a unique perspective on this crazy world

Archive for April, 2012

getting up close and personal with history

My silence the past few days relates to the potentially insane idea I came up with to celebrate my 50th birthday.  This is normally a fairly quiet period for me work-wise.  The original thought was to take three months and try to knock off all the outstanding “must see” locations on my wish list, climate permitting.

But then I did the reality check and realized neither my current career plans nor my bank account could support such an extravagant scheme.  So I scaled it back a little and made sure I was spending enough time in Vancouver the clients wouldn’t think I had forgotten about them.

You have already heard the stories from round one.  I am now madly preparing for round two.

The 2012 concept is to revisit some old favourites – and to tick off at least a few new destinations from the wish list.  So… I have already been back to Paris and Berlin.  I’ll be on a plane to Amsterdam next week.  Hoping to schedule in New York City and London later in the year.

Istanbul was the first of the wish list destinations.  The original vision was to also visit Cambodia and Vietnam this year.   But I went on a wild google search last autumn and checked out all the must have’s.  Back then the Arab Spring was still fresh and not too many people were going to Egypt.  I have wanted to go to Egypt forever and Abercrombie & Kent tours to Egypt were on sale.

In that time frame I thought I was pretty savvy.  I have travelled just after major world events before and it is usually the perfect time to show up.  Of course, none of those trips involved a destination in the Middle East…

So I was using the wee hours of the morning last week – when my jet lag had me wide awake – to assess whether I was certifiable to be contemplating getting on a flight to Cairo.  According to the Canadian and UK consulates, non-essential travel to Egypt is not recommended.  But I have already invested a lot of non-refundable cash into this adventure so I knew I had to dig deeper.

My thought was that if I stuck to being a tourist and didn’t go protesting in Tahrir Square on Friday I was likely pretty safe.  My research suggested I was right.  And possibly safer than in more normal times – everyone is too busy fighting with each other to bother with tourists.

And given the role tourism plays in the Egyptian economy, there is a good chance I will be welcomed with open arms.  I was hoping to have the Pyramids to myself but supposedly my tour is sold out so I guess I am not the only crazy one out there.

A keen understanding of calculated risk is the key to an interesting life.  My travel stories prove that I am not adverse to taking a risk with my life… but I have never come to any serious harm on any of the six continents I have traversed, including any of the streets of foreign cities I have walked by myself at 2am.

But I always do my homework and know the general lay of the ‘hood even if it’s not my own ‘hood.  And have great people skills and a general sense of girl guide smarts and calm.  You always need to keep your wits about you, you should never panic and you should be able to talk your way out of most situations.

This is not to say that you should just show up in a war zone and see how it goes!  It just means that you shouldn’t freak out unnecessarily – and that you should calculate the risk before venturing in.

The rewards can be phenomenal.  I have been in a lot of places at times the average person would have shunned the place because they weren’t willing to do the risk assessment. I have been thanked for coming to New York City so soon after 9/11 there was talk of funerals in the hotel elevator and the tributes to the firefighters were still outside the fire stations.  Even more memorable was my arrival in Zimbabwe when white farmers were being killed and the economy had collapsed from fear.

But showing up then can become an experience you didn’t even have on your itinerary.  I didn’t even think much about it when I planned my trip to Botswana in 2001.  Victoria Falls is just over the border and a natural inclusion.  I had dreamed of Africa for decades but this was my first actual trip to the dark continent.  The line at the airport in Jo’burg definitely proved one needs some  patience to travel successfully in Africa.  From there we landed at the airport in Vic Falls.  We arrived but our bags did not!

But – sans luggage – we loaded onto the minibus en route to the Victoria Falls Hotel, which would have hosted Queen Victoria with aplomb.  But more impressive was our young local guide who made an impassioned speech thanking us for coming to Zimbabwe.  At that point, Mugabe was killing white farmers and it was a country in chaos with a faltering economy and a nose-diving currency.  Foreigners with US dollars were welcomed like the second coming of the Messiah… and buying crafts in the market made you feel like you were making a difference in the world… the prices were so insanely cheap I kept rounding up 100%…

So, knowing that flying into touristy Vic Falls was not being a white person holding a placard in a white farmer’s field and any risk to my personal safety was minimal provided a memory I will always treasure.  And the coolest part – we got to ride to the airport and back with this guy to collect our lost luggage – so learned about how he was an African success story, supporting a lot of not so impressive branches of his family… one of the people I’ve met in the developing world who have inspired my desire to do something useful for them with my developed world dollars.

Life is all about calculated risk.  One shouldn’t wade foolishly into war zones without doing your homework.  But I don’t want to be the kind of ignorant westerner who shuns an entire country because of a few bad apples.  I’ve been clamouring to see the Pyramids for decades – what better time than in the aftermath/afterglow of the Arab Spring.  One shouldn’t learn all one’s history from textbooks…

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turning european…

In the 80s, turning Japanese seemed a popular theme.  But somewhere the last decade or two, I turned European.

I don’t always get it right.  The cheek kissing is always fraught with awkwardness and I am constantly confused as to how many cheeks to kiss – and if I should be leaving lipstick marks or just air kissing.

But – as the bartender on my last night in Paris noted – and confirmed by his behaviour – one of the big attributes of Europeans is hospitality.  And I would also add – charm.  A big part of hospitality.  Without European hospitality, I would never have married a European man.  But that is a whole other story…

In a world where I increasingly worry about the loss of manners and civility, the Europeans are there trying to prove charm is still alive and well.  That sometimes you need to take time to perform a task properly, not just efficiently.  I have seen it across three countries in the very recent past.  The French are likely the most charming, performing tasks with both reserve and aplomb, but I have been impressed by all the Europeans I have encountered on my trip.

My final cultural adventures were two-fold.

First, I stood in the bitter cold waiting to buy a ticket to the Helmut Newton exhibition.  But I was at the Grand Palais so that provided some wonderful photographic opportunities and Helmut Newton is worth freezing off your fingers.  What is more gratifying was to see how packed it is!  I wasn’t quite sure what the four year olds were making of the shots of women wearing saddles but this is how they grow up to be European with a sophisticated world view and an ability to discuss art as readily as sport.

The second cultural adventure was more unique.  I wanted to mail a birthday present purchased in Paris before I left France.  How often do you walk past the Louvre to find the post office?  Seulement en Paris!  A beautiful, fascinating city that I would encourage everyone to visit.  No matter where you stay or what you do, Paris is certain to weave its magic.

One of my favourite Paris adventures was done on a budget.  To even out our restaurant spending, we decided to go to Monoprix and buy bread, cheese, some of those transcendent cold cuts, a mini bottle of champagne and some red wine.  It was a beautiful summer evening so we would indulge in all our treats on the breakfast terrace of our small hotel near the Eiffel Tower (we had a picnic on the lawn there one night as well).  We couldn’t find our corkscrew.  Things looked complicated.  But we were in Paris – so not only was a corkscrew produced, they opened our wine for us!  And then we had that “only in Paris” moment.   It was hot so the windows were open in the building opposite us.  And someone was practicing her cello.  So our dinner was accompanied by live classical music.

Leaving Paris is hard.   Having a memorable experience in Paris is a piece of cake.  Just ask my mom.  She told me she didn’t need to go to Paris.  It wasn’t on her bucket list.  Just by accident she turned 65 on the plane.  So this trip I suggested we should return for 75 as an anniversary celebration.  She said she’d make sure she had good walking shoes.  I’m a little worried that once she has the macarons at Pierre Hermé, I may not be able to convince her to leave…

