November 30th, 2017
Obligatory declaration at this point in the year for everyone on sabbatical or spending a year away: I can't believe our year is one-third over! (In fact, I can't.)
With one-third of our year under our belts, I wanted to reflect on some of the cultural events we have been to during our year, and how language barriers have altered the experiences.
In Boston, we have settled into some habits in terms of what events we attend. Some of this is based on conscious decisions, but, just as often, on historical precedent and social reasons. We see the symphony fairly regularly, rarely see opera or ballet, and go to a lot of theater. We never go to movies. I think it is simply because you typically don't buy movie tickets in advance, so they don't hold the same commitment value that, say, theater or symphony tickets do.
So far this year in Paris, we have been to an opera, two concerts, a musical, and a play. We have chosen the performances with our language limitations in mind, but they have not all worked out as we predicted.
I already mentioned the first concert, given by the pianist from Toulouse. It was fantastic. We figured, in general, that concerts would be safe and not pose too many language issues. We went to a second concert a few weeks ago. It was a benefit hosted by Kate's school, where a few musicians with ties to the school (mostly children who attended, I suppose) performed. It turns out that French pop music is quite a bit more lyrical than American, with a lot of emphasis placed on the storyline. We really felt like we were missing an important dimension of the performance. It made me wonder how much I would appreciate American popular music if I didn't speak English. In addition, one of the performers was a stand-up comedienne/singer. With her, we were really in over our heads. I would say that we pretty much missed all of the humor, even if we understood the broad context.
We also went to "Welcome to Woodstock." It was a "Mama Mia"-style show with a thin plot built around classic songs from the late 60s played by a live (and quite good) band onstage. That was great. We did not understand all of the dialog, but it basically didn't matter at all. And Glenn and I knew almost all of the songs from our childhoods. Kate and her friend Roya came, too, and enjoyed the show.
When Glenn's mother and her friend Ingrid visited in September, they took us to the Paris Opera to see "La Veuve Joyeuse." (It was playing at the very modern Bastille, not the Palais Garnier, the famous opera house.) The opera was mostly in French, with some German, but with surtitles in English (and perhaps French as well). It was wonderfully performed and a true joy. The surtitles made comprehension a breeze. We enjoyed it tremendously.
Theater here is a bit of a challenge, but we gave it a try last night. We walked across the street to the Theatre Odeon to see a production of Chekov's The Three Sisters. I swear that I saw on the theater's website either that it would be performed in the original Russian with French and English surtitles. Whatever I read that I earnestly thought was that was not. It was performed in French with nothing like a surtitle to be found. (We certainly did not understand everything that was happening on stage, but we can also say with some certainty that the French translation was not entirely faithful to the original Russian, written around 1900. Our suspicion is based on the number of times phrases like "hashtag," "Kanye West," and "motherf***er" popped up.) Luckily, we had read the synopsis before going, so we followed roughly what was going on and even got a few of the jokes. (Update: My friend Katia, who also attended the play and speaks fluent Russian, French, and English, said that there were a couple of silent performances of The Three Sisters, around the same time, in Russian sign language with English and French surtitles. That must have been the webpage I originally saw.)
Even given the language issues, I was glad to have seen it. It had one of the most beautiful, impressive, and effective sets I have ever seen in a theater production. The stage was large enough that an entire (small) house was constructed on stage. It was built in a mid-century modern split-level style with expansive glass walls, so we could see into every room. There was also a deck off the back and a entry stoop on the front where action took place. The house was built on a turntable, so as different actions were happening in different parts of the house, it rotated slowly around so that we could see the main action. At any time, though, the audience could see four or five different scenes, some of them with characters doing or saying things and some without.
The sound management was also impressive. There were microphones on all of the actors that were turned up when they were part of the main action and down (but not off) when they weren't. Also they did some interesting things with the microphones when the doors were opened or closed.
We are looking forward to additional plays at the Odeon (with English surtitles, I hope), a performance of the Seven-Fingered Hand Circus next week, another two operas (La Clemence de Titus and Don Pasquale, both at the Palais Garnier), a concert in Saint Chapelle, and a Ben Folds concert in the spring.
Thursday, November 30, 2017
Tuesday, November 28, 2017
Cambridge UK
November 28th, 2017
I have referred back to the year thirty years ago that Glenn and I spend in England in several different posts. This past weekend, we went back to Cambridge. We got to see how much the city has changed. When we were there, we joked that it was a place stuck in time because whenever anyone would suggest a change of any kind, people would respond, "We've been doing it this way for 800 years and it's always worked." Thirty years has made a big difference.
