, we also visited Paris's Pantheon yesterday. This domed monument houses the remains of numerous notable French figures including Emile Zola, Victor Hugo, Alexandre Dumas, Marie & Pierre Curie, Voltaire, etc... Hanging from the dome is Foucault's pendulum, a sort of time-keeping device that proves the earth's rotation on an axis. That's about all the science I can give you on that one. I couldn't really figure out what the hell was going on with that thing. It was cool though! This place was pretty weird in terms of purpose. Depending upon who was in power over the years, this monument has celebrated religion, enlightenment ideals (science, nature, the free will of man), or both. There is iconography depicting Saint Genvieve (patron saint of Paris) juxtaposed with monuments to Diderot and the values of the Revolution. Joan of Arc next to Saint-Exupery. A pendulum near a crucifix. It is truly schizophrenic. I don't think the place knows what it wants to be, and the French surely can't decide. All in all, though, it was lovely, and the stone crypts were cool and shady on a hot day.

Concluding our marathon (we didn't do the above activities in the order presented, we had to run back and forth between arrondissements all day long because stuff was closed and then open again, blah blah blah...), we wandered down to the Centre Pompidou, or National Gallery of Modern Art. I love this place. It's in a quirky neighborhood with lots of shops, cafes, and street performers. Also, the building itself is built inside out. All the pipes and structural supports are visible on the exterior of the building, while the inside is smooth and pristine. White walls, white floors, perfectly aligned galleries. There is also a really cool escalator that runs up the outside of the building inside a clear tube. It's like being in The Jetsons or something. The views of Paris are spectacular as you ascend. We could see everything from Sacre Coeur to La Tour Eiffel to Notre Dame. The art wasn't bad, either. Pompidou's collections are vast and cleverly organized. We enjoyed some thoroughly bizarre contemporary exhibits as well as some modern classics: Matisse, Duchamp, Dubuffet, and PLENTY of Picasso. I think that man made like five paintings a day or something. There are thousands!

Famished, we continued back to the Montparnasse (our neighborhood) for some soupe a l'oignon a gratinee (French onion soup). We also had a nice cold green bean salad and beers that cost 10E each. Can anyone say "tourist trap?" We didn't mind, though. The soup was good, as was the people watching. Unfortunately, we were sitting next to the most awful group of Americans that I've encountered on this trip. One of them had lived in Paris for quite some time (You know I'm unabashedly nosy; I listened to their whole conversation.), yet he spoke no French!!! His parents were there, and had spent their day on a bus tour (yikes). The mom complained about the prices of EVERYTHING, as well as the service, as well as the people smoking cigarettes. She bitched and bitched and bitched. She tried to complain to the waiter about God knows what, in English, and the son was just mortified. I wanted to slap her, and her whole family. They had absolutely no regard for the possibility that perhaps the American way of doing things isn't the ONLY way. She was an embarrassment. John and I try very hard to be accommodating and respectful. These people just didn't care. It was really sad. We enjoyed our soup anyway.

We slept in today, then rode the metro out to a palace/aquarium. (Yes, it was neater than shit.) The exhibits were very cool, and John thought the whole experience was a great form of birth control...rowdy children everywhere. John called them "little frogs." I thought they were precious. After the aquarium (pretty standard, no need to elaborate), we rode back into the central city to visit the Cluny museum. The Cluny houses only works of art from the Medieval Period, including some of the marbles that were pillaged from the facade of Notre Dame during the Revolution. The most exciting exhibit in the museum displays the tapestries of The Lady and the Unicorn. These anomalous works of art were once displayed in the bedroom of a Medieval castle, and, though veiled, are meant as a lesson for a new bride on the importance of virtue and the preservation of a family's good name. I learned about a few different interpretations of these tapestries in my studies with Anne Harris at DePauw. Just to demonstrate how convoluted the message can be, consider this: in Medieval times, a unicorn could be two different things, Jesus or a lover. Riddle me that. It's all kinds of weird. The tapestries were as beautiful as I remember from my last trip to the Cluny. We also saw some other great Medieval artifacts, including a sweet rolling sculpture of Jesus on a mule. It was a great visit.

