So I'm Gonna Do This Thing

Where I take pictures of this little stone owl trinket that I brought along with me. It is one of my many desk toys, and one of the few I brought here (I thought I'd have a desk. WRONG). It can be my thing, you know? I will update the gallery and have a slideshow on the right side, if I can figure out how to do it.

Also, I will do the same with a series entitled "Me in Front of Stuff." It is made up of pictures of yours truly with things in the background.

Once again, all is conditional on me figuring out how the hell to do this.

Welcome to the North

The title was a reference to The Music, one of the bands that I really liked in the past 5 years or so. Anyway, I went to the North this weekend. I spent one afternoon in Belfast, then stayed in Port Rush on the very north coast of Ireland in Co. Antrim for two nights. FYI - I got new photo software from the do-no-evil company Google (except when it comes to bowing to the will of the Chinese gov't) so all my pictures are in slideshows. The trip from the very beginning:

After waking up at an excruciating time (6:00 AM) and walking an excruciating distance with a duffel bag (40 minutes), I ended up at the Dublin bus station, where I caught my bus to the north. This trip was organized by IES (the group that is coordinating my studies over here), so there were about 20 American students coming along with me, including my 4 housemates.

I knew that the border between the Republic and the North was open now, but I still anticipated a sign that said, "Welcome to the Queen's Territory!" or "You are now entering a country with a stable-ish economy!" Unfortunately, there was no such sign. Gradually there was a larger proportion of UK license plates and Union Jacks showed up at roundabouts. That was it. Seeing a different flag, strangely enough, surprised me quite a bit. I am inundated with the Tri-Band (Republic of Ireland flag) in Dublin, and I'm sure there are no Union Jacks outside the UK Embassy's gates.

When we pulled into city centre Belfast, I made a mad-dash straight for the ATM, because the UK has no interest in the Euro as long as the pound sterling is a stronger currency. There might be more to it, but I'm pretty sure that's what it comes down to. The strange thing about the pound in the North is that they aren't issued by the government, they are private notes of debt. There are Ulster Bank notes, Bank of Ireland notes, Northern Ireland Bank notes, etc. No where on the note does it say Bank of England. I find it really strange, like it's the Banking Panic of 1907 or something.

Cool thing about my trip #1: Europa Hotel.

I didn't stay here at all, but I did eat across the street at the Crown Bar. I had a delicious lamb shank and my first Irish coffee (BTW it was not as good at I thought it would be. It may be because of the shitty coffee on these islands, though). But back to the Europa. It is the most bombed hotel in Europe. The IRA hit it 33 times before the ceasefire in 1994, but the beat went on at the Europa and it still is a superb hotel (apparently).

The Belfast trip centered around the Black Cab Taxi Tour. We all hopped in the back of these cabs, driven by people who lived through the Troubles. I saw some of the violent political murals that make the North infamous. We drove down Shankill Rd (Protestant Loyalist) and Falls Rd (Catholic Republican) and by the "Peace" Wall. Part of the tradition of the "Peace" Wall is to write a message on it. My favorite was, "why not give Atheism a try?" Mine is in the slideshow. There was also a row of murals commissioned by the City of Belfast about oppression around the world, like racism, slavery, and civil war.

Comment: It would be weird as hell to live on those roads. You're part of a working-class family that is probably just trying to get by. At this point, you probably don't have sectarian or sovereignty issues at the top of your mind, but there are dozens of tourists taking pictures of the sides of buildings in your neighborhood all the time while they learn the basics on an incredibly intricate situation. Strange.

I was hoping for a little more from the tour. I mean, it was very good and I saw/heard some poignant sights/stories, but I had very high expectations. I wanted to get a little further into the ideologies of each side and how the peace process unfolded. I'm interested enough in the conflict that I have read quite a bit about it, and wanted to delve deeper into it.