First, let me say that we did not go back there primarily as a trip down memory lane. We were visiting my sister Shannon, her partner Derek, and their son Jack. Derek owns a house in Cambridge and splits his time between there, Newton, Massachusetts, and Pasadena, California. (He is a biotech entrepreneur with one successful startup under his belt, working on another, Camena Bioscience. Camena has their scientific HQ in Cambridge and their manufacturing HQ in Pasadena, and Shannon lives in Newton, which explains his time allocation.) It was fantastic to see them, and we very much appreciated their hospitality. We got to see two more of Derek's children while we were there, Lloyd and Adela, as a bonus! (We missed Eleanor by a day, unfortunately.)
The biggest change from thirty years ago in Cambridge that I noticed in my weekend there was the food scene. A really hoky Tex-Mex place, crummy pizza, several Indian restaurants, and a kebab stand exemplified the range of culinary offerings three decades ago. There was one pretty fancy and high-quality French restaurant---I think it was called Restaurant Angelina---but otherwise lots of pubs. This past weekend we passed dozens of Asian restaurants, ranging from the swanky to the hipster to the hole-in-the-wall. There were tons of Italian places of different varieties, hamburger joints and steakhouses, cozy coffee shops with high-quality espresso and avocado toast, and plenty of African and Middle Eastern cuisine. And still lots of pubs. We ate extremely well. My favorite restaurant was a hole-in-the-wall Chinese place in Mill Road south of town that still had the decor from when the space had housed an Indian restaurant a few years ago. Everything was spectacularly good, but the best and most impressive dish was a white fish braised in chili oil. It was not particularly spicy but had a rich and wonderful flavor infused in it, and it was served in a huge bowl with the fish filets and sprouts flouting in a sea of hot chilis and oil.
Glenn and I took the opportunity to walk around the center of Cambridge and show Kate around a little. We spend most of our time at King's College, since it is so spectacular, but did walk down King's Parade to Silver Street and up to Bridge Street and checked out the Market Square, too.
A few shots in the Chapel:
Cambridge is a truly beautiful city. I forgot how much I loved the buff-colored stone (oolitic limestone, I am told), especially with the low winter sun shining on it.
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| Creeping vine in the courtyard of King's college |
I have referred back to the year thirty years ago that Glenn and I spend in England in several different posts. This past weekend, we went back to Cambridge. We got to see how much the city has changed. When we were there, we joked that it was a place stuck in time because whenever anyone would suggest a change of any kind, people would respond, "We've been doing it this way for 800 years and it's always worked." Thirty years has made a big difference.
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| Moss growing in King's College |
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| Door of St. John's (or Trinity, I forget) |
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| St. John's Chapel |
The biggest change from thirty years ago in Cambridge that I noticed in my weekend there was the food scene. A really hoky Tex-Mex place, crummy pizza, several Indian restaurants, and a kebab stand exemplified the range of culinary offerings three decades ago. There was one pretty fancy and high-quality French restaurant---I think it was called Restaurant Angelina---but otherwise lots of pubs. This past weekend we passed dozens of Asian restaurants, ranging from the swanky to the hipster to the hole-in-the-wall. There were tons of Italian places of different varieties, hamburger joints and steakhouses, cozy coffee shops with high-quality espresso and avocado toast, and plenty of African and Middle Eastern cuisine. And still lots of pubs. We ate extremely well. My favorite restaurant was a hole-in-the-wall Chinese place in Mill Road south of town that still had the decor from when the space had housed an Indian restaurant a few years ago. Everything was spectacularly good, but the best and most impressive dish was a white fish braised in chili oil. It was not particularly spicy but had a rich and wonderful flavor infused in it, and it was served in a huge bowl with the fish filets and sprouts flouting in a sea of hot chilis and oil.
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| A small pathway off of St. John's Street |
Glenn and I took the opportunity to walk around the center of Cambridge and show Kate around a little. We spend most of our time at King's College, since it is so spectacular, but did walk down King's Parade to Silver Street and up to Bridge Street and checked out the Market Square, too.
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| In the courtyard of King's looking out towards the gate |
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| Glenn and Kate approaching the King's College Chapel |
Thursday, November 23, 2017
Evening with Nazanin
November 23rd, 2017
Last Friday evening, I went out with my friend Nazanin Moghbeli. She is a cardiologist in Philadelphia, but she is in Paris this year because her husband, an academic physician, is here on sabbatical for the year. (They have three children, Roya, Cyrus, and Ryan, all of whom are with them in Paris. Roya is in adaptation with Kate, and they have become fast friends this year.) Nazanin is taking the year off of practicing medicine and has spent a lot of time rediscovering her interest in art. (She has not only been making the rounds of Paris museums, she also maintains a studio here.) She suggested, then, that we could go see the current exhibit at Palais de Tokyo, a contemporary art museum.
