Rue des Rigoles

2007-05-04T19:00:00.000+02:00

Presidential Madness!

For the record:
We are in the midst of the French Presidential elections.
Allow me to explain a little:
Here in the land of berets and baguettes there are two "tours" in the election. This may ring a bell as the infamous "Le Pen" incident in 2002 made world news (I'll come back to this). In the first tour everyone who qualifies to run for President in France (anyone who collects 5000 signatures from French Mayors) ends up on the ballot. This year there were 12, and in 2002 there were 16 candidates for example. On April 22nd 85% of the eligible French voting population (yes -- you read correctly 85%!!!) made it to the polls to lend their vote to the candidate of their choice. From the first tour the top two candidates are pitted against each other for the second tour. This year the two lucky "politicos" (every French slang-abbreviation, for the record, ends in "o") were Ségolène Royal of the Parti Socialiste (I take it you can handle the translation) and Nicolas Sarkozy of the Union pour un Mouvement Populaire (UMP) (again, self-evident translation). The French have been given a classic "republican" battle of the slightly left versus the slightly right. This Sunday French voters will choose which of the two finalists go on to become the next... American Idol! ... err President of the French Republic.

Ok, now that the basics are covered I can move on to the exciting tid-bits, fun observations, and neat anecdotes.

Le Pen: in 2002 this ultra-rightist candidate horrified most of France, and the rest of the word, when he made it to the second tour. With 16 candidates in the first tour, many of whom took home a rather large slice of the voting pie, that beautiful phenom of voter splitting opened up a royal path through which Le Pen and his National Front party marched right into the second tour. This pitted Le Pen against Chirac, a candidate of the moderate right Rassemblement pour la Republic party (later to become the UMP, that's right Sarko's party). Being French, and thus predisposed to public demonstrations, huge portions of the population hit the streets to make public their displeasure at the entrance of Le Pen into the second round. Although Chirac was far from popular, over 82% of voters supported him in the second round, many of whom felt forced into a decision they found very distasteful.

"L'effet 2002" and the "Vote Utile:" this is something we are familiar with in Canada -- choosing a party or candidate that is perhaps not our favourite but that has a chance in hell of forming a Government in order to insure that an even worse major party doesn't take the riding. This was, apparently, something the French never talked about before now. One voted for their favourite candidate in the first round. After Le Pen's success in 2002 one started to hear about the "Vote Utile" and "L'Effet 2002." The French started to vote strategically, or at least more so. They did not want their hands tied as in 2002. It suddenly became important to get a "less bad" candidate into the second tour, and voters started to think about who they should vote for to that end. The first tour results make it pretty clear that L'effet 2002 was no joke: the votes for smaller parties crashed this year with huge percentages propping up the major candidates.

The French care about politics. It is a BIG DEAL here. The day after the first round I couldn't leave my house without hearing about the election. In class, on the Metro, some workers on benches during lunch, coming out of cars, a mother explaining to her toddler who the two candidates were, two joggers in the park, clients and students at the hair salon, any and everyone on the street -- EVERYONE EVERYWHERE was talking about the election.

This past Wednesday Sarko and Ségo (remember those "o's" I warned you about) faced off in a televised debate that aired on a few of the major French channels. Many bars chose to air the debate on big screen rather than that night's soccer game (gasp!). Two night before the debate, the SET that had been constructed for the debate was shown to anxious audiences across the nation on the 8pm tv news, this only two days after newspapers published the first accounts of what the set was going to look like. The French actually cared what the set was going to look like. Weird.

I was delighted to discover that Nicolas Sarkozy is a brand new Myspace member! I later found out that Ségolène Royal also has a Myspace site, but apparently she has had it for a little longer than her arch rival. Welcome to the information age. But, hey, these two candidates are being viewed as representing a new young generation of French politicians: toddlers in their early 50's; one of them will become the first French President in the 5th Republic to have never been part of a Gaullist government and to have been born post-WWII.

José Bové: maybe I have mentioned this candidate in previous posts, but just in case I have not, it would be a shame to miss him. This "alter-globalisationist" candidate is most famous for having once dismantled a McDonald's ("Macdo's") with his bear hands. Wow. Do you think Stephen Harper could do that? Paul Martin? Jack Layton? Don't make me laugh.

La France Présidente: this is Ségolène Royal's very clever campaign slogan. What does it mean? Something like "France as President" or "France for President" and as such alludes to her campaign angle: that she has held many public meetings to find out what the French want, and that she will continue to listen to and consult French citizens if she is elected. She suggests: It will be France ie, the entire public who will be president. NOW here's where it gets neat. French is a gendered language in which one finds masculine and feminine words. "La France" is feminine, therefore "Presidente" is used in place of the masculine "President" without the final "e." Ségolène is the first woman to make it into the second tour and possibly become the French President... so there is the "between-the-lines" reading wherein "Presidente" refers to Royal. At any rate, the feminine "Presidente" is very striking to any french speaker and can't help but refer back to Royal as a woman. Clever, clever.

The Polls: are showing the two candidates are VERY close with Sarkozy at about 53% and Royal at about 47%. This is going to be a close one.

OK I THINK I AM DONE WITH THIS ELECTION CHATTER NOW!

A really great French snack:
Baguette and dark chocolate. Just take a piece of baguette, a couple squares of dark chocolate, and make yourself a little sandwich. You are doubting me. Just try it.

I recently hear Patti Smith's cover of Helpless by Crosby Stills Nash and Young. 1)This made me think that I haven't listened to any Neil Young in a while now and that this is a shame. 2)It reminded me what a stellar track Helpless is. 3) I remembered that at about exactly this time a year ago I went through a Neil Young/all his projects phase and started listening to Buffalo Springfield. 4) In particular I remember a night at Steph, Sean, and Jeff's house where we had a campfire. It was chilly out. Everyone came in and hung out in the living room. We started flipping through the old 12" records choosing tracks by whim. Stephanie pulled out a copy of her recently acquired Deja Vu for which she had paid next to nothing and was quite enthusiastic. We all spent a few minutes revelling in the sounds of Helpless. It was at this moment that I though for the first time "damn, this is a good song!!" Does anyone remember this event? Good times. 5) It must be this time of year that brings that old Canadian rocker close to my heart. 6) There is nothing like spring, friends, a campfire, and tunes. I hope you guys in Edmonton are really getting out and making it happen -- I wish I could join you.

