Friday Night Lights

Heavy Rotation

Favorite tracks:
-Rebel in You
-When I Needed You
-Return of Inspiration

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Favorite Tracks:
-Modern Guilt
-Profanity Prayers

J'adore L'amour

When it comes to public displays of affection, no town can match Mexico City, which boasts more snuggling, nuzzling, and smooching per square foot than any other place I've been. That said, Paris in autumn lives up to its own romantic reputation. And Nick happens to be a great decoy for snapping pics of canoodlers in action.

On the banks of the Seine...














Quai D'Orsay...

...Pont St. Michel








Place des Vosges...








Montmartre...Parc des Buttes Chaumont...











Parc des Buttes Chaumont (with "les joggers" in background)...


Rue St. Honore...

Parc des Buttes Chaumont

Nik and I spent the afternoon at Buttes Chaumont, a beautiful park just north of Belleville in the 19th arr. The park is situated on a former gypsum quarry and, owing to the topography, offers some striking views. I visited this park frequently when I lived here in the summer of 2000. While I wouldn't say it's completely off the radar for tourists (heck, I stopped by), it does seem to be used more by the locals.

Here are some more pics...


At the top of the rocky peak is the Belvedere of Sybil, a Corinthian style monument, modeled after the ancient Roman Temple of Sybil in Tivoli, Italy.

More Belvedere...

Taken from the Belvedere of Sybil...

Sacre Coeur in the distance...


N.B. chaser...

Bruno Infiltrates Stella McCartney

Nicole sent me this pic from the Stella McCartney show this morning at Carreaut du Temple (3ieme arr.). Who's the fellow in the blonde shag wig?

Liberte, Egalite, NECESSITE!

There's no way of putting this delicately, so why try? Babies can really screw with one of the great Paris enjoyments-- the two and half hour cafe sitdown. It seems Nik and I are only in sync about 15% of the time.

This, for instance, was a lucky break...

Usually, when I want to have a long lunch and enjoy the street scene, Nik wants to move. Or be held. Or be held standing up, etc. Trying to do this at a narrow cafe seat is a right pain in the arse, thankyouverymuch.

Luckily, here in France, they have this thing called a "supermarche." Vegetables, dairy products, meats, wine and more- all under one roof. Unbelievable! I've taken to stocking up about every two days with a bottle of Bordeaux, some saucisson sec, a mini wheel of camembert, a peach, a baguette and some cookies. Stick it all in the backpack and when the urge strikes, find a bench or some steps and spread it all out. Comme ca...

Eat, drink, sit, stand, rock, carry, kneel, genuflect, and throw elbows, all while taking in the pageantry of the Parisian street. Works for moi!

Oh, and baby bottles make good portable wine glasses.

Art Appreciation

Il fait mauvais today. Cold and overcast, with intermittent rain. In other words, a perfect day to hit the museum. A fifteen minute walk got us from our hotel near Place Vendome to the Musee D'orsay. Once again, the Spitfire proved its mettle. With the hood down and rain screen fastened, the dear boy was impervious to the elements.

After a quick coffee for pops, we headed up to le cinquieme etage to see if the impressionists could make an impression.

Curiously, Nick wasn't too impressed with this early Cezanne. In spite of the subject matter...


And he was just lukewarm on Van Gogh's famous self portrait...

Ahh, but Gaugin's Tahitian women he found pleasing...

Really pleasing...

And Emile Bernard's "Bathers with a Red Cow". Out of this world!

Correction

I was wrong about Le Metro not accomodating baby strollers. Almost all Paris metro stations have a pass-through gate like in NYC. Here, you put your ticket in the slot at the turnstile, walk over to the gate, and press a red button. A disembodied voice chimes in over a speakerbox: "Bonjour," and you fumble through something like "Pouvez vous abrir la puerta?" (It helps if you you mix a little Spanish in with your French).

You then cap it off with "J'ai du bebe a bord," a paraphrase of a car window sticker you saw a few minutes before entering the metro, and you'll hear the disembodied (and now somewhat bemused) voice say, "Je vous en pris," or some such, followed by a click of the lock. Pull the gate open and you're in.

Invitation to a Beatdown?

Petit Dejuner Avec Monsieur Blanks

The boy enjoyed his first Parisian breakfast yesterday morning. Well, he enjoyed us enjoying it, but still...scrambled eggs with salmon and cornichons, orange juice, and cafe creme. Yum!

Our meal included a special visit from Monsieur Tim Blanks. We discussed politics, dogs, and where to buy a good scarf.

"Charvet!" said Tim.

I didn't take him up on that, but we did follow another of his recommendations, paying a visit to the Ecole Nationale Superieure des Beaux-Arts to take in Academia: Qui es-tu?. The exhibit, which features items from the personal collection of Belgian art dealer-collector Axel Vervoordt, spans a multitude of eras, cutlures and media. Nick's favorite piece was Transports, a 1954 video installation by Henri Foucault.

"Like father, like son," says Nicole.

Nick hung out in the courtyard of the Ecole, where one among France's "most prestigious art students" (according to Time out) smoked cigarettes and shot film of carp swimming in a murky fountain.

Afterward, we discussed the art over a beer at Cafe de Flore...

...followed by a post-prandial monument snooze in front of St. German des Pres, Paris's oldest church.

Dur Dur D'etre Jordy!

There was a Jordy retrospective on French TV this evening.

Anyone remember Jordy? Jordy Lemoine? 4 year old French dance sensation and one-hit-wonder? Youngest singer in the history of the French republic, or any republic, to have a #1 single? The song? Dur Dur D'etre Bebe (It's Tough Tough to Be a Baby).

Ring a bell? Here's a refresher.
Jordy's hit single was penned by his record producer pops, Claude Lemoine. The two did well for a while. But in 1994, the French government banned six-year-old Jordy from television and radio, concerned that he was being exploited by his parents. This concern was fueled, no doubt, by the original video of Dur Dur.
Disturbing much?
French society eventually turned against Jordy's family as well. The reason? The Lemoine's opening of La Ferme de Jordy or "Jordy's Farm," a children's tourist attraction. According to the documentary, the Jordy's Farm thing was beyond the pale.
Perhaps it was, but I'd love to have been a fly on the wall when Jordy's dad was negotiating contract riders with the venue:

Listen up! The kid performs for 20 minutes. In his dressing room I want two dozen boxes of blue macaroons, five vials of syringe-administered toddler Motrin, a vat of baby hair gel and no pink bon bons. Are you hearing me? NO PINK BON BONS!

1st Day Monument Snooze

Got to the hotel yesterday at around 11am and Nick and Nicole were happy to see each other. Well, happy undersells it. Eleventh stage of nirvana is more apt.

After pain au choc and a brief nap we walked Nicole down to the Hotel Weston for her 2nd show of the day. She would be covering shows all afternoon, so Nick and I decided to head for the Tuilieries for a longer nap by the big fountain. On our way there I caught Nick sleeping in front of the Place Vendome. I once did a report in eighth grade on the Place Vendome for Madam Van Sciver's french class. Nick's expression here about captures my interest at the time.

Il fait tres beau! 70 degrees and sunny with just the faintest chill to remind us it's autumn. Nick and I grabbed a seat by the big fountain down near the Obelisk end of the park. I draped a blanket over the hood of the Spitfire, kicked my feet up onto the lip of the fountain, closed my eyes and...Nick started wailing.

Seems he wasn't much for sitting still. So instead, we strolled to the other end of the Tuilieries. It was Sunday and the place was packed with families and tourists. There are a ton of kid's activities on offer in the Tuilieries, some of which I'll highlight in another post.

Nick was fast asleep by the time we neared the Louvre...

So we kept moving.

We made it to the Pont Des Artes a few minutes later. Currently, there's a photo exhibition on the Pont Des Artes having to do with Malaria in Africa (link coming).

Looking east from the bridge, one sees Ile de la Cite, which means Notre Dame is not far off. It occured to me that if I could get a pic of Nick sleeping in front of the big church it'd make a hat trick of some sort. So we kept walking east. But it was 5:3o by the time we reached Pont Neuf and we were due back at the hotel at 6.

We turned around, walked back through the Tuileries and made it back to the hotel in time for an early evening feeding. I took my first shower in a day and a half and then it was back out to complete the hat trick.

This time we took the Metro which, it's worth noting, does not offer a pass-through gate a la NYC. Getting to your platform means first carrying baby and stroller over the turnstile
or collapsing the whole kit and holding baby as you pass through.

Pont Neuf at dusk is pretty!

Nick and I had dinner at The Great Canadian off Place St. Michel, a choice I made in a ravenous pique and one I wouldn't make again. (The name should've provided ample warning). After dinner we strolled on over to Notre Dame. Nick was in dreamtown by the time we got there, making for a perfect setup:

Hat trick!

The Mother and Child Reunion

was only an ocean away.

Made It!

Nick traveled well on a brand spanking new Air India Boeing 777. Not the late 1970's 747 I was kind of hoping for, but not to worry. The trip-seven was spotless, and roomy, and a super-smooth ride. (Good going, Boeing!) Our plane was named the Pradesh something or other. Is it a new thing that airlines give individual names to their aircraft? I feel like I've only noticed that recently, but maybe I hadn't been paying attention.

Anyhoo, observations about traveling on a jumbo jet with a young pre-verbal.

I felt a general air of consideration was afforded us throughout the trip. Nothing extraordinary, just perhaps a watchful eye here and there, like when a flight attendant noticed that there were more babies than bassinet space at our original location and expedited a seat switch on our behalf. She did this without my prompting, and the traveler whom she displaced performed his part with alacrity. As a traveler, I now feel guilty for once being a snarling baby-hater. I will, as they say, pay it forward.

Nick drank a bit as we took off and showed no signs of discomfort. He'd stopped drinking by the time the landing gear was stowed, well in advance of reaching altitude, and still seemed unperturbed. So no air/ear pressure concerns.

About an hour into the flight an attendant came by with the baby bassinet. The bassinet itself is a rectangular, 22"x16" basket comprised of tubular metal frame, canvas cloth interior and wood bottom, and mattress. Each center section bulkhead can handle two bassinets, each side section can handle one. It affixes to the bulkhead by way of three locking screws and looks like this:
I think Nick took to it right away:

It being a night-flight and well past his bed time, he was only too happy to start catching some rack, pronto:...which allowed his dad the opportunity to enjoy dinner (a delicious Tandoori chicken with yogurt and salad), watch a movie on his laptop and relax with a Johnny Rocks.

Bon nuit.

Why Air India?

Because the Concorde's been grounded, why else?!

But seriously, there's a long answer and a short answer. The short answer goes something like this:

One Adult Round-Trip ticket, Newark to DeGaulle = $323
One Infant Round-Trip ticket, Newark to DeGaulle = $34

Air India was far and away the cheapest ticket I could find using all the likely methods. Curiously, the tax on each of our fares exceeds the ticket amount ($349 and $324, respectively). How can Air India charge so little and still be flying? Well, they're state-owned, i.e. designed to run at a loss. And then there's volume. Our flight wraps up in Mumbai. Assuming Mumbai-bound travelers comprise a majority, though not all, of their business, if they can scoop up shortstoppers like Nik and me along the way --we are still paying something, even if it's wholesale -- then a few more seats get filled that would otherwise be empty. That's my guess, anyway, and I'm sticking to it.

Here're three more reasons:

1) Air India flies 747's. I love me a 747!!!

2) Air India's customer service model: Under Promise/Over Deliver. Here's a typical scenario from a previous flight:

Me:
S'cuse me, could I get a drink?
Flight Attendant:
What are you drinking?
Me:
Johnny Walker. Rocks.
Flight Attendant:
I'll see what I can do. Anything else?
Me:
Well, since you're asking...can you make it a double?
Flight Attendant:
(slight frown)
Hmmm.

A few minutes later flight attendant brings me not one, not two, but three little ponies of Johnny Walker along with three cups of ice. She might've been thinking see if this doesn't shut him up, but who cares? We'd been airborne for, like, ten minutes. She delivered. Yes, it's the little things...

3) Air India saved my marriage proposal. But that, as they say, is a different story...

At Least He Rates

David Applefield, author of Paris Inside Out, reports, "the French are highly indulgent with animals, babies, and senior citizens, but they clearly have a love affair with dogs."

Okay, so Nick's not top dog. He still claims a lofty position within the Parisian pecking order. That's reassuring.

P Minus 36 Hours...

Tickets, passports, baby milk. Check.

Stroller, diaper bag, baby duds. Check.

Arrondisement Indispensible. Check.

Ear plugs for the poor saps sitting nearby. Still need...