Paris Blog, Part 2

As I was saying . . .

I figured I should finish writing about Paris, seeing as how it has been almost a month since my trip.

If you only have Saturday and Sunday to see Paris, see all the churches on Saturday, that way you avoid being one of those annoying tourists milling about in the rear of the church during services.

Start with Notre Dame,

then, take a short walk to Sainte Chappelle (warning: you must pay admission to get in and go through a security checkpoint. Do yourself a favor and leave your pocket knives at home),

and gawk at the magificent stained-glass windows.

After you are done with Sainte Chappelle, stroll along the Seine, stopping to observe the heads carved on the bridge at Pont Neuf.

Eat lunch. We ate at a fabulous little doner kebab restaurant near the Samaritaine department store. Doner restaurants are some of your better, cheaper food options in Paris. For those who are unfamiliar with this type of establishment, doner is a Turkish specialty, similar to the Greek gyro.

After lunch, hop on the nearest Metro to Montmartre, where you will find Sacre Coeur.

Unfortunately, photographs are not allowed inside this church. If you want, you can lounge in the sun on the hillside in front of Sacre Coeur.

Spend the rest of the day at your leisure. Stop and have some cafe au lait at a famous cafe, such as Les Deux Magots. Try to imagine what it must have been like to sit there writing and philosophizing (if you can ignore the loud traffic and street music, that is).


Buy some unusual books at Shakespeare and Company.

I found this gem, entitled An Irish Beast Book: A Natural History of Ireland's Furred Wildlife by James Fairley:

Once you have had your fill wandering the streets and taking it all in, find a place to have dinner. We found a great restaurant near the St. Michel monument, but, alas, forgot to write down its name. They serve nightly menus where you can choose from a list of entrees and desserts. The food was absolutely incredible. I now know what people mean when they speak about French cuisine with such rhapsody. We ate there for dinner two nights in a row and were not disappointed.


Before you call it a night, stop in a cafe for a beverage. We visited Le Bal Bullier, which was across the street from a cafe Hemingway used to frequent. Everyone at the Hemingway place wore jackets and ties, and there was valet parking. We decided it was a bit too fancy for our taste (and attire). Le Bal Bullier, however, was practically empty and had nice glass windows all around.

Stay tuned for Part 3, where I discuss what we learned while spending 6 1/2 hours in the Louvre.

Watching The Godfather at 6 a.m.

I feel for those of you who suffer from insomnia. As of late, I have had trouble sleeping, for some inexplicable reason. Well, scratch that - part of the reason is that I drink espresso late in the day, against my better judgment. But last night it happened again, and there was no espresso, nor any other caffeinated beverage involved this time. Jerome K. Jerome describes the torment of insomnia rather well when he says,

"How long the dawn seems coming when we cannot sleep! Oh! Those hideous nights when we toss and turn in fever and pain, when we lie, like living men among the dead, staring out into the dark hours that drift so slowly between us and the light." (from The Idle Thoughts of an Idle Fellow)

So, at about 6 a.m. Sunday morning, unable to bear it any longer, I got up, got dressed, and turned to the usual means of refuge for the insomniac, the TV. My husband, fully refreshed from a good night's sleep (a fact about which I was insanely jealous), got up as well and decided to join me in my early morning TV watching.

"What do you want to do?" he asked.

"I don't know," I replied, irritably. "Do you by any chance want to watch The Godfather?"

"Sure."

And that is how we ended up watching The Godfather (Part II) at 6 a.m. on a Sunday morning.

Fabulous movie. You should see it, if you haven't already.

My First Week of Grading Papers Online

...and I'm beat.


see more puppies

It's Time for Me to Get a Job, Part 3: The Interview and the Aftermath

The weather for today: Insufferable.

The morning of my job interview, I allowed myself just enough time to get ready, eat a sensible breakfast, and make a three-minute drive to the job location, which fortunately is just down the street from my house. Before you chide me for deciding to drive to a location clearly within walking distance of my house, let me invite you to live here for one day and experience the sheer horribleness of the winter weather that has descended upon us as of late. Better yet, if you will let me get on with my story, you will discover that no chiding will be necessary, for as things worked out that day, I did end up walking to my interview, horribleness of weather and all. You see, on this day, my husband accidentally took the car key with him to work, a fact which I discovered three minutes before I was scheduled to be interviewed. After a rather tense, brief phone conversation with my husband, I charged out the door and down the street, half walking, half jogging, in my black loafers and khaki pants. Muddy water splashed around my ankles as I hurried down the street to the neighborhood Youth Center, secretly hoping that a passer-by would pity me in my plight and offer me a ride. No such luck. When I finally arrived at the supervisor's office (in my rush I forgot my watch and did not know exactly how late I was), the backs of my heels were freshly blistered, I was out of breath, and I was sweating profusely beneath my wool sweater and coat. Endeavoring to make a good first impression, I affected an attitude of calm cheerfulness and declared, "I am so sorry I am late. I had some unexpected car trouble and had to walk."

The director took pity on me and did not seem troubled by my lateness. This was a huge relief. I found him to be extremely personable and articulate, which, given my experience with government agencies, took me a bit by surprise. Also surprising was the format: instead of the usual Description of the Job by the interviewer, followed by his asking a few Questions About the Stuff on my Application, this interview ventured into realms of self-reflection and theoreticizing I had only experienced a few other times in my life, in some of the more inventive Facebook questionnaires and whatnot, for instance.

Right off the bat, the director asked me to do that thing where you describe your strengths and weaknesses, but with a twist: "What would your friends and family say were your best features? What about you drives them crazy or gets on their nerves?" Questions like this prove a particularly unique challenge to the interviewee, because you want to highlight strengths that make you sound truly cut out for the job, without divulging weaknesses that would suggest otherwise. Answering the question about what sorts of things you do to get on people's nerves is the harder of the two. For some reason, I answered, "I am a procrastinator," but upon reflection I realized that there are very few people in my life that would be severely affected by my ability to procrastinate. If I had been a bit more introspective at the time, I could have answered truthfully, "I am a nag. I lose things, especially valuable things. Cold weather makes me so grouchy that I lash out at the people I love like a mean drunk." In retrospect, it is probably good that I kept my list of undesirable traits small and vague; I believe that while there are times when brutal honesty is appropriate, a job interview is not one of them.

Next, the interview turned theoretical. "My philosophy is to 'think like a kid,'" the director said. "What do you think that means?" "Well," I began, searching the dark recesses of my brain for some repressed memory of child-ness. "Hmm." Nothing. I thought harder and searched some more. I began to worry that the absurdity of the situation - a person who knew nothing about kids applying for a job that has everything to do with kids - was becoming painfully obvious. I decided it was time for some honesty: "That's - that's really interesting," I mused, "but I have to be honest - I really don't know."

Much to my delight, the director was pleased to be given the opportunity to share his vision of what it means to "think like a kid." "Let me paint you a picture," he began. "Imagine a jungle-gym. Imagine that the jungle-gym is actually a boat, and that on one side, a few kids are rowing. All around, some other kids are pretending to swim - they are fish. Some of them are mermaids. And at the top of the jungle-gym, commandeering the ship, is the Program Assistant, talking like a pirate, taking charge of the situation yet engaging the kids on their level. That is the kind of person we are looking for."

"Ah."

"So, what do you think?" asked the director.

Once more, it was time for some honesty. "Well, I am definitely good at the teacher-stuff. I would love to be able to teach kids how to make various arts and crafts, or help them with their homework. I am particularly good at things pertaining to books. But I have to be honest with you - I have a hard time imagining myself, er, commandeering an imaginary ship."

The director assured me that most people shared my sentiments and I felt considerably relieved. The interview ended, and as I got up to leave I noticed that my pants were splattered with mud. This is probably the only interview where I thought that something like that might actually work to my advantage (see - I'm playful! I splash around in mud puddles when I am in my nice clothes!).

Two weeks passed, during which I did find work as an online writing consultant (which I am enjoying greatly), and I had all but assumed I wasn't in touch with my inner child enough for the Youth Center when, to my surprise, I got a phone call from the Right Person informing me that I had gotten the job. Currently, I am up to my elbows in even more paperwork for more background checks, but I guess that is not an unusual process to undergo when one wants to work in child care.

So stay tuned - I will be finding out more about my job soon while simultaneously trying to get in touch with my inner child. Now, where the heck did I put my crayons?

Snow day reads

It's been snowing all weekend. Thus, I've been lounging around the house, reading some Homer and perusing the web for interesting or unusual articles. Here are some of my favorites:

From Slate.com: Why does Hollywood take our favorite novels and turn them into crap?

From Urlesque: That Big Mac of yours is not the only fast-food item that looks nothing like its ad.

From About.com: Everything you need to know about Greek mythology in a nutshell.

From First Things: What ever happened to Susan Pevensie?

And the ROTFL video of the week, also from Urlesque: "Charlie bit my finger." (Ouch!)

Paris Blog

Paris is one of those cities that lives up to its own hype. There are ostentatiously grand buildings at every turn, numerous little cafes that make you feel intellectual and sophisticated while you sit in their rickety wooden chairs, sipping your cafe au lait and contemplating your existence, and delicious French patisseries, brasseries, and restaurants. In addition to all this, you have the mother of all art museums, the Louvre, as well as the Musee d'Orsay, which houses a large collection of French Impressionist art, and the Cluny Museum, which displays a rather large collection of medieval art and artifacts. In short, one could easily spend a week touring Paris. We, however, only had two days last weekend to do as much sightseeing as possible, and, I feel, we succeeded in making the most of our time. I would like to share with you some sight-seeing tips should you find yourself in Paris for only two days without a clue what to do.

Arrival and getting around Paris

Since we currently live in continental Europe, we decided to drive to Paris rather than fly. Had there been a good airfare rate at the time, we certainly would have taken that option instead, but as there were none, we braved the icy roads and pelting snow in order to save ourselves about $150 in travel expenses and to allow ourselves the freedom of being able to come and go as we pleased. That being said, we still had to shell out at least $100 in travel expenses after we took into consideration gas, parking, and public transportation once inside of Paris. Because we loathe trying to navigate through foreign cities by car (and believe me, we tried this many times when we were naive, new arrivals in Europe), we decided to park at Charles de Gaulle airport, on the outskirts of the city. Charles de Gaulle offers long term parking at a parking lot labeled "Px." This, however is not cheap. The daily rate was about 20 euros. From what I understand, there are cheaper parking garages located in the city center itself, so if you are one of those people who actually like fighting your way through chaotic traffic, or, perhaps you are one of those fortunate souls in possession of a navigation system, then be my guest and try to find yourself one of those parking garages. But, if like me you are driving an old car, are married to someone who objects to the idea of using a nav system on the grounds that maps are "more fun to use," and are willing to fork over the extra cash for the sake of convenience, then my advice is to park at Charles de Gaulle airport. From the Px parking lot you can catch the nifty little airport tram to the RER (train) station just outside of terminal 3. There, you can purchase a ticket into the city center for about 8 euro per person. Once inside the train, sit back, relax, and enjoy the accordian music being played by the shifty subway performers.

Tip #1: Stay at a hotel near a train or metro station

Our hotel, the Inter Hotel Ariane Montparnasse, was very close to the Denfert-Rochereau train and metro station. The train took us directly to that station, and we could walk to the hotel from there. Adding to the ease of said walk was the fact that I shoved all of our possessions into one giant backpack which was carried by my husband, who, though remarking at one point that he felt like a "pack mule," insisted that the pack was, in fact, not too heavy.

Our Hotel

Sigh. In order to be able to afford all the European travelling my of which my husband and I are so fond, we generally have to settle for two-star hotels, with the occasional three-star if we are lucky. Now don't get me wrong - I fancy myself a "grin-and-bear-it" kind of person ("we're in Paris! Who cares where we stay?") - but there is always something a little bit depressing about the two-star hotel experience. You are never really sure how thin the walls are going to be, or, especially in Europe, what the shower in the bathroom is going to be like. Or, if your bathroom is even going to be connected to your room (this was the case in Amsterdam, but that's another story). Fortunately, this hotel proved to be one of the better of the two-stars we have stayed in thus far - good shower, quiet location, wireless internet access, even a mini fridge in the room. My only complaints were that the bed was rather hard and that there was a mysterious lack of electrical outlets in which to plug all of our various things needing recharging. We had to unplug either the TV or the fridge whenever we wanted to plug in any of our own things. But in the long run, the positives outweighed the negatives, in my opinion. We paid only 211 euros for three nights.

One night, when we stopped in to the hotel to drop off our belongings before going back out for dinner, we found the dining area in the lobby full of people drinking wine and singing along to some guy playing the harmonica. No one appeared to be manning the front desk, where we were waiting to get our room key. No one, that is, except for a large spotted dog, who was standing behind the counter looking up at us as if waiting for us to ask him for the room key. Some moments passed, during which we did ask the dog for the room key, but, perhaps because the dog understood only French, the dog replied by coming out from behind the counter and stood patiently beside us while we patted him on the head and repeated the request for the room key. Presently, one of the hotel staff emerged and fulfilled our request and the dog returned to his previous post.

To be continued . . .

"I just want winter to be over!!!"

Non Sequitur captures my sentiments exactly: