Beer in Europe

During our short return to the States I had the pleasure of remembering many of the local microbrew on offer. 

Guiness Stout

complete with Irish cloverleaf

I was instantly reminded how different beer is there.

I would like to encourage readers to perform their own deep research on the topic.  Each of us have different tastes and prefer different qualities in a good brew.  Acquiring a PhD on the topic requires many many years of careful, faithful, personal research.  As a short-cut, perhaps I could offer a few thoughts based on my own experience while living in Paris?

Some Americans get all misty-eyed at the thought of yellow colored low ETOH liquid that's served in Southern Germany around Oktoberfest.  If that's your pleasure, you know when and where to go.  The Germans will no doubt happily embrace your open wallet and introduce you to their Party Tent where the fluids flow well into the night.  Personally, better stuff comes from the former Czech Republics and England.

With this kind of Deep Beer history 

things are bound to be quite tasty.

Up until rather recently the only French beers to be found came from the former German temporarily held (in Geologic Time) territories of the Alsace region.  Karlsberg, 1664, and Heineken all brew in this part of this often fought-over part of the world.  It's strange to think that German laws are still followed in this part of France.  If this kind of mass-produced beer often finds it's way into your mug, then all is right with the world and you'll be happy to know these yellow-colored waters are found partout France.  Any pub, bar, brasserie, or cafe will likely have it on tap.  To my palate, again, better stuff comes from the former Czech Republics and England.

It took a long conversation with a Parisian (ne Normand) beer merchant to sort out the how's and why's of the current (woeful) French Brew Situation.  It seems that when the peasants had more than a few heads rolling at their feet during the Terror that just about anyone who knew how to make a decent beer packed up and high-tailed it out of Dodge toute de suite!  Carmelites, Benedictines, Cistercians, and Trappistes each took what the knew and headed for more religiously tolerant parts of Europe just across a conveniently close border.  This is why the best Continental Brew still comes from Belgium and the Netherlands.

Heaven's Own Gates 

Nirvana

Paradise

Beer Inside

Americans have improvised on a theme of good, drinkable, fairly low alcohol content (3 to 6 percent ETOH) English beers.  A friend who lives there (in Merry 'Ol, that is) suggested that the English keep the alcohol content deliberately low so that a person can enjoy several in an evening without the need of a wheelchair later.  Even Guiness Stout on tap around these parts is only 4.5percent ETOH.

Porter (one of my favorite), Stout (yum!), English (that's the word!) Session Beers, Amber (alert!) Ale, Brown Ale, and Lager (to take the edge off the Summer Heat).  These were some of my favorite styles.  Brewers in Portland, Oregon make great versions of each of these.  The place is called Beervana for a reason.

On the European Continent things are for the most part done differently.  If you're only used to what happens in England and the Land of the Free the situation can be more than a little confusing.  Beer is not often labeled by style so it can be difficult to know what you're getting into.  They can talk about a blond or a brown, but you have no idea whether something is a light on the palate and drinkable or if it is more suitable for delivering a Good Night Y'all Knockout Blow around Vespers... and if you happen upon a Lambic for the first time your life, hold on to your hat.  It's nothing like you'll ever have expected out of something stamped with the word "Beer" on the bottle.

Monk's Truth in Advertising ~ it

really is the Peace of God.  

Brilliant stuff, this.

Alcohol content begins at 7 percent for a low-end supermarket shelved triple fermented beer to upwards of 15 percent around the winter holidays in what are called Winter Warmers.  Standard commonly available quadruple fermented beers average 10 to 12 percent ETOH year round.  Many beers are not strongly hopped, though if you look carefully, the Continental Europeans will brew a strong beer with flavors similar to an American IPA.  Malts tend to be predominant and many beers taste slightly to the side of sweet.

Only recently have the French started to experiment with small batch brewing.  If you head down to la cave au bulles deep in the Marais you will find the samples of the current trends in French beer production.  Not that the State of the Art as practiced in France hasn't stirred more than a few pots to full boil.  I've heard there is something of a lutte between traditionalists and la nouvelle vague.  La lutte is over how much and how strong a hop _should_ be used.  I'm not sure who's winning, but the fight has more than a few amusing twists to it.

Monks are not the only people who

can brew a wonderful beer.  

Straffe H. proves the point.

Until the French get things going again, my head turns toward Belgium and the Netherlands.  Frequently I am heard when raising my mug en demandant encore de la biere belge, svp!  For this simple reason I frequent a small beer merchant who's long running establishment (c1976 - by some accounts it's the oldest continually operating beer shop in Paris).  It's only a 15 minutes hike from the apartment with M. Caddy in tow.

The Bootlegger is Heaven on Earth.  It's a temple devoted to Rocket Fuel... er... Great Tasting Beer belge.  One and a half walls are devoted to brew emanating from that single small mosquito infested part of the world.  Another wall stocks German, Scots, English, Irish, American, and Czech beers.  Yet another wall holds only Seriously Large Bottles of biere belge.

Rocket Fuel disguised as beer

This should suffice to set a rickety foundation for exploring Continental Europe's tastes in beer.

Next I will share a personal well-tested ever evolving hopefully improving always applied technique for performing your own Boots On The Ground beer research in bars and brasseries.

Reentry after our Plan B visit to the states...

I see that life is experience.  One after another.  How we judge those experiences is the means we humans use to say something is "good" or "bad".  Without that filter of judgement, things simply are as they are.

Returning to the US to clear out our storage unit was at times emotionally difficult.  We were constantly reminded that our life there had been good.  Our American friends are kind, warm people, open-hearted people.  The trappings of Middle Class Success were lovely and felt good. 

When we rolled out one of the carpets I'd purchased on a business trip to India, our hearts caught in our throats.  When our friends, Ralph and Carol, rolled up with a van to help us move household items to new homes, it was difficult to not be overwhelmed with feelings of gratefulness.

So many things were taking place all at the same time that Jude misplaced her drivers license.  There were so many distractions.  We called around to see if someone found it.  No one had.  Add to this that big life events that were taking place all around us in the forms of death and illness.  At times I thought "this is too much to deal with all at once." 

We'd collapse into bed every night and straight into Morpheus' arms.

I think we did well to finish as much as we did in the short time we had.  The only things left to deal with are some of my photographic negatives and prints.  These my father kindly offered to store for me until I decide what to do with them.  Fortunately there isn't much to face.  I pruned my old materials very heavily before sending what was left off to my father.

Our return flights went well.  We were exhausted but only a little blurry-eyed when we landed in France.

Just as when we moved here, we hauled five large suitcases, one small suitcase, and three over the shoulder carry-ons.  Our lives have slimmed to that.  Not much when we think about all the years, all the work, all the corporate life spent on the job, and all the things we'd acquired.

The whole time I'd not thought a lot about Paris.  It's strange, actually.  Being back in Portland felt to me like living inside a very long, realistic dream.  The experience was a little hazy around the edges.  Memories of what was where and who did what, where, and why returned naturally.  The warmth and comfort of the familiar rounded out the dream-like state.

The taxi stand at Charles de Gaul is quick and efficient.  We soon had a vehicle large enough to hold our baggage.  Giving the driver our address in a language we'd not spoken in three weeks was "interesting" to hear the sound of.  Off we went.

I knew what we were facing shortly after our return and felt the Fun Was Not Yet Over.  We had translated documents to retrieve.  We had an appointment to face the Prefecture de Police in an effort to renew our visas.  We hoped l'Assurance Maladie (the French healthcare group called CMU) had replied to our request to pay the French State for health insurance.  We knew that CMU would be asking for more information.  All these things in a language we have yet to "master."  I felt it would take a Sharp Mind to Detail to successfully complete these tasks.

