This blog is my attempt to provide stereotypical insights about my short time living in Southern France.
Blog Closed
By Administrator | June 6, 2008
Folks - This blog is closed. Click here to reach the new blog. Thanks.
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Au Revoir to France
By Administrator | May 31, 2008
I say au revoir to Montpellier today. The last few days have been a good time with my friends here (pool parties, Maroon 5 concert, 3 hour dinners, etc). I gave a 30 minute exposé to my class yesterday about my time in Sudan, speaking in French, which was more like in Frenglish, but my professor was cool. She was pretty shocked because my friends in other classes left early to come see me speak, which ended up packing the small classroom and making me unnecessarily nervous. To break the ice I brought in a bunch of french beer and surprised (most of) the class by passing them out and having a toast to a good professor, a good presentation, and good life before I began. I made this presentation work by showing lots of pictures and speaking few words.
I attempted to learn the language, but to be honest I didn’t put enough time into studying the details or hanging out with French speakers. You really need to isolate yourself if you’re going to be successful with another language, especially at my age, and I just wasn’t willing to get over the hump of not being able to communicate myself to strangers.
I originally intended on staying in France through the summer, but my graduate program doesn’t require a second language, as I thought one of them would originally need. The exchange rate is also brutal and my company has asked that I come to DC for six weeks to assist them on a contract, so I have decided to help out. I suppose this time in France was somewhat of a reward for my time in Darfur, so once I learned that my school wouldn’t require the language, I transitioned more into having fun and enjoying the culture than forcing the language. I’m sure at some point down the line I will regret this decision in some depths, but I won’t look back now.
Sometime in mid July, I plan to head down to Latin America for a month before I start my graduate studies in the fall. I’m going to be studying at the Kennedy School of Government at Harvard so I’m excited about that and about starting the next step in my career. I will end the France portion of this blog and begin a new one (check the main page, www.mattsiller.com) that will be more generic about my travels in order to keep the momentum alive. I hope to keep you satisfied with more interesting and sometimes not so interesting posts about life on the road as a 20-something traveling journeyman.
As for my time in France, it met my expectations as far as taking a break from reality and living the high life. I met some really great people. I’ve learned a lot about the various European cultures. I love playing the stereotypes…like encouraging the spiciness of the Mediterranean folks (Spanish, Italians), trying to get the Scandinavians to be more emotional, the Germans and Swiss to be less stringent, and the French to be more welcoming.
Of course I indulged in the degustations of the country, the great foods and wines of Southwest France, visiting and tasting the Champagne of Reims (Moet and Chandon/Dom Perignon), and indulging in the city of lights. There really are few things more liberating and serene than driving through wine country, where-ever that may be.
In general, the French folks I did spent time with were really great. My professors were all very encouraging, welcoming, and funny, but they did maintain that French be the only language spoken in and out of the classroom, which put a barrier on me when trying to really relate.
There will always be an attitude in Europe that I envy. While the American attitude seems to be living to work, the Europeans are generally working to live, and for that I wish we could take that chapter and incorporate it into our society. American’s tend to be so wrapped up in status, consumption, and living the American dream (which tends to be heavily work focused), we sometimes forget that first and foremost, we are people with families and lives that deserve time and attention. That sometimes takes sacrifices and I hope to keep this in perspective in my career down the line.
Europeans also work for the process instead of the result, whereas we are so results oriented that we often leave people behind. I saw this when I worked with Mercedes Benz in Holland, where we would have meeting after meeting going around the room getting everyone’s perspective, then closing with, “thanks to all – we’ll continue this discussion next week”, (instead of making decisions, assigning responsibilities and deadlines) which can be a bit maddening (and socialist), but it does say a lot about the culture and how they work united.
The French are a proud people and they have a reason to be. They have a beautiful and ripe country, language, architecture, and history. While there are a few things appealing about their socialized system (health care), I do think it is a little extreme (taxes), but one can learn lessons from their lifestyle and moderation of the finer things.
For my new friends in France, thank you for the great times. I’m going to call you guys out quickly because I think I owe it to you. To Sara and Ulrika - great roommates and singing partners on the way to school each morning and home at night, thanks for putting up with me. Remember mind over matter. - To Jocke, Miquel and Simon - My comrades in crime, you guys drink too much! Good times, good games. - To Ana - You’re a beautiful person, keep it spicy (pronouced with a “th”) you’ve been a great friend and I’ll miss seeing you lick your coffee stick each morning. To Sarah - Keep zenning me and one day I’ll wake up hip, I hope. To Karina - Remember the three things to do each day! We’re meeting up in Rio for New Years so plan on it! Tova and Emily and “the apartment” - I’ve basically told you guys every story, anecdote, and piece of knowledge I have. Don’t abuse that info down the line! I really enjoyed getting to know you both. When I come to Sweden, I expect our beer bottles to triple kiss again.
