A myriad of trips to Paris, countless walks past Notre Dame de Paris, immeasurable walks through the cathedral, with family, with friends, being a tour guide, and alone, just because I felt like it. When I was at university in Paris in the early 90’s hearing the bells ring at Notre Dame, seeing the crowds gather in front and walking past it to get to the gym, were part of my every day life. Yet, after this limitless exposure in my life, I had never climbed up the 387 steps to the top of the south tower. Today, with my girls, Lise and Julian, who are visiting from Calgary, we made our way up the old steep narrow steps of Notre Dame. This was after an hour of standing in line made tolerable by ingesting Nutella crepes. The wait was worth it for the 5 of us. What a magnificent view. Discovering new and different angles of the cathedral, the intimate view of the gargoyles and my first introduction to the 13 ton bell. All French bells have names and the enormous bell that hangs in the south tower is named Emmanuel. It takes 8 men to ring the bell by hand. Luckily no bells were ringing while we were climbing and admiring the views (although they might have been for Lise who has claustrophobic and vertigo issues). It was also remarkable to see the neighbourhood where my mother grew up, from above. The streets she roamed, the church where she was baptized and where several of my first cousins were married, from a completely different perspective. The distances look shorter, the buildings more fragile, and the colors more vivid. What a stunning area.
I love that in Paris, after all the trips here and all the time spent here, there are still parts of this fascinating city that I do not know and have yet to discover. My “home away from home” can still surprise and exhilarate me. My 40+ year wait to climb the stairs at Notre Dame was well worth it.
Yes, we love Paris indeed!
Saturday, April 30, 2011
Friday, April 22, 2011
Connections? A Day in Szczecin/Stettin
My family was good enough to spend four hours on the train with me yesterday. Two hours each way to travel to Szczecin, Poland, north east of Berlin, over the German-Polish border.
My father was born in Szczecin in January 1931 when this was still part of Germany and known as Stettin. He always spoke fondly of his birth town even though he only lived there until the age of 12 or 14 years old. The details and dates are sketchy. It appears as if he came and went, between being sent away (with no choice) to an elite Nazi boarding school as a young boy, and then returning to fetch and flee with his mother and younger brother when the Soviets entered Germany. I have always believed that this town represented family and happiness to him and I wanted somehow to share this with him, to have a connection to his childhood, which I cannot now ask him about. There were also the painful moments. His little sister died in 1942 as a toddler and then his father was killed in the German army, three weeks after being sent away. Perhaps this is why he never returned to Stettin. It represented joy and good times but then ended in bad memories. He also never did have the opportunity to return. He died three years before the fall of Berlin Wall.
I know I was searching for something in Stettin. A link to my father, something he spoke about, something familiar, from pictures he rarely showed us but that are forever marked in my memory. There was no familiarity for me, nor the connection I had been yearning for. Stettin seemed like a busy, slightly depressing, former eastern block city. My father would not have known it like this. Yes he would have remembered the trams, some of the striking medieval and neo-gothic buildings, but not the communist era apartment buildings, the new high rises and the graffiti covering much of the city. But I’m glad I went, even for a few hours. I saw where he came from, the streets he wandered as a child, the place where he was happy as a young boy and this somehow makes me feel closer to him. He would be happy we went.
Stettin was an interesting day trip from Berlin, a bustling city of 400,000 inhabitants, but not what I would call a tourist destination. Thanks for accompanying me my adorable family and giving up a day in Berlin. It would not have been the same without you. As my father always believed, family is everything, I am glad you were with me.
Tomorrow, a day cycling through Potsdam, discovering its superb and infamous castles and gardens. Our Deutsch adventure continues.
My father was born in Szczecin in January 1931 when this was still part of Germany and known as Stettin. He always spoke fondly of his birth town even though he only lived there until the age of 12 or 14 years old. The details and dates are sketchy. It appears as if he came and went, between being sent away (with no choice) to an elite Nazi boarding school as a young boy, and then returning to fetch and flee with his mother and younger brother when the Soviets entered Germany. I have always believed that this town represented family and happiness to him and I wanted somehow to share this with him, to have a connection to his childhood, which I cannot now ask him about. There were also the painful moments. His little sister died in 1942 as a toddler and then his father was killed in the German army, three weeks after being sent away. Perhaps this is why he never returned to Stettin. It represented joy and good times but then ended in bad memories. He also never did have the opportunity to return. He died three years before the fall of Berlin Wall.
I know I was searching for something in Stettin. A link to my father, something he spoke about, something familiar, from pictures he rarely showed us but that are forever marked in my memory. There was no familiarity for me, nor the connection I had been yearning for. Stettin seemed like a busy, slightly depressing, former eastern block city. My father would not have known it like this. Yes he would have remembered the trams, some of the striking medieval and neo-gothic buildings, but not the communist era apartment buildings, the new high rises and the graffiti covering much of the city. But I’m glad I went, even for a few hours. I saw where he came from, the streets he wandered as a child, the place where he was happy as a young boy and this somehow makes me feel closer to him. He would be happy we went.
Stettin was an interesting day trip from Berlin, a bustling city of 400,000 inhabitants, but not what I would call a tourist destination. Thanks for accompanying me my adorable family and giving up a day in Berlin. It would not have been the same without you. As my father always believed, family is everything, I am glad you were with me.
Tomorrow, a day cycling through Potsdam, discovering its superb and infamous castles and gardens. Our Deutsch adventure continues.
Saturday, April 16, 2011
Tai's Take on Berlin
We are lucky enough to now be in Berlin for 9 days. Even better to have met up with George here, to discover a new city all together. We initiated our visit with a walk to the Reichstag and the Brandenburg Gate. What a perfect way to introduce ourselves to Berlin history. We could not figure out though what all the police and crowds were doing in front of a large hotel by the Brandenburg Gate. Like good tourists we stood around wondering who the red carpet, limousines and security were for. After a brief discussion with a kind polizei we discovered that we were all waiting for Hilary Clinton to come out of the hotel. And she did. We saw her arm waving and her blond hair and I have some blurry pictures to prove it! Day #1 was ended in good German style with schnitzel, fried potatoes & beer for dinner. We all went to bed with smiles on our faces and extremely full stomachs!
Friday, March 18, 2011
Writing in Paris
"If you are lucky enough to have lived in Paris as a young man, then wherever you go for the rest of your life, it stays with you, for Paris is a moveable feast." Ernest Hemingway, 1950
It was not going to be possible for me to go through a year in Paris, a year of writing and blogging without mentioning one of my favourites, good old Ernest. Seeing Paris through his eyes and descriptions in "A Moveable Feast" has always been a joy for me. Many of the neighbourhoods he writes about, I know well. Many of the feelings he had about Paris, I have and will always have. Paris has always been part of my life, always will be and when I am not here, I take Paris with me wherever I go. When I return, she welcomes me back with open arms.
It has been such a treat to be able to spend much of my free time in Paris writing. Yes it sounds like a cliche, coming to Paris to write, but it was one of my main personal goals for this year. I am now onto my fourth writing class with WICE and these keep on getting better and better. I am lucky to be part of a class/workshop being taught by the lovely Christine Buckley, a talented writer, author, who is motivating, generous with her time, full of constructive, helpful feedback and ideas. We are currently a small group of five students, from various parts of the world, in a Memoir class, all writing about such varied experiences in our lives, many life changing. I feel fortunate to be sharing in these ladies stories and memoirs. There are going to be some captivating and bittersweet articles, books and memoirs coming out of this group.
Focusing on my writing has led to me being hunched over my computer for far too many hours. This has led to large painful knots in my shoulders. When this first happened, I rushed out seeking a massage therapist to pound out my knots and pain. The first place I looked, that I pass regularly in the neighbourhood, had young Asian women in tight revealing clothing on their web site indicating that they were "available at any time for their clients needs." I did not think this was what I was looking for. I have found a Thai massage therapist nearby, who beats me up trying to relieve my pain. This includes climbing up on the table, driving her elbows into my knots, back and neck and karate like chops on my corpse. She tells me that I need to come weekly for this treatment. I agree. I am not sure about the breast massage though. This has never been part of my Canadian massage experience. This could certainly be part of a Thai massage but I suspect it could be the French influence as well. This is not part of the Paris I take with me wherever I go, but all the cafes I have written in, the fellow writers I have met, the inspiration this city gives me and the many words I have put down on paper are all an element of my very own personal Paris. My very own moveable feast. Merci Ernest!
It was not going to be possible for me to go through a year in Paris, a year of writing and blogging without mentioning one of my favourites, good old Ernest. Seeing Paris through his eyes and descriptions in "A Moveable Feast" has always been a joy for me. Many of the neighbourhoods he writes about, I know well. Many of the feelings he had about Paris, I have and will always have. Paris has always been part of my life, always will be and when I am not here, I take Paris with me wherever I go. When I return, she welcomes me back with open arms.
It has been such a treat to be able to spend much of my free time in Paris writing. Yes it sounds like a cliche, coming to Paris to write, but it was one of my main personal goals for this year. I am now onto my fourth writing class with WICE and these keep on getting better and better. I am lucky to be part of a class/workshop being taught by the lovely Christine Buckley, a talented writer, author, who is motivating, generous with her time, full of constructive, helpful feedback and ideas. We are currently a small group of five students, from various parts of the world, in a Memoir class, all writing about such varied experiences in our lives, many life changing. I feel fortunate to be sharing in these ladies stories and memoirs. There are going to be some captivating and bittersweet articles, books and memoirs coming out of this group.
Focusing on my writing has led to me being hunched over my computer for far too many hours. This has led to large painful knots in my shoulders. When this first happened, I rushed out seeking a massage therapist to pound out my knots and pain. The first place I looked, that I pass regularly in the neighbourhood, had young Asian women in tight revealing clothing on their web site indicating that they were "available at any time for their clients needs." I did not think this was what I was looking for. I have found a Thai massage therapist nearby, who beats me up trying to relieve my pain. This includes climbing up on the table, driving her elbows into my knots, back and neck and karate like chops on my corpse. She tells me that I need to come weekly for this treatment. I agree. I am not sure about the breast massage though. This has never been part of my Canadian massage experience. This could certainly be part of a Thai massage but I suspect it could be the French influence as well. This is not part of the Paris I take with me wherever I go, but all the cafes I have written in, the fellow writers I have met, the inspiration this city gives me and the many words I have put down on paper are all an element of my very own personal Paris. My very own moveable feast. Merci Ernest!
Thursday, March 10, 2011
Bored, in Paris!? Better not be!
“Maman, what are we doing this weekend” asked Nathalie, with an extremely bored sounding monotone voice.
“What would you like to do?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well let’s find something to do. We are in Paris, there is always something to do! You cannot be bored in Paris!”
And we did find something to do, a very different kind of activity. We went to see Viktor Vincent in a show called Synapses. Yes, it has to do with the brain. He is a mentalist. Apparently he influences and controls your thoughts. Nathalie, her friend Marine and Gabrielle sat there staring for an hour wondering how all of this was done (I was too) and then would smile and laugh in amazement after each “trick.” Don’t think she was bored any more. At least not for this one hour.
The girls also discovered Monet’s Nympheas (Waterlillies) at the Orangerie last week. These are described as “the haven of peaceful meditation” and they certainly are. Both girls were quite taken with them. After sitting in the middle of the rooms, surrounded by these serene masterpieces, Gabrielle slowly rediscovered them through the lense of my camera, carefully taking many photos from all different angles. The result is some lovely pictures of the Nympheas. We will definitely have to make a trip to Giverny in the spring and see Monet's inspiration, his garden and pond, in person.
The week was finished off with attending a Women’s Professional Handball game! What is there not to like!? Talented, muscular, strong women playing an amazing sport at a high level. All the things I attempted to be and do 20 years ago. We will definitely be back to watch more games. Nathalie liked it and Elle, well she watched Toy Story 3 on her iPod, so maybe not so much.
Between amazing art, performances that scramble your brain and professional sports, I assume that it was a good non boring week for my children. It certainly was for me. Nathalie now tells me that she would like try oysters, which we will definitely do soon. After enjoying escargot, I am sure she will savour oysters just as much. Planned for this weekend, a classical Mozart concert for children at the Chatelet Theatre. Yes I am working on having well rounded children who appreciate the arts and the finer things in life! And really, what better place to do this than in Paris!?
And finally, you can’t be living in Paris and not comment on the small creatures we share the sidewalks with (as well as their many droppings.) When we first arrived we laughed at many of the little “rat dogs” we saw, as we like to call them. Now six months later, as with small cars, we seem to have developed a taste for small dogs too (but not quite the rat like ones.) We coo when we see little cute dogs now, even the fluffy ones. This week the cooing has temporarily slowed down as we had to say goodbye to our beloved dog back home, Hershey. At 15 ½ years old she lived a good long happy life, was well loved and a big part of our family. She would have fit right in here and would have been a wonderful fluffy barky Parisian dog. Like many Parisian canines, Hershey thought she was human and she would have loved the Parisian restaurant scene, being allowed inside and not having to be tied up outside as in Canada. We will certainly always coo and smile when thinking of our beloved Hershey.
“What would you like to do?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well let’s find something to do. We are in Paris, there is always something to do! You cannot be bored in Paris!”
And we did find something to do, a very different kind of activity. We went to see Viktor Vincent in a show called Synapses. Yes, it has to do with the brain. He is a mentalist. Apparently he influences and controls your thoughts. Nathalie, her friend Marine and Gabrielle sat there staring for an hour wondering how all of this was done (I was too) and then would smile and laugh in amazement after each “trick.” Don’t think she was bored any more. At least not for this one hour.
The girls also discovered Monet’s Nympheas (Waterlillies) at the Orangerie last week. These are described as “the haven of peaceful meditation” and they certainly are. Both girls were quite taken with them. After sitting in the middle of the rooms, surrounded by these serene masterpieces, Gabrielle slowly rediscovered them through the lense of my camera, carefully taking many photos from all different angles. The result is some lovely pictures of the Nympheas. We will definitely have to make a trip to Giverny in the spring and see Monet's inspiration, his garden and pond, in person.
The week was finished off with attending a Women’s Professional Handball game! What is there not to like!? Talented, muscular, strong women playing an amazing sport at a high level. All the things I attempted to be and do 20 years ago. We will definitely be back to watch more games. Nathalie liked it and Elle, well she watched Toy Story 3 on her iPod, so maybe not so much.
Between amazing art, performances that scramble your brain and professional sports, I assume that it was a good non boring week for my children. It certainly was for me. Nathalie now tells me that she would like try oysters, which we will definitely do soon. After enjoying escargot, I am sure she will savour oysters just as much. Planned for this weekend, a classical Mozart concert for children at the Chatelet Theatre. Yes I am working on having well rounded children who appreciate the arts and the finer things in life! And really, what better place to do this than in Paris!?
And finally, you can’t be living in Paris and not comment on the small creatures we share the sidewalks with (as well as their many droppings.) When we first arrived we laughed at many of the little “rat dogs” we saw, as we like to call them. Now six months later, as with small cars, we seem to have developed a taste for small dogs too (but not quite the rat like ones.) We coo when we see little cute dogs now, even the fluffy ones. This week the cooing has temporarily slowed down as we had to say goodbye to our beloved dog back home, Hershey. At 15 ½ years old she lived a good long happy life, was well loved and a big part of our family. She would have fit right in here and would have been a wonderful fluffy barky Parisian dog. Like many Parisian canines, Hershey thought she was human and she would have loved the Parisian restaurant scene, being allowed inside and not having to be tied up outside as in Canada. We will certainly always coo and smile when thinking of our beloved Hershey.
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
Transportations a la Parisien
Courtesy of a friendly Paris cab driver last week I discovered some new information about this country that makes me like it more. Hand held cell phone use has been banned since 2003. Yes 2003! And if you get caught you are fined and lose 2 points off your Permis de Conduire. Several other countries with similar laws include Germany, Italy, Belgium, the UK, Australia, Japan. The list is quite extensive. Do you hear that Alberta!? Albertans are not great drivers and certainly not better than drivers in these other countries. For once France seems to have it correct and has since 2003.
I have rediscovered my love for small cars while here. I will completely ignore the Maserati I often see and go straight to a realistic small car. My new favorite is the Fiat 500. I even thought about getting one when I go back to Calgary. Then I realized that I would get decapitated and totally flattened by the first pick up truck or SUV that would come along. So I will stick with my lovely Lexus for now.
I have also been admiring the gorgeous BMW R1200 bike regularly parked nearby on the sidewalk. Reminds us all of Ewan McGregor and his adventures in Long Way Round and Long Way Down. Now I know why he had a hard time picking up his bike every time he dropped it. But it would be a pretty sweet ride, maybe just not in France where two wheelers count for 20% of the road accident fatalities (but only 2% of the drivers!). I will stick with my main modes of transportation here then, the metro and my own 2 wheeler, riding Elle's scooter home from her school. No accidents yet for me on the scooter I am happy to report! So no Fiat for me but maybe a BMW bike back in Calgary!?
Just going over our pictures from Mont Saint Michel which are gorgeous, especially George's. So nice to have an excellent photographer, excellent camera with a selection of lenses in the family. Just glad it is not me carrying them around! More on the lovely Mont SM next time.
I have rediscovered my love for small cars while here. I will completely ignore the Maserati I often see and go straight to a realistic small car. My new favorite is the Fiat 500. I even thought about getting one when I go back to Calgary. Then I realized that I would get decapitated and totally flattened by the first pick up truck or SUV that would come along. So I will stick with my lovely Lexus for now.
I have also been admiring the gorgeous BMW R1200 bike regularly parked nearby on the sidewalk. Reminds us all of Ewan McGregor and his adventures in Long Way Round and Long Way Down. Now I know why he had a hard time picking up his bike every time he dropped it. But it would be a pretty sweet ride, maybe just not in France where two wheelers count for 20% of the road accident fatalities (but only 2% of the drivers!). I will stick with my main modes of transportation here then, the metro and my own 2 wheeler, riding Elle's scooter home from her school. No accidents yet for me on the scooter I am happy to report! So no Fiat for me but maybe a BMW bike back in Calgary!?
Just going over our pictures from Mont Saint Michel which are gorgeous, especially George's. So nice to have an excellent photographer, excellent camera with a selection of lenses in the family. Just glad it is not me carrying them around! More on the lovely Mont SM next time.
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Feb, Week 2 - Wearing My Tourist Hat with Melissa
Just when I was starting to feel like a local, like I belonged, I became a tourist again. The timing perfect as after five months here I realized that I was already starting to take Paris for granted, the beauty, culture and amazing architecture around me were no longer part of my routine. I was no longer looking up at the buildings I was passing to admire the styles, curves and lovely detailed black iron balconies. I was no longer leaving my quartier for my weekly museum visits. Yes I was getting lazy and perhaps a bit too comfortable. I have my lovely long time friend Melissa to thank for making me look up and take in my surroundings once again.
We followed each other around Paris non stop for five days starting with walking up and down the stairs of La Tour Eiffel, with the hopes of working off Melissa’s birthday dinner that we thoroughly enjoyed at 58 Tour Eiffel on the first floor of La Tour Eiffel. With the help of the champagne and wine consumed at dinner, after we managed to get to know some of the statues at La Trocadero rather intimately, a first for me I have to say. The Palais Royale, shopping, art exhibits, more shopping, La Madeleine, Melissa’s credit card still not being turned down, Bateaux Mouches, Notre Dame, le Quartier Latin, yes more shopping and the grande finale for Melissa was a classical concert with Les Violons de France at Eglise Saint Julien le Pauvre on her last evening in Paris.
As I looked at my photos from the week I realized that I was no longer taking the normal tourist shots. It does not take long to realize that a city like Paris has layers upon layers that can take years to peel back and discover. I seem to now be somewhere in a middle layer, trying to see some of the under belly of Paris. It often makes me feel like I am living a double life, a half French part local and occasionally still part tourist but definitely still trying to figure this place out.
My double life will continue on for the next 10 days with a much-anticipated visit from George and a quick trip for the four of us to Mont Saint Michel. Merci for your visit Melissa mon amie, there is nothing like a visit from a good friend to make you realize how much you needed to laugh, the kind of laugh that makes tears run down your face. Another layer of the French I still need to grasp, their humour, a humour I am not quite used to, yet. But not sure if they would have found two Canadian women climbing statues at the Trocadero at 10pm on a Tuesday night in February very amusing.
We followed each other around Paris non stop for five days starting with walking up and down the stairs of La Tour Eiffel, with the hopes of working off Melissa’s birthday dinner that we thoroughly enjoyed at 58 Tour Eiffel on the first floor of La Tour Eiffel. With the help of the champagne and wine consumed at dinner, after we managed to get to know some of the statues at La Trocadero rather intimately, a first for me I have to say. The Palais Royale, shopping, art exhibits, more shopping, La Madeleine, Melissa’s credit card still not being turned down, Bateaux Mouches, Notre Dame, le Quartier Latin, yes more shopping and the grande finale for Melissa was a classical concert with Les Violons de France at Eglise Saint Julien le Pauvre on her last evening in Paris.
As I looked at my photos from the week I realized that I was no longer taking the normal tourist shots. It does not take long to realize that a city like Paris has layers upon layers that can take years to peel back and discover. I seem to now be somewhere in a middle layer, trying to see some of the under belly of Paris. It often makes me feel like I am living a double life, a half French part local and occasionally still part tourist but definitely still trying to figure this place out.
My double life will continue on for the next 10 days with a much-anticipated visit from George and a quick trip for the four of us to Mont Saint Michel. Merci for your visit Melissa mon amie, there is nothing like a visit from a good friend to make you realize how much you needed to laugh, the kind of laugh that makes tears run down your face. Another layer of the French I still need to grasp, their humour, a humour I am not quite used to, yet. But not sure if they would have found two Canadian women climbing statues at the Trocadero at 10pm on a Tuesday night in February very amusing.
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