May Day, May 1st
I had forgotten that there are countries in the world where the day of the worker is observed! A number of demonstrations were planned for the occasion, and while they would have certainly offered an interesting cultural experience I chose to spend the day in a more solemn observance: in honour of the domestic labour often performed by women and so regularly and woefully overlooked by Marxists and the traditional left, I cleaned my apartment. Really well. I actually scrubbed the kitchen floor.

After two years of trimming my bangs with the kitchen scissors I finally got my hair cut. It is short. It is good. It washes and dries so quickly and easily! It does not shed small hair creatures in the shower! I can wake up and it looks awesome! Can someone remind me why I let my hair grow so long?

I have just come from a crazy string of shows. Between April 16th and 24th I was lucky enough to see Joanna Newsome, A Silver Mt Zion, Thrones, Growing, Faun Fables, Wolf Eyes, Laura Veirs, and Marissa Nadler. I cannot say that a single show of the lot disappointed me. I also discovered that I live less than 5mn by bike from Les Instants Chavirés -- a super cool venue that I have visited a few times since coming to Paris, but never realised was so close to my new apartment. The weather here has hit 27 degrees Celsius -- a veritable summer -- and the nights are incredibly beautiful. Perfect for taking my bike out to the neighbourhood venue. I should also mention the coolness of the name "Instants Chavirés." It means literally "capsized moments" a great name in and of itself, but then one learns that in french an "instant chaviré" is a moment of being awe-struck and this image of being "capsized" by an experience makes the choice of name all that much more inspired.

In France the names George (without an 's' as in Georges) and Frederick and traditionally held to women, not men. This, at times, can become confusing for Anglo-Saxons.

I would love to tell you all about my travels, but this is getting a "bit" lengthy. It is something I hope to get around to, but knowing me, it is best not to promise.

Until the unscheduled next-time,
Erin

Some great links:

http://www.sarkozy.fr/home/ this one is really good. All I can say is that I hope they are still showing the "Si vous le voulez..." video. It is special.

http://www.desirsdavenir.org/ not nearly as much fun.

2007-04-06T09:23:00.000+02:00

The plan:
The next two weeks are "les vacations scholaire" around here, so at the last minute I decided to take advantage of this free time to take a little voyage.
In about 4 hours I jump on a bus headed for Budapest where I will arrive tomorrow about 22 hours after departure. After 3 days in Budapest I will mosy on over to Bratislava to spend a day, next down the blue Danube by boat to Vienna to pass two or three days, and finally northwards to Prague for 2 or 3 days. I leave Prague the night if the 15th to arrive back in Paris around noon on the 16th -- just on time to catch Joanna Newsome in the city of lights. Wish me luck, it should be a party!
Erin

2007-03-24T10:52:00.000+01:00

For those who are not "in the know:"
Way way back near the end of January I moved from my old apartment where I lived with Ryan and Juliette, who returned to the good ol' U S of A, to a new apartment. The apartment search was admittedly stressful. I had a ridiculous list of expectations for a new place, and I was quite sure I would never find suitable lodging at an affordable price. About a week and a half before I had to move out of my old apartment... I found it!
The scoop:
I am living with one "coloc," Hortense, a 22 year old French "pigiste" or freelance journalist. She seems to be quite successful at her work, writing or filming/interviewing for about 5 or 6 different clients at the moment. As she is working for a travel magazine, she was sent to Spain for 3 days 2 weeks ago, tomorrow she will be leaving for a 6 day excursion in China, and in late April the magazine is shipping her off to the Bahamas. Not bad. Being a journalist, she is totally insane, watching the news twice a day and reading 3 or 4 newspapers per day. Guess that's how you do it, kids. Anyhow, as anyone who has spent time here will testify, Hortense qualifies as super-cool. She is definitely a friend as well as a roommate, and I would be having a much more difficult/miserable time in France without her. As soon as I moved in we made an agreement to speak only French to each other except when I had visitors. This has improved my french immensely, and I have been lucky because Hortense is very patient, and, especially at the beginning, knew how to speak slowly and simply and to correct my mistakes. Not everyone in the world would be willing to do that. The first time we spoke English to each other was the evening when my brother arrived for a weeks visit, and it was a very strange experience for both of us.
Back to the apartment: It is just beyond the Paris "peripherique," the freeway that circles Paris and marks its outer limits. So. I am theoretically not in Paris right now. I am however right on a very useful metro line that brings me right to the heart of Paris in 10 minutes. I can also walk into Paris very easily, as I am truly just beyond the city boundaries. There are a large number of shops in walking distance, a grocery store on the corner, a bakery just across the street from it, vegetable stands, fromageries, an outdoors market 2 days a week -- all of the essentials. My apartment is on a quiet side street so I don't have to worry about the noise of traffic in the mornings. We are located on the ground floor, with windows onto the front street on one side, and windows onto a courtyard-garden on the other. The door of our apartment actually opens onto a patio in the courtyard. It is great because we get tons of light into the apartment and a precious patch of near-private green space. I suspect the patio will be wonderful on late-spring mornings. For now, it just rains, rains, rains. Or, as it did for 3 days in a row this past week, hails. I actually have my own room this time 'round -- no couch in the common area for me, thank-you. We have a tiny, but fully equipped kitchen complete with oven and microwave. There's a telephone with free calling to Canada, wireless internet, cable TV (news on every channel, morning, noon, or night! ...and I won't pretend that watching CSI, or, "Les Experts," dubbed into french isn't just a little fun.), and a washing machine. All the amenities of comfortable living.
I spent a couple of weeks at the beginning of February gainfully employed as a server in a pub/restaurant, but gave that up when I could not manage my schedule to spend time with my visitors from Canada. So I am back in a state of unemployment. In a country with a 20% youth unemployment rate and a language you only half-speak, giving up your only source of income is maybe an utterly stupid decision, but, hey, I did it. So now I am half-searching for work again. Something at least a a little close by, that works with my school schedule. Harder than it might sound.
Speaking of school, I was accepted into the city-subsidized french courses that I applied to. 4 days per week I spend my mornings in class "learning french." While the class probably is pretty useful and it often targets the very problems that I am having with my french, it is also unbearably boring. I am not sure that there is anything more tedious or frustrating and ultimately fruitless than writing in french. It is like pushing pins into my arms for hours on end. Only less useful. I know. I KNOW. I will never get any better at it, and it will never become any easier for me unless I keep practicing. But let us just say that the cost-benefit ratio is not working in my favour. I spend hours writing a 2 page hand-written "essay" in which I sound like a grade 4 student and have absolutely no voice. I have no doubts, in fact, that my grade 4 writing was more interesting than the bland crap I'm churning out now. By the way, french grammar IS much more difficult than English grammar. There are entire books -- I have seen them -- on how to accord your past participle. The french can't even figure this stuff out! By the way, they have an organization known as the Academie Française who are the great gate-keepers of the French language, and who every so often hand down ordinances concerning the language : when "thou shalt accord," when "thou shalt not accord," and the like. Apparently they recently conceded that the accent circumflex "^" is utterly useless, and that no one is obliged to use it. Just watch me go: arret, goute, foret, hopital. No one can stop me now. If the language police show up, I'll just refer them to the Academie Française. This is freedom, ladies and gentleman, in it's very definition.

