Je dois me coucher... Mais avant....

Just a quick update as I'm tired from a long day (and no nap!), though it was a fun day for our last in Paris. We got up kinda early today and used the free laundry facilities at our hotel to prep for our departure to the south of France tomorrow morning. Though, I suspect, we won't have much cause to use our newly laundered garments considering the heat we are leaving from is only going to be replaced by a swelter.

I wandered over to the Delacroix museum after breakfast. For those with interest I highly recommend this small but elegant museum that is situated in a part of one of the houses the artist was known to live in. It is right in the 5e/6e on a sweet little courtyard/roundabout. Delacroix's atelier is also there, and the garden in the back is perfect for an aprés museum lunch.

Katja spent her morning exploring the Latin Quarter a little more and then we met up and bought some lunch makings and ate down by the Seine. We were taking it easy as it is our last day in Paris for a while.

Last night we were out with my friend and Art History Prof, Deborah Loft, whose travels just happened to overlap our time in Paris by two nights. We checked out Café Universel, this great jazz bar that has no cover and ample seating and (get this), is predominantly non-fumeur.

Tonight we met up with Deborah again and she took us out to one of her favorite restaurants, Chez Lena et Mimile. It was excellent. In addition to the beautiful terrace table we had, the Menu (35€) offered some excellent choices and included a bottle of wine. I had an Arugula salad followed by Canette a l'orange, Katja had a Saumon Mariné and Tournedos Lapin in a killer sauce, and Deborah had an Aubergine Mousse and a grilled Dorade.

We shared.

The wine was really good too, a nice Rosé, which I normally avoid in favor of red, but considering the recent heat it was a perfect addition to a great meal.

Tomorrow it's off to Saint-Jean Cap Ferrat and three days of beach and sun and relaxation.

A Bientot!

Paris Is Burning

Not kidding, actually. It was 35C here today damnit. That's 96F or so. Freaking hot. We were sitting in a cafe that was 'Salle Climatisé,' (air-'conditioned'), and sweating over our dim sum (yes, I know, dim sum in Paris...) There were probably two hundred or more Frenchies and tourists frolicking in the Chaillot/Trocadéro fountain near the Tour Eiffel today despite signs promising swift and severe punishment for people who walked on the grass around it, let alone took a dip in their underwear.

Nearby police units, presumably on guard against a terrorist attack at the upcoming "Sports-Extreme!" wannabe Bluetorch event at Chaillot, couldn't do more than mop their foreheads and cry a few warnings not to jump from one level of the fountain to the next. We watched the young'uns at play and soaked our feet. It felt wonderful.

Then we went bargain hunting at a designer-seconds shop in the 17e for a little black dress and some strappy sandals for Katja. No go. It was just too hot. On our way back from a much needed Croissant and Café break, we felt a few droplets and observed the gathering clouds above us with little, if any concern.

In the time it took us to get from Rue de la Pompe back to Maubert-Mutualité all hell had broken loose at ground level. Those few wisps of atmospheric condensation we'd observed earlier had called in reinforcements and coalesced into dark, sinister, charcoal colored masses that were pouring forth from their maw, a deluge fit to send Noah running for his galoshes. There were peals of thunder so loud our ears were ringing and a wind, from the very throat of Aeolus himself, threatened to tear the 300 year old sconces off of the buildings past which we ran.

We wearing tank tops.

And sandals.

And there was lightning. A lot, of lightning.

This being Paris, and we, being tourists... what do you suppose we did? Yes, that's right.

We went to dinner.

(See previous post for latest foodie details).

Catch Up

Yesterday we took the train out to Chartres. This is something I've been trying to do during any one of the last few trips here. Chartres is a helluva story. Anyone who has been to Paris has undoubtedly seen Notre Dame Paris and been (duly, maybe) impressed.

It is wonderful. An excellent example of Gothic architecture illustrating the middle stages of the Gothic period (the cathedral at Rouen takes it even further).

Chartres is decidedly earlier in style and it shows. This is the French cathedral that most of us have seen at least a photo of, it's the one that has two completely different towers. One is part of the original design and is distinctly Romanesque in style, and the other, installed nearly 400 years later to replace a wooden one that burned up, is unmistakeably Gothic. There are more than 170 individual stained glass installations at Chartres, each tells a story and, taken as a whole, stand as a narration for the region and the times.

(blather blather blather... art-speak continues until no one reads this blog again...)

Suffice to say a I had a blast and Katja enjoyed wandering around with me, snapping away and grabbing some great shots of the Cathedral and the Old Town (pix follow... we forgot the damn cable at home so you'll have to check back in about a week...)

