American in Paris

One day in Paris. Not even a day really. I took the train to Paris last Saturday so I could leave my bag with a friend and avoid the insane baggage fees that accompany Ryan Air's cheap flights.

I got into town and had a lovely dinner with Beth, another new Backroads leader, and then we wandered down to a party at her friend's house. I've been wishing lately that I had a smaller camera. I LOVE MY CAMERA, buuuuuuut...sometimes she's just a little bulky and people give you funny looks when you pull out this massive lens to shoot an average picture. Anyway, I didn't have it with me and regret it still. Her friend is an expat and the apartment was gorgeous. Surprisingly, no one spoke french. They are capable, but chose english. Likely because I was not the only one from another country so english was what ties us all together. Commonality. There were several other Americans, one lady from Germany, one from Holland, two people from Morrocco, and one from Argentina. You would think that would be an amazing cultural mix full of great conversation, but it was fairly bland small talk about 85% of the time. Sorry...but it's true. Ah...the corporate influence. It just makes everything a little less exciting.

HOWEVER, there was a rooftop terrace. It had a view of the entire city. The Tour Eiffel, Sacre Coeur, Place de la Republique and the Pantheon each well lit and marking the four directions of the city from where we were: smack dab in the middle. It was breathtaking to look out and see that the city isn't actually all that big. Then I mentally zoomed in even closer looked at my immediate surroundings: the tin rooftops were glistening with the moonlight and misty rain and the clay chimneys were dry in contrast. The lines and texture and feel are ingrained in my mind forever. And THAT is why I regret not taking my camera.

It was cold in color and composition but somehow still conveyed warmth and romance. In that moment of observation I determined that I love Paris. I get it. Everyone talks about how amazing Paris is and I think I was subsequently thinking it may be overrated, but it is NOT. They are right.

When you look around you can just feel the history and the romance. You can sit at a cafe on the street and just watch the people go by for hours. I love the public affection. To those people there is nothing in the world except the person directly in front of them. That is passion! Living in the moment! Impressive. It makes you want to walk the streets hand in hand with the person you love the most, more than anywhere else I've been.

Sunday was a bit chilly and rainy, but I still took my whirlwind tour. I followed my not-to-scale map around town on the tourist trap circuit, briefly looking at each monument, building and museum so I could check it off the list. I was a real American experience. I know that sometimes 2 seconds somewhere is better than not seeing it at all, but I still enjoyed my cafe on the corner much more than buzzing in and out of places where you could and should spend days. Next time I'll plan more than a morning to see Paris. A real visit to the city of love.

Want to see some more of my first impressions? Click here!

One more thing

The pizza place has a POOL! There isn't any water in it at the moment. They're doing a little maintenance work: repainting the floor, etc. It won't be ready until June, which is a bummer because I won't be here. I wish I could have captured the size of this thing, but I failed. Just to give you a hint: it had a mushroom waterfall thing in the shallow end and water canons in the deep. Very reminiscent of Vegas, but fewer lights.

Ai Poppy!

As mentioned before, poppies grow like weeds here. They are almost out of bloom and starting to wilt away so my roommate Jessie and I stopped off in one of the fields near our house to play around for a little bit while we waited for our pizza order. Healthy dinner tonight.

Still running...

I set out around 5:45pm to complete a loop described to us by THE leader of the leaders here in Europe. She is a trip leader at heart and she gave step by step detailed directions complete with a highlighted route map. It sounded perfect. 4 miles with a small climb on a low traffic, well shaded road that opens up to a great view of the mountain and a loop back to the canal.

I was off to a good start and every time I crossed an intersection I would think to myself, "there's that tree she was talking about so I must be on the right track." Somewhere at the top it all went downhill. Literally and figuratively. There was supposed to be a 4-way intersection and my route dead-ended into a 3-way intersection...hmm. Oh well, turn right.

Now I'm supposed to pass a road on the right called Chemin du Velo. Velo = bikes. Easy enough to remember...although I'm not really seeing any Velos. About 10 minutes down the road (a bit over a mile at my lightning speed) I decide I should really have passed it by now and I need to turn right at some point. Sense of direction says turn away from the mountain.

