Thursday, December 20th 2012

  

Mena and I awoke excited for our ‘Golden Circle’ tour.  We elected to take a large tour bus rather than the smaller ‘Super Jeep’ because the tour bus was $80 per person and the super jeep was $250 per person.  We figured for a tour like this, where we were being driven to various places throughout Iceland and then getting out and walking around, the Super Jeep added little value.

A smaller bus picked us up at our Hotel at 8:00 and drove us two blocks to the Headquarters of Reykjavik excursions.  Mena and I positioned ourselves well in the parking lot and we got the first seats in the bus giving us a view out the front and side window.  We were also situated directly behind our extremely excitable tour guide, ‘DeeDee.’  She was way too excited for 8:00 in the morning.  She wore a Santa hat and a wool Christmas sweater.  She placed the loud speaker to her mouth and fired off a couple of bad jokes. 

“My boyfriend needed more space so I locked him outside.'

As we drove past the smaller trees and brush she asked the group, “What do you do of you get lost in an Icelandic forest?”

Silence.

“Stand up!”

“This is going to be a long day.”  I mumbled to Mena.

As we headed to our first destination, a geothermal power plant, DeeDee fired off interesting factoids about Iceland, “There are three sheep to every person…Bill Clinton ate at the hot dog stand when he came to Iceland…Iceland has the highest per capita: amount of debt, number of writers and artists and largest consumption of Coca Cola…”

We arrived at the geothermal power plant after driving for an hour.  The sun hadn’t come up yet and we walked around the building, viewing the videos with mild interest – the whole country basically gets their electricity from the steam turbines and heated water from the underground heating.  They don’t use water beneath surface directly because it has too many minerals and things (although it is used for certain attractions, such as the Blue Lagoon).

The next stop was an old Lutheran church (which was not quite so exciting after seeing Notre Dame cathedral the week before) then a small waterfall off the road side.  When the bus pulled over the tourists piled out towards the water fall, but one man, who had a shock of white hair and a black skunk streak down the middle, went running in the opposite direction.

DeeDee yelled after him, “The waterfall is this way.”

The man pointed eagerly at the sky behind him and yelled “Pink cloud!  Pink cloud!” as he scuttled in the direction of the pink cloud with his tripod.

Mena and I couldn’t stop laughing, the guy really had a thing for pink clouds (as would become increasingly apparent throughout the day).  I nicknamed him Pepe Le Pew after the Looney Tunes skunk because of his hair style.

Next we saw Gullfoss (Golden Falls) which were big and powerful and icy.  The mist kicked off the falls and froze on the embankments.  You could see the mist and feel the power of the falls from far away.  For lunch we ate lamb soup and shared a bagel with lox, cream cheese onion and tomato.

Next we saw a geyser – the ground surrounding the geyser was alive with steam and boiling mud and hot cauldrons of water.  A sulfurous steam blanketed the landscape.  The geyser hole was blue and clear and deep and the entire area felt primordial and mystical – I felt like a crusaders in the middle times coming across this bizarre and contradictory landscape.  Cold and barren up top but boiling beneath.

Afterwards we walked to the gift shop and finally found the hat I have been looking for my whole time in Europe!  It is made of Icelandic lamb’s wool and covers my entire face with the depiction of a Vikings mien complete with a handle bar mustache.  It was hysterical and very warm.  Just my type of thing!

Next we saw the divide where The North American and Eurasian tectonic plates met.  The plates were composed of darky and rocks that were covered in a green moss.  I crossed from the North America tectonic plate to the Eurasian one on foot.  It was surreal to walk across the plates dividing these sections of the world.

Afterwards we headed back to Reykjavik.  I looked out the front window of the bus and it was frozen tundra for as far as I could see.  It felt like maybe the most inhospitable places on earth.  Golgotha.  When we got back to our room I emailed the Super Jeep operator to see if the Northern Lights tour was happening that night.  Mena and I were both drained from DeeDee’s extravaganza but we figured we ought to at least try to see the Northern Lights if an expedition was going out.  I got no email response.

We ate hot dogs and went to the spa again and tried to figure out where we were eating that night.  Still no response from Super Jeeps.  At 8:30 we got a call to our room.

“Mr. Singh (Mena booked the tour with her card and they assumed I was her husband) a Super Jeeps guide is outside waiting for you. “

                “We emailed the company to see if the tour was happening tonight but nobody responded to our email.”  I said.  “We’re not ready to go.  Just please apologize for the misunderstanding and tell them we’ll pass.”