Why the French continue to be funny:

Paris has a bit of a problem with dog droppings. As in, no one cleans up after their pooch. So the sidewalks are covered with "canine byproducts." To combat this problem the city of Paris has developed its own unique solution: they vacuum it up. Yep. Little golf-cart type vehicles navigate the Parisian sidewalks in search of dog-droppings. They aim their hoses, and shwoop! There it goes. Clean sidewalk. You thought that was funny? The name of these vehicles: "motocrotte," which might be best translated as "shitmobile."

It is important to guard the stereotypes of one's culture, and, to this end, the public transport system of Paris are doing their part. While riding the Metro I recently saw a notice informing passengers that bringing a dog on the train is strictly forbidden... unless, of course, the critter can fit into a passenger's handbag. So, while the English language and American culture continue their slow and constant attack against all that is French, we can be sure that France will see a long secure future of old women carrying yappy little beasts about in their purses. Thank goodness.

Speaking of the insidious attack of the English language contra les Français, the word "loser" (or is that "loseur"?)can regularly be heard battered about by french youth. These linguistically engaged youngsters, however, are careful to guard the gendered nature of their language, and miss not a beat in calling one of their less-highly-regarded female peers a "loseuse."

As of this past week the list of 12 candidates running for President of the French Republic was finalised. Amongst the twelve, Frédéric Nihous representing the CPNT, or Chase Pêche (accent circumflex optional) Nature et Traditions -- or -- Hunting Fishing Nature and Traditions party. Really? Really? Why didn't they add "Campfires and Pilsner" to the list? Or did they prefer to leave that to be implied?

A très bientôt (oh, I'm so un-liberated in the end -- there goes that accent circumflex, I just cling to my own subjugation)
Erin

2007-03-09T17:25:00.001+01:00

Anyway, I've posted the pictures chronologically backwards so that the first one you see is actually the last one I took. I also failed to be terribly selective in my choice of posted photos. I went with the quantity over quality rule. What can I say? No self-restraint.
Perhaps I had best give you a brief overview, a little guided tour:
The top pictures are all taken in the High Atlas Mountains where I spent 5 days hiking in the Toubkal (highest peak in Africa) region near the town of Imlil. Meg, Cael, and I spent 4 days hiking from town to town with a guide, Mohammed, a muleteer, Abdul, and, of course, a mule. It was pretty incredible especially since I had been suffocating a bit in Paris and needed a dose of mountain-hiking. Mohammed and Abdul were great, and we spoke a lot of french with them, we cooked with them and ate with them and played cards with them and generally had a too-fun time. It was probably my favourite part of the trip. In the pictrures I have posted you can see us drinking tea on a mountain and there is also a photo of the unsavory quantity of sugar that was packed with us for our tea. We must have consumed that sickly-sweet mint tea at least 6 times per day. No jokes. It became the butt of many travel-giddy jokes.
Further down are photos taken in our first couple of days in Marrakech, one of Morocco's Imperial Cities, and the place we all flew in to. There are a couple pictures of cats in there, but they don't really give you the sense of how overrun that city was by the lovely vermin. They were absolutely everywhere in Morocco. They ruled that place. For stray beasts they were very friendly, and, in fact, I did not encounter one nasty feline in all my time there. We liked the "disease-cats." The pictures of Marrakech are taken in the Souks (or Markets) of the old city, on the main drag -- Ave. Mohammed V --, in the main square, or from the roof of our first hostel.

2007-03-06T20:14:00.000+01:00

2006-12-02T21:31:00.000+01:00

Mental Marathon

So. It's done. All five hours of it. The LSAT. Yup. Finished this afternoon/evening. Now all that's left to do is party -- or spend a quiet evening eating pizza and watching at least one movie at the Champo. Can you guess which way this night might go?
The Champo is showing a bunch of Marcel Carne films this week, and I'd like to catch a few of them. On top of that there is a wonderful little event that they host every few Saturdays -- The Champo Nights. These nights begin at midnight, and might thus be better described as mornings. Classificatory details aside, one chooses either theatre 1 or 2, each of which screens a selection of 3 films by the night's director. So, for example, tonight is Martin Scorsese night, with Taxi Driver, Mean Streets, and Casino playing in theatre 1, while Cape Fear, Raging Bull, and Bringing out the Dead play in theatre 2. After the audience is all Scorsese'd out they are led from the dark depths of the theatre, red eyed and hunched of form from the hours of sitting and staring, fed a breakfast -- something analogous to the decompression stage necessary for deep-sea divers -- and sent out into the blinding light of the unfamiliar "real world." Come to think of it -- that sounds like my LSAT experience. Except that they didn't feed us.
Ok, the report is in: the pizza was a bust. No good. I supposed it filled its basic role of providing me with sustenance, but in its secondary role of being a tasty treat it failed to even show up for dress rehearsal. Bummer.
I should be on my way now it I hope to catch Drole de Drame at 10:10.
To Scorsese or not to Scorsese?
I'll let you know the outcome of my night.

2006-11-11T21:42:00.000+01:00

ok oK OK!

I've been negligent. It's true. I hope that I may be forgiven for ignoring you for so long. The longer I leave this thing, the greater the task of updating it seems. So, I'm going to make this as short and sweet as possible, and consider myself subsequently "back on the wagon."

Hey Erin, what's up?

Well let me tell you...

I've been applying for law school. That's my excuse and I'm sticking to it. I made this decision very suddenly just over a month ago and have spent much of my free time since then researching schools, applying to faculties who have a November 1st deadline, and studying for my December 2nd LSAT, not to mention wearing out my supply of favours from friends. Thanks again dudes.