After the Cluny, we had a crepe sucre in the Luxembourg gardens, took a nice walk, and then went to dinner at Polidor. This was our major French feast. It was AMAZING! Polidor is a bustling eatery tucked away in an intimate, dim space originally used as a wine cave. They offer a selection of special house wines, as well as a full menu of all the rustic French classics. John and I ordered a bottle of vin rouge, a mescaline salad, and the cote de boeuf, which was essentially a giant, wonderfully fatty, bone-in ribeye slow roasted. This steak is so big, you can only order it if you have two people there to eat it. It came out resting in a pool of its own juices, along with a thick velvety gravy, garnished with roasted tomatoes sprinkled with sauteed garlic and herbes de Provence. In true French style, fries were served on the side. This piece of meat was superlative. It tasted more gamey than American beef, was well marbled, and benefited nicely from the slow cooking. It was like a cross between charred sirloin and pot roast. The flavor was spectacular. We topped off our meal with some house-made ice cream and chocolate mousse. This was a very French experience, and one of the most successful meals I've had abroad. I couldn't be more pleased. Aside from the fact that the toilet was an outdoor hole in the floor, literally (I think some old man watched me pee through the crack in the door...disturbing.) , it was absolutely perfect.

A maintenant, c'est tout! That's all for now. We hope all is well in the States. Love you!

Art, Food, and Sweaty Pits

Salut, tout le monde!

Our museum passes have been activated, and we're off! Yesterday, we began at the Rodin Museum, located on the grounds of a former hotel. The building that houses the works is old and fragrant, with creaky wooden floors, grand staircases, and elegant decor. Surrounding the depository are beautiful, well-kept gardens -- roses, lilacs, artistically pruned shrubbery, and, of course, notable bronze works by Auguste Rodin. You'll know him as the guy who made The Thinker. Some of his other famous ones include The Kiss, The Burghurs of Calais, and The Gates of Hell. Rodin's work is very interesting because of the vague eroticism present in each work, regardless of subject matter. His technique echoes that of Bernini, who was a master when it came to transforming cold, hard marble into forms that appear to give and undulate like flesh.Rodin 's obsession with the human form is apparent inside this museum where rooms lead to more rooms and still more rooms filled only with figurative sculpture. Rodin was unbelievably prolific as an artist, and the hundreds upon hundreds of objects that he left behind poignantly narrate his evolution. A trip to the Rodin museum is truly an artful and meaningful experience because of the beauty inherent to the space itself, as well as the overwhelming sense of humility one feels in the presence of such a vast catalogue of work.

A side note: While strolling the gardens at Rodin, I asked a lady to take our picture. We soon realized that she was wearing a Bob Dylan t-shirt, and that she spoke English. John, of course, felt compelled to strike up a conversation with this woman who referred to her t-shirt as "Psycho Bob." She was quite the globetrotter, traveling country to country to see Dylan concerts. Very hard core. She'll be seeing him in Prague next week. Of course, John is a little bummed about the timing.

After Rodin, we walked over to Les Invalides, a famous former military hospital and site of Napoleon's tomb. There was also a war museum in the compound that we just had to go to because it was included in our museum pass. Guns, military uniforms, miniature battle models, armor, etc... Yipee. Wow. How interesting. (insert sarcasm here, or, as the French would say, "Boff.") John didn't make me stay in there too long. Moving on, if you aren't familiar with Napoleon's tomb then trust me, it's worse than you could possibly imagine. The whole thing is a monument to the most severe case of Little Man Syndrome ever to occur on this earth. He had a giant gilded dome constructed, beneath which rests his sarcophagus, carved from some variety of very rare red stone. Above his resting place is a fancy altar, complete with a gaudy, bejeweled crucifix. Apparently, Mr. Bonaparte though Jesus had nothing on him. The human ego can be frightening.

After making lots of off-color jokes about Napoleon, we proceeded to the Musee d'Orsay. Here, vast, sprawling collections of Impressionist and Post-Impressionist paintings are on display inside of what used to be a train station. In case you don't know already, people love them some Impressionism. This place was busier than the Louvre (which we braved today). I don't mean to be snobby, here, but how many water lilies can you look at before you go crazy? I've seen more than my fair share of this era in art, as has John, so we tried to seek out some of the more unique works that we're familiar with. We saw some lovely paintings from Gauguin's Tahiti period -- very cool. The museum also has a great collection of Degas -- the guy who paints ballerinas. He's one of my favorites. We saw some good ones from Toulouse-Lautrec, too. Olympia and Dejeuner sur l'Herbe were two highlights for me. Both were painted by Edouard Manet and mark the beginning of something different for the French Academy, sparking the movement that would eventually be named Impressionism. Oblivious tourists reigned supreme in this museum. Despite the chaos, we really enjoyed ourselves.

The best part of our visit to d'Orsay was a special exhibit called "Crime and Punishment." This collection featured paintings dealing with the gamut of offenses against humanity. Some of the works re-imagined Biblical and literary murders. Others represented important, if violent, moments in the French revolution. There were a few rooms devoted to the criminal mind and degenerate art. Also on display were newspaper articles across the centuries publicizing heinous crimes. We saw some of the first crime scene photography and a real live gullotine (that one made my skin crawl a little bit). The most interesting part of this exhibit was the collection of works devoted to Jean-Paul Marat, a radical, muckraking journalist of the French Revolution who was murdered in his bathtub by loyalist Charlotte Corday. Neo-classical artist Jacques-Louis David created an eerie, iconic painting depicting his murder that is rarely on display in major cities. This elusive treasure was part of the "Crime and Punishment" exhibit, and a definite highlight of our trip so far. The whole exhibition was sobering and shocking. The unabashed brutality and grotesqueness of the works on display made this a truly unique and affective experience. Also included were two William Blake etchings, a real prize since we were sad to miss them at the Tate in London.

After d'Orsay, and a long day of getting rained on and sweating through our clothes in the muggy, humid Parisian air, we freshened up and walked over to Randy and Diana's place for dinner. They are the owners of this fabulous apartment and friends of Margie and David. Diana prepared a superlative, traditional French meal including duck confit. It was absolutely delicious -- like rich, salty, intensely flavorful dark meat chicken. On the side, she served a nice salad and roasted potatoes. Here's something to love about this country -- all taters get dipped in mayonnaise. That's my kind of eating. We had lots of great wine, sampled some stinky cheese, and had pastisse, a traditional anise-flavored spirit from Provence typically served after a meal. We had a wonderful time, great conversation, and excellent food. We truly appreciated the hospitality.

Today, we awoke to yet another rainy, sticky day in Paris. All this dampness really brings out that special bouquet of city aromas -- cigarettes, dog turds, garbage, etc... John and I walk very fast, which often causes me to perspire profusely (I think I've had a sweat moustache this entire trip, actually). However, all these French people are running around in pants and jackets and scarves looking cool and dry. I just don't get it. Are Americans just a sweatier people? It's quite embarrassing. Anyway, before we ran around the city working up some impressive pit-stains, we stopped in for lunch at the brasserie adjacent to Boulangerie Poilaine. This is a food nerd moment, so brace yourself. Mom, get ready. You're gonna love this! Ina Garten, of The Barefoot Contessa on Food Network loves this bakery, which is one of the best in Paris. They bake huge rounds of rustic, artisan bread with a big cursive "P" scored into the dough. Next door to the bakery, there is a restaurant (that Ina goes to when she's is Paris with Jeffrey!) where they use the delicious bread to make "tartines," which are basically like bruschetta. There are all sorts of toppings from tapenade to smoked salmon to mozzarella and tomato. John went for the jambon et buerre (ham & butter) and I had the jambon et fromage Saint-Michel. I can't even talk about that cheese. It was ridiculous. The waiter was cracking up because every time I took a bite, my eyes rolled back into my head. He came over to ask how the food was, saw my face, then just laughed and walked away. You guys all know how excited I get about finding the PERFECT place to eat. This was one of those places. Quelle dejeuner!

After a rejuvenating post-meal espresso at Brasserie Poulaine, we forged on to the Louvre. This place can be daunting. You really have to mentally prepare yourself before you go in. It's huge and there is so much to see, too much if you don't know your shit. Luckily, John and I do. We were incredibly efficient in that place and I am really proud of us. We saw some great Egyptian antiquities, some more Assyrian stuff, upped our Caravaggio count by three (score!), and took in a lot of great paintings that we've studied and admired over the years (the Marie de Medici cycle by Rubens, several works by David, etc...) Of course, we saw La Joconde (Mona Lisa) and Venus de Milo. All your standard Louvre stuff. We had a great time. John estimates that we walked approximately three miles, just inside the Louvre. You can't imagine how huge it is. It's also packed with school children and tour groups along with disoriented tourists who don't know their ass from an Ingres. John and I got a little slap happy in there and began taking some pretty juvenile pictures. I reprised my favorite photo from my first Louvre visit -- a close up of Venus de Milo's butt crack (it's a good one!) and John got some great pee-pee shots. We also took photos of all the people taking photos of famous works. We were amused.

