Tuesday, August 7, 2018
Air Conditioning
August 7th, 2018
The weather in Paris has not cooled appreciably---98 degrees is predicted for today---but I promised my manifesto against air conditioning and I will deliver. (I have said on occasion that I want my tombstone to read something like "Brave Fighter in the Campaign Against Over-Air-Conditioned Spaces." It will, however, be difficult to justify such an epitaph unless I actually launch this campaign. So let this be the first call to arms.)
Air conditioning can be lovely. It can help people sleep at night. It can provide a welcome respite from stifling heat. It can even save lives. I am not anti-AC. But enough is enough. Every summer in the US, I am so sad to be unable to wear summer clothes to the office because I will spend the day shivering. I am sad when the streets empty out and the life of the city is stifled by doors and windows hermetically sealed from the summer heat, everyone safely closed inside the artificially-cooled environment. I am sad to have to always carry a sweater because I don't know how cold a restaurant or shop will be. And I am sad for the shocking use of energy to cool spaces well below a level that many people find even tolerable in the middle of the summer.
Living in Paris this summer has reacquainted me with my pre-AC existence of my childhood. Buildings in Paris are often difficult or impossible to retrofit with AC. Furthermore, Parisians have the deeply-ingrained tradition of moving to the sea or the mountains in August. Therefore, AC is practically absent. A few restaurants, some shops, some movie theaters, and some museums have AC, but neither our apartment nor our offices do. Yes, I have been hot. Yes, I have sweated. Yes, I have complained about the heat and humidity on a number of occasions. (My complaints have been more of a shared social experience rather than actual, serious grievances, though.) I have even wished for just a tiny bit of air conditioning so that I can sleep more soundly at night.
Human beings are clever at making adjustments, though. Adaptations like wiping myself off with cool water several times a day and even running a cool bath to just sit in mean that I do not find the heat particularly unpleasant. I carry a small accordion fan in my purse and use it regularly. I wear thin, drapey linen clothes that catch the breeze. On balance, I am happier with no air conditioning than with unpleasantly cold buildings in the middle of the summer (although, obviously, this all-or-nothing choice is not one we have to make in the US). I have been so happy this year in Paris to be able to actually wear these summer clothes and not have to carry thick sweaters everywhere. I have been so happy to have my windows open and walk by many others with their windows open and shops and restaurants with doors open, spilling out onto the street and adding life to the city. I have been happy to do my part to not add needlessly to excessive energy usage and climate change.
As I said, though, excessive AC versus no AC is not a choice that we typically have to face in the US. We are well-equipped to make the choice to turn on the AC on occasion when it gets really hot, but not to overuse it. We can choose to wear weather-appropriate clothes so that "I have to wear a suit to work" does not become an excuse for making many people around you uncomfortable. We can choose to, sometimes, feel a little hot, or even sweat. It's not the worst thing in the world. We can choose to try a fan or a cool shower before turning on the AC. We can choose to equip our houses with passive cooling technologies and plant shade trees around them.
Years ago, Americans were admonished to turn their thermostats down to 68 degrees in the winter to save energy. This was pitched as a civic duty, and most tried to do their part. At the time, there was little reason to admonish them to turn their thermostats up in the summer because air conditioning was relatively rare. Let me be the first: Americans, turn your thermostats up at 78 degrees in the summer, or, even, consider turning off your air conditioning! (And here I speak mostly to controllers of thermostats in office buildings, malls, movie theaters, restaurants, but you can listen, too, even if you only control your home thermostat.) Do it for energy savings! Do it for the health of the planet! Do it to bring back the linen dress and the seersucker suit! Do it for the comfort of your fellow Americans who are actually wearing linen dresses and seersucker suits despite the air conditioning! But just do it!!
The weather in Paris has not cooled appreciably---98 degrees is predicted for today---but I promised my manifesto against air conditioning and I will deliver. (I have said on occasion that I want my tombstone to read something like "Brave Fighter in the Campaign Against Over-Air-Conditioned Spaces." It will, however, be difficult to justify such an epitaph unless I actually launch this campaign. So let this be the first call to arms.)
Air conditioning can be lovely. It can help people sleep at night. It can provide a welcome respite from stifling heat. It can even save lives. I am not anti-AC. But enough is enough. Every summer in the US, I am so sad to be unable to wear summer clothes to the office because I will spend the day shivering. I am sad when the streets empty out and the life of the city is stifled by doors and windows hermetically sealed from the summer heat, everyone safely closed inside the artificially-cooled environment. I am sad to have to always carry a sweater because I don't know how cold a restaurant or shop will be. And I am sad for the shocking use of energy to cool spaces well below a level that many people find even tolerable in the middle of the summer.
Living in Paris this summer has reacquainted me with my pre-AC existence of my childhood. Buildings in Paris are often difficult or impossible to retrofit with AC. Furthermore, Parisians have the deeply-ingrained tradition of moving to the sea or the mountains in August. Therefore, AC is practically absent. A few restaurants, some shops, some movie theaters, and some museums have AC, but neither our apartment nor our offices do. Yes, I have been hot. Yes, I have sweated. Yes, I have complained about the heat and humidity on a number of occasions. (My complaints have been more of a shared social experience rather than actual, serious grievances, though.) I have even wished for just a tiny bit of air conditioning so that I can sleep more soundly at night.
Human beings are clever at making adjustments, though. Adaptations like wiping myself off with cool water several times a day and even running a cool bath to just sit in mean that I do not find the heat particularly unpleasant. I carry a small accordion fan in my purse and use it regularly. I wear thin, drapey linen clothes that catch the breeze. On balance, I am happier with no air conditioning than with unpleasantly cold buildings in the middle of the summer (although, obviously, this all-or-nothing choice is not one we have to make in the US). I have been so happy this year in Paris to be able to actually wear these summer clothes and not have to carry thick sweaters everywhere. I have been so happy to have my windows open and walk by many others with their windows open and shops and restaurants with doors open, spilling out onto the street and adding life to the city. I have been happy to do my part to not add needlessly to excessive energy usage and climate change.
As I said, though, excessive AC versus no AC is not a choice that we typically have to face in the US. We are well-equipped to make the choice to turn on the AC on occasion when it gets really hot, but not to overuse it. We can choose to wear weather-appropriate clothes so that "I have to wear a suit to work" does not become an excuse for making many people around you uncomfortable. We can choose to, sometimes, feel a little hot, or even sweat. It's not the worst thing in the world. We can choose to try a fan or a cool shower before turning on the AC. We can choose to equip our houses with passive cooling technologies and plant shade trees around them.
