Q's New Shoes

Password Free!

I've finally removed the password on this site.

This will probably break your RSS feeds, but I doubt anyone will notice since I haven't been updating. :-)

[For Mom: RSS feeds are just another way of reading websites like this. They're for people who read a lot of websites like this all at once via an RSS reader.]

the catch-all-but-maybe-not-the-last post

Fasten your seat-belts. Here's one maybe-not-the-last uber-post using the notes in my paper journal as a guide. I don't think I'm duplicating anything I've already written, but my memory is swiss-cheese-ified in spots. (heh-heh-heh.)

. . .

[Lausanne - September 14th]

I can't shake the feeling that Lausanne wants to be the Paris of Switzerland. I'm sure it's just because it is the first French speaking town with references to Paris that I've visited, but I doubt Geneva has the same feel. Cloudy days in Switzerland are no fun. No mountains. You can barely see the lake. The water simply echos the sky - gray everywhere.

There is a man walking past with "LAUSANNE" written on his red shirt with orange letters. Tourist? Sports fan? My vote is tourist.

My hiking boots are too hot.

I saw one Bernese mountain dog puppy sitting with 3 young girls.

Total Mountain Dog count in Switzerland - 3 - 2 Bernese Mountain Dog sightings - 1 Appenzeller cuddling

. . .

[Lausanne - Notes from mudac]

Pinball machine art I saw:

Pink Panther (as a woman?)

Close Encounters of the 3rd Kind

Star Trek

6 Million Dollar Man

Hulk

Charlie's Angels

Wizard (Tommy)

Dolly Parton

Kiss

Strikes and Spares

Chicago Coin

Aquarius

Eight Ball

Eight Ball Deluxe

Xenon

Harlem Globe Trotters

World Cup

Space Invaders

Moon Flight

Wiggler

Poster art I saw:

Posters from Chicago and Northwestern from the 60's

Poster for a Czech Film called "Step"

Installation art I saw:

Red shag carpet, big pile of white stones in the middle, sound of water dripping, rope lights hung vertical.

. . .

[Saturday, September 16th - 9:40ish]

I'm on the TGV to Paris. My European adventures are about to come to an end, but at least my seat is facing forward.

There is a Japanese man sitting across from me, facing my direction. He has two Evian bottles sitting in front of him. I can see him between the backs of the chairs in front of me. We try not to make eye contact.

There is a way-way-too-skinny French woman wearing all black sitting to my immediate right. She has aviator glasses, and I think I detect a touch of attitude. Here I am with my green socks and sandals and green Marmot jacket. She and I couldn't be more opposite.

There is a man with a laptop and a tight-fitting L.A. Police Department shirt sitting 3 seats up across the aisle, also facing me. He has ipod headphones. My money says he might be an business exec going casual. (Later, when I got off the train, he turned out to be a young gay French man with a small, fluffy black "purse dog" of some kind.)

Directly across the aisle from me is a German-looking man with stern glasses. In front of him sits a couple in their 50s. Behind me sits a talkative French couple.

(time passes)

The customs/passport police just came through. The way-too-skinny woman to my right claimed to be a professor. Also, L.A.P.D. shirt didn't have the right paperwork and got a stern lecture.  (I later guessed he got the lecture for the dog.) Personally, I got off pretty easy, having no cigarettes or alcohol to declare.

Along the way... The area outside of Dijon looks similar to the Midwest - flat, farming, small overpasses, small side roads.

The way-too-skinny professor with the aviator glasses has a cool phone. It has a thumb-wheel, a stylus, and a flip up keypad - much like a tricoder. Sony Erickson. Couldn't quite see the model number without being too snoopy.

. . .

[Sunday, September 17th]

I'm at Cafe des Beaux Arts. The waitress at the front was downright friendly, but she and the woman next to me seemed to find the fact that I ordered a cappuccino funny. (time passes) Ah... perhaps it was funny because the woman with the anxious leg to my right just ordered 2 more cappuccinos after her first 2. Weird.

Geography... The sign across from me reads "Quai Malaquais" and I walked up Bonaparte to get here from St. Suplice.

So... I was given bread with my omelet. I'm pretty sure it is not free. I'm also pretty sure I am surrounded by tourists - perhaps because the awning read "BREAKFAST" in English.

. . .