I passed an older, fairly robust lady tending to her horticulture shop in her apron (a nursery in the states) so I stop:

"Excusez moi...uh...(gestures + pointing) a le canal?"

French sigh in response (This is common here. It consists of a little lift of the hands, shrug of the shoulder's, tilt of the head, lower lip pokes out like a pout, and a little noise squeeks out that sounds like a little flatulence)

"uh...no je parle pas francais, parle vous anglais?"

Another sigh.

"uh...a Carpentras (+ more gestures and waiving)"

"oh. OH. (now I get my first french lady tisk. tisk. tisk. complete with finger shaking)" insert MANY french words here...NONE of which I understood. I did however understand that I was really far and I had to go straight and at some point turn right.

"uh...oui. Se bon. Merci."

So I ran. and ran. and ran. and ran some more. I finally found my way back to a much busier road, but at least I knew I was on the right track to get home based on the signs pointing to Carpentras.

By the time I got home it was 7:15. I had been running for an hour and a half. I would guestimate that my 4 miles somehow doubled. Could be worse...I could be somewhere less pretty. Here are some more pictures from along the way.

Mt Ventoux

There is this little known mountain just up the way from me called Mt Ventoux. You might have heard of this hill because it is occasionally one of the legs in this small race that happens here every year called the Tour de France.

Somehow I got roped into climbing said mountain this morning. What was I thinking?! It was a pure statement of stubbornness and pride. This climb is about 22km long with an average gradient of about 7.5%. No big deal except there is NO BREAK. At all. You know how most climbs are steep then flat then steep then flat. Not here. No mercy. Not to mention the last 16km of which the gradient is about 9% with several sections in the 10-13% range. That's about 5000 ft elevation gain in 22km (about 13 miles). This "mileage" is also not including the 20km it took to get to and from Bedoin the town at the foot of the climb.

French style clif bar

If you are not a cyclist think of it like this: in the U.S. they post warning signs when you are descending a hill steeper than 6%. I can also tell you that on the way down I was consistently accelerating despite my super-human grip strength pressing down on the brake levers. FUN!

As per my french lesson with my roommate Jessie earlier in the week, I learned that "ventoux" means windy and apparently this mountain can sometimes see gusts of up to 200mph! Furthermore, according to wikipedia 240 days a year see gust of over 56 mph. Fortunately for me "le mistral" (which literally means master and I found out why last week as she blew me all over the road during our training rides) finished dishing out her wrath Saturday so today was fairly calm and I didn't get blown off the mountain.

At the summit

Jessie also finished the climb in about 1hr 45min. I finished just after her at 2hr 45 min :) I blame the extra 11 pounds or so that I was carrying in that Backroads bike I bragged about last week. That and the (no exaggeration) 40 extra pounds I carry in my body.

Jessie slaying a section of the climb

No matter how long it took to get up there the views were AMAZING. You could see the Alps! One of the other cool things was seeing all the writing in the road cheering on the Tour riders. Some of it I could understand and some of it I couldn't, but the feeling was still there!

Overall it was a GREAT day and I'm happy that she twisted my arm. Definitely an experience that I will look back on with pride, or maybe a little more immediately with some soreness.

Isle-Sur-La-Sorgue

There is a beutiful little town about 10km up the road called Isle-Sur-La-Sorgue. It has a stream that runs through the whole village, cutting under roads and past buildings. I thought it was so great when we drove through on our way to a training ride last week and, fortunately, yesterday afternoon we returned for the market.

The girls enjoying their berries on the water.

Olives, olives everywhere!

Looking up for inspiration.

Books, records, belts...they sell it all at the french market.

A cheese lover's paradise. YUM!

You can always see more at my flickr too. Cheers!

A big part of staying sane around here is staying active. Yesterday morning I went for a run and this is what I see everyday. Polaroid style of course since I'm not going to run around with my big old fatty camera.