Jan 7th
Today has been mostly uneventful. Morgane and I visited the cathedral Sé and walked through Alfama again in an ill-advised attempt to see Sao Vincente de Fora and the National Pantheon. Both of these are closed on Mondays. After our lunch I was finally able to track down contact solution.
Europe has a bit of a pharmaceutical shopping anomaly: you can’t actually shop for things. You enter and ask for what you want because everything is behind counters. This is an obvious problem when you don’t speak the language because contact solution isn’t exactly a high priority translation phrase in guidebooks. Naturally I found the one person in Portugal that doesn’t speak any English or French at the first pharmacy we visited. After some sign language maneuvers I walked out with nothing but a tiny bottle of Visine. On my second visit to a pharmacy the clerk spoke English and informed me that you can only by contact solution in optometry shops. Luckily the closest one to our area was smack in the middle of a ritzy shopping area so I got to drop $15/12€ for contact solution I could have got at a grocery store in America for half the price.
Wednesday, January 9, 2008
Belem
Jan 6th
Morgane and I took a tram down the Avenida da India along the coast line to the neighborhood of Belem. We visited the Tower of Belem, Padrao dos Descobrimentos, the Jeronimos Monastery, and the Carriage Museum. As we sat on the edge of the water between the tower and the monument of Descobrimentos it almost felt like we were in San Francisco. The sister bridge of the Golden Gate was off in the distance, slightly shrouded by a light fog. But Jesus Christ loomed above it, reminding me exactly how far from Northern California I was.
I finally decided why I am so enamored with the sculptures, monuments, and buildings here in Lisboa: they are solitary. As you walk through the streets of Paris everything is old and/or big—it all more or less runs together into one never ending spectacle. Here, in Lisboa, when I stand beneath the giant Descobrimentos caravel I’m amazed not only at the design and content but at the brazenness of its sheer size. I’m awestruck in its presence, its audacity.
In a completely unrelated note, we watched “Bobby” on my laptop before going out to dinner. I remember reading positive reviews for the film but sadly not much beyond that. Obviously I’m in no real position to comment on 1968 since I was still 14 years away at that point but to me it seems to have been one of the most cataclysmic years this country has experienced. That the film was able to capture the nature of the time (and the emotions felt by the people) so succinctly is a feat in and of itself. This is magnified twenty fold when you take into account that Emilio Estevez wrote and directed it! I loved Young Guns but I never would have seen this coming from him in a million years. Watch it and decide for yourself.
Morgane and I took a tram down the Avenida da India along the coast line to the neighborhood of Belem. We visited the Tower of Belem, Padrao dos Descobrimentos, the Jeronimos Monastery, and the Carriage Museum. As we sat on the edge of the water between the tower and the monument of Descobrimentos it almost felt like we were in San Francisco. The sister bridge of the Golden Gate was off in the distance, slightly shrouded by a light fog. But Jesus Christ loomed above it, reminding me exactly how far from Northern California I was.
I finally decided why I am so enamored with the sculptures, monuments, and buildings here in Lisboa: they are solitary. As you walk through the streets of Paris everything is old and/or big—it all more or less runs together into one never ending spectacle. Here, in Lisboa, when I stand beneath the giant Descobrimentos caravel I’m amazed not only at the design and content but at the brazenness of its sheer size. I’m awestruck in its presence, its audacity.
In a completely unrelated note, we watched “Bobby” on my laptop before going out to dinner. I remember reading positive reviews for the film but sadly not much beyond that. Obviously I’m in no real position to comment on 1968 since I was still 14 years away at that point but to me it seems to have been one of the most cataclysmic years this country has experienced. That the film was able to capture the nature of the time (and the emotions felt by the people) so succinctly is a feat in and of itself. This is magnified twenty fold when you take into account that Emilio Estevez wrote and directed it! I loved Young Guns but I never would have seen this coming from him in a million years. Watch it and decide for yourself.
Saturday, January 5, 2008
Apology, Random notes, and 2 pictures
Internet access isn't one of the selling points of Lisboa. It's taken me three days now to access the internet. Sorry for the delay and then the deluge but what can I do? A few things:
1) Hello to Bill & Grant. I got some hate mail for not name dropping them yet.
2) Virtually everyone in Portugal either speaks English or French.
3) They have the coolest arch/entry way into a city ever.
1) Hello to Bill & Grant. I got some hate mail for not name dropping them yet.
2) Virtually everyone in Portugal either speaks English or French.
3) They have the coolest arch/entry way into a city ever.
Showers and Day 2 in Portugal
Jan 4th
I should probably dedicate an entirely new blog just to European bathrooms. There is a trend in French bathrooms that I can’t understand—the curtain-less shower. I haven’t been able to figure out how a deep tub with a detached shower head and no curtain is reasonable. Is there something about the French that allow them to “shower” without soaking the rest of the room? Is their climate impervious to the threat of mildew? These things perplex me. It’s like have something stuck in your teeth that you can’t seem to get out. I’m at a loss.
I went a week without what I’ll from this point forward refer to as a “shower” (as opposed to the “French shower”). So for a week I fumbled my way through French showers—alternatively putting down the shower head to lather, picking it up again to rinse or re-wet skin that dried, and generally spraying down the bathroom as if I was the groundskeeper at Wrigley Field. I’m a fairly particular person (read anal-retentive) so throughout my stay in Bretagne and the Marais I was dealing with these French showers and getting increasingly frustrated. Through some combination of mind reading or female intuition Morgane must have sensed this because she suggested we stay at her mom’s the night before our early morning flight to Lisboa. Or perhaps it was the fact that her flat was closer to the airport. Or it was my New Years Lentils interceding. Any way you slice it she had a normal shower –praise the lord- but there wasn’t normal bar soap. I’ve never been taken in by the shower gels, so despite having a “shower” my first real one didn’t come until this morning in Lisboa, complete with a bar of Dove. After suffering through those French showers for a week, I was in heaven.
The shower is just the beginning too: Lisboa is awesome. After a light breakfast Morgane and I set out to explore the labyrinthine streets of the old Muslim quarter. We spent most of our day wandering the streets, stopping now and again at a café or on a bench to rest or take in the city. The two sightseeing highlights of the day were St. George’s Castle and __________. They are both most notable because of the views they provide of the city and the waterfront.
For lunch we happened upon Café Royal. We sat outside in a little walled patio and oddly enough were served by a South African man (and he was just as a surprised to meet a Parisian & American dining together as we were to have him as our waiter in Lisboa). The food was great and surprisingly cheap. I think Lisboa is cheaper than Austin or at the very least on par with it. The cuisine itself has been top notch too. We’ve dotted the world map in cuisine choices so far (Indian, Italian, and French) in Lisboa and have yet to be disappointed. This comes as more of a surprise because Morgane had related to me how much she disliked the Portuguese cuisine the first time she visited. Perhaps I’ll change my tune after I experience a traditional Portuguese meal. Until then, I’m thoroughly impressed with everything the city has to offer.
I should probably dedicate an entirely new blog just to European bathrooms. There is a trend in French bathrooms that I can’t understand—the curtain-less shower. I haven’t been able to figure out how a deep tub with a detached shower head and no curtain is reasonable. Is there something about the French that allow them to “shower” without soaking the rest of the room? Is their climate impervious to the threat of mildew? These things perplex me. It’s like have something stuck in your teeth that you can’t seem to get out. I’m at a loss.
I went a week without what I’ll from this point forward refer to as a “shower” (as opposed to the “French shower”). So for a week I fumbled my way through French showers—alternatively putting down the shower head to lather, picking it up again to rinse or re-wet skin that dried, and generally spraying down the bathroom as if I was the groundskeeper at Wrigley Field. I’m a fairly particular person (read anal-retentive) so throughout my stay in Bretagne and the Marais I was dealing with these French showers and getting increasingly frustrated. Through some combination of mind reading or female intuition Morgane must have sensed this because she suggested we stay at her mom’s the night before our early morning flight to Lisboa. Or perhaps it was the fact that her flat was closer to the airport. Or it was my New Years Lentils interceding. Any way you slice it she had a normal shower –praise the lord- but there wasn’t normal bar soap. I’ve never been taken in by the shower gels, so despite having a “shower” my first real one didn’t come until this morning in Lisboa, complete with a bar of Dove. After suffering through those French showers for a week, I was in heaven.
The shower is just the beginning too: Lisboa is awesome. After a light breakfast Morgane and I set out to explore the labyrinthine streets of the old Muslim quarter. We spent most of our day wandering the streets, stopping now and again at a café or on a bench to rest or take in the city. The two sightseeing highlights of the day were St. George’s Castle and __________. They are both most notable because of the views they provide of the city and the waterfront.
For lunch we happened upon Café Royal. We sat outside in a little walled patio and oddly enough were served by a South African man (and he was just as a surprised to meet a Parisian & American dining together as we were to have him as our waiter in Lisboa). The food was great and surprisingly cheap. I think Lisboa is cheaper than Austin or at the very least on par with it. The cuisine itself has been top notch too. We’ve dotted the world map in cuisine choices so far (Indian, Italian, and French) in Lisboa and have yet to be disappointed. This comes as more of a surprise because Morgane had related to me how much she disliked the Portuguese cuisine the first time she visited. Perhaps I’ll change my tune after I experience a traditional Portuguese meal. Until then, I’m thoroughly impressed with everything the city has to offer.
Superstitions and Portugal
Jan. 3rd
For the first time in my 25 years of life that I can remember I didn’t have Black-Eyed Peas for New Years. Most of you probably know how disconcerting this is for me. My superstitious nature gets the better of me on many occasions. Sarah is very fond of recounting how I “yelled” at her during the Michigan v. Texas Rose Bowl a few years ago because she sat on the couch (thus bringing bad luck). What she usually glosses over is that Texas won that game and it was glorious. It should be no surprise that I find the possibility of not having Black-Eyed Peas for New Years quite vexing.
I naively thought that I would be able to find a West African grocery store in Paris that sold Black-Eyed Peas. New Years has come and gone without Black-Eyed Peas. My solace was found (and sanity maintained) with lentils, the French equivalent for New Years luck. I had lentils w/ Scallops (aka St. Jacques) on New Year’s Eve. I’m keeping my fingers crossed that this will suffice. If I’m spending my time in France I might as well abide by the French luck laws. When in Rome….
Morgane and I have safely made it to Lisboa. We are staying in an apartment straddling the area between Bairro Alto and Chiado, just off Praca Luis de Camoes on Rua de Huerto Seco. The apartment is very well done—it’s a 1/1 with high ceilings and hardwood floors.
Lisboa has proven to be an interesting place. Our initial cab ride into the city revealed just how oddly diverse the city can be. From the airport we skirted the eastern portions of the city. The 70s era apartment buildings that dotted the roadside seemed to be better suited for the Eastern Bloc than the western coast of Europe. Those thoughts gave way as the cab crested a hill revealing the Rio Tejo directly before us. It was only momentarily breathtaking as we wheeled back towards the west driving through an industrial area along the coast. A few short minutes later we were driving along narrow cobblestone roads. This alternating dichotomy of place excites me the most about Lisboa (and Portugal). I enjoy discovering the reality of a place: the destruction and/or affirmation of vague preconceived notions.
For the first time in my 25 years of life that I can remember I didn’t have Black-Eyed Peas for New Years. Most of you probably know how disconcerting this is for me. My superstitious nature gets the better of me on many occasions. Sarah is very fond of recounting how I “yelled” at her during the Michigan v. Texas Rose Bowl a few years ago because she sat on the couch (thus bringing bad luck). What she usually glosses over is that Texas won that game and it was glorious. It should be no surprise that I find the possibility of not having Black-Eyed Peas for New Years quite vexing.
I naively thought that I would be able to find a West African grocery store in Paris that sold Black-Eyed Peas. New Years has come and gone without Black-Eyed Peas. My solace was found (and sanity maintained) with lentils, the French equivalent for New Years luck. I had lentils w/ Scallops (aka St. Jacques) on New Year’s Eve. I’m keeping my fingers crossed that this will suffice. If I’m spending my time in France I might as well abide by the French luck laws. When in Rome….
Morgane and I have safely made it to Lisboa. We are staying in an apartment straddling the area between Bairro Alto and Chiado, just off Praca Luis de Camoes on Rua de Huerto Seco. The apartment is very well done—it’s a 1/1 with high ceilings and hardwood floors.
Lisboa has proven to be an interesting place. Our initial cab ride into the city revealed just how oddly diverse the city can be. From the airport we skirted the eastern portions of the city. The 70s era apartment buildings that dotted the roadside seemed to be better suited for the Eastern Bloc than the western coast of Europe. Those thoughts gave way as the cab crested a hill revealing the Rio Tejo directly before us. It was only momentarily breathtaking as we wheeled back towards the west driving through an industrial area along the coast. A few short minutes later we were driving along narrow cobblestone roads. This alternating dichotomy of place excites me the most about Lisboa (and Portugal). I enjoy discovering the reality of a place: the destruction and/or affirmation of vague preconceived notions.
Wednesday, January 2, 2008
Driving in Paris (& various other things)
Jan 2nd
10:40AM
My first official 2008 entry—it’s been a strange few days. After spending a long New Years weekend in Bretagne, I’m sitting on a couch in a Paris photo studio. Unfortunately Victoria’s Secret hasn’t asked Morgane and Zoe for their expertise yet. Les Composantes (Z & M) have been asked to do test shots for a hotel company’s worldwide ad campaign. So instead of scantily clad women I get to watch “hotel workers” in various poses holding bags and keys as well as all the free croissants I can eat (that's a big boo-yeah, Jay).
So far my biggest accomplishment here has been successfully traversing the streets of Paris in a car. The highways and country roads were a breeze. Driving in Paris is exciting in a nerve-wracking way. I don’t know how it feels to complete in the X-Games but I think driving in Paris might be the closest I’ll get to the X-Games. In all seriousness, even though it’s pretty exciting to drive around the traffic circle at Place de Republique or past the Louvre on the rue de Rivoli, it’s still just driving. Geography (and time) is the only difference between turning onto rue des Batignolles today and learning to turn in Southside’s parking lot with my dad twelve years ago. I doubt he ever thought I would end up using those driving lessons to traverse Paris (especially in a car with two girls and forty pounds of equipment for a photo shoot).
Reading signs in a different language and having signs of different shapes than in the U.S. are two challenges while driving here. However, the biggest challenge has been the stop lights. In the United States you see the lights out in front of you and your gaze is therefore always directed slightly upwards to observe the possible light change. In Paris the lights are always on the left and right of the street at the crosswalk. So instead of stopping with the light out in front of you (and across the street), you have it directly beside you. This is an obvious problem for me. On multiple occasions I’ve come to a stop just past the light, forcing me to crane my neck slightly backwards to monitor the change to green. If I’m more than a second to slow in moving forward, there is always a polite (read frantic) flash of lights behind me or a series of honks to inform me it’s time to go. Luckily for my passengers and me, I’ve only accidentally run two lights (I think). For the most part though I’ve corrected my problem, making it from the Marais to the 17th (the photo shoot is just a block away from where I stayed this summer) this morning without breaking any traffic laws.
Initially my reaction to the lights was “this is stupid.” After giving it some thought I realized it has two fairly distinct advantages. First (and perhaps foremost for the French) is the aesthetic advantage. In a place like Paris it makes more sense to have lights that blend in with the surroundings instead of hulking over them. Secondly it forces the driver to keep their gaze slightly towards the street sides. Paris has a large pedestrian population so the light placement seems logical to help ensure the safety of the citizens.
Enough about driving—Bretagne was an interesting experience. I was a little thrown off by the music at selection at the “party.” I use the quotations because it was a somewhat small affair (especially in comparison with the castle’s size) and was similar to a Junior High dance. For instance, there was the initial milling around in nervous clusters, a large room (much like a cafeteria) that was more than half empty, and the music playlist featured a heavy dose of music from circa 1997 (Blue, Genie in a Bottle, Mr. Jones) instead of circa 2007. All of which of course sent me back to memories of sweaty palms
(on the girls, I was calm and confident teenager), nervous hopefulness, and bad finger foods. Luckily Morgane had dry hands, I had a bemused sense of confidence, and the food was amazing. And to top it off the doubts I had about the French taste in music were straightened out. On two different occasions I was informed that they (the younger people there) had nothing to do with the music choice. In the end the party, just like the old dances, evolved into something beyond apprehension. School dances relied on sugar highs to hop the kids up enough to overcome their nerves. As adults (I use the term loosely), we get much better alternatives, namely wine (which I guess also helped them get over their disdain for the music).
In closing the marathon New Year’s post, I’ll finish with two notes on the town of Rennes and revert to age 15 once again for more comments on French toilets. Beginning with the latter, I had heard countless stories from Chill about the horrible things he witnessed while traveling in Asia. So it was with some disbelief that I came across a rest stop toilet on Auto-route 11 outside of Paris that was nothing more than a hole in the ground. As I took in the spectacle I realized the “toilet” even had handle bars stuck into the wall (Is one to presume they are for the handicapped?). Adding to my disbelief and confusion was that Zoe and Morgane were so shocked and suspicious of my claims. I felt like I was Dennis Kucinich (or Mayor Baker perhaps) trying to persuade people that there really was a UFO. I still haven’t wrapped my head completely around it.
And finally Rennes—it looked to be a marvelous city. We were able to spend a total of 3-4 hours there and with just that brief glimpse it’s a place I’d recommend (and like to see again). Lastly, as I looked at a menu in a restaurant, I noticed a phrase that didn’t make sense to me: “chèvre chaud au miel” The following conversation occurred between Morgane and me:
“It’s a honey cheese”
“A hot honey cheese salad?”
“Yes”
“Seriously?”
“Yes”
“Okay, well I’m definitely not having that.”
“No! It’s good. It’s one of my favorite things. You should get it.”
Well, I’m a sucker for a pretty face (and I’ll try any food once) so I went for it. What followed was a fairly basic salad with walnuts and balsamic vinaigrette topped with 4 squares. They were lightly fried, sealing in the hot honey goat cheese. It was a somewhat strange experience but I have to admit Morgane was right, hot honey cheese salad is tasty.
(We’re off to Lisbon tomorrow morning and will be back to Paris on the 11th.)
10:40AM
My first official 2008 entry—it’s been a strange few days. After spending a long New Years weekend in Bretagne, I’m sitting on a couch in a Paris photo studio. Unfortunately Victoria’s Secret hasn’t asked Morgane and Zoe for their expertise yet. Les Composantes (Z & M) have been asked to do test shots for a hotel company’s worldwide ad campaign. So instead of scantily clad women I get to watch “hotel workers” in various poses holding bags and keys as well as all the free croissants I can eat (that's a big boo-yeah, Jay).
So far my biggest accomplishment here has been successfully traversing the streets of Paris in a car. The highways and country roads were a breeze. Driving in Paris is exciting in a nerve-wracking way. I don’t know how it feels to complete in the X-Games but I think driving in Paris might be the closest I’ll get to the X-Games. In all seriousness, even though it’s pretty exciting to drive around the traffic circle at Place de Republique or past the Louvre on the rue de Rivoli, it’s still just driving. Geography (and time) is the only difference between turning onto rue des Batignolles today and learning to turn in Southside’s parking lot with my dad twelve years ago. I doubt he ever thought I would end up using those driving lessons to traverse Paris (especially in a car with two girls and forty pounds of equipment for a photo shoot).
Reading signs in a different language and having signs of different shapes than in the U.S. are two challenges while driving here. However, the biggest challenge has been the stop lights. In the United States you see the lights out in front of you and your gaze is therefore always directed slightly upwards to observe the possible light change. In Paris the lights are always on the left and right of the street at the crosswalk. So instead of stopping with the light out in front of you (and across the street), you have it directly beside you. This is an obvious problem for me. On multiple occasions I’ve come to a stop just past the light, forcing me to crane my neck slightly backwards to monitor the change to green. If I’m more than a second to slow in moving forward, there is always a polite (read frantic) flash of lights behind me or a series of honks to inform me it’s time to go. Luckily for my passengers and me, I’ve only accidentally run two lights (I think). For the most part though I’ve corrected my problem, making it from the Marais to the 17th (the photo shoot is just a block away from where I stayed this summer) this morning without breaking any traffic laws.
Initially my reaction to the lights was “this is stupid.” After giving it some thought I realized it has two fairly distinct advantages. First (and perhaps foremost for the French) is the aesthetic advantage. In a place like Paris it makes more sense to have lights that blend in with the surroundings instead of hulking over them. Secondly it forces the driver to keep their gaze slightly towards the street sides. Paris has a large pedestrian population so the light placement seems logical to help ensure the safety of the citizens.
Enough about driving—Bretagne was an interesting experience. I was a little thrown off by the music at selection at the “party.” I use the quotations because it was a somewhat small affair (especially in comparison with the castle’s size) and was similar to a Junior High dance. For instance, there was the initial milling around in nervous clusters, a large room (much like a cafeteria) that was more than half empty, and the music playlist featured a heavy dose of music from circa 1997 (Blue, Genie in a Bottle, Mr. Jones) instead of circa 2007. All of which of course sent me back to memories of sweaty palms
(on the girls, I was calm and confident teenager), nervous hopefulness, and bad finger foods. Luckily Morgane had dry hands, I had a bemused sense of confidence, and the food was amazing. And to top it off the doubts I had about the French taste in music were straightened out. On two different occasions I was informed that they (the younger people there) had nothing to do with the music choice. In the end the party, just like the old dances, evolved into something beyond apprehension. School dances relied on sugar highs to hop the kids up enough to overcome their nerves. As adults (I use the term loosely), we get much better alternatives, namely wine (which I guess also helped them get over their disdain for the music).
In closing the marathon New Year’s post, I’ll finish with two notes on the town of Rennes and revert to age 15 once again for more comments on French toilets. Beginning with the latter, I had heard countless stories from Chill about the horrible things he witnessed while traveling in Asia. So it was with some disbelief that I came across a rest stop toilet on Auto-route 11 outside of Paris that was nothing more than a hole in the ground. As I took in the spectacle I realized the “toilet” even had handle bars stuck into the wall (Is one to presume they are for the handicapped?). Adding to my disbelief and confusion was that Zoe and Morgane were so shocked and suspicious of my claims. I felt like I was Dennis Kucinich (or Mayor Baker perhaps) trying to persuade people that there really was a UFO. I still haven’t wrapped my head completely around it.
And finally Rennes—it looked to be a marvelous city. We were able to spend a total of 3-4 hours there and with just that brief glimpse it’s a place I’d recommend (and like to see again). Lastly, as I looked at a menu in a restaurant, I noticed a phrase that didn’t make sense to me: “chèvre chaud au miel” The following conversation occurred between Morgane and me:
“It’s a honey cheese”
“A hot honey cheese salad?”
“Yes”
“Seriously?”
“Yes”
“Okay, well I’m definitely not having that.”
“No! It’s good. It’s one of my favorite things. You should get it.”
Well, I’m a sucker for a pretty face (and I’ll try any food once) so I went for it. What followed was a fairly basic salad with walnuts and balsamic vinaigrette topped with 4 squares. They were lightly fried, sealing in the hot honey goat cheese. It was a somewhat strange experience but I have to admit Morgane was right, hot honey cheese salad is tasty.
(We’re off to Lisbon tomorrow morning and will be back to Paris on the 11th.)
Tuesday, January 1, 2008
Happy New Year
Happy New Year everyone or "bonne année"
We're leaving soon (hopefully). It's about a 6 hour drive. On the 3rd Morgane and I are going to Lisbon for a week.
C'est tout pour le moment.
We're leaving soon (hopefully). It's about a 6 hour drive. On the 3rd Morgane and I are going to Lisbon for a week.
C'est tout pour le moment.
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