After the tour, I boarded a coach bus and went 2 hours north to Port Rush, a small resort town on what may as well be the edge of the world (in reality, it's just the edge of Ireland). Our hotel was across the street from the ocean and my window looked out on it. I was super lucky because I got a queen-sized bed! Score! Housemates Victor and Ethan and I went and climbed on some rocks outside while we waited for it to be dinner time (that sounds downright childish. Like we're 7 or something, but we aren't. We were admiring the beauty of the place).

Dinner was at Coast Restaurant. I had some delicious prawn pasta and had a chance to talk to some IES Americans that I hadn't spoken with before. The best part was the chocolate sponge cake, "Nemesis," for dessert. It was so rich I almost couldn't handle it, but in a good way. I also saw someone who could be my doppelganger. I thought I might have to battle him for the right to be in this universe, but he left before I needed to. He was probably scared of me.

On Friday night, I thought it would be a good idea to wake up at 6:40 to go and walk along the coast at sunrise. In theory it was good, except the part where I wake up at 6:40 without needing to. I did end up waking and doing it, and I am glad I actually did. Victor and I criss-crossed some dunes along a beach, where there were jovial dogs being walked and horses being ridden. This was all before the all-included breakfast, so I was very hungry when we got back to the hotel. The breakfast was delicious - there was bacon and sausage and scones and cereal and yogurt and more!

Now that the clock had passed 11:00, and touring a whiskey distillery wasn't as frowned upon, we went to Bushmills Distillery. The tour was just like all of the other tours of breweries/distilleries (here we have our extra-pure water and barley, we give our drained barley to the local cows and they are sure happy - this is a required joke to tell on any liquor tour), but Bushmills is a working distillery, unlike where Guinness and Jameson give tours. That means Bushmills wins. We did our tasting at the end, where I chose to sample the 100 quid per bottle whiskey. Bushmills is much better than Jameson; it has a more complex flavor and bite.

The next stop was Dunluce Castle. Now there are only runes, partly because some of the original fell into the sea about 400 years ago. I walked around for a bit and oohed and aahed. Is it wrong that I'm getting a little tired of seeing really old castles? Just a little, but there's only so much that can be unique about each castle. Anyway, it was beautiful and part of a breathtaking landscape. I can't imagine living in such a desolate and apparently dangerous place. As I think about it though, the view was spectacular. While we were driving up and first see Dunluce, one has the tendency to shout "WOAH!"

Giant's Causeway took up most of Saturday afternoon. Even after being on the fairly small stone peninsula for two hours, I wanted to stay there longer. The 60 mph winds and stinging rain helped - really, I couldn't imagine being there in any other weather. The thousands of hexagonal pillars slowly leading to the violent North Sea, next to jagged green and black cliffs, isn't suited for sun. Standing with my feet (and sometimes legs) being swallowed by the sea and being scratched by the claws of the rain was very visceral. I came to Ireland wanting to feel waves hit me at Giant's Causeway, and I did. I didn't give a damn about how wet I was going to be (which was really wet); I just poured the water out of my shoes, wrung out my socks, and walked around barefoot for a while. A few hours on the radiator and they were grand.

I have no idea where in Ireland my distant ancestors come from, and I don't think anyone alive in my family does, but I know there is Scots-Irish there. That means they are probably from the North. Since history is just a a narrative loosely based upon fact, I am going on the record to say that my family is from the north of Co. Antrim, where Giant's Causeway is. I did feel a strange sort of homecoming feeling when I was there. It just made sense. Utterly fantastic.

The plan was to make a trip to the Carrick-a-Rede rope bridge on Saturday, but the 60 mph winds forced it to close. The weather was marginally better on Sunday, but that was the only margin that was needed. This bridge used to be used by fishermen to get to the hot spots of salmon fishing. Until they overfished the waters. Now it's a tourist attraction! If you destroy everything but lemons, might as well make lemonade. It is a phenomenal thing to see, however. The turquoise ocean around the bridge crashes into white cliffs. On the island that the bridge leads to is desolate in a colorful way. The brilliant green grasses are cowlicked in every which way all the way to the very edge.