Speaking of great walking shoes, I need to extend a shout out to Browns.  Just before I embarked on this adventure, I bought a pair of black patent driving moccasins.  Possibly one of the world’s most perfect travel shoes!  The Browns version are insanely comfortable.  I have  been wearing them every day as I trundle over the cobblestones.  By the time I get home, I will have already gotten my money’s worth 🙂  I would highly recommend a pair of Brown’s loafers.  Even though my friends all seem to think that I spend all my time in showstopping 4 inch heels, the real truth is that a large majority of my life is spent wearing Browns loafers – because they combine such a great mix of style, comfort and value.  And they are now on-line… check them out 🙂

http://www.brownsshoes.com/

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je m’appelle Jean Cluny

That was the first thing I officially learned to say in French.  Semi-helpful.  Especially since the teacher had such a bad accent I doubt any Parisian would have understood what I was saying.  We could understand her but when she put on the tapes of native French speakers it was as though they were speaking some other language entirely.

But Mrs. Tolton loved French – and France.  I am not even sure if she was ever there.  But it was obvious she had a “thing” about the French.  And she passed that on to some of us.  You can always improve your accent.  If someone can impart a love for the language and culture in you, you will make it happen.

When I started learning German, my French got sabotaged.  But given a bit of time in the country, my accent is not too terrible.  I just listen to the people around me and try to imitate them.  Getting the accent right in a language you barely speak is always a mixed blessing.  It’s respectful – and I would never change my behaviour – but it makes you sound like you know more than you do so people babble away as though you are actually bilingual.  Your quizzical bunny in the spotlight expression soon corrects this misconception… and sadly, these days, people generally just start speaking to you in broken English.

Perhaps it was being a product of Trudeaumania – even though I lived in a part of the country where we named our ornery pet calf after him, reflecting his unloved reputation in western Canada – that made me want to speak French almost from the time I could walk.  Once I was old enough to read, I found my mother’s old French textbook and used to follow her around the house, annoyingly asking how to pronounce words in the book.  I also read the translations on the cereal boxes and the aspirin bottles.  Finally, in grade seven, we officially got to learn how to speak French!

Of course, that is when I discovered the joys and frustrations of trying to acquire a second language at an advanced age.  These days I speak enough French and German to easily get by as a tourist, I know a few words in Spanish, I can read an Italian menu like a native, I still speak a handful of words of Thai so that I can eat in any market (and avoid bats and black dogs!) and I know what a mushroom is in all sorts of languages…

I still have the notebook where I wrote down all the countries I wanted to visit as a child – and all the languages I wanted to learn.  The country list is going well and I am sure I can see them all if my adult self has the same ambitions (it knows a little more about politics and geography).  But I will never be fluent in the 20+ languages my ambitious eight year old self saw as a reasonable goal.  It’s good to dream big.  And children should be encouraged to be ambitious… it means when you scale back, the goals will still be impressive.  We’ll see how I do… some people want to perfect their golf swing when they retire.  I want to finally get fluent in French.  And German.  Fluent enough in each that I don’t mix them up, my current state.  And once that is in the bag, a little Spanish would be nice…   I would love to speak Mandarin… and Swahili is just fun.  And I am already in love with Tanzania…

Maybe, on my death bed, I will finally be able to pronounce the ö umlaut correctly.  It always outs me as an English speaker.  But my new friend Björn comes with an ö umlaut – perhaps this will be the motivation I needed to finally twist my tongue in just the right way…

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le perfect mixte

For those of you not familiar with France, un sandwich mixte is just a ham and cheese sandwich.  But, like most things in Paris, “just” is not part of the vocabulary.  Having at least one proper sandwich mixte is always my goal in Paris.  The bread needs to have that perfect combination of crunch and softness.  The cheese needs to be sliced at just the right thickness with the perfect depth of flavour. And I don’t know what they do with the pigs in France but ham never tastes the same in other places.

This time it took three tries.  But when it finally arrives… on a sunny day, in an outdoor café, accompanied by a great glass of St Emilion, you say “oo la la” under your breath 🙂

I did try to squeeze a little culture in between the adventures in merchandising.  I had noted in the hotel’s tourist info that the Palais de Tokyo was reopening and doing some kind of 48 hour culturathon apparently.  The Palais de Tokyo is not for everyone but if you appreciate modern art, it is worth the trip to the 16th arrondissement.

The first time I went I was sick in Paris so only managed to drag myself there late in the afternoon.  Too late for the Musée d’Art Moderne but early enough for the young, hip open into the evening Palais de Tokyo.  Sometimes I look at really modern art and think, “OK, the artist is just making fun of us.  Or he was VERY high when he thought this was a good idea…”  But sometimes it’s provocative, inventive or just pretty.  My favourite piece this time was a little of each.  I’m not quite sure what it means but it was fascinating to look at – and very pretty.  I took a photo so you can decide for yourself.

The Musée d’Art Moderne was a bit more conventional but also included an

an installation that mostly just looked wild and crazy.  But maybe that is all art needs to be…  I would recommend a visit to both – and then a stop at the surprisingly great café right next to the métro.  If you are lucky, the sun will be shining, the light will descend on all that elaborate seventeenth century architecture and you will know there is nowhere else you could be but Paris.

And when it is time for dessert – or a snack – or breakfast 🙂  I have had them at all three times this trip.  My newest Paris obsession – macarons at Pierre Hermé.

It all started in 2003 when Sean requested macarons from Ladurée as “payment” for our free accommodation in London.  A sweet price to pay 🙂   At that stage in my life, I had some passing knowledge of a macaron but had never had one in Paris and knew nothing about Ladurée.  It wasn’t exactly knowledge one acquired in small town Manitoba.

For several years I thought Ladurée macarons were “la bombe” but then I read about some upstart called Pierre Hermé in a magazine.  And I started dissing Ladurée.  Not a very French thing to do…

It’s not that Ladurée macarons are bad.  It’s just that Pierre Hermé is that little slice of heaven on earth that is Paris at its finest.  I managed to sample almost all the flavours over my five days in Paris.  (Luckily you walk a lot in Paris.  The Paris métro is a cardio workout without having to put your gym gear on.)  The most dangerous part – and one of the reasons he has become so famous – is that the flavours are seasonable and always changing – so it becomes a classically existential totally Parisian question – can one ever try all the flavours of Pierre Hermé macarons?  Certainly not on one brief visit.

Conveniently (dangerously???) you can buy them at a number of different outlets 🙂  They even have an outlet on the shoe floor (yes, an entire floor!) at Galeries Lafayette – it’s almost a little too much pleasure to handle in such a small space 🙂

My favourite is the Infinement Vanille – vanilla taken to a level of perfection only attainable on French soil.  This trip I didn’t spend much time on food except for les sandwiches mixtes and macarons but on my final night I had a sublime meal at the Murano Urban Resort that reinforced all the stereotypes about French food and wine that I hold so dear.  Wildly it was the first time I ever had a well-done steak sent from the kitchen!  Normally you have to order it a little more ‘done’ than you would in North America and the risk is blood, not char.  Obviously, some miscommunication had occurred but I just had to show a piece to my French server and it was whisked away and returned in a perfect, slightly bloody form.  No self-respecting French person would have eaten it  🙂

I can still remember introducing my mom and my niece to the concept of crème brulée in Paris.  They were hooked from the first bite.  Paris does that to you.  Take a few bites in the right places and you will be hooked for life.  Paris will ruin you.  It will be like a youthful love affair you never quite recover from.  But never regret.  The things that change your life.  Make you a bit of a snob.  But allow you to experience life on levels you never even knew were there before some French speaking guy named Paul seduced you – and made you try his paté…  I’ve loved paté ever since…


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artsy stuff, eating & drinking - well, travel stories

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les petits musées des rues

This heading was actually inspired by a conversation I had with my server the last night I was in Paris.  I treated myself to a drink and dinner at the Murano Urban Resort.  It’s a little pricey so I was too cheap to stay there but it was only a few blocks from my hotel and I needed a more upscale place to wear my new outfit.  And the weather was terrible so I wasn’t willing to drag myself all the way to the George V.