More duty and action awaited us.

Our taxi sped toward le peripherique, the ring road that holds Paris to it's ancient boundaries.  We entered through la porte de la chapelle and followed le peripherique toward the 15eme arrondisement.
On the other side of la porte lay one of the many symbols of Paris.  Seeing it I instantly felt, remembered, and knew why we moved to France. Sitting high on a hill, Sacre Coeur pierced the sky.

It was good to be home.

Clearing out Plan B ...

It's been two years since leaving the US to live in Paris.

Ahead of quitting America, my wife and I put into storage enough furniture and household items to populate a small apartment.  If Europe did not work out, we wanted somewhere to "land" while we figured out our next moves.

Our new lives across the sea are working out better than we ever dared to dream.  It was time to find new homes for the things we left behind.

Travel is seldom easy and this trip was no different.  We experienced unexpected "head winds".  That is to say, life presented us with a few additional challenges along the way.

As we were about to leave France, we heard that one of the creative people we'd worked with over the years had died.  Burke Biggler was a talented performer.  He'd hosted and acted in many of Portland's best cabaret and circus events.

Jude got food poisoned from our "leaving for America" dinner.  She was ill all night and boarded the aircraft tired and weak.  Once back in the States, she then came down with a horrid Norovirus.  She was laid low for three days and it took a long time to fully recover.

A couple days into our trip we heard from a friend that his wife was in ER.  The doctors weren't sure what was wrong.  All anyone knew was that big doses of morphine failed to touch the pain.  Our friends were in and out of ER over the course of our stay and it was difficult to hear little had changed for the better.

At nearly the same time a friend's mother passed away.  While her mothers death was expected, it wasn't very pleasant news.  We felt a growing sense of sadness at all that was taking place around us.

For me, I had to decide what to do with 40 years of personal photography materials.  Prints, hand-bound books, and a stack of negatives all needed to be dealt with.  There's no way to plan for how a person might feel at seeing a big part of their life destined for a recycling bin.

Fortunately, all was not bleak and terrible.  Quite the contrary, in fact.

Our good friends of many years Ralph and Carol helped us move mountains of stuff.  They gave their time and talent to helping us sort, sell, and send to Goodwill our "Plan B" things.  Ralph has a decent job, yet he took time off to give us a hand and to rent a UHaul van so some of our things could be moved and delivered.  In exchange for their time and attention, we got to promise to come back to the States to help them do the same thing.  We're not sure if nor when, but we're hoping that they'll move to Europe, too. The sooner the better, right?

Jude and I were able to visit with many other friends and to spend time "catching up."  Lunches and dinners were daily filled with these kinds of visits.  Early in our final week my father and brothers came up to pick up a few things, make a delivery of one of my really big bird lenses, and to visit.  They gamely went to dinner with Jude and I and a different set of friends each night.

There were a few people I would have loved to have gotten together with, but for various reasons, we weren't able to connect with.  Jude and I cancelled a dinner with friends from our classes at the Alliance Francaise after we'd "hit the wall" after all we'd done.  I wasn't able to find time to get with my photographer friends Ted Mishima and Ray Bidegain.  We regret these "misses".

Walking into ProPhoto Supply with Don (a software engineering colleague and friend of mine) we struck up a conversation with Dave Cleary who asked where I'd been for two years.  After lunch, Don took me down to the new steamlocomotive shed to have a look-see.  The moment I spied Terry Thompson (a SPS700 crew-member) he asked where I'd been.  When Jude and I visit People's Food Coop, it was good to smell familiar organic earthy smells and to hug and talk with some of the most wonderful people on planet earth who work there.

Many of our conversations seemed to pick up right where we'd left off.  In this way it was very comfortable to be back in our old home town.  In fact it was good to try some great Deschutes Brewery Black Butte Porter and remember some of the things that made our old home town so good to live in.

