Princess Fluffy

DATELINE: 25.06.09 PARIS, FRANCE

I saw the most astounding thing today. I was on my way home from the Boulangerie and saw a woman walking towards me who looked to be in her late 50s, possibly older. She had her dog with her.

Now, I have seen various sizes of dogs being carried in the arms or "slung" over the shoulder, like one may carry a small child. I have seen dogs being carried in carriers that are nearly identical to a Baby Bjorn. I have seen dogs being carried in purses and in recent months in bags made specifically for carrying your pet that are made to look like this infamous Burkin Bag.

But this, this was a new one. This one takes the cake.

This woman was carrying her little dog in arms outstretched, upon.... (drum roll please!)...

Upon a SATIN PILLOW (with lacy trim). 

She held the little shiny satin pillow the way the ring-bearer in a wedding might carry the pillow upon which rest the wedding rings, or the way a maitradi at an exceptionally expensive restaurant might carry the tray upon which rests your bill: with two hands, the pillow resting on her forearms, arms are slightly outstretched, balancing the precious pup as though she were afraid with every step that she might disturb it. Fluffy lay curled upon the pillow snoozing, looking sleepily out at the scene on the street.

People, you have all gone mad! It's. A. Dog! If nature didn't want this creature to walk on the ground, it'd have grown wings!! 

I mean, seriously?? Seriously?! A satin pillow??!

Pas Bon: A Recipe

DATELINE: 21.06.09 PARIS, FRANCE

1 Young Blond

1 Late Night Subway Ride

20+ Drunk Men

4 Large RATP Sécurité Guards

1 Extra Large Ill Tempered German Shepherd

The hour: 3am. The "Blond": me (I'm considered blond here)

Yesterday was a huge party all over Paris. It happens every year to celebrate the summer solstice, the first official day of summer.  It's called the Fête de la Musique. In every square, many street corners, and pretty much anywhere else someone could put up a sound system, there is live music. All throughout the day and well into the night, there were people in the streets drinking, dancing, enjoying. For this festival the metro continued to run through the night (usually it stops at 12:30am on a Sunday and then you have to catch the rare passage of the Noctilien bus). 

Last night I went to the festival with "the Mexicans": Alex & Ivan, Naomi & Juan, Raymundo, and a number of their friends. The plan had originally been to go salsa dancing. I was stoked and had prepped myself accordingly (but thankfully had remembered to wear sneakers this time). After waiting at the rendezvous point for the longest 5 minutes in human history (which according to all other accounts was an hour and 15 minutes), I met up with Alex & Ivan and learned what "Mexican Time" is (they said it! not me!). Anyone who thinks I'm bad when I'm 20 minutes late, you ain't seen nothin'!!

After getting ourselves repeatedly lost lost within less than an 8 block radius (no, no substances to blame it on, either), we finally managed to connect with Naomi, Juan, & Ray. We then headed toward what I thought was our butt-shakin' destination (pour fair du salsa!). Like the blob that ate Chicago, along the way we picked up another several people, and eventually staked our claim on the edge of a square not far from the metro station Belleville. There was at first a sort of African music playing, and then that gave way to dueling Brazilian drum troops (there is a specific name for this intense kind of rhythm, but for the life of me I can't remember). While the drums were great and a lot of fun, sadly, it seemed salsa dancing had been abandoned. 

After a few hours the drums stopped and the party broke up. Everyone began making their way for the metro. I got on the line that would take me straight home (thankfully did not have to deal with switching trains) and Naomi, Juan, & Ray walked home. 

Now, if I may say in my own defense, traveling home alone at 3am had not been on my agenda for the evening.  Alex lives along the same route as I do and I had assumed that I would travel at least part of the way with she and Ivan. However, they took off before we even arrived at our destination. The other members of our party live in the opposite direction from me.  So there I found myself, at 3am after the Fete de la Musique, alone on the metro.

Well, not exactly alone. Much to my dismay, upon boarding the train I realized that the car I had boarded was full of a group of drunken men. Most of whom seemed to be part of the same group. I took the one open seat and prayed they wouldn't take note of me. I was not so lucky. 

Now, a bit of an aside - there is something that happens to me often here, in broad daylight, in all places, at all times. I think that because I am "blond" (I'm a readhead, dammit! A redhead!), and most French women are not, I stick out like a soar thumb. It's as if I am wearing a large flashing arrow above my head that screams: "Hey! This one here is a foreigner!" However, it is not the typical "frenchman" who perpetrates this harassment, so this is not a typical "French" behavior.  In the interest of not perpetuating any sort of stereotypes about any particular ethnic groups I will refrain from singling any out by specifying. 

Ladies, if you think that the kind of cat-calls and obscenities sometimes slung at us as we walk down the street in the US are bad, you cannot begin to imagine what happens here. I have ben stopped on the sidewalk, stopped on escalators, stopped on the street - my path blocked as they ask me *in English* (_never_ do they even try French - clearly, my little blond self is not French): "Speak english? What's your name? Where you from? How you doing? Where you going?" I have been approached in grocery stores and on the metro. If I respond at all, even to just say "laissez-moi" (meaning leave me alone), they persist. On many occasions I have not responded at all and they proceed to profess their love for me ("it's OK, I love you. I love you."). I learned quickly to not respond at all, and if I am able, to simply keep walking (fast), or to get off the subway at the next stop and change cars. Once I was followed but thanks to an open seat next to someone who looked burly, the guy left me alone. I am so appalled at how common this is, I cannot tell you. I am baffled. Has this EVER been a successful tactic for ANYONE??? What is the point of this harassment? I would think it was meant to show off to their friends except most of the time, the guy appears to be alone. I would like to quote my childhood friend Shela: Boys, if you think for even a moment that this is a way to meet a woman, a way to get her attention and maybe her number, "Brother, you gotta be outchyer damn mind!" 

Ladies, if you journey to France, you must learn the phrase "Laissez-moi, canard." (Leave me alone, asshole) - but be careful with the "canard", I'm warned that these men can get really aggressive if you insult their egos. Mostly, just learn how to not respond when someone stands in your way and tries to get your attention.

So last night I sit down on the metro at 3am to find myself in a car full of drunk 20-something men. I hope to go unnoticed, but the odds were against me. I sit down in the only available seat, and a moment or two later two of the guys switch seats. The guy now next to me tries to engage me. He won't stop and I can't go anywhere else.  I am surrounded on all sides by his buddies. He persists and I eventually give him the talk-to-the-hand and say "laissez-moi! laissez-moi!". I kid you not, he simply laughs. Thankfully at that same time some kid sitting a seat behind us begins to projectile vomit. The perfect distraction, I head for the door as we pull into the station. This is not my stop but I will exit and change cars. 

Only, the train doesn't stop. Nor does it stop at the next one. I am getting a bit nervous that I cannot escape this group of drunk men and that the train also won't be stopping at *my* stop. I'm trying to remember anything I learned my self-defense classes, things taught to me by friends who studied martial arts, and from the few sessions of capoeira I took. I look further down the car and see that way on the other side of these guys is a group of security guards who are laughing as everyone begins dodging the vomit. I decide I am going to go stand next to them. 

The train stops, I open the door and slip out. I follow the guards who get on in the next car down. I get in behind them. There are very few people on the train now. The guards are 4 men in suits that say "RATP Sécurité". They are all well over 6 ft tall, all have shaved heads, broad shoulders, and chissled jaws (and let's not leave out, really nice butts). They have with them a large German Shepherd who is snarling at the crowds, and pulling at his leash.  Ahh, safety.

I get on and ask one of the guards what stations the train will be stopping at. He shows me the map and thankfully mine is among them, two stops up.  I position myself next to them, but behind angry fido. There is a guy sitting in the seat next to our canine friend who says to me "Beutiful dog". I say "Very big dog". He then procedes to try to pet this dog's behind!  Anyone with half a brain knows it is a very bad idea to try to pet a strange dog from behind, much less a very large, ornery, police dog!! Loud enough for the guards to hear it guards hear it, I say, "ne touches pas! ne touches pas!!"  That was when I realize this guy was also going to give me trouble. I'm like a damned magnet! 

But now the guards also have also taken note of him. He starts in with the "speak english? where you from? what's your name?". I ignore him and move so I am standing next to the door, in between two of the enormous guards. We arrive at my stop and I make a point of making myself known to the guards. I thank them for their help, wish them a good night, and exit the train.  I looked back to make sure that none of my unwelcome friends had exited at my station and saw the guards with snarling dog in hand keeping an eye in my direction (or maybe they were just checking out my ass - I don't know, but I think they saved my ass so if they want to check it out as I make my way thankfully safely home at 3:45 in the morning, that's fine by me). Thank god for the RATP and their huge dog!

To the RATP I would like to say: Thank you for making "enormous and intimidating" a requirement for joining the security force. To the RATP Sécurité guys and their snarling dog: Thanks for making my trip home a safe one.

One Fine Day in Montmartre

DATELINE: 14.06.09 PARIS, FRANCE

My bowl o' cafe au lait this afternoon... I could not have said it better myself. I'm not sure if the face was there before I added the sugar, but I didn't notice it until after. I prefer to think it happened accidentally when I put the two sugar packets in.

This was happening next to Metro Abesses, in Montmartre. Later on I saw a little girl who could not have been more than 2 or 3 years old strapped into this thing absolutely FLYING through the air. She looked both amused and terrified at the same time. It was hysterical.

What I am unable to upload for you just yet (until I find a way to shrink the file) is the "junkyard" style band that was performing next to the trampolines and the little munchkins that were getting their grooves on in front of them.

Ahhhh... Montmartre. I love my neighborhood!

The Europeans Are in Heat (x-rated episode. Not for children or the easily offended)

13.06.09 PARIS, FRANCE

How do we know that spring and now summer are finally here?  Suddenly, around every corner, in ever station, in every park, couples are going at it like it's the end of the world.  The Europeans are in heat.  There is simply no other way to describe it.  Everyone is doing their mating dance and, at least in Paris everything is abuzz with raging hormones. 

A few weeks ago, when Fern was visiting, one evening after I'd gotten out of work we met up in the Jardin des Tuileries.  At the beginning of the gardens there is an area filled with rows of hedges and wonderful grassy space in between each row.  Travelers and locals alike hang out here to eat lunch, play soccer, sunbathe, or as it turns out, to engage in public sex.

Fern and I planted ourselves in one of the less rowdy rows to take in the early evening sun before going home to make dinner. It was about 7:30pm. In our row we were just a bit left of center, there was a group of people (with an American guy who never stopped talking) behind us at the far right end of the row. Between us and them there were a few more people napping in the sun. To our left there are two couples, one is maybe 5 feet away and the other is maybe 10-15 feet away at the far end of the row. All of the rows are filled with people. One of the rows flanking ours has a group of shirtless men (late teens/early 20s maybe) playing soccer, who keep accidentally sending their ball soaring into our row and running over to retrieve it.

Fern is laying on the grass casually looking around. I am sketching her.  Suddenly she starts laughing and draws my attention to the couple at the far left end of our row, who are again less then 15 ft from us. They are wearing business attire and I would guess are in their early 30s. They were (for want of a better phrase for it) dry-humping with complete indiscretion. They don't seem to realize they are visible to the other people around them.  

After a while they proceed to test out a variety of positions, seemingly in search for the optimal position for... for what? Ah, now we see... for the dry-humping to become something much less innocent. At this point the man lays down on the grass on his back, expectant, arms by his side. The woman crouches at his side. He lays his jacket over the crotch of his pants. She fixes her hair. Fern and I watch, mouths agape.  Is she seriously about to do what it looks like she is about to do???

For a moment she seems to reconsider, and then resumes her former position on top of him. They return to their prior activities. But then she shifts, unzips his pants, reaches in and proceeds with a fully public hand-job (I could get clinical here and say instead "manual stimulation", but it seems wrong to get all clinical when discussing a couple going at it in the middle of a crowded public space).  While the coat over his crotch may have been a nice, if not slightly innocent, gesture, it does absolutely nothing to disguise the action. 

Fern and I are still watching, mouths agape as if staring at a traffic accident. We are just barely keeping ourselves from exploding into astonished laughter, our American sensibilities still unable to believe that these two are getting it on right in front of everybody.  But what we witness next is like something right out of a movie, and we collapse in fits of uncontrollable laughter.

As we are watching this couple, three armed guards in full military uniform and toting large automatic weapons, who I would assume are patrolling the gardens on security detail, enter our row from the other side of the hedges.  The are walking in a line, one behind the other. They are between where Fern and I sit and where this couple are laying. At first they are looking toward Fern and I.  Then guard #1 turns and spots the couple.  He nudges the guard behind him, who turns, looks, then nudges guard #3. As they pass into the next row of hedges they are all staring at the couple who have yet to realize that anyone around them is aware of what they are doing. The best part: as the third and last guard in this row passes into the row of hedges on the opposite side, he pauses and cranes himself backward, watching as long as he can before his view is cut off by the hedges. I just about died of laughter.

Then! To top it off, a pedestrian enters our row from the end on the other side of the couple. Where he enters is right near their heads. He takes notice of them and proceeds to walk around them, down to their feet, around and back up toward their heads, all the while staring with equal indiscretion. He stands there watching them for a few moments before moving on.  He is then followed by a series of other guards who suddenly appear in our row... inconspicuously checking out the action. It is only at *this* point, after all that and with Fern and I in hysterics not 15 ft away, that the couple realize they are being watched and make some effort to be more discreet.  They fail miserably and elect to finish in the same way they started.  

Two days later Fern and I are at Versailles.  We are having lunch with Katy in the beautiful overgrown grasses along the banks of the lake beyond the Chateau gardens. There are people paddling around the lake in little rowboats. One stops not to far from us. It in are a young couple - again, I would guess late 20s. The woman lays back in the boat, and her male companion proceeds to climb on top of her, bed down and hoist her dress over her head with his teeth! 

It's amazing. It's spring and the Europeans are in heat!  That or else someone is dumping aphrodisiacs into the water supply... 

Hmm... I'm feeling kind of thirsty. If you'll excuse me I think I'll go get myself a glass. A very very TALL glass.  ;-) 

I was eaten by a bear

13.06.09 PARIS, FRANCE

Ok, that is a flat out lie, but how else to explain the long silence?  I could tell you that I was busy with final exams, that I had a back to back string of guests and then travelled to visit Misa, that I am now working more than full time as a babysitter and it's frying my brain, or that between my Bermuda Triangle quality wifi connection and the flurry of visitors and munchkins zapping my brain I simply haven't been able to make it happen.

But I prefer to simply tell you that I was eaten by a bear.  That's much more exciting and has the added benefit of making me out to sound like I should have my own PBS adventure show. Can't you just see me fighting back snarling bears and irate wild boars?  I would of course wear tall leather boots, faded and patched jeans, a big belt and a t-shirt that is always stuck to my skin because when you are fearless, you always sweat a lot.  I would also have a signature pocket knife always with me and a cool jacket that was both practical and totally hot.

Hmmm... I think I just created a female Indiana Jones.

I've many stories to relay, all back-logged and on the To-Do list for tomorrow.  For tonight though, just one:

The Playing For Change band is headlining the Glastonbury music festival in Glastonbury, England at the end of June.  I thought I could go until I connected some dots and realized that my expired visa might get into the UK but would not likely then get me back into France.  Minor problem, no? I am heartbroken that I cannot go.  I feel like a puppy who can see the bit tasty treat just on the other side of the glass door, I keep running for it but then I smack into that glass door and can't get the treat.  So I am laying in front of the door wimpering, hoping someone will take pity on me - or at least, open the door.

So this evening I am leaving my house.  I'm exhausted. Taking care of other people's tiny munchkins takes more out of me then I had anticipated. So I am headed to the metro for shift #2 of babysitting for today, I am tired, my brain is on Auto Pilot.  I am crossing the street at the end of my block, Rue Rodier, and a car pulls up to the light and stops.  I get a few steps past this car before I realized that the music blaring from the open windows, the music to which the driver is totally jammin' out, is PFC's "Stand By Me"!!!  I nearly fell over when I realized it!!  

This very small moment both shot me to the moon and broke my heart at the same time.  It sincerely hurts me that I cannot go to Glastonbury.  I need a coyote to ferry me into the UK and then back into France.  I need a telletransportation device. I need a bear. A bear to eat me and then spit me back up on the other side of the border.  =(  I need a valid visa.