More recently --

I went to a very cool book sale today at Point Ephemere http://www.pointephemere.org/ . Point Ephemere is a great bar, art space and live music venue built right into the bank of Canal St. Martin. It is conveniently located within walking distance of our apartment and is also on the bus line that runs by us. Anyway, there were a bunch of indie publishers hawking their wares at Point Ephemere today. I found a box-set that I really liked: about 60 individual photos aprox 10"x10" in size and a CD of corresponding field recordings. Unfortunately, only the display copy was left. The dude at the table kindy wrote out a website where I could order the box online. Besides this particular piece, there were many items: books, cds, posters, tshirts -- ranging from the most DIY punk aesthetic to some very classy-looking volumes. Material ran the gamut from poetry, to theoretical works, to photography and other forms of visual art. Good stuff indeed.

Earlier today I accomplished an extra-long run, extending my usual circuit from the distance to and from the Parc Butte Chaumant plus one lap around the Parc, to two tours of the parc on top of the required transit. I managed to do this at a healthy pace, but left myself with aching legs for walking about town in the chilly afternoon.

Speaking of the afternoon, November is photography month in Paris. "What is the connection?" you ask. Well, I spent this afternoon meandering around Paris is search of photo exhibits. To my disappointment most were closed due to France's version of Remembrance Day. I think I will spend a few mornings this coming week searching out exhibits. There are about 15 in my neighbourhood and many more scattered around Paris. Working in "zones," with the aid of my trusty photography month promotional guide, I should be able to hit up quite a few of these little gems.

Somewhat random thought:
My metro line (11, the brown line) is the hottest and stuffiest line in the city. There is a noticeable change in temperature between the the rest of Chatalet station and the #11 platform. Furthermore, there is one place, and only one in the entire metro system, where I regularly become dizzy. Every time I climb the stairs from the 11 platform into the rest of the Chatalet station I become very weak-kneed, light headed, and dizzy. I have even had to stop and lean against a wall to keep myself from falling. Given that I climb plenty of stairs with no problem in the course of an average day, I take this as a sign of insufficient oxygen in the station. Hmph.

Another somewhat random thought:
I've been planning to mention this for a while, but have finally been spurred to it by my above mention of the CD of field recordings. I wish I had a tape recorder with me. I am actually thinking of buying one. Paris is a very interesting sounding city. This was perhaps one of the most striking things I noticed upon arriving here. I used to think that people who carried tape recorders around with them were slightly crazy. I admired them in a strange way, but didn't quite understand the impulse to record random sounds. I loved their music but thought "I'm just not like that." Well, maybe I've just been listening to too much bizarre music, but I've been very taken with the sound textures of Paris, and I have discovered a desire to record these sounds. Who knew.

So, I kind of hate blogger right now. I just spent half an hour adding to this post, and it's all been erased. Neat. Nifty. Swell. Anyway, this post was created 2 days ago on Saturday 11th, but I was GOING to add to it before posting. I guess I'll just post it as is today. Harrumph.

2006-11-11T19:13:00.000+01:00

Better Later Than Never?

Well, these were promised, or, at least hinted at, long ago. At long last, here they are -- pics of my roommates.
There are two pics of Juliette, taken, surprise surprise, in the kitchen. You can see an entire chicken sitting in a frying pan in one of the pictures -- she made us a delicious stuffed chicken that night. There are a couple of pictures of Bepe, who's not a roommate but the Italian friend of Juliette's and Ryan's who is living in Paris right now. The pictures of him were taken on the night I first met him, on the Metro heading to Park La Villette to watch a fireworks spectacle. One picture of Ryan, Juliette's boyfriend who lived with us through September and October, but who has now returned to Minnesota, is from a dinner we all had with Bepe. The other two pics of Ryan date back to Nuit Blanche. One is of him killing time drumming as we get ready to head out, and the other is of him on the steps of Montemartre after our Chatham ordeal.

2006-10-10T10:25:00.000+02:00

Bird-day Fun

Since today, well, technically yesterday, was my birthday, I went out this past evening for a real French dinner with my roommates, Ryan and Juliette, and 2 classmates, Catherine and Christian. It was actually my first time eating out since I arrived here in Paris just over a month ago. Dinner was very good, and I laid down 50€ on my meal! Gulp! I figured I might as well go all out just once, and my birthday seemed like a reasonable occasion. At the end of the night I told my companions that I'd just consumed enough food for the week. This better be true, because I blew my grocery budget.

This past Saturday October 7th was Nuit Blanche here is Paris. All night, from 7pm to 7am, the entire city becomes a giant art gallery/performance space/party zone. The idea is that no one goes to bed, but instead wanders around this city visiting some of the overwhelming number of cites available for perusal. In areas there are entire streets converted into installation art. There are films, music, and massive monuments made of candy for the snacking delight of touring Parisians. There is an internet cite available that highlights some of the events taking place in the city to help festival-goers plan their night. http://www.nb2006.paris.fr/
The city also lends out, for free, 2000 green and white bicycles to help Blanchers get around the city-wide festival. Because this is Paris, some of the best, or, at least most famous, artists in the world take part in the Nuit Blanche exhibitions. It's an event utterly unlike any other.
One of the cool events that took place, and which I did not participate in, was an series of underwater "concerts." A number of pieces were composed to be played under water, and 70 people at a time could don bathing suits and swim caps and listen to an underwater composition.
Unfortunately, Juliette had looked at last year's cite and found a performance of Rhys Chatham's guitar symphonies on the top of Montmartre!!!! We were peeing ourselves with excitement. From 7 to midnight 100 guitars would play An Angle Moves too Fast outside, on the steps of Sacre Coeur, overlooking the entire twinkling city of lights. Then at 2am and 6am, inside the Sacre Coeur, 300 electric guitars would play a new Chatham piece. We planned to head to Sacre Coeur first thing once the night fell to hear An Angel Moves too Fast in open air before descending into the city to race through our other destinations. Then, at 6am we planned to return to Sacre Coeur, after much craziness and sleep deprivation, to hear the sound of 300 electric guitars reverberate through the famous Cathedral, and, with ears ringing, and eyes aching, stumble out into the early morning, and once again, down into the city below. It was all so perfect. Until we made our way to the top of Montmartre and began to wonder how exactly 300 electric guitars had been so carefully concealed from us. We eventually, and sadly, discovered our mistake.
Although I didn't get to hear Chatham's compositions, I did get to hear another piece composed for 8 electric guitars and 2voices at the Cathedral St. Eustache. It was very Arvo Part meets Sunn 0))). So awesome! There were also a couple amazing pieces for the church organ and 2 clavecins, some vocal pieces, and an couple of outstanding pieces for string quartet. I loved the compositions for the strings -- nothing too classical, but more interesting and subtle than soundtrack music or anything in the "post-rock" catalogue, certainly taking a hint from early 20th C. composition and perhaps even from the more recent minimalist movement. All in all, the entire program had a pungent odour of Arvo Part. I actually spent most of my night in the cathedral. I will post a few pictures up at the top. Although the Cathedral looks empty in them, I can guarantee you that it was not. I just happened to be up at the front. I will also throw in a picture of the church organ that a couple pieces were performed on, and some pretty glowing candle images. I'm a hopeless sucker for anything that glows, scintillates, luminesces, twinkles, glimmers, radiates, coruscates, or sparkles. I consider all of the above "magical" forms of lighting.

