Je me sauve*

*I'm outta here

Yesterday (July 4th), at around 4AM eastern standard time, I finally returned home to Annapolis, Maryland.

It is fitting that my journey should come to an end on the 4th of July, that my homecoming should coincide with our most Patriotic Holiday. More important than any other knowledge gained from my travels is the realization that America is an extraordinary country, one which I am proud to call my own. As the customs officer greeting me in JFK airport put it, "we may be broke, but there ain't no place like it."

My year in France was a mixture of contradictions - both exciting and boring, leisurely and frustrating, lonely and convivial, a dream and a nightmare. It was transformative, and I think utterly beneficial.

This morning I submitted my final report to the Henry Russell Shaw Fellowship Committee, and included in it a list of the highlights of my travels - which I'll now post here for your reading pleasure.

Thanks to all of you for following my blog! Sharing my adventures with friends and family in this way added an important dimension to my experience abroad, and now that I'm back I'd love to tell you about my travels in person! Give me a call on my new iPhone (347-224-8512) or shoot me an email (anna.reinert@gmail.com) to figure out a meet-up.


So here's the list. During my year in France, I...

- Lived for 9 months in a loft apartment with three 25 year old French boys

- Shopped for fruits and vegetables at my neighborhood outdoor market

- Learned to make brioche at a baker’s school in Paris during the Cuisine en Fete weekend

- Visited cultural and historic sites during the Journees de Patrimoine, and saw the formaldehyde-preserved brain with which neuroscientist Paul Broca discovered Broca’s area

- Spent a week at the Buddhist Sangha of Plum Village

- Presented at a conference of the EU Committee on Herbal Medicine (HMPC)

- Explored the Christmas markets of Strasbourg

- Attended Cannes as an accredited cinephile and crashed a party on a luxury yacht

- Worked my way into the French National library system

- Became familiar with the Maghrebian vendors at my market and corner grocery store

- Traversed the gardens of Versailles photographing fountain displays in the rain

- Viewed every room of paintings and sculptures in the Louvre.

- Did the January and June Soldes, waiting in the pre-dawn darkness in front of the Galeries Lafayette with hundreds of thrifty and fashion-crazed French women

- Obtained a French Carte de Sejour, opened a French Bank Account, and signed my first ever apartment lease with a French landlord in France (all this implies having dealt with a good deal of French bureaucracy)

- Received the cure, drinking and bathing in the curative waters at Vichy Spa

- Attended the 761^st celebration of a pagan bonfire festival in a small town in Northern France

- Sat in the cloister in Toulouse where Thomas Aquinas was buried

- Went clubbing on the Champs-Elysees

- Swam in my neighborhood pool, with it’s naturally warm water from an on-site hot spring

- Traveled to Grasse, Perfume Capital of the World, to attend an aromatherapy conference and tour the Fragonard perfume factory

- Spent the early hours of the morning listening to a jazz in the basement of a left-bank club

- Participated in the May 1^st manifestation which marched across Paris

- Swam in the Mediterranean along the French Riviera

- Bumped into Jacques Chirac at the huge annual Agricultural salon in Paris

- Made a pilgrimage to the abbey of Mont Saint Michel.

- Learned to samba at the Centre de Danse du Marais

- Watched promising young talent perform at the Paris circus festival

- Overindulged at the Salon du Chocolat

- Had my hair cut by students at the fashion training salons around Paris

- Looked down an ancient well once used by Celtics for sacrificial rituals, now located at the heart of Chartres, in the Cathédrale’s crypt

- Watched classic films at independent cinemas of the Latin Quarter and Montmartre (Night of the Iguana, Le Mepris, Paris vu Par, The French Connection, Manhattan, The Barefoot Contessa, Mata Hari, Zazie dans le Metro, Belle et la Bête, Les Enfants du Paradis, Jules et Jim, Hiroshima mon Amour, Cleo de 5 à 7, Pickpocket, A bout de Souffle)

- Attended an organ concert in Notre Dame de Paris

- Celebrated Le Jour du Macaron by gorging on 3 for 1 euro macarons from Pierre Hermé and Jean Paul Hévin (most interesting was a chocolate-foie gras creation from Pierre Hermé)

- Explored the subterranean ossuaries of the Paris Catacombs

- Ate chocolate mousse out of a paper cone from the mousse bar of the Galeries Lafayette

