Brian and I went to the sixth largest mall in Europe this weekend. It was insanely large, with six levels and a roller coaster inside the mall!! We spent the day shopping amongst familiar brands like Loft, The Row, and a Victoria's Secret that was strangely dark..like movie theater dark. I was ecstatic to see a Converse store as I need a new pair of walkabout kicks, but apparently I have an extremely common shoe size and they were out in the three styles I wanted.(School just started here, so I think that had something to do with it.) Still, Brian was able to find some pieces to expand his professional wardrobe and we had a very enjoyable time.
On Friday, I joined the team for dinner at BAR 360, a rooftop place that turns into a nightclub between midnight and five am. There are places here that with your admission, you are allowed entry to breakfast after six at the same location! The team works really long hours, usually they get home after nine, so I'm struggling to adjust to dinner between ten and eleven. (It's currently four pm as I type this, and I'm just now thinking about lunch.) We shared sushi roll appetizers and bottles of wine before our meal and were entertained by some bizarre 'dancing'. A young lady did a fantastic hula hoop routine that reminded me of something off 'America's Got Talent.' One of her later numbers was accompanied by two assistants. The assistants LIT HER HULA HOOP ON FIRE and she continued her routine. It was crazy and the crowd went wild. I was duly impressed, and Ezra, our Turkish team member said it was very unusual and not anything she had seen before.
Three of us left 'early' around three am and like usual, we took a taxi home. I had thought the drivers in Paris were dangerous, but wow!! We went down the wrong way on a one way street and the driver shrugged off our concerns, saying 'That is the street we need, down there. It is oh-key." The Turks use their horns every couple of minutes. A driver explained as we drove down the middle of the yellow dotted line that separated two lanes-we became imaginary lane number one and a half- that the horn lets other drivers know we're coming-HONKKKKK. And there are no seat belt laws!! The drivers don't wear them and most of the taxis we've taken haven't even had them in the backseats!! I find that I travel easier with my eyes tightly closed, gripping the seat back in front of me, wedged against Brian or the door. The drivers seem to get exasperated every time I'd gasp, which is quite often. Now I just tell myself it's like I'm on Space Mountain in Disneyland. It's a fluffin' nightmare and Brian and I both agree we're grateful that at least we don't have to drive in this madness.
Monday, September 24, 2012
Our Hagia Sopia Sunday
The Hagia Sophia Sunday
Brian and I went on an afternoon adventure with two of his teammates from Tunsia. Jacem has spent time in Istanbul before, so he acted as our guide. We took a taxi to the old city and wandered through some neighborhoods on our way. We passed the Spice Bazaar, but didn't go in because we could literally spend an entire afternoon there. Due to my fair skin and freckles, the vendors always call out to me in English, which is kind of funny, except that I stick out so much. We passed a plant stall and I wanted to pick up some seeds for my father's garden. This led to a long discussion about customs and FDA and Ag board limits, which in hindsight, I really should have known better. I'd like to think my momentary diztiness was thanks to my pure excitement. I keep having 'holy cow' moments--I'm in ISTANBUL!!
But I digress, the Hagia Sophia.. It was built as the largest Catholic Church in Europe in 534 ACE, and then in 1174 was converted into a Mosque by the then ruling party. In the early 1930's, it was made into a museum and it's spectacular. There are paintings on the walls and ceilings of the Madonna and Child, of the Archangel Gabriel, of St. John the Baptist.. In Islam, they do not depict any faces whatsoever, so the Islamic art is beautiful and intricate words in Arabic. I think that it is wonderful that when it was converted, they did not destroy the Christian art and that it has lasted through the centuries. It was humbling to be in a place with such history and religious significance to so many. They say that it was covered in gold accents and jewels were once on the walls. Centuries ago, they were stolen or sold to fund wars so all that remains are the incredible facades. I took some pictures, so please check out the meager album on my Facebook page. Many of the Christian depictions are actually large mosaics; the talent and skill of making these are astounding.
Beyond the main sanctuary, there are a number of surrounding buildings. After walking through the Supreme Door (only the Emperor was allowed through it), we came across the baptismal chambers. It had a large tub carved of stone, and Brian-the-Jew exclaimed "Look at the size of that hot tub!" Even our Muslim friends shook their heads, and I hope the whole experience was enlightening to him. I tried to explain and teach him things and I think he learned about other cultures, haha.
