Race against the Machine

One limo

vs.

One bike
2 km of road (rue du Quatre-Septembre, rue Réamur, rue de Bretagne), 9 traffic lights, 1 bus lane.

Bike beats Limo.

One click at a time...

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Eating: Paris-style!

I had a lunch with a well-known NGO representative today: it was work, work! (ok then, it was actually only 'work') but I was in mid-conversation when the air in the brasserie perceptively changed, which caused me to turn my head towards the door, and who was standing there but Guillaume Canet, a very well-known French film actor (so well known that even I know him) and he came and sat down with his mates RIGHT BEHIND ME. *swoon swoon*. He might be a little bit smaller and thinner in real life than in some of his recent movies but O how it made my day! :-).

Wish he was on my menu.

;-)

Shopping: Paris Style

I remember while I was still living in Paris quasi-permanently, a colleague had given me his old tv when mine was on the blink, but told me he didn't really want it back even if I got my tv fixed. It was quite 1950s style and I kind of wish I'd kept it now, but at the time I decided to get rid of it. But how to get rid of an electrical item? Plus, I was at the European Parliament while they were putting through the WEE Direction (on getting rid of waste electrical goods), so I really had quite a conscience about just popping it in the bin (electrical goods are a nightmare for councils to deal with if you don't send them to the proper places to be pulled apart and all the good bits kept and the bad bits put in the appropriate wherever-they-put-these-things).

So I did the next best thing, which was to put it out on the street one Saturday morning where I could keep an eye on it from my window. This is not totally unheard of in Paris. Most people chuck stuff on to the streets and it's amazing how people find a use for other people's cast-offs or 'junk'. I have many friends that have ended up with mirrors and wardrobes and chairs from their night-time street-cleaning prowls. It seems to be a cheap and effective way of recycling without any advertising, pick-up fees or hassle.

And sure enough, within two hours, a man came by, prodded it, turned it around, put it back, walked away, and 2 minutes later came back with a big black bin bag. A minute after that the tv and the man were gone, hopefully off to a mutually better life.

So it came as no surprise when I was at a dinner party last night, and a couple who had left only moments before, called the host to tell him that they'd found what looked like a brand new 2-person sofa on the street. Seeing as the host had just had us all round as a small house-warming dinner in his as-yet unfurnished new flat where we all had to bring our own chair, it was a useful surprise. Some oohing-aahing and huffing-puffing later and the new sofa was in the flat.

Turns out it's a standard IKEA sofa, but a free one.

On their way back out again, the couple THEN came across a beautiful old wood arm-chair. As you can see, the leather is cracked at the front, but the shape and style of it is gorgeous. So in the space of one evening, our tummy's and his flat were filled.

And that's how to go shopping Paris-style!

Success! stage 1

Tiny ponytail! Still a bit sticky-outy but most of it's in there...long tresses are a-coming!

A sign of the times...

How to do communication in the digital era:

Take 4 members of a well known NGO and place one of them in Washington DC, one of them in Vancouver, one of them in Martha's Vineyard (USA) and one of them in the 15th arr. in Paris; add 2 members of a smaller fisheries-focused NGO and put one of them in an office on Boulevard St-Germain in Paris and the other one in the middle of nowhere in China, plus add in a consultant who's location was never explicitly mentioned, get them all to dial the same number at the same time and what do you get? Decisions made in 30 minutes that would otherwise have taken a week of e-mails bounced to and fro.

Unfortunately, the line in China was still so bad that it resulted in a delay, which meant that I, as part of the same smaller fisheries-focused NGO, was forced to answer on behalf of said fisheries-focused NGO...whereas my intention had been thus far to listen in and learn as I still consider myself a listener-iner and learner and not really an answerer and decision-maker...and therefore hadn't read the brief properly. The advantage of being 10 000km away from most of your fellow conference call-ees is that you can quickly load up the brief and answer as if you'd known it all along anyway.

An amusing addition was that although the call connection to China is not yet all there, the skype connection is pretty good, so my boss kept me on the straight and narrow via skype chat and I could ask things to stuff I didn't know while the questions were still being asked of me. Still, voice is faster than typing and at one point I was left saying 'yes, we will have the draft standards available by mid-Sept' and my fellow WFC-er hastily scribbled 'don't promise them too much'!

It may not be 100% perfect yet, but this communications malarky is changing the way we work...

Le Tour in Paris

Because the iphone lives, I was able to record in photos the events of 26th July..obviously not THE event of the day which was my sister's birthday shenanigans in London, but some other random stuff going on, like the final of the Tour de France in Paris...an event I have been trying to see for about 4 years. Thankfully, the sun and moon aligned this year (or rather, I changed my train ticket) and the bonus was some yellow-shirted action.

Elbows out to ensure essential space requirements, hair whipped in the wind, head down to obtain maximum advantage, the sweat glistening...and all that was me just trying to find a spot to watch the action from. It was well worth it..even though I had to go on youtube later to find out what had actually happened.

More reasons to love Paris

Paris is one of those great places where you can imagine you are participating in the Tour de France yourself as your hurtle through cobbled streets, up, up, up to the Champs-Elysees for the live action, when Mozart's Eine Kleine Nachtmusik bounces its way on the sunshine over to you. And outside the Academie Francaise, a little orchestra is providing a free lunchtime recital. As you sit there in the sun, with a brilliant holiday behind you, smooth and soft feet beneath you, a fabulous afternoon ahead of you and Paris to the tune of Mozart around you, you think, 'life is good'.

And another reason: Christina. Happy Birthday dear sisterling!

So long, farewell, auf widersehen, goodbye!

And then the holiday was over and back to Paris I went, while the others stayed on for an extra 24 hours. This meant I was travelling alone on an overnight train and as I walked into my compartment, I was faced with 5 very big people, all looking very male. I sort of squeaked, stuck my luggage overhead and raced out again to contemplate my options. I wasn't so happy being the only girl in the carriage and asked the train conductor if there was any possibility of changing, but he said the train was entirely full, which judging by the noise everywhere, I believed.

So I hung around in carriages, in the bar, between carriages, sitting on the wheel arches etc for 2 hours until we reached Milan, where I was due to meet Piero, a fellow student of mine at Cambridge. We have met in mostly normal places in the 5 years since we parted ways...mostly Paris actually, but a train station in Milan during an hour long stop has a certain ring to it. He arrived bearing gifts, as always, which made me feel a lot better, and then went off to speak to the train guard. A very long discussion ensued with great Italian gesticulations before Piero came back to tell me that the guard would try. A further 3 such conversations took place before I was greatly assured that actually, one of the big people in my carriage was in fact a woman and that the guard had gone to great lengths to ensure that everyone was normal and he had their passports and he would enjoy taking personal responsibility for me etc etc. Then he gave me a nudge and a wink and I knew I would be fine. Sure enough, he came by the next morning to return my identity card and asked how I was. He took about 5 minutes to ask it in a smiling gesticulating way and I smiled and gesticulated back, the whole time saying 'bene'. And so i came to be in paris. And that's how I came to be resting my feet in some lurid pink but very posh concoction Piero had given me for tired post-mountain climbing feet. And in my attempt to reach for my towel, I knocked my computer, which knocked my iphone, which sent it flying into said pink mixture.

I saw the phone swimming in it for that split second before you can react, followed by a quick snatch out of the water, shaking it this way and that and holding it in the sun and praying that it would still work. I turned my head in case it exploded when I switched it on, but apparently pink foot relaxing spa fizz is good for both tired feet and iphones, and the thing still works.

Cool Cow

Check out this coo-l girl's hair...

SudTirol Day 3

Time for a rest!

Our enormous sense of achievement yesterday in having reached both the summit and the car again with all limbs intact resulted in a rather exuberant dinner last night which turned rather more atmospheric when a summer storm came in and within 10 minutes, all lights in the village were out...apparently a regular occurrence. It just meant the festivities continued by candle-light. But that also meant that the next day we were good for nothing...except lying by a a fresh water lake high up in the alps in the baking sun. Water was still a bit chilly but it was a lovely rest.

Rainer's restful backgarden view:

SudTirol Day 2

So, today we decided to climb this peak. Yes, this one. The very tall, pointy one.

Thankfully, there was another route went round the back that got us to the tall and pointy bit but first it went along a bit. Then it went up.

One it started going up, the scenery got very Sound-of-Music on me....

so I decided to practise my yodelling:

But as we kept going up, it didn't go down so well. What did go down rather bettwe was an art installation featuring a number of randomly arranged toilet bowls.

And then we hit the last stretch to the summit, which made me want to find a toilet bowl. Instead, we used the metal hooks and ropes already chained into the wall to help us up.
I felt pretty much like this too when we got to the top:

SudTirol Day 1

Having gone to sleep in Paris, the miracles of continental train travel meant we woke up the next morning in Italy, in Verona to be precise. Just enough time for a quick photo before we changed trains and headed due north to where the wild things are.

Although this is Italy, the culture in these parts is all German and fairly shortly we were off again, this time using only the energy we had left over from our short and interrupted sleep (2 Australians in the same cabin, undertaking a 6 week whip-round tour of Europe, had been a-drinking in the train bar - mixing their stealthily stashed vodka with some purchased fanta - until 1am, before proceeding to snore heartily), one carb-heavy lunch and the relaxing effects of 2 glasses of wine. It was hard going. We were aiming for Brixner Hütte, an alpine hut built by Rainer's parents and the community village of around 1000 people that they belong to. Every Sunday in the 1970s, Rainer's parents and other villagers would climb the mountain bearing gifts of wood and gradually the mountain hut took shape. The hut is now big enough to accommodate hill walkers overnight as well as provide some much needed refreshments to encourage the legs.

Made it:

Here are some of the alpine views on the way up:

Alpine view with economist:

This view was used as a language training exercise when the word 'torrent' was added to the existing English vocabulary of the non-native English speakers in the group:

It's just missing one singing nun...

Italy

SüdTirol is an autonomous province in northern Italy where most of the population of 500 000 speaks an Austro-Bavarian dialect which is horrifically difficult to understand, even when they are speaking 'hochdeutsch' (standard German). The province is based entirely in the Alps and is bordered by Austria to the east and north and by Switzerland to the west. It is stunningly beautiful in summer, and we were lucky enough to be invited by an OECD-colleague to visit his home town for a long weekend

Le Tour

It's France I suppose, but even I was surprised when the French commentator reflected on the cyclists tending to open their tops in the 30 degree heat by saying 'ce n'est pas beau quand ils l'ouvrent complètement comme ca'.

Climb every mountain...

Perhaps not every one but certainly one, this time in Italy. Back Sunday. Good luck to those with their own mountain to climb this weekend...like those giving birth!

Summer nights

11pm, 30 degrees...the marais never sleeps.

Heat minus humidity

33 degrees and still not itchy...must be the level of humidity in Penang that makes the difference, and this thought reminded me of a quote from Gregory David Roberts' autobiographical novel 'Sharantam' set in Bombay: 'Each breath was an angry little victory. I came to know that it never stops, the jungle sweat, because the heat that makes it, night and day, is a wet heat. The choking humidity makes amphibians of us all, in Bombay, breathing water in air; you learn to live with it, and you learn to like it, or you leave.'

Breathing air so heavy with water results in mankind taking more shallow breaths, which led me to crumple red-faced to the floor gulping for air quite early on in my pilates class...am out of practise with all that deep-breathing stuff.

Some reflections [in my camera] on the way to work...

Back seat driving

Admit it, you knew that with me back in Paris it wouldn't take long before I reverted to scooter posts...and oh how we have missed them. For the first time ever, I travelled through Paris on the back of a scooter..having normally been the one doing the driving. I tried to put into practise everything that I had learnt from hosting others on the back of my own moto - such as leaning into corners, not violently changing position or pushing myself back up the seat (although now I understand why so often I clunked helmets with passengers...the material encourages you to scoot down towards the driver's back), not leaning forward too abruptly to speak to the driver above the wind - as well as experiencing the difficulties first-hand that previous back seaters had complained of: badly fitting helmets, the virtual inability to get on and off the bike (let alone gallantly) with the driver already in position, and the like.

Still (and this despite a summer storm last night), it is by far the best way to travel in Paris.

And to top it all off...

the 14th July fireworks...

..and the problematic multitude-exit-from-one-area.

Bastille Day

Clear blue skies got the day off to a good start (and clever positioning meant I was only standing in the sun about 2 hours later while I think some others went home rather red and sore).

Sarko kicked things off by being driven down the C-E, to much general applause and clicking of camera shutters.

Then it was the turn of the marching masses. On and on they came in perfect formation. The firemen got some big cheers.

The first fly-over:

And the red arrows.

Followed by the tanks and other such war-type things.

Then it was the turn of the helicopters.

The End (thankfully..it was starting to go on a bit)

Actually, it wasn't truly the end. The end is trying to get away from an event like this, and it can really take a long time. Previously, I could always rely on my scooter for a speedy get away. Now, however, I am confined to move under my own steam, which would generally mean using the metro. But when 10,000 other people have the same idea, you need to come up with an alternative.

When I arrived at the first metro the queues were already stretching pretty far, but I also knew that the next nearest stop was on the same line, so no point using it, until I remembered that it also housed a line crossing the one I wanted. When I reached the metro station, it still took a while to move with the throng through the station, but once on the platform, it could have been a normal day. Either no-one really needed to go north-south, or the Paris metro just has an amazing ability to swallow people.

I again noticed this after the fireworks later....while cars were stuck in a jam and looked liked they might be for a while, and scooters merely added to the mêlée, pedestrians were able to hop, skip and jump their way into the metro. Although it was a squeeze passing through the barriers, the trains themselves were quieter than rush-hour and still clearing the platform with each train. Those high taxes are worth it.

The theory of lateral spin and projectile transference

The theory of lateral spin and projectile transference states that if a group of people are drinking an apéritif before dinner...

and one member of the group is throwing the stuffed mouse around of a normally playful cat (cat in photo depicted enjoying a non-playful moment with my shopping)

then the mouse shall land on the guest with a mouthful of wine, who, in surprise, shall conduct a lateral spin towards the couch, transferring in a projectile manner the contents of his mouth.

Half the guests shall then proceed to roll about on the floor laughing and the other half proceed to the clear up stage - applying salt and white wine (white wine works best). The hosts shall adopt an air of polite indifference, before finally assuring the guests that they believed white wine would work all along, upon seeing their couch once more restored to its non-splatted glory.