After about four hours in the Louvre, we walked down Champs-Elysees to L'Arc de Triomphe. We stopped in Monoprix (the Target of France) where I picked up some spectacular green tights and also sighted the fated McDonald's in front of which Sarah was assaulted via ketchup packet. Champs-Elysees is home to a slew of designer stores. There was a line around the block to get into Louis Vuitton. I will never understand that. Regardless, it was a lovely walk with some great people watching. We also picked up a crepe filled with Nutella on the way. Delicieux! Overall, we had a great day, and I AM TIRED. We're hoping for better weather and an earlier start tomorrow morning. Now, back to the wine. Love to all of you!

Even French People Feel Bad For a Man with a Lost Wallet

Bonsoir!

Yes, there is one advantage to John having a lost wallet, he can get student prices at all the museums! If I tell the ticket taker (in French, bien sur.) that ton portefueille etait volee, then they don't ask for his student card and just give him the price. Oh sweet revenge, Paris! The whole speaking French thing is going pretty well for me. Only one dude has rolled his eyes at me so far. Great success! Thanks to Madame. She did a great job. I haven't taken French for six years and I can still get around. It's a good feeling.

We're really enjoying Paris so far. I finally washed my hair. Feels good. This apartment is wonderful. We've been cooking instead of eating out and saving a lot of money. Randy and Diana (the apt. owners) are having us over to their place tomorrow night for duck confit. After my duck-gasm in London, I am super excited. The produce, eggs, and meat here are very reasonably priced at the local markets and taste wonderful. John and I really feel like we're on vacation now, spending our evenings relaxing together, cooking and drinking wine. This honeymoon was worth the wait.

I'm beginning to remember why Paris holds such a special place in my heart and mind. There's something about the general ambience of this place that is completely captivating. I also get quite the thrill out of speaking the language, which contributes to the romance. John and I took a grand walking tour today, beginning at the Sacre Coeur (a cathedral in Montmatre that sits high on a hill overlooking the city), through the touristy, bustling streets of Montmartre (the artists' district), ending at the Tuileries and the Louvre, then back to our neighborhood in Montparnasse. We're picking up a museum pass tomorrow, so we didn't hit any of the big attractions today. We did spend some time a small gallery devoted to Salvador Dali, which was just wonderful. John and I are big Dali fans (you might recall that we visited his "residence" in Figueres when we visited Barcelona), so seeing some of his lesser known works was really a thrill for us. The gallery, located in Montmartre where Dali was unofficial "Emperor" among artists for a short time, was small, romantically lit, and intimate. Ambient music played in the background, and all of the patrons were virtually silent, as if in reverence of the spectacular objects on display.

Dali, a forerunner in the Surrealist movement, is best known for his paintings, most famously, The Persistence of Memory. This gallery, however, was hung with watercolors, lithographs, and sketches. There were also striking sculptures and installations on display. It was one of the best experiences I've had in a small gallery like that. Often, spaces like this are overpriced and house objects of little interest. The collection here was stunning and enlightening. We learned much more about one of our favorite artists, always a delight.

Not much else to report on today. We took it easy, just absorbed the city in all its glory. We have some busier days ahead of us and we'll be sure to keep you posted. It's dinnertime, so we're going to cook up some pork chops that we picked up on our way home today. Sorry, I can't resist the food reporting. Forgive me.

Love you all! Bises!

For anyone who wants to see where we're staying in Paris, check out this link for La Cigogne.

Pauvre Portefeuille, Pauvre Kochancz*

*Poor wallet, poor Kochancz.

Bonjour de Paris!

In case you haven't heard yet, John's wallet was stolen on the Paris metro today. We had been in country for less than an hour. We lost 90 euro, but John has successfully canceled all of his cards. (I had to use my cell phone. Sorry, Dad.) Mais, courage! as the French might say. We're still determined to have a good time. The robbery scenario: We stepped onto a very crowded train at the Cluny de Sorbonne stop on Ligne 10. John was standing with his back to a small, seated Asian child. Her head seemed unnecessarily near to his butt-crack, which, after the amount of walking we've done so far, can't be the most hospitable of locations. I said, "Hey, John. Watch that little girl," thinking he was about to nail her in the face with his backpack. As soon as she heard me say that, she and her mother jumped up and left the car. I didn't think anything of it. Moments later, John realized that his right cheek was substantially thinner. Bummer.