Before going to the museum, we met at a small Italian restaurant near there, Ancora Tu. We shared an antipasti platter with grilled vegetables, fresh mozzarella, and speck. We both had pasta for our main course---I got the gnocchi with Gorgonzola and spinach. We had the chocolate cake for dessert. The restaurant was lovely, and the food was quite nice. The gnocchi, in particular, were delicious, as soft and light as a feather pillow.
As we were walking through the neighborhood after dinner towards the museum, I remarked on how dominating the Eiffel Tower is from this part of town---you are walking down the street and turn the corner, and there it is, surprisingly large and beautifully bright and sparkling at night. It just kept happening over and over that it would pop up when I was not expecting it. (We can see a tiny little version of the Eiffel Tower from some places in our neighborhood and from Glenn's office window. It is very far away and not at all imposing, though.)
The Palais de Tokyo is actually open until midnight, so we had plenty of time after dinner before closing. (Art museums open until midnight is an excellent idea, I think.) We had a lovely time there. The exhibit was structured around days of the week, where each room, filled with disparate elements, some of which were clearly art and some of which were not, represented a day. It was inscrutable, but a lot of fun, nonetheless. One of the rooms had a large number of the artist's earnest responses to mass advertising and spam emails she had received. Some of the responses were philosophical. Some were more formal in tone. Some truly heartfelt. All hilarious. One of my favorites was the patient description of her lack of other options for transportation on a particular evening in response to Uber's form email thanking her for using Uber. Or her diatribe against gendered expectations of beauty in response to her Groupon for body waxing.
We also saw some very nice sculpture, and we both agreed that the museum and the display space itself was dramatic and interesting. And the museum shop was great. I think I need to make another trip back just to go to the museum shop.
Last Friday evening, I went out with my friend Nazanin Moghbeli. She is a cardiologist in Philadelphia, but she is in Paris this year because her husband, an academic physician, is here on sabbatical for the year. (They have three children, Roya, Cyrus, and Ryan, all of whom are with them in Paris. Roya is in adaptation with Kate, and they have become fast friends this year.) Nazanin is taking the year off of practicing medicine and has spent a lot of time rediscovering her interest in art. (She has not only been making the rounds of Paris museums, she also maintains a studio here.) She suggested, then, that we could go see the current exhibit at Palais de Tokyo, a contemporary art museum.
Before going to the museum, we met at a small Italian restaurant near there, Ancora Tu. We shared an antipasti platter with grilled vegetables, fresh mozzarella, and speck. We both had pasta for our main course---I got the gnocchi with Gorgonzola and spinach. We had the chocolate cake for dessert. The restaurant was lovely, and the food was quite nice. The gnocchi, in particular, were delicious, as soft and light as a feather pillow.
As we were walking through the neighborhood after dinner towards the museum, I remarked on how dominating the Eiffel Tower is from this part of town---you are walking down the street and turn the corner, and there it is, surprisingly large and beautifully bright and sparkling at night. It just kept happening over and over that it would pop up when I was not expecting it. (We can see a tiny little version of the Eiffel Tower from some places in our neighborhood and from Glenn's office window. It is very far away and not at all imposing, though.)
The Palais de Tokyo is actually open until midnight, so we had plenty of time after dinner before closing. (Art museums open until midnight is an excellent idea, I think.) We had a lovely time there. The exhibit was structured around days of the week, where each room, filled with disparate elements, some of which were clearly art and some of which were not, represented a day. It was inscrutable, but a lot of fun, nonetheless. One of the rooms had a large number of the artist's earnest responses to mass advertising and spam emails she had received. Some of the responses were philosophical. Some were more formal in tone. Some truly heartfelt. All hilarious. One of my favorites was the patient description of her lack of other options for transportation on a particular evening in response to Uber's form email thanking her for using Uber. Or her diatribe against gendered expectations of beauty in response to her Groupon for body waxing.
We also saw some very nice sculpture, and we both agreed that the museum and the display space itself was dramatic and interesting. And the museum shop was great. I think I need to make another trip back just to go to the museum shop.
Tuesday, November 21, 2017
Thanksgivings
November 21st, 2017
We have an awful lot to be thankful for this fall, so we decided to celebrate Thanksgiving as often as we could. It is the Tuesday before Thanksgiving, and we've already had two Thanksgiving dinners. More to come, perhaps.
Actually, I am reminded again of thirty years ago, the year Glenn and I lived in England. In the weeks before Thanksgiving, I felt some pangs of homesickness, sorry that not only would I not be celebrating my favorite holiday, but that I would actually have to attend class that day and go about all of my daily tasks. I had a number of British friends who were curious about many aspects of American culture, and they often asked me questions about styles, laws, education, slang, and, yes, holiday celebrations. Thanksgiving was no different. I was thrilled when a group of them decided that they wanted to celebrate an authentic American Thanksgiving on the weekend after and wanted me to come as their authenticity consultant. (I would also bring a dish since it was a pot luck.) Great, I figured, I would have a Thanksgiving celebration after all.
Soon after that, I received an invitation from an organization called American Friends of Cambridge University. It's mostly American alums of Cambridge in the US, but some live in the UK and host various events for current Cambridge students throughout the year. They would host a gala Thanksgiving dinner on Thursday afternoon. Wow, two Thanksgivings!
Then, I got word that my college, Churchill, would be hosting a Thanksgiving dinner in one of their small dining halls on Friday for their American students, complete with all of the fixings. Never in the US had I had three Thanksgivings. But in England I would!
They were all lovely celebrations, but there was sort of a funny twist at the pot luck dinner hosted by my friends. One of them showed up with a huge pumpkin and asked me what he should do to make a pumpkin pie. I think, if asked that question today, I might be able to provide an answer that would involve obtaining sugar pumpkins, steaming, pureeing, etc., but at the time, my only response was, "In the US, pumpkins come in cans."
Well, that was a long preface to my descriptions of the various Thanksgivings we will have in France. I knew that I wanted to make something like a Thanksgiving dinner just for the three of us, but couldn't really manage all of the work on a weeknight, so we had our Thanksgiving dinner on Sunday night. I knew where to get most of the ingredients---even found crispy onions at the Lidl to put on top of steamed green beans---but I was stumped by cranberries. Cranberries are all over France, dried, in juice, etc., just not fresh. I got on the internet and identified a store in the Marais called, well, Thanksgiving. Glenn stopped by on Saturday and scored two bags of fresh cranberries. He reported the place was full of mostly crummy foods that American expats might crave---Lucky Charms, Betty Crocker frosting in a can, that kind of thing. But they did have everything that someone might want to cook Thanksgiving dinner.
Since it was just the three of us, I did not roast a turkey but instead decided to confit duck breasts and turkey breast filets. I made leek stuffing with cubes of Poilane pain au levain and Eric Keyser baguettes. I also got sweet potatoes, but we'll have those later because we already had enough food with the turkey and duck, the stuffing, the cranberries, and the green beans.
No pie for dessert, just chocolate mousse.
Then last night, we went for dinner at a restaurant that I had been wanting to go to since we arrived in Paris, Verjus. I heard that they were serving a Thanksgiving-themed prix fixe this week, so I made reservations for the three of us. It was fantastic. It was probably the best meal we've had in France so far. We started with several small appetizers, just a few bites each: melon with caviar, rebluchon fondue with endive, rabbit terrine with pistachios, an onion and grape tarte, and a cod fritter. The next course was beets sliced thinly like noodles, cooked slightly, and served with hazlenut butter and homemade yogurt. Then we had pan-seared cauliflower with sourdough croutons, capers, and lemon sauce. Then came the main course, turkey leg confit, roasted turkey breast, sage and thyme stuffing, French-style mashed potatoes, and sauteed brussels sprouts, all accompanied with a turkey jus and cranberry relish. For dessert, we had pumpkin cake and rosemary ice cream, with thyme dust. Oh, and they also threw in a tiny ice cream cone before dessert and a tiny financier with berry jam after dessert. Every course was truly outstanding. We didn't get home until after midnight (on a school night), but certainly no regrets here.
Not sure yet what our plans are for Thursday. We may have another Thanksgiving in store.
(Update: Kate found out that her school will have a Thanksgiving meal for lunch on Thursday, and she has also volunteered to bring Thanksgiving dinner to her religious ed class Thursday evening.)
We have an awful lot to be thankful for this fall, so we decided to celebrate Thanksgiving as often as we could. It is the Tuesday before Thanksgiving, and we've already had two Thanksgiving dinners. More to come, perhaps.
Actually, I am reminded again of thirty years ago, the year Glenn and I lived in England. In the weeks before Thanksgiving, I felt some pangs of homesickness, sorry that not only would I not be celebrating my favorite holiday, but that I would actually have to attend class that day and go about all of my daily tasks. I had a number of British friends who were curious about many aspects of American culture, and they often asked me questions about styles, laws, education, slang, and, yes, holiday celebrations. Thanksgiving was no different. I was thrilled when a group of them decided that they wanted to celebrate an authentic American Thanksgiving on the weekend after and wanted me to come as their authenticity consultant. (I would also bring a dish since it was a pot luck.) Great, I figured, I would have a Thanksgiving celebration after all.
