We return to report that Kansas is not like Oz at all!!!

We have been home two weeks and are I am finally starting to feel more settled. Boxes have been excavated and unpacked, the house has been re-organized and reclaimed, the backyard jungle has been mowed to a more tolerable height and food has been re-stocked. The return to friends and familiarity is good but I am also deeply nostalgic for life on the other side of the Atlantic.  This is not first-time traveler reentry shock- I have been out of the US for extended periods in many different areas of the world before (including the Middle East and Asia). But there are still some newer experiences in this particular return.

From the moment we landed, as we wait to be picked up outside at the airport, my sleep-deprived fatigue is unpleasantly invaded by a wall of cigarette-infused humid heat.  I am appalled and shocked by the mammoth cars idling outside the baggage claims area (one person being picked-up was met by so many people that the vehicles included both an SUV AND a large truck).  We are surrounded by loud, mammoth people- not what we have been used to for the last 6 months. I feel as if we have entered a ‘super-sized’ universe that I am not sure I want to be a member of.  Before I return, I had been reading about the shut-down of my state (Minnesota) and I had been dreading living in the resulting chaos without the filter of distance and the Atlantic Ocean.  Luckily, as we walk in the door, the phone rings and my sister call to welcome us home and to let us that our state government is now back in business.  This is a relief, but the details are still being sorted out, and the US government finances are still, unfortunately, up in the air.  

Other surprises continued to emerge as we settle home:  The other day, I realized that I could actually understand a conversation on the street- at first I thought-wow my language skills must have really improved until my more rational brain pointed out that the language was English!!!  I notice that when confronted by a word or name I don't know, I sound it out with Estonian vowel sounds and emphasize the first syllable (as one would with any Estonian word).    With joy I spend time rediscovering the many diverse places unique to Minneapolis- Somali centers, Hmong culture and spicy Mexican food.  (One evening we join Bruce's church in a joint picnic with their next-door Somali community and I relish the spicy flavor of sambusas.)  But I miss the easy of accessibility to all forms of arts- public sculptures, wonderfully imaginative architecture, inexpensive concerts and performances and even the multiple free museums of the British Isles. 

 Access and quality of news is a different story as well as a challenging adjustment: I don’t like that serious news is often on the middle pages of our local newspaper, while the front page is about the local sports teams or concerts.  International news is often relegated to side columns, unless it is grisley horrendous (like the tragic recent killings in Norway).  Bruce and I both suffer from severe withdrawal from the BBC International News Service.  It is no longer available any time we wanted via TV or Internet. It is now rationed and only available at strange times of the day.  Plus, the BBC available in the US has blonde white women with British accents rather than the multi-hued faces with accents that hinted at origins beyond the United Kingdom.)

I continue to struggle with the inevitable need to drive everywhere, whether running errands or meetingsomeone for coffee. It seems impossible it is to get around by walking or taking a bus- unless I have unlimited time.  (Another difference between life 'there' and life 'here').  I am also surprised by how expensive everything has gotten since we left- including gas and food. At the markets I am shocked by the cost of basic things like spices, beans and rice. I also mourn the absence of the beautiful fresh fruits and vegetable that were starting to become more available everywhere we went in Europe, once things started to get warmer.   We look with no success for the large, sweet pears that were available where ever we traveled in Europe (Making pear ‘pirukas’ or dough wrapped pears with jam got us through the winters in Estonia)

Restaurant prices are also surprising, while traveling we would often compare ‘eating out’ costs in Paris and Amsterdam with ‘back home’, grumbling about how expensive it was to eat ‘over there’ and concluding that it must reflect the higher taxes and the fact that most of the countries we visited had much more available social services (e.g. better public transportation, pensioner rates, health care coverage and support for education).  But food costs here have risen and are almost equivalent to what we were paying in Europe.  Given that there is such a high rate of unemployment in the US right now, I wonder how some people manage.

On a deeper level my reentry is also challenging- and I continue to feel like Cinderella the day after the ball (and before the prince arrives. During my time in Estonia, being able to teach and valued for what I know and do has deepened and grown stronger roots in my sense of who I am.  Now that I am back, I struggle with how to communicate this to friends and colleagues.  Professionally it feels hard to know how to re-enter this smaller ‘pool’ (Which has also continued to grow and change while I was gone- How dare they? They were supposed to stay the same until I returned!!!) Where I notice the most change is in my own views about what is important and what I believe and know.  Plus, my ability and willingness to accommodate and adapt has decreased.  I wrestle with how to re-enter, or if I even want to be in that same pool. All of these are questions I will be exploring and wrestling with for a while.  I will not stop being me, I will not stop my work and what I do, but how it fits here is somewhat fuzzy.  While the process of understanding the many ways that my time in Estonia has impacted who I am and how I see myself in the world. I don’t know how much of this will be shared in this blog.  Perhaps I will add some entries, but the frequency will become a bit less. Thanks for reading this….to be continued in some form…stay tuned. 

A bit more on the Netherlands from Bruce

Barbara's already written about our last week in Europe, wandering about Amsterdam and other towns in the Netherlands, but I thought I would add in a few more photos--such as the one on the right, of Barbara amidst the summer flowers, which she does not include in her own postings. (And truth in packaging--we are in fact back in Minneapolis as I write this, sitting in my Dunn Bros. coffeeshop while it's over a 100 outside, but part of me is still in Europe, so in one sense I do feel like I'm still "writing from Europe.")

We've been to Amsterdam a few times before, and this time we often sought to find new neighborhoods and sights we hadn't seen before.

One of our train trips (the extensive train network in Holland is what the bus network was in Estonia) took us to Haarlem, where one can see lovely local folks (as in the photo to the left) by historic windmills). The name reminded us that early on the Dutch were at least a temporary presence in what would become the U.S.--New York was once New Amsterdam, and still has an important community called Harlem. We also wandered around an area with more recent immigrants, and came upon a beautiful Turkish mosque built in 1979 (a wave of Muslim immigration a generation earlier than those coming from places like Morocco today).

If we hadn't seen the word "camii" (Turkish for mosque) outside, we'd have known it was Turkish once we took off our shoes, Barbara wrapped her scarf over her head, and I headed into the sanctuary while she climbed the stairs to the women's section (perhaps unnecessary since no one else was there, but we try to do more than just "what we can get away with"): the blue tilework was SO distinctively Turkish, as were other elements of the design. We'd both had good experiences in various mosques in Istanbul when we were there in the fall of 2009, both large and local, and felt much "at home." I recalled a conversation I'd had with a Turkish man there, who asked if I were a Christian, and whether I was able to live as a Christian should. We both admitted ruefully we so often fell short of what we knew was asked of us, but as we parted, he said "perhaps, inshallah (God willing), we will meet again someday in heaven."                                                                                                                                  
 
 Take a close look at the photo to the left.   In my experience, mosques usually have a clock or several clocks indicating the time, since (with some parallels to Jewish ritual practice as well), the times for daily prayers are set relative to the day and night (such as sunset).  But these change during the course of the year (unless a mosque were to be on the equator, I suppose), so the exact times for prayers change each day (slightly), and it becomes important to have a common time-keeper so everyone will know if it's time for prayer (of course, the "call to prayer" by the muezzin also performs that function).  What is particularly interesting in the photo, however, is that it reflects the long day in a northern country like the Netherlands: dawn may signal the time to get ready for the first prayer (at almost 3:00 a.m. on the first clock), and the last prayer of the day (the evening prayer) is noted as at 10:30 p.m. (!).  (Ths will also have implications for Ramadan, which will run for the whole month of August this year, during which observant Muslims are to avoid food and drink from sunrise to sunset--a much longer time at this time of year than if it were in January.)
                                            

The photo to the right shows the main town square in Haarlem on a Sunday afternoon, with the huge old cathedral in the background.  Sunday afternoons seem to be a time when many local folks gather there to visit, eat, and relax, a peaceful pause in the week's busy schedule.

In Den Haag (The Hague), the highlight of our visit was to the Escher Museum.  It gave me a new appreciation for his work--I'd thought of hin primarily as someone whose main claim to fame was as someone who could devise carefully executed images that fool the viewer.  But here I saw his earlier work, such as the etching of the Garden of Eden in the photo below.  He reminded me more of someone like Durer (the well known artist who brought etching to the level of "real art," I think).


Change of scene: we are sitting in the synagogue where the folks we are staying with are active members.  The building itself is rather new, quite striking, though the congregation itself has been around for generations.  One of the service leaders comes over before things begin, and ask Barbara for her Herbrew name (somewhat different from her everyday name), for, as it turns out, she's called up to sing the blessings (given an aliya) before the reading of one of the sections of the Torah portion for the day.  Her voice rises clear and lovely over us all, as it always is, though she confesses later to having been a bit nervous.

After the service, we go out into the adjacent area for kiddush (blessings over the wine, and coffee and cookies).  Above the counter is a large photo of Anne Frank, the iconic one that is usually on the cover of her diary, for her family had been a member of this congregation, and older folks remember them.  As I saw when I visited the Jewish Historical Museum (thanks to it for the photo on the left of a kosher butcher shop in the 1920's), Amsterdam was a relatively safe and welcoming place for Jews going back to the 1600's, when Spanish and Portuguese Jews were still fleeing persection from the Inquisition in Iberia.  And yet three-quarters of those in Holland died in the Holocaust, shipped with reluctant cooperation of the government to the camps farther east (in my understanding of what the museum was saying, there was little official resistance to the deportations).  Some would flee west, some would survive the camps, some would be hidden by sympathetic Dutch Christians at risk to themselves.  Their stories survive.

A Jewish textile factory was requisitioned under Nazi occupation to produce the yellow cloth on which "Jood" (Dutch for Jew) was printed inside the Star of David, to identify Jews in public and make their persecution more easy.

Today (as in a number of European countries), there is political controversy and discussion about the "problem of immigration."  And new immigrants do provide challenges to a society that now thinks of itself as very democratic, very tolerant, and very progressive about issues for gender and gas and lesbians (Holland was the first country in the world to legalize same-sex marriage several years ago).

And yet, too, as my visit to the excellent Troppen Museum helped me understand, there is (as I suppose there always is!) an historical dimension that makes such issues more complex.  At its height, during its "Golden Age" in the 1600's and 1700's, the Netherlands was a wealthy and powerful nation, small as it was, based in part on significant overseas colonies--Indonesia most significantly (which today is the largest Muslim country in the world), but also a history in South Africa, and in the New World (Surinam, in South America, little known to most Americans)--the Troppen noted that the Netherlands was involved in the slave trade (along with Britain and others), bringing over half a million people from West Africa to the New World.  Slaves and sugar to the West, coffee from Yemen to the south, and the very lucrative spice trade to the Far East, helped make the Netherlands a wealthy nation.  Some of Amsterdam's immigrants come from such places, while others (such as Moroccans) do not--but this longer historical perspective is important to consider as context for recent controversies.


At the end of June, for example, an alliance between one of the rising anti-immigration parties and an animal-rights party were able to get a new national law passed forbidding ritual slaughter of animals (halal for Muslims, kosher slaughter for Jews)--allegedly because modern slaughter is more humane.  Yet the very rationale for religious slaughter is party to minimize pain to the animals involved, and many find it difficult to believe that historical feelings of both Jews and (more recently) Muslim immigrants aren't part of what made this law political possible.  (At least it's created some alliances between Jews and Muslims!)

Such political controversies aside (and I haven't even mentioned problems with the euro and cutbacks in various government services, even in a relatively wealthy country like Holland), we much enjoyed our hours of wandering about Amsterdam, nearly always along one of its many canals.  The larger ones are full of activity, including hundreds of bicyclists buzzing along past the outdoor cafes, while the smaller "side canals" (like the one in the photo to the right) are quiet and peaceful, often places where houseboats are moored.  And we seek out various immigrant areas; the photo above shows Barbara in Amsterdam's "Chinatown."

I also spent some time at Amsterdam's Botanical Gardens (I have become a Cultured Person during my time abroad--often having more time to attend concerts, visit museums, or wander through botanical gardens and parks than my hard-working spouse).  One of the benefits (at least for visitors like myself and professional botanists) of empire is that the gardens in Amsterdam have such a rich variety of plants from all over the world--but particularly from Southern Africa and Southeast Asia, such as the large palm-like plant one of whose "leaves" (?) is seen in the photo to the left.  And the trees are sometimes several centuries old!  (Another benefit is cafes with Surinamese and Indonesian foods.)

Well, enough for now.  We've been enriched by our travels and sojourns, and privileged to have them.  There are things whose meaning or implications for us we may still be sorting through--we may have a "reflections" entry later this summer for those of you faithful readers who want to check back later.  But for now--many thanks for "following" our footsteps.   Bruce

Amsterdam and going home...

Centraal Station Amsterdam

Street in Amsterdam

Our adventures in Europe ends with a return visit to Holland and this final week of our time here is both strange and bittersweet: on one hand I love being welcomed by the generous hospitality of our Dutch friends, but I are also feeling the rapidly approaching end of this amazing experience.  In the past 6 months I have gotten to know many corners of Europe in greater depth than I had ever imagined, and this extended time together has also deepened Bruce and my relationship in a way that is less possible with the daily distractions of our life in Minnesota. Six months can be a long time to spend with only one other person and we had a good time learning how to be with each other throughout.  Overall, this time has been occasionally challenging, but most of the time it has been fun and exhilarating. 

Canal and houses

But to return to Amsterdam:  The fast train from Paris takes about 3 hours to arrive at Amsterdam's Centraal Station. Suddenly we are, once again in a new world.  Although we have, in the past, spent time here it has generally been as a transition to someplace else. (Amsterdam is an easy city from which we can jump to other places in Europe the Middle East or the Baltics, and it is always a treat to reeconnect with our friends who live here). However, this is the first time we have had time to actually explore the city in more depth. 
And explore we did:

Public Art Installation

Children and Utopian Turtle sculptuer

We started with re-acquainting ourselves with the city and its magical rings of dikes.  We wandered - zigzagging between typical tourist areas and less well-known ‘ethnic’ areas of the city. We drank tiny cups of coffee (our American preference for large cups of coffee often meant 
drinking several cups in a row). We wandered the Albert Cuyp outdoor market- one of the large local ethnically diverse markets in the city, snapped photos at the ‘famous’ Dutch bulb market -well Bruce did- I just took pictures of bikes near the canal,  (factoid- tulips originally came from Turkey), wandered through local parks and explored Amsterdam Chinatown.  We attended a free dance concert one evening in Vondel Park- a large local green space in the middle of an already green city.   I even got to meet with some local Dutch dance/ movement therapists, (one from Russia and another from Rumania) who were studying in Rotterdam.


 On another day we explored a nearby street lined with public sculptures and watched local school children happily sketching in their large work books. (I continue to be struck by the importance given to all forms of art, everywhere we have traveled in Europe.  It is often a core part of children's education here, and also available publically for free or very little cost- quite sad that American doesn't seem to share this view.)    On Shabbat, we visited a local modern synagogue, where our friends are active members and leaders.  It was a lovely music-filled service, and ws called up for an aliyah to chant the blessing before the Torah reading. Most amaxing is the building itself, set overlooking a quiet canal.  Inside -the synagogue is spacious, filled with light and color.

Town Square- Haarlem

Old windmill in Haarlem

One Sunday we took a road trip to Haarlem, about 15 minutes away by train (gotta love public transportation here. It is a bit expensive, unless you live here or are around for an extended time period, but it works, is fast and generally easy to use).  


Haarlem is a small, picturesque and probably more typical Dutch town.  Different from ‘Sunday rhythm’ in Tallinn, Haarlem is quiet on Sunday morning as if everyone is holding space for Sunday Church services (I am not sure they are actually in Church, but Sunday morning is not a commercial time.   We arrived too late to join services in the towering old stone church in the middle of town but we can hear the organ music and energetic singing outside the locked (to keep camera snapping tourists out) heavy wooden doors. 


We continue wandering and enjoyed the sun and clear sky.  On the many small canals lining the streets of the town, we see families and couples in small boats with picnic baskets reading to enjoy the good weather. A man beckons us to enter a building near the church (where the the oldest men’s choir in Holland rehearses), and tells us he is waiting for other choir members were will be joining him for a Sunday bike ride. The pace is relaxed and laid back.

Strand beach

Old and New Den Haag

Chinese Bridge in Den Haag

 A few days later, we take another train to Den Haag, the governmental capitol of Holland as well as the location of the royal palace (always described as a ‘working palace’ by everyone to whom we talk).  For me, it seems that the immigrant community is more visible and less assimilated that in other cities so far. In our explorations we passed markets selling taro, cassava and plantains and playgrounds with children and moms of all colors and types of dress. 

Korans and prayer beads

Memorian to Holocaust

Mithrab

We visited a Turkish mosque with a beautifully tiled mithrab (prayer niche), complete with older men sitting outside smoking, drinking coffee and hanging out (a typical Turkish mosque sight, no matter what country we have been in.) 

Flowers and self portraits ala Escher

Our wanderings take us both to these poorer areas of town and also to tree-lined homes nearer the palace.  A highlight for me was a visit to the Escher museum, which has many interactive, kid-friendly exhibits explaining the mathematical and mind-bending worlds in his drawing. I have always loved Escher’s work, as well as the metaphysical focus of his works. The museum (set in an old palace for the royal family) helped to demystify how he achieved the optical illusions in his works.

Final Meal in Amsterdam

There is much more to talk about, but I want to leave some for Bruce.  Our last day was cool and rainy. We went to the Amsterdam Historical museum, an excellent museum that focuses on the growth and development of the city. There is so much more to see and explore, but we have run out of time. We celebrate our last meal in Europe at a small Indonesian deli near the Albert Cyup market and have one of the best meals of our time in Amsterdam. The food is spicy, with all sorts of flavors, served by two older women who smiled at our futile attempts to figure out what we were actually eating. They did understand our requests for sambal (spicy pepper sauce) and readily brought us a dish full. 

More later, but we are now home, adjusting to the 7 hour time difference and the radical increase in temperature and humidity. We arrive to hear that our governor has found a way to settle the state shut down. Welcome home.

A Paris P.S. from monsieur Bruce

Bonjour! I will add a bit to Barbara's previous entry about our time in Paris. And I must start with where we started--at Notre Dame Cathedral in the heart of Paris--seen in the photo to the right (taken from the large square in front of the church, where long lines of tourists gather to enter). It's still a "living church" (masses and organ recitals are held), but for most visitors it's an amazing piece of 13th century architecture and one of Paris' "must-see" tourist attractions. We joined people from all over the world as we walked slowly through the sanctuary, in awe of the high interior and the beautiful stained-glass windows (below is a photo of one of the huge rosette windows). A few, like Barbara (though herself Jewish) lit a candle in memory or honor of someone known only to themselves.

A minority of French people who identify with their Christian heritage actually attend church regularly these days--as is true of much of western Europe in general. Yet some do, and the various "historic" churches limit or ban "visiting" those churches during actual worship services, to protect the quiet and sanctity of the space for worship. It doesn't always seem to be an easy co-existence: there are always some sitting or praying in the pews (as people are welcome to do at most large churches in Europe, at any hour during the day, unlike in American churches), even when tourists are wandering about, chatting, and snapping photos. We've played both roles (tourist and worshipper) at different times--in churches, synagogues, and mosques, and can empathize both with those seeking a true worship experience and those drawn to sacred spaces so awe-inspiring (and famous) they seem to belong to the world.

To the right is a photo of Notre Dame from the side, which I find a particularly impressive place from which to view the architecture; note the buttresses which help support the high walls.

In the photo below we see Barbara on the Simone de Beauvoir bridge (a leading mid-20th century French feminist, highly influential in what would become the modern women's movement). The French national library (about which Barbara wrote earlier) is in the background) (the Seine is the river over which the bridge took us, the waters flowing through the heart of Paris).


One of the things we like to do is to find local outdoor markets, some of which still flourish and often held one or two days a week. They are akin to farmers' markets in the U.S., though some have been happening for centuries, and they draw crowds looking for fresh produce or cheeses and breads, or foods and products from a variety of countries from which recent immigrants to France have come. We found one in the village in which we were staying; see the photo below for an enticing stack of fresh French baguettes. Barbara often buys more than I do--partly because in France she can more easily speak sufficient French!

Barbara mentioned we were staying in a small town (or "village" as some locals referred to it as--and it probably was, before it became partly a commuter suburb); the next photo shows Barbara happily working on her laptop in the "living room" of the flat where we were staying. The man of the couple teaches smaller children at a local school, and both he and his sweetie love to decorate their space with whimsical colors, plants, and items picked up on their travels, which we in turn were able to enjoy (being of a similar persuasion, fashion-wise).


In the next photo below, we see Barbara amidst the popular motorcycles and Vespas that zoom around Paris, amidst some typical Parisian architecture. Paris streets rarely seem to be laid out in a square grid pattern, but rather in streets radiating out from a number of large traffic circles or small parks--which means that buildings on those circles are often triangular in shape. And most of those buildings, at least in the older parts of Paris, are only 3-4 stories at most, making the city very human in scale for walking around in.

Since our last visit to Paris, a large new museum, the Quai Branly Museum, has opened (2006), dedicated to understanding various pre-industrial cultures around the world. We liked it a lot; the exhibits (such as the examples of traditional Vietnamese basket-weaving patterns shown in the photo below) are excellent and well-lighted to bring out the collection at its best. There were also special exhibits of Mayan civilization, and wood scuptures from an area of west Africa whose art was little known to the rest of the world until the mid-20th century.



Some of the best-represented parts of the world in the exhibits are from areas that were once part of the French colonial empire (Southeast Asia, what was once known as "Indochina" including Vietnam, Laos and Cambodia, and French West Africa and North African countries). The theme of empire was one I had encountered in museums in Dublin and Edinborough, and would soon again in the Netherlands (from which I'm writing this)--France, Britain, Holland, and Spain all had substantial empires outside Europe for centuries, and earlier expositions and museum displays (around the turn of the 20th century) often were celebrations and ideological rationales of those empires. Part of those rationales, of course, was the belief (to justify empire) that either the civilizations or intelligence of non-European peoples were inferior to those of Europe.

This history (like our own as Americans regarding slavery) is, it seems, inextricably tangled up with current feelings, debates, and political developments regarding immigration to countries in western Europe today--often from the very countries which were once part of their colonial empires (perhaps ironic, but understandable: children in the former French West African countries were often taught in French in their schools, for example, and so are drawn to a France today for good practical reasons--as are those from South Asia to Britain, or those from Indonesia to Holland, or those from Ecuador to Spain). But old fears about cultural and religious differences, or racial inferiority, underly questions about the ways in which immigration from countries which once experienced unwanted European "immigration" are regarded. When Barbara and I walked through Paris off the path beaten by tourists, we often encountered (ok, sought) neighborhoods which were heavily African or Arab or Vietnamese/Chinese (see the photo above of a shop featuring a beautiful variety of African cloth for sale).

Even while enjoying our picnic at the feet of the Eiffel Tower, we couldn't help notice that virtually all the young men selling metal replicas of the tower were African immigrants (country unknown to us), who arrived in the park around the tower as a group, fanned out, wary of the occasional police who would pass through, yet perhaps engaging in one of the kinds of work that such immigrants might be able to pick up. France alone has an estimated 5 million Muslim immigrants (some of course, children of earlier immigrants), and recently put into force a ban on women wearing clothing which cover their faces (one political response to fears about the growing number of Muslims from former French colonies--even though very few Muslim women actually cover their faces rather than only covering their hair).

We will soon be returning to the U.S. It may be an adjustment, in many ways and on many levels. I've been realizing that I haven't driven a car in well over five months, nor made or received a phone call, or gotten a letter. At the same time, I've been well-connected with the wider world through e-mail and the internet, and our lives have been materially comfortable, safe, and healthy.
We'll be returning to our "normal" jobs and lives, though perhaps to an America which is even more politically and economically strained than when we left, and we're reluctant to return to a presidential election which seems already to have started. But return we must, and we do look forward to seeing friends whose faces have long been absent from us. Bruce

We'll always have Paris

First- late breaking news: Given the state of our state- Minnesota (which is currently closed, since our elected officials can’t find a compromise solution to our state’s budget shortfall), and the impending financial status of our nation- we have decided to stay here until things improve…so gang- WE ARE NOT COMING BACK!!! (OK OK –just joking, but as we read about the weather---hot, humid and almost non-stop rain---and the budget travails in Minneapolis, we are both having serious doubts about returning.  If we didn’t have non-refundable plane tickets and would need to extend our visas (or become an illegal alien), this might actually be a serious possibility!!!

Umm..what's its name??? 

But returning to our adventures in Paris....

I have always loved Paris- although the reasons why have changed over time. At first, because I studied French in school, it was one of the few places in the world where I could actually communicate in something other than English (When I was older, I also discovered that French was also a useful language in the many places that had been conquered and colonized by France, but as a child, this was not part of my education or awareness.) 


Later, as a young adult, I loved Paris, for its ‘attitude’.  Where else in the world would a vendor refuse to sell me something (flowers for friends who had invited me to dinner, combinations of ice-cream flavors or even ingredients for a sandwich) until what I wanted was correct. Those kindly Parisians were helping me avoid uncouth behavior by not selling me the wrong version of whatever it was I thought I wanted.   Of course correct behavior also included speaking French, but at that time, any of my attempts to communicate in French were immediately responded to in English. (I am grateful to all the Parisians who--at great personal risk--helped save me from murdering the French language.)

Isles St Louis from the Seine

(Much) Later, Bruce and I visited Paris together, often adding it on to the end of our other stays, extended journeys and travels in Europe. It is a romantic city, and wandering around the twisting canyons of streets surrounded by ornate deco metal railings, porches and long wood-slatted windows is an incredibly experience. In addition we also wandered along the banks of the Seine, gasping in delight as famous scenes emerged from the mist and rain---misty and rainy and somewhat grey because most of those visits because were in the winter and fall.  In fact this trip was the first time in many, many years that I have been in Paris in the summer…and the contrasts are quite remarkable, with completely different weather - for the first time, it was sunny and hot.  Suddenly, we were wearing short -sleeved shirts and putting on sunscreen.

Artichoke blossoms

Paris in mid-summer and at the height of tourist season is overwhelming.  The center of Paris, the place of the well-known tourist museums, sites and monuments was crowded with shorts-wearing backpack and camera-toting families plus at least one whining kid and a full set of cellphones (one per person). Suddenly the main languages were English (American and British) followed by Chinese and Japanese.  People rushed around, craning upward with cameras pointed, aimed and engaged. With the crowds came lots of (illegal) souvenir vendors, carrying large rings of miniature Eiffel towers (some vendors had large handkerchiefs with strings on each corner, which efficiently displayed the wares and also quickly became cloth sacks as they scooped up their items when any police approached. ( ‘no officer, I wasn’t selling anything—this is just a bag with stuff in it…’

Apricots at a local market

This was a different Paris from our last visit over 14 years ago.  In addition to the tourists and longer daylight hours, I was actually able to speak French with local folks. (I would like to think my French has improved, but I know it has NOT, so people are more willing to tolerate poor French.)  When we ate out, we could easily order ‘un carafe du l’eau’ (a pitcher of water) - something that would have been met with sneers the last time we were here.  We also wanted to see different things this time as well, and so we eschewed the typical tourist areas most of the time, choosing instead to explore other parts of Paris.  I loved every moment of it.  Here are more specific details:  

To begin, we stayed slightly outside of Paris in a smaller town called Cachan, about 15 minutes by train (the RER B) south from the center.  Our hosts were a youngish, soon-to-be-married couple who were also studying Traditional Chinese Medicine.  They were wonderful. We shared wine (one evening when his parents stopped by), got helpful hints for what to see and where to eat (we all have similar food preferences- e.g. cheap and ethnic), and helped feed their rabbit, guinea pig and mouse, the last two days when they were away visiting family.  The town was small, diverse and much less frenetic than Paris, which provided an interesting contrast.

Sacre Coeur

Our sightseeing was mostly outside of the normal tourist areas, and much of the time we walked different neighborhoods and experienced the many different immigrant communities that also exist in Paris (and other parts of France as well).  On our first day, after a brief stop at Notre Dame in the 1^st arrondissment (entrance happened to be free the day we were there) we explored both the Institute du Monde Arab (the huge and beautiful Middle Eastern cultural center nearby) and ate at the restaurant connected to the Grande Mosque de Paris. (Meal details: we had a good Moroccan couscous, earing outside in a courtyard filled with fluttering birds, that reminded us of our host family’s house in Fez, Morocco!)  From there we visited the area where we used to stay in the past (just outside of the Quartier Latin in the 5^th and 6^th arrondissment) and rediscovered a favorite bakery from our last visit (Keyser bakery-- which has the most amazing dense raisin, or nut, or date/nut breads.  Of course we had to buy some to take home with us).

View from Sacre Coeur with roller blade ramp

On another day, we explored the 18^th and 10^th arrondissments (neighborhood), starting with Belleville and eventually walked up the backside of the steep hill on which the Church of Sacre Coeur sits.  This area is a wonderfully diverse area, filled with people from Morocco, Tunisia, Algeria, Vietnam, India, Pakistan and many countries in Africa (we saw markets specializing in Ghanaian, Liberian, Haitian produce…to name only a few.) The weekly market which we visited was immense and as we walked through we were surrounded by clothings and houseware as well as cheeses, meats, fish, and exotic fruits and vegetables (like taro, yucca and other non-European foods). Bins of colorful olive and dried beans being sold by Arabic speaking vendors. Oh, how I wished I could cook up lots of dishes with what was available.  Instead we walked and took pictures. That day, we ended up eating at an Algerian restaurant (menu: soup, fried fish and coffee) and one of the people who worked at that restaurant was a woman from Estonia who had been designated to talk with us since she spoke English.  When we asked about her accent, we were amazed to find she is actually from Tallinn and her mother teaches in the Dance Department at Tallinn University. (The world is truly small!!!!) 

Vegetables at a farmer's market

From there we walked through the neighborhood behind the Gare du Nord (northern train station, passing first through streets filled with caste-marked South Asians and then through an extensive African neighborhood as we slowly ascended up the back of the hill topped by Sacre Coeur.

Sacre Coeur was packed, but this was because we arrived just as a special mass for 125^th year anniversary of the church was being celebrated. We joined people from all over the world to listen to prayers, music and the experience of an extremely, high church Roman Catholic service with more than 20 clergy and nuns officiating. (Picture many people on their knees on a cold stone floor for 20+ minutes or more at a time….it was amazing).  We emerged  from Sacre Coeur and were faced with a large rollerblade ramp descending toward the Montmartre area below.  We actually saw one, slightly suicidal, young man as he traveled down the ramp, crossing himself before sailing off into the blue (there were actually air bags for him to land on, but we didn’t see this until later.)

Mitterand library and de Beauvoire bridge

Another day, we explored the 12^th and 13^th arrondissment, visiting the new museum of cinema and a smaller Asian neighborhood across the river.  On the way we passed the Mitterand national library (architecturally looking like four open books standing on their ends) and crossed over the Simone de Beauvoir bridge (whoopie). We also saw lots of kids out playing and participating in cooperative exercises and games.  

Locks on bridge over the Seine

On another day as Bruce went into the Musee d’Orsey (it was free, which also meant that it was a 40 minute wait in line to get inside), I sat on a nearby bridge and tourist watched. It was fun to sit, with flat tour boats passing below me in the Seine, watch family interactions and observe a local artist sitting near by, smoking and reading the paper, as he looked hopefully at people walking by.  The bridge itself was a pedestrian and bike bridge and on both sides of the railings people had attached small locks on which were written two names and sometimes a heart. Some of the tourists walking by noticed, but most were in a hurry to get to the Louvre or the Tuilleries, which were on the other side.

Goat cheeses at farmer's market

Other walking adventures…We had  a picnic next to the Eiffel Tower (our picnic included local bread bought at the Cachan farmer’s market plus some amazing goat cheese, humus and
French-style tahini -made by a Lebanese guy with sauted onions, capers and herbs-, and Belleville-purchased olives).  

Canal in the summer

We walked down the Champs de Mars and then over to the Luxembourg gardens, filled with couples and families on a warm Sunday afternoon, where older men were playing chess and young immigrants baskbetball.  On another day we explored an area near Belleville with a small but beautiful canal called La Villette, a side tributary of the Seine.  People of all ages were draped on the banks, soaking in the sunlight, smoking (of course, it is France- after all) and just hanging out.   

We wandered and hung out as well, searching for a ‘typical café’ we had read about that served cheap, but good mezzes and had local music performances. We found the café but were too late for the singing and there were no mezzes on the plat du jour,  but it didn’t matter. On our way back we stopped at a small neighborhood ‘Tuscan pizza ‘ take-out restaurant, and had the best pizza and the most incredible buffalo mozzarella and tomato salad (complete with real e.g. thick and sweet- balsamic vinegar).  It was delicious, and as we ate we watched a Jewish family get ready for dinner and a listened to a local couple with two children having their Sunday pizza dinner while talking in the ‘secret parent language’ of English !!!!

hanging out along the Seine

One more food story and then I will sign off (I need to leave some details for Bruce to talk about). Our final half day, we explored another small South Asian and Tunisian neighborhood near the Gare du Nord.  While the neighborhood was not as large as we were expecting, we wandered into another local Jewish community and ended up having the most amazing couscous in a small Algerian restaurant.  In addition to great food, the meal ended with a fun conversation in French (mostly) about Algerian Independence day (which was that day) the fact that no one else in the Arab world actually understands Moroccan Arabic/Derija (this from the Algerian mom who presided over the small restaurant) and about Texas, since the other person having lunch was from Bretagne (complete with a hard to understand accent.)

Chess players Luxembourg gardens

Luxembourg Gardens

After lunch we literally ran back to the train station hopped the Thalys high speed train and 3 hours later were being met at the RAI in Amsterdam Holland.  Life is good!!!!!

Bruce taking photos....cute hat!!!