A perfect day, and other stories . . .

Thanks to everyone for checking in, commenting, letting me know you're out there. While it sounds like spring is coming to Oregon. It is definitely still winter here. Yesterday morning it sleeted and snowed, and then there was brilliant sun and clouds. I wrote and played the accordion at home in the morning, and then went on a long wander. Saw so many great things, large and small. This is close to my ideal day. I wish I could upload some pictures, but the computer here isn't letting me.

In any case, I found the Sprint store near a metro stop--but it sells athletic shoes! Near my apartment is a store called Homies. We are not in the hood here, and homies will certainly not be shopping there. Instead of hoodies, they sell high-fashion women's clothes. There are a million pharmacies, and about half a million parapharmacies. Hmmm, parapharmacy. I wondered if parapharmacy meant that Amsterdam's relaxed drug laws have been extended to the whole EU. But no. At a parapharmacy, one buys skin care products. It's like going into safeway, but all skin care. Hundreds of choices. And it seems to be worth it--people here have beautiful skin.

Finally, I ended up at the Arc de Triomphe, which commemorates French soldiers from the Revolution on. It is massive and impressive, and a great place to watch the sun go down, which I did. Incredible views of the Eiffel Tower and Champs Elysees with crazy traffic (there are 10 or 12 streets which intersect at the circle at the base of the monument). It was close to 0 F and super-invigorating being up there. You are near the center of Paris, sort of, and one immediately notices that the French are smarter than us when it comes to urban planning. All of the ugly high rises are far in the distance, at the city edges. The center is for pleasure, not business, mostly.

OK, for those who are wishing to correct my French. Yes, perdu means lost, not perfect. I agree, but you're missing the joke (the mistranslation is on purpose!). Maybe it's too obscure, but think of French lit and Proust perhaps? And anyhow it's an image I like, wandering around looking for the cheese that I once had but lost. It leads to more interesting conversations than going into a store and saying "I'm looking for the perfect cheese", as you can imagine.

the view from my balcony of sacre coeur.
i don't know how many pix i will get posted because they take forever.

It's all bacon

Paris is dreamy, even when overcast and cool, as today. One only needs to wander around aimlessly on the streets for an hour or two to have a full day's sights and entertainment. Just now I got hopelessly lost in all the small, angular streets of the neighboring 9th arrondissement, but ended up back at Place Pigalle, my home metro station, entirely without trying.

First impressions, despite being here two weeks already: Everthing and everyone is smaller than in the U.S.. An "SUV" here looks like a toy at first, until it falls into context with all the cars, which are all also tiny. Including the police cars--a Peugot the size of a Honda Civic which always seem to have four policiers inside. It's as if the opposite of McDonald's supersizing has taken place. In turn, everything else is small too, apartments, portions in restaurants, bottles of pills at the pharmacy (ibuprofen comes as 10 max). People are thin. Everyone. And fashions of the moment (pencil coats and the like) accentuate the thin lines. By contrast, public things are vast--monuments, parks especially, boulevards. Compared to home, it is like looking in a mirror.

So, the topic of the day is bacon. During my first week, I looked around for some to be able to make a hearty home-style breakfast before heading out for the day. Since bacon makes the world go 'round (my world anyway--you too Briana!) it was very disappointing to find that bacon didn't seem to be available despite the multitude of small butcher and cured meat shops nearby. Then yesterday I was in yet another incredible charcutier who does all his own meat curing, pate preparation, etc.. One of the most beautiful spaces a meat lover could end up. And they had bacon! As they sliced some off of the slab, though, and I asked for some pate, and some prosciutto, and some dry salami, I realized my mistake. It is all bacon! It's all cured meat, it's everywhere, and so VOILA, France's love for cured meats is really another take on the love for bacon. Again, it is a look in the mirror. I have a feeling this is going to happen repeatedly . . .