Years ago, Americans were admonished to turn their thermostats down to 68 degrees in the winter to save energy. This was pitched as a civic duty, and most tried to do their part. At the time, there was little reason to admonish them to turn their thermostats up in the summer because air conditioning was relatively rare. Let me be the first: Americans, turn your thermostats up at 78 degrees in the summer, or, even, consider turning off your air conditioning! (And here I speak mostly to controllers of thermostats in office buildings, malls, movie theaters, restaurants, but you can listen, too, even if you only control your home thermostat.) Do it for energy savings! Do it for the health of the planet! Do it to bring back the linen dress and the seersucker suit! Do it for the comfort of your fellow Americans who are actually wearing linen dresses and seersucker suits despite the air conditioning! But just do it!!
Monday, August 6, 2018
Last Weekend
August 6th, 2018
Our last weekend was spent doing a mix of moving-related activities with a few fun things thrown in. On Saturday, we visited the recently renovated and reopened Musée de Cluny near our apartment. We had been before---this is a museum which is housed in a combination of the frigidarium of a two-millennium-old large Roman bathhouse and a 14th Century abbey. This time we took a guided tour of the lower level of the Roman Gallo baths---an area not typically open to the public---and learned a bit about the history of Paris as well as the history of the site and the museum itself. Here is an interesting confluence of two architectures from more than a millennium apart: Roman walls in brick and stone with a classic arch overlaid with the Gothic ogival, or pointed arch, added at the time of the Cluny Monks.
And here is a photo of the underground passages below the Frigidarium.
As you may know, the name Paris comes from the Gallic tribe, the Parisii, who lived in the area when the Romans arrived 2000 years ago. The Romans dubbed the city Lutetia, although used forms of the tribal name as adjectives. The city was renamed Paris in 360 AD. Here is the first known written reference to Paris, carved into a stone during the Roman period and unearthed near the site of Notre Dame in 1711.
We also saw the famous unicorn tapestries. (I guess both New York and Scotland also claim very famous unicorn tapestries. Not sure which are the most famous.) I'm not what you'd call a huge unicorn aficionado, but I liked the tapestries pretty well. Here are a few details. (It may not come as a surprise to you that I love the depiction of the tapestry garments in tapestry in the third photo.)
We saw the Mama Mia sequel in our neighborhood movie theater on Saturday night and had one last dinner at Semilla on Sunday night as welcome breaks from the packing, organizing, donating, shipping, and cleaning.
Our last weekend was spent doing a mix of moving-related activities with a few fun things thrown in. On Saturday, we visited the recently renovated and reopened Musée de Cluny near our apartment. We had been before---this is a museum which is housed in a combination of the frigidarium of a two-millennium-old large Roman bathhouse and a 14th Century abbey. This time we took a guided tour of the lower level of the Roman Gallo baths---an area not typically open to the public---and learned a bit about the history of Paris as well as the history of the site and the museum itself. Here is an interesting confluence of two architectures from more than a millennium apart: Roman walls in brick and stone with a classic arch overlaid with the Gothic ogival, or pointed arch, added at the time of the Cluny Monks.
As you may know, the name Paris comes from the Gallic tribe, the Parisii, who lived in the area when the Romans arrived 2000 years ago. The Romans dubbed the city Lutetia, although used forms of the tribal name as adjectives. The city was renamed Paris in 360 AD. Here is the first known written reference to Paris, carved into a stone during the Roman period and unearthed near the site of Notre Dame in 1711.
We saw the Mama Mia sequel in our neighborhood movie theater on Saturday night and had one last dinner at Semilla on Sunday night as welcome breaks from the packing, organizing, donating, shipping, and cleaning.
Friday, August 3, 2018
Esther and Abhijit
August 3rd, 2018
No blog of our year in France could ever be complete without an entire entry devoted to Esther and Abhijit. I dare say that our year would not have happened without them, and even if we could have managed, it would have been more difficult, less productive, less delicious, less interesting, and much less fun.
I am tempted to just start enumerating the many ways they have enabled and eased and enriched our year, to protect against leaving anything out. I feel, though, that I must do better and try to insert a little narrative substance.
So I start many decades ago, before I knew either of them. Esther, a Parisian child of 14 or so accompanied her mathematician father on a visit to MIT. Something about the culture and the atmosphere of MIT appealed to her and she vowed to return. Some years later, Glenn and I came back to MIT to teach, at about the same time that Abhijit arrived. And then soon after, Esther's vowed return occurred when she started as a PhD student in the department. This is where I met Esther. We played squash and went to lunch and talked about career plans. Esther loved MIT, but her return to France was always "two, maybe three, years away." She was happy for her time at MIT and what she was able to accomplish professionally there that she could not have in France. Still, though, she was a Parisienne, and anticipated the lifestyle and the food and the family connections that her return to Paris would bring. She would just stay at MIT a little bit longer to reap a few more benefits before her repatriation. Long story short, the "two, maybe three, years" turned into a faculty position at MIT, and then tenure at MIT, and then establishment (with Abhijit and Ben Olken) of the Poverty Action Lab there, and then marriage to Abhijit, and .... Twenty plus years later, to our great joy, she remains at MIT and is in it for the long haul, at this point.
But of course one of the incomparable benefits of this career we have chosen in academic economics is the opportunity we have to travel, the flexibility we have to work almost anywhere, and the great gift of sabbatical every seven years. So, even though she has remained at MIT, Esther has always kept one foot firmly planted in France, now owning part of an apartment in Paris and house in Provence, setting up an outpost of the Poverty Action Lab here in Paris, teaching her children French, and traveling back regularly to give talks, attend conferences, and serve on boards and committees.
You might notice that almost the entire post has been about Esther. I do not want to shortchange Abhijit---I will get back to him in a moment---but I do this for two reasons. First, I want to offer context for how we found ourselves in Paris this year and how Esther has been so helpful, but I also want to continue on an informal theme that my blog has taken on over the year, "amazing women I know." And Esther is truly amazing. She accomplishes more than almost any two or three people combined that I could name, and she does it with an abundance of grace and humility and ease. I do not have a model for how she can produce so much high-quality research, be a brilliant teacher, advisor, and mentor to many, co-run an international network of research labs with combined staff in the hundreds, be editor-in-chief of the world's most prestigious economics journal, co-run a household with two small children, and still be a good and generous friend to so many. I could not be luckier to count her among mine.
Esther's first contribution to this year was her suggestion that we try to arrange a visit at PSE. We had started to think about our sabbatical and were weighing a number of options: London, Oxford, Toulouse, Rome, Barcelona, etc. When I found out that she and Abhijit would be visiting PSE, I immediately emailed my friend Katia to start the ball rolling. (Esther, simultaneously, put in a good word for us.) She also wrote a letter of recommendation for us (yes, for Glenn and me!) when Kate applied to her school EJM. (Probably Kate could have gotten accepted on her own merits, but I'm sure that Esther wrote us a very nice letter.) Esther suggested neighborhoods where we might like to live (Abhijit vetoed the 15th), and Esther pointed us to a particular website, book-a-flat.com, where we found our spectacular apartment. Esther, as I suggested, is a remarkably busy person, but she still found time to help with emergency French translations of contracts and leases and applications in the months leading up to our departure. Once we all arrived, she walked us through the procedure of booking tennis courts, conferred with us on our visa applications, introduced us to friends, advocated for us in various PSE matters, invited us to the circus, bought Kate clever and accessible French books, .... I could go on and on.
But I promised a discussion of Abhijit, too! Like Esther, he also is a brilliant and productive economist and a first-rate intellect. Outside of economics, he has a formidable set of skills and interests that serve, from our perspective at least, as a very useful complement to Esther's. Where Esther's knowledge of French bureaucracy can help us negotiate our cartes de sejour, Abhijit's knowledge of local bakeries can steer us towards an unforgettable gateau au chocolat. Where Esther figures out the intricacies of the Paris Tennis website, Abhijit makes sure that we book a court at least once a week for a game of doubles. Esther's sober appraisal of the subtle differences in French and US technical education is punctuated by Abhijit's claim that he has just found the World's Worst Shower in the basement of PSE or that the food at a particular restaurant is Utterly Inedible or that continuous-time models are the Single Worst Thing that has ever happened to economic theory, or some other bit of similarly entertaining hyperbole.
And finally, Esther's skills in organizing dinner parties dovetail nicely with Abhijit's wonderful taste in food and drink and his amazing skill in the kitchen. We have eaten many dinners at their apartment this year, and each has been spectacular. I especially love Abhijit's spiced nectarines, his citrus fennel salad, and his Indian street food potatoes. (I also recall a wonderful marinated cheese and a roast leg of lamb that Esther made.)
So, as you can see, it has been very important to have both of them here.
I really cannot begin to describe all of the wonderful moments we have shared and how grateful we are for their friendship. Of everything we have done together this year, though, I decided that our regular doubles matches were most emblematic of the year. Here we are before our final match. (Abhijit and I took on Glenn and Esther, as you can certainly ascertain from the coordinated shirts. I think we won, but who's keeping score?)
No blog of our year in France could ever be complete without an entire entry devoted to Esther and Abhijit. I dare say that our year would not have happened without them, and even if we could have managed, it would have been more difficult, less productive, less delicious, less interesting, and much less fun.
I am tempted to just start enumerating the many ways they have enabled and eased and enriched our year, to protect against leaving anything out. I feel, though, that I must do better and try to insert a little narrative substance.
So I start many decades ago, before I knew either of them. Esther, a Parisian child of 14 or so accompanied her mathematician father on a visit to MIT. Something about the culture and the atmosphere of MIT appealed to her and she vowed to return. Some years later, Glenn and I came back to MIT to teach, at about the same time that Abhijit arrived. And then soon after, Esther's vowed return occurred when she started as a PhD student in the department. This is where I met Esther. We played squash and went to lunch and talked about career plans. Esther loved MIT, but her return to France was always "two, maybe three, years away." She was happy for her time at MIT and what she was able to accomplish professionally there that she could not have in France. Still, though, she was a Parisienne, and anticipated the lifestyle and the food and the family connections that her return to Paris would bring. She would just stay at MIT a little bit longer to reap a few more benefits before her repatriation. Long story short, the "two, maybe three, years" turned into a faculty position at MIT, and then tenure at MIT, and then establishment (with Abhijit and Ben Olken) of the Poverty Action Lab there, and then marriage to Abhijit, and .... Twenty plus years later, to our great joy, she remains at MIT and is in it for the long haul, at this point.
But of course one of the incomparable benefits of this career we have chosen in academic economics is the opportunity we have to travel, the flexibility we have to work almost anywhere, and the great gift of sabbatical every seven years. So, even though she has remained at MIT, Esther has always kept one foot firmly planted in France, now owning part of an apartment in Paris and house in Provence, setting up an outpost of the Poverty Action Lab here in Paris, teaching her children French, and traveling back regularly to give talks, attend conferences, and serve on boards and committees.
You might notice that almost the entire post has been about Esther. I do not want to shortchange Abhijit---I will get back to him in a moment---but I do this for two reasons. First, I want to offer context for how we found ourselves in Paris this year and how Esther has been so helpful, but I also want to continue on an informal theme that my blog has taken on over the year, "amazing women I know." And Esther is truly amazing. She accomplishes more than almost any two or three people combined that I could name, and she does it with an abundance of grace and humility and ease. I do not have a model for how she can produce so much high-quality research, be a brilliant teacher, advisor, and mentor to many, co-run an international network of research labs with combined staff in the hundreds, be editor-in-chief of the world's most prestigious economics journal, co-run a household with two small children, and still be a good and generous friend to so many. I could not be luckier to count her among mine.
Esther's first contribution to this year was her suggestion that we try to arrange a visit at PSE. We had started to think about our sabbatical and were weighing a number of options: London, Oxford, Toulouse, Rome, Barcelona, etc. When I found out that she and Abhijit would be visiting PSE, I immediately emailed my friend Katia to start the ball rolling. (Esther, simultaneously, put in a good word for us.) She also wrote a letter of recommendation for us (yes, for Glenn and me!) when Kate applied to her school EJM. (Probably Kate could have gotten accepted on her own merits, but I'm sure that Esther wrote us a very nice letter.) Esther suggested neighborhoods where we might like to live (Abhijit vetoed the 15th), and Esther pointed us to a particular website, book-a-flat.com, where we found our spectacular apartment. Esther, as I suggested, is a remarkably busy person, but she still found time to help with emergency French translations of contracts and leases and applications in the months leading up to our departure. Once we all arrived, she walked us through the procedure of booking tennis courts, conferred with us on our visa applications, introduced us to friends, advocated for us in various PSE matters, invited us to the circus, bought Kate clever and accessible French books, .... I could go on and on.
