11.
Anything cold is
challenging except for champagne. Air conditioning is different in
France, and all of Europe, as we would learn. Our hotel rooms never got cold, but
one of the neatest parts of the day was in the afternoon. The hotel would put
out a silver bucket with a script insignia. Inside the bucket were 4 bottles of
champagne: One was a rose` champagne, another amber, and two, well, champagne
colored. The bottles were tilted on the side of the bucket, sweating with
condensation around the regal insignia that had the crossed flags, a taloned,
winged creature and a banner at the bottom. It was in French, so I have no clue
what it said. Since, champagne is French,
I’m in Paris, it’s warm…I tried all 4! Mmmmmmm. I don’t care for rose`
champagne in the states and it sucks in France, too. However, the champagne
colored champagne was dry, bubbly and delicious. That is French air
conditioning….champagne. Since I was the only guy there, the staff loved me.
Oooooh lala! My kind of air conditioning.
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| Cheesey Picture! |
12.
Cheese and wine
all day, baby!
Gotta love the French. My eating schedule got totally screwed up starting in
France. However, the greatest surprise was getting to eat cheese and bread
every afternoon and then some. While this would turn into a daily occurrence throughout
Europe, it started here….so the French get the credit today.
13.
Turning into a
child.
Growing up, my Papou (grandfather) would regale me with stories about ancient
Greece and its impact on the world. After all, Greece is the center of the
universe. Papou’s teaching wouldn’t stop at just Greece. He would talk about history’s
great minds, and the Greek influence. Mom, who spoke French, would also tell
tales of France. My Yiayia and Papou had taken me to Greece in the 6th grade. I
remember every moment of that trip even though it was the summer of 1972 or
1973. I actually took French lessons from Mrs. Iatridis, an Egyptian Greek. When
she went to Paris, all I wanted was a red beret. (It was ixnayed by a mother
who shall remain nameless, Mom.) Now I’m walking the streets by the Cannon Monument,
(with Baby Napoleon on top…oops he was just short) by racks of red, blue, black
and purple berets. I realize the beret from North Beach, San Francisco, where
the great Beat Poets spewed their verse means a whole lot more to me. (That
beret is hidden by the Love Goddess. It is black.) The reason all of this is
important is that somewhere, whether it was getting lost walking around, enjoying
my wine and pecorino cheese, seeing artwork and masterpieces every day, I was
sliding into that moment of dreaming what it would be like in Paris…and I’m
here.
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| Hotel Biron |
 |
| Balzac and his pile. |
14.
The Rodin Museum
was great, very tactile and open. François-Auguste-René Rodin is, in my
little cultural dojo, one of the greatest sculpturers (is that a word?) ever. I
was formally introduced to Rodin’s work when I went to Philadelphia. I was on
my way to run up the stairs at the Philadelphia Museum of Art. These are the stairs
that Rocky ran up and, like Rocky, raise my hands in victory when I accidently
came across Rodin’s museum. It was hard to miss the Thinker pondering, “Why the
hell am I in Philadelphia?” So I decided to check out the rest and there it
was, the Gates of Hell. Based on Dante’s Inferno (an all-time favorite book)
figures are struggling to get out of the bronze block as if someone has put a
piece of cellophane over their face. Over 180 struggling people damned to a
circle of hell. Rodin, from this point forward, has had my full attention.
 | |
| Rocky at the top of the stairs. |
 | ||
| Seamus and the Thinker. Mitch G insists this is not the original Thinker. The picture above is the Thinker done by Rodin AND at Rodin's house. Seamus was added. |
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| Sculpture of Seamus - #48 on your tour phone. |
Up
late one night with nothing on Skinamax and Alexis asleep, I came across a
movie with Isabelle Adjani and Gerard Depardieu called Camille Claudel.
Subtitled, the movie is the biography of Camille Claudel who was apprentice,
artist/craftsman, muse and lover to Rodin. Oh yeah, Rodin was married. It’s a
great movie. The movie took place at Hotel Birron, and then suddenly I am here!
 |
| Movie Poster |
The
museum was his home (Hotel Biron), a white brick, two-story mansion (by today’s
standards). It has three peaks, with the middle section double the size of the
two flanking peaks. It is perfectly symmetrical, which is ironic because Rodin
is absolutely asymmetrical. Walking into the left section we are immediately
greeted by sculptures with a green-black patina and some soft white sculptures.
Honore de Balzac grabbed my attention because he was naked with, at first
glance, a pile of poop from the floor to his butt. St. John the Baptist was
also there. As we walked through the museum I was struck at how it was so
tactile, getting right up on the sculptures, people taking pictures. The
experience was fun and different. (Unlike the gestapo/stazi volunteers in
Dusseldorf).
 |
| Gates of Hell Close-Up. |
 |
| Seamus workin' the ladies like Hanako above. |
The
Kiss sculpture was there but the sculpture that captured the most passion to me
was called “The Mature Age”. A young woman is on her knees, reaching with an outstretched
hand to an older man’s hand yet not touching. The older man is standing with
his left hand to the young woman, but on his right shoulder is an old woman,
her right arm in control of his, glaring at the old man. The old man looks to
the ground, his head tilted toward the old woman, a look of resignation is on
his face. Wow, then you learn that Camille Claudel likely did the work and you
realize two things: 1) That’s Rodin, his wife and hot, younger lover. 2)
Camille Claudel was the Alanis Morrissette of the 1880s and 1890s. Wicked cool!
 |
| The Mature Age |
15.
You're not in
America, they watch but don't suckle to your nipple. I would love to
blame another nationality, but unfortunately we Americans can be a boorish pain
in the ass. Speaking loudly in a restaurant, in the third person, does not help
get better service. Every meal is an event. It’s a huge departure from ‘fast
food’ America. The waiters are watching for a break in the action. They want to
see if you are done eating and talking, then they will visit the table. I
noticed it more than the Love Goddess.
16.
Yes they speak
English, but it is a second language and they don't speak slang. Along the same
lines as #15. The Parisians that we came across would speak English, but it is
a second language. Jokes with words don’t translate which explains the French Jerry
Lewis phenomenon.
17.
‘Bunny ears’ are
funny in any language. I have two bad habits that are fun. 1) If you leave
your camera unattended I take a selfie. 2) I love giving unsuspecting photographers
bunny ears when they are taking a picture. Typically, the people smile and
laugh in the picture. People laugh at that here in the States and they do in
France too. Laughter is the world’s universal language.18.
All these people
can't be skinny! Where are the fat people? Holy Crap! I’m walking down the
street in St. Germaine and I realize I could fit four French people in my khaki
pants, two in each pant leg. Is there a farm in Provence where they send the
fat people to the Charles André Joseph Marie de Gaulle Camp for the Non-Skinny?
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| No fat people, couples in a variety of mixes. |
18.
Couples come in
all shapes, sizes and age combinations. Everybody loves everybody. It was cool
to see such diversity in every relationship. The common element was passion for
each other. I enjoyed that.
