Amsterdam...splein

Bright and early Saturday morning, I caught the train to Amsterdam. Bleary-eyed, I made my way to car 18 and showed the email confirming my reservation to the agent standing by the door. Although I had signed up for ticketless travel, my train card, which isn't sent until you book a trip, had not arrived in time, so per Thalys' instructions, I printed the email confirming my purchase and took it with me. What followed was a little French bureaucratic lunacy. I showed my email to the agent standing at the door of my car, and he advised me that I would need to go back to car 12 or 13 and show the train manager my email because he couldn't let me on. The train manager was very friendly and laughed that the agent wouldn't let me on the train. Said, "it's no problem!" and initialed my email. I made my way back to car 18 and boarded the train. Ten minutes into the trip, as I walked to the bathroom, the same train manager stopped me and asked for my ticket. So I showed him the same email and said "uh, it's ticketless," and he said, "oh yes, this one." Yet he STILL stood there examining the email--the one bearing HIS initials--for a good two minutes then punched the code into his little machine and read the response (I presume saying that yes, indeed, my ticket was still valid) before returning the email to me and telling me I was free to go to the bathroom. Two more times on this trip, the French agents checked tickets. Each time they spent several minutes reading the email and reflecting on...something before saying "ok" and moving on. Interestingly enough, when we boarded in Amsterdam, they didn't even check tickets, and when they did check tickets thirty minutes into the trip, the agent simply looked at my email for fifteen seconds, smiled, thanked me, and handed it back to me.



Four hours later, I was in Amsterdam, and it was beautiful. I took the tram from Central Station to the hotel--a ten to fifteen minute journey through the city. I woke Melina who had flown all night and had not slept, and we were off. We found lunch in an Irish pub that I would not recommend, but we were both hungry, and it was nearby. We spent the afternoon walking through the streets, along the canals, through Dam Square, through the red light district, past churches, through the beautiful flower market, etc. The buildings and the canals which run all through the city are so charming. Found a cute restaurant and had a delicious dinner. Our waiter spoke English (as does about 95% of the population), and thank goodness for that because the Dutch language is not easy to figure out. To my American eyes and ears, there seem to be lots of extra letters, and everything seems to end in "splein" or "en" or some other common syllable. Melina and I had quite a few laughs speaking our version of Dutch...our mouths just can't make the sounds.

Oh, and the bikes. They really DO bike all over the place. It's a little dangerous to be a pedestrian in Amsterdam because when there's not a bike coming toward you, there's a tram coming toward you. And while traffic congestion wasn't a problem, crossing the street took a lot of concentration as you had to look every imaginable way with every step. Following is a picture of the "staff parking lot" at the Concertgebuow (Concert Hall) near our hotel.

The next morning we made our way to The Pancake Bakery for breakfast. Pancakes are huge in Amsterdam, and this place was recommended as touristy but good. Melina ordered the bacon pancake, and much to her disgust, I ordered the bacon and banana pancake. Yum. Sweet and salty...delish.

After breakfast we visited Anne Frank's hiding place. It's called the Frank House, but it was really Otto Frank's place of business. The family moved into an area in the back of the building called the annex when they went into hiding. You know how emotional I am, and it was really a challenge to keep it together, but I did in spite of the fact that it was so deeply moving to be there, to be in the place where they hid in order to simply remain alive, to hear Otto Frank, the only one of the four to survive the war, talk about his daughter, to read Anne's words in every room--her hopes, dreams, and fears--and to know her fate. She wanted to be a writer. Sad to have a dream come true and not even be alive to experience it. We cannot forget how this thing happened to so many people, but I am afraid we have short memories. It scares me because the world is a dangerous place, and making nice is not going to make it safer. Just ask Neville Chamberlain or Marshall Petain.

On to lighter things. We left the Frank House and walked around. The weather was a little chilly, but the sky was blue, the sun was shining, and all over the city flowers (yes, many, many tulips) were blooming so it was beautiful. Went to a bar in the red light district and had a drink. Our table by the window gave us a bird's eye view of two prostitute's doors, so we sat there for a while and watched the action. Craziness! The women stood in front of full-length glass doors in their undies and tried (some more than others) to entice gawkers into becoming customers. It was crazy to watch! These women were nice-looking, twenty-something girls. The bartender told us that they charge 50 Euro for 15 minutes, and they "see" two to three clients an hour. Oh. My. Gosh. He also said that the "clients" are rarely there for fifteen minutes, and sure enough, we timed two at 7 minutes each. Hilarious! The last guy that we saw go in was still there when we left about 10 minutes later, so I guess he's the exception that proves the rule. ;) Several times people--men and women--would stop and ask something of the girls. Of course, we couldn't hear the conversations, but I would have loved to. Interesting, crazy-interesting.

We left and did some shopping then headed to dinner at a Tex-Mex restaurant where our Mexican waiter kept us entertained with his flirting and his jokes. Afterward we went to another pancake place for dessert where we had poffertjes: quarter-sized pancakes covered in syrup and powdered sugar. That's right...we had pancakes twice in one day. When in Rome...

The next day we just walked around a bit and ate, of course. My train left for Paris a little after two, and as good as it was to see Melina and as beautiful as Amsterdam was, I was ready to be home. On the way back I saw one of the most amazingly beautiful views--field after field of row after row of beautiful, colorful, vibrant tulips! Oh how I wish I could have taken a picture! There were also many fields of sheep and tiny little lambs...so sweet. And somewhere in Belgium, I saw a trailer that was painted like an American flag. Fantastic!

Controverses

Today I visited the Bibliotheque Nationale de France to see an expo called Controverses which is being billed as "a legal and moral history of photography." The photos in this exhibit have been the subject of controversy--ethical, moral, and or legal, and some were not easy to look at. Several were at the center of litigation--like the one of a 13-year old nude Brooke Shields that her mother ok'd back in the day and that Brooke later decided she didn't want out there for all to see. Litigation followed, but Brooke lost. Another was of Angelina Jolie and a horse, and the horse seemed to be nuzzling at Angelina's bare breast...a little icky innuendo that apparently the Swiss decided was too much for them. There were a few others of naked children that were not pornographic to a non-perv, but if I were a parent, I wouldn't want the same pix taken of my child. And there was a Mapplethorpe self-portrait that I won't even begin to describe here. All I can say is eeewww. It got a couple of art curators sued, but they won. Art? That's debatable.

But the interesting photos were more historical, and the controversies surrounding them were more ethical in nature. For example, there were two pictures of Stalin--one with the head of his secret police and one without. Apparently, once the guy fell out of favor, he was retouched right out of the photo. There's another that was retouched to make the Soviets look good (the original showed that they had been looting), but no one who reads this blog will be surpised by a little manipulation of the facts, or photos in this case, by the leaders of the Soviet Union. There was the one of Hitler--dead in the bunker. And the one of a journalist taking a bath in Hitler's bathtub shortly thereafter. She had been to Dachau that day, and although she was criticized for the bath, she said she had to get the smell of the concentration camp off of her skin. I can't even imagine. Speaking of Dachau, there were horrible photos of emaciated bodies at Bergen-Belsen...piled high and far. There was a propoganda photo of concentration camp inmates supposedly working peacefully and happily. The concentration camp ones were, as always, difficult to look at, and the controversies around some were related to the timing of their publication--too early and other lives might be at stake. Tell the story so all can know the truth, or wait for a better time? Thought provoking. And heartbreaking.


There was one that I had never seen. Have you? It's of a human hand lying on the ground...at ground zero on 9/11. Severed from its body. You can see the arm bone. It is horrific, and apparently the NY Daily News published it, much to the horror of all who saw it. I never heard about the controversy surrounding the publication of this picture and didn't even know of its existence, but it was shocking to see and, to be honest, sickening. Sad and so real. It was the only 9/11 photo in the expo.

There was the last picture taken of Princess Diana on the night she died--not the one of her dying, so I should say the next to last picture, I suppose. You can only see the top of her head, but you can see the faces of her driver and bodyguard--the photo is taken as if the photographer is sitting on the hood of the car looking straight in. I was relieved not to see the other one, but this one was controversial because of the fact that her death was blamed on the paparazzi hounding them that night--doing things like perching on the hood of the car to get a photo.


There were so many others--about 80 photos I think, and I'd love to tell you about all of them, but sadly, I don't remember all of them. There was the one that we've probably all seen of the US soldier who was dragged through the streets of Mogadishu after his black hawk helicopter was shot down. The one of the little Vietnamese girl running naked through the street after being napalmed. Heartbreaking. There were horrific pictures from the Spanish Civil War, from Somalia, and from other far away places where people suffer.


While many showed terrible things, all of the photos weren't sad. There was the one of Buzz Aldrin standing on the moon. Very cool. There was the famous Doisneau photo of the French couple kissing in front of the Hotel de Ville after WWII. Beautiful to see. Always makes me smile.

Picture taking wasn't allowed (is that irony or something else?), and words really don't do this show justice. Below is a link, in French, and a few of the photos are included. Warning--the hand is one of the photos here. Maybe seeing a photo of the photo on a computer won't bother you, but just know that it is there. Finally, I don't know if this show will make it to the US, but if it does, please go see it. Or...come see me before the end of May, and we'll go see it together.


http://lunettesrouges.blog.lemonde.fr/2009/03/16/controverses/

Rugby!

Today another first...my first rugby match! And was it ever cool. We thought we'd start by joining some folks for a pre-match picnic outside the stadium. It sounded like a great idea. Allen brought some beers, and I brought some melt-in-your mouth Brillat Savarin cheese, some delicious chevre, & two fresh baguettes. Unfortunately, the people that "host" the picnic went to another local game earlier and had their picnic there. With no picnic to join, we just made our own--right outside gate Z. And it was de-lish.

Once inside we found our seats. Allen's friend who got us the tix is a rugby fiend (she's from Ireland), and she got us tickets in the supporters section, so we were on row 10. As in tenth row from the field. Excellent, and for only 7 euros each! Next it was time for my intro to rugby. For starters, I was wondering what all the pink was about. Turns out it's the Paris team's color! Pink! For a sports team. Ha...would never find that in the US...not for a men's team anyway. And believe it or not, for ONCE I was actually wearing the right color. I had pulled out a pink scarf for some reason, and it was even the right shade of pink. See post-match picture for proof.

(Yes, I took the picture of myself so you could see just how perfect my scarf was!)

Next were the pre-match antics. We had missed most of these as we were outside enjoying our picnic, but what we did catch was...confusing. Again, pix for illustration follow, but here's what we saw. Girls in red feathered outfits doing a little dance. Looked to me like they'd gotten lost on the way to the Moulin Rouge. People dressed in...Star Wars outfits. First were the storm troopers. Next came the jedis (I'm no Star Wars fan, so if I'm calling someone the wrong name, desolee). This parade of characters included a giant rugby ball (looked like an egg to me) standing on end and making its way to the center of the field. Once it arrived, the ball/egg opened, and who do you think was hanging out inside? That's right...Darth Vader. He looked around a bit, then the whole gang of star warriors left the field and made a lap around the outside of the field--in front of the seats. Then there was the guy on the motorbike that rode around the outside of the field a few times as smoke bombs went off all around the field. "Pow! Pow! Pow! Vroom, vroom, vroom!" Finally, right before the match began, there were gold streamers released and pink and blue blower things waving in the air. (see below.) And what does any of this have to do with rugby? Seriously, I still have no idea. It was random...and hilarious.

The fans cheered and waved giant pink flags, then the match began. The boys in pink (and blue, but mostly pink) came onto the field, and their opponents, the Clermont team, in yellow and blue came out. The match itself was really interesting. It's fun to watch and quite a bit different from either soccer or American football. It went by incredibly fast--two halves of 40 mins each and a brief half-time, and the game started at 4:30 and ended at 6:15. Amazing! I couldn't believe it when it was over! They rarely stop the clock or the match, and there's no constant coaching going on. They get out on the field, and they PLAY! Hard.

(Check out the huddle under the pink goal post. They don't have their pink shirts on b/c this was pre-match, but you can see their pink socks and the next one shows a few of the players in full uniform...no pads either!)

(I've included this one so you can see the players in their full uniforms, but you can also see the jedi people doing their walkaround as the game begins...weird.)

The fans are great, and if it weren't for all of the French that you heard--from fight songs, to chants, to random chatter and the smoking in the stands (I mean, c'mon, really?), they could be mistaken for US football fans. Except that so many were wearing pink. But one thing that struck me as funny was that they don't necessarily cheer when American fans would cheer. For example, they cheer when their team scores, but they don't cheer when the opponent fails to score. There's a little teasing among the fans, but it's very civilized. And they are VERY happy when their team wins. And very civilized when their team loses, if a little sad looking.

Paris led the game up until the last ten or fifteen minutes, then Clermont came out ahead & won. Bummer for my pink friends. After the match, there were fireworks, and they were pretty great. They were right there on the field, so I tried to take a picture but it was just smoke. Yes, THAT close. But very cool.

So we left, Paris defeated but not deflated. And as we made our way to the metro station, we realized that there was no way we were getting on a train any time soon. Apparently the few capitalists in Paris have made the most of this reality and have opened up state fair like tents selling food and beer post-match. Very cool, but we decided to walk around a little and see what we could find. We found a tea salon & had some mint tea and a little pastry, and about an hour later when we made our way back to the metro station, we had no trouble getting on a train and heading home.

It was a lot of fun, and I'll definitely go back. Enjoy the crazy pics!

Amazing, Comforting, Magical

Once again, it has been a while since I've blogged. There hasn't been much movement in my life, but there are a few things worth sharing.

First, the amazing. Yesterday I was leaving the last RER (train) station that I travel through on my way to school. This station always, always, always smells like urine. There's a homeless guy who sleeps in there from time to time, so I just figured, you know, it's his. There's no official toilet in there, you see. Apparently, though, there's an unofficial toilet as yesterday I saw a woman take her daughter to the corner & pull down her pants so she could pee. In the corner. Of the train station. On the floor. Amazing.

Next, the comforting. Remember the time that the guy on the metro was asking (a little persistently) if he could kiss me? Remember that I said the three guys sitting opposite us seemed to be watching me to gauge my reaction, & that I felt like they would intervene if they felt they needed to? Well, today I saw a group of French guys intervene exactly where they needed to. These three young adults/teenagers, two girls and one guy, were in the RER station, & they were arguing rather loudly. The guy was making somewhat threatening gestures toward one girl when he decided to go ahead & start hitting her. ALL OF A SUDDEN there were five guys running toward this scuffle, ranging in age from twenties to fifties. The guy in his fifties was at the front of the group, and he immediately grabbed the guy, pulling him away from the girls. The other four guys were right there with him, and the group of them saw to it that he immediately stopped his assault. It was comforting to see how quickly and decisively they acted. They did not hesitate to get involved. You hear stories all the time about people not wanting to get involved, but these five guys RAN to get involved. It almost brought tears to my eyes, and it made me feel really good about French men in general. I've seen them carry strollers up and down metro stairs for women they didn't know. I've seen them give up metro seats (or at least offer) to women they didn't know. I've seen them give money to the homeless people in the metro stations. And now I've seen them run to the aid of a girl who probably went right back to the jerk. But they did their part. God love 'em.

Finally, the magical. So often I think, "I wish I could upload the soundtrack of my life to my blog." In addition to the predictable city sounds, many which are fantastic, there are so many unpredictable and beautiful sounds that color my days. For instance, earlier this week I happened upon a group of musicians playing in the Place Collette near the Louvre. This "place" is just a tiny bit of cement at an intersection. I love strings, the violin in particular, so this was a special treat for me.

Happening upon muscians (or musicians happening upon you) is not a rare treat, however. I hear unexpected music almost daily. In the metro trains, in the metro stations, on street corners, in parks...almost any public place is likely to feature talented musicians from time to time. Today, as I sat on a sun-drenched terrace enjoying lunch, I started to hear music. From where though...? Ah...across the street. At a bus stop? Yep. A band...like a high school marching band! Standing there playing the theme from Austin Powers. And I had the best seat in the house. The waiter, also enjoying the music, said to me "On va dancer?" (Shall we dance?) And of course, I replied, "Ah, oui!" And of course, we didn't. For over an hour, they played random music that made me smile, and they were still playing when I left to head to phonetics class.

I also love the sounds of the vendors trying to entice me to buy their strawberries or taste their mangoes. I love the sound of my teacher saying, "O-bli-ga-toire!" and "Toujours, toujours, toujours!" I love hearing a French person speaking English. And a special treat is a Frenchperson who learned English outside of France--the French/South African/Australian accent is crazy beautiful. There are so many other sounds--gigantic doors squeaking, trains rushing by, the crazy sirens...and so many others that I can't even name them all. Which is why I wish I could just record a day & upload the soundtrack to my life here. It's worth sharing.

Speaking of sharing, I'm attaching some pictures that will serve as proof that spring is trying its best to come to Paris! All from the Jardin du Luxembourg, one of the most beautiful spots in Paris.