But I promised a discussion of Abhijit, too! Like Esther, he also is a brilliant and productive economist and a first-rate intellect. Outside of economics, he has a formidable set of skills and interests that serve, from our perspective at least, as a very useful complement to Esther's. Where Esther's knowledge of French bureaucracy can help us negotiate our cartes de sejour, Abhijit's knowledge of local bakeries can steer us towards an unforgettable gateau au chocolat. Where Esther figures out the intricacies of the Paris Tennis website, Abhijit makes sure that we book a court at least once a week for a game of doubles. Esther's sober appraisal of the subtle differences in French and US technical education is punctuated by Abhijit's claim that he has just found the World's Worst Shower in the basement of PSE or that the food at a particular restaurant is Utterly Inedible or that continuous-time models are the Single Worst Thing that has ever happened to economic theory, or some other bit of similarly entertaining hyperbole.
And finally, Esther's skills in organizing dinner parties dovetail nicely with Abhijit's wonderful taste in food and drink and his amazing skill in the kitchen. We have eaten many dinners at their apartment this year, and each has been spectacular. I especially love Abhijit's spiced nectarines, his citrus fennel salad, and his Indian street food potatoes. (I also recall a wonderful marinated cheese and a roast leg of lamb that Esther made.)
So, as you can see, it has been very important to have both of them here.
I really cannot begin to describe all of the wonderful moments we have shared and how grateful we are for their friendship. Of everything we have done together this year, though, I decided that our regular doubles matches were most emblematic of the year. Here we are before our final match. (Abhijit and I took on Glenn and Esther, as you can certainly ascertain from the coordinated shirts. I think we won, but who's keeping score?)
Monday, July 30, 2018
Tour de France
July 30th, 2018
The Tour de France finished up yesterday with its traditional laps around central Paris and the final ride down les Champs Elysées. The champion of the entire tour, Geraint Thomas, had been determined before this last, ceremonial, stage, as is typically the case, but there was still some drama because it's always cool to win any stage of the Tour.
Glenn had been following the Tour in great detail during the past couple of weeks on TV and various websites. He knew all of the teams and many of the riders, could explain strategies on various stages, and could tell tales of crashes and mishaps throughout. So, even though Kate and I had not been following closely, we were able to benefit from Glenn's knowledge when we went yesterday to watch the final stage. He pointed out the early breakaway group and explained how they were almost sure to be caught by the best sprinters by the end of the stage due to the sprinters in the peloton being relatively well-rested because they could draft more effectively. He explained the composition of the teams with climbers and sprinters and how they typically worked together. He told us who to look for, both in the breakaway group and the peloton, each lap they came by. We timed how the gap between them closed on each successive lap as well.
We decided to watch from les Tuileries, where the crowds would not be as large as les Champs Elysées. It took us about 20 minutes or so to walk there, and we managed to find a good vantage point to view the race along rue Rivoli.
Here are a couple of videos I took of the race, one real-time of the peloton and one slo-mo of the lead pack.
In addition to the bicyclists, we also got to see a fly-over by French fighter jets leaving red, white, and blue smoke trails. (I wasn't quick enough to catch the jets, but here are the trails.)
We walked back home, back through les Tuileries, past the Louvre, and across the river.
The Tour de France finished up yesterday with its traditional laps around central Paris and the final ride down les Champs Elysées. The champion of the entire tour, Geraint Thomas, had been determined before this last, ceremonial, stage, as is typically the case, but there was still some drama because it's always cool to win any stage of the Tour.
Glenn had been following the Tour in great detail during the past couple of weeks on TV and various websites. He knew all of the teams and many of the riders, could explain strategies on various stages, and could tell tales of crashes and mishaps throughout. So, even though Kate and I had not been following closely, we were able to benefit from Glenn's knowledge when we went yesterday to watch the final stage. He pointed out the early breakaway group and explained how they were almost sure to be caught by the best sprinters by the end of the stage due to the sprinters in the peloton being relatively well-rested because they could draft more effectively. He explained the composition of the teams with climbers and sprinters and how they typically worked together. He told us who to look for, both in the breakaway group and the peloton, each lap they came by. We timed how the gap between them closed on each successive lap as well.
We decided to watch from les Tuileries, where the crowds would not be as large as les Champs Elysées. It took us about 20 minutes or so to walk there, and we managed to find a good vantage point to view the race along rue Rivoli.
In addition to the bicyclists, we also got to see a fly-over by French fighter jets leaving red, white, and blue smoke trails. (I wasn't quick enough to catch the jets, but here are the trails.)
Friday, July 27, 2018
Things I Look Forward To
July 27th, 2018
What once seemed so distant is now imminent. We are moving back to Boston. It is with a mixture of excitement and sadness and denial that we are mentally preparing for our return. For most of the year, it seemed mean-spirited and counterproductive to focus on what I missed about the US, but now it is starting to feel productive and necessary. Today I would like to focus on those things: the parts that I can now look forward to enjoying very soon.
1) Target---A store where I can buy a large fraction of the things I need for my everyday existence cheaply and easily. And pretty much everyone there speaks English, so I can always ask about things I can't find.
2) A fenced-in back yard---Taking Sandy on multiple walks around Paris every day has been an important cultural experience for us, as well as decent exercise and usually a lovely and enjoyable break. Sometime, though, you really want to just open a door and let your dog run outside to pee.
3) My decks and porches---Mostly I really enjoyed living in an urban apartment, but I did miss having the indoor-outdoor transitional spaces we have in our house, such as our front porch and our back deck, both of which have tables for outdoor dining.
4) A bigger kitchen---I look forward to having counter space again, multiple ovens, each of which could accommodate regular-sized cookie sheets or a turkey, an icemaker, and a large fridge.
5) A standard-sized washer and dryer that actually wash and dry---Not too much elaboration is necessary here.
6) AC---I am planning to write a blog soon about my long-standing and deeply-felt opposition to over-air-conditioned public spaces. Today, though, it is 97 degrees in Paris, and we have no AC at work or at home. So that blog will wait---my heart's just not in it. Right now, I would do anything for just a tiny, little bit of AC.
7) Being able to communicate with everyone---I wrote before about some of the unexpected pleasures of not being fluent in the dominant language as well as the ways that I was able to communicate in important non-verbal ways. I also wrote about the great satisfaction I feel as my French improves and when I hear Kate speaking pretty much fluently. However, I think I will find it a relief on balance to have everyone around me speaking English.
8) Being competent---Related but more broad than the language thing is just the sense that I know how everything works and can figure stuff out. I feel that way in Boston, much less so in Paris.
8) Brooklyn 99---Not only has NBC decided to pick it up after it was cancelled by Fox, but I never became tech savvy enough to watch season 5 here, so I get to watch two entire seasons of it next year.
9) The Red Sox---Looking forward to listening on the radio, watching on the TV, and going to Fenway.
10) Branch Line and Max & Leo's and Siena Farms---Two of my favorite restaurants and my favorite source for produce.
11) Friends and family---Can't wait to reconnect, see everyone, and catch up on a whole year's worth of news and events. (Important clarification: By "news and events," I mean the personal and local, not the political and national. Unfortunately, I'm already pretty well caught up on the latter.)
(Update: Also good Mexican food, Chinese food, and BBQ. And decent tap water. And my icemaker. (I think I already said that but I really mean it.))
What once seemed so distant is now imminent. We are moving back to Boston. It is with a mixture of excitement and sadness and denial that we are mentally preparing for our return. For most of the year, it seemed mean-spirited and counterproductive to focus on what I missed about the US, but now it is starting to feel productive and necessary. Today I would like to focus on those things: the parts that I can now look forward to enjoying very soon.
1) Target---A store where I can buy a large fraction of the things I need for my everyday existence cheaply and easily. And pretty much everyone there speaks English, so I can always ask about things I can't find.
2) A fenced-in back yard---Taking Sandy on multiple walks around Paris every day has been an important cultural experience for us, as well as decent exercise and usually a lovely and enjoyable break. Sometime, though, you really want to just open a door and let your dog run outside to pee.
3) My decks and porches---Mostly I really enjoyed living in an urban apartment, but I did miss having the indoor-outdoor transitional spaces we have in our house, such as our front porch and our back deck, both of which have tables for outdoor dining.
4) A bigger kitchen---I look forward to having counter space again, multiple ovens, each of which could accommodate regular-sized cookie sheets or a turkey, an icemaker, and a large fridge.
5) A standard-sized washer and dryer that actually wash and dry---Not too much elaboration is necessary here.
6) AC---I am planning to write a blog soon about my long-standing and deeply-felt opposition to over-air-conditioned public spaces. Today, though, it is 97 degrees in Paris, and we have no AC at work or at home. So that blog will wait---my heart's just not in it. Right now, I would do anything for just a tiny, little bit of AC.
7) Being able to communicate with everyone---I wrote before about some of the unexpected pleasures of not being fluent in the dominant language as well as the ways that I was able to communicate in important non-verbal ways. I also wrote about the great satisfaction I feel as my French improves and when I hear Kate speaking pretty much fluently. However, I think I will find it a relief on balance to have everyone around me speaking English.
8) Being competent---Related but more broad than the language thing is just the sense that I know how everything works and can figure stuff out. I feel that way in Boston, much less so in Paris.
8) Brooklyn 99---Not only has NBC decided to pick it up after it was cancelled by Fox, but I never became tech savvy enough to watch season 5 here, so I get to watch two entire seasons of it next year.
9) The Red Sox---Looking forward to listening on the radio, watching on the TV, and going to Fenway.
10) Branch Line and Max & Leo's and Siena Farms---Two of my favorite restaurants and my favorite source for produce.
11) Friends and family---Can't wait to reconnect, see everyone, and catch up on a whole year's worth of news and events. (Important clarification: By "news and events," I mean the personal and local, not the political and national. Unfortunately, I'm already pretty well caught up on the latter.)
(Update: Also good Mexican food, Chinese food, and BBQ. And decent tap water. And my icemaker. (I think I already said that but I really mean it.))
Wednesday, July 25, 2018
Saint Malo and Mont Saint Michel
July 25th, 2018
The crowds we encountered in Saint Malo and Mont Saint Michel over the weekend were, as Glenn claimed, 110% tourists. There is, as I would claim, though, typically a reason that tourist destinations become tourist destinations. We spent a day and night inside the ancient fortifications of Saint Malo and spent a couple of hours on our way back to Paris visiting Mont Saint Michel. Both were well-preserved medieval fortified cities on the Brittany coast, having almost a fairy-tale quality about them. Narrow, winding cobbled streets, stairs up to the ramparts surrounding the cities, stunning views, ancient stone churches and abbeys and houses, and, in the case of Saint Malo, long stretches of sandy beaches, too! Here are some photos.
The crowds we encountered in Saint Malo and Mont Saint Michel over the weekend were, as Glenn claimed, 110% tourists. There is, as I would claim, though, typically a reason that tourist destinations become tourist destinations. We spent a day and night inside the ancient fortifications of Saint Malo and spent a couple of hours on our way back to Paris visiting Mont Saint Michel. Both were well-preserved medieval fortified cities on the Brittany coast, having almost a fairy-tale quality about them. Narrow, winding cobbled streets, stairs up to the ramparts surrounding the cities, stunning views, ancient stone churches and abbeys and houses, and, in the case of Saint Malo, long stretches of sandy beaches, too! Here are some photos.
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| Kate wearing the iconic Brittany stripes |
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| I think this was the Saint Malo beach we visited |
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| Kate and Glenn on the ramparts |
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| Chimneys of Saint Malo |
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| Another beach outside the walls of Saint Malo---with small fortification on the island to the left |
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| Stone buildings, roofs, and chimneys in Saint Malo |
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| Marshland around Mont Saint Michel |
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| Approach to Mont Saint Michel |
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| Ramparts around Mont Saint Michel |
Tuesday, July 24, 2018
Bayeux and Normandy Beaches
July 24th, 2018
We spent the past weekend (plus a couple of days) roadtripping around Normandy and Brittany, visiting beaches, wandering down cobbled streets, ascending ancient ramparts, and seeing the artifacts of wars, both recent and long ago. In many ways, it was a wonderful weekend with activities varied enough to satisfy all of us (Sandy included), but parts of it were also sobering and arresting.
We started the trip in Bayeux, home to the famous Bayeux Embroidery (also known as the Bayeux Tapestry, although it is not a tapestry). It is an extraordinary document detailing the events leading up to and including the Battle of Hastings in 1066 in three hand-embroidered friezes and occasional embroidered Latin phrases nearly the length of a football field. It has been said that history is written by the victor, which undoubtedly has some truth, but seeing these events documented from the Norman perspective emphasized the fact that different narratives can coexist. In the Bayeux Embroidery, a wronged William had no choice but to send his army to England to conquer the duplicitous Harold after Harold had lied and stolen the crown from him, despite Edward intending for William to accede. That may not be the standard narrative that one learns in Anglo-Saxon history lessons.
In any case, the embroidery was beautiful and cleverly structured and absolutely full of details and information. It was almost a cross between a work of art and a scientific chart or graph. It was one of the most interesting things I've seen this year. One disappointment, though: no photos allowed. So I will include these stock photos of the Embroidery, along with short descriptions based on my recollection.
In the first scene, Edward, near death, promises the crown to William. I believe the second scene below depicts a hurried dinner on the shore of Normandy before William's forces set sail. In the two battle scenes, the middle frieze depicts the nobility and pageantry of the royalty fighting on horseback---what often is reflected in the history books and in monumental pieces of battle art---while the bottom frieze records some of more galling and shocking aspects of hand-to-hand combat that the foot soldiers would have engaged in. I find the inclusion of those elements of battle interesting in its own right, but the fact that they are depicted in a parallel narrative in a frieze below the main one is amazing.
The Bayeux Embroidery is headed to the UK for a long-term loan in a couple of years. I highly recommend it.
Of course the Battle of Hastings is not the only battle that put Normandy on the map. I am referring, of course, to the D-Day Landing on the beaches of Normandy and the resulting months of battles to recapture parts of France from the Nazis. We visited several important sites related to those events: the remnants of the floating port at Arromanches-les-Bains, the intact German gun batteries at Longues-sur-Mer, and the American Cemetery at Omaha Beach. Hearing the stories of the battles and seeing the rows and rows of headstones was arresting. War is horrific and there are no winners. Still, it made me proud to be an American: proud of the enthusiasm and technical know-how of the American troops, but proud, especially, of their desire to save the world, not just their own country, and to fight for the principles of democracy and freedom over authoritarianism, hatred, and fear.
Finally, I want to add that the towns and countryside of Normandy are beautiful. Here are some rolling fields near a bluff overlooking the Channel.
We spent the past weekend (plus a couple of days) roadtripping around Normandy and Brittany, visiting beaches, wandering down cobbled streets, ascending ancient ramparts, and seeing the artifacts of wars, both recent and long ago. In many ways, it was a wonderful weekend with activities varied enough to satisfy all of us (Sandy included), but parts of it were also sobering and arresting.
We started the trip in Bayeux, home to the famous Bayeux Embroidery (also known as the Bayeux Tapestry, although it is not a tapestry). It is an extraordinary document detailing the events leading up to and including the Battle of Hastings in 1066 in three hand-embroidered friezes and occasional embroidered Latin phrases nearly the length of a football field. It has been said that history is written by the victor, which undoubtedly has some truth, but seeing these events documented from the Norman perspective emphasized the fact that different narratives can coexist. In the Bayeux Embroidery, a wronged William had no choice but to send his army to England to conquer the duplicitous Harold after Harold had lied and stolen the crown from him, despite Edward intending for William to accede. That may not be the standard narrative that one learns in Anglo-Saxon history lessons.
In any case, the embroidery was beautiful and cleverly structured and absolutely full of details and information. It was almost a cross between a work of art and a scientific chart or graph. It was one of the most interesting things I've seen this year. One disappointment, though: no photos allowed. So I will include these stock photos of the Embroidery, along with short descriptions based on my recollection.
In the first scene, Edward, near death, promises the crown to William. I believe the second scene below depicts a hurried dinner on the shore of Normandy before William's forces set sail. In the two battle scenes, the middle frieze depicts the nobility and pageantry of the royalty fighting on horseback---what often is reflected in the history books and in monumental pieces of battle art---while the bottom frieze records some of more galling and shocking aspects of hand-to-hand combat that the foot soldiers would have engaged in. I find the inclusion of those elements of battle interesting in its own right, but the fact that they are depicted in a parallel narrative in a frieze below the main one is amazing.
The Bayeux Embroidery is headed to the UK for a long-term loan in a couple of years. I highly recommend it.
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| New Yorker cover from 1944 depicting scenes from the Battle of Normandy in a style mimicing the Bayeux Embroidery |
Of course the Battle of Hastings is not the only battle that put Normandy on the map. I am referring, of course, to the D-Day Landing on the beaches of Normandy and the resulting months of battles to recapture parts of France from the Nazis. We visited several important sites related to those events: the remnants of the floating port at Arromanches-les-Bains, the intact German gun batteries at Longues-sur-Mer, and the American Cemetery at Omaha Beach. Hearing the stories of the battles and seeing the rows and rows of headstones was arresting. War is horrific and there are no winners. Still, it made me proud to be an American: proud of the enthusiasm and technical know-how of the American troops, but proud, especially, of their desire to save the world, not just their own country, and to fight for the principles of democracy and freedom over authoritarianism, hatred, and fear.
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| A remnant of the floating port beached at Arromanches |
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| The seaside town of Arromanches, with the Normandy bluffs in the distance and the flags of the liberating forces still flying above |
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| Sandy and Glenn walking towards one of the German batteries |
Thursday, July 19, 2018
London Museums
July 19th, 2018
It seems like ages ago when we were in London, but it's been less than two weeks. (I guess a lot has happened ....) I did want to include one additional post on our trip there, though, focusing on visits to the British Museum and the Victoria and Albert Museum.
The British Museum holds a special place in my heart because of an oft-told ridiculous family story. When I was pregnant with Kate, I wanted to take both of the older girls on separate trips before the new baby arrived. It turned out that I had two business trips planned to interesting locations, New Orleans and Cambridge, England. So I took Anna to New Orleans (accompanied by my sister Katie) and Caroline to Cambridge and London (accompanied by my Dad). Both trips were great successes, although perhaps Caroline was more vocal afterwards about her trip. In particular, she loved the British Museum and spoke often about having seen the Elgin Marbles and the Rosetta Stone. Anna, it turns out, was a little envious that Caroline had seen the Rosetta Stone and started agitating for a trip to London. Ok, we told her, we will keep that in mind and try to plan something at some later date. A new baby is on the way, though, so it might not be for a while.