Aside from that minor glitch (I still have my cards to the accounts and have now been designated treasurer and money-mule for the remainder of our travels. I've already thwarted at least one pick-pocket so far. Watch out, assholes!), we're off to a promising start in Paris. We're staying in an absolutely FABULOUS apartment. There's a blow dryer here, and I haven't washed my hair since we left! (I don't want to hear it, Mom.) There's also a washer/dryer! And a full kitchen! We walked down the street to a little market and gathered quite a feast for dinner. We're required to drink at least two bottles of wine tonight because John's feeling a little down about the wallet mishap. I'll oblige him. More to come from Paris!

Now, let me fill you in on the remainder of our stay in London. Yesterday, we did some further exploration of the West End. We began our day with a classic Katie Burpo moment: lunch Subway. John saw a sign for a Chicken Tikka sub and couldn't resist. (For my family, "tikka" refers to a red Indian curry sauce, basically the most prevalent sauce in the cuisine.) It was an interesting sandwich. I was in heaven, naturally, feeling right at home with my turkey breast and ham. After lunch, we proceeded to the British Library.

I didn't expect much from this attraction. I'm notoriously underwhelmed by historic documents. Blasphemous for a writer, isn't it? However, I was surprised to find that I was completely captivated by the "Treasures" room at the British library. We saw original manuscripts from the pens of Sylvia Plath, Wordsworth, Harold Pinter, Joseph Conrad, etc... There were also a collection of first-run Shakespeare prints. Romeo and Juliet was on display...my favorite! We also saw, take note, Andrew Taylor, the original manuscript of Beowulf. It's over 1000 years old. Pretty amazing. We also saw the original handwritten music for Handel's Messiah. ("Hallelujah!") There was a whole exhibit devoted to the various incarnations of Lewis Carroll's Alice in Wonderland. Apparently, Salvador Dali did illustrations for one edition. That portion of the exhibit was particularly interesting to us. We looked at an original Gutenberg Bible and lots of other ancient religious texts. Oh, we saw the Magna Carta, too. Talk about underwhelmed. It looked like a very large, dirty piece of TP that had been left in the sun to dry out. I know, that's terrible. Forgive me.

Two exhibits in the British Library really affected me. First, I know it sounds silly, the Beatles case. When I read the original, handwritten lyrics to "Yesterday," I started to tear up. Recently, John and I have been delving into the Beatles' catalogue. Their songwriting is some of the most deeply felt, imaginative, and universal that I have ever encountered. Seeing the humble piece of unlined notepaper containing the lines of such an influential song was truly overpowering. I often find myself emotional over John Lennon's death, the fact that such a beautiful, creative soul was taken before his full potential came to fruition. Similarly, there was something so evocative about the scraps of paper, sketches, and rough outlines on display that eventually became some of the most influential works in popular music. For example, "Michelle" was originally composed on the back of an envelope. Imagine the trajectory of such a thing. A scribble on the white space of some old mail become a classic, beautiful love song. It was truly moving. I wish you could have been there, Molly!

The other item on display that really caught my attention was an original handwritten manuscript of "Creative Writers and Daydreaming" by Sigmund Freud. This work attempts to quantify the creative act, to describe, in psychoanalytic terms, what it means to create. I'll leave you with this quote, which describes the creative process as an adult's version of "play." "We can never give anything up. We only exchange one thing for another." So true.

After a pleasantly surprising trip to the British Library, we continued on to the British Museum -- a gigantic depository of precious antiquities, most notably, the Elgin Marbles. That part of the museum was absolutely amazing. The presence of these treasures in the British Museum, however, is fraught with tension and conflict. The marbles were removed by Lord Elgin from the Parthenon at the Acropolis in Greece. Fortunately, they were rescued from some potentially severe damage, since Greece entered a violent conflict with Turkey soon after. However, these days, it's a bit hard to justify withholding another nation's precious artifacts. It's a pretty archaic, paternalistic attitude, to be sure. But, politics aside, I was so happy to see the sculptures that I did a large-scale group project on during my art history work at DePauw. Our group decided to just blow up the marbles, so nobody could have them! Other work in the British Museum that aroused the art historian in me were the Mesopotamian exhibits. The museum houses countless friezes gathered from ancient Assyrian palaces depicting battles, the removal of booty, and royal lion hunts! I spent a lot of time learning about these works at DePauw as well, so I really loved seeing them. It was a wonderful tour!