- Ice skated in front of the Hotel de Ville

- Made a pilgrimage to the D-Day beaches of Normandy and the nearby American Cemetery

- Viewed a Festival des Femmes photo exhibit at an Islamic cultural center in the Goutte d’Or

- Discovered orange blossom ice cream, violet pastry cream, and poppy-flavored macaron

- Frequented the legendary Crazy Horse cabaret on Avenue George V

- Was baffled by the elaborate decorated crypt in which Pasteur is buried at the Institut Pasteur

- Viewed Paris from the Eiffel Tower, the Towers of Notre Dame, and the roof of the Galeries Lafayette

- Paid my respects to the remains of French royalty at the Basilique Cathédrale de Saint Denis

- Was blown away by the interior of the Sorbonne, and realized that I was no different than all the tourist who ooh and ah over the buildings of Harvard

- Ate fresh, hand-churned coconut sorbet at gourmet food salons around Paris

- Admired the impressive orchid collection at the nursery of the Jardin de Luxembourg

- Missed the last Metro on Nuit Blanche and walked home all the way from the Bastille

Outside of France, I…

- Fell in love with Bernini Sculpture at the Villa Borghese in Rome

- Watched Flamenco dancers perform in Barcelona

- Crossed the snow-capped Pyrenees by train and bus

- Visited the Greek island of Nisyros, from which my great grandfather emigrated to America in the early 1900s

- Climbed a volcano and swam in volcanic hot springs at the crater of Santorini

- Cruised the canals of Venice and feted New Years Eve on St Mark’s Square

- Ate pasta with Bolognese sauce in Bologna

- Paid tribute to Hippocrates among the ruins of the first medical school, Asclepieion, on Kos

- Crossed over the Alps in an airplane 6 times.

Tea and Tarte for Every Season

One of the simple joys of Paris life is that magical hour in the late afternoon when Parisians linger over hot tea or café and pastry in the city's ever-present salons de thé. Being a bum and a pastry connaisseur, I particular appreciate this leisurely midday snack (which also tides one over until the late European dinnertime of 9 or 10 PM).
France is basically without coffeeshops (Starbucks aside), but there are in Paris a number of exquisite spots for grabbing a pot of tea and slice of tarte. Here are my favorites:

Located in the Marais, just a few blocks from metro Saint Paul and down the street from l'As du Falafel, Le Loir dans la Théière (the mouse in the teapot) is a charming cafe serving lunch, extremely popular brunch on weekends, and generously-sized slices of tarte. My personal favorite is the tarte au citron, a Frenchified version of lemon meringue pie which could easily send you into insulin shock.

The atmosphere is almost that of American coffee shop, with plush armchairs and coffee tables interspersed among regular table-and-chairs seating. The formule thé will put you back 10€, but you can economize by getting an additional thé and sharing the tarte between two. A cheery spot to find a little warmth during Paris' cold winter months (hint: in case of frozen fingers and toes, the table to the left of the entrance is adjacent to a radiator).
Le Loir dans la Théière
3, rue des Rosiers 75004
01 42 72 90 61, Monday-Friday from 11h30-19h. Saturday and Sunday from 10h.



For a slightly more upscale experience, there's A Priori Thé located along the covered passage Galerie Vivienne near the Palais Royal. Popular cheesecake, crumble and tarte are available in half portions for ~4€, coffee/tea/hot chocolate 3-5€. Try and get a seat "outside" in the passageway in order to best admire the beautiful setting.

Brunch here is reportedly quite nice as well. Go early to avoid a long wait, and try the scones, served with little pots of assorted jams and cream.
A Priori Thé
35-37 Galerie Vivienne 75002
01 42 97 48 75, Monday-Friday 9h-18h, Saturday 9h-18h30, Sunday 12-18h30.



My most recent discovery, the Café at the Musée de la Vie Romantique, is an idyllic spot during Paris' warmer months. From mid April until mid october, this outdoor setting provides a respite from the bustle of right-bank Paris (you won't believe you're just a skip and a hop away from the Moulin Rouge).

Order inside the iron-and-glass solarium, and than take your tray to one of the tables on the gravel lined terrace. Formule thé at 10€, I highly recommend the tarte Amandine. As if the roses and leaf-dappled sunlight were not perfect enough, there is an elementary school next door and during the week, peels of children's laughter float across the ivy-covered wall. A little slice of heaven with your Tea?
Café of the Musée de la Vie Romantique
16 rue Chaptal 75009
01 55 31 95 67, Tuesday-Sunday from 11 h 30-18h.