Art seen at Pompidou Center

"Movement of Images"

- a video of a hand catching lead (a metaphor for dropping frames?)

- a video of a man walking around a square, very slowly

- a video of a Chrysler assembly line

"Montage"

- radio tubes stuck together

- huge photo of a 99cent store

- Lichtenstein, Modular Painting in Four Panels

- "You substantiate our Horror" w/picture of dentist's drill

Re-enactment of a Steve McQueen stunt from Steamboat Bill Jr -- done from every angle imaginable

"Two Impossible Films" by Mark Lewis (One about Freud and one about Marx - neither made sense)

"Tableanx Chinois" - Goldfish tank with floating objects in it - and a bright light from below, casting a moving shadow on the wall above.

"Valstar Barbie" by Claude Leveque - Installation art with a HUGE red shoe, 3 large pink flashing collars on the floor, pink fabric rippling on the walls, violin music playing. Note: There are currently 12 girls in this room, and only 2 boys - obviously boyfriends of 2 of the girls. This room seems to repel men.

Salvador Dali  - "Hallucination partielle six images de lenine sur un piano" I'm not sure I wrote that down right, but it was indeed a painting of a piano with six heads of Lenin floating above the keys.

. . .

[September 18th, 2:30]

Slipped into a Pizza Enio on the corner of Rue St. Dennis and Rue de Innocents because I was starving. The Pompidou center was out of vegetarian sandwiches. Crunchy veggie folks like myself seem to like modern art.

There is a clothing store, selling leather, named "Redskins" across the way.

Wouldn't it be a cruel joke if the "Pizza Vegetarienne" was not indeed vegetarian?

There is a nameless store across the way the sells every possible variation of the classic Adidas tennis shoe.

The Swiss made toilet at Pizza Eno had a strange green button the side that didn't seem to do anything. It took me forever to find the flush button - it was hiding behind the lid. Not the best bit of Swiss engineering, IMHO.

. . .

Boring account of what I spent my money on each day...

Day 1

-- CHF --

Hotel - 310

Snack of bun, cheese, fruit - 6

Dinner of Pasta by the water - 22

Day 2

Picasso Museum - 7

Book - 30

Starbucks cappuccino - 5.60

Postcards - 3.60

Belgian Waffle - 4

Dinner and Swiss Folk Music Show - 54.50

Day 3

Train to Lauterbrunnen - 5

Bus to Stechelberg - 3.80

Lift to Murren - 11.40

Lunch of spetzle (sp?) - homemade pasta - at Pisco's - 17.50

Local cheese and small loaf of bread - 9

Day 4

Lift to Allmendhubel - 9

Coffee flavored ice cream cone - 2.40

Groceries at Co-op - 14.00

Dinner of Pasta at Hotel Blumenthal - 22.50

Day 5

Round trip lift to Schilthorm and Breakfast - 63

Vegi Burger and Fries at Hotel Edelwiess - 19.50

1/2 of the desert bakery run - 8

Lift Down to Gimmelwald and Back - ?? 10-15 ??

Day 6

Down to Stechelburg and back - 22.80

Bus to Lauterbrunnen - 3.80

Train to Kleine Scheidegg and back - 38

Snack of cappuccino and apple pastry  - 9

Grocery run - 8

Dinner at Hotel Blumenthal - 19

Day 7

1 way down to Murren to Interlaken - 20.20

Postcards - 9

Supermarket run - ??

Vegi "menu" of cheese sandwich and coke - 9.90

Day 8

Boat to Chateau de Chillion - Free

Chateau de Chillion - 10

Migros supermarket run - 20

mudac museum (glass, posters, pinball) - 8

Day 9

Coffee on train - 3.70

-- switch from CHF to EUR --

Carnet of tickets for Metro - 10.90

2 packs of gum - 2

Louvre - 8.50

Exchanged extra Swiss money - 18 commission (gah!)

Apple pastry - 1.40

Day 10

Cappuccino - 6

Omelet - 5.50

Penne pasta - 13

Glass evian bottle - 5

Cappuccino - 6

Creme Brulle - 8

Donation at Notre Dame - 2

Orsay - 5.50 (Discount day!)

Day 11

Centre Pompidu - 8.50

Pizza and Coke Light - 18

Evian - 4

Gifts - 90

Sandwich and Coke Light - 15

Day 12

Taxi - 60

-- switch from EUR to USD --

Magazine, book, tums, Diet Coke in Chicago - 20

appenzeller puppy

Here's a real treat for Mom. It's a quick accidental video that Anita took as she was getting ready to take my picture with an Appenzeller puppy. (The Appenzeller is a little brother to the Bernese Mountain dog.)

Link: YouTube - appenzeller puppy.

CDG and me

(September 19th, 10:00 am)

I finally understand where Paris gets its bad reputation from - the airport. I don't know about Terminal 2 or Terminal 3, but Charles De Gaulle Terminal 1 is a tired, poorly planned airport. Here is where the French really show a lack of usability and engineering know-how.

Arrival was fine. I had a wonderful ride with a wonderful taxi driver and singer from Angola. More on him later.

I find the United desk - no problem. After that, I wander around behind and finally find one of the many escalators up. Except, they're not really escalators so much as steep ramps moving upward. Fine, I make it to level 4, and I start to go through one of the security checkpoints, and he sends me back. There is no food, no shops after that checkpoint. I should go back "down" to wait.

Ok. So I try to go "down". Round and round the circle I go. Only one elevator, and it seems reserved for handicap and staff access because it has keyholes on the buttons. Finally, I give up on level 4, and I make my way to the exit. This means going up another escalator ramp, something I'm quite nervous about doing. After all, I found out the hard way that it is impossible to go back down an escalator ramp that is moving. (Yes, I'm one of those stupid Americans that tried it - I was starting to get pretty frustrated there on level 4.)

On to level 5 - the exit level. Baggage claim. One should never have to go through baggage claim just to get back "down" - or so I think. I wander back and forth, round and round. (The whole terminal is a series of rings stacked on top of each other.)

I finally give up on level 5 and start to head out the exit. If nothing else, I can try to find my way back down from the outside. Yes, I was actually to the point of contemplating dodging taxies and shuttles to get back to the ticketing level.

As I head toward the exit, I finally find stumble across a huge line for a series of elevators, hiding behind a concrete wall. I start to ask if the woman next to me speaks french, and it turns out she's an american. She doesn't know if there is another way down. After waiting a while at that elevator bank, I give up and start to head around the ring some more. I finally find another elevator bank without a line and finally I make it back down to the ticketing level. From the ticketing level, I find some stairs leading down to the "resturants and shops" level.

The restaurant level is a cave-like area with no windows. It has a little food court with 4 or 5 places to choose from, and it has a FUNKY smell. I wolf down a couple pastries and a cappicino and book it out of there. The "shops" consist of one tiny convenience store with a sad selection of tourist items, and a large assortment of French magazines. Definitely not worth all the trouble I had to go through to get there.

I make my way back to the United ticketing desk and start the journey back up through security. This time, there's a line. I wait. I get waved through. Oh look. A cafe and another duty free shop. Sigh. I made my way through the real security checkpoint. Metal detector, bag search, full pat down - the works. I'm finally "here" at the gate - and look - to my right - another cafe. So much for there being no food.

I feel a little bit justified in my dislike of this place. As I was taking my second trip back up to security, I found a British woman doing the same circular dance, trying to find the ellusive "down" as well. I explained that you have to go up, out, and then find the hidden elevators to go back down, and she was glad to have the help.

So... now I'm here at a wifi station, not using the wifi. I would purchase some time with my credit card, but given my experience so far - I have a funny feeling they would email me my access code, and then I wouldn't be able to get it because I wouldn't have access to my email. Chicken, then egg. Up, then down. *sigh*

I'll probably post this little rant from my home network. :-P

. . .

So... about my ride to the airport. I had planned to take the Metro around 7 or so, allowing a lot of time for mistakes. However, one look outside at the darkness, and I chickened out. I had the hotel call me a taxi.

The taxi had some trouble getting to the hotel, and thus the monsieur at the hotel kept telling me "5 more minutes" and offering me coffee. Given that I had allotted over an hour above and beyond the normal 3 hour window required for international flights, I wasn't nervous.

Taxi driver arrives. We start to talk about my limited knowledge of French. He's pleased that I know the basics, and we chat about languages. He's from Angola, and he knows French, Portugese, 3 African languages, and a little Spanish, and a little English. He also knows a tiny amount of Japanese - arrigato, and moshi-moshi. He explains that the pronounciation of Japanese isn't that hard, as it is similar to one of the African languages he knows. (I personally find it amusing that he knows "moshi moshi" - I bet he picked that up from Japanese folks using their cell phones in his car.) He tells me how he's going to school to learn English, and how he wants to be able to understand the words of American music more. Then he starts listing off the artists he loves. Lionel Richie, Michael Bolton, Whitney Houston, Aretha Franklin, Barry White... (I still can't quite get over Michael Bolton being in the mix there.) He alos loves Boys 2 Men.

Later, he confesses that in Angola, he is a singer. He just got back from a promotional tour. Lo and behold, he has a CD in his glovebox. We pop it in, and for the rest of the ride to the airport, we listen as he sings in French, Portugese, and one of the languages of the Congo. I was impressed. He really could sing. He translated bits as we went along.

3 or 4 songs in, I finally work up the courage to ask if I could buy his CD. (After all, what better memory of my taxi ride to the airport, right?) He doesn't have any now, but he will send me one and I can send him 10 euros once I get it. Seems fair. I give him my address as I'm getting out of the taxi. I have a good feeling that the CD will arrive, just as he said. Hopefully it is kosher to send 10 euros cash back to Paris.

Enough typing. This desk isn't very ergonomic. I think I'm going to devour the remaining pages of the Raymond Fiest novel I have.

See you in Seattle.

Last night in Paris

(September 18th, 8pm)

I'm sitting at a table at Tabac de la Sorbonne. It's right across the street from my hotel, and my bags are already packed. I've said numerous prayers that the fragile gifts that I'm bringing home don't explode in my luggage, but something deep down inside me tells me that buying preserves for friends and family was not one of my brightest ideas.

I breezed through the Luxembourg Gardens just before closing. 5 to 10 minutes into my visit, the police started blowing whistles and people reluctantly started to leave. It wasn't even that late

tres bien!

posted via copy and paste... ;-)

(Sunday, September 17, 8pm-ish)

Although there have been some minor bumps and bruises, Paris has been surprisingly excellent. The French stereotype of rude folk seems to be the exception to the rule, and even though it can be a bit depressing being single in the land of lovers, I'm starting to enjoy Paris more and more.

Tonight, after I left the cafe that just happened to have wifi nearby, I continued to wander down rows of closed shops. (Damn you, Sunday.)

Almost immediately, I cursed myself for not using the WC at the cafe before leaving, but suddenly, as if by the magic of a tourist industry gone horribly right, there was a free, clean WC down some stairs, just before entering a Metro stop.

It was bizarre. I saw the sign pointing down to the Metro entrance, and I thought, "Oh god. This is going to be one of THOSE experiences." I mean, no place on Earth smells quite as bad as the entrance to a New York subway, and I assumed this would be similar. But no... although I think I went into a stall directly across from some urinals, the attendant didn't bat an eye when I slipped into one of the self contained units with a solid locking wood door. I've used much worse at Shorty's in downtown Seattle.

Set to face the world at a normal pace again, I wandered Ile de la Cite, almost doing the Rick Steves' "Historic Paris Walk" in reverse. Palais de Justice - check. Sainte Chapelle - no check. I got a brief chill down my spine when I saw a sign that said, "Pour des raisons de securite, la Saint Chapelle est fermee les 16 et 17 Septembre 2006." There were at least 6 men in uniform turning folks away at the entrance. I didn't pry into "des raisons de securite." I just kept moving.

The square in front of Notre Dame was buzzing with people. I took a brief rest between a couple of tourists on a ledge next to some shrubbery. Behind me and behind said shrubbery, a woman in a red jacket was holding perfectly still with her arm outstretched. It took me a moment to realize that she had at least 3 sparrows eating bread from her hand. There were two other gentlemen attempting the same trick, but to no avail. Only the woman in red had the right sparrow-attracting aura.

Feeling cheated out of my daily old-church-fix after the scare at St. Chapelle, I wandered into Notre Dame. They had separate lines for visitors and actual church go-ers, but inside, I'm sure the lines were blurred. (I saw a woman near the front row stand up and take a picture with a flash. Fortunately, this was before Mass had started.) I stood inside for quite a while, marveling at it -- all of it.

Despite being on the outs with Mr. Steves after the Switzerland bumbles, I like how he puts Notre Dame into perspective. "Image the faith of the people who built this cathedral. They broke ground in 1163 with the hope that someday their great-great-great-great-great-great grandchildren might attend the dedication Mass two centuries later, in 1345." It really is impressive from a historical / religious / architectual perspective.

On the other hand, I had to marvel at the commercialism of Notre Dame. I snuck a picture of the cost of prayer candles and of the gift shop. For those considering a prayer candle, you have two choices, depending on the need, I suppose. For 2 euros, you can get an Ikea tea light. I assume this is for the little stuff. "Oh lord, please make sure my next hair cut is a good one." For 5 euros, you can get the real deal - a Notre Dame-branded glass-enclosed keeps-your-prayer-burning-all-mass-long 4 inch candle. I was tempted to make a serious prayer - "Oh lord, please make sure the Democrats win the next presidential election" - but given that I don't know how God feels about non-practicing (and non-believing) Lutherans making prayers in his top tier Catholic churches, I stopped short. I didn't want to risk having my prayer backfire. (I did, however, leave a donation at the door.)

After getting my fill of feeling like a heathen, I headed outside and skirted around the side to see the spire that was slapped on in 1860. Halfway around, I found a gathering of middle-aged French folk near the fence. I'm not positive, but it looked like they were leaving cat food for the small herd of 4 cats that were on the church side of the fence. These were NOT starving cats. 3 of the 4 were large black cats, and the 4th was a large black and white cat. We're talking at least 15 to 20 lb cats - and mostly muscle, too. I'm pretty sure the pack could take down Quasimodo. The really odd bit was that the cat food was still in the cans. Donations for later, I suppose.

It was around this point that I was greeted with the battle of the bands. There was a steel drum band playing almost diectly behind Notre Dame, and there was a brass band playing down by the river. If I had a spell check on the Nokia, I would use the word "cacophony" to describe it. It was just a little sureal, knowing that Mass was just about to begin inside the church, to have this much noise outside.

I found a bench behind Notre Dame and listened to the steel drum band play "In the Mood" for their encore. I'm sure, if they were indeed a self-respecting steel drum band, they had already used up the Cantina band theme from Star Wars.

Not hungry, not ready to head home yet - I pulled out my little Moleskin notebook and attempted to draw Notre Dame with a crappy hotel pen. (I'll have you know it came from the City Hotel - a.k.a. the place with the "porntastic" carpet.)

Let me tell you something about drawing Notre Dame versus drawing the Swiss Alps -- it takes a hell of a lot more concentration and a hell of a lot more time to draw Notre Dame. Mountains? Just get the outlines sorta right and people will think you're at least as good as Picasso. Notre Dame? That is some seriously detailed shit, even if you're being all Impressionistic because you happened to stop at the Orsay that day.

After a little while, a French woman sat next to me. She was obviously waiting for someone, and she kept looking at her watch nervously. However, after a while, she stopped looking at her watch, and I caught her sneaking peaks out of the corner of her eyes.

At one point, we made eye contact and she asked, "Artiste?"

"No. I'm not very good."

"Bien." She gave me a thumbs up sign. "Talent." Thumbs up again.

After that little exchange, I think we both felt a little bit better. She seemed less nervous, and I certainly felt empowered. After all, if the French think you can draw, you've got it made, right?

Eventually, she checked her watch, and with a smile and a friendly "aur revoir," she was gone.

I kept on drawing, and her spot was taken by an older French man. Hoping to have a similar friendly exchange and to break the bench-ice, I caught him sneaking a peak at work in progress as well.

"Artiste?"

"No."

"Bien." .... "Talent." (There were other bits in between, but the gist was the same.)

However, this guy didn't stop with complementing my WIP. No, no. He wanted to know my life story.

Oddly enough, when I told him from the "United States" he looked at me blankly. When I told him I was from "America" he knew immediately.

I tried to explain that Washington state was different than Washington the capital. I don't think he ever got that, and I even tried to draw a map.

He also asked the question, "Are you alone?" and I lied. I was with a group. This guy wasn't scary, but he certainly was nosey.

He was convinced I was German at first, and even after I confessed that I was from America, he was proud when I conceeded that I was part German. He pointed out a group of people in red shirts. I think he was trying to explain that they were looked American. I asked if I looked American, and he said, "No. ... German."

The sun was starting to slip down behind the cathedral and the trees, so I started to rush my drawing. Also, I felt rude not making conversation with my new bench-mate. Every 2-3minutes, another comment or question would need to be decyphered. I threw on the last remaining bits as scribbles and bid him my best mis-pronounced, "aur revwar."

For a while, I scuttled along the Seine. I stopped at one of the vendors to pick up some post cards, and then started to make my way back to Saint Michel. Looking to my left, I saw an amazing little pedestrian area, and I decided to take a quick detour. It was the area around St. Severin's church, and it was filled with little Italian, Greek, Mexican, You-Name-It cafes. It was bright and friendly and touristy, and I found my way to St. Germain and St. Michel just fine. Along St. Michel, I stopped at "Brioche Doree" (with a mark above the first e) and did my little "Je suis vegetarienne" dance (with lots of marks above various e's) and secured a bagette with chevre and tomato and basil - I think.

Back in my hotel room by 8pm, I started munching on my light dinner. I smiled to myself as I looked down off my balcony to the right to my favorite landmark on St. Michel - The Gap. (That's how I know it's time to turn on to Rue Vaurgirard.)

Looking to my left, toward the pink of the evening sky, I almost dropped my bagette. There, off in the distance, from my wee little not-really-a-balcony balcony -- was a view of the Eiffel Tower. Suddenly, those 5 flights of stairs were worth every step.

So... as I've been writing this, every 10 minutes or so, I get up to peer around the corner and see with the Eiffel Tower is doing right now. Ever since the millenium, it lights up in all sorts of crazy ways at night these days. Rick Steves makes some comments about it becoming "engorged with light" and how it "seems to climax at the top of each hour... for 10 minutes." I, personally, am not quite comfortable with Rick using that sort of suggestive language.

It's now almost 10, and I'm almost finished with my baguette sandwich. I think I'm going to get ready for bed and spend a few more moments gazing at the tower.

Tomorrow, I may try to hit Saint Chapelle again, and I'm definitely hitting the Pompidou Center. Who knows when I'll actually get to post this. It depends on when I find wifi again.

greetings from centre pompidou

free wifi!

(but i can't post via gmail the entry i wrote last night. murp.)

Tour Eiffel and me

Tour Eiffel and me
Originally uploaded by qwickening.

Paris!

Sorry about the silence! I've been taking Paris by storm - BY STORM, I SAY. (And, there seems to be an absence of open wifi routers. It seems that Wanadoo is the Comcast / Qwest of Paris, but they seem to ship their wireless routers actually secured - curse them and their modern understanding of technology!)

First day... Couldn't get the automated machines to take my Visa. Had two very nice and attractive French men try to help me with the machine. Bought two packs of gum to get enough change to buy a carnet of tickets. Then... I was off and running. Checked into the hotel. There's a Rick Steves tour staying at the same hotel. Good sign. Zipped to the Louvre. Lines weren't bad at all at 3pm on a Saturday. Saw the Mona. Saw the Venus. Zipped to the Rue Cler neighborhood that Rick Steves raves about. It's really just a market street. Walked Champ de Mars to Eiffel Tower. HUGE lines at the tower. No chance. Walked back to the same metro and zipped home just in time for dark. My neighborhood is lively at dark, so it was safe. Slept like a baby.

This morning... Musee d'Orsay. Maggi, you were so right. Much better than the Louvre. Loved it. Wandered toward the Arc de Triomphe, but ended up wandering down Rue Saint Honore looking at closed shops until I came here, Cafe le Castiglione, which happens to be close enough to a wifi spot.

Gotta eat now - just wanted to let you know I'm alive and doing great.

The good with the bad...

To temper the badness of my hotel, I should mention the goodness I have found here...

1. Yesterday, while I was looking at my map, an older woman spontaneously offered me directions. So very sweet!

2. Today, when I missed the boat back from the chateau and didn't have change, the bus driver let me ride back to Montreaux for free (I hope.) I started to get off when he said "no change" - and then he said, "don't worry" and gestured (I think) for me to stay.

Back in Lausanne... Can't believe I'll be in Paris TOMORROW.