Before we left for several hours of bus rides back to Dublin, we took a strolling hike through Glenariff National Park. The particular path we went on is famous for waterfalls. We aren't talking Niagra or anything here, but there were some very picturesque falls here. It was a good way to wind down, especially since the walk was downhill. At the bottom was a restaurant for lunch, and where our bus met us. We didn't even have to go back uphill!

I did a lot of sleeping on the way home.

A Preview of the Next 2 Weeks

I have 2 trips planned for the next 2 weeks. Oddly enough, they're both the UK. Here's a little of what I'll be doing.

Oct 23-25: Northern Ireland Highlights:

-Black Cab tour. A tour of the parts of Belfast most affected by The Troubles given by someone who lived through the worst of it.

-Taking a bus to Port Rush, where I'll be staying. In Port Rush, I'll take the tour of the Bushmills Whiskey Distillery (the facility is only 400 years old).

-I'll take a trip on the Carrick-A-Rede bridge (weather permitting). This is a rope bridge that connects the mainland to a small, craigy island. Fishermen used to use a version of the same bridge to get to the island for salmon fishing. They fished the area out, so now only tourists use it.

-GIANTS CAUSEWAY. If you can't tell, I'm excited for this trip. It has to be one of the strangest geological features in the world - hundreds of hexagonal rocks jutting up on the coast. After looking at the actual history and the mythology associated with the causeway, I believe the mythology.

-The last leg of the trip will be the Glenariff Forest Park. A nice walk through a national park.

Oct 28 - Nov 1 London:

I am meeting Jenna in London for a long weekend (and Halloween!). We are in the process of planning the trip, but I'm sure we will do all of the sight-seeing that is necessary for our first trip to London.

What Have I Been Eating?

Dublin is a tremendous city for eating. In terms of the prominence and availability of gastronomic escapades, I would compare Dublin to Chicago. Being a cosmopolitan capital city, there is a wide array of cuisines around, too. Here are a few of the restaurants at which I have or want to eat:

-Last week, I heard from the Food and Drink Club at TCD about Dine in Dublin, a promotion at a few dozen upscale restaurants around the city and county. They were offering deals on set menus (or as we would say in the US, a prix fixe. But it seems like the closer you get to France, the less they use that term, including France where they stared at me blankly when I mentioned that I had the prix fixe). I took advantage of the dinner at Bijou in Rathgar, which was about a half an hour's walk southwest of my flat. It was delicious! I just got back a few hours ago and still pretty stuffed. My 3 courses for the evening were:

Wright's smoked salmon with potato salad and watercress

Co. Wexford pork belly and Clonakilty black pudding roulade (kissed on the grill) with mash, pancetta, wilted autumn cabbage, and red wine jus

Chocolate fudge cake with vanilla ice cream

I figured that I needed to have a really nice dinner a couple of times in Dublin, and that this was a great opportunity to get one for a little less than normal. I am glad I went, because the pork belly was incredibly flavorful, the fudge was rich, and the salmon was terrific. I have wanted some of the delicious seafood from the seas around this island for some time, and finally got it.

-I want to eat at Mint Restaurant, which is about 5 minutes from my front door in Ranelagh. It has earned and defended a Michelin star, and has an eccentric celebri-chef. Unfortunately, Mint is now contributing to Ireland's growing unemployment. It's been closed for a few months now, and I doubt that it will return.

-A week and a half ago I breakfasted at Cake Cafe. I had seen that it was on the list of best 100 restaurants in Dublin (at what number do Best Of lists just become restaurant directories?), saw its price range was 1-2 Euro signs, and wanted to go. The cafe is in a recently-refurbished eco-friendly building with some amateur art strewn about, with an entrance on a sketchy alley. I had banana and honey porridge. Those oats filled my stomach up and made my tastebuds happy at the same time. I will have to go back, though, since they are known for their chocolate cake (best chocolate cake in Dublin according to the Dubliner magazine).