Additional recommendations:

L'Oisive Thé
10 rue de la Butte aux Cailles 75013
08 99 69 57 67, Tuesday-Thursday 12h-19h and Friday-Sunday 12h-20h.


La Charlotte de L’Isle
24, rue Saint Louis en l’Ile 75004
01 43 54 25 83, Thursday-Sunday from 14h-20h.
0)1 043 54 25 83)1 43 54 25 83

La Fourmi Ailé
8 rue du Fouarre 75005
01 43 29 40 99, Monday-Sunday from noon - midnight.

Heat wave

For those of you envying the fact that I'm living in Paris right now, stop.

Its 83 degrees outside, and there is no air conditioning - anywhere.

The train workers are on strike, so no one can leave town.

The metro is hell. You wait, sweating, on the platform for the doors to open - when they do, your body is suddenly engulfed in a blast of hot air. It is ungodly.

I have already taken two showers in the past 5 hours in an attempt to cool off, and last night I went to bed with a cooler pack from the freezer.

Last time this happened, nearly 15 thousand people died.

"Springtime in Paris" indeed.

How was Cannes?

I just got back last night from Cannes, where I was attending the 2009 Film Festival.

*What?!*

Yep, I got myself invited to Cannes. Decided it would be a cool thing to do while spending a year in France, did my research, wrote my letter, and ended up with a "Cinéphile" Accreditation, which gave me access to certain screenings in the Palais des Festivals, as well as films associated with the Quinzaine des Réalisateurs (Director's Fortnight) and special séances at theaters around Cannes and in nearby La Bocca. All of which cost me 0€ - well, 55 centimes if you count the postage on the letter of my demande d'accrédidation.

So what is Cannes like?

I selfishly did not bring my camera - it would've been a nuisance to carry around and was not permitted in the Palais for screenings, so... the best image I could find of the tapis rouge is from several years ago (see below). It is a fucking big red carpet and you have to appreciate the ability of starlets to walk it, in high heels and long gowns, blinded by the flashbulbs of several hundred photographers, without stumbling. Chalk it up to nerves and the motivating horror of bad publicity.


(I, on the other hand, did stumble and take a spill on my way home from an evening screening. Damn shoes. My knee got pretty torn up, but is healing nicely due to magical French pommade cicatrisant - literally, healing cream).

The Palais contains several theaters, the main ones being the Grand Théâtre Lumière where the Gala-black tie-premier screenings take place every night (I never did manage to get a last-minute ticket into one of these), the Salle Debussy in which premiers the films from the selection Un Certain Regard (I saw two films there, Eyes Wide Open and Dogtooth), and the Salle du Soixantième (where I attended the premier of a restored version of Godard's Pierrot le Fou, with actress Anna Karina in attendance).

The festivities spill out from the palace eastward along La Croissette, with its grand hotels, designer boutiques, and exclusive clubs set up in tents along the beachfront.



Also along la Croissette are large theaters like the Palais Stéphanie (where I saw Ne Change Rien, and I Love You Philip Morris - Jim Carrey being in attendance at the latter).

In short, during my six days in Cannes I viewed 13 films/documentaries (Wake in Fright, Ne Change Rien, Rideau de Sucre, Pierrot le Fou, Images from the Playground, Redes, Pietro Germi Il Bravo Il Bello Il Cattivo, Signore e Signori, Taking Woodstock, Dogtooth, I Love You Philip Morris, Les Beaux Gosses, Eyes Wide Open), made red carpet sightings of Isabelle Huppert, Penelope Cruz, Pedro Almodovar, Quentin Tarantino, Tilda Swinton, Ang Lee, Demetri Martin, Anna Karina, Jim Carrey, and Juliette Binoche, crashed a party on the luxury yacht Insignia, ate 17 scoops of ice cream, and went swimming twice in the Mediterranean.

How was Cannes? It was fantastic.

Versailles, Wet and Wondrous

Today I finally made it out to Versailles (yes, for the first time... yes, it's only 30 minutes outside of Paris... yes, the train ride only costs about $6 round trip. But believe me, the crowds are horrid).

Despite typical French organizational inefficiency and some intermittent rain, I managed to have a good time. The Grandes Eaux Musicales has started for the year, which meant that I got to experience the famous fountains in all their 17th century, cutting-edge-hydraulics glory. Having seen them in action, I can say that it's not worth visiting the gardens at any other time of year.

There were some pleasant surprises, for instance the feral cat with whom I shared my lunch at the base of the Latone fountain.


Also the Jardin du Roi, which reminded me of a Charleston Plantation with it's azaleas in full bloom. And the sheep! There is a large flock in the field adjacent to the Domaine de Marie Antoinette - I was so pleasantly surprised to see them that, in my delight, I gave a little cry of "Moutons!"(luckily, no one seemed to have heard me).

Of course I took hundreds of photos, and couldn't narrow it down - so here's a lengthy slide show from the excursion. Note: if you receive my blog posts by email, please go to the website in order to see my photos.

When Flirting is a Fact of Life

Much has been said about the Parisian male's romantic tendencies.
The thing that tends to shock Americans the most is the unimportance of age - the fact that elderly gentlemen find it absolutely normal and appropriate to come on to a girl half (or even one third) their age. While such propositions can be alarming, repulsive, or disturbing, they are hardly ever made with serious intent.

"Flirting is a fact of life in French culture," writes Naughty Paris author Heather Stimmler-Hall, "in most situations [it] is merely a pleasant form of communication."

As much as I complain about the attention that I receive in Paris, there are rare occasions where the innuendo-filled banter is funny, or just nice. Today was a good example.

Overseeing the production of my lunch at the street-side counter of l'As du Falafel in the Marais, I was asked by the chef (a man in his late thirties) if I wanted the spicy sauce. "Je veux tous les sauces" I replied, hoping for an extra generous application of Tahini. "Et moi aussi?" he retorted hopefully, going on to describe how he was good for the housework, for making dinner... clearly as good an investment as the five euro falafel I was about to devour. I declined with a sardonic smile, took my plastic fork, and proceeded on my way.


After lunch, I made my way over to Angelina, the Belle Epoque tea salon across from the Tuileries, for chocolat and a pistachio Financier. The host, a formally clad man in his late forties, greeted me in the foyer.
"Vous êtes seule, mademoiselle?"
"Oui."
"Ahhh... moi aussi," he replied with a forlorn sigh as he showed me to my seat.

Violet Ice Cream, Canned Tuna, and Quantum Mechanics

Throw the word Perfume in there and you've got my experience this weekend in Grasse, en bref.

Let's start with the violet ice cream:


My newest obsession. I don't understand why Americans haven't had the ingenuity of making flowers into flavors - many of the best things I've tasted in France have been of this category: coquelicot bonbons, orange-blossom sparkling water, candied rose petals... and of course violet ice cream. I discovered this latter wonder at a generic ice cream stand near the International Museum of Perfume in Grasse, and went back twice before discovering an even more delicious rendition at a glacier near the Place aux Aires. It is a sophisticated flavor which pairs beautifully with vanilla, and is a specialty of southern France (both the southwest - Toulouse, and the southeast - Grasse are known for their violets. The ice cream that I tasted was probably made from the grassette, a variety of violet native to the region of Grasse).


On to the canned tuna and Quantum Mechanics.
Grasse is known for its smells - it has a valid claim to the title "Perfume Capital of the World". My presence there was justified by an Aromatherapy conference (phytotherapie and aromatherapie are closely linked in France). For two days, I attended talks with titles such as "Phyto-aromatherapy in gynecology practice", "Aromatherapy and the brain," and the ambitious "Stochastic resonance: one step towards making sense of life." The latter was one of a series of lectures attempting to validate the healing powers of plants through an understanding of physical reality based upon quantum rather than classical mechanics. It was heady.

This is how science is on the other side of the Atlantic (or at least in the confines of over-intellectualizing France). The experience was made bearable by the fact that I could see the Mediterranean Sea from the balcony of the convention center during coffee breaks.


When not consuming violet ice cream or having my mind blown by the latest research on noise and neural stochastic resonance, I visited the parfumeries of Grasse - including a guided tour of the Fragonard factory - and admired thousands of perfume bottles as well as a mummified hand and foot in the Musée Internationale de la Parfumerie. This, of course, was all during daytime hours. Grasse is a medieval town built on a steep hillside, and one gets around by way of narrow pedestrian passages. I seemed to have an uncanny knack for finding myself alone in one of these dark passages, confronted by a group of loitering, twenty-year-old-something Maghrebian men. It was terrifying. I spent most evenings in the kitchenette of my rental studio, dining on canned tuna.

Luckily, it was a cool little studio. One morning, I was visited by a snail.

Ciao, Roma...

I once joked to a friend that I had opted to learn French and study abroad in France rather than Italy because, were I to spend a considerable amount of time in Italy, I would probably fall in love and never return to the United States.

Of Rome, this is potentially quite true. Good thing I threw only one coin into the Trevi Fountain.


Captions and explanation: the glassy Tiber river reflecting the statues of Pont d'Angelo; the Capitoline Wolf suckling Romulus and Remus; the Forum; ancient statues from the House of the Vestal Virgins; the Trevi Fountain; a group of nuns in St. Peter's Bascilica; view of the Pantheon from the McDonald's across the piazza, with Cappucchino milkshake and spinach-parmesan croquettes.
"Legend has it that a traveler who throws a coin into the [Trevi] fountain is ensured a speedy return to Rome; one who tosses two will fall in love there." - Let's Go Western Europe

How to see France in under 2 hours and for the price of a sandwich

ambitious subject line, I know. Hear me out.


This morning I visited the Cité de l'architecture & du patrimoine at the Trocadéro, for which I'd be seeing adds on the metro since January. I didn't really know what to expect - but what I found was above and beyond all expectations. The museum features moldings from every aesthetically important historic religious edifice in the whole of France. The Galerie des Moulages, which takes up the entire first level of the palace, is divided by period/region (Languedoc Roman, Provence Romane, Gothique Flamboyant, Renaissance). The bulk of the collection comes from churches that were constructed in the XIth - XIVth centuries, and entails many of the middle ages' most important architectural specimens.

So moldings... big deal, right? Actually, these extremely detailed, life-size replications were super-impressive, and (having just been to Chartres this past Wednesday) -- dare I say it -- better than the real thing. When you visit a famous historic church in France, the architectural highlights are often darkened by age and weather, and are built at an elevation which (intended to inspire upwards thoughts towards the heavens) makes viewing them a literal pain in the neck. At the Cité, sculpted stonework is more easily scrutinized up close, under bright lighting and with a flattering red backdrop. Individual pillars and gargoyles are here presented as works of art.


The other advantage of the Cité's collection is contextualization. Each room of the gallery is composed of moldings taken from a single region, from churches built during a single time period - and is accompanied by a one-paragraph description of the dominant trends and important innovations of that architecture. One can follow the evolution from Gallo-roman to Gothic, or note the influence of Islamic aesthetics on the 11th century churches of Poitou (the Muslim advance into Europe was halted at Poitiers in 732). Over the course of an hour, I felt as though I had visited every major site in the history of medieval Christianity (I would add the adjective "French" here, but it seems redundant.

See for yourself - take the virtual tour!
(click at the bottom left on découvrez les visites virtuelles de la galerie, and then either the 1ère or 2ème partie)

When it comes to "seeing France" - touring the many small towns and cities of this country - historic churches are a major draw (Michelin guide multi-star restaurants, vineyards, and chateaus are probably the only other things that make a place a major tourist attraction). The Cité de l'architecture & du patrimoine almost makes such trips superfluous, and it only costs
5 or 7 euro (by comparison, my recent trip to Chartres set me back by about 60 euros). Then again - had I not physically traveled to Chartres, I would have missed out on the pastoral beauty of the river Eure, the unexpected pleasure of an organist practicing in St-Pierre church, and the culinary delight of the chocolaty Mentchikoff. Photos from my trip in the slideshow below:

Springtime arrives in Paris (with a little assistance)

Yesterday I discovered the Promenade Plantée, an elevated park that traverses the twelfth arrondissement of from Bastille to Dugommier, sitting atop a former railway viaduct. I had read about the park and been meaning to find it - but the impetus finally came from my watching the movie Before Sunset, in which the two main characters take a stroll along the promenade.

As I set out from my apartment around 1 o'clock, the sky was cloudy and it had been drizzling on-and-off since morning: my expectations were low, and I'd packed an umbrella just in case. I took the metro to Dugommier, found my way to the Jardin de Reuilly, and climbed stone steps towards the promenade's entrance. (Pause to appreciate the photo that I stole off of their website)


The pleasant surprises started here. Situated four stories above street level, the promenade is refreshingly open - a dramatic change from many of Paris' "hidden" gardens which are snuck into the city grid, often sunken below street-level or entirely enclosed by buildings as though trying to shut out the truth of their urban surroundings. The height was, in a way, liberating. As I walked on, what I encountered next made me so happy I almost cried. In my path were not the naked trees and monotonous green shrubs I had expected, but rather fields of miniature yellow daffodils and already-in-blossom fruit trees!

I should explain that these were not the only flowers that I've encountered in Paris of late - the city's several-hundred-strong contingent of professional gardeners has been diligently transplanting blossoms from the cities nurseries for about two weeks now, a gesture which I must admit detracts from special quality of those first crocuses of spring. Yet those purple impostors that greet me on my walk home from the Corvisart metro are just humble splashes of color in comparison to the tableau with which I was now confronted. And I'm pretty sure that these ambitious blossoming fruit trees are permanent residents of the Promenade Plantée.


It's exciting to be experiencing Spring so early - back in Boston (which is really as far back as I can remember trends in weather) there was nothing but mud until mid April, and then in May there would appear that strange blue-green chemical product that has probably given cancer to all of Harvard's groundskeepers, and then in late May/early June there would be grass! And maybe - just maybe - a couple of flowers gracing the Lowell House courtyard. Here in Paris, we haven't yet hit the Ides of March and already everything is green and full of promise. I suppose there really is something to that old "Springtime in Paris" cliche.

Vichy Thermes, or how I managed to fracture my rib during a two-day stay at a famous French spa

I figured that it would be wrong for me to spend a year exploring the French alternative medicine scene without personally undergoing "the cure" at one of France's many thermal spas. At a Thalasso salon a few weeks ago, I picked up some pamphlets from the Vichy representative, and I was instantly sold. For a not-unreasonable price, I could spend two days/two nights in the resort town and undergo a variety of soins at Vichy Les Domes. I made my reservation, booked my train tickets, and got ready for another insolite (unusual) adventure in provincial France.



The best thing about Vichy is the architecture... wrought iron pavillions and covered walkways, elaborate Art Deco, Neogolithic and Neoclassical buidlings... the image above is of the Vichy Opera House-Casino-Palais de Congrès. Below is the Hall des Sources, a glorified watering hole where individuals with a medical prescription or subscription to the Vichy cure come everyday to drink the reknowned waters of the Vichy Célestin spring. Architecturally, not much has changed since the park's construction during the Napoleonic era - hence, in my mind, Vichy's charm.


So what about the salon, and the fractured rib?! My first day of soins was lovely... being wrapped in regional mud, massaged with a high-power shower jet, immersed in a tub of vichy water which cycled through foot to neck massage via jacuzzi-like jets of water, and lastly another massage, with essential oils, aimed at energy points in my feet, legs, and arms. The second day was not as exciting. To preface, I had injured my rib a few days earlier and was avoiding sleeping on that side of my body; I had attended samba class back in Paris without pain, and was thinking that muscle soreness was starting to taper away. The aqua-aerobics and pilates classes scheduled for my second day at Vichy DID NOT HELP THE SITUATION. Nor did the under-shower massage that I recieved from a masseuse with fingers so pruned from the water that I wondered how she could do this all day, every day and not develop gills.

I made one last trip to the original Célestin fountain, filled as many water bottles as I could carry with me back to Paris, and made a quick escape involving jumping onto a train for which I did not have a ticket (and passing through 10 cars in order to find the controlleur). As I arrived back in Paris, greeted by the madness of a train station on a Friday afternoon, I was reminded again how much I love coming home to the big city - and how I would never trade that noisy, peopled atmosphere for some lesser value like space, or tranquility... which is great, because my next hometown is going to be...(*drumrole please*)... NEW YORK! For those of you not yet in the know, I will be attending Columbia College of Physicians & Surgeons, and moving to NY around mid-August. Woot!

Goats, Sheep, Pigs, Cows, Vanilla Milk, and Jacques Chirac

France is, in essence, an agricultural society. Never has this been more clear to me than today, when I witnessed thousands of French people of all ages and walks of life romping amongst sheep, goats, pigs, cattle, and horses, all while snacking on more varieties of cheese and charcuterie than one country should ever be allowed to lay claim to.
The International Salon of Agriculture seems to be THE hit attraction in Paris this week. I swear that half the Paris metropolitan area was there today - a Tuesday, I'll have you. It was an absolute mad scene by eleven o'clock. I even ran into Jacques Chirac, making his annual appearance (we crossed paths in the apple dégustation area, and I had to suffer through an extremely localized throng of reporters with dangerously swinging microphone boom poles)(He goes every year - and, according to my roommates, is known for patting the cows on the ass).