Both places also have memories for me as I took my 16 year old niece for a cocktail at each one on her “this is Paris” trip.  The old, regal Paris – and the new, hip Paris.  She was pretty blown away by both locales but she definitely had a crush on our friendly bartender with the dreadlocks at the Murano who was willing to even speak English!

The boys my night not so much… but they were friendly and charming.  And both food and drink superb.  I must learn to speak French better so that I can flirt with Frenchmen.  They really don’t do English the way the Nordic guys do.  But, hey, they didn’t used to even try to speak English – and they are doing better than Italian men.  Of course, Italian men can generally get you to fall for them even if you don’t understand a word they are saying 🙂

I am actually going to manage to tie together the heading, our conversation and a gorgeous Italian man named Federico!

The subject began when my appetizer arrived, beautifully presented as one comes to expect in Paris.  We both agreed it is one of the reasons it is such a pleasure to wander around Paris.  You don’t need a specific destination to be caught up in the glory of it all.

If you have any interest in shopping, you should definitely come to Paris at least once in your life.  The Parisians take the art of merchandising to a level that turns it into art.  Hence, the concept that walking the streets of Paris is like visiting lots of tiny museums of carefully curated treasures.

I hate shopping but the Parisians have won me over.  My general goal in life is to acquire goods with as little time, fuss and interaction with salespeople as possible.  I used to just feel flustered by all the attention I received in Paris.

But my goal in traveling is to leave ethnocentricity at home and try my best to embrace whatever local culture I am in.  So I have learned to say “bonjour” to all the sales assistants.  To slow down and let them “help” me.  They won’t be able to sell me something I don’t want but I can let them hope 🙂

And sometimes you meet a sales associate who is so good you just want to BUY something from him.  That would be Federico this trip.  He told me I was killing him when I told him I was a Dolce and Gabbana kind of girl in the Empori Armani store.  But he was Italian so he understood.

A devastatingly handsome Italian man who speaks English is a retail weapon of deadly proportions 🙂  Federico could sell ice to the Eskimos.  Of course, because he is Italian and selling ice in Paris, it would be tinted just the perfect shade of aquamarine and it would be wrapped in a navy icebox with silver ribbon curled with an expert hand.

But instead of ice I bought a silk skirt with a multicolour graphic pattern that screams spring 2012.  I have Federico’s card.  If I need it altered, I can ship it back to him and his expert seamstress in Paris.  He actually conned me into putting on an entire outfit – not just the skirt but a matching top, a crazy Obi-style belt – and shoes so high I could look him in the eye.  I had to admit the whole outfit was pretty inspired – but I knew I was just buying the skirt 🙂  And would have my local tailor make any alterations I needed.  But Federico turned my Paris souvenir into an entire experience rather than just a hurried purchase.

My VISA card was screaming at me to get my money’s worth out of my call to VISA pre-trip so that they wouldn’t cut it off and I would have to make an expensive long distance call to finish the purchasing process.  So I hopped on the metro and was off to likely my favourite shoe store in the entire world since Patrick Cox went out of business.  For any shoe fanatics out there, it’s Rodolphe Menudier.  I even found it without checking the website for the address!

The staff now speak English so it was more entertaining.  It took some restraint but I only bought two pairs of shoes.  One pair has faces on the toes!  I will have to take a photo and add it to the post.  Once again, really superior sales skills.  He will ship any shoes I want to Canada!

While the French definitely know how to sell, what has always astonished me is their skill at merchandising.  You must set a budget before you come shopping in France – because everything looks so good you will want it all!

I noticed it on my very first trip.  Window displays caught your attention.  Racks are not crowded with merchandise.  Sales associates actually re-fold items immediately and keep all the goods displayed at their best at all times.