-On Friday, my friend John's (from Wash U currently studying at an inferior institution UCD) parents came into town. I caught up with them at O'Neill's Pub, which I had heard served very good Irish food. I had some of the best bangers and mash I've ever had, seen, or heard of. There was onion gravy all over the plate and bangers that snapped when you bit them.

-I would like to get lunch at the Cornish Pasty Company soon. I walk by its 6-foot-wide storefront most days going to class and stare in at their flaky, savory pockets of goodness. It's a pretty good deal, too - 5 Euro for a pasty, drink, and (maybe?) some crisps.

I don't eat out all of the time, though (fairly rarely, really). I have been foraging the city for good sources of food to cook with. So far, I have found 2 rockin' places.

1. Ranelagh Market.

This market only opened about 4 or 5 weeks ago, just in time for me to take advantage of it. This isn't like the typical farmers' markets in the US where a few farmers (and maybe a few small-scale producers) bring tents and produce to a parking lot once a week. A large space in a building along Ranelagh Rd. opens up all day Thursday-Sunday with a few dozen artisans (a few farmers, bakers, butchers, and sauce makers) and several prepared food stands set up. In my opinion, this is a big step forward in promoting local and real food. This concept institutionalizes a way of getting quality food with the atmosphere of a farmers market. When you think about it, this is just what the outdoor markets and bazaars all over the world are like. Maybe it's a good model for the other countries of the world (cough, cough USA). I can almost jump from my apartment and land in the market, which makes it even better. I've been picking up scones, organic produce, lunch meat, and bread here regularly. If I cared to, I could even get part of a pig roast or paella here too!

2. Temple Bar Market

Looking down one of the four aisles of vendors at the Saturday morning market.

What?!? Potatoes in Ireland?!? More specifically, cheap and organic potatoes from nice Irish people from County Meath.

Oh, my, this cheese is good. I bought some aged cow's milk cheese with seaweed from Co. Mayo in it.

Bread.

Where I took an oyster shooter to start my Saturday morning. Mmm, briny!

Here was my haul from this trip to the market (I feel like Lee Zukor sharing his weekly CSA):

Those carrots are the size of two good sized meals each. Then we have organic kale, hot peppers, and the seaweed. It was good to have some spice - I hadn't had any in a while. I fried up the peppers with garlic and bacon bits (bits of real bacon, not Bacon Bits) and then steamed the kale with them for a delicious Saturday night dinner.

I've been making an effort to cook and bake some good things as well. Here are a few of my creations:

Bangers and Mash with Guinness gravy. It wasn't really that tough and it tasted great. The 1/3 Irish in me was proud of my accomplishment.

Oven fries. So good, it was worth taking a photo.

A couple weekends ago, a few of us went hiking on the Howth Peninsula (more to come on that soon) where Victor found lots of wild blackberries. Once, I used my instincts and knowledge that most poisonous food is bitter, I realized they were very tasty. I made a fruit tart with them. I wanted a graham cracker crust, but graham crackers are not sold in Ireland. I looked into it, and they are only sold in the US, basically because Graham was a nutjob who thought protein made you sexually animalistic and so invented a cracker for Americans to eat in the morning. I ended up using shortbread, and making a pastry cream for the filling. Very good. Once again, proud of myself. Mother would be proud as well.

Lastly, I have not gone here yet, but I plan to soon. F.X. Buckley, I'm told, is one of the cheapest and best quality butchers in the city, or even country. I will report back when I try out Mr Buckley's stuff.

The Fab Fourth Day in Paris

I didn't forget to finish up my trip to Paris, I've just been busy learning about why lots of people in the world don't have any money and how Irish people don't like the Catholic Church anymore.