Soon after that, I received an invitation from an organization called American Friends of Cambridge University. It's mostly American alums of Cambridge in the US, but some live in the UK and host various events for current Cambridge students throughout the year. They would host a gala Thanksgiving dinner on Thursday afternoon. Wow, two Thanksgivings!
Then, I got word that my college, Churchill, would be hosting a Thanksgiving dinner in one of their small dining halls on Friday for their American students, complete with all of the fixings. Never in the US had I had three Thanksgivings. But in England I would!
They were all lovely celebrations, but there was sort of a funny twist at the pot luck dinner hosted by my friends. One of them showed up with a huge pumpkin and asked me what he should do to make a pumpkin pie. I think, if asked that question today, I might be able to provide an answer that would involve obtaining sugar pumpkins, steaming, pureeing, etc., but at the time, my only response was, "In the US, pumpkins come in cans."
Well, that was a long preface to my descriptions of the various Thanksgivings we will have in France. I knew that I wanted to make something like a Thanksgiving dinner just for the three of us, but couldn't really manage all of the work on a weeknight, so we had our Thanksgiving dinner on Sunday night. I knew where to get most of the ingredients---even found crispy onions at the Lidl to put on top of steamed green beans---but I was stumped by cranberries. Cranberries are all over France, dried, in juice, etc., just not fresh. I got on the internet and identified a store in the Marais called, well, Thanksgiving. Glenn stopped by on Saturday and scored two bags of fresh cranberries. He reported the place was full of mostly crummy foods that American expats might crave---Lucky Charms, Betty Crocker frosting in a can, that kind of thing. But they did have everything that someone might want to cook Thanksgiving dinner.
Since it was just the three of us, I did not roast a turkey but instead decided to confit duck breasts and turkey breast filets. I made leek stuffing with cubes of Poilane pain au levain and Eric Keyser baguettes. I also got sweet potatoes, but we'll have those later because we already had enough food with the turkey and duck, the stuffing, the cranberries, and the green beans.
No pie for dessert, just chocolate mousse.
Then last night, we went for dinner at a restaurant that I had been wanting to go to since we arrived in Paris, Verjus. I heard that they were serving a Thanksgiving-themed prix fixe this week, so I made reservations for the three of us. It was fantastic. It was probably the best meal we've had in France so far. We started with several small appetizers, just a few bites each: melon with caviar, rebluchon fondue with endive, rabbit terrine with pistachios, an onion and grape tarte, and a cod fritter. The next course was beets sliced thinly like noodles, cooked slightly, and served with hazlenut butter and homemade yogurt. Then we had pan-seared cauliflower with sourdough croutons, capers, and lemon sauce. Then came the main course, turkey leg confit, roasted turkey breast, sage and thyme stuffing, French-style mashed potatoes, and sauteed brussels sprouts, all accompanied with a turkey jus and cranberry relish. For dessert, we had pumpkin cake and rosemary ice cream, with thyme dust. Oh, and they also threw in a tiny ice cream cone before dessert and a tiny financier with berry jam after dessert. Every course was truly outstanding. We didn't get home until after midnight (on a school night), but certainly no regrets here.
Not sure yet what our plans are for Thursday. We may have another Thanksgiving in store.
(Update: Kate found out that her school will have a Thanksgiving meal for lunch on Thursday, and she has also volunteered to bring Thanksgiving dinner to her religious ed class Thursday evening.)
Monday, November 20, 2017
Sainte Chapelle and the Conciergerie
November 20, 2017
We had a fun weekend, which included a tour of Sainte Chapelle and the Conciergerie. Visits to both places dovetailed nicely with my current study of the history of Paris, mostly through reading Alistair Horne's The Seven Ages of Paris.
The Conciergerie, originally built as a support location for the royal activities nearby was transformed into a prison during the French Revolution. We saw vestiges of both of its uses during our tour, including huge fireplaces to cook food for the royal banquets and cells for political prisoners. It was here that Marie Antoinette was imprisoned during the revolution. Our guide, the same gentleman who conducted our tour of Notre Dame, gave us some interesting history about how the executions of Marie Antoinette and Louis XVI were not inevitable given the revolution but rather the result of prejudices against Marie Antoinette's cultural differences with the French and Louis XVI's sheer cluelessness. He also talked about the French ambivalence (existing to this day, he claims) about royalty, and the horrors of the Reign of Terror immediately following the revolution. The building itself contained few indications of its uses over the ages but was quite attractive architecturally. I especially loved the stone staircase pictured on the left above, leading upstairs from the kitchens.