After the Hagia Sophia, we went to a sacred tomb that held the graves of daughters, sons, and wives of the Sultans. Before entering these holy places, you must remove your shoes and women must wear a head scarf. Luckily for me, they had some to borrow and Miriam showed me how to wear it. Jacem explained that as a sign of equality in death, grave stones must not be raised more than 30 centimeters above the ground, if you are a Sultan or a beggar. The walls were adorned with prayers in Arabic, the calligraphy was stunning. Beautiful chandeliers hung above, and silk draped each coffin. These tombs are scattered around Istanbul and are the resting places of Emperors and their families.
We had lunch in a restaurant over the Bosphorus River in a seafood place that had incredible views. It's common here that when you go to a fish restaurant, the servers proudly bring over a table filled with different kinds of fish. You then get to choose which creature you'd like. It was a little different, but Jacem informed me that it's the norm here and you just don't look them in the eyes...
It was a great afternoon on a wonderfully warm and sunny day. So far, so good in Turkey
Brian and I went on an afternoon adventure with two of his teammates from Tunsia. Jacem has spent time in Istanbul before, so he acted as our guide. We took a taxi to the old city and wandered through some neighborhoods on our way. We passed the Spice Bazaar, but didn't go in because we could literally spend an entire afternoon there. Due to my fair skin and freckles, the vendors always call out to me in English, which is kind of funny, except that I stick out so much. We passed a plant stall and I wanted to pick up some seeds for my father's garden. This led to a long discussion about customs and FDA and Ag board limits, which in hindsight, I really should have known better. I'd like to think my momentary diztiness was thanks to my pure excitement. I keep having 'holy cow' moments--I'm in ISTANBUL!!
But I digress, the Hagia Sophia.. It was built as the largest Catholic Church in Europe in 534 ACE, and then in 1174 was converted into a Mosque by the then ruling party. In the early 1930's, it was made into a museum and it's spectacular. There are paintings on the walls and ceilings of the Madonna and Child, of the Archangel Gabriel, of St. John the Baptist.. In Islam, they do not depict any faces whatsoever, so the Islamic art is beautiful and intricate words in Arabic. I think that it is wonderful that when it was converted, they did not destroy the Christian art and that it has lasted through the centuries. It was humbling to be in a place with such history and religious significance to so many. They say that it was covered in gold accents and jewels were once on the walls. Centuries ago, they were stolen or sold to fund wars so all that remains are the incredible facades. I took some pictures, so please check out the meager album on my Facebook page. Many of the Christian depictions are actually large mosaics; the talent and skill of making these are astounding.
Beyond the main sanctuary, there are a number of surrounding buildings. After walking through the Supreme Door (only the Emperor was allowed through it), we came across the baptismal chambers. It had a large tub carved of stone, and Brian-the-Jew exclaimed "Look at the size of that hot tub!" Even our Muslim friends shook their heads, and I hope the whole experience was enlightening to him. I tried to explain and teach him things and I think he learned about other cultures, haha.
After the Hagia Sophia, we went to a sacred tomb that held the graves of daughters, sons, and wives of the Sultans. Before entering these holy places, you must remove your shoes and women must wear a head scarf. Luckily for me, they had some to borrow and Miriam showed me how to wear it. Jacem explained that as a sign of equality in death, grave stones must not be raised more than 30 centimeters above the ground, if you are a Sultan or a beggar. The walls were adorned with prayers in Arabic, the calligraphy was stunning. Beautiful chandeliers hung above, and silk draped each coffin. These tombs are scattered around Istanbul and are the resting places of Emperors and their families.
We had lunch in a restaurant over the Bosphorus River in a seafood place that had incredible views. It's common here that when you go to a fish restaurant, the servers proudly bring over a table filled with different kinds of fish. You then get to choose which creature you'd like. It was a little different, but Jacem informed me that it's the norm here and you just don't look them in the eyes...
It was a great afternoon on a wonderfully warm and sunny day. So far, so good in Turkey
Wednesday, September 19, 2012
Cue the Music, Or The Best Date Ever
My last day in Paris was arguably perfect. It was just Brian and me, and utterly romantic. This is shaping up to be a mushy post, so bear with me as I boast.
We woke up to a beautiful sunny day and shared some leftover Italian for breakfast. (What can I say, garlic bread before nine in the morning--this man gets me.) Our only real plan was to stop by the Lover's Bridge and the rest of the day was to be an adventure. We strolled along the Seine River, gazed up at the Eiffel Tower as we passed, and people watched. When solicitors would approach us asking if we spoke English, we'd stop our conversation, say 'Non' in a Frenchy accent, then continue on in English (they were from the UN, legitimately, but we had already donated and they were stationed every thirty yards or so.) We teased each other about our hypocrisy, but we were young, in love, in Paris. There are more important things to consider at that moment.
