The Downstairs Neighbors

Some of you may have heard a rumor that my apartment during my first 3 months in Paris was a little petite, as the French say. I like to think of myself as low-maintenance, but life inside a 270 square foot apartment (supposedly -- look below) can be a trying experience.

I'm pleased to report that unlike the first time around, I selected my apartment for the second 3 month stint and it is comparatively spacious (upper right). Yes, it appears to be decorated with leftover sets from a production of South Pacific, but what you see is just the living room, not the kitchen or the bedroom, whereas with the other apartment, you are looking at just about everything but the bathroom.

I now live on what we would call the 5th floor (here, it's considered the 4th) of a 7 story apartment building. There are 2 apartments on each floor. On the ground level are a pharmacy and a mortuary. I'm sure there could be a good joke about that, but I will leave it alone.

A few nights ago, there was a knock at my door. In 7 years of downtown Chicago high-rise living, I had never had someone come to my door whom I was not expecting and I certainly wasn't expecting anyone here. It turned out to be my downstairs neighbor. After we each said "Bonsoir" she began speaking a little too rapidly for me to understand. I heard the words "sign," "insurance," and "water" in French, before I asked her, "Parlez-vous anglais?" Now, the story gets very mundane, as she and her husband needed my apartment's owner to sign something because of some water damage done to their apartment a few months ago, but I will say it turned out to be longer than any conversation I've had with any of my neighbors in my Chicago building in at least 2 years.

The Geopolitical Ramifications of the Eurovision Song Contest

A few months ago, I watched the Eurovision Song Contest on television here. For those unfamiliar with this bizarre annual spectacle, most European nations select an original song to represent them. All the songs are performed over the course of several nights on television broadcasts in all of the countries. Similar to American Idol, people in each country vote for their favorites by calling in, except they cannot choose their own nation's song. Then, each nation's results are announced with the top 10 selections from each country getting points. The song/country with the most total points wins.

Past winners include ABBA and Celine Dion (singing for Switzerland even though she is French Canadian). Many of the entries this year (and, I'm told, for as long as anyone can remember) were kitschy beyond belief. They ranged from the absurdly ridiculous (Ireland) to the ridiculously absurd (Spain); from an on-key Britney Spears wannabe (Greece) to off-key Spice Girls wannabes (Germany).

My favorite was a folk tune from Croatia featuring a 75-year old rapper. Seriously. It was the only one I bought for my iPod, as a souvenir of the 3 hours of my life I would never get back. The winner was Russia. This entry was a little creepy, with an Olympic gold medal figure skater skating in circles around the singer, who I think was pretending to be Enrique Iglesias.

I was astonished by the voting process. First, every country has an equal vote. Thus, San Marino counted for as much as Germany. What does this contest think it is? The US Senate, where Wyoming has the same voting power as California? Second, with few exceptions, the voters of each nation preferred the countries bordering them or for which they had some historical affinity. This benefits Eastern Europe where there are so many small nations and this year it specifically benefited Russia, which got many votes from all the former Soviet republics.

I went to the office the next day expecting to see my French friends upset over the biases in Eurovision voting. It turned out that I was the only one upset, because everyone else was used to it. Yes, it's just a song contest, but what does it say about the European Union when millions of people ignore merit and just vote for their friends and neighbors, no matter how truly awful their song was?

Sen. Obama in Europe

I don't want to write about politics too often here (we'll see how long that lasts), but with Sen. Obama coming to Europe later this week, this gives me the perfect opportunity to disguise a post on politics as a post on Europe & America. Yes, the Europeans love Obama, but they know very little about him. The French will often ask me about the election and whom I am voting for -- even people I just met. They clearly love the idea of Obama, and in their questions for me, they seem to be searching for confirmation that he is what they hope he is, and that America is what they hope it is.

Sometimes I detect a certain surprise or even doubt that the US may actually be more progressive in one respect than Europe. "Is America ready?" they often ask; though what exactly we may be ready for is rarely specified, it is obvious enough. One asked if America was ready to elect a Muslim, which I guess proves that I am not the only person in Paris who reads The New Yorker.

I did get a good laugh over the "controversy" regarding whether the Senator would speak in front of the Brandenburg Gate in Berlin. I visited Berlin in 2001 when the Gate was undergoing a multi-year restoration project and it was literally wrapped inside a giant advertisement for T-Mobile. It was rather clever -- if you were on the west side you would look east at the Gate and see a picture of Moscow; on the east side you would look west at pictures of London and NYC; on both sides was a message about how T-Mobile had service worldwide. Now we are told that the Gate is too special a landmark for the Senator to speak in front of -- too bad, I guess it would be different if only he were selling cell phones.

As the focal point of the West's battle with and defeat of Communism, Berlin is the perfect place to give a speech celebrating the ties that bind the US and Europe and to talk about how the US and her allies must work together to defeat a common foe, so I assume that is what we will hear later this week. And since the pundits back home will be carefully listening for any indication that Obama is insufficiently "American", we can safely expect several lines in the speech demanding that Europe do its part. Europe will celebrate the speech and we will see in January if the changes people on both sides of the Atlantic want to see actually begin to take place.

So that's what I think he will say; for me the $64,000 question is: how large will the crowd be?

Want to buy an apartment in Paris?

I was kindly invited to a dinner party last night and during the course of the evening, one of the guests was making a final offer on the purchase of an apartment. The offer was accepted and we had an unexpected cause for celebration. His new home will be in the opposite part of the city from where I live, and as even the proud future owner admitted to me, it is not in the best part of town. I have seen the building, though not the particular apartment, and while it is an improving neighborhood, it is probably the least fashionable part of the city that I have seen.

Don't misunderstand -- it's completely safe and I have seen far, far sketchier parts of American cities, but it is worth noting when I tell you that the price for his 1,000 square foot apartment was approximately $825,000. The weak dollar has something to do with that, but my poorly informed guess would be that a comparably-sized condo in a comparably old building in a comparable part of Chicago would cost about 30% of that. To which a Parisien would likely (and truthfully) respond: well, that apartment is not in Paris.

Prime-Time TV

Every night on French prime time television are two episodes, back-to-back and in English, of the CBS sitcom The New Adventures of Old Christine. I'm not sure how long this will run, because I don't think enough episodes of this show have been made to keep this going at such a break-neck pace. TNAoOC is not a show I would watch on American television. It is about a woman who lives with her 10 year old son and her brother, while her ex-husband and his new girlfriend, also named Christine, come by for mostly pleasant visits every 10 minutes. In short, ALF had a more realistic premise.

This is the kind of show you watch on an airplane, when you have no choice regarding in-flight entertainment, but then find that it's actually not that bad. It's better than average. Then you go home and you never see the show again until you're on another plane.

When you're a visitor to France, though, and this is given to the French public as an ideal representation of the American sitcom, twice every night, (and you're desperate to watch something in English other than CNN International), it practically becomes appointment television.

Bonne Fete Nationale

For some time, I have been looking forward to spending Bastille Day (July 14) in France and it turned out to be a fairly eventful day. First, don't call it Bastille Day. It is the Fete Nationale, and when I would say Happy Bastille Day to friends here, I would get confused looks. So say "Bonne Fete Nationale" instead.

Second, for the day that is essentially equivalent to our 4th of July,the disparity in the public displays of patriotism is striking. To blend in on July 14, I wore 2 of the tricolors of the French flag and found I was wearing 2 more than most people (whereas I would have been one short in America). I saw some buses flying the French flag as they went past, which was unusual, but they also had a European Union flag. I suppose the one nod to nationalism was the annual military parade down the Champs Elysees in the morning. This was a little jarring to an American who generally associates military parades (at least of the post-WWII variety) with the Soviets.

In the evening, there was a free pop concert on the Champ de Mars –the large park extending southeast from the Eiffel Tower. According to the next morning's paper, I attended with 700,000 of my closest friends (and, picking up on a point from above, I only saw one French flag in the crowd). I had never been part of a crowd that large, but it was not as bad as it sounds. Sure, there was a group of 16 year olds mixing screwdrivers next to me, but they were entertaining. I feared how bad the Metro would be going home, and while I did have to wait for several trains packed liked sardines to pass before I could get on a train (and be similarly confined), I was home in one hour, which was certainly good under the circumstances.

As for the concert itself, it wasn't exactly Simon and Garfunkel in Central Park, but it was a decent show. I had only heard of one of the acts before – James Blunt. The rest were French pop singers. I found it a little weird that on what is essentially French Independence Day, we would be treated to some depressing James Blunt songs about how everyone is getting older, sung in English. He must have thought that was weird too, because he did sing one verse of a French pop standard (while reading the lyrics off a page). The crowd gave him the second loudest ovation of the concert, probably because they didn't know who most of the French pop singers were either. If only Johnny Halliday were there. The loudest ovation went to a Joey Lawrence look-a-like who was very popular with the female contingent of my screwdriver aficionado neighbors.

Being ¼ mile from the stage, and watching the acts on big screens gave the impression that everyone was lip synching, and at least some of them surely were. Of course, I would too if I were performing in front of 700,000 people. The lyrics were imposed on giant TV screens, karaoke style, which led to some amusing mistranslations of English lyrics. For example, there was a French rendition of the song from Hair, "Let the Sunshine In", which when the chorus was sung once in English, became "Let the Sun Shining," which does make some weird phonetic sense. The final act was a singer who appeared to be from the 60s (or at least in his 60s) and he sang a medley that concluded with Roy Orbison's "Pretty Woman." Again, not exactly what I was expecting at the Fete Nationale.

Then came the fireworks, which is what I had really come for. With the Eiffel Tower as the backdrop, there was a 45 minute display. Every year, there is a theme (needless to say, I'd never seen a themed fireworks display anywhere else), and as this is the 400th birth-year of Quebec, it began with the music of a Quebecois folk tune broadcast over loudspeakers and a lot of blue fireworks. Then it changed into about 35 minutes of opera music (one verse of Le Marseillaise was sung somewhere in the middle). Seeing 700,000 people listen to over a half hour of opera music is unusual. Sure, it was set to fireworks and it was pop opera (Barcarolle, Summertime, Nessun Dorma), but still. All in all, an impressive show, and my faith in Paris public transportation was again confirmed by the relatively easy ride home.

Girls Just Wanna Have Figs

On my return flight to Paris for the second half of my stay here, I found myself next to a certain 80s pop icon at the gate at O'Hare. We spent about 30 minutes next to one another, and I could not help but overhear snippets of conversation. I'm not proud to say that I took notes, but I did type the following into my Blackberry:

Waiting to board my delayed flight to Paris. XXXXX YYYYYY is next to me at the gate. Seriously. This is a summary of her conversation with a friend and a flight attendant. She loves figs. She cannot stop talking about them. She doesn't want to eat cheese. "It's all fat." No makeup. Black toenail polish. Tattoo of some sort of puma or leopard on left ankle. Now she's saying she doesn't understand how men can spend time away from their children. A digression into men being hunters and gatherers. She hates the way cows and chickens are killed. She just said mushrooms give you "bad dreams." Now we're boarding and my eavesdropping will come to an end.
--------------------------Sent from my BlackBerry Wireless Handheld

I am pleased to report that the pop icon in question appeared to be as warm and free-spirited as her public image. She looked a good 10 years younger than she really is and it was completely unclear whether that comment about mushrooms was from personal experience or second-hand opinion. Time after time, these icons don't live up to their image, but this one did; in fact her true colors shone through. OK, does that at least partially redeem me for eavesdropping (and drop enough hints for you)?

The Wonders of Modern Air Travel

I don't like it when people complain about airlines. It's so easy to do. Besides, the airlines work on incredibly small (or non-existent) margins, deal with a consistently irritated clientele, and have had a near-perfect safety record (in the US) for years. That said, after having 4 flights in 10 days delayed due to mechanical difficulties, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a little concerned about whether any corners are being cut.

While the story I'm about to relate deals with American, I've always felt all airlines are basically the same on these sorts of issues. All airlines occasionally lose luggage and all airlines occasionally have delays, etc. Once, I missed 1 day out of a 7 day Italian vacation due to mechanical problems on United. My recent experience, however, takes the cake.

I was flying on a 2 PM Wednesday flight from O'Hare to Los Angeles a few weeks ago. After sitting on the plane for 2.5 hours while a warning light in the cockpit was being fixed, we were told that everything was OK and we would be taking off. Once we got out to the runway, the pilot brought us back to the terminal as the problem had returned and we were switched to a new plane.

After waiting for all the bags to be moved to the 2nd plane, we took off. 20 minutes into the flight, the pilot said that a light had come on indicating that the plane was "overheating" and though the warning light had since gone off, we would be returning to O'Hare. There, we were met by the Chicago Fire Dept., lights blazing, lined up along side the runway. The plane was not allowed to return to the terminal until the Fire Dept. checked the airplane. To the pilot's credit, he told us not to worry, and that this was a routine procedure. Everyone remained calm.

It was now 7:50 PM when I got off plane #2 in Chicago and with my dinner plans in L.A. out the window, I ran to board an 8 PM flight to L.A. I arrived at around 10:30 and later learned the poor souls on my original flight did not make it there until 1:10 AM. I will say, though, that if you have nothing else to do in Santa Monica at 11:30 PM on a Wednesday night, you can go to the top-floor bar of a certain trendy hotel to guess which of your fellow patrons are members of the Russian Mob.

Within 10 days, I had two other flights delayed for 2 hours each due to mechanical problems. I know I should look at these incidents and say it is a good thing that the airlines are discovering these problems and ensuring the safety of their passengers. It would be even better, though, if they were able to accomplish that at some point prior to departure time.

Introduction

I'm starting this about 4 months too late, but a friend suggested a good way for me to keep in touch with friends and family while I spend 6 months in Paris would be to create a blog. This way, I won't have to keep repeating the same stories to all of you, and you can check in when and if you like. As for the name, hopefully I can change this when I get back to Chicago, but since Bob Loblaw's Law Blog was already taken and an American in Paris was a bit too cliched, this should do for now.