We continued on to Sainte Chapelle (the Holy Chapel), one of the finest examples of gothic architecture in the world, a true gem. It was built by Louis IX to house the passion relics that we acquired during his reign. In particular, he wanted a special and fitting home for the crown of thorns, which he acquired from Constantinople via Venice when Constantinople was unable to pay its debts to Venetian bankers. The crown of thorns was housed in a large gold box. The box is long since gone, but the crown has since moved to Notre Dame, where one can see it on the first Friday of every month. (Two funny things about our tour guide: First, he is German, and kept referring to all the Louises as "Ludwig." I hope everyone else caught on. Second, he repeated the classic Mark Twain joke about relics, something about all of the "true crowns of thorns" wrapping around Jesus' head dozens of times and pieces of all of the "true cross" being reassembled into a cross 30 meters long.)
Sainte Chapelle is, of course, very beautiful. It is not called a "gem of gothic architecture" for nothing. These photos may give you some idea, but they fail to do it justice, especially the windows.
The Conciergerie, originally built as a support location for the royal activities nearby was transformed into a prison during the French Revolution. We saw vestiges of both of its uses during our tour, including huge fireplaces to cook food for the royal banquets and cells for political prisoners. It was here that Marie Antoinette was imprisoned during the revolution. Our guide, the same gentleman who conducted our tour of Notre Dame, gave us some interesting history about how the executions of Marie Antoinette and Louis XVI were not inevitable given the revolution but rather the result of prejudices against Marie Antoinette's cultural differences with the French and Louis XVI's sheer cluelessness. He also talked about the French ambivalence (existing to this day, he claims) about royalty, and the horrors of the Reign of Terror immediately following the revolution. The building itself contained few indications of its uses over the ages but was quite attractive architecturally. I especially loved the stone staircase pictured on the left above, leading upstairs from the kitchens. We continued on to Sainte Chapelle (the Holy Chapel), one of the finest examples of gothic architecture in the world, a true gem. It was built by Louis IX to house the passion relics that we acquired during his reign. In particular, he wanted a special and fitting home for the crown of thorns, which he acquired from Constantinople via Venice when Constantinople was unable to pay its debts to Venetian bankers. The crown of thorns was housed in a large gold box. The box is long since gone, but the crown has since moved to Notre Dame, where one can see it on the first Friday of every month. (Two funny things about our tour guide: First, he is German, and kept referring to all the Louises as "Ludwig." I hope everyone else caught on. Second, he repeated the classic Mark Twain joke about relics, something about all of the "true crowns of thorns" wrapping around Jesus' head dozens of times and pieces of all of the "true cross" being reassembled into a cross 30 meters long.)
Sainte Chapelle is, of course, very beautiful. It is not called a "gem of gothic architecture" for nothing. These photos may give you some idea, but they fail to do it justice, especially the windows.
Friday, November 17, 2017
Gaz de France
November 17, 2017
I expected linguistic misunderstandings and bureaucratic entanglements to be a more prominent theme of our year abroad. Happily, they've become mostly background noise to our experience rather than the soundtrack. We did, however, have a sort of funny series of mishaps that led to us being without heat until this past Monday. (Luckily, Paris is no Boston, so we haven't really experienced high temperatures much below the upper 40s and lower 50s yet.)
We knew from the beginning that we were responsible for putting the electricity contract in our name. This was no small feat, but we managed, with a series of google-translated emails, a number of long waits on hold, and the great good fortune of an English-language option on Electricte de France's voicemail. When we spoke to Electricte de France, however, they made it clear that, even though, in general, they provided both electricity and gas, there was no record of a gas contract for our apartment. So we just signed up for the electricity. We tracked down the lease for our apartment to see if heat was included, thinking that would explain the lack of individual gas contracts for each apartment since the landlord was paying for the whole building. Sure enough, it mentioned that we were responsible for electricity, cable TV, and wifi, but no mention of heat.
It was September and there was no reason for the heat to come on at the time. We put it out of our minds. The weather got progressively colder over the next few weeks, and we kept wondering why the heat never went on. Ah, the thermostat must be the answer---we need to turn it on or adjust it or something. We tried but nothing seemed to be working. We put in a new set of batteries. Nothing. So we called the housekeeper, Nadia, who has helped us with a number of things around the apartment. She put in a new set of batteries. Nothing. She called Emmanuel, the handyman who sometimes works on the building. He put in a new set of batteries. Nothing. Then he said he would need to get a new thermostat. All of this took several days, all the while the temperature dropping and us believing that as soon as the thermostat got sorted out, we would have heat. Finally, Emmanuel came back and installed the new thermostat. We set it. We programmed it. We adjusted it. Nothing.