And when you make a purchase, it will be wrapped with loving care, generally in a special bag, sometimes with pomp and ribbon.  Your purchase will feel special, not just something shoved into a plastic bag.

As I mentioned, I was writing this at the Murano, having my best meal in Paris, a stellar end to the trip. Thinking about the previous visit reminded me of wonderful example of French salesmanship at its finest.

I had taken my mom and my niece to Place Vendôme because everyone should see it on their first trip to Paris.  My niece was very impressed with one of the fancy shops and snapping photos of it.  I was smiling because we were just about to go into the fancy shop because I had decided she and my mom should have some French perfume to take home as a souvenir – and what better place to take them than Annick Goutal?

We got really lucky.  Our saleslady spoke a very charming English with a strong French accent.  She loved the idea of the three generations in Paris buying French perfume.  It was a long process since my mom was a lot more fussy about scent than I had realized.  But at the end of the delightful process, we came away with bottles of perfume, bags with ribbons and all sorts of free samples.  And my dad loved the way my mom smelled 🙂

If you don’t have any money to spend, you can still come to Paris.  My first visit I only window shopped.  But try and save up a few euros (the exchange rate is fantastic right now :))  And spend them in Paris.  On something French… a candle at Diptyque… perfume at Annick Goutal… or simply some macarons at Pierre Hermé…  You don’t have to spend a lot.  But the Parisians will make sure it feels like an event, not just a purchase.

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the kindness of strangers

I think they call this kind of thing paying it forward…  My first full day in Paris – a pit stop pre-Istanbul – began very uneventfully.  I made it to Le Bon Marchè without a map and spent the day meandering some of my favourite streets and making notes on things I might buy on my return – as I didn’t know what I might find in Istanbul and didn’t want to carry my purchases all over Europe.

I decided to try a different restaurant this time.  I’d had a little nap to deal with my jet lag so the place was booming by the time I arrived.  It was a big operation, combining a fish market, restaurant and oyster bar so they found me a chair at the bar.

When you are travelling alone, the bar is a more fun place to sit anyway.  Normally in Paris everyone speaks French and I don’t meet anyone.  But not this time 🙂  It all started over a bottle of water.  In Europe you always have to order bottles of water.  There is no free flowing tap water.  I asked if there were any smaller sizes available as I wasn’t sure I wanted to drink 750 litres of water all by myself.  There weren’t.  But the lady sitting beside me said I could have some of theirs.

It was a lovely gesture and she was very chic and lively and I just enjoyed watching her talking with her companion.  But she was also very friendly so before long I was part of their conversation.  According to Hans (her third husband, a keeper apparently :)), Daniele loves independent women.  Hans is from Hamburg and works for an American company so his English is excellent and he could play translator as required.

When dinner was over, they invited me to accompany them to a Cuban bar as long as I didn’t mind smoke.  Anti-smoking laws have come to France but it is very painful to the national culture.  What’s a little lung cancer for a memorable cultural experience? 🙂

 Interestingly there weren’t very many people in the smoking room of the packed bar so we got a seat easily.  Hans had to fly to Moscow the next day so it was supposed to be an early night.  But just as we were finishing our first round of Mojitos, they saw some friends walking by on the street outside.  So they joined us and another round of Mojitos arrived!

I had a 6am wakeup call for my flight to Istanbul so by the time I got back to the hotel, I was ready for bed.  I had met Gino the night before and he is one of the warmest people you will ever meet.  Saying ‘no” to Gino is practically impossible and he seemed rather insistent that I should sit down and have a drink with him and the other guest sitting at the bar.  Sleeping on one’s vacation is really a waste of time, n’est-ce pas? 😉

At first it was just good scotch and friendly conversation and I thought I would get a few hours of sleep.  But as time progressed, it became more evident why Gino had wanted me to sit down. 