Several months later, new baby having arrived, Glenn and I decided to attend a conference in Toulouse, France. We would not have childcare to leave the kids at home, so we decided to make a family trip of it, trading off attendance at the conference. I was in charge of booking the plane tickets, and let's just say that I was not as mindful of the connections as one might often be when traveling with two small children and a baby. We ended up with a ridiculous flight that had us changing not just planes but airports in London, with a several-hour layover in between. Frustrated when I realized it, I was determined to make the best of it. We would use that opportunity to visit the British Museum! I will not go into the very complicated logistics of stowing our luggage, traveling into and back out of London, getting from Gatwick to Heathrow, etc., but suffice to say it was a pretty exhausting day. In the middle of it, though, a delighted young Anna was able to spend several minutes gazing in amazement at the Rosetta Stone. And we had enough time to squeeze in glances at other impressive Egyptian artifacts, the Elgin Marbles, and sculptures from Easter Island.
So, 15 years later, we revisited the British Museum and enjoyed remembering that crazy day. The highlight this time, though, was an exhibit of Rodin's sculpture. He, apparently, was deeply influenced by the Greek sculptures in the British Museum, making many trips there to study them, and this exhibit was conceived to discuss and explain those connections and influences. (I loved the meta aspect to it: an art exhibit in the British Museum about the effect that the British Museum had on that art, and, hence, really an exhibit about the power of exhibits and the role of museums.)
The exhibit touched on the biographic---details of the trips to the British Museum, what Rodin saw, how he reacted. It also discussed similarities of his work to the ancient Greek in technique and subject, from a more traditional perspective of art criticism. Finally, it displayed some of his actual tools and explained the sculpting process.
Overall, I thought it was an excellent and educational exhibit. I hope to make it to the Rodin Museum in Paris before we leave and while this exhibit is still fresh in my mind.
Below are photos of a few other items we saw at the British Museum that caught my eye, Roman sculpture, a tile with an architectural drawing, and the Lewis Chessmen.
On Sunday, we made a trip to the V&A. I've always enjoyed that museum as a pure visual experience---full of things that are simply lovely to look at, regardless of how important or famous or intellectually demanding. One might imagine that such a museum would inspire many photos of their simply lovely collection. In fact, I hardly took any, for some reason. Here is one, though, a photo of a tennis costume in an exhibit of women's clothing through the ages. I liked it, although those green squares would have rendered it ineligible for Wimbledon, I think.
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| Detail of Parthenon sculpture, British Museum |
The British Museum holds a special place in my heart because of an oft-told ridiculous family story. When I was pregnant with Kate, I wanted to take both of the older girls on separate trips before the new baby arrived. It turned out that I had two business trips planned to interesting locations, New Orleans and Cambridge, England. So I took Anna to New Orleans (accompanied by my sister Katie) and Caroline to Cambridge and London (accompanied by my Dad). Both trips were great successes, although perhaps Caroline was more vocal afterwards about her trip. In particular, she loved the British Museum and spoke often about having seen the Elgin Marbles and the Rosetta Stone. Anna, it turns out, was a little envious that Caroline had seen the Rosetta Stone and started agitating for a trip to London. Ok, we told her, we will keep that in mind and try to plan something at some later date. A new baby is on the way, though, so it might not be for a while.
Several months later, new baby having arrived, Glenn and I decided to attend a conference in Toulouse, France. We would not have childcare to leave the kids at home, so we decided to make a family trip of it, trading off attendance at the conference. I was in charge of booking the plane tickets, and let's just say that I was not as mindful of the connections as one might often be when traveling with two small children and a baby. We ended up with a ridiculous flight that had us changing not just planes but airports in London, with a several-hour layover in between. Frustrated when I realized it, I was determined to make the best of it. We would use that opportunity to visit the British Museum! I will not go into the very complicated logistics of stowing our luggage, traveling into and back out of London, getting from Gatwick to Heathrow, etc., but suffice to say it was a pretty exhausting day. In the middle of it, though, a delighted young Anna was able to spend several minutes gazing in amazement at the Rosetta Stone. And we had enough time to squeeze in glances at other impressive Egyptian artifacts, the Elgin Marbles, and sculptures from Easter Island.
So, 15 years later, we revisited the British Museum and enjoyed remembering that crazy day. The highlight this time, though, was an exhibit of Rodin's sculpture. He, apparently, was deeply influenced by the Greek sculptures in the British Museum, making many trips there to study them, and this exhibit was conceived to discuss and explain those connections and influences. (I loved the meta aspect to it: an art exhibit in the British Museum about the effect that the British Museum had on that art, and, hence, really an exhibit about the power of exhibits and the role of museums.)
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| Ancient Greek on left, Rodin on right |
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| Two casts of The Thinker |
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| Detail from The Burghers of Calais |
Overall, I thought it was an excellent and educational exhibit. I hope to make it to the Rodin Museum in Paris before we leave and while this exhibit is still fresh in my mind.
Below are photos of a few other items we saw at the British Museum that caught my eye, Roman sculpture, a tile with an architectural drawing, and the Lewis Chessmen.
Tuesday, July 17, 2018
Diversity, Social Goods Provision, and Performance on the Field
July 17, 2018
In 2014, I published an article entitled "Diversity, Social Goods Provision, and Performance in the Firm." In that article, I analyzed data from a large firm who had offices in many US and foreign cities. The data contained information on the diversity of each office (in various dimensions), measures of happiness and esprit de corps of the workers, and measures of the output and efficiency of each office. The results of the analysis were that the more homogeneous offices were happier, but, crucially, despite being happier, were less productive. People enjoy working with other people like themselves but the group actually performs better when it is more diverse. In a draft of the paper---not sure if this example made it into the published version---I used a fictitious baseball team comprised entirely of catchers as an illustration. They might love getting together over beers to discuss their preferred brand of chest protector or the finer points of catching the knuckler, but on the field, they will be a disaster. As human beings, we are, perhaps, programmed to prefer those like us, but by allowing or even forcing diversity and integration, we become stronger and better. (As an aside, for the first and probably only time in my career, a piece of my research was touted by Rush Limbaugh on his radio program. It is interesting to note, though, that he only mentioned the first of the two results: fake news by omission.)
I tend to be quite hesitant, as are most researchers, to oversell or over-generalize what are, admittedly, results special and particular to one empirical setting. This is a blog, though, so I may take the liberty of painting with a slightly broader brush. And I thought immediately of my results as soon as Les Bleus won the World Cup. The members of France's national team come from different socio-economic strata, ethnic traditions, and racial backgrounds. They represent an immigrant-friendly, pluralistic ideal, and they proved themselves the best in the world on the playing field. I know little about the personal relationships among the players---perhaps they are just as happy with their diversity as their fans are with their on-field results, or perhaps there were frictions or tensions or difficulties associated with their widely differing backgrounds. In any case, though, one of the enduring stories of this team is that diversity works. I am deeply saddened that that lesson, one that America arguably taught the world, is now experiencing a skeptical reception there.
And the story of my paper, broadly speaking, is two-fold: Diversity is hard and awkward and unpleasant, perhaps. If, however, we work past the difficult parts, the payoff---in corporate profits or soccer wins or maybe even economic growth of an entire country---can be great.
In 2014, I published an article entitled "Diversity, Social Goods Provision, and Performance in the Firm." In that article, I analyzed data from a large firm who had offices in many US and foreign cities. The data contained information on the diversity of each office (in various dimensions), measures of happiness and esprit de corps of the workers, and measures of the output and efficiency of each office. The results of the analysis were that the more homogeneous offices were happier, but, crucially, despite being happier, were less productive. People enjoy working with other people like themselves but the group actually performs better when it is more diverse. In a draft of the paper---not sure if this example made it into the published version---I used a fictitious baseball team comprised entirely of catchers as an illustration. They might love getting together over beers to discuss their preferred brand of chest protector or the finer points of catching the knuckler, but on the field, they will be a disaster. As human beings, we are, perhaps, programmed to prefer those like us, but by allowing or even forcing diversity and integration, we become stronger and better. (As an aside, for the first and probably only time in my career, a piece of my research was touted by Rush Limbaugh on his radio program. It is interesting to note, though, that he only mentioned the first of the two results: fake news by omission.)
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| Reuters photo of Les Bleus, accompanying article entitled "Les Bleus are a mini-UN of soccer talent." |
And the story of my paper, broadly speaking, is two-fold: Diversity is hard and awkward and unpleasant, perhaps. If, however, we work past the difficult parts, the payoff---in corporate profits or soccer wins or maybe even economic growth of an entire country---can be great.
Monday, July 16, 2018
What a Night!
July 16th, 2018
Paris slept late yesterday morning, perhaps recovering from the fireworks at the Eiffel Tower and the Bals des Pompiers from the previous night. (It was the Fête Nationale, or Bastille Day.) Or perhaps they were preparing for the all-night celebration that would follow their win over Croatia in the final of the 2018 World Cup. Whichever it was, Sunday morning was unusually quiet and calm.
I spent the morning packing boxes. Kate baked banana bread. Glenn went running. We played board games over cheese and crackers at midday. I had made reservations at a nearby bar to watch the game, and we needed to prepare, though. So, early afternoon, we all changed into our France soccer jerseys. We also found a site on the internet which explained all of the chants and jeers and cheers and songs we were likely to hear during the game. (We decided we would stick to "Allez les bleus," but it was nice to know what to expect.) At 4:15, we headed over. By then the streets were full of life, teeming with excited fans rushing to parties or scrambling to find a place to watch the game. The bleu blanc rouge was everywhere, painted on faces and in hair, wrapped around shoulders and waists, flying from cars, hanging from buildings, signs, scaffolding.
The bar was packed, of course, with all of the indoor seats with screen views taken, tables spilling out onto the sidewalk, and a sizeable crowd standing behind the sidewalk tables. There was a wonderful esprit de corps as the pre-game show progressed, everyone excited and happy, if a little tense. Cheers erupted as the French team was announced, the crowd's favorite being Mbappé. A stirring (and off-key) rendition of La Marseillaise broke out. The game was set to begin.
Croatia dominated early and the crowd stilled. Around minute 18, France broke down field. An own-goal by a Croatian defender resulted in an immediate wall of sound enveloping us: cheers, screams, whistles, horns. The bar was on its feet, everyone cheering, dancing, and hugging. France was up 1-0!!
France's fortunes ebbed and flowed over the evening, as did the crowd noise and demeanor. An almost audible sigh of relief resulted from Mbappé's low, outside strike into the corner to put France up 4-1. A few minutes after a ridiculous mistake by French goalie Lloris that tightened the game a bit, the whistle blew and France was the world champion!
Celebrations ensued. And ensued. And ensued. We walked the streets of our neighborhood, witnessing the euphoria, for a couple of hours. We finally made our way back home, falling asleep past midnight to the sounds of honking cars and roving, singing bands of revelers.
And here's a little video of the post-game revelry:
I spent the morning packing boxes. Kate baked banana bread. Glenn went running. We played board games over cheese and crackers at midday. I had made reservations at a nearby bar to watch the game, and we needed to prepare, though. So, early afternoon, we all changed into our France soccer jerseys. We also found a site on the internet which explained all of the chants and jeers and cheers and songs we were likely to hear during the game. (We decided we would stick to "Allez les bleus," but it was nice to know what to expect.) At 4:15, we headed over. By then the streets were full of life, teeming with excited fans rushing to parties or scrambling to find a place to watch the game. The bleu blanc rouge was everywhere, painted on faces and in hair, wrapped around shoulders and waists, flying from cars, hanging from buildings, signs, scaffolding. 
Croatia dominated early and the crowd stilled. Around minute 18, France broke down field. An own-goal by a Croatian defender resulted in an immediate wall of sound enveloping us: cheers, screams, whistles, horns. The bar was on its feet, everyone cheering, dancing, and hugging. France was up 1-0!!
France's fortunes ebbed and flowed over the evening, as did the crowd noise and demeanor. An almost audible sigh of relief resulted from Mbappé's low, outside strike into the corner to put France up 4-1. A few minutes after a ridiculous mistake by French goalie Lloris that tightened the game a bit, the whistle blew and France was the world champion!
Celebrations ensued. And ensued. And ensued. We walked the streets of our neighborhood, witnessing the euphoria, for a couple of hours. We finally made our way back home, falling asleep past midnight to the sounds of honking cars and roving, singing bands of revelers.
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