The salon takes up five buildings of Porte de Versailles exhibition park (to put this in perspective, the endless salon de chocolat reported in an October blog post took up only one such building). Two giant exhibition spaces are dedicated to food products, another to horses, another to livestock, another to gardening and vegetable lines... egad.
The highlights: vanilla flavored whole milk for 20 centimes, the endearing Angora goats, apple-filled boudin, Corsican jambon, fresh coconut sorbet, and the twenty-something French guys getting hammered on rum punch at two in the afternoon in the outre-mer section. I brought home Tahitian vanilla extract, mirabelle plums in eau-de-vie, fantastic pain d'epice, some unidentifiable cow's cheese, martinique bananas, a packet of milk from the salon cows, a mohair scarf, organic eggs, Ile-de-réunion cumin, and some booklets of recipes for lamb and horse meat.


The cultural shock was this: in America, we are generally uncomfortable with the fact that our meat comes from animals - from living beings that are mammals and have hair and fours limbs and give birth to live young (just like us!). We tend to hide the association between livestock and dinner; in France, this very connection is celebrated. Children happily interact with aisles of penned cows, feeding them straw or petting with clenched fist to avoid bitten fingers - and then cross the hall to a cooking "workshop" where they grill strips of raw beef on a special child-size cooktop. They didn't seem to be experiencing any cognitive dissonance, but I personally found it hard to stomach the thought of meat while facing the candid regards of so many fine bovine.

Carnival!

Today, Paris celebrated Carnival with the cross-town Promenade du Boeuf Gras (parade of the fattened cow). The promenade covered three arrondissements over the course of nearly four hours - I caught it in the middle, as it passed through the Place de la Republique. Camped out in a traffic island in the middle of the Rue du Temple, I managed to snap some decent photos despite poor lighting - here's a slide show of the highlights. This year's theme was Le Carneval Cosmic: Astronauts et Extra-Terrestres... keep an eye out for green men, a cute baby disguised as a purple monster, and of course the boeuf gras (it was rather skinny, actually. Sign of the times).

In the streets of Paris, business as usual

Today I had a wonderful "only in Paris" moment.

Coming home to Place d'Italie via line 7, I exited the metro a stop early, at Les Gobelins, in order to pass an ATM on the way to my apartment. Climbing the stairs up to the Avenue des Gobelins, I heard whistles and shouting that could only mean one thing: a manifestation. Protests in Paris are about as ordinary as rain, but it's not everyday that you stumble into the midst of one. This happened to be students manifesting in a show of solidarity for their professors (the enseignents-chercheurs who have been on strike for several weeks in response to higher education reforms which would restrict their academic freedom).


The tail end of the crowd was just passing me by, followed by the requisite herd of blue gendarme police vans, each one carrying about 20 policemen in full riot-gear (just in case). I turned back to gaze out over the crowd of some thousand demonstrating students, and felt myself overwhelmed by a swell of nostalgic pride. I was uplifted by the protesters' idealism and involvement, regretful of the apathy of my own country's youth, and reminiscent of the days when America too had student protests. For a split-second, I had to fight back tears.

Resuming my walk home, I turned to face the direction of Place d'Italie and nearly burst out laughing. Following behind the caravan of gendarme vans was a battalion of street cleaners. Six men with leaf-blowers attacked the few scraps of paper left behind in the wake of the protesters; assisting them were another six men with brooms or tongs and trash bags, collecting the refuse blown in their direction; bringing up the rear were three large street cleaning trucks (technical term: Gyrolave), each with a huge circular brush, squirting soapy water and scrubbing away at the perfectly clean pavement of the Avenue des Gobelins. Everyone (including the Gyrolaves) was decked in the unmistakable parrot green of the Paris sanitation department.


For me, the manifestation was special, meaningful, emblematic of one group's struggle for the greater good. For the students, for the gendarmes, for the sanitation workers: it was just another day in Paris, business as usual.

I found this NY Times article on "Why Paris Works" for those of you who want to read more about the obsessive maintenance of cleanliness and order in the streets and public gardens of Paris.
http://query.nytimes.com/gst/fullpage.html?res=9E0CEFD7153EF93AA25754C0A964958260&sec=&spon=&pagewanted=1