Grace was staying in the hotel and had had a big fight with her boyfriend.  And it wasn’t just any situation.  She had met him in Iraq and given birth the day the American forces officially pulled out.  She spoke fluent Arabic and it was clear the experience had been traumatic for her.

I didn’t know much about the boyfriend and or the fight – but I knew what it was like to be in Europe in your mid-twenties with some dude who keeps picking fights with you and acts like a class A jerk a lot of the time.  Scott was definitely the worst boyfriend choice of my life but he was also the reason I first came to Europe.  Hans officially declared me a European rather than a North American so I felt very honoured.  So the jerks in our lives serve their purposes.  But it can take some time and life experience to fit all the puzzle pieces together.

I knew I had to have Grace’s back.  She needed someone to care – at least that night.  She was really lucky to have had the good fortune to have Gino working.  But she didn’t want to go back to her room – and her dude.  And I could see Gino didn’t normally have to stay awake ALL night entertaining guests and he was exhausted.  So I told Grace she could stay in my room.

I think I had booked the best room in the hotel.  When she got there, she was in love with the room.  She seemed really distraught and I was pretty sure she was going to wake up with a killer hangover so I went down to see if the room was free for the next night.   It was.  So I told Gino I would pay for three nights so Grace would have some space to make decisions about her life and not feel pressured by the boyfriend or her anticipated hangover. 

It was a really tranquil room with a view of the rooftops of Paris and a chromotherapy tub that was a highlight of my entire trip.  So I put her to bed, packed for Istanbul and left her a note telling her to enjoy the room.  It was hers until Tuesday afternoon.

I then tried to catnap on planes and arrived in Istanbul a bit exhausted.  But Hans and Daniele had been so kind to me.  Gino had been so friendly and welcoming.  It was an evening where humanity seemed to be firing on all its best cylinders – and Grace just got the benefit of that wonderful joie de vivre.

When I came back to Paris, I checked in with Gino to see if he knew what happened to Grace.  Apparently they checked out separately so I told him I thought my money had been well spent.  He hadn’t been working so neither of us know any details but we hope she is OK.  She seemed the kind of girl who deserved a really great guy. 

She was definitely a catalyst that created a bond between Gino and I that took our relationship to a whole new level.  If you are in Paris and not on a really tight budget, I would highly recommend L’Apostrophe Hotel.  Ask for Gino.  And say “hi”from me 🙂

My Thursday night back in Paris was spent with Hans and Daniele.  They love Istanbul and have been four times so we traded travel stories.  And Hans was impressed I met yet another man from Hamburg!  Based on my sample of two, ladies, men from Hamburg are sympathique!

It is pretty cool to know a city so well that it feels like home when you come from other, more foreign cities.  It’s only when I can’t speak French that I remember… oh yes, I don’t LIVE here.  It’s so familiar and now I am even accumulating some Paris friends. 

Here people say  “enchantée” when they meet you.  It’s impossible to not be seduced by a city with a culture like that.  And Daniele says “oo la la”.  She says it with such enthusiasm in this great French accent of course and you are just swept away… enchanted indeed…

 

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midnight in paris

I love the cinema but often find I don’t have the time to sit in the inky dark of a movie theatre watching the trailers in anticipation of the main event.  As a result, I have become a big fan of Air Canada and the personalized entertainment on almost every flight.  I always climb aboard with a list of films I am hoping to see someday…

One of the films this trip was “Midnight in Paris”.  I think I have seen every Woody Allen film – even the bad ones!  This was supposed to be him returning to his glory days.

The film starts with panoramic shots of famous Paris iconography.  Few cities have so many instantly recognizable famous sites.  It took only seconds for me to realize it was the absolutely PERFECT film to watch on the plane to Paris!

The messages of the film resonated over my first two days in Paris.  I have been to Paris so many times I have lost count – and have explored a lot of the city.  But all the visits have been far too fleeting and there are still many corners left to discover so now my strategy is to choose hotels in new neighborhoods to expand my knowledge of the city.

Paris v1.0 this trip I spent two days in Montparnasse.  Montparnasse is close to St Germain des Près, my usual stomping ground, but just far enough away to be something new.

Sometimes I use my guidebook and sometimes I just use my instincts.  In Paris, I just used my instincts.  And ended up at La Closerie des Lilas, where the paper menu had been signed by Buzz Aldrin along with many others.  I chose it because it looked busy, the menu looked appealing and the maitre d’ seemed OK with a table for one.  The server was exemplary, teasing me that since I had a French menu, I had to order in French (no problem :)) and bringing me a half bottle of bordeaux he deemed worthy of me.

The server, the bordeaux and the entrecôte on a balmy March night in Paris would have been enough but at the end of the meal some ladies invited me to join them.  This is how I learned the restaurant had been frequented by Hemingway but was apparently not all it had been back then.

Nostalgia – not one of the deadly sins – but dangerous all the same.  For those who haven’t seen “Midnight in Paris” the big theme is how we always think an earlier era was the “golden age” and sit restless and unsatisfied in our “real-time” world.

I think it’s an important message for the educated traveller.  I have been teased by a French server at Les Deux Magots trying to imagine Jean-Paul Sartre and Simone de Beauvoir arguing over a coffee.   I have drunk an outrageously expensive Bellini in the original Harry’s Bar in Venice (where it was invented).  I have sipped the most expensive glass of champagne of my entire life on the veranda of the Victoria Falls Hotel pretending to be a pampered colonist.  Like the guy in the film, I have run all over Paris trying to be Hemingway.

The experiences have been OK.  But none have been special.  And mostly I just felt ripped off.  So I finally had that eureka moment and quit drinking overpriced beverages chasing the glamorous past I had read about in books with ghosts and embraced the future.

I was travelling to the past to find the zeitgeist.  It made no sense.  The Paris of 2012 will never the Paris of the 1920’s.  But the Shanghai of 2012 might well be.  If you want to be like Hemingway, you need to think, “where would Hemingway hang out in 2012?”

Certainly not in Paris.  Maybe Shanghai?  Maybe Mumbai?  Istanbul?  These are the exciting cities of the 21st century.  I haven’t been to Mumbai yet but in the other two I felt like I was discovering the future.

I started finding history in the making and participating.  Making up my own narratives in places that would – in the future – be someone’s golden age.  My life became exciting and my stories started to rival Hemingway’s.

And if the film is accurate, lots of these famous guys were douche bags so WHY did I want to follow in Hemingway’s footsteps anyway?  Or Picasso’s?  My sense is these guys were assholes.  So who cares what they drank – or where – or with whom?  I need to create my own personal narrative.  So far I think I am giving them both a run for their money – and my ex’s LIKE me 🙂

One of them – with whom I am still friends over a decade since the breakup – described me as “a woman who is hard to forget.”  Hemingway would likely have been intrigued.  But I would have told him I don’t do bad boys.  Nice guys are so much more fun!  Without all the nice guys taking pity on me and bringing me out of my shell, I would never have become the kind of woman who would tell Pablo Picasso, “honey, you’re talented for sure, but you’re a little too Kim Kardasian for me.  I think Otto Dix is far more interesting…”

I send people to Paris to pretend they are living in the 18th century.  Paris is one of the only places I’ve been that preserves its history with such diligence.   It is a wonderful city.   But it is only the exciting center of the universe it was in the early twentieth century in the movies.  God bless Woody Allen – Paris has never looked better.  You should see the film.  And you should come to Paris.  But also go to Berlin and to Istanbul.  They are cities where the zeitgeist is in the present.

Revel in the zeitgeist.  Be part of your own era.  Embrace it and create the stories of the present that the people of the future will romanticise and try to re-create on their own voyages into the dangerous land of nostalgia.

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artsy stuff, eating & drinking - well, travel stories

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