Parislog 29
July 11, 2006


This month for the free day at the museums, I went to the Louvre. I really wanted to revisit the apartments of Napoleon III. It was as spectacular as I remember it being. When you walk through the first couple of rooms, there is nothing that prepares you for the Grand Salon with its red velvet furniture, gold scrollwork and amazing paintings. And the dining room is no less spectacular.

One thing that I just have to complain about is some of the other visitors. The guards said “no flash” more times than I can count and people were just totally ignoring it. I am pretty sure that they don’t want flash because the light will deteriorate the paintings and colors over time. I was right next to a guy who used the flash, right after the guards had again repeated themselves. So I had to stick my foot in the mix. I said it to them in French and then when they looked at me with no comprehension, repeated it in English that they weren’t supposed to be using flash. The guy looks at me and in totally west coast USA English said, “ What are you a guard or something?” I looked him right dead in the eyes and said, “Does that matter?” He and his posse walked off. Sometimes I just can’t help myself.

It was a really hot day in the Louvre and many parts don’t appear to be air-conditioned. One little boy found a solution for his dilemma. He and a friend found some grates on the floor that were quite forcefully blowing air up and the two of them were letting it blow their shirts and shorts up into big balloons.

I was in the metro and a guy bumped into me like people always do. I have decided that it is a sport or something. Maybe you get points for quantity and quality of the bump. Anyway, this guy actually turned to me and said pardon. I nearly fell over in shock. Just ahead of us there was a lady on the stairs whose wheel had broken on her little trolley. He stopped to try and help her fix it. I was not surprised at the second part. More people stop and help others than I can count. That is one of the awesome points here.

There are so many who use the metro and buses here as their only form of transportation so you see some pretty strange things while riding. I have seen tables, ironing board, and a big leather easy chair being transported to their new home on the metro. It was a shock to see the leather barrel shaped chair coming on with two women carrying it. It took up the better part of the center section and caused quite a mess when people needed to get around it to disembark.

We had a couple of days last week that were real miseries. The temperatures were over 90º with some crazy high humidity. The temp doesn’t sound that bad but it is way different than in Hollywood. You took two steps and you broke out in a sweat. I drank extra water but didn’t pee it out. I blew up like a balloon with water weight. Then during the night that it cooled down I was up all night peeing losing all the swelling. This was all new to me. Fortunately, there has only been one other day that had the same conditions and it started happening again.

And the metro on these days is inhuman. You get into the tunnels and in some there is a reasonable breeze but in others you start to feel the heat going up. Then you get onto the train and you are immersed in a sauna. It feels like 150º in there with a humidity of 200%. You are pooling in sweat. Your neighbors are pooling in sweat and then more bodies get on and you have to get a little closer. Your lucky day. The guy who got on just beside you and is holding onto the pole up above your head is one of those who don’t believe in deodorant. Thank god it isn’t everybody who thinks that way anymore. Finally your stop comes up and you basically fall of the train because you were about to pass out and you get the tiniest bit of fresh air.

I brought some books back to the library and when I was checking them in the librarian tried to tell me something. This time I got some of the words but not enough to gather what she was talking about. I searched in my head for any possible overdue fines or outstanding books and came up blank. I told her that I didn’t understand. She said that it wasn’t really that important and smiled me on my way. The next day, I got a phone call from another library where I had put a book on hold. She was kind enough to speak with enough articulation that I got most of the pertinent information. And I was able to gather that this must be what the other lady had been trying to tell me. A little progress anyway.

When France won the second to last game it was an all out festival in the streets again. The horns were blowing and the people were screaming on into the night. I can appreciate the joy but find it beyond me to understand going solid for 3 hours. I guess alcohol helps. There was somebody who had a whistle and they kept blowing the rhythm for hours.

Then came the final. I was out during the day and already people were parading around in their cars honking horns and waving flags. It was early afternoon. People were everywhere in the streets wearing the team shirts and if the shirt didn’t go with the outfit they would just drape it over their shoulders or purse. One corner had two guys with their shirts and flags, air horn and portable computer.

They lost. Zidane lost his mind. The town got quiet. In the building right next to me there was an argument between the first floor and the fifth floor. The quiet was deafening as everyone went home quietly discussing what happened with each other. Then the people with cherry bombs and firecrackers and roman candles had to use them all up. And the quiet was broken. That was a little nerve wracking for a while because they weren’t exactly being careful with their aim. Then quiet.

For anyone who watched the game and knew that Zidane, aka Zizoo was a legend playing his last game. It was completely out of character that he would head butt another player in the chest. Apparently the Italian who had been on the receiving end had been badmouthing him the whole game and just then he had said the Zidane and his whole kind were nothing but terrorists. It isn’t an excuse but everyone has his limits.