We have been doing our best to conserve money (ok, Katja has, I just go along as best I can), but one area we have not skimped is on food. We have eaten more incredible food in the last few days than some small villages produce in a month. Since we've been here we've eaten the following body parts (and their associated creatures):

Cheese. (cow, goat, sheep, you name it, one can probably make a cheese out of some secretion and, chances are, we've eaten it). It is in fact, extremely difficult to avoid this substance here in france. They do have butter, but most of the time you have to ask for it. They prefer to give you a nice Roquefort or a slab of Chevre instead.

Liver. Again, not hard to find, most places have some form of this as a standard appetizer; again, we've eaten several different kinds including duck, goose and chicken.

Tongue. Not sure this was supposed to be in that particular dish, but nevertheless, I ate it and it was delicious.

Standard fare of breast/flank/tenderloin and so on.

Cheek. (of cow). Called here Tete-de-Veau, meaning literally "Head of Cow." I'd heard of this several times, and hadn't really ventured there yet, but after Bourdain's, "A Cook's Tour," I had to go there. Katja, like a good foodie should, was right there with me. It was delicious. Tender, flavorful, served with a pile of shallots and chervil on top, alongside some blanched and steamed potatoes. Trust me, do this dish right and you won't forget that meal.

Piles of fresh fish, shellfish. Wow. A LOT of amazing, high quality seafood is in season and in abundance (and therefore cheap) right now. For instance tonight we went to this Malaysian joint we know of out in the 16e called Chez Foong (remember that if you're ever here... yum). We had, among other tasty delights, a filet of wild Salmon seasoned and wrapped in a banana leaf and then grilled.

Ya.

I'll leave it at that I think.

Yet Somehow, We're Here

After joking around with us about missing our flight at a time when neither of us were in the mood - in fact we had to hold each other back from strangling the #(*&@#$!... the EasyJet reservation agent informed us that there was, in fact, another flight to Paris at 20h that night.

Great.

I had barely slept the night before as I'd been out until 3:00a with Jessie and Christian at an 'underground' party that was held in a *very* old cigarette factory that looked a bit like the building in that shitty horror flick 'The Haunted Mansion.' Lotsa fun, shitty music, photos to follow.

At any rate, we're in Paris and we made it to our hotel on the appointed day of our reservation (barely), and were able to check in (again, just barely) before the late receptionist left for the night; she was, by the way, uniformly unpleasant, a fact I (magnanimously, I felt, considering her verbage) attributed to the lateness of our arrival and was willing to forgive. This was premature.

The next evening as we were leaving for dinner she was, again, on duty and was again completely rude to both of us over a very minor request on our part. She is not Parisian, she is not even from France, she is, without a doubt, an American working there. Pourquoi est-ce que je ne suis pas étonné que la personne la plus grossière que j'ai jamais rencontrée pendant mes voyages en France n'est pas Francais, mais Americain?

Of Snafu and Fubar

Friday night I went to Dabergotz to my friend Toli's house for a LAN party. For those of you who aren't computer nerds, that means we played a networked video game where you try to kill each other for more than 8 hours. Pizza was ordered and Köstritzer Schwarzbier was on-hand in profusion. Katja (obviously) wasn't interested in going and instead went out to dinner and then dancing with two girlfriends.

I hadn't planned on staying as long as I did, but Dabergotz is kinda far from Neuruppin and there aren't any busses running at 2a. I hung out until a friend, Christian, kindly drove me back to Alt Ruppin. It was about 4:30 in the morning by this time, but by the light of day it felt more like 7a. Katja, surprisingly, was also not home yet. And I had no key. And I had to go to the bathroom.

After circling the house once, I jimmied one of the doors to the sun room and got in, I'm still not sure how I did it as I was unable to reproduce the feat later in the day. I guess desperation a good cat burglar makes. At any rate K arrived home shortly thereafter and we both hit the sack for a few hours.

Later that day we packed up and took the train into Berlin. We were staying with Jessie that night because we had an early flight to Paris on Sunday.

We missed the flight. And I'll tell you why.

It would seem that even the German train system, usually so reliable, moreso than that of the French I've found, is not immune to delay and even cancellation. The train we were supposed to catch to make our flight wasn't running because of construction somewhere... construction that was not evident for a train with the same route and itinerary but 30 minutes later; alas... allowing us to get to the airport exactly nine minutes after our flight had closed.

Argh.

'Vorlage'

Ok, I wanted to make some changes to my site template and being the self-proclaimed IT 'pro' that I am I had to figure out how to change the display language for all webpages to English. My German is pretty good but how am I supposed to know that 'Vorlage' means Template? Anyway I figured it out.

I ate my first Döner in more than 18 months yesterday. God it was good. And all of a buck forty or so... ohman, staying fit is tough when there is good, cheap döner kebap and delicious falafel to be had everywhere.

"Really? i can have extra, extra sauce? for no extra charge at all? By all means drown it in Knoblauch Soße man!" (that's garlic sauce to you...)

Last night we met up with some good friends at Unicum, the local joint that everyone hangs at, fun place, photos to follow... anyway my buddy, Stöps, was there, with frisbee. So after a couple beers and shot of Jameson we crossed the street to the park and played the first frisbee of the summer... a little pre-season warm up that we both needed. I love it here.

There is talk of a late July, quick-like expedition to Ibiza for those with the guile and means. So all y'all stateside who've been trying to figure out what to do with that extra 2G, here it is... come to Ibiza for a week.

Man I'm itchy, this week has seemed interminable. My backpack, not really unpacked, just stares me in the face from the corner... as if to say, "you're such a tease, got me all riled up with that nonsense back home last week and now I'm just sitting here..."

Three days until Paris, 10 until Cote d'Azur, 19 until La Rochelle, 27 until Hamburg and destinations northward, 40 odd until Ibiza/Turkey/Greece... oh man.

Meanwhile the weather is fine, fine, fine... and I've got good wine.

Ah yes, These are the Germans I remember!

Whew. Tonight we went to a 'surprise' birthday celebration for Olaf, the owner of the most popular bar in Neuruppin, Unicum. I know this guy from my last two trips over here and he's great. A bunch of us met up at Unicum around 7:30 and then went over to his place to assault him with plenty of food and drink, including a friggin' grill out the back of someones BMW and a pile of marinated Schweinefleisch to go on it. It's 2:30 in the morning right now which is pretty late\early for Neuruppin, all things considered.

We proceeded to get Olaf completely drunk, fortunately in his own house. Germans can drink. Doesn't matter what it is, they'll drink it, comment about afterwards, and then go back to the kitchen looking for more, or a reasonable substitute, whichever presents itself first. These particular Germans, many of them being close friends of Olaf's, who is, by the by, Bi, became very warm and fuzzy as each bottle of red wine/beer/vodka/bourbon was consumed. There was a lot of cuddling between all party attendees going on. I really could not have asked for a better first Saturday night back in Germany.

I also forgot how much Germans tend to smoke, particularly when drinking, and inside nonetheless. So, I'm going to go shower now, and then I'm going to fall into bed, where I belong... verdammte scheisse.

Safe Landing und Blogger ins Deutsch

I hope this posts in English, the rest of the Blogger interface I'm using has switched to German for some reason... :)

After a ferocious three days of preparation, my departure from the country was relatively smooth and easy. The flight from SFO to LHR was easy as pie, I was so exhausted I slept most of the way, watched part of one film and just read the rest of the time. I purposely scheduled a long layover in London so I could go meet up with friends and buy cheese at Harrod's. Well, the cheese part worked out. I didn't give my friends in London enough notice and both people I really wanted to see were not in the city yesterday.

No matter, I cruised around Knightsbridge, checking out places from childhood memory not seen in many, many years. Wandering Basil street, remarking differences and similarities. They’ve remodeled the restaurant and bar at The Capital hotel into a 40’s style establishment; it rocks. I had a glass of wine at the bar, shooting the shit with the bartender and catching up on who used to work there but doesn’t anymore, how the food is and so on.

Harrod's is both very different than I remember, and not at all changed. Upon reflection, of course the crowds I saw yesterday have always been there, but childhood memory has edited that out. They roam around the store, not really buying much; they treat it a bit like an interactive museum of British stuff. People everywhere. Security is tighter than I remember, they wouldn't let me wear my little day pack, I had to carry it around by hand. Oh but it is just as wonderful a place as I remember. Of course the bulk of my time was spent in the food halls.

They have all these little mini-restaurants built into the place now. A sushi bar, a pizzeria, a rotisserie. There are little tasting tables all over the place. I found it really difficult not to switch to a British accent. It was a physical effort not to answer every question in my best London dialect. Among other goodies, I bought the cheese I remember, Farmhouse white Cheddar from Keen. Ohman, so yummy. I took the spoils of my shopping excursion around the way to a little park I remembered and had a nice lunch with my book. Then it was time to head back to Heathrow to catch the flight to Berlin.

I was out before we ever pushed back from the gate and didn’t stir until the woman in my row tapped my shoulder, letting me know we had landed already. Katja was waiting with her brother, Christian, and it was a happy reunion.

Driving through the streets of Berlin it was as though I had been there yesterday. We crossed town to Kudamm and had a beer together, dodging the smoky bar in favor of the outside patio. It was raining as we sat beneath the huge umbrellas, catching up.

I’ve missed this place. Her parents were nearly hopping up and down with excitement when we walked in the door. I wish I had adequate words to describe all they’ve done here. They have spent the last few months building out virtually an entire apartment here for Katja. It is lovely. I will try to take some photos and post them.

We just finished breakfast in the little Wintergarten, what we would call a solarium, her glass enclosed kitchen and breakfast nook that looks out onto the garden, which is in FULL bloom. I’ve got disc II of Chillout Sessions playing as I write this, and later, when the rain abates, we’ll take the bicycles into Neuruppin and meet some friends.

In many ways, it is very good to be home.

A Message from the Department of Homeland Security

Among numerous other tasks accomplished, laundry has been washed, dry cleaning has been dropped off and oil in the car has been changed. I ate some food, finished a bottle of wine from three days ago and tried to let the rest of what didn’t get done today fall out of my mind as I attempted to slip into a book. Nothing doing, so here I sit.

I guess I have a few words to say on the topic of our government's current immigration related foreign policy. As an active member of the community of citizens who are busy negotiating the slew of forms and procedures associated with obtaining an entry visa for an alien acquaintance, it has never been more clear to me that a heightened level of paranoia based on (justified?) xenophobia, combined with a red-tape bureaucracy that didn’t know it’s ass from it’s medial epicondyle to begin with makes for a seriously excruciating process.

Four weeks ago I filed form I-1xWhatever along with 3 other forms, photos of both Katja and myself, photocopies of old correspondence and other personal ‘evidence of acquaintance,’ and a check for $165 to the CIS (formerly INS) in the hopes of obtaining the K-1 Fiancé Visa for her. Today I got a letter saying that I have provided inadequate proof of acquaintance.

The woman lived with me for a year in California. I was there with her for 6 months. I sent airline ticket stubs, copies of journal entries detailing how and where we met, photos of our time together in both countries and more, along with signed affidavits from both of us stating our ability and willingness to marry.

What more could they possibly want?

The Mail-order bride industry is booming like no other time in history. Women from the Czech Republic, Ukraine, Romania, Thailand and the like swarm into this country every week on feebly constructed cases of marriage.

That taste in my mouth is bile. So, if you’ll excuse me, I have a crow to kill for his feather as quill, and some bloodletting to do. With these tools I will write another letter in the hopes that this will be enough.

I think Sheila and my dad had the right idea when they expatriated to France two months ago.

The Assemblage of Bits and Pieces

There is simply not enough time finish everything that needs finishing before Thursday. I finished finals strong, all work completed, all tests taken, hopefully all good grades. At this point though, I’ll be completely honest I could care less. The weather has been fine, fine, fine here for days. We had a small birthday celebration for Tom and Katrina here on Friday night. It was a lovely evening of Sushi and Sake, Conversation and Consumption. Adrienne, Tom and I went to Pink for a quick late night boogie, just to see what was going on. Charles Spencer, of Loveslap renown, was in the booth and laying down some simply wonderful beats.

Saturday Katrina invited me to go see a good friend of hers in a new play by Sharon Shipley called, “Starcrossed” which is a brilliantly written speculative prologue to Shakespeare’s “Romeo and Juliet.” The premise of the show is a story that tells the tale of how and why the Montague and Capulet houses were such mortal enemies. It was fantastic. It was really made more enjoyable by the intimate setting; crammed, as we were, into this little black box theater on the sixth floor of a building shared with Ruby Skye, downtown. The cast of nine played fluidly together, the dialogue was both well written and well delivered. The set and costumes were bold choices that added to the energy of the piece. As this piece has had a bloom of press and requests for scripts are coming in from all over, including the London National Theater, look for it on a stage near you.

So I had good weekend, really. Underneath all the fun was the itchy knowledge that I had really only just begun to prepare for the next two months. I should have this down to a science by now, and really, I suppose, I do. It’s just that it seems hasty. I can’t wait to go, but I ain’t ready to leave… rrrarrghhgh.

Look for more exciting episodes in this tale as the hours count down and I, for lack of focus and concentration, decide to sit and write instead of finish the 1001 slices of minutiae that must be completed before I fly.

Oh me.