Le Grand Experiment

Lifting the veil

2010-02-05T11:45:00.005Z

A week back or so, a French parlimentary panel issued a scathing report calling for a ban of the Burqua, the head-to-toe garb worn by many Muslim women. This came on the heels of a ban of headscarves in schools (actually all religious clothing, but most thought it was aimed at the headscarf), which most people outside of France deemed an attack on Muslim values by the French government.

Interestingly, France is known around Europe for having one of the more open immigration policies in the EU, and in fact, it has more immigrants than your average EU member. This is especially true of Muslim immigrants. There is somewhere on the order of 4-5 million Muslims in France, largely from North African origins, the majority of whom are black.

Now this is just one foreigner's opinion, but I think you could say that France is also known for being one of the more racist countries in the EU, as the riots of 2005 attest to.

Coming from a country with an atrocious racial history of its own, and being a white male, I've always been pretty cognizant of how issues of race can make some topics at best awkward (like race and how it relates to sports) and some topics downright doused in fuel (affirmative action).

In the States, everyone generally tiptoes around this stuff.

In France, for better or worse, they don't. Racial tensions are handled with a far less delicate touch here.

To play this diplomatically, I will say that I'm not entirely sure where I fall on all this headscarf/burqua broohaha. The French argument is twofold - First, they say that in order to immigrate to France and gain French citizenship you need to embrace French values. In other words you can come, but leave your culture at home. This seems at least reasonable to me, but vastly different from the States, where we tell immigrants to come as you are and we'll just blend it all together. We are the "melting pot" after all. Secondly, the French argue that the burqua lends itself to the oppression of women, and that, they claim is also not in sync with French values. I also can get behind this.

On the other hand, freedom of religion strikes me as an imperative in any society.

But what has been most fascinating to me as a foreigner, is not so much the issue itself, but the different manner in how it's handled here. The French are so brusque in their assessment of Muslim culture, and their objections to the burqua are loud and impassioned.

In America, where we tend to be loathe to offend, I just think it would be so much more delicately handled. More awkwardly also. I'm not saying one approach is better or worse, but boy is it different.

So the next time your in Paris and your French waiter gives you the silent treatment for some unintended and unknown assault on his culture, just be happy you weren't wearing a burqua and know that brusqueness is their way - they can't help it.

Pendaison de crémaillère

2010-02-04T08:06:00.003Z

We are such slackers! Sorry, sorry, sorries all around. We we're partying! We had our housewarming soirée last weekend, and lo and behold found out that we apparently know a ton more people in Paris then we realized. At one point we had probably twenty people over! Which confirms that our new apartment is significantly larger than our old apartment as twenty people would never have fit into the old place. Best of all, we had my buddies Larry and Natasha in visiting from the U.S. to boot.

For those who want a little language lesson, a housewarming in France is called a crémaillère which is actually a notched hook of sorts that used to go up in the chimney. The cooking cauldron would be hung from it, and depending upon which notch it was hanging from you could adjust the amount of heat hitting the cauldron. Because you couldn't cook before the crémaillère was hung, you would usually have your friends and family over to cook a little something when you finally got it up, and thus, Pendaison de crémaillère (hanging of the crémaillère)became the French equivalent of having a housewarming party. Hilariously, our neighbors, who it turns out also just moved in, had their crémaillère the same night, so we had a bunch of temporary, highly-confused French guests who walked in for a second before realizing they were in a den of expats and quickly high-tailing it to the correct party à côté de notre appartement.

I Am Jelly Donut!!

2010-01-23T09:58:00.009Z

I admit I stole the post title from my friend Eileeno's blog, but I figured I'd give you the hilarious English translation of J.F.K.'s oft-disputed but nonetheless famous gaffe from his speech in Berlin for the starter to my Berlin blogpost.

It only took us three months, but we finally managed to make it out of France and stumble on over to nearby Berlin to meet up with my buddies Buddah, Molly, Eileeno and Eileen's friend Lawrence.

Save from the shock that Berlin had about two feet of snow and we had packed for Parisian drizzle, Berlin was terrific. I thought it was interesting that most of the happening stuff is in what used to be East Berlin. I guess after the wall fell, they took the run-down East Berlin and used it as a blank canvas to remake the city. So now it is peppered with hip little hofbräuhauses, restaurants, and cafes and it's where everyone flocks to.

Speaking of the wall, we found an old stretch about a mile long that is still standing. Nowadays it has been turned into compilation of murals, of which my favorite was the two old guys getting hot and heavy. I did a little digging and it turns out it's L. Brezhnev, in a lip lock with the former head of East Germany, E. Honecker.

The other highlight of this whirlwind tour of Berlin was a visit to the Pergamon Museum. I would never have thought to go here, but Eileeno who is a bit more of a planner had luckily put this "can't-miss" item on our itinerary. Turns out Berlin has one of the most incredible museums of Greek history in the world. An entire ancient Greek temple from the city of Pergamon (in present-day Turkey) has been reconstructed in the museum along with a host of relics from other parts of the ancient world like the Ishtar Gate from the city of Babylon. Aside from being completely unexpected it was also just really impressive. All these amazing Greek artifacts landed in Germany as the result of some long forgotten treaty between Turkey and Germany, but I can only imagine Turkey got the raw end of this "treaty" (I think the Native Americans know what I'm saying).

We're back in Paris now for the time being but we're getting a little more into our international traveler mode these days. We just booked tickets for a quick weekend trip to Bruges in February followed in short order by a four day trip to see Budapest. After that we're not sure where to head, but we're thinking Lisbon, or maybe Malaga or Greece. Somewhere warm to escape the winter, so if you have any ideas leave em in the comments. À bientôt.

New Digs!!

2010-01-15T10:27:00.006Z

Out with the old (the 18th arrondisement) and in with the new (the 10th arrondisment). We finally left our lovely temporary apartment (tears) which we had been lucky enough to find through a grad school connection, and moved to a place with a little more space and a hefty trek up five flights of stairs.

But for that effort we get rewarded with an incredible balcony (score!). At three feet wide and running the length of the apartment. I told my mom it was HUGE, and then she asked how huge, and when I said "about 3 feet wide," it suddenly seemed less huge, but trust me it is expansive by Paris standards. I see many a morning cafe out there and plans are in the works for an herb garden (a la the rooftop garden in Boston).

Our two closest metro stops are Poissionere (fish store) and Gare de l'Est (Train station to the East) which is essentially as good as an address in Paris. This is actually how you tell people where you live. And we're right next to where you arrive from Charles de Gaulle airport by train (Gare du Nord) which will make it super easy for our visitors to get to us... hint hint hint.

Just down the street we found an immense covered market filled with little fromagerie shops, wine vendors, butcheries... you name it, and the quartier is filled with a slew of little restaurants and shops.

Whereas our old hood was more of an immigrant neihgborhood with its own itinerant (definition check anyone?) influences, this feels more like the traditional Paris you see in the pictures.

We've been doing a little fixing up and organizing and whatnot which is why we've been so silent, but we're basically settled now. Settled enough that we decided to jump over to Berlin for the weekend and meet up with some friends, so I'm off À bientôt!

P.S. If you look close, you can see me waving to you in one of the pics :-)

Where's Waldo?

2010-01-08T14:50:00.004Z

This has become my favorite toy on the blog. I wish each little dot had a nametag.

Like who exactly is that person in the middle of the US who has logged in at least a couple of times earning a bigger dot? And why doesn't this dang map have borders so I can see exactly where that dot lies?

If we were handing out awards, our visitor from southern Australia (I'm guessing it was a Nicol family member in Sydney) get's the "Furthest south" award. And I believe the visitor from nearby Hudson Bay gets the "Furthest north" award... although someone in Sweden might need to correct my geography as I just eyeballed it.

Boston and the Bay Area continue to constitute the bulk of our readers, but it's cool to know we have a few friends following us around the more remote parts of the world like Liberia, and Rio de Janeiro and Macau (Thanks Justin, Brooke and Olivier).

It also makes me chuckle that I can call out my less blog inclined friends whose location gives them away. Sorry Harry, but judging from that tiny dot in Eugene, OR, it's fairly obvious you never visit this blog, no matter what you say.

Mostly I just like to look at this map and think about what a small world it is. When you live on a different continent from most of your friends and family, it's a nice reminder that they're only a mouseclick or a phonecall away.

So from our side of the pond to yours, have a great weekend.

Bonne Année!

2010-01-04T10:10:00.004Z

There is a beaucoup of updating to be done! Le Noel was terrifically fun. Having everyone uber-cramped into the apartment turned out to be a blast. Along with ourselves, we packed in my best friend Buddah, his wife Molly, my sister Hennessy, and Jessica's brother Gene and proceeded to do it up in style.

I for one was a little surprised and impressed with all the presents and the cheer. We even had a little Christmas tree. The French don't put their trees in water (link, compliments of my buddy Jeff), but rather nail it to a stump, and it got so dried out that the day after Christmas, I decided to drop it out of the window rather than drag it through the apartment to the curb. I kid you not... EVERY needle on the tree exploded off it when it hit the pavement. All that was left was a completely barren collection of sticks. I guess that doesn't sound that impressive, but it was. My favorite present was the stuffed Monkey from Buddah and Molly, appropriately named "Monkey."

The rest of the week between Christmas and the New Year was spent sightseeing. Among other things, we headed out to Versailles for a little touristing. Versailles is pretty interesting trip back in time, and basically represents the best of France's glory days under the Sun King Louie XIV. You get the smallest sense that the French feel a little wistful for the heydey of the Louis years.

And then it was off to the Champs Elysee for the Nouvelle Annee. I won't tell you who, but one person in our group had a little too much to drink and left a "projectile deposit" on the Paris metro. Maybe you can figure it out from the pictures and I'll let you guess in the comments section. The Champs is a pretty cool party, and if you're ever in Paris for New Years I highly recommend it.

Happy Noel!

2009-12-22T15:47:00.005Z

Christmas in gay Pareeeee! The lights are up everywhere and Paris is looky mighty fine these days. We recieved our first snowfall which I have to say was breathtaking although nothing like the blizzard we've been watching our East Coast friends get buried in. They tell me the snow doesn't stick in Paris because of the heat generated by the extensive metro system underground and I sort of believe this (am I gullible idiot?) but I couldn't find any confirmation online which makes me suspect. Everything true should have at least one wikipedia entry, no?

Our exciting news is that our torrent of holiday visitors has started. My sister, Hennessy arrived last week, and Jessica's brother Gene along with my best friend Buddah and his wife Molly come in on Christmas eve. I feel like we're recreating one of those spring break How-many-people-can-you-fit-in-a-Volkswagon-Beetle contests. We have exactly 323 square feet of space in our apartment and that includes the shower and the stovetop, so I'm not quite sure where we going to put everyone. But I'm sort giggling in anticipation of the summercamp bunkhousesque quality our house is going to have for the next week.

We're also currently in the midst of the apartment hunting blitz as we have to leave our current apt at the end of January. My poor sister has been getting dragged along on a number of visits with us which is probably not how she planned on spending her Paris vacation (surprise!). But if anyone has some incredible Paris apartment connection they want to hook us up with, that would be the best Christmas present ever! Otherwise Happy Noel everyone!

Back in the U.S.A.!!!

2009-12-15T06:51:00.007Z

... Well not exactly back in the U.S.A. But we did land on U.S. soil... technically. We went to Normandy in the north of France over the weekend and visited the American memorial overlooking Omaha beach where the Allies charged the beach on D-Day. We tried our best version of the run up the beachhead. The American military cemetery is actually owned by the U.S. so for a small time we were back in U.S. territory. It is really hard to imagine this idyllic little corner of France being overrun by tanks and artillery shells with Allied forces attacking from every angle. But it has a really nice solemn tranquility.

The real purpose of the trip though was to visit Le Mont Saint Michel. I included the stock photo since it's better then the night photo I had. Jessica, myself, and our friends Tal, Tomer and Sara (So two Israelis, a Spaniard and two Americans take a trip...) rented a car and had a ball roving around the French countryside.

But the highlight was undoubtedly Le Mont Saint Michel. What a cool crazy-ass castle on a mountain on an island. You've gotta give it to the monks for building something this impressive. Saint Michel is actually the patron saint of most things war-related and Le Mont Saint Michel apparently earned its name when it successfully resisted multiple British onslaughts during the 100 years war. We spent the better part of a day just walking the alleyways of the walled city at the base of the island and wandering the old church topping the mountain. Oh and it was also used a prison for a while and my French teacher refered to it as "the Alcatraz of France" but I think it was a tad nicer than Alcatraz. We stayed in a neighboring town Pontorson and I threw in some photos from the town at the end.

Lastly, apologies for the slow posting. Ironically, the more that is going on in our lives the less we seem to be able to get around to posting about it. So take it from our slow pace that we've been busy over here.

Metro Music

2009-12-08T11:18:00.008Z

I will confess, I have never felt great about giving homeless people money for reasons not entirely clear to me. As a result though I've just never done really much done it. I've always felt like a Scrooge for this. So to make up for it, I like to give money to the musicians and the street performers. In Paris, this is super easy because a musician comes complimentary with nearly every train! They'll hop on, play a few tunes, and then hop off a couple of stops later. And you get a sampling of everything, from your traditional accordian players to aspiring rappers. Le Parisiens hardly seem to notice, even when the guy is blaring a trumpet right into their ear on a crowded train. But, for me it's another one of those little Paris things I absolutely dig, and now I try to make sure I have some coins on me whenever I ride the Metro.

Note: I've never waited more than three minutes for a Metro train here. It's incredible. Jessica, who plans her entire life on the assumption that all travel time will be executed perfectly and without delay, is actually showing up on time for things now. Somebody from the T in Boston should come visit this place. Dare I say... I like the Metro in Paris even more than the S.F. BART system, and that is saying a lot.

The Point of No-Turning-Back

2009-12-01T15:07:00.011Z

In one or two of the past posts I mentioned that our neighborhood is heavily ethnic and heavily Muslim. To get to the metro in fact we walk right by the local mosque where there are usually 10-20 men in traditional garb milling about. This past Friday morning though, when I set out for work, there were a few THOUSAND milling about. About 10 meters from our front door I made the turn off our little sidestreet onto the larger rue and was presented with 2000 men praying in the middle of the street and chanting "Allah akbar!"

WHOA!!!!!!!

Being the idiot that I am, I sort of just kept wandering towards it, both impressed and a little in shock. After I was about 100 meters further into the throng, I suddenly realized the mob kept going and going and going on down the street, but by this point it was too late... I had passed the point of no return. It was easier to push on through then to turn back. To be clear, there was still some sidewalk available so I wasn't stomping their prayer mats or anything, but the "Damn infidel!" looks I was getting were a little disconcerting. On the upside, while I doubt I could tell you which way is North while standing at my front door, I can certainly now tell you in which direction Mecca is. But I think next time the Eid al-Adha festival rolls around, I'll take a different route to the metro.

Dinde-Day in Paris

2009-11-28T12:36:00.002Z

We celebrated Thanksgiving this year with a pretty international crowd. One of the American's from my language class (a rare occurrence, you're getting Jessica today) invited us and a few others over for a FEAST! We were stuffed just like any other Thanksgiving with turkey, stuffing, cranberry sauce, pie, and all. Ashely, the American who hosted, insisted that we bring nearly ALL the leftovers home. When she offered the first time, I was polite and declined, at which point JR quickly interrupted "HELL YES WE'LL TAKE THE TURKEY." So, sitting at home now are the remnants of 7 kilo bird! She also forced us to take some Dijon mustard she got during her trip to Dijon last weekend. JR is tres happy and I am tres full.

Three Cheese Break

2009-11-25T16:48:00.005Z

Going back to work has been startling in that I forgot how much Monday - Friday gets compressed into the work-eat-sleep routine. Add to this that I've started taking a French class Mondays and Wednesdays from 7-9PM and by the time I get to Saturday I'm often wondering where all the time went. This isn't actually a bad thing right now. Work is challenging, largely in good ways, and the language, at least for me is just one constant learning experience. School never lets out. I learn French riding the metro. There's a lesson to be had in going to the store for groceries. Lunchtime is a lesson (a huge one actually. Most days I want to nap after going to lunch with all my coworkers as I'm just wiped out from speaking French the whole time). It is non-stop.

So the one reprieve is dinner. Just about every night these days Jess and I cook up a little something, whip out the cheeses and the lox and the prosciutto crack open some wine and just for like and hour, think in English. I can feel my brain exhaling.

Le Tres Cool Jazz

2009-11-23T17:10:00.004Z

Our friend Bridget visited this past weekend from Boston. Nice to have someone from home drop in. And to sweeten the deal she brought along her French friend Mirriam who was uber cool. We went out for Crepes down by the Fontaine Saint Michel, and then they took us along to a Jazz bar they knew about over in the 5th arrondisement over on the Left Bank. It was one of those tiny little pubs you never find unless someone takes you there, and the band was tres cool which is my favorite new bastardized French term I'm claiming credit for (I create a lot of bastardized French terms, but largely by accident).

The drinks were tres chere (expensive) however, but pretty much there is no escaping that in Paris. Usually I just block it out of my mind, but when you stop for a second to consider that the tiny beer your drinking just cost you $15 bucks, it can give you a moment of pause. Actually, this has been less of a problem lately, as I recently had a mysterious blood test during my routine work physical (a requirement for joining the French health care system... Sorry America, but I prefer being covered to our "excellent" system which covers you know... only healthy people, and for about ten times as much) which showed I have some high enzyme levels that should be low. So until they figure out just exactly what I'm dying of this has been my excuse to tamp down my drinking habits just a tad.

Weekend Update

2009-11-16T09:42:00.008Z

OK, this is only a little teaser, but since everyone has been clamoring for pictures, I thought I'd put a few up from our weekend walk around Le Marais (the Castro district of Paris) and down by the La Galleries Lafayette/Printemps shopping malls where Paris does it's best imitation of Macy's Christmas windows. The Parisiens eat it up. It was mostly families and I think we were a tad old for the crowd, but still, it fun.

On a side note, there is a picture of me in front of the Tour Saint Jacques. The church formely associated with the tower was long ago torn down, but the tower was kept around for making buckshot. They would haul molten hot iron (maybe lead??) to the top of the tower and then srpinkle it off the side in little drops down into buckets of water where it would cool, harden and viola! buckshot. How cool is that?! I tried to find a picture of said operation, but all I could get is this artist's rendering of what the tower might have looked like back in the day. Sorry.

Football Fanatics

2009-11-16T09:10:00.007Z

We live in an extremely ethnic part of Paris with tons of Northern Africans, and apparently Egypt is playing Algeria tonight to decide who goes to the World Cup. As a result, our neighborhood has been nutso since last night. Thousands of people are out in the streets draped in Algerian flags, honking horns, dancing, yelling, singing.... and this is all in ANTICIPATION of the match. It's wild. I can't even imagine what's going to happen if they win.

The match is in Cairo, and apparently the Algerian team bus was attacked by a mob when they left the airport the night before the game. Literally half the team had bleeding head wounds from bricks being hurled through the bus windows. I guess you would call this homefield advantage for Egypt. The last time these teams met in a World Cup qualifier was 1989 in what has since been dubbed the "Match of Hate." A fan lost an eye in the fighting that broke out and an Interpol arrest warrant was issued for an Algerian player after the game. Yikes!

I think I'm rooting for Algeria so that my neighborhood doesn't get burnt to the ground.

Update: Algeria lost 2-0 and while my neighborhood remained relatively quiet thanks to the hoards of riot police (some of which you can see in the pic below) apparently things were a little more chaotic in Marseilles.

You Gotta Fight For Your Right To Party

2009-11-13T09:12:00.007Z

I have had an interesting start at work. Or more correctly, a false start. I'm finishing up my third week and I haven't done a thing... because I'm not allowed to. Apparently they don't want me handling bacteria, pipettes or anything of that nature until I complete a safety course. Which wasn't available for three weeks. So I come to work everyday and sit around surfing the web on the computer (at least until I managed to burn out a capacitor on the motherboard yesterday, probably caused when I started typing a tad too hard out of frustration with the confusing French keyboard). Ahh, welcome to France, I guess.

Speaking of the welcome though, each morning when I've showed up the past week I've had to wade through a throng of strikers to get to the lab. Seriously I thought the stories about French greves! we're a joke, but apparently they do love to strike. And French strikes seem like a party. Everyone is dressed up in matching orange vests, banging pots and pans, and dancing around like it's a grand ol time. I haven't been able to figure out what exactly they're striking about, but I'm not sure you need much of a raison here. In fact, two of my coworkers spent the better half of this morning moaning about their troubles getting to work due to the fact that the drivers of the train line they come to work on are also out on greve this week. Anyways, as I have nothing to do in the lab, I've been strongly considering joining in. After all, when in France...

Note: We should apologize for being a little slow on getting the camera up and running. So the first post or two is going to be a tad light on photos, but they're coming soon!

The First Experiment

2009-11-10T17:16:00.004Z

Bonjour from Paris! Figured, we'd use this space to send out the haps from across the pond. Hope everyone enjoys our little blips. And without further ado... onto "le blogging!"

Oh the differences!!! As most know, I came to France to work at Le Institut Pasteur, an institution whose name gives tribute to the famous Frenchman responsible for unearthing the secret lives of microbes. So it was with a just a little bit of irony that I found myself the other day, shuttling between the two milk sections of our local Carrefour supermarket fretting about pasteurized milk. There was the pasteurized stuff, all two bottles of it, and then there was everything else. Fermented milk. Goats milk. Ewe’s milk. (All unrefrigerated I might add). Frankly, I had never realized there were options before.

What exactly is lost in the pasteurization of milk anyways? Maybe this is one of those vital natural ingredients the French diet is heralded for, and would I be losing out on it by sticking to my American guns and playing it safe, I wondered? Judging from the amount of shelf space afforded by Carrefour however, Le Francais seem to hold Louis Pasteur, or at least his contribution to milk sterilization, in slightly lower esteem than Le Americains.

Update: I took the plunge, and while I haven't died, I say stick with old faithfaul. The other stuff tastes funny.