If Buffalo Springfield were a movie it would be Easy Rider.
I saw Easy Rider a few days ago despite my relative lack of interest in the movie (How I ended up watching it is a long story). It totally blew me away. Great story, bold and highly skilled cinematography, and some awesome use of avant guard film techniques and 16mm film in a narrative film context. Wow, wow, wow. I've been raving for days. This is not to mention the inclusion of a hippie commune and a solid soundtrack of American rock classics. Stephanie, this is definitely a film for you! Chris Bruce, I would tell you to see it, but given that it is an American film classic, the movie that pushed Jack Nicholson into fame, and inludes a healthy portion of The Band on the soundtrack, I'm going to go ahead and guess that you've already seen it a few times.

Here are the links to a couple of cool Parisian venues that I have been to. Make sure to check out the pictures offered on each site. Les Voutes just might be my favourite place in Paris. It's this super cool venue that is actually a garden and a few old underground tunnels. Although I caught live music there, the venue is usually used to screen short films. Make sure to check out the "Lieu" link and the "Jardin" link within the Lieu link as both have some great photos of the place. http://www.lesvoutes.org/

This next place has music every night, and I think all of their shows are free. Coming up, for example, are free shows by Jel and the Junior Boys. It is also within fairly quick walking distance of my apartment. Again, check out the photos section as well as the restaurant section where you can see the rail tracks over which part of the building looks. You can't see it in any of the pics, but there's a crazy classical/Renaissance looking golden angel and globe type thing hanging from the ceiling in the "conservatory." You also can't really see what the terrace is like. This is a shame. There is a bar and tabled that actually sit on very short grass. There are olive trees. There is an iron fence covered in vines. The whole place is almost silly in its chicness -- so very Parisian. http://www.flechedor.fr/

Well, I think that is all for now. I will try later to update you soon with some pictures I took of Juliette, Ryan, and Bepe, and perhaps furnish you with some delightful stories about our past adventures.

As always, I hope all is well,
Rue des Rigoles

2006-09-25T22:52:00.000+02:00

I live in a neighbourhood named Belleville.
Here are some exciting Belleville facts:
Belleville is on the second highest hill in Paris next to the famous Montmartre.
The name, Belleville (beautiful town), is most likely derived from Belle vue, or beautiful view.
Belleville is historically a working-class neighbourhood. The village of Belleville played a large role in establishing the "Second French Republic" in 1848 -- which is to say it played a large part in the French Revolution. In 1871 the people of Belleville were some of the strongest supporters of the Paris Commune, and when the Versaille army moved in that May, it's toughest opposition was in Belleville where the last baricade stood.
To this day Belleville is leftist and votes accordingly for either the Parti Socialiste (the French Socialist Party), the Parti Communiste Français (the French Communist Party) or the Lutte Ouvrière (Workers' Struggle). Communist Party headquarters is just outside Colonel Fabien station, between Belleville and its northern neighbor La Villette.
Starting in the early 1900s many immigrants settled in Belleville: from Armenians and Greeks in the first 30 years of the century, to German Jews and Spaniards in the 30s, and Algerians and Tunisian Jews in the 60s. I've noticed, in my area of the neighbourhood, many North African families and businesses. If only I had family or friends in North Africa: I can get great deals on phone cards to countires in the aforementioned region.
One of Paris's 2 China towns is located in Belleville.
Edith Piaf was born and grew up in Belleville and was famous for singing with a Belleville accent: the French equivalent of a Cockney accent. The accent is rarely heard these days. (Personal interlude: there was an old French man who helped me find my apartent when I first arrived here. He spoke with Juliette who later said that he had a strange accent. We now think, especially since he was quite old, that it might have been a Belleville accent.)
So there are my fun Belleville facts.

In more personal news, I just bought a second hand guitar. It's lovely. We have great fun together.
In related news, I have just learned to play Leonard Cohen's "Hallelujah." I am very happy with my ears right now, and even more happy with my old pal Leonard. I've decided that he's an absolutely brilliant lyricist (I know, I'm not exactly the first to come to the conclusion, but this is special because it's my epiphany), and that Hallelujah especially is an extrordinary work of song-writing/lyrical genius. I've already ranted extensively to Tala about this, but I beg you all to listen to whichever version of the song you can get your hands on, and also to read this fascinating article: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hallelujah_(song)
Make sure to check out the links to Lyrics that it provides.

Of course, I have piles of news that I could dump hap-hazardly upon you, but that would just be rude. Or messy. So, until next time, my necessarily fragmented life and I bid you all adieu,
Erin

ps. I just pulled out the dictionary because I realized that I don't know how to spell "necessarily", and my spell-check on this program doesn't work (yep, same old Erin, unable to spell, although, upon checking, I did spell necessarily correctly the first time around). When I pulled the dictionary off the shelf it fell open to, and the first thing I saw, at the top of the page, was "megadeath." It was perfect. Who knew that Megadeath was a real word?! Apparently it can be defined as: a unit used in quantifying the casualties of nuclear war, equal to the deaths of one million people.
How morbid. And clearly developed during the 1950s: total Cold War jingoism. "War on Terror," anyone?
Because, you know, there's no point in having a term like "megadeath" except to rile people up. Is it really any easier to say "there will be five megathdeaths" than to say "there will be five million deaths?"
At least a name was invented for the band Megadeath.
Judas Priest, Iron Maiden, and Megadeath.
There were 3 bands and three awesome names to go around.
If the concept of "Megadeath" had never been developed there would have only been two names to go around. It would be like duck-duck-goose: one band would be the odd band out; nameless. They would've have to choose some crappy and inappropriate name, and would almost certainly have spent all of eternity languishing in their parents' basements. The course of rock'n'roll history would be altered utterly.
So, I just gave you the dictionary definition of "megadeath," but, because I changed dictionary pages to find "necessarily," I had to reopen the dictionary to find the definition of megadeath all over again. When I opened the dictionary the second time, guess what word popped out at me first thing?: "minuteman."
I swear this thing is rigged.
Here, let's try again:
..."bloomer?"
What a let-down.
Probably because I was trying too hard.