The Lover's Bridge was about three miles away from our hotel and the streets are dotted with vendors. As we approached, we chose a glittery gold lock and wrote our initials with the date. As we will be frequently in Paris, we thought we'd place a new lock each year. We took some silly pictures and threw our keys into the river. After, we sat in an outside cafe and ordered 'the big beers'.
Just around the corner from the cafe was a farmer's market. These are unlike any I've ever attended in America. They have booths with fresh fish, artisan cheese, wines, local art. We continued wandering the streets until we came upon an open square. There were booths and picnic cloths spread with goods-the closest I can describe is a sort of city yard sale. There were vintage furs, dresses, and shoes. Tables were covered in books, china, and antiques. We oohed and awed, and wished we knew what we were looking at.
We needed some winter wear so we stopped in some clothing stores, but discovered they don't come in until October. I was completely turned around, as by this point we were about six miles from the hotel, but luckily Brian is excellent with reading the street maps that can be found on every corner. We actually weren't too far from his work, so we trekked along until we came upon our favorite Parisian Sushi restaurant. Sushi here is different than Californian sushi, in that I'm used to rolls filled with different ingredients, but instead of Maki, you're more likely to find sashimi on the menus. After a late, albeit incredible lunch, we walked to a nearby bookstore before taking a taxi home.
For dinner, we went to a restaurant on the river, just beneath the Eiffel Tower. There is a light show on the hour and we had an amazing view. We chose some quintessential French entrees and shared some red wine, enjoying our last night in Paris. It was dreamy and enchanting; I look forward to our next visit in November
We woke up to a beautiful sunny day and shared some leftover Italian for breakfast. (What can I say, garlic bread before nine in the morning--this man gets me.) Our only real plan was to stop by the Lover's Bridge and the rest of the day was to be an adventure. We strolled along the Seine River, gazed up at the Eiffel Tower as we passed, and people watched. When solicitors would approach us asking if we spoke English, we'd stop our conversation, say 'Non' in a Frenchy accent, then continue on in English (they were from the UN, legitimately, but we had already donated and they were stationed every thirty yards or so.) We teased each other about our hypocrisy, but we were young, in love, in Paris. There are more important things to consider at that moment.
The Lover's Bridge was about three miles away from our hotel and the streets are dotted with vendors. As we approached, we chose a glittery gold lock and wrote our initials with the date. As we will be frequently in Paris, we thought we'd place a new lock each year. We took some silly pictures and threw our keys into the river. After, we sat in an outside cafe and ordered 'the big beers'.
Just around the corner from the cafe was a farmer's market. These are unlike any I've ever attended in America. They have booths with fresh fish, artisan cheese, wines, local art. We continued wandering the streets until we came upon an open square. There were booths and picnic cloths spread with goods-the closest I can describe is a sort of city yard sale. There were vintage furs, dresses, and shoes. Tables were covered in books, china, and antiques. We oohed and awed, and wished we knew what we were looking at.
We needed some winter wear so we stopped in some clothing stores, but discovered they don't come in until October. I was completely turned around, as by this point we were about six miles from the hotel, but luckily Brian is excellent with reading the street maps that can be found on every corner. We actually weren't too far from his work, so we trekked along until we came upon our favorite Parisian Sushi restaurant. Sushi here is different than Californian sushi, in that I'm used to rolls filled with different ingredients, but instead of Maki, you're more likely to find sashimi on the menus. After a late, albeit incredible lunch, we walked to a nearby bookstore before taking a taxi home.
For dinner, we went to a restaurant on the river, just beneath the Eiffel Tower. There is a light show on the hour and we had an amazing view. We chose some quintessential French entrees and shared some red wine, enjoying our last night in Paris. It was dreamy and enchanting; I look forward to our next visit in November
Three Minutes of Terror, Or The Front Desk Hates Me-Part 2
Due to some various reasons, the assignments were delayed for about ten days, so we left Paris later than we expected. Fashion week coinsided with this and our hotel couldn't extend our reservation as they were completely booked up. We were moved to their sister hotel, the Adagio- Eiffel Tower, and we couldn't have been more pleased!
For one, our new apartment was meant for four guests and we had it all to ourselves. Up on the 26th floor, we had incredible panoramic views of the city and of the French Statue of Liberty. Unfortunately though, it meant about a thirty minute commute for Brian, and about twenty minutes away from the other hotel. It seemed like a nce, modern hotel and I encourage you to look it up.
On the second day we were there, we had a true 'near' death experience. The day started normally and we joined a family on the ground floor to head up to our apartment. The family was French and it was Dad with two sons, about 14 and 11. They were headed to the 25th floor and we nodded at each other when we got in. These elevators are meant to hold 19 people and are quite grand. We continued our seperate conversations as the elevator headed up. We reached about the 17th floor when suddenly, the elevator shook and the lights flickered.
Brian grinned at me and said "at least we have food with us!"
The father started approaching the wall of buttons to hit the operator switch, when suddenly, the car dropped out from beneath us! We all gasped and clung to the rails as the car free fell eight stories, the floor numbers rushing in a count down, then it caught itself. The lights flickered again and it began to climb. It felt like the Tower of Terror ride at Disney Land, except this was not fun and truly frightening. The oldest son tried to open the doors at the next approaching level, except the doors wouldn't open and it kept climbing.
Again, it free fell. I dropped my water bottle and the youngest son wailed. We all had crouched down as it fell, and my mind raced about if you're supposed to lay down or what when accidents like this happened. It stopped suddenly, and we all started talking at once, the family switching to English. We could hear the cables groaning and the car shuddered. Brian and the father kept urging the son to hit the next floor button so we could get off this elevator of death, but it had jammed or something, and wouldn't open the doors.
Again, the car began its slow ascent of horror. For the third time, it free fell, though this time it was only a few stories before it caught. I can hardly began to describe the panic we felt as we watched those floor numbers fly down and knew we could do nothing to control it. I have never been in a free falling elevator before and I would wish it on noone. In those fleeting moments, I honestly thought "this is it, it doesn't matter if I'm laying down or standing. I am going to die." Finally, it rose and the doors let us off at floor 23.
A man was waiting for the elevator and we shouted (seriously, it was like a movie chorus) "NO!" and rushed out. We shakily explained it was broken and accompanied the family to the stairs as we spoke about our shared participation. I don't know if you've ever been in a scary situation, but anyone you share it with immediately becomes your friend after. We both agreed to call the desk as soon as we arrived.
My legs were genuinely weak and my hands were shaking as I dialed the desk. I explained what happened and the man apologized and said he'd get a technician on it right away. My voice was trembling and higher pitched than usual and I repeated what happened. He agreed he understood and tried to hang up. I was slightly hysterical and repeated a third time, insisting that he comprehended the situation of death and which of the four elevators it was.
It was awful and unnerving and for three days after, we took the stairs to the 26th floor everytime.
For one, our new apartment was meant for four guests and we had it all to ourselves. Up on the 26th floor, we had incredible panoramic views of the city and of the French Statue of Liberty. Unfortunately though, it meant about a thirty minute commute for Brian, and about twenty minutes away from the other hotel. It seemed like a nce, modern hotel and I encourage you to look it up.
On the second day we were there, we had a true 'near' death experience. The day started normally and we joined a family on the ground floor to head up to our apartment. The family was French and it was Dad with two sons, about 14 and 11. They were headed to the 25th floor and we nodded at each other when we got in. These elevators are meant to hold 19 people and are quite grand. We continued our seperate conversations as the elevator headed up. We reached about the 17th floor when suddenly, the elevator shook and the lights flickered.
Brian grinned at me and said "at least we have food with us!"
The father started approaching the wall of buttons to hit the operator switch, when suddenly, the car dropped out from beneath us! We all gasped and clung to the rails as the car free fell eight stories, the floor numbers rushing in a count down, then it caught itself. The lights flickered again and it began to climb. It felt like the Tower of Terror ride at Disney Land, except this was not fun and truly frightening. The oldest son tried to open the doors at the next approaching level, except the doors wouldn't open and it kept climbing.
Again, it free fell. I dropped my water bottle and the youngest son wailed. We all had crouched down as it fell, and my mind raced about if you're supposed to lay down or what when accidents like this happened. It stopped suddenly, and we all started talking at once, the family switching to English. We could hear the cables groaning and the car shuddered. Brian and the father kept urging the son to hit the next floor button so we could get off this elevator of death, but it had jammed or something, and wouldn't open the doors.
Again, the car began its slow ascent of horror. For the third time, it free fell, though this time it was only a few stories before it caught. I can hardly began to describe the panic we felt as we watched those floor numbers fly down and knew we could do nothing to control it. I have never been in a free falling elevator before and I would wish it on noone. In those fleeting moments, I honestly thought "this is it, it doesn't matter if I'm laying down or standing. I am going to die." Finally, it rose and the doors let us off at floor 23.
A man was waiting for the elevator and we shouted (seriously, it was like a movie chorus) "NO!" and rushed out. We shakily explained it was broken and accompanied the family to the stairs as we spoke about our shared participation. I don't know if you've ever been in a scary situation, but anyone you share it with immediately becomes your friend after. We both agreed to call the desk as soon as we arrived.
My legs were genuinely weak and my hands were shaking as I dialed the desk. I explained what happened and the man apologized and said he'd get a technician on it right away. My voice was trembling and higher pitched than usual and I repeated what happened. He agreed he understood and tried to hang up. I was slightly hysterical and repeated a third time, insisting that he comprehended the situation of death and which of the four elevators it was.
It was awful and unnerving and for three days after, we took the stairs to the 26th floor everytime.
A Last Meal, Or How the Heck Did We LOSE Weight Here??
Our last few days in Paris were eventful. Brian was assigned to Istanbul, A to Sao Paulo-Brazil, S to Paris, and C to a multi-nation assignment in Europe. Brian and I were the most excited, I think, and A was down right terrified. Her assignment not only took her to a dangerous city, but she also must travel to Columbia. Did I mention she's a gorgeous blonde who's face screams 'American!'? Still, we know that the company wouldn't send us to a place where our safety is severely threatened.. or at least we'd like to assume.
On one of our last nights together, we had dinner at a fondue restaurant. It was a delicious experience that I highly recommend. One of the coolest things was how we received the fondue. Instead of a melting pot over a small burner (we did have one of those as well), the chef started with large slices of cheese cut from a cheese wheel. The slices were put into a heating machine that stood directly on our table. (Forgive me, I forget the name of this type.) The machine looked like a giant metal T, with hot plates that extended down on each arm of the T. The cheese wheel slices were held in the middle and you could adjust the melting speed by pulling away the hot plates. It was served with warm chunks of soft potato, meat platters that included prosciutto, ham and salami, as well as thin slices of bread. As the sides of the cheese wheel softened, you pulled a knife down the cheese and over your potatoes. Our favorite combination was a slice of meat on a potato, smothered by the warm cheese. We also had the more traditional fondue pot with a cheese mixture and mushrooms. It was so much heavy food and cheese, but it was just delightful.
After, we made our way to our favorite tavern that was located on the same block as the hotel. We often ended a night with a drink here, and the owners knew the rest of the auditors as they'd frequent it each time they visited Paris. One of our favorite unusual things about the cocktails was that they were served with a sugar covered and flavored marshmallow! Caan (pronounced like Ken--probably for our benefit) was Turkish and a sweetheart. He'd place roses in the cocktails for the ladies and gave us excellent service and travel advice. Once, he shared some traditional cookies that his mother had homemade for him. He was enthusiastic when we mentioned we were headed to Turkey, and asked us to bring home a sweet bread for him when we return in November. (Brian and I can't remember exactly what he asked for, probably due to the superbly poured drinks, but we plan on bringing a couple to share.) We asked if he thought we'd be safe and he eagerly confirmed. A asked the same question about Sao Paulo and he gave her sad eyes and brought her a complimentary basket of chips.
With hugs, we bid each other safe travels and a fond 'Adieu', promising to keep up via email. I truly enjoyed their company and look forward to sharing our experiences when we meet again in ten weeks. I loved sharing inside jokes, crazy music videos, and chanting "HR-HR-HR!!" when someone would tell a dirty joke or a 'that's what she said!' We really couldn't have asked for a better group of strangers <3
On one of our last nights together, we had dinner at a fondue restaurant. It was a delicious experience that I highly recommend. One of the coolest things was how we received the fondue. Instead of a melting pot over a small burner (we did have one of those as well), the chef started with large slices of cheese cut from a cheese wheel. The slices were put into a heating machine that stood directly on our table. (Forgive me, I forget the name of this type.) The machine looked like a giant metal T, with hot plates that extended down on each arm of the T. The cheese wheel slices were held in the middle and you could adjust the melting speed by pulling away the hot plates. It was served with warm chunks of soft potato, meat platters that included prosciutto, ham and salami, as well as thin slices of bread. As the sides of the cheese wheel softened, you pulled a knife down the cheese and over your potatoes. Our favorite combination was a slice of meat on a potato, smothered by the warm cheese. We also had the more traditional fondue pot with a cheese mixture and mushrooms. It was so much heavy food and cheese, but it was just delightful.
After, we made our way to our favorite tavern that was located on the same block as the hotel. We often ended a night with a drink here, and the owners knew the rest of the auditors as they'd frequent it each time they visited Paris. One of our favorite unusual things about the cocktails was that they were served with a sugar covered and flavored marshmallow! Caan (pronounced like Ken--probably for our benefit) was Turkish and a sweetheart. He'd place roses in the cocktails for the ladies and gave us excellent service and travel advice. Once, he shared some traditional cookies that his mother had homemade for him. He was enthusiastic when we mentioned we were headed to Turkey, and asked us to bring home a sweet bread for him when we return in November. (Brian and I can't remember exactly what he asked for, probably due to the superbly poured drinks, but we plan on bringing a couple to share.) We asked if he thought we'd be safe and he eagerly confirmed. A asked the same question about Sao Paulo and he gave her sad eyes and brought her a complimentary basket of chips.
With hugs, we bid each other safe travels and a fond 'Adieu', promising to keep up via email. I truly enjoyed their company and look forward to sharing our experiences when we meet again in ten weeks. I loved sharing inside jokes, crazy music videos, and chanting "HR-HR-HR!!" when someone would tell a dirty joke or a 'that's what she said!' We really couldn't have asked for a better group of strangers <3
Tuesday, September 18, 2012
Soapbox, Or Reflections on a Mournful Truth
I have been so fortunate to have such an opulent experience in France. Paris is often mythicized as a beautiful, romantic place, but I found that that is not always true. It is a city, after all, and it can be gray and concrete filled with reminders of poverty on every corner.
Before we moved to a San Fransisco suburb, we had seriously looked at apartments in the city. Ultimately, I confessed that the timing didn't feel right to me; that I wasn't yet emotionally prepared to face the serious homeless problem that plagued the streets. (What a luxury, to choose my home based on sentiment.) Granted, San Luis Obispo had a large transient population, but generally speaking, it was a younger crowd of mid-twenties kids on their way up or down the coast. They looked more like hipsters and the college crowd was unusually generous and friendly to them. San Fransisco had more of an older homeless population and my heart went out to the sad looking souls curled up against buildings, fighting the fog and cold. There seemed to be more veterans and people with disabilities as well. With my background in social services, I do understand the available programs for aid; yet I also know how short these programs fall in helping our fellow citizens.
We rush to rescue stray animals, placing them in warm shelters and finding homes that have been vetted for safety and comfort... Too often, we ignore the pleading eyes of 'stray' humans and hurry past them, blocking their needs from our thoughts.
San Fransisco did little to prepare me for the problems of Paris.
Due to benevolent immigration laws, in recent years there has been a large influx of foreign nationals who have fled to France seeking opportunity. On a grander scale than what is seen in America, plenty of these people have true difficulty finding employment and housing. I was not braced for the sheer numbers of families that make their homes living on the streets. On my route to the grocery store, a mere two blocks, there were at least sixty members of homeless families. Please remember, we were in a very nice part of the city and I've been told it's much worse in other districts. Sometimes they'd take refuge on the steps of churches, but mostly I was struck by groups of children sleeping clustered on dirty mattresses on the edges of the street. At night time, the families would make circles and you could hear them telling the children stories. The laughter of the young echoing through the night wrenched my heart, especially as I thought of the children of friends and family back home...
As always, I am reminded of the fact that I was in 'one of the greatest cities of the world' and that this is nothing compared to other countries. Still, I relish the chance I was given, being born into the life I know and the favorable circumstances that led me to here. I don't have any grand illusion of a solution, but rather I ask that today you take a moment, and appreciate who and where you are.
Before we moved to a San Fransisco suburb, we had seriously looked at apartments in the city. Ultimately, I confessed that the timing didn't feel right to me; that I wasn't yet emotionally prepared to face the serious homeless problem that plagued the streets. (What a luxury, to choose my home based on sentiment.) Granted, San Luis Obispo had a large transient population, but generally speaking, it was a younger crowd of mid-twenties kids on their way up or down the coast. They looked more like hipsters and the college crowd was unusually generous and friendly to them. San Fransisco had more of an older homeless population and my heart went out to the sad looking souls curled up against buildings, fighting the fog and cold. There seemed to be more veterans and people with disabilities as well. With my background in social services, I do understand the available programs for aid; yet I also know how short these programs fall in helping our fellow citizens.
We rush to rescue stray animals, placing them in warm shelters and finding homes that have been vetted for safety and comfort... Too often, we ignore the pleading eyes of 'stray' humans and hurry past them, blocking their needs from our thoughts.
San Fransisco did little to prepare me for the problems of Paris.
Due to benevolent immigration laws, in recent years there has been a large influx of foreign nationals who have fled to France seeking opportunity. On a grander scale than what is seen in America, plenty of these people have true difficulty finding employment and housing. I was not braced for the sheer numbers of families that make their homes living on the streets. On my route to the grocery store, a mere two blocks, there were at least sixty members of homeless families. Please remember, we were in a very nice part of the city and I've been told it's much worse in other districts. Sometimes they'd take refuge on the steps of churches, but mostly I was struck by groups of children sleeping clustered on dirty mattresses on the edges of the street. At night time, the families would make circles and you could hear them telling the children stories. The laughter of the young echoing through the night wrenched my heart, especially as I thought of the children of friends and family back home...
As always, I am reminded of the fact that I was in 'one of the greatest cities of the world' and that this is nothing compared to other countries. Still, I relish the chance I was given, being born into the life I know and the favorable circumstances that led me to here. I don't have any grand illusion of a solution, but rather I ask that today you take a moment, and appreciate who and where you are.
Wednesday, September 5, 2012
Stupid Americans, Or The Front Desk Hates Me -Part 1
Like most people our age, we love electronics. We've got laptops, Kindles, phone chargers, etc, and I don't think it's too much to ask that they're charged properly. However, we only brought two french outlet converters with us, but that's okay because we brought power strips!!
On one of our first nights here, we had had a long day and were just exhausted. We came back to the hotel and rummaged through the suitcases to find said power strips. It was very late and we changed into pajamas, calling out to each other "have you seen this?" and "what bag was that in?"
I was in the bathroom when I heard a loud POP and Brian cursing. When I rushed into the main room, there was an acrid smell in the air. He told me that the power strip had sparked blue and that the outlet had blown. We located the little breaker box and reset it. Brian confidently strode over to a different outlet on the other side of the room, with a different power strip. Now I'm not one to say I know everything about electronics, but this seemed like a bad idea to me. I explained that I didn't want him to die from electric shock. He looked at me like he was talking to a child, saying, "Well, we know what went wrong. THAT was an older strip. THIS is a newer one." A slightly heated conversation happened, and I stayed on the far side of the room from this very bad idea. (Girlfriend interjection--sometimes we just have to let them do it their way.)
Brian looks at me triumphantly and says "watch!" As he pushes it in----ALL OF THE FUSES BLEW and we were plunged into darkness. So now we're standing in the dark, in our pajamas, and have to go tell the front desk that the stupid Americans (us) blew the fuses up on the third floor. I opened the curtains and we dressed from the street lights. I was concerned that some weirdo across the way got a bit of a show, but more concerned about starting a wiring fire. We trek downstairs and my face is bright red as Brian tries to explain to the night desk man. In broken English, we think the man understands, because he leaves the desk quickly. He returns with a big smile and hands us the same converter we have upstairs.
No, no, we say and then try to mime darkness like a pair of idiots. He stares at us with this totally confused look on his face (he probably thought we'd been drinking or something). This continues for five or six minutes and finally we get our message across. He tells us that he's the only desk person for another couple of hours so he can't leave. My face just fell so he tells Brian where the breaker box is and asks him to flip the big switch. Again, this doesn't sound like a great idea to me, but this time it worked out.
Now we can look back and laugh, but we know--one plug per outlet, no power strips.
On one of our first nights here, we had had a long day and were just exhausted. We came back to the hotel and rummaged through the suitcases to find said power strips. It was very late and we changed into pajamas, calling out to each other "have you seen this?" and "what bag was that in?"
I was in the bathroom when I heard a loud POP and Brian cursing. When I rushed into the main room, there was an acrid smell in the air. He told me that the power strip had sparked blue and that the outlet had blown. We located the little breaker box and reset it. Brian confidently strode over to a different outlet on the other side of the room, with a different power strip. Now I'm not one to say I know everything about electronics, but this seemed like a bad idea to me. I explained that I didn't want him to die from electric shock. He looked at me like he was talking to a child, saying, "Well, we know what went wrong. THAT was an older strip. THIS is a newer one." A slightly heated conversation happened, and I stayed on the far side of the room from this very bad idea. (Girlfriend interjection--sometimes we just have to let them do it their way.)
Brian looks at me triumphantly and says "watch!" As he pushes it in----ALL OF THE FUSES BLEW and we were plunged into darkness. So now we're standing in the dark, in our pajamas, and have to go tell the front desk that the stupid Americans (us) blew the fuses up on the third floor. I opened the curtains and we dressed from the street lights. I was concerned that some weirdo across the way got a bit of a show, but more concerned about starting a wiring fire. We trek downstairs and my face is bright red as Brian tries to explain to the night desk man. In broken English, we think the man understands, because he leaves the desk quickly. He returns with a big smile and hands us the same converter we have upstairs.
No, no, we say and then try to mime darkness like a pair of idiots. He stares at us with this totally confused look on his face (he probably thought we'd been drinking or something). This continues for five or six minutes and finally we get our message across. He tells us that he's the only desk person for another couple of hours so he can't leave. My face just fell so he tells Brian where the breaker box is and asks him to flip the big switch. Again, this doesn't sound like a great idea to me, but this time it worked out.
Now we can look back and laugh, but we know--one plug per outlet, no power strips.
Magic Micheb, Or Is This Really What They Think of Americans??
The following post contains adult material and I do not apologize for this. If you don't want to read it, stop here. Please know any criticism will be ignored and may result in my exasperation and you being shunned.
You've been warned.
The three Americans have stuck together and have bonded over our foreign experiences so far. The Belgian fellow in our group travels home each weekend and the French guy spends every weekend with his sister, so we're on our own with our limited knowledge of this culture. Sometimes they'll offer suggestions, but mostly we wander about and play tourist.
Last week, the two guys mentioned they stopped by an American restaurant and the food was 'weird' so they didn't eat there. We were immediately interested about a taste of home and peppered them with questions. Apparently, the menu had pictures of the food and usually that means it's for children or is a low class place. (It looked just like a Denny's menu or any other number of familiar diners.) Additionally, the food was strange to them, but sounded great to us! Chili dogs, messy burgers, grilled cheese sandwiches, burritos--a greasy slice of heaven. Maybe it is owned by ex-pats and we could talk Monday Night Football with someone who didn't think it was Monday Night Futbol! (That was a sad trick, we thought this game night was NFL, but it was soccer.) The guys gave us the location and we set out to find this mecca.
I was struck by all of the decorations and STUFF hanging on the outside and inside walls. It was kind of like the Hard Rock or The Bear, with memorabilia covering every inch. There was a giant neon Elvis waving us in, a movie prop Frankenstein in a glass case, a stuffed lion, life size pirates; so many things it was a little overwhelming. The hostess said there was a show about to start upstairs, but we asked for a seat at the bar so we could be seated without waiting. It was full of people so we thought this was a good sign. Downstairs was sushi and karaoke, a bizarre mix of levels.
Looking at the drink prices, we saw that we could have a drink and attend the show for only five more euros. The hostess said it was an authentic American dance show, with go-go dancers. Visions of Las Vegas in the seventies, of Austin Power movies swirled through our heads, so we decided to go for it.
Imagine the look on our faces, two ladies and one shocked fella, when we discovered that American go-go dancers were co-ed strippers. After our initial shock, we burst out laughing and decided to stick around. I don't really have any experience relating American strip clubs, but there were some differences than in the movies. No one tipped, which is more of a culture thing, but I've always thought you do. A and I were the only women in the beginning, but even when the male dancers came out, the crowd of men in their twenties still cheered and clapped to the music, respecting them. It was more subdued than the cheers for the women, but I thought it was nice.
Since we were the only women, we received 'special' attention. The female dancers would make eye contact and faces at us, like "can you believe these jackals?" And we were "lucky" enough to be called on stage.
Most of you know I have germ related issues, and frankly, I'm a little uptight. When this 6'5, extremely muscular black man pulled me on stage, all I could think was "Breathe, Micheb!! Don't be that girl who causes a scene. Be cool, Be cool!!" He lifted me up with one arm and I hissed "be careful, I'm heavy!" and he hushed me, laughing. Behind me, my companions were roaring with laughter as I gave them crazy eyes and my body froze. After some insane feats of strength where I channeled CHS cheer Coach Mary (how she prepared the flyers for being tossed), he set me on a chair and did his dance. The crowd was cheering and my friends told me I looked like a deer-in-the-headlights, but I was thinking that I didn't have enough hand sanitizer with me to rub on my arms. Mercifully, our song ended, he kissed my hand and shooed me off stage.
I weakly walked back to my chair and shakily said, "so that just happened," setting my friends off into more peals of laughter.
It was so ridiculous and one of those memories we'll have for ages. Now we know what go-go dancers mean, but I pity the French men who think a typical American diner will have them on staff.
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