Finally, I called the landlord's assistant to ask about this. (Dealing with the landlord's assistant is always the last resort because she speaks no English and will not respond to emails, even those in French, unless she has explicitly solicited them. So there is always a very awkward exchange where I call her, I explain who I am and what the problem is in French, she does not understand me, she asks me questions in French that I don't understand, and then she finally says that I need to email her, which I do in French, and then she responds.) Finally, I get the answer, "Oh, yes, you need to sign up for gas service. Call Gaz de France."
A simple call to Gaz de France to set up payment was not enough. They needed to send a technician out, but the wait was only about a week after we placed the initial call to them. And also luckily, the temperature only fell below freezing briefly once during this time. We all were very happy when Moustafa from Gaz to France pushed a few buttons on our heating unit and the radiators got warm.
(As a bittersweet side note, Moustafa realized that we were English speakers when he arrived, and wanted to show off his excellent English to us. So we chatted about lots of things: heaters, his career, his family, his travels. He told us about his very extensive world travels, including Europe, Africa, the Middle East, Southeast Asia. I said, "But you've never been to the US?" His response was one that I would have disputed just a few years ago, but to which I could only nod in sympathy today: "I don't want to spend my tourism money in a country where I am not welcomed." I could not argue; I could only be sad.)
I expected linguistic misunderstandings and bureaucratic entanglements to be a more prominent theme of our year abroad. Happily, they've become mostly background noise to our experience rather than the soundtrack. We did, however, have a sort of funny series of mishaps that led to us being without heat until this past Monday. (Luckily, Paris is no Boston, so we haven't really experienced high temperatures much below the upper 40s and lower 50s yet.)
We knew from the beginning that we were responsible for putting the electricity contract in our name. This was no small feat, but we managed, with a series of google-translated emails, a number of long waits on hold, and the great good fortune of an English-language option on Electricte de France's voicemail. When we spoke to Electricte de France, however, they made it clear that, even though, in general, they provided both electricity and gas, there was no record of a gas contract for our apartment. So we just signed up for the electricity. We tracked down the lease for our apartment to see if heat was included, thinking that would explain the lack of individual gas contracts for each apartment since the landlord was paying for the whole building. Sure enough, it mentioned that we were responsible for electricity, cable TV, and wifi, but no mention of heat.
It was September and there was no reason for the heat to come on at the time. We put it out of our minds. The weather got progressively colder over the next few weeks, and we kept wondering why the heat never went on. Ah, the thermostat must be the answer---we need to turn it on or adjust it or something. We tried but nothing seemed to be working. We put in a new set of batteries. Nothing. So we called the housekeeper, Nadia, who has helped us with a number of things around the apartment. She put in a new set of batteries. Nothing. She called Emmanuel, the handyman who sometimes works on the building. He put in a new set of batteries. Nothing. Then he said he would need to get a new thermostat. All of this took several days, all the while the temperature dropping and us believing that as soon as the thermostat got sorted out, we would have heat. Finally, Emmanuel came back and installed the new thermostat. We set it. We programmed it. We adjusted it. Nothing.
Finally, I called the landlord's assistant to ask about this. (Dealing with the landlord's assistant is always the last resort because she speaks no English and will not respond to emails, even those in French, unless she has explicitly solicited them. So there is always a very awkward exchange where I call her, I explain who I am and what the problem is in French, she does not understand me, she asks me questions in French that I don't understand, and then she finally says that I need to email her, which I do in French, and then she responds.) Finally, I get the answer, "Oh, yes, you need to sign up for gas service. Call Gaz de France."
A simple call to Gaz de France to set up payment was not enough. They needed to send a technician out, but the wait was only about a week after we placed the initial call to them. And also luckily, the temperature only fell below freezing briefly once during this time. We all were very happy when Moustafa from Gaz to France pushed a few buttons on our heating unit and the radiators got warm.
(As a bittersweet side note, Moustafa realized that we were English speakers when he arrived, and wanted to show off his excellent English to us. So we chatted about lots of things: heaters, his career, his family, his travels. He told us about his very extensive world travels, including Europe, Africa, the Middle East, Southeast Asia. I said, "But you've never been to the US?" His response was one that I would have disputed just a few years ago, but to which I could only nod in sympathy today: "I don't want to spend my tourism money in a country where I am not welcomed." I could not argue; I could only be sad.)
Monday, November 13, 2017
Moroccan Countryside
November 13th, 2017
As I mentioned before, our itinerary included something like 4 days that were very full of driving during our week in Morocco. Normally, I would consider it very undesirable to spend so much of a vacation on the road, but it worked out well for a number of reasons. First, we were not doing the driving, Ibrahim was, so the normal stress associated with driving and navigating in a foreign country was eliminated. Second, we were in a decent-sized van with comfortable seats, so we were not cramped. Third, we got to stay in a number of interesting and quite varied hotels/camps. Fourth, we got to see so much of Morocco, from mountain passes to gorges, from sand dunes to oases, from ancient cities to modern resorts to tiny villages to abandoned fortresses. Mohamed and Ibrahim planned our itinerary to include beautiful roads and so many interesting stops along the way.
Some pictures from the Atlas Mountains:
Some pictures of abandoned casbahs and ancient cities:
A few other interesting stops along the way:
And here we are just goofing off after hours on the road:
As I mentioned before, our itinerary included something like 4 days that were very full of driving during our week in Morocco. Normally, I would consider it very undesirable to spend so much of a vacation on the road, but it worked out well for a number of reasons. First, we were not doing the driving, Ibrahim was, so the normal stress associated with driving and navigating in a foreign country was eliminated. Second, we were in a decent-sized van with comfortable seats, so we were not cramped. Third, we got to stay in a number of interesting and quite varied hotels/camps. Fourth, we got to see so much of Morocco, from mountain passes to gorges, from sand dunes to oases, from ancient cities to modern resorts to tiny villages to abandoned fortresses. Mohamed and Ibrahim planned our itinerary to include beautiful roads and so many interesting stops along the way.
Some pictures from the Atlas Mountains:
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| Nomad caravan |
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| A gorge popular with rock climbers |
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| You can see rock climbers if you look carefully |
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| A scarf vendor near the mouth of the gorge |
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| A very windy road we drove up |
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| Just a pretty mountain |
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| View of Dades Valley from our hotel at dusk |
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| Abandoned and decaying casbah in a valley |
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| We toured this casbah. It is very picturesque, so, not surprisingly, many movies and TV series have been filmed here, including Gladiator, Lawrence of Arabia, and Game of Thrones. |
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| A view from the top |
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| Another casbah that has been turned into something like a living museum, like Sturbridge Village. |
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| Here is its exterior |
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| The largest palm plantation in Morocco |
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| We stopped for a concert in a small town of former slaves from sub-Saharan Africa. (Slavery existed in Morocco until about 50 years ago.) |
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| A parking lot for pack animals at a regional market |
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| A delicious meal served to us at our guide's mother's home---Berber "pizza," peanuts, dates, and zmita, a mixture of roasted flour, nuts, spices, and sugar. |
Wednesday, November 8, 2017
Our Day in Fes
November 8th, 2017
We finished up our trip with a day and a half in Fes. Having already been to Marrakech, I expected something similar: medieval walled city, narrow cobbled roads, lots of motor scooters, trash on the streets, women grabbing your arm to apply henna against your will, that sort of thing. I was pleasantly surprised. Fes had a very different vibe: more laid back, less touristy, a little wealthier and cleaner and quieter. Also, there was very much a focus on all of the local handicrafts, of which they are justifiably proud. I listed a number of the artisans and craftsmen that we visited during my post on the tile factory. Here are photos from several of them, with a few photos of just Fes thrown in.
We finished up our trip with a day and a half in Fes. Having already been to Marrakech, I expected something similar: medieval walled city, narrow cobbled roads, lots of motor scooters, trash on the streets, women grabbing your arm to apply henna against your will, that sort of thing. I was pleasantly surprised. Fes had a very different vibe: more laid back, less touristy, a little wealthier and cleaner and quieter. Also, there was very much a focus on all of the local handicrafts, of which they are justifiably proud. I listed a number of the artisans and craftsmen that we visited during my post on the tile factory. Here are photos from several of them, with a few photos of just Fes thrown in.
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| a very narrow road in Fes |
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| the dyeing district |
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| a square with many metal workers |
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| a shop with handmade perforated shades and other metal work |
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| our guide talking to a friend of her that we ran into |
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| an old hotel that had been converted to a bookshop |
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| wall decoration at what claimed to be the oldest university in the world (I would say it was more like a divinity school because it was only for studying the Quran.) |
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| the school's courtyard |
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| the girls peeking out from a dorm window |
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| another hotel, this one converted into a woodworking museum |
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| an underground room full of wood chips for feeding a fire to heat water for the hammam |
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| the tannery |
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| transporting the previously tanned leather |
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| detail from our hotel, Dar Fes Medina |
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| another detail from our hotel |
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| view from our hotel's roof deck |
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