2006-09-22T18:46:00.000+02:00

Here are some pictures from my flea market adventure that took place about 2 weeks ago. At the top are some of the friends I met at the market. Then there are some doors and pictures, just as an example of the specialization that can be found at the market -- all the old doors you could ever want. Also, in the pile of old photos, you might notice some of those old 3-D pictures where the same scene is photo-ed from 2 slightly different angles then the two images are arranged side by side and viewed through a device, like an old school viewmaster. Stephanie and Eric, you probably remember studying, in your history of photography class, the craze that took place over those things. I thought it was pretty cool to actually come across a giant pile of them.
There are a bunch of pictures taken of the market. Unfortunately most of them are taken in the same area and don't acurately represent the size and variety of the market.
Finally there are some photos of books. The second book pic is a photo of just the newer art books in this one warehouse full of books. All the other books were elsewhere. As you can see there were a few of them. Finally, there's a first edition Tin Tin!!! It was just sitting on the shelf (not behind a display case) and was selling for 300€!

2006-09-17T13:56:00.000+02:00

More photos of my apartment for the more demanding of my friends. There are a few of the courtyard at the back of our apartment. Some of these are taken from the bedroom window while one is taken from within the courtyard. There is a picture of the bedroom, and a couple of the kitchen/living room. There's a picture of one of out front windows. There are also a couple of pictures looking down our street. I hope we are all happy now.

2006-09-16T00:20:00.000+02:00

The School of Cool

Or of the french language. Or of both. Hmmm, here's a question for yalls: when one writes of french as in the language, one uses a lower case "f." When one speaks of French as in something from or of France, one uses a upper case "F." Now, when one uses the phrase "french language," does one use an upper case or a lower case "f'?" Because one is speaking of the language, so the lower case seems appropriate. And yet, and yet, when one says the "French language" is not one saying the language of or from France? A conundrum, or so it would seem. Feel free to comment, or as I believe the button at the bottom of this post will read, feel free to "Comments." So, where were we before this breif diversion? Yes, we were about to discuss my french classes. I was somehow placed into an intermediate french class. I think I either tried a lot harder on my placement test that anyone else, or, and this is my theory, I just had sheer dumb luck on multiple choice sections of the exam. Whether that dumb luck turns out to be of the good or of the bad kind only time will tell. At any rate, I often find myself a little confused about what is happening in my class, I often don't know the vocabulary being used, and I seem to be behind most of my classmates in my french comprehension. Either I will learn a lot through my accelerated program, or I will be left utterly in the proverbial dust. I've just finished my first week of the program, and I can't quite tell where I stand yet. I think some of the concepts we are covering are beginning to clear up a bit. I don't know what I would do without the internet, though. I think I'd be in trouble. My new favourite site is the French Verb Encycleopedia http://french.about.com/library/verb/bl-verbencyclopedia.htm Here I can find the conjugations for irregualr verbs that I should supposedly already know. Here I can also find things like the "present participle" and "subjonctif" forms of verbs, both of which in my entire 5 weeks of french courses I had never encountered. So, I've spent most of this night (yes, that's right, Friday night) brushing up on my verb conjugations while taking occasional breaks to dance around my appartment to some good old-fashion (North) American indie rock. Thanks Malkmus. The internet also helped when I needed to figure out when to use "qui" or "que." Thanks to the message boards at Word Reference www.wordreference.com some kindly french-english bilingual folks were able to clear that up for me with a very simple answer. Besides the "practical" courses that I have for 2 hours every day, I also have a phonetics lab for an hour each day, as well as hour long courses on French literature, French history, and French art history (note the use of an upper case "F" here) each once a week. So far I've learned that Marguerite Duras is relatively easy to read for french-language beginners (and thanks to Dan's extensive literary collection, I have a couple of her books at my disposal and have started upon one), that the French-German dispute over the Alsace region dates back to the 9th Century when the 3 grandsons of Charlemagne (now, I could have said the sons of Louis le Pieux, but I wanted an excuse to write Charlemagne because it's a way cooler name) divided their father's (and grandfather's) territory into 3 parts that corresponded more or less to present day France, present day Germany, and, of course, the Alsace region, and that my art history prof talks really quickly. As far as getting to know people in my classes goes, I'm starting to make some progress. Big groups of people are always a bit overwhelming for me so I often don't get to know people immediately. My best school friend at the moment is a guy named Christian who comes from Cologne, Germany, and like so many Europeans, speaks impecable english. He wears khaki pants and a dress shirts to school every day, and is really... German. Like me, he has just completed his undergrad and is taking the french course for his own interest. He's pretty awesome. Other than that I've spoken with a few other people in my classes, including a few Americans who thought it was hilarious when I called my coil notebook a "scribbler."

I've gone to a few record stores since coming here. Bimbo Tower (which to me sounds like a bizare interpretation of Virgin Megastore) specializes in... weird music http://bimbo.tower.free.fr/. They have a lot of stuff that I like, but they're a bit much even for me. I don't need every Acid Mothers' side project ever recorded, thank-you. Wave Records is another local shop that is more to my liking http://www.dsa-shop.com/. In fact, if I chose all the music that was going to be put into a recored store, it would be Wave Records. I was happy to see that they seem to specialize in electronic stuff on lables such as Touch, Mille Plateaux, Sub Rosa, Raster-Noton, etc. Allia, I think you would really like Wave. They also share my huge crush on Constellation Records. I have bought a couple of CDs from Wave already, even though I am severly limiting my music purchasing habits. I was happy to find many copies of the Fifths of Seven record at Wave, which, despite being a Canadain group, are nearly impossible to get your hands on in Canada (believe me, I've tried) due to some distribution problems. Of course, I bought the record. I was in Wave for the second time today and purchased a Sylvain Chauveaux record and listened to a few others. The guy in there was kind enought to suggest a soundtrack that had artists such as Fennesz, Francisco Lopes, and Tim Hecker on it. A good suggestion. Our communication was pretty awesome since I spoke very little french, and he very little english.
My last music-related comment for this post has to do with a place called FNAC. They are a chain store that seem to have pretty much monopolized the Parisian music/electronics market. There seem to be few independent record stores for such a large city in part, I think, because one can find almost anything at FNAC. For example, they had a whole large section for the No Neck Blues Band. You don't find that at a whole lot of chain stores in Edmonton. FNAC also sells concert tickets. So far I've purchased Hot Chip and Cat Power tickets from them. I'll be back to pick up Sufjan Stevens, Yo La Tengo, and Denison Witmer tickets. Yippee! Next weekend both Sunburned Hand and Tanakh are playing. I think I'll catch both shows.

I've bored you long enough with that bit on my french musical experiences. Lets just say, I think there are a few of you who would have asked anyway, so that was for you.

I returned last Sunday to the flea market at the Port de Clingnancourt just outside of Paris in the suburb of St. Denis. This time I discovered that I hadn't even scratched the surface on my first visit. The market literally stretched for blocks. One can find an utterly confounding amount of junk there. There's new stuff such as clothing, shoes, scarves, jewelery, CDs, rip-off designer hand-bags, and souvenirs. There's second hand clothing. There's utterly useless junk such as old VCRs and other outdated electronics, only some of which actually works, mis-matched cuttlery, unwanted house-hold items. There are old books of the merely second hand type, right on down to the first edition antique type. And there are shelves upon shelves upon shelves of them. There was an entire warehouse of them. And that was only one of the places one could find books in the flea market. There's old military "stuff," old post cards, old fabric, antique clothing, entire statues, stands dedicated to various types of lighting fixture, and the list goes on. Olya would have never left. Ever. She would be lost to the world if she ever found this place. After spening an entire afternoon wandering the flea market I ended up at a tiny shack of a bar in the flea market. There were pictures of Django Reinhardt all over the walls and, sure enough, there were a couple of dudes playing "gypsy" jazz on electric-acoustic guitars. Not usually my thing, but these guys were really good, and it was the perfect ending to my flea market day.

A couple of observations:
1) It's nearly impossoble to find lined paper here. All of the paper, sold in packs or bound in notebooks, is graph paper! Weird.
2) The French haven't yet realized the magic of the hole-punch. Anywhere you can find school supplies you can find these books that are full of transparent sleeves. Instead of punching 3 holes in their paper and throwing the sheets into a binder, the French seem to put ALL of their paper into pockets. Although one can buy binders, one can also buy packs of these sleeves to put into the binders, presumably so that one's paper, which, by the way, is not sold with pre-made binder holes as it is in Canada, can be put into the binder VIA the sleeves. Also weird.

Ok, I'm done. It's 2 in the morning here and I'd still like to read before bed. I'm going to publish a few posts worth of pictures before that, though...

Until next time you goonies,
I've been Erin

2006-09-07T23:04:00.000+02:00

Due to Popular Demand...

Ok, really just Olya and my mom.
Here are some pictures from around my apparment etc. As I have previously mentioned, I don't know how to format these pictures in blogger and I am far to impatient to offer anything more than a token effort at figuring it out. Therefore, you'll just have to bear with me and try to figure out which picture corresponds to each comment. I think it should be fairly obvious. For example, if I'm talking about the view down my street and you see a kitchen utensil, you can assume that I'm not trying to be "deep," and that the image-text relation is merely coincidental. Try another photo. Or another comment. I'll leave the decision to you. Not that I could have much say, even if I wanted to. Note: all of the photos are backwards compared to the comments. Or the other way around.

Let's begin, shall we?

First: we've got a great little espresso maker in the appartment. It is a three-chambered wonder. One chamber short of the human heart. ...or the less rheotrically effective "cow heart." The device actually screws apart thirds of the way down (in this way the carafe is actually superior to the human heart that cannot easily be separated into pieces and put back together -- now wouldn't that facilitate open-heart surgery?). This unscrewing reveals a bottom chamber, which, should one choose to make some coffee, one would fill with water. Just above this chamber sits a small metal cup bespeckled with tiny holes. One fills this piece with coffee grounds. This, again, on the assumption that the particular "one" in question is trying to make some esspresso. Then one replaces the upper chamber and places the delightful little contraption over a burner. After some time one will hear a percolating sound. When this stops, ones espresso is ready. The water from the bottom chamber boils, passes up through the tiny holes into the grounds chamber, then up narrow sort of spout and into the upper chamber. One can pour oneself a cup of esspresso straight out the spout from this chamber. Yum-yum. Note that you can see my reflection in the espresso maker. For this reason, I entitle the photo Portrait No. 1. While I'm here, I'll also mention the stove that you can see in this photograph. Unlike the cooking facilities in so many Parisian appartments, we do not have some shitty two hot plate set-up. Certainly not. Instead we have a luxurious gas range complete with an oven. Gas stoves, by the way, really are great to cook on.

Next: 3 pictures of out kitchen. It's well equiped for pretty much any culinary situation. Juliette, one of my roommates, is a cook. Like, a real cook, who, after working as a chef and baker for a few years now, is studying pastry in France at some prestigious old-boys'-club school. So we eat well around here and the kitchen is an important place. Oh, by the way, I went to a local grocery store the day after I arrived here, and guess where I found the eggs? Hmm? In a refridgerated area? Hmmm? NO! ON THE SHELF at... at... at... ROOM TEMPERATURE! That's right. No one refridgerates their eggs around here. They just leave them hanging out on the counter. Blows my mind. Want to talk about culture shock? -- eggs on the counter. Ya. In other food-related news: cheese, beer and wine are all dirt cheap. In fact, including the cost of transportation, I'm sure a load of soil would be significantly more expensive. My roommates are good people: they understand the importance of having a good bottle of wine (y'know the €3 kind) with dinner.

The Library:

The dude (otherwise known as Dan) who we are subletting the appartment from is a PhD. Student in Compatative Lit. He has a lot of books. Most of these books are in english. He has given us permission to read his books. And I was sad about leaving so many of my books at home. Ha! This picture is of just one (admittedly the largest) of his shelves. I just finished Sylvia Plath's The Bell Jar which I shall certainly rant about on another occasion.

We love our computers. And our cleverly place table that serves as a computer desk, dinner table, and food preparation space while creating the illusion that the kitchen is a separate room from the living room/my bedroom. Oh, how clever! How practical! How stylish!

Here are some pictures for my mom -- to prove I'm not a morbid creep who only takes picture of coffee makers and graveyards. Of course I am a morbid creep, but... look at the perdy flowers! All of these flower pictures were taken in a park near the Cinematheque Francaise. I had, of course, come to the area for the legendary Cinematheque. I wasn't particularly impressed with the area of town. Much of it seemed like part of a newer development. While I like parks a good deal, this particular park in which I took my photos seemed just a little too upkept. Corsetted, if you will. It needed some forrest paths, and tree forts. Anyway, the cinematheque was a bit overwhelming. I didn't understand much so I just wandered around. There were some areas that I wasn't quite sure I was allowed in, but nobody stopped me so I just kept on going. The cinematheque plays an utterly stupid number of movies. I plan to see quite a number of them.

This is the view down my street: Rue des Rigoles. I live very close to Belleville, as in The Triplettes of Belleville. My metro stop is actually on Rue Belleville. I also live close to Pere Lachaise cemetary and the Parc Butte Chaumant. Yes, I live near the top of a big ol' hill. This is a residential neighbourhood with a large number of North African immigrants living in it. It's a good neighbourhood to live in and quite close to Rue Oberkampf where one can find a great bar scene (so many scooters and bikes, non dieu!), and even better kosher pickles.

Just a few doors down from me, there exists a small restaurant/bar where live klezmer music is played every Wednesday night. I didn't go this Wednesday, although I could hear the music as I passed by on my way home from a movie. I plan to drag Juliette and Ryan out there a couple of Wednesdays from now. I plan to dance like a lunatic.

Well, my lovelies, I'm sure this update is full of errors of both the spelling and gramatical sort, but I'm about done with it for now and don't care to proof read. So until later it will just have to remain as is. So there.

Until next time,

Your only ErinCW

2006-09-04T23:42:00.000+02:00

A Ramling Account of Times Now Past

So...
On Friday I had my wallet stolen. Awesome! It was turned in at some Hotel near the Sorbonne where it originally took off. Nothing was taken -- there was no cash in the wallet to begin with. Of course, the wallet was recovered after I had cancelled both my bank card and Mastercard. What a fiasco. I was about to be pretty upset after the disappearance of my wallet, but figured that such emtional outbursts would serve only to further disable me, and instead chose to "suck it up" and figure out what needed to be done. Perhaps creating and executing a plan was my way of dealing with an event that was otherwise upsetting and that could have made me feel helpless. I just had to remind myself that I still had some cash, travellers' cheques, and my passport, and that the theives gained nothing since I had no cash in the wallet and a very low, and somewhat used-up, limit on my credit card. Mostly it was a giant pain-in-the-ass for me, but not significant loss. I gained some satisfaction thinking about the pickpocket's dissapointment when she discovered... some junior high photos with cute notes on the back, old receits, ect. Hah. In the end I was very happy to recover said friends' junior high photos, not to mention the Edmonton Public Library card that I've had since I first learned to write my name, and the wallet that my parents gave me for christmas when I was 12 and swore that I would immediately lose. Proved them wrong. Anyway, suffice to say that money has been an "interesting" issue and paying for school down right "scintillating." Hopefully this stuff gets figured out. Meanwhile I wait for my new bank card and credit card to arrive in the mail. This could be a while.

In Other News...

I have spent most of my time in Paris simply walking. On Saturday I took the metro up to Port de Clingnancourt and walked just past the city limits to a giant (and well known) flee market. It's a good thing that I had no wallet because there were many cheap scarves, shoes bags, ect. I'm a sucker for this type of thing.
From there I made my way back into the city and around the north side of the Butte Montmartre. I really like this area, considered an "ethnic" area of Paris. Being an "ethnic" myself (Paris is supposedly 93% French), I fit right in. I walked all the way to up the hill to the back of Sacre Coeur, then slid down the east slope to the Barbes market, which was pretty much wrapped up by the time I got there. There were, however, plenty of "bargain" stores nearby which I wandered through. Let me restate: it's a good thing that I didn't have my wallet with me.
From Barbes I walked home past what I think was the Canal Ste Martain, and through the Parc Butte Chaumant. Quite a day indeed.

Yesterday was also spent walking. I went to the nearby Cemetiere Pere Lachaise -- famous last home of the likes of Oscar Wilde and Jim Morrison. Besides these illustrious name-drops, the cemetary is very old, very large, and very beautiful, although I must admit, I was surprised by the state of disrepair I found in certain areas. My walk next took me down the trendy Rue Oberkampf, through a boulevard to the Bastille, and on to the Seine and the island that Notre Dame is found on. I tried to find the legendary "super 8 street" said to be near Notre Dame, but I gave finally gave up and took the metro "home" I have some pictures from Pere Lachaise and the walk to the cemetary posted above. I can't figure out how to integrate them more appropriately yet. Maybe some day I'll figure out this blogging business. I must admit that some of these owe a lot to Olya, even if they lack her originality and technical proficiency.

2006-09-03T12:28:00.000+02:00

An Opening Word:

This Blog is meant for my friends and family.
I am slightly uncomfortable with this metbod of communication, but alas, it seems the most practical and expedient. Unfortunately.
So my life, or, some carefully constructed version of it, will be posted on the web, free to peruse.
No, I don't think that my life is somehow so interesting that everyone ought to read about it.
Nor do I think that I have such brilliant, insightful, and downight original thoughts that everyone will naturally want to hear about them.
Rather, I can only hope that some of my inner circle are at least mildly curious about my personal adventures. I that spirit, then, here it is. It may not last long; I may impulsively delete the whole thing, but here's to trying.

First Things First: Long Day's Journey Into Night

It really was a day (and a long one no less). Actually, 23 hours on the plane and haunting Toronto and Heathrow airports. On top of that there was the time driving to the airport, the time waiting in Edmonton International, the extended search for the RER trains at Charles de Gaule, the train and metro rides, and, of course, wandering attempts -- luggage and all (and, make no mistake, there is a reason its called luggage)-- to find my appartment. All this for a grand total of 29 hours in transit.

I really did journey into night, arriving at my appartment just before 10:00 Paris time. As far as days and nights go, my poor sleeping habits predating the flight may actually have helped me adjust to the lack of a proper 24 hour day. I slept sporadically for the entire trip, and spent most of my 8.5 hours in the dreary Heathrow airport asleap. Thankfully.

So, back to the topic of my appartment. Apparently Rue des Rigoles is a fairly small street in Paris. So insignificant, in fact, that it does not appear on tourist maps. So insignificant, if fact, that many people living in the neighbourhood are unaware of its existence. Unable to find an unemployed taxi, and after some misdirection, I finally found a shopkeeper who knew the whereabouts of Rue des rigoles, and I was on track.