                I hung up.  The phone rang again.

                “Mr. Singh they told me they are happy to wait for you to get dressed.”

                I turned to Mena.  “What do you want to do?”

                “I guess we should try and go.  We are in Iceland.”

                We got ready in a hurry and walked downstairs.  I pointed at a jeep down the street.

                “Do you think that's them?”

                No sooner had I said it than an old man with white hair wearing a blue super jeep jacket walked over. He threw a cigarette into the street.

                “Mr. Singh?”  (lol)

                Let's go!

                I sat in the passenger seat.  The driver was not as talkative or cool as Axl was.  He smelled faintly of cigarettes and cheap coffee.  We discussed Icelandic hot dogs and Jeeps versus Land Cruisers.

                A large English man with a deep baritone voice sat behind me.  He talked a lot and wanted you to hear it.  He was nice enough, but a little annoying.

                The last time we went to northern shore of Iceland to view the lights but because of rain we were headed to southern shore. We drove a half hour through driving rain. I wasn’t feeling very optimistic.  To allow the clouds to disperse they took us to a black beach in the Land Rovers.  We fishtailed in the black sand as we drove along the beach…it was completely dark.  You couldn’t see your hand if you held it in front of your face.

                When the clouds cleared we drove off the beach and to a lumpy, moss covered field.  We looked around for a bit.  It was not as remote as the first place we went to.  We could see lights from nearby houses.  Fairly thick clouds overhead had moved on top of us again and we couldn’t even see the moon.  I wasn't feeling optimistic.  The guides brought out the customary vodka and hot chocolate.  Mena and I were too cold so we went back into the truck.  I fell asleep and dreamed strange, enchanted dreams and was awoken  by our guide rapping on the window.

                “Hurry up!”  He yelled.  “The lights are visible.”

                Mena and I rushed out of the truck.   There was still a smattering of clouds in the sky and in the distance I could see nebulous green lights.  They were more powerful than the first night but not as epic as I'd hoped – they looked more like green noise pollution than the northern lights.  I’m happy we 'saw' the northern lights but may have to give it another shot some other time.

                We drove through town.  The blackness of the night was illuminated by houses and buildings decorated with Christmas lights.  We found out the Icelandic folks use Christmas lights as a way of escaping the monotony of the winter season.  They even put Christmas lights on tombstones in a cemetery.  It added quite a nice touch J

                The three Land Rovers continued through town and back onto the black, winding road that led into Reykjavik.  The guide drove fast and the roads were treacherous and I’m glad we made it back safely.

Wednesday, December 19th 2012

After a late night of searching for the Northern Lights Mena and I woke up late and asked the hotel concierge a good place to eat breakfast.

“There is a place down the street that has a good brunch.  It’s a very artsy type of place.”            

Perfect!

We made our way to the restaurant.  It was a dim cubbyhole of a restaurant that was so small I felt like were all sharing the same air.  A mother and daughter were waiting in front of us.  They were seated at a table with some other Icelanders.  A table near the door opened up.  The waitress hadn’t cleared off the table and didn’t look like she was going to do so.

“Can we sit there?”  I asked.  She nodded.

Okay, I thought to myself, then are you going to clear the table off?

It didn’t look like clearing the table was going to happen anytime soon so Mena and I just sat down.  The waitress passed by several times and didn’t take any of the plates off our table.  She took our order (bagel with Icelandic smoked lox, cream cheese, onion and tomato) and still didn’t clear our table off.

“If she puts our food on the table with other people’s dirty dishes I am just going to clean the table myself.”  I said to Mena.

Fortunately our vapid waitress cleaned our table before she served our food.

(Note – in all the guidebooks they say that the people of Iceland are some of the nicest in the world.  I think the truth is a little more nuanced.  The men are really nice; the women seem to be stand-offish and even rude).

The food was good and fresh, but expensive.  Two bagels with a scant amount of lox cost us over $30.  I think I mentioned if before, but because of Iceland’s climate they have to import a lot of food and consequently lots of their food is expensive.

Afterwards Mena and I decided to take it easy and just walk around Reykjavik and see what the city had to offer.  Walked through the streets – there is a noticeable preponderance of fashion and cold-gear clothing stores.  Staked out some places we might want to eat at later in the day – large variety of eclectic eateries: Japanese, Nepalese, Chinese…etcetera.  We saw a skate park completely covered in street graffiti.  We walked through town (it didn’t take long) and then made a left and walked along an industrial highway back towards Hotel 101.

As we walked back I was again struck with how mystical it feels up in Iceland.  It truly is hard to describe – it felt, to me, like I was in a movie setting (Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind) or from an Anthony Bourdain ‘No Reservations’ episode.  It felt and looked different than any other place I’d ever been.  We crossed over the highway and walked along the rocks lining the Norwegian Sea.  The rocks were large and man-made and lined the ocean nicely and evenly so that it was easy to walk along the top of them (while Mena reprimanded me the whole time, ‘Get off there!  You’ll twist your ankle!’).  The water looked cold and clear and blue.  It stretched as far as the eye could see until it met the base of large, blue and snow-capped mountains that stretched upwards until they kissed the sky.

The wind was beginning to blow as we walked back and tiny white caps formed in the sea – blue little waves with white tops paying homage to the great mountains in the background.  We walked along in the cold talking and laughing and soaking in the scenery.  We took pictures on a stainless steel Viking boat, in a huge construction boom and on a narrow pathway that led into the frigid waters.  We walked to the main port in Reykjavik and looked at Icelandic Coast Guard boats and scientific vessels that scanned the ocean floor, all under the watchful eye of a guard.

Being Americans we naturally had to eat lunch at Subway before heading back to our hotel to figure out where to go next.  We decided we’d attempt to walk to the Reykjavik lighthouse (Mena loves sailboats and light houses).  We were led by my steady hand through the winding streets of Reykjavik and, of course, became completely lost.  I’d made a wrong turn and brought us to the regional airport instead of the lighthouse.  My bad!

It was starting to get really cold so we decided to head back towards the hotel.  We took a different route that led us to a large partially frozen pond.  It was lined on one side by a two lane road and on the other side by squat, colorful houses and a Parliamentarian-looking building.  It reminded me of Trúc Bạch Lake Stephen and I saw in Vietnam.  Trúc Bạch Lake was located just outside Hanoi and it felt empty and deserted.  The Lake in Vietnam was covered in a flotsam of dead fish with glassy eyes and garbage.  The lake in Reykjavik wasn’t covered in garbage but it had the same lonely, abandoned feeling.  It was frozen but was covered with a light skimming of water.  Rocks that people had thrown, ostensibly to see if they would break through, lay scattered along the top of the lake.

“I am going to try and walk along the surface.”  I said to Mena.

She looked at me with a, if-you-even-think-of-doing-that-I-am-going-to-smack-you look and I stopped my little charade. 

We walked along the lake taking pictures of the beautiful symmetry the reflection of the houses in the ice created.  We saw ducks and swans swimming in the far corner where a steady stream of water had created a sanctuary for them to swim.  The ice definitely didn’t look thick enough to walk across and I had, of course, been joking when I told Mena I wanted to walk along it – but wouldn’t you know as we got closer we saw three teenage boys walking along the surface.  To add injury to insult one of them was wearing a SHORT SLEEVE SHIRT.  Mind you, I was wearing two pairs of wool socks, tights, jeans, an undershirt, two long sleeved thermals, a jacket, a scarf, two gloves and ear warmers.

He stripped me of my masculinity J

We went back to the hotel and decided to head to the spa in the basement.  We relaxed in the hot tub, in the natural steam room (which smelled faintly of eggs) and then relaxed in our room.  For dinner we did some research and decided to go to Buddha Café because of all the great reviews it received.   We couldn’t find it on Google Maps so we decided to head down the main street in Reykjavik to see what we could find. 

We hadn’t walked 100 hundred yards when we fortuitously stumbled upon none other than the Buddha Café!  It was a Japanese restaurant.  Mena and I were voracious and we ordered soup, an appetizer and main courses.  The soup was delicious and as we were waiting for our main course, a young waiter with a “Take It Easy!” tattoo on his forearm told us, in a deeply officious tone, that he was deeply sorry our entrees were taking longer than expected.  He gave us a shrimp appetizer as penance.

When he walked away Mena and I looked at each other.

“We haven’t even been waiting that long.”  I said.

She agreed.

The food was great and after we’d eaten our entrees the waiter came over again.

“Dessert is on the house because you had to wait so long for your entrée.”

Mena and I chuckled – if the Indian restaurant in Oval, London had the same mentality our whole mean would have been comped!  We bumbled back to our hotel with heavy bellies and were soon asleep.

Tuesday, December 18th 2012

            We woke at 8:00.  I got our latte and tea and pastries and we ate quickly in our hotel.  We took the RER B to Charles de Gaulle International Airport.  Our flight was three and a half hours and as the plane descended towards Iceland it was our first view of the strange country to the north in daylight.

            Everything had a light blue hue in the darkening twilight.  I could see fingers of land, the furthest east portion of Iceland, stretching into the dark sea below.  I saw mountaintops and glaciers.  Fjords and great, gray plains.

            When we landed I could see the terrain more closely.  Whitish hay, which looked stiff in the cold, brushed and blew in different directions outside the plane.  

            We got off the plane and purchased our tickets on the FlyBus (which transports people between the airport and their respective hotels).  As we walked to the FlyBus I marveled at the twilight.  The sun had set at 3:28 but it was still light out at nearly 5:00.  A light, blue’ish twilight washed over everything.

            As our bus bounded through the countryside it drove through a dense fog that had settled on the highway.  We had to change buses at the bus depot but were finally deposited at our hotel, ‘101 Hotel’ after about an hour.  At this point we were both starving and just wanted to eat something quick.  We decided on Bæjarins beztu pylsur (Literal translation: the best hot dogs in town).  I had read in the Wikitravel guide to just order the hot dog with everything on it.  Mena and I ordered a few hot dogs, fully loaded, and then realized there was no place to sit indoors.  It was too cold to eat outside so we literally ate our hot dogs as we shuffled back to the hotel.  Talk about fast food!  It was so cold I couldn’t feel hand by the time we got there.

            We showered, changed into super warm clothing and drank espresso to wake up for our trip to view the Northern Lights.  We were picked up in a big, white truck with kick ass tires and a notched hood for the super charged engine.

            The guide’s name was Axl.  As we drove out of Reykjavik Axl and I chatted.  He told me he was the closest thing I’d ever find to a Viking.  I asked him if Iceland always smells like sulfur (as you walk around it smells like rotten eggs) and he said that Reykjavik smells like sulfur when wind blows from the mountains.  They also use geothermal steam to heat the water when you shower so that’s why the shower water sometimes smells like sulfur.  He said he’d visited New York City between ten and twelve times.  He’d also visited Portland, Seattle, Alaska and Boston.

            “What are the chances we’ll see the northern lights tonight?”  I asked him.

            “50 / 50 like the Knicks winning a game.” 

            “The New York Knicks?”

            He nodded.

            Guess the Knicks have at least one fan in Iceland!           

            On our way out we stopped at a convenience store.  I tried to pay the woman at the register.

            “You sure want to buy water?”  She smiled demurely.

            “Yeah.”  I replied, confused.  “Why? Is it really expensive or something?”

            “Well I can just give you cups and you can drink for free.”

            “Thank you for the suggestion but we need the bottles because we’re travelling in a jeep for the next few hours.”

            “Okay no problem.”

            (We’d see similar things like this several more times.  Seems the people in Iceland are very proud of the fact that their tap water is as good or better than most bottled waters.)

            We got back in the truck and set off for northern Iceland.

            “How long do we have to drive?”  I asked.

            “Maybe ten minutes.”  Axl shrugged.  “Maybe an hour.  The only way to find the northern lights is for me to track them down.  Look up at the sky.”  He said pointing out of the moon roof.  “See there are no clouds here.  You can see the stars. I need to see where the clouds are and I can track them down.”

            As we drove along the desolate stretch of highway at 100 kilometers an hour Axl would periodically shut off the lights, open his window and peer out into the inky blackness in search of the Northern Lights.

            “It’s a very dark night.”  He said.

            I looked out the window at the small sliver of moon hanging in the sky.  “There is almost no moon.  Is that good or bad?”

            “It all depends.  If it’s a bad light show no moon is good because you’ll be able to see it.  If we have a fantastic light show its best to have a full moon because the full moon can help frame the lights for photography.  The moon can be your worst enemy or your best friend.”

            We continued further north, just cruising along with barely visible mountain / volcano tops, the steady drum of the treads on the massive tires and jingle bell rock underneath a jet black sky sprinkled with brilliantly bright stars.

            Finally after an hour of driving we got out of the truck.  The ground crinkled and shattered underneath my feet.  It was like being on an alien planet.  Cold, glittering rocks covered with a dusting of granular snow.  No wind but so cold you could only stand out there for a few minutes before you had to go back in the truck.  It was – 8 degrees Celsius (18 degrees Fahrenheit) but it felt much colder.  

            “Its eighteen degrees but it feels so much colder.”  I said to Mena.

            “Its an arctic eighteen degrees.”  She said. 

            And she’s right, for whatever reason temperatures up here just feel much colder.  I could literally only stay out of the truck for five minutes tops.

            “How long do we stay here?”  I asked Axl.

            “Until we quit.  We have a good view of the northwest.  No reason to leave.”

           

            We left five minutes later for another spot.  Axl periodically used my SLR camera to spot the northern lights that were invisible to the naked eye.  He spoke of the lights as if they were a whimsical animals intent on evading our detection.  It felt more like a hunt than a sight seeing tour.

            We stopped in another place way off road.

            We sat in the car hoping the northern lights would appear.

            “If you see a shooting star tell me.”  Axl joked.  “That costs extra.”

            We spent most of the time waiting in his car.  He told me about his life.  He travels a lot and told me about his journeys around the world.  He also told me that life in Iceland was tough.  He said he was making the same amount as he was in 2007 and he was working five times harder.  He said it was impossible to buy his house because the price had appreciated 300% in the last few years.

            At the end of the night we saw very faint green tendrils of light in the sky…but it was barely visible to the naked eye (although I got some pictures on my camera). 

            We set back for Reykjavik at midnight without seeing the lights.  I was disappointed we didn’t see them, but more upset that Mena didn’t see them.  This is something she’d wanted to see for a very long time.  It is a ‘bucket list’ item for her and the only reason we’re in Iceland in the first place.  I just hope we’re able to see them before we leave…

            L

Monday December 17th 2012

            The pastry shop where I normally got our breakfast was closed so I had to find another place.  I found a small little shop that served crepes filled with Nutella.  The croissant was even better than our normal place.  Ahh you can’t walk five feet in Paris without running into a good bakery.

            After breakfast we walked to Gertrude Stein’s apartment.  We walked down rue St. Michel and crossed the park at rue August Comte and past The College du France.  Outside of the College du France all the students were huddled together in gossip circles with cigarettes hanging loosely from their lips or held tightly in their expressive hands. 

            All the younger kids smoke hand-rolled cigarettes.  I noticed it first when we walked to the Eiffel tower and stopped at a café.  Outside, underneath the waiter who was stringing garlands from the perimeter of the cafe we saw young kids smoking hand-rolled cigarettes.  We saw it again outside the college and various other places in France.  It must be in vogue smoke them but so much worse for the lungs...

            After we visited Gertrude Stein’s apartment we walked to Les Deux Magots café.  Les Deux Magots was the intellectual center of Paris during the 1920’s.  It’s where the literary, artistic and intellectual elites met to eat, drink and chat.  It’s seen the likes of Ernest Hemingway, F Scott Fitzgerald, Pablo Picasso and Jean-Paul Sartre.

            It was surreal to walk in knowing that this is likely the spot where Ernest Hemingway wrote The Sun Also Rises and other early pieces of literature.  The space is wide open with high ceilings and large bay windows that make it much more well lit than I imagined.  Keeping up the tradition people ate traditional Parisian foods and shared bottles of wine and large green salads.  The space is still as noisy and bustling as I’m sure it was in the 1920's but now it was interrupted by more foreign languages and cell phones and the such.  I imagined Ernest huddled in the back corner, laboring over his long hand notes.  For me personally it would not be a good place to write – too much open space and commotion.

            “Pardon.”  I asked the waitress.  “Do you know where Hemingway sat?”

            She arched her head back in thought and raised her hand pensively to her face.  “Yes.  Right where you are sitting.”

            Cool!

            After yogurt and coffee we walked to the Louvre.

            The Louvre.  Wow.  Absolutely massive, colossal, gigantic stupendous, paralyzing…I could keep going with the adjectives.

            You enter the Louvre through a massive glass pyramid in the courtyard of the Louvre Palace.  The museum has over 35,000 objects from pre-history through the 19^th century.  I think if the specific art on display interests you (a big if) you probably need to spend several days at the museum.  I’d also recommend a guide since (to Mena and my great frustration) all the exhibits are described in French.

            I appreciate the arts but the items on display at the Louvre weren’t of particular interest to Mena or myself.  We walked through the exhibits pretty quickly.  I couldn’t help but chuckle at all the people observing the works. Some are experts, no doubt, and their vigorous review of the exhibits is warranted.  Others just want to look enraptured – as if each piece enlightens a dark part of their soul and helps solve an existential crisis. Squinted eyes. Hand touching jaw. Pensive stare.  You know…

            We saw the Mona Lisa and that was the biggest attraction for Mena and I.  Just very unreal to see the most famous piece of art in the history of the world ten feet in front of you.  The picture was smaller than you might imagine…

            As we walked through hall after hall resplendent with beautifully carved sculptures I turned to Mena.

            “There are so many statues.  Even if you spent your whole life toiling for recognition and you ended up getting your very own statue to commemorate your life you still end up an afterthought next to the Mona Lisa.”

            She smiled.

            Afterwards we took the subway back to our hotel to avoid the torrential rain.  I wrote and then we headed out for dinner.  We decided to go back to La Cantoche for our last meal in Paris.  It was very symmetrical and fitting that we have our last meal at the place we first ate in Paris.  That and Tal (here name is Tal, not Tara) and Thomas were so kind and sweet to us. 

            I ate raw beef tartare, a salad and pomme frites.  Mena ate fish (I cant recall which type of fish!).  It was excellent.  Probably the best meal I had throughout my stay in Paris.  Mena enjoyed her meal as well.

            Mena and I had a wonderful dinner together and then walked back to the subway to catch some sleep before heading to Iceland...

The magician of Montmartre

The magician of Montmartre

Other video of him in Montmartre

www.iya.fr

Sunday, December 16th 2012

             Mena was drained and I wanted her to have a relaxing morning after so much traveling.  I promised her she could sleep in as late as she wanted and then I'd deliver her breakfast in bed. I had to make a couple of stops – Starbucks (yes, Starbucks) for Mena’s tea, then a bakery and then a coffee shop.

            It was my first time walking around Paris by myself.  It was the nicest day by far – the air was clean and crisp.  The sky a beautiful aquamarine color.  The sun bright and strong.  It was a welcome departure from the grey permacloud that had dominated the skies up till then. 

            I watched as Parisians walked by leaving contrails of smoke behind them.  An old lady and an old man walking in lockstep, dressed in white jackets of the same hue, holding each others fragile arms.  I smelled the wafts of freshly baked croissants softly wafting through the air.  It was divine.

            I walked to a pastry shop and selected an assortment of interesting pastries, got a latte and walked back to the hotel.  Mena and I ate in our room and then set out for Montmartre. 

            Montmartre had been recommended by Thomas (one of the American bar tenders from La Cantoche).  Montmarte is on a hill in the north of Paris.  Many artists, including Dali, Modigliani, Money, Picasso and van Gogh had worked in an artist commune there in the early 20^th century.  The spot is a lesser-known attraction in Paris as it requires taking a metro about thirty minutes outside the city.  Mena and I jumped on the subway and took it about a half hour until we got to Chateau Rouge. 

            When we got out of the subway we noticed it was very noticeably more ethnic than central Paris.  Montmartre had fallen on hard times in the last couple of decades (it was the former red light district of Paris) and is now populated mostly by immigrants.

            It was, far and away, the most beautiful part of Paris.  Narrow, hilly and winding streets that you thought Paris would look like before you got to Paris.  We climbed stairways several stories until we were standing at the base of La Basilique du Sacré Coeur de Montmartre a beautiful cathedral that, quite literally, looks out over all of Paris.

            Gosh I wish my camera could upload photos because they are absolutely stunning.  From our vantage point we had all of Paris in front of the beautiful, and us white towering Sacré Coeur Cathedral behind us. 

            On a post a man was doing things with a soccer ball I never imagined possible.  Dribbling the ball and catching it on his neck.  Climbing a pole and balancing the spinning ball on a pen.  Doing flips and coming around and catching it.  Really absolutely stunning and it makes me wonder how we are the same species because I can barely kick a soccer ball and this guy made it looks like the ball was an extension of his body.

            Afterwards we walked without looking at a map – getting lost in the small, winding streets and also the beauty and curiosity of this place.  We bought Christmas gifts and got the best baguette yet (chicken with slices of egg…surprisingly good).  We walked through the ancient and decrepit Montmarte Cemetery.  We ended up walking right past Moulin Rouge and the former red light district of Paris.  Still quite seedy…

            After we recharged in the hotel room we set out to find Ernest Hemingway’s apartments (the addresses which I gleaned from his novel ‘A moveable Feast).  We found 39 rue Descartes where Hemingway wrote on the fourth floor and also 74 rue de Cardinal Lemoine which was Hemingway’s first full time apartment and also where he lived when he wrote his first major novel, ‘The Sun Also Rises.’

            We took pictures outside the apartments and the windows looking into his apartment.  The building was clearly the same as when he’d lived there and it was magical to look upon the walls and the entry way and know they’d all been there each and every time Ernest walked into the apartment.  Very surreal.

            SO!  I have been to Ernest Hemingway’s flats in Paris and I’ve also visited the site of his plane crash in the middle of Africa!  I wonder how many people can say they’ve done both of those things!

            Ernest continues to enrapture me for the way he lived his life with reckless abandon.  Everyone knows that Ernest Hemingway defined the term of masculinity – a big drinker, hunter, fisher, traveler, womanizer…you name it he did it.  Obviously many of these things are bad traits, but still he defined the concept machismo for better or worse.  Most people know that aspect of Ernest’s life, but the untold story is that his life was riddled with tragedy, misfortune and deep bouts of depression leading all the way to his suicide in 1961.

            “If we were to give Ernest Hemingway the chance to go back and live his life as a nobody, but be happy.  Or life the life of adventure, travel and lust and die a miserable man.  What do you think he would chose?”  I asked Mena.

            “To be happy.”

            Hmm.  I guess she’s right, after all, who wouldn’t chose happiness…but he was such an egomaniac.  Who knows what he would have chosen.

            After finding his former residences we were spent.  All this walking is really starting to catch up with us.  Too exhausted to do our homework and find an authentic restaurant we asked our hotel for a recommendation.  The first place they recommended, Le Petite Prince, was the place we ate at the prior night.  The second place Le Coupe-Chou had come up as a ‘tourist trap’ when Mena had searched restaurants the night before.  But we were so tired we decided to take the restaurants suggestion. 

            Ehh…it was a romantic and unique interior that looked to be several hundred years old…but the food wasn’t all that great.  Tourist trap.  Yup.  Oh well…we tried.

General observations:

             Tourists are an interesting breed – they are all looking to do the same thing and all trying to avoid each other while doing it.  And every single one of them is searching for the ‘Holy Grail‘ – the non-touristy spot where all the locals go for genuine food / drink. 

            The following are phrases I’d imagine the manager of every single hotel in Paris might hear on a daily basis:

            “Is there a local spot around here?”

            ”Can you recommend a non-touristy bistro.”

            ”Oh we don’t want to eat there, its right by the museums.  It’ll be chocked with tourists.  Do you know anywhere else?”

            After spending nearly a week in Paris I have finally figured out where most Parisians go to hang out: Starbucks.  

            Mena and I have had to go in Starbucks several times in Paris.  It’s not for the coffee.  As most New Yorkers know Starbucks represents two things:

- Free WiFi

- Relatively clean bathrooms

            But every time we go into a Starbucks for Wifi or a bathroom I’ve never seen another American.  I mean, I guess it makes sense.  While American’s desperately search for places the French congregate, the French seem to want to avoid tourists at all costs. 

            Starbucks is a spot most American’s would avoid and thusly most Parisians seem drawn to it.

            Counter intuitive, and obviously not an empirical study here, but just something I’ve noticed.

            :)

2.  Despite my best efforts to appear to be a European the locals always know I’m an American.

            In an attempt to show the merchant that I respect their culture and I’m at least trying to speak their language I always try to begin the conversation in French.

            “Bonjour monsieur, un croissant s'il vous plaît.”

            The merchant, knowing that I am an American and also knowing the transaction will be over sooner if he / she speaks English (as opposed to watching me stumble and stutter over basic French) replies in English.  “The croissant will cost seventy Euros.”

            “Merci beaucoup.”

            “You are welcome.”

            We both end up speaking each other’s language. 

            Hey at least I am trying…

            :)