The remainder of yesterday we spent traipsing from park to park in the West End, buying beer at convenience stores in between. Of course, it would be the last day that we finally figure out the preferred afternoon pastime of Londoners...drinking in public. We imbibed. And imbibed. Then we walked down to Chinatown and indulged in perhaps our best meal of the trip so far. I ordered duck with black bean sauce. I can't even talk about how good it was. I'm sad that I'm not still eating it now...

Well, I think that concludes this update. I shall now return to relaxing in our posh Paris apartment. One bottle of wine down! (So, sorry if this blog seems a bit tipsy.) John is out on the balcony smoking a Cuban cigar that he acquired in London. Don't be too jealous, Dad. Love to everyone! Don't worry about us. We're having the time of our lives!

It’s Le-vi-OH-sa, not Le-vi-oh-SA!

Hi again!
Yes, the time has come for a Harry Potter reference (for those of you who don’t know where this blog title comes from, see Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone). How could you come to London and not think about Harry and the gang shipping off from King’s Cross Station (a real place) for Hogwarts? Especially when there is a shrine constructed for such commemoration! This one’s mostly for Mom and the girls. We had to visit Platform 9 ¾ because we knew you would want to do it if you were here with us. Notice the half-disappeared trolley. Very cool.

The past two days have been very fulfilling and enlightening. I have continued my quest for understanding the food culture here in London and have come to some broad generalizations that are probably understated and incorrect. Londoners are eating-on-the-go people, from what I’ve observed. Aside from the local Italian restaurants, which are always jam-packed for reasons that I can’t begin to work out, most of the eateries are only moderately busy in the evenings between the hours of 5 and 8pm. What I have seen, at all hours of the day, are people eating while they walk, cramming food in their mouths while sitting on a bench or a flight of stone steps, or lounging in a park with a take-away bag and a six-pack. John and I have begun to conform, aside from the enormous Indian feast that we indulged in last night. Wow! Good stuff. Maybe Londoners prefer picnics and take-out because restaurants are so outrageously expensive. To save money, we have also skipped the pubs the past couple of evenings in favor of purchasing beer and wine at liquor stores. We enjoyed some hilarious British television with some of our hostel mates last night. We’ve really been living it up, seeing all the sights during the day.

Two days ago, we trekked down to The City, or Old London. We crossed the Thames twice, once on a footbridge constructed to commemorate the millennium (along with the giant ferris wheel called the London Eye), and again on the Tower Bridge. We wandered some beautiful cobblestone streets and back alleys through quaint shopping districts that led out into grand views of the river and the famous monuments that line it. The whole walk felt very London-y, like the vision in the mind’s eye of what this city should look and feel like had come to life. The weather was fantastic and we had a wonderful day.

Two highlights, aside from the walk itself, which was the best: St. Paul’s Cathedral & The Tate Modern. St. Paul’s is stunning. The building features the fourth largest dome in Europe, and the interior is decorated with an array of ornate mosaics that glint and sparkle as the sunlight filters in. It is massive and completely overwhelming. So beautiful. The pinnacle of our visit, literally, was the climb up 530 steps to the very top of the dome. We’ve had plenty of training for this, since we have to climb approximately 794,000 flights of stairs to get to our room in our hostel. I felt like I had been cross-training for this climb since we got here and lugged our luggage up to the deceivingly-named “third” floor. Enough bitching, back to the church. We made it all the way to the top where we emerged to a 360 view of London’s skyline. I can’t pretend to romanticize this…the buildings are pretty ugly. We can’t be too hard on the poor Brits since they got bombed to you-know-what during WWII. Regardless, the climb up was exhilarating, and it was fun to point out all the major sites from above. We enjoyed a lovely lunch on the church steps (we finally found some veggies…thank God!), and, feeling brand new, we ventured on to the Tate Modern.

I won’t bore you with a play-by-play, art historical analysis of all the wonderful works and their context. Modern and contemporary art are my favorite eras, so I was in heaven. My mom would have been appalled by the bathroom situation, though…stinky, no TP, line out the door. But, once I got to pee, I was ready to enjoy the art. The Surrealist galleries entitled “Poetry and Dream” were definitely our favorite part of the museum. We saw works that run the gamut of Surrealism including primitive line drawings featuring toilet/sex/dark humor (these were John’s favorite). Bizarre “wedding gifts” from Marcel Duchamp to his wife. Some lovely Dalis, de Chiricos, Massons, etc… Some really great installations by Joseph Beuys. There was also a room filled with Surrealist portraits, which were so cool. Lucian Freud, Diego Rivera, Christian Schad…all sorts of people that I have studied over the years and grown to love. It was so great, traveling from room to room and talking with John about some of the stuff we learned back at DePauw in our art history courses. This is what our vacation is all about.

Today was a big day as well. I decided to wear some white sandals that quickly destroyed my feet. But, luckily, we found a nice Pakistani shoe store where I got a cheap pair of tennies. That made the day go much smoother. John is sure it was all a ploy just so I could get new shoes. Maybe… We started our day at platform 9 ¾, visited William Blake’s grave (see John’s appendix to this blog), and wandered around Picadilly, Soho, and the West End. This part of the city is also very London-y. We visited Chinatown, but we’ve decided to go back since it wasn’t time to eat when we were there, and we really want to check out some of the restaurants. Basically, we did a lot of walking around, just exploring the city. Once I had my new shoes, it was fabulous. We made a visit to the National Gallery where we upped our Caravaggio count by two paintings…score! We saw lots of other great art there, but started to get too hungry to care at a certain point, so we stepped outside into Trafalgar Square (which came first Trafalgar or Raglafart?) where a Thai festival was taking place. We got ourselves a few samplings from the food stalls, then listened to a Thai woman bastardize the song “Summertime” on the big stage. This had nothing to do with her being Thai, and everything to do with her being a scary imitator of a very bad lounge singer. Fun times!

We ended our day with a stroll to Buckingham Palace, with a small detour in a nearby park where we sat in some lawn chairs and talked about our trip so far. Now, we’re back at the hostel, enjoying some treats from a nearby Whole Foods. Love you all! I hope all is well at home. Stand-by for other news from John.

Update from Kochancz:
London has been an easy start to our 2+ month vacation, mainly because they all speak English and it is very easy for Americans to navigate and negotiate. As the colonial spawn to our “neo-European” culture, it is interesting to come here and see the sights and make the rounds. I think 5 days here is plenty, mainly because the British pound is devastating for travelers on a budget. It is definitely a city where one could settle down and spend weeks or months. Maybe when their economy finally collapses relative to the rest of Europe and America, we can all come back and not feel like we are bleeding ourselves dry! (My tongue is pressed to the farthest side of my cheek here, of course.) We’ve seen mainly what we set out to see here, and I’ll be glad to get on to the rest of Europe!

Today was especially important for me, because of my visit to the grave of the great poet and visionary William Blake. Thus ends my pilgrimage to sit amongst the bones of my four favorite Romantic poets, Shelley, Keats, Byron, and Blake. As I rode the Tube, far beneath Blake’s remains, to the quiet neighborhood of Islington where he is buried, I thought of the “mind-forged manacles” (Blake’s term) which are still a major force in terms of people and power today. Many of the observations Blake made on London back at the turn of the 19th century are still quite apt in our modern world. I’m sure he would be just as sick with London today as he was with his own contemporary city. We need mystics and visionaries now more than ever, and it is always rewarding to look back at Blake and see that someone got it on such a deep, spiritual level. I’m always amazed how little we study Blake in English classes. I had never even heard of him until my senior year of college when I chanced to take a class on the British Romantics. His message is perhaps too confusing for us to decipher without great care and historical context. It helps to have someone to guide us through it (props to Wayne Glausser), but it stands as a testament to early British literature as a precursor to all the great stuff that we have today. We would all do well to understand his art, to delve into his visions, even though they might be convoluted at times, and we might not always be pleased at what we find there. Here is a little poem that has always stuck with me since I first read it, and I want to share it on this blog.

The Clod and the Pebble

"Love seeketh not itself to please,
Nor for itself hath any care,
But for another gives its ease,

And builds a heaven in hell's despair."

So sung a little Clod of Clay,
Trodden with the cattle's feet,
But a Pebble of the brook
Warbled out these metres meet:

"Love seeketh only Self to please,
To bind another to its delight,
Joys in another's loss of ease,
And builds a hell in heaven's despite."

All Your Typical Sights...And More Sausages

Greetings from pub country!

We indulged in a few must see spots this afternoon in London – the Thames, Big Ben, Parliament, Westminster Abbey, the Tate Britain Museum, and, of course, further critical investigation of this “pub culture” as it were. The neighborhood we’re staying in, South Kensington, is bustling yet laid back, so venturing out into one of the most popular tourist districts was an awakening. Sidewalks were shoulder-to-shoulder people in Westminster City, and I began to consider what it might be like to live as a Londoner, to have all of these strangers invading your city, gawking and snapping photos. We tried to be as respectful and discreet as possible.

The river, Big Ben, and Parliament experiences were pretty much limited to this: “Hey, there it is! Cool!” Then we took some photos and tried not to step on the very small Asians all around. To be sure, it was still poignant standing in the presence of such iconic monuments. We pushed on the Westminster Abbey, “the finest church in the English speaking world,” according to Jeremy Irons, our audio tour guide. I’m glad it was as fine as it was since we paid ₤27 to get in, that’s $40 to the Yanks. John and I agreed wholeheartedly, after the tour, that it was worth every quid. The architecture inside is both oppressive and sublime at once, typical of medieval style buildings. Though not the most ornate or breathtaking church I’ve ever visited, the historical import of the place was enough to baffle me. Westminster Abbey is one of the oldest structures in London, and every single monarch ever to rule was crowned on premises (many are buried there, which is the church’s main interest point). Our friend Jeremy narrated to us through our audio guides (they looked like early nineties cell phones) about the rise and fall of kings and queens as we visited their tombs, and I felt a little bit like an ADD child. John has studied British history and I haven’t really, so he helped to keep me on track. It’s very hard to sort out all the Marys and Williams and Jameses. Who was married to whom. Who begot whom. Etc… My diligence was rewarded, however, when we came to the section known as “Poets’ Corner.” This area of the church pays homage to the great writers and artists of England throughout history. The arrangement of this corner looks as if it came from the frazzled mind of some poet or genius composer. Monuments are scattered without any semblance of order, all erected of different types of stone, all in different styles. Some monuments boast elaborate likenesses and metaphorical carvings. On the floor are inlaid slabs engraved with other, more modest tributes. Just a few of the greats that are commemorated or buried here include: Charles Dickens, Jane Austen, all the Bronte girls, D.H. Lawrence, Laurence Olivier (laid to rest just at the feet of the Shakespeare monument!), Tennyson, Auden, Byron, Dylan Thomas, the composer Handel and the list goes on. It was exciting to be in the presence of so many brilliant creators. Even more, it was exhilarating to realize that the citizens of Great Britain insist upon commemorating their artists alongside their kings and queens.

After the Abbey, we continued to the Tate Britain, a museum housing works by British artists exclusively. (They did cheat some of the time, though, and included works by foreigners that were created in country.) There were a lot of paintings of Lord and Lady What’s-their-names. Duke This and Duchess That. We skimmed those pretty quickly. They only had two or three of their Blake paintings on display, which was a major bummer for John. We did see a handful of lovely Pre-Raphaelite works along with several rooms filled with sublime, immense landscape paintings. Along with these finds, the real treat of the tour, for us, were the modern and contemporary galleries. It’s just a taste of what’s to come when we visit the Tate Modern later in the week. I’ll have more enthusiasm for that one, I’m sure.

Our final destination was St. George’s pub where John, yet again, consumed a large plate of sausage, mashed potatoes, and gravy. I had some mussels in cream sauce (yes, this is a typical pub food.) It was pretty good, but I find myself falling into the old trope regarding Britain and its terrible food. I need vegetation, and soon. We’re going to check out some of the ethnic food tomorrow night, and maybe I can track down a V8 somewhere. Back to the pub scene, though. Let me tell you, it’s about as rowdy a place as you can imagine. The joints we’ve visited have been spilling over (I mean literally, there are people out on the street sloshing them back) with twenty and thirty-somethings just out of the office, still in ties and high heels. There is a definite camaraderie between these folks, and they seem completely involved in one another’s company and conversation. The beer actually seems quite incidental, and it never seems like anyone is ever eating anything. This evening culture is very different from what I have found in other European countries where people sit down to enjoy long, leisurely meals with one another. To be honest, I would describe the pubs as a bourgeois frat party of sorts. People drink copious amounts of relatively non-descript beer and stand in clusters conversing and eyeing other groups. You have to push around people to get to the bartender and it’s really loud. I guess it’s a way to decompress after a day working in a city as bustling as London, though the pub seems as bustling as the city itself. As a tourist, I really feel on the outside of this community, but, then again, we haven’t yet been out on a weekend. We’ll see how that scene compares.

Well, this day really kicked our butts. We already took a late afternoon nap – snooze-fest from about 7:30pm until 9:00pm, and now we’re considering doing some more field research on the exotic pub culture. Even though it runs like water and is as ubiquitous as the air itself, the beer is still a treat for us – a tasty one.