Ralph reminded us that all the reasons we left remain valid reasons to not come back.  There is an abundance of truth in this.  It was too easy to slip back into an old familiar routine.

US politics are so screwed up that no lasting good is ever passed on to We the People.  Physical violence in America is shockingly close, every where, and at any moment.  The state of the food system is broken in too many unhealthy ways. Healthcare in the US is insanely expensive.  

Our storage unit is now empty.  The keys have been handed over.  Our tearful good-byes have been said.

It's a little too early to have much perspective on what we just finalized, but one thing I know is that our US friends and family will remain our friends and family, no matter where we live. 

Ian may be in the former Czech Republics in June.  Bill and his wife will be in the south of France in late June/early July.  Miz Kitty may come to Scotland in the Fall.  Grace and Micha are taking French language lessons.  A visit Dave and Mary and Martin in Merry 'Ol England is in order.  We need to visit our first Paris apartment landlords near Saint Malo.  Jennifer needs to be paid a visit in Girona, Spain.  My father and one of my brothers will be back in 2015.  My father may come over with my other brother in 2016.

Yes, some very heavy and difficult work has been completed.

Around Town ~ Rambouillet

The Sunday dawned bright and, um, what's all this stuff hanging in the air?

Paris was pollution filled to the point we thought we'd awoken in coal-fueled air-clogged hard-choked industrial China.  We'd been under an inversion layer that unseasonably warmed three quarters of France and held industrial and automobile pollutants close to the ground.  We needed to get out of the city to see if the air was better somewhere "out there."

Where to go?

Consulting our An Hour From Paris by Annabel Simms we settled on Ramouillet.  Having never visited the western edge of l'isle de France, we thought we'd pack a lunch, take a nice train ride out of town, and wander the reportedly beautiful jardins of the chateau.

Rambouillet is the summer residence of the President and, with a little luck, perhaps we could spy the two-wheeled conveyance of l'amour?  Would there be any markings on it to announce it's importance as recorded in the annals of popular pulp tongue-waggering check-out stand news?  Would it be shined, polished, and otherwise Presidentially presentable?

Much has been made in the Anglo-Saxon news about the President's liason with a certain actress that was introduced to F. Holland by his first long term partner and former candidate for President of the Republic, Mme S. Royal.  The fact he was taken by motorbike to amorous rendezvous has many who care about such things chuckling.  Thinking for a moment, perhaps we too could have some fun.   Our adventure destination was set.

When China-sized pollution hits France, the authorities do something.  They encourage people to leave les voitures at home by allowing only even or odd numbered license plated cars into the capital on alternating days.  And... the metro, the bus system, and it turns out the RER/Translien trains within l'isle de France are completely free.

Our trip to Ramouillet was entirely gratuit.  We didn't realize this until we went to buy tickets of the Translien and saw people casually walk through the turnstiles without paying un sou.

Mme Simms warns that it's important to check the trains to the President's summer residence as there are fast trains and there are slow trains.  In our excitement that our transportation would be free, we failed to realize we just boarded an omnibus.

A debarkation somewhere beyond Versaille, an announcement to please reboard, and an Hour And A Half!!! later, we arrived in a rather frazzled state at the gare de Rambouillet.  Mme Simms tried to warn us.  Really.  She did.

The beautiful walk through town took us to our intended destination.  Finding a chateau park bench to sit on we hauled out our lunch and noted that the skies were comparatively clean and clear.  The sun shown brightly.  As she stripped to a T-top and pointed here face into the sun Jude said that it felt good to be out in nature again.

M. Holland's summer residence overlooks a large wooded island canal system.  Water birds of all kinds abounded.  We spotted several species we'd never seen before and some we knew well from our nature adventures back in the States.  Are Canadian Geese still referred to as Canadian here?

After lunch we took a long slow stroll around the canal system.  We visited Princess Lambaille's "laterie" and watched as a tall powerful looking war-horse was expