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.

Other Observations

Here are a few things that aren't substantial enough for their own posts.

I found a cool coffee shop with good coffee. That's a feat because Dubliners love their mediocre coffee. Some bald Kiwi moved here and mixed up his own blend of beans and opened a few stores. When I say bald, I'm not being purposefully mean or anything. The place is called the Bald Barista. I went the other day and wrote the France Day 1 post over a latte the size of my head. While I was sipping it, a few Eastern European tourists bought espresso and asked for water with it. In the hardcore, we-don't-serve-iced-espresso coffee world, it is considered an insult to sip water after espresso. It shows the barista that his shot of espresso was bitter and can't be savoured. The Bald Barista himself came out and told them that they were undermining the coffee he roasted and brought them americanos because it was evidently something they could handle.

Last Friday I laboriously rolled out of bed at 6:30 to walk to the Immigration Center and register as a foreign student. I may have outlined the completely logical system that Ireland uses with foreign students before, so bear with me. Upon entering the country, if the customs officer feels like it, for instance if his coffee from Cafe Sol was bad or his wife made him sleep on the couch, (s)he can charge you 150 Euro to be here. It's like paying for a visa, except it's at the mercy of whomever you meet when you touch down on the Emerald Isle. It reminds me of businesses paying protection money to the mob, not that I'm implying anything. It would probably just be easier to charge everybody 80% of the 150 Euro instead of shaking down a student when you feel like it. Besides seeming more fair, we are putting money into the Irish economy at a time of soaring unemployment and shrinking consumption. Why would you want to give us a bad taste in the mouth? But I had to go pay it, so I did. I stood in line for about half an hour to get a ticket, and be told to come back in 3 hours. I went to the TCD library and researched for a paper for the Semester Start-Up program. I cam back and played Sudoku for a few hours more while waiting to show my passport, registration forms with TCD, and that I have enough money to leave. Then I got the equivalent of my green card, only 5 and a half hours after I first got in line. That makes me really wonder how horrible it must be to get a visa or apply for citizenship in the US. I imagine that it's easier to get a visa in Ireland as an American than for a foreigner coming to the US. I couldn't even imagine how frustrating it would be to try to get into the States as an academic, let alone a refugee with little or no labor skills.

Before the very moment that I write this, it had not rained more than a few spits of mist since the week of September 7th. It didn't even rain in Galway or the Aran Islands. That's not the Ireland I imagined, and I think it's probably a surprise for other Americans as well.

Last week marked the 250th anniversary of the Guinness brewery's founding (that's older than the United States). For weeks the city was getting ready for a unified toast to Arthur Guinness. At 5:59 PM, or 17:59 (get it? - since the year it was founded was 1759), there was revelry. At the pub that I was at, Doyle's, the Guinness company was putting on a Guitar Hero tournament with prizes for the winners. A couple of friends from Wash U and I tried our darnedest and we WON!!! I got an awkwardly-fitting long-sleeve t-shirt that had the 250th anniversary logo on it and an iPod docking station with the same logo. Score.

There is more to come soon on my amazing trip to Paris!

The Start of Class

I started classes Monday. These are the real classes with real Irish (and other types of European) students. I was excited for the actual semester to start. The clubs I signed up for would kick into gear and I would see more than old tourists from the States visiting their ancestors' homeland.

My anticipation had started last week during Freshers' Week. It's the week before classes is when the 1^st years show up on campus at Trinity, just like it is at American schools. There are parties, activities fairs, and bank representatives setting up college checking accounts for wide-eyed 18 year olds and their parents. I actually missed most of Freshers’ Week while I was in Paris, but got back in time to take part on Thursday and Friday.

Here is the way it works: In Front Square (the cobbled area you see on all the postcards), every single club sits down at a table and heckles passers-by until they pay a few Euro to join their club. “Hey – do you want to be part of the Indian Student Society?” “Excuse me, do you want to read books to invalid cats on Monday nights?” I was looking forward to joining a few clubs; it should be a good way to meet some like-minded Irish students and get a footing in Ireland.

I skipped the Indian Student Society and the invalid cats club, but found others that I liked better. Most clubs come with discounts to restaurants and cafes around campus and good number of events (usually with liquid confidence). Furthermore, there are two societies that are a big deal - the Phil and the Hist. Both are debating societies that have large spaces in the same building on campus. They boast over 1000 members and depending on when you date their beginnings, are the oldest undergraduate student societies in the world (or at least one of them is). They are rivals in the sense that they compete for the time of their members and bicker over who is older, but a lot of people are members of both. Each week, the groups have a debate on some major topic. Last night was the Lisbon Treaty, week before was whether or not marriage was a dated institution (it was a comedy debate, so while one side said that marriage was gay, the other said that marriage was not gay enough).

I joined both the Hist and the Phil. I have already gone to a debate workshop with the Hist and attended their Lisbon Treaty debate, featuring a former Prime Minister of Ireland, a couple newspaper columnists, and a crazy Danish man who hates the EU. I entered into the Maiden's Debate next week. It's for people who have not done British Parliamentary-style debating before (which includes me, even though I am two years older than most of the competition...shhh!). I will be promoting the legalization of ecstasy in Ireland. What has 2 thumbs and needs some good luck? This guy (points to himself with thumbs)!

I also joined the Environmental Society. This Saturday I will be either working on a community garden or clearing invasive non-native species of plants outside Dublin with them. I am also a member of the Food and Drink club. They put on events related to food each week (although they are falling behind already, because I have not heard anything about this week yet) and finagle sweet deals on restaurant food in the City Centre.

That was a really long digression from talking about classes. Well then.

I will be taking either 3 or 4 classes. Locked in are the Economics of Less Developed Countries and Irish Politics. Economics, etc. is taught by an engaging professor who sounds like he's English, but grew up in one of the exotic places that the English terrorized - I mean colonized. It will be a fun class that has a little more depth than a typical Econ class. Irish Politics is taught by a columnist from the Irish Times who specializes in political corruption. Good thing she is here in a Catholic country, because we all know that Protestant countries don't have as much corruption.

The other classes I am looking at taking, but have not committed to yet are European Economy and Democracy & Development. There hasn't been a lecture for the latter, and the former involved a lot of work, so it is teetering on the edge of falling off of my schedule.

Today I decided I was going to take a few pictures of rather mundane things that I see every day. Actually, I think they're kinda cool, but you probably won't.

This is a walkway above part of the library at TCD. It's like their saying, "Hey, Louvre! We can do it too!"

I walk up this street most days to campus. There is a lot of money to be spent on this street. Expensive cocktail bars and Michelin stars line the avenue.

St Stephen's Green in the fall is beautiful.

A station for a sweet bike sharing program. If I only had a utility bill to prove that I "live here" I could be on campus in like 6 minutes every day.

Where I cross the train tracks for the Luas on the way to campus. My goal for while I am here is to get suction cups on my hands and feet and jump on the Luas train as it went by to avoid paying fare.

This sign is really fucking huge. Like a story and a half. It also calls their opponents crazy.

See how big it is? That is a full sized umbrella that goes over a table.