To all, our conversations have been strong, our days full and our nights long, and I really enjoyed sharing friendship with you guys. Meeting quality and interesting people like you is what makes these experiences so meaningful. You have solidified into a unique place in my life and I hope we can cross paths and live large again one day.
As for the next journey, I look forward in anticipation. I will depart this blog with my favorite French line, as it did sum up the three months of fun in Southern France. “Voulez-vous coucher avec moi?” Just kidding, it’s “C’est La Vie!”
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The After Funk
By Administrator | May 28, 2008
I’m sitting in my room looking blankly out the window. The day is pretty drab. The weather is cloudy; it’s lukewarm both out and inside. I’ve skipped school, again. (It gets easier the more you do it.) My indie playlist is on repeat on my computer and the music echoes through my head. I can hear the path it takes going in one ear and out the other. I close my eyes and try to turn off my brain. I’m exhausted.
In just over two weeks, I’ve been on a five-day road trip in Southern France that crossed eight cities, then traveled to Paris for two days, New York City for 24 hours, and Paris again for five days. Each trip is sliced with a few days in Montpellier. Everywhere I go my friends are eager social beavers (or is it me).
I haven’t turned off the entire time and now my body is spent, my throat is sore, and I’m sniffling. I’m emotionally drained coming off the travel high but I’m still socially addicted to the continuous stimulation of activity, so I’m battling the scenario in my head of keeping it going versus resting. I only have four days left in France and I want to make the most of them.
I grab a book, Confessions of an Economic Hit Man, and lay down on my bed to read. It’s depressing me because it’s basically what I do for a living, and the effects of this type of work for both the recipients and on our economic dependencies are not pleasant to muster.
I zoom in and out of thinking grand scale thoughts of my life and others in the perspective of time and that’s equally as challenging.
I start thinking about social dynamics and the intricacies of talking to people. I think about my repertoire of stories that I tell over and over to flow conversations and be interesting and I become bored with myself.
I’m in a funk so I get up and go to my computer to write myself out of it. I often feel most alive when I’m able to think my feelings onto paper. I take a moment to reflect on that thought and my phone rings. Three of my friends are coming over to watch a movie. Oh well, it was nice while it lasted.
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Paris II
By Administrator | May 24, 2008
It’s a rainy Saturday afternoon in Paris and I’m sitting cosy in my rented weekend apartment watching French Idol, or “Novelle Star” and laughing. They are down to the final five contestants and aside from not one of them having any talent, they all put on such kitschy, melodramatic performances typic of France that I shake my head and wish I could get the grandiose applause when I do something that corny.
One guy opened his set by lying on the ground, posing like a model for a photographer, cameras zooming in from above. He had a skin-fitting, three piece suit on but no shirt. He got up slowly in choreographed movements and couldn’t stop penetrating the tv camera with his feminine idol eyes (anyone who’s seen idol knows the corny eyes contestants like to give the cameras to generate faux sex appeal). He sang a remake to Nancy Sinatra’s “Bang Bang” with a frown the entire time. His voice was maybe a 6 out of 10. At the end of the act, he turned around and walked assertively off stage.
What was worse was that the judges, all of them, praised him for his emotional performance and said that he is the next star of France. They funny thing is that only one of the 5 contestants had a (I would consider) normal and commanding performance, yet he was the only one shunned by the judges. Typical French.
So I’m in Paris for 5 days visiting friends and misbehaving. I came up on Thursday and had a great date with a girl I met on one of my flights back. On Friday my friend, Marshall, and some of his friends from the states arrived. We’re in the middle of the weekend and it’s not so smooth. It started well. We dressed up nice Friday night and went to this cool restaurant called Le Grand Colbert in the theater district that has an eclectic crowd of all people Paris. We walked in (2 guys and 3 girls) and all eyes turned to us. The Maitre D’ seated us and brought us Champagne aperitifs. Famous people regularly frequent this place and it seemed that the restaurant wanted us very badly to be famous. So we all pretended we were someone…I tried to pull off a Baldwin, two of the girls were Elizabeth Shue and Sandra bullock. Fat chance, I know.
We were headed out dancing afterwards but made the mistake of taking separate taxi’s that resulted in the group splitting, mine at a place called Le Queen, which is what it sounds like. I opened my mouth and angered one of the girls with us, which turned my group of three south quickly so I dropped them off, headed home, and received a call shortly after that my buddy and the girl with him were mugged on the way home from their dancing spot.
They were walking on our street and a guy came from behind, grabbed her purse and took off running. Instinctively, my friend took off running after him (in his Texas cowboy boots, none the less) and almost caught up to the guy at the end of the street when a second guy came out of the shadows, stuck his leg out and tripped my friend, who went sliding down the pavement. The two guys got away. They always work in teams. It wasn’t the smartest thing to do, chasing after the guy, but in the moment it’s hard to act otherwise. (I knew an American who was stabbed in Barcelona after chasing a thief for a stolen purse. The guy turned around and poked him in the side.)
Fortunately, pride and credit cards were the only thing lost on this occasion.
Today I woke and went over to the Museum D’orsay, which is full of impressionists, and then treaded around Paris on an open-air bus until the rain caught up to me. The D’orsay may be one of my favorite museums visited. Aside from the great art (the most visually appealing to me), it resides in a beautiful building, once a former train station.
We will see where the night heads. Tomorrow we depart for a day trip to Reims to the champagne region. My time in France is nearing end, I fret, as I’m going to work this summer to recharge the finances before grad school in the fall. I will give more notice on this blog’s future shortly.
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So this is Jet Setting
By Administrator | May 19, 2008
I just got back from a raucous 24 hours in NYC. It was the most impulsive thing I’ve ever done and worth every cent. Here’s what went down.
On Friday, I was IMing with a good friend of mine, Marshall, who lives in Austin. He told me he was taking a surprise trip to NYC on Saturday. A core group of guys, the ones I normally go on our annual trips with were all already there (aside from Marshall and I) for the weekend. We had them convinced there was no way either of us could make it this time.
This weekend in NYC is big because of a party we like to attend. Each year, the New York Chapter of the Texas Exes Alumni association, together with the Texas A&M Former Students, jointly host a chili cook off party. What started as a small little get together with a handful of teams has now turned into a major event. This year there were 27 teams entering. The venue was amazing, atop a 24 story building in downtown Manhattan, overlooking the city on a giant rooftop bar and deck. Several hundred Texans and other guests show up to compete or socialize. The Texas Exes community in NYC is huge, crossing all industries. It’s always very interesting to meet and network with these folks. Plus there was a ton of eye candy.
Because there are so many Texans in NY and everywhere for that matter, compounded with our known ‘pride’ (among other things), we sometimes get a bad wrap. But this party, which is basically a high end 20/30-something fraternity party kicked up a notch, is becoming known as a major PR campaign to combat the haters. I have heard on more than one occasion at this party… “Wow, Texans have a lot of fun; I need to get to know more of you guys.”
So Marshall told me he was taking the 6am flight up to NYC on Saturday morning to surprise the guys at the party. I started thinking about the fun we have in NYC and about how many good weekends I miss with my friends by living overseas. I also became intoxicated with the idea of seeing all their faces when I showed up at the event on Saturday afternoon.
I told Marshall I was thinking about joining him in on the surprise. I did some quick ticket research and went through the motions of buying.
My heart started beating fast and adrenaline ran through my body. I got up and ran around my room and took several deep breaths, knowing this would be one of the most expensive, impulsive purchases I ever made, an international plane ticket leaving in 12 hours (7am Saturday morning from Montpellier through Paris into NYC, arriving at 12pm local time Saturday afternoon, return Sunday afternoon) for a 24 hour hop across the pond.
I sat down at my computer, composed myself, and bought the ticket. I couldn’t stop smiling for the next 3 hours and over the course of the entire flight. I also couldn’t stop thinking about the surprised looks that would be on my friends faces when we walked into the party, and how this act with Marshall and I could cement the weekend into our collective groups legendary file.
Saturday morning rolls around, and I grab my backpack with a change of clothes. I took no other luggage, only this carry on, which was a first for me, especially since it was an international flight.
When I touched down in NYC I called Marshall, who had already arrived and was putzing around. We met up. Conditions were great, warm and sunny with some breeze. It was about 1pm and we taxied over to the party. Perfect timing as the party was from 12-5 in the afternoon.
For some reason, the first year we entered we came up with the name Team Wild Turkey. We definitely didn’t use turkey in the chili, and I don’t even know if we included the liquor as a flavor. It’s just the name that stuck. We brainstormed some stupid team slogans and decided upon, Team Wild Turkey, “Chili aint the only thing we gobble”. Pretty crass, I know, but funny. We drew up a design and made aprons for everyone, created secret voting alliances (Survivor style) with all the other teams, and ended up winning People Choice Award for best chili that year. Did I mention we used the Asian flavor enhancer MSG as our secret ingredient? We were pretty happy with the results. People loved the aprons. That was three years ago.
For the last two years, our team didn’t win but we weren’t all there. This year, we were all back and coming strong. We still had the aprons and selectively placed the extras on key individuals…the good looking bar tender, a judge, you get the idea.
Marshall and I didn’t have our aprons so he went out and purchased some silly ones before he left Austin. His read “Kitchen Bitch” and mine read “Who are these kids and why are they calling me Mom?” The genius to his plan was that he also brought 2 felt tip permanent black sharpie markers so people could sign our aprons.
We gear up, get in the elevator up to the top floor and peek out to find our group. They’re surrounded in the chili area propping up our chili as people pass our booth and taste. We look at each other, take a deep breath, got the camera out to get their reaction, and work our way through the crowd to our team.
All I can say is that every reaction I imagined happened. It was a true adrenaline filled moment of blissful pricelessness. We took some great pics and Marshall and I couldn’t stop shaking. Our friends were generally amazed and we were all pumped for the day ahead. (Here’s a link to a quick video…watch that language Cody!) Here is Nil’s capturing of the moment.
The rest of the afternoon was spent socializing, tasting chili, and propping up our own to the rest of the crowd. (There are two awards, Judges Choice, which we never win, and People’s Choice, which we feel like we should always win. My friends can talk.)
This year, our team used a ton of sirloin and cooked the chili all night Friday. This year it actually tasted more like a really good stew than chili. Oh well. People work their way from booth to booth tasting the chili and socializing. Nils, one of the main chefs and master salesmen was talking his head off to the tasters, saying things to people like.. “Our chili is not made with turkey (a common question), rather, we used imported porpoise this year. We tenderized and marinated overnight and fused a special blend of select spices, then reduced in veil broth for 6 hours…” and on and on. He was pulling cooking adjectives out of the clouds and people were loving it.
Then, as if it were a scripted performance, Cody, teammate #2, would join in saying, “Tasty huh? Remember we’re Team Wild Turkey, lets go over to the voting booth together and cast that People’s Choice vote.”
Well something worked that day, whether it was the chili or aprons or ‘the energy’ created from our surprise visit, but of the 27 teams, Team Wild Turkey won the event’s People’s Choice Award for the 2nd time. Naturally, we went crazy and took a great pic for the Alumni Magazine, The Alcalde, with our spoils – two cases of Shiner Bock Beer. It was a good moment, and solidified ourselves once again as master marketers (Aside from our first victory, some may also remember the smurf stickers campaign during “Texas Smurfs do Halloween in NYC” fiasco several years back.)
Marshall and I had our aprons signed all over. I was telling girl signateurs that whoever signed the wittiest statement would get to go out with me later that night. There were some funny and sarcastic comments but others were of high school yearbook quality. One person came back for seconds, saying, “Can I try again?” A for effort.
During the afternoon, the brilliant idea came to mind that I needed to do a little free website advertising. After a person would sign my apron, I would sign them. I was fairly surprised with the ease of convincing my newly recruited “marketing agents”. I was tattooing in big bold black permanent marker letters, MattSiller.com, in highly visible locations on random people throughout the party.
For the most part, all was well in my campaign, until they started noticing each other and becoming upset that their “conversation piece”, or “Item of Flair”, if you will, did not make them the unique ‘agent’ for me that I must have convinced them they were being in the first place. Some agents remained cool and did not call me a bastard and rush to the bathroom to scrub it off once this fact was discovered. Others did. Props to Marshall for bringing the aprons and markers. Lots of fun.
After the event, we were invited over to an apartment, which was owned by a friend of a friend. We grabbed as many friends as possible, the beer, and taxied over. Initially we were going to the rooftop of his building for the after-party. This place is pretty much as posh as you get in NYC. The rooftop terrace is 45 stories up. The views are sick. We went up but it was so windy we decided to move into his corner apartment several floors down, which was equally as stunning.
To get an idea about who the owner of this apartment was, his dad owned some production company and passed it onto him. He must have been early 30ies. While we were all decked out in aprons, he wore a dark blazer with a scarf around his neck and had inherited hair. His girlfriend was a splitting image of a young Sharon Stone. I was told a story that the first time my friend met him, my friend, Matt, was drinking a Bud Light. This guy came up to him and in a pompous voice asked, “Bud Light, What does that taste like?”
Anyway, it was a cool apartment, but we didn’t over-welcome our stay. Shortly after, we all piled into Taxi’s and made our way over to Tortilla Flats, just north of West Village, a hole in the wall Mexican restaurant/party bar, known for making cheap giant pitchers of strong margaritas and poor behavior from its clientele.
Through some connections, we (that is 14 of us) secured “the booth” in the corner of the restaurant, open to the restaurant for everyone to see, but cosy enough to remain personal. After the first round of pitchers, we all stood up on our chairs and started dancing and singing to all the songs being played over the loud speakers, to include the likes of Journey and Rianna. Corny, I know (in order to properly engage in the moment, your eyes must be closed), but lots of fun.
There were two big bachelorette parties sitting next to us getting their night started. Some of us had funky sunglasses that the waitress and bachelorettes wanted to wear. Others had normal sunglasses. We all wore something. The two bachelorettes sitting next to us joined us to dance. One said, “You guys are having so much fun. I want to hang out with you.”
We made a loud mess of that place. The two bachelorette parties, individually, were doomed at that point. Granted, it was 8:30 and we had been chili festing all day, so we were a little more progressive in our state of mind, but they just seemed lame, even if they were just starting out.
I felt for one of the bachelorettes. We knew the best part of her night would be hanging out with us. The rest of her friends were sitting politely at their table watching their bride-to-be in a dance off with the other bride-to-be atop our table. Her maid of honor came over to the table looking concerned and we could see her mouth to the bride… “You’re ok, right? Let me know if you need anything.” Boo…
The night went on after Tortilla Flats, but it was less eventful because we were all pretty spent. It was a great surprise and a great day in NYC with my friends. I am reminded of a speech I heard by Jimmy Valvano when he was at the ESPY awards, some years back before he died. Check it out here.
He was a great motivator. At some point during the speech he spoke about the three things you should do each day to have a complete and fulfilled life. He said if you can laugh each day, if you can take time to really think each day, and if you can have your emotions bring you to tears each day, you’re going to lead a pretty good life. Of course it’s hard to do all three of these regularly, particularly the last, but on Saturday I was reminded of him. I had plenty of time to think on the flight, I laughed all day, and at Tortilla Flats, we laughed so hard we spent a good hour in tears. I really feel lucky to be able to have moments like these.
**Update** Here is a link to Nil’s pics from the weekend as well, which include them going to Fox’s Up Front party in Central Park on Thursday Night, which is the big roll out of all their new shows for the season. If I was smart, i would have made it back to this as well, as you can see from the pics. I went a couple of years ago and it definitely gives you your celebrity fix for NYC. Click Here. It also has some great videos from the chili making experience, at the event, and throughout the weekend.
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Bauer in NYC
By Administrator | May 19, 2008
Sunday morning I woke up early, about 7am, damn jetlag, and couldn’t sleep. My friends were all crashed and I knew I had a few hours minimum before they awoke. Our general routine is to brunch about noon. I stayed at my friend Cody and Judson’s apartment in Manhattan. Cody recently bought a Chocolate Lab that lives with them in the apartment. I decided pretending to sleep wasn’t going to work so I grabbed the dog and took him on a two hour walk through the Hudson River Park, Meat Packing District, and Greenwich Village that brisk and sunny Sunday morning in the city. More bliss.
Now this dog, which he named Bauer, has been a source of entertainment for us and Cody. Aside from gawking at the expense of owning a dog in the city (with doggy day care, dog walkers, weekend retreats to the country during his trips, etc), he says it costs about the same as a monthly payment of a BMW. Ouch.
But people in NYC love their dogs, and on a Sunday morning there are a ton out. Before I get to the meat of the walk, I just want to take a moment to relive a funny story I’m reminded about Cody teaching Bauer to not pee in the apartment. The scene was an early morning in Cody’s room….
Cody: “Wait a minute Bauer and I’ll take you outside.”
Bauer: “whimper whimper”
Cody: “Hold on a minute, Bauer, I’m almost ready to take you out.”
Bauer: ‘Whimper, cry…” [proceeds to lift leg and pee heavily, seeping into shoes and clothes in closet]
Cody: “Damnit Bauer, damnit, stop it stop it!! Shit!”
Bauer: “Ahhhhhs” a sigh of relief.
Cody: [in state of desperation….runs over and grabs dog’s penis and pinches off the pee….]
Bauer: [Puzzled]
Cody: “To the shower we go to finish.” [lifting dog and carrying him to bathroom, careful to keep a firm grip]
Bauer: [Licks Cody’s face.]
True story. Ouch. Anyway, dogs are so common in NYC that most places allow them inside. Others don’t. I did see one couple request a table in a brunch place by the window. As they sat and ate, they held onto the handle of the leash inside while the dog, connected to the other end, was outside the window patiently sitting on the sidewalk.
So I took Bauer out for this long walk and had a good time. Cody has said that he has met more people in the few months he’s had the dog than in the 4 or 5 years in NY previously. It’s a sub-culture.
As I was walking, people would come up and say, “Wow, your dog is beautiful”. I internalized deep down that they were just talking about me.
We walked through the park and Bauer instinctively led me to the dog park, where it’s a mass of animals and people running and sniffing and such. I let Bauer off the leash and he went over to the doggie kiddy pool, where a couple of other dogs were drinking its water.
My jaw dropped when Bauer jumped in and immediately started peeing in the water. It was a gross enough act, but what compounded the fact was that while he was peeing, he was drinking simultaneously from the same source. I just hoped the other owners didn’t catch that smart move.
I had another first experience, which was the fun act of curbing my dog, which I’ve spoken of in previous French posts. Never have I stooped so low to do this publically, but because of the mess in Montpellier it took on a new meaning for me and I was glad to comply here in NYC. The problem was that Bauer went twice, and I only had one bag, which I promptly threw away after the first session. I ended up having to tell people, “it’s ok, one second, I’ll be right back”, as I run down to the public trash cans and rip portions of the sac in order to do my civic duty.
When I told Cody about this he told me about a woman in his building who has two dogs and carries around two sacs during the walks. He notices she never throws them away afterwards and asked her why. She responded, “well it keeps my hands warm, of course!” He was speechless.
I later asked Cody what his favorite thing about having the dog in the city, and he replied…I get to spoon him at night! I think the story is finished.
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“Don’t you think PDA in Paris is so romantic…”
By Administrator | May 19, 2008
I woke up early that brisk morning with her lying beautiful next to me. It was May in Paris and the weather had come around but the crowds had not, ingredients for a perfect evening the night before within the city of lights.
Before I continue, let me first state that although the theme of this blog says it’s about my stereotypical insights on life in France, I generally try to avoid blatantly writing to these stereotypes unless I can spin it, because, well, it just wouldn’t be fresh and interesting.
Plus, in general, I avoid discussing this particular topic publicly for obvious reasons, but because it is France, which is synonymous with L’Amour, we can be exceptional.
Although I wrote in a previous post about my disgust of PDA (public display of affection), I will now admit it was all out of spite and jealously. Recently, while in Paris, I found myself saying (and believing)… “Don’t you think PDA is so romantic here…”
So I say to you, the reader, that this is a blog on France and it wouldn’t be complete without some romance.
With that said, a good friend of mine from the States was stopping through Paris for a night and wanted to meet up. I agreed and took the train up Tuesday afternoon. I brought a bottle of wine that I purchased on my Bordeaux trip, booked dinner at a known restaurant with a nice terrace, and picked up some flowers on the way to meet her. It’s Paris. You go big or don’t go at all.
We met up. Smooth. Dinner reservations were at a quaint place near the Ile St. Louis, which is near the Latin district and adjacent to the island harboring Notre-Dame. At this time of the year, the sun doesn’t go down until almost 10pm, which makes long, late dinners really enjoyable with the prolonged sunsets.
We sat on the terrace and ate Parisian style, full of courses lasting almost three hours. Places like these are intimate because of the proximity. You’re sitting close to the other person, directly opposite you. Other tables are small and close which means, if you’re a good American, you lean in and speak softer rather than blurt out English for all to hear.
We asked for food recommendations (anything other than Tartar…which I have seen as of late, a pound of raw ground beef served in the middle of the plate with a raw egg cracked on top, surrounded in spices on the plate, to muster the texture and taste; not exactly a cup of tea). This was a restaurant specializing in Beef Bourguignon and had select wines from the burgundy region. We stuck with their recommendations and ate and drank well.
The night was warm with a cool breeze and was great for outdoor strolling, so after dinner we walked to the Seine, where locals and tourists alike were conglomerating in the areas with good views to enjoy the atmosphere.
We passed them up and explored the banks of the Seine just past Notre-Dame and settled on the bohemian left bank before the Eiffel Tower across from the Louvre. The city of lights didn’t disappoint. We cracked open my bottle, bs’d about life, and enjoyed each other and Paris’ ambiance till late. It was a good night.
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Anticipating Paris
By Administrator | May 16, 2008
It was 1:30 in the morning on a Monday night. I was leaving for Paris in ten hours for a one-day meet up with a friend I knew from the states, and I was tired from my weekend road trip. That wasn’t stopping me because I was in a room full of girls tipsy on champagne. I was sitting on the couch with my arm around a polish girl, on my left, and that arm’s hand laced in the fingers of her roommate sitting to her left. My right hand was holding a Dutch girl’s hand on my right side and someone who I couldn’t see was rubbing my head from behind.
We were snapping goofy pictures and all attention was on me. I looked over at my buddy sitting across from us, catching his eyes, and he busted out laughing. What the hell had I done to warrant this much attention all at once? It seemed like a feeding frenzy.
The night had started out with only one rule. No red wine. It was a going away party for one of our friends who lived in that apartment, which was full of white couches in its cavernous living area, and we had made a disaster of the upholstery during a previous Tapas and Sangria night.
I was actually the first to show up, which is a big no-no, but it was OK because I’m pretty good friends with these girls. I dressed up for the part that night because I just felt like it, plus I’m finally noticing that your clothing makes a difference.
I met up with a friend and we picked up some Champagne and went over. The night was relatively cocktail-ish, except the numbers were in my favor because most of the people who study here in Montpellier are girls.
During the night I had all sorts of interesting conversations about stories from afar and about US politics (which some people overseas love to drive home) and international economics (which we promptly cut off when it got too dry). We threw out some “get to know you” personality games, which were funny and lightened the mood, and we kept uncorking bottles of champagne. I think things generally turned in my favor that night when several of my girlfriends talked me up to some of the other girls who didn’t know me so well. (You get big brownie points when girls prop you up to other girls.) I think this started a subliminal competition for my attention.
Towards the end of the night I’m there on the couch inebriated in estrogen and trying to get my thoughts strait on where to go from here. The problem was that the group wanted to split, half go out dancing and half stay there and chill. My problem was that I was lazy and hadn’t focused my sites on one person (“blindly shooting into the flock” is what we call it in Texas).
My better judgment told me told me to stay and hang out at the apartment, but a larger group was going out dancing and all were calling my name, saying “matt matt, come with us…please.” (I guarantee I’ll get in trouble for this post…) Granted, it was a Monday night and the chances of something being open were slim, but they were doing a good job of convincing me so my friend and I left with the group of girls out on the search to find an open dancing spot.
Nothing was open. The night went downhill quickly when the girls grouped together, collectively decided the night was over and left, leaving my friend and I standing alone in the proverbial dust. My jaw was on the ground and I was shocked, knowing that in a matter of two minutes I had been frozen out so quickly, but such is the group mentality of girls, I suppose.
I look at my friend and we decide second best is late night eats. Nothing open. Damnit. I head home and anticipate Paris.
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C’est La Vie
By Administrator | May 12, 2008
This last week I went on a five-day road trip with three other friends (pictured left to right - Miquel from Spain, Jocke from Sweden, Ana from Spain and I) through Southwest France. On Wednesday, we rented a car and a GPS, burned a bunch of road trip cd’s, packed it full of junk and blasted off. Along the trip, we stopped in the sleepy villages of Carcassone, Arcachon, and Lourdes and hung out in the student city of Toulouse, in wine-o Bordeaux, and in France’s surf town of Biarritz. It’s hard to put into words an experience like this, so I’ll just summarize by saying it was full of awesome.
It was a holiday weekend in France and a lot was happening. Our prime destination was Bordeaux and its neighboring wine country but we knew some people in Toulouse and heard great things about some of the other places, so we made the trip one big fluid journey.
The driving component of the trip was fun because it was my first time driving standard in Europe (although the gas was painful, $100 to fill a tank). Aside from stalling at least once a day and nearly missing my first round-about, it was a relatively smooth driving experience, totally enjoyable in wine country, on the coastline, and through the Pyranees Mountains. It’s hard for France’s picturesque countryside not to leave a memorable impression.
We started on Wednesday by touring Carcassone’s main Castle grounds, which people say is one of the nicest villages in France. It’s important when you road trip to see some things that aren’t that fun, but are historic and pretty so you don’t feel so bad when your boozing later that your trip isn’t just one big party. Balance is key.
They had all sorts of toy weapons for sale in the gift stores that littered the castle grounds so we had some good reenactments of the battles that probably took place a long time ago.
Afterwards, we drove the hour to Toulouse, which is a big university city. We stayed with students that my friends knew, in a university dorm room, which was not that ideal all things considered. In fact, so much that I just couldn’t bring myself to sleep cramped on that floor and made the 3am decision while walking home after eating tasty late night kebab to get a hotel room at the nearest establishment for super sleep.
We were hanging out with mostly Spanish people and they don’t understand sleeping at night, taking their evening until 8 in the morning which made it hard to move them the next day, but nothing a little French McDonalds (Royal with cheese, please) couldn’t help to motivate.
Next stop was Bordeaux, which I have to say, has moved into my top five cities (in no particular order - Austin, Capetown, Amsterdam, New York, and Bordeaux). The city was beautiful, full of life, classic architecture, lots of outdoor cafes and cosy eateries. People flock to the river’s edge (that runs through the middle of the city) in the evenings to hang out. It’s has Paris’s charm and intimacy, good food, and of course, is surrounded in good wine.
Before we discovered Bordeaux’s offerings, we secured a sleeping post while at the tourist office and planned Friday’s journey into wine country. We chose to go East to Saint Emilion, a 30 minute drive (contrary to common sense, it’s best to have a car when visiting this area) because the town is the nicest, the vineyards are small and personal, and it was a rare open-house weekend in this area were you didn’t need to make reservations beforehand in order to taste, which left us with more flexibility.
Some of the larger, more known Bordeaux vineyards are north of the city, regions like Medoc, where it was once swamp land, but a feat of engineering by the Dutch some time ago to drain the swamps and create an actual river left the earth super fertile and perfect for creating complex and powerful grapes. (That was copied from my travel book.) With more time, or a future visit, I will check it out.
As for this trip, we picked three vineyards amongst the many and had a great day. The vineyards are all family owned, small, and many have beautiful chateau’s where the families live and make their wine. After the first visit and tour of the vineyard, house, and winemaking facilities, we were just ready to taste. The problem with doing these tours is that once you see one, you pretty much know the routine and just want to skip the process and drink the wine. But these owners are all very passionate and proud and it would be rude, so we put on our best behavior and spoke our best French throughout the day.
The neat part was that each vineyard got more personal and we actually enjoyed the process more than we thought. At the last vineyard we visited, Chateau Mauvinon, the children (oldest was our age) showed us around while the parents cooked. We met their peacock named Carlos (named after a character on Desperate Housewives). After the tour we sat down at their dinner table, ate typical French, drank their wine, and listened to their stories. It was an unbelievably cool experience.
We returned to Bordeaux charged and ready for Phase 2 of the day. We cleaned up, went to dinner, and hiked down to the water to open a bottle and practice our French skills on local girls (I mean the language - those stories can be told offline) before heading out and dancing till wee hours in the morning.
The next day we crawled out of bed and drove west to the Atlantic to a town called Arcachon, which is known for its oysters. Along the way, we stopped at Europe’s largest sand dune. I wasn’t that hyped about this experience or climbing up to the top. Fortunately, it was awesome fun getting sand blasted at the top and going down, and the views were nice.
What was ironic about this tourist attraction is that families bring their children to have fun on this huge dune, but at the top, all the children are crying because super strong winds are flinging high speed sand at you, which feels like you’re getting aggressively rubbed by sand paper all over your body. Sand is everywhere, you can’t see and your entire body hurts. I found this all to be tremendously funny, particularly since I lived in the desert for two years and never experienced this type of madness, so I couldn’t stop laughing.
I wanted to do massive summersaults down and down, but I figured that could be dangerous to myself knowing the speeds I would probably generate, I was still feeling the effects of the previous night that massive, tumble-dry style spinning wouldn’t help, and the amount of sand I would have accumulated on my body would not have been tolerable for the next phase of the road trip.
It was Saturday and after the dune and oysters, we were headed south to the seaside surfing town of Biarritz. We were concerned about a place to stay because everything was booked online and by phone. As a last resort, we could stay on the beach. Turns out, we got same-day lucky with a great two bedroom place for the four of us, right in the middle of the town on the water. Road trip karma strikes again.
This town was also beautiful, very much similar to San Sebastian in Spain (30 minutes south), with ancient architecture nestled in the rocky cliffs and a good beach filled with surfers. I won’t lie; I also liked the beachside casino. Apparently, they now like me too.
Sunday, the final day, we drove on the edge of the Pyranees and visited Lourdes, where an alleged religious miracle occurred some time ago that now brings hordes of pilgrimers to wish for their own miracle and cleanse themselves in the holy water. I won’t go into real detail about the legend because it deals with seeing the Virgin Mary in a rock by the church, and we all know how many places people see the Virgin Mary these days. The town, once really pretty, was now riddled with stores and vendors capitalizing on this allegation, which was a little concerning, so we pretty much saw it, drank some holy water, and got out fast to drive back home to Montpellier, which was waiting for us with open arms.
The Killers, Ben King’s, Stand by Me, and some euro dance stuff were the music of the trip (all trips need theme songs) so I have solidified remembering this trip any time I hear those songs. This is good because I reminded myself a number of times during the week that I need to appreciate these moments. It’s hard not to love Europe when you live it this way. As they say in French, C’est la vie.
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The Fly Away Birds
By Administrator | May 6, 2008
I live in an oasis of sorts. In the middle of Montpellier, a mostly cobble stone downtown and concrete metropolis, sits my house, which is a guesthouse that the owners rent to me in the backyard of the main house. They also have two small apartments on the side of their house that two Swedish girls are renting as well. In the backyard is a pool laden with palm trees, bamboo and plants, a gazebo, pool seating, bbq area, and a large birdcage with a bunch of colorful song-birds that wake us up in the morning. It’s a beautiful place. The owner is outside several days a week beautifying it, trimming the trees, cleaning the pool, and feeding the birds.
He takes obvious pride in his gardened oasis and it shows. The other day, I was sitting out by the pool with my roommates and noticed a colorful bird flying overhead, one that was not local and resembled the green back, rainbow stomach song birds from the walk-in birdcage.
I looked over at the cage and notice the door had been left ajar. I went over and shut it and counted the remaining birds. I think 3 of the 7 were missing. The first concerning part of the story is that the owner has been out of town all week, so whoever was feeding them must have left it open by accident. He’s not going to be happy.
In addition, two of the green birds were hanging out in the trees by the cage. I looked at them and thought of the wild possibilities of catching them and returning them to their ‘home’. I got the pool net and put some seed in the webbing and extended it up to them, taking a flying chance they would actually bite. No go. But one flew over to the ground and starting walking toward the cage and I.
He looked conflicted. I stared at him and thought to myself, does he really want to return home or take his freedom. He walked closer and I paused. How in the world would I open the cage and allow him to walk right in without giving the remaining birds a chance for escape? He waddled about halfway over and then flew back up to the tree.
I went back to my sunning spot and let it be. I couldn’t help but notice the birds in the cage chirping at him, and him chirping back. This went on for a good 30 minutes. I could only image what complex or simple thoughts were going through both sides’ minds.
I know, this sounds really cheesy, but it was pretty interesting to witness. This bird had his freedom but his buddies did not, and he was now lost in a big world. I saw him fly around the yard the rest of the afternoon.
The next day I went out to see if the escapees were still around and they were not. They must have flown away. I wondered what was going on in both sets of birds’ minds. I imagine birds don’t have a terribly acute memory, but that afternoon I did witness an interesting connection between the two groups and wonder what each was thinking.
Now every time I hear the birds in the cage chirping, I wonder if they’re longing for their buddies or freedom, or if it’s basic animalistic sounds. Either way, a couple of the birds are free to venture out and take on their world. I wonder if they will return at some point to take respect to their caged friends.
This sounds like a children’s story, or maybe one that many of us have experienced.
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