Day 4 started earlier than day 3, but with the same thing happened: Jenna went to class. That was lame, because class is lame. We also were checking out of the hotel and moving to another one for the last night of my trip, so we had heavy duffels with us. Jenna had suggested that I go to the Musée d'Orsay, which is an art museum near her school. We got off the Metro and she headed off to class. I got to the museum and was welcomed by a long line. It moved quickly, though, and I soon got to the ticket window. Since EU students get in free, I flashed my Trinity College Dublin ID and tried to speak in an Irish accent. The accent wasn't that hot, but luckily it's hard to distinguish English accents when you don't speak it very well. So this native Irish student got into the Musée d'Orsay free. I checked my bag and picked up an audio guide (which was really nice to have in a French museum). The Musée d'Orsay was my favorite museum in Paris (sorry Louvre! Not really though). Housed in a former train station, it features almost all French art, with a lot of realism, impressionism, and post-impressionism.

The main hall of the museum.

The clock left over from when the museum was a train station. This would be an amazing watch. A bit heavy though.

If I were the curator at Musée d'Orsay, these works would definitely be there, among others that didn't turn out in the pictures.

Monet - Grosse mer a Etretat

Really sweet glasswork.

Ferdinand Holder

On to the Van Gogh section. This is one of his Starry Night paintings.

Another famous Van Gogh.

THE self-portrait of all self-portraits. The thing that struck me about all Van Gogh's paintings, especially this one, is the variation in paint thickness. It's like looking at mini mountain ranges.

A Monet landscape. Click on it to see the detail, but the paint on the clouds is really piled on there.

I had to take a picture of Whistler's Mother, even though I think it's a horrendous waste of several square feet.

See?!? I wasn't crazy for taking pictures of the Metro signs! It's legitimate art because it's in a museum. I am so good at finding art. I'm going to say that I am the artist of the found-art piece entitled "Sign Outside The Metro."

After Jenna's classes were over, we went to our next hotel. It was in a fairly untouristy part of Montmartre, although not the part with lots of strip clubs. Still, there were a lot of musicians playing in the pedestrian triangle outside and a merry-go-round for the local kiddies. We walked by dozens of parents waiting to pick up their primary school-aged kids. Our new hotel was, like our last one, teeny. I wasn't in Paris to gallivant in the confines of my hotel room, though, so it was fine. Jenna and I found a grocery store to pick up some cheese, wine, and fruit. There was so much wine so cheap there, including 1.38 Euro sparkling white wine (champagne from somewhere besides Champagne). It was hideous, but it was available for that cheap - more than I can say for Dublin or the US. To go with our delicious garlic cheese and brie, we each got a whole baguette from a little boulangerie nearby.

Zut alors, that was good bread!

On the docket for the evening were the Champs Elysees and Arc de Triomphe. First, we had to walk by some fountains near the Tuileries (Toolery) Gardens. Jenna got in the way.

We walked up the Champs Elysees, which I like to call Le Michigan Avenue. There are lots of designer clothing stores, department stores, and food of varying qualities lining wide, tree-lined sidewalks and impossible traffic. At the end of the street, there is a mammoth roundabout with the Arc de Triomphe in the middle.

I could have guessed it if I had thought about it, but I learned that one has to go underground to avoid the traffic and get to the Arc. We had the opportunity to go to the top, and I said, "Let's take it! When else are we going to have the chance?" The walk was tedious, but just as much because it was a long, long spiral staircase (monotony) as because it was high up. The views from the top were tremendous and I would like to share a few:

Jenna and I at the top near sunset.

I was fascinated by the traffic. There was no rhyme nor reason to it. Cars were stopped behind other cars that were at a 90 degree angle from them.

The Champs Elysees from the top of the Arc de Triomphe.

The far-off business district, La Defense.

The Arc de Triomphe is massive. This is all that would fit in the frame of my camera from a good distance away.

Lots of people in Paris go to the Seine with some friends and some wine and have a good time at night. Jenna and I did the same. We got there and saw a big group of people listening to swing music and dancing. That is super cool, since I have been swing dancing for years. Jenna has done a lot of dancing, and had some knowledge of swing, too. We joined in and danced to Louis Armstrong, et al along the Seine for my last night in Paris. We both had a blast!

The weirdest, but also one of the best shows I've ever been to.

Last night I went to a concert of a band that I have liked for a long time, King Khan and the Shrines. They sound like James Brown and the Famous Flames on psychedelic drugs, if they used to be in a punk band. They were playing at a place called Whelan's, which is a venue/pub/liquor store that hosts a lot of indie, rock, and folk music. It's a fun place - I had gone a couple weeks ago and like the vibe. A friend of mine asked the DJ to play the Black Eyed Peas and he said no, which made me respect the place even more.

Jack of Heart, a French band, started everything out. While these guys performed, my head was spinning. The lead singer/guitarist is one of the looniest human beings I have ever encountered, whether in real life or fiction. If Allen Ginsberg walked in during Jack of Heart's set, he would say - and this is verbatim - "What the fuck is going on? I'm leaving. Shit." I slowly started realizing that Jack of Heart is not really about playing music. They are a spectacle. They are just as much about putting on a show and pushing the envelope as they are about music. The music really wasn't that bad, though. The crazy man's voice was deep and rich; the chord progressions and riffs were unexpected. There were some fresh sounds, but they were peppered with abstract noise and lightly salted with overused motifs. For the most part, the rhythm guitar had a cutting sound to it like that of Bloc Party. The lead wove countermelodies a bit like newer Arctic Monkeys. So, there was some musical talent, and the foundations of something similar to genius, in these guys. They even wrote a song especially for the show in Dublin. It was called "Oscar Wilde" and had two words - Oscar and Wilde. A couple covers were thrown in, one by Joan Jett and one by Question Mark and the Mysterians ("96 Tears"). Both were pretty good, but "96 Tears" was especially good because it was just as crazy as Jack of Heart.

Genius, as they say, is only separated from insanity by a fine line. Jack of Heart definitely bridged the gap - but were mostly on the insane side. I kept thinking that this could be good if there was 15% more genius and 30% less crazy. What made Jack of Heart so crazy? The lead singer. The rest were fairly typical musicians - the goofy bassist, uber-intense lead guitarist, and the chill drummer.

The show starts and Jack of Heart walks on. Wait, I think, is the lead singer wearing cut of jeanshorts? Yes, he is, and they are barely covering his ass. Oh wait, he's also wearing ripped-up fishnet stockings. And is that costume jewelry weighing down his skinny little neck? Whatever, not a big deal. These guys are opening for King Khan. The stockings were just the beginning. After the second song he reaches for his beer bottle, pretty typical for a rock show. Until he chugs the whole thing, throws it into the empty space in front of the stage, and goes on to throw up a little bit. Yes, the lead singer vomited a little bit directly onto the stage. Once again - whatever, I can try to get past it. Next song, he breaks a guitar string and instead of ignoring it, he wraps the string around his neck tightly. I've seen that bit with microphone cords, but not with strings. At this point, the scales are a little still leaning a little bit towards genius.

Note the fishnets on the lead singer on the left. Also, the guy on the far right was far too focused on the music for this band.

Another song, another Stella Artois. Another Stella, another rude excretion. This time he sprays his beer out of his mouth into a shower for the stage. Then, this dude has the cahones to TAKE HIS PANTS OFF. While he sings, he slides down his jeanshorts. Thankfully, he was wearing skin colored tights underneath his fishnets, but for a second I thought my eyes were going to be scarred by his man parts. But still - what in the world is going on? This singer, who happens to have a pretty cool voice until he starts cawing like a crow for a whole song, is tricking us into thinking he is stripping. He was also ridiculing the people in the front row for not being closer to him. I couldn't blame them for not wanting to be near this lunatic. It was like watching a performance art piece of a car crash. I couldn't look away, and it's meaning was beyond me.

This singer got off on attention. That had to be what was going on. It was over, though, and King Khan and the Shrines were soon to be on.

A seven-piece band came on stage - complete with horns and organ - and vamped a dirty R&B groove while the guitarist introduced the main attraction. Out from backstage struts King Khan, done up with a feather crown, tiger-tooth necklace, and leopard print suit jacket. One of 89.3 The Current's favorite songs, "Land of the Freak," started the set out properly - organ wailing, horns blaring, jangling guitar, and King Khan's gritty yet melodic shout. I couldn't help but dance, and I really don't know how anyone couldn't be moving around. I couldn't help it all show long (although the recovering Dublin punks there had listened to too much Joy Division to ever dance, so I was one of the only). He and the Shrines made no attempt to hid the influence of the Blues Brothers and James Brown on the stage show. The King did one-footed spins while guitarist and bassist did a little step-dance. The organist, though, had a different set of influences. He was an equally amazing showman, but he was less like James Brown and more like a contestant on Project Runway.

The horn players look like the guys my dad hung out with in college, but who never changed their hair cuts or fashion.

The crazy and flamboyant organist playing out amongst the crowd

King Khan explained his show pretty well when he said, "This song is supposed to make you shake your ass. Get your body movin' and rub up against someone, even if you don't know who they are." I didn't rub up on anybody, but I shook my ass a little.

They threw in some songs from an upcoming album. Usually this is the part of a show that is okay to miss, but King Khan's new stuff was on par with his great existing material. The standout of this segment was "Yes I Can't," with its adolescent lyrics and political pun. During this part and a couple others, King Khan stepped off the stage into the crowd of the intimate venue to sing with and dance with the crowd. The last of these times, the organist AND his organ joined.

The show was just fantastic. The pinnacle was when King Khan broke into sermon. He was telling a dirty story about rebirth, prostitutes, and Germany in the style of a southern Baptist church preacher. The Shrines transitioned into their last song, and finally ended the night after a 3 minute "last note," drum fill, and saxophone freakout accompanied by the Jack of Heart members playing tambourines. I'm exhausted just writing about it.

End of show freakout. Organist is standing on his organ playing a tambourine. White tunic man is the crazy singer from Jack of Heart.

Paris: Return of the Seine

Day three in Paris was a little more relaxed for me. I needed to rest a little and let my body fight the good fight against my cold, like Barney Frank fights against town hall dissenters. It was also a Monday, so Jenna had class. She had to do the unthinkable – wake up early and learn! I was left to fend for myself, after a quick lesson in French of course. I was intent on exploring the area near the hotel on Rue La Fayette. I found what looked to be a superior patisserie and bought a sweet brioche and croissant. They tasted like France is supposed to taste!

I am fascinated by big cities, and walking around peaked my eyes’ interest. Lots of plain ol’ city things like brasseries, convenience stores, people walking to and from work, etc. Jenna met me back at the hotel and we went down to where her afternoon classes were to find some lunch. The poor girl had to go and sit through a THREE hour class soon after. That is a long time to pay attention to something, I do not envy her. While Jenna was in class, I explored Rue St. Germain which is lined with shops and famous brasseries. A few of these brasseries thought that because Picasso ate their they could charge 4 Euro for an espresso and 13 Euro for a Croque Monsieur, which is ridiculous. That’s a $6 shot of espresso! I window shopped looking for something fun to buy, but didn’t find anything too good. My stomach started yelling at me so I went here:

And I ate this Croque Monsieur:

Jenna and I had both had tiring days, albeit for different reasons. We decided to get pizza to go from an Italian place near our hotel (where we were given a glass of free wine while we waited and were slagged for not wanting to eat in the restaurant). It was delicious. We dined and watched Paris SG triumph over Lyon in Ligue 1 futbol.

Paris: The Île Strikes Back

It may sound trivial when talking about visiting the site-seeing Mecca that is Paris, but I was almost entranced by the sign for the Metro. Art Deco and cool script are two parts of design that I really enjoy, so these signs were great. I took these on my second day in Paris, and my strange obsession was later vindicated when I saw the signs in the Musée d’Orsay.

Anyway, Day 2 in Paris (Return of the Seine) started out by trying to find something that was open. Even more so than Dublin, Paris rolls up the sidewalks on Sundays. Jenna and I finally found a little patisserie and had my first Parisian pastry, which was good but not on the top half of my list for the trip. Part of what I was paying for was being open on Sunday. We ate on the steps of this magnificent church that was all but ignored, because in Paris magnificent churches are a Euro dime a baker’s dozen.

Jenna had heard about a bird market that was being held close to Île de la Cité (the home of Notre Dame) so we made our way over. There were hundreds of birds, bird cages, bird food, and small pet mammals. The sound of chirping was inescapable and little birdies were hopping all around their cages. There were also chickens and ducks, which were also pretty cool guys. Among the mammals were bunnies who were begging to be petted and chipmunks who were doing flips through their cage.

Besides being dirty and ruthless, these pigeons are cruel. They flaunt their freedom right in front of their indentured cousins.

The moving white thing on the right is the stomach of the flipping chipmunk.

By now, we were hungry and found a cheap sandwich. While it was probably average quality for France, it was great to me. Chewy baguette, salty and tender chicken, and ripe produce. Yum.

Where did we eat our sandwiches? Nowhere special, only outside the most famous church in the world.

It is too massive to fit in one frame.

I’m just glad that none of the gargoyles came and stole my food.

The line was short, so we went in and walked under the soaring ceiling, by an actual service, and past luminous stained-glass windows.

Next we walked to the Pompidou Centre, a huge series of tubes (no, not those, Senator Ted Stevens) in the middle of a neighbourhood of classic Parisian architecture. How crass of whoever designed it, say the French, but I like it.

It is a contemporary art and design museum and exhibition centre named after a former President of the Republic. Jenna and I were tired of being on our feet at this point, so we didn’t go in to the actually museum. We did, however, walk through the gift shop and the book store. There were a lot of really clever gifts in there, but none quite worth the price. If they were selling a watch like the huge clock on the ceiling, though, it might be a different story.

There was also a series of fountains that looked steampunk or like they had been taken from a whimsical children’s book.

Since it was Sunday, and the French are too le tired to open stores on Sunday, Jenna thought we should go to one of the only areas of town that would be alive: The Jewish Quarter! I was first affronted by this cool wheatpaste (street art affixed to walls using a paste made from wheat flour).

My guess is that the white thing is Boo from the Mario games wearing a trucker hat and ready to eat an unsuspecting duck, who is reading that woman’s text message. I may be wrong, but don’t tell me so. I like my invented scenario.

The Jewish Quarter was bustling with tourists, fun shops, and food. We walked about, window shopping and such. We stumbled upon some strange open house by some group associated with the EU. Countries like Poland had tables set up to promote tourism (imagine a 6^th grader’s geography project on one of those fold out project boards). On our way out of the area, Jenna and I picked up some groceries. I thought I walked into a larger than life cornucopia, but then I realized it was just a produce market.

We dropped our heavy bags off and rested our tired feet, as well as my ravaged immune system. I woke up a few hours before my flight to Paris with a tickly throat which led to a cold the whole time in Paris. Gross, but I pushed on like it wasn’t there. It eventually felt ignored and left. This was our hotel’s street. We were in the one with the blue sign on the left.

On the way to Montmartre and Sacré-Cœur, we stopped to look at Moulin Rouge.

Like my Photoshop skillz to combine 2 pictures into 1?!?

We continued to our destination. Sacré-Cœur is the home to some cool street performers, including an impressive breakdance trio. No good photo. The church was impressive, as you can see. The history is very interesting as well, read up on it at Wikipedia or some similar academic source.

The real reason Jenna wanted me to come to Montmartre is to try what she calls the best French onion soup ever. We sat down to have some (well, she had a crepe, but I had some) and I agree with her.

It was so good that I couldn’t be still enough for a picture. We tried this photo 3 times and this is the most focused.

We walked around Montmartre until it was after dark and we were tired. I really like the area. It is a little bohemian, a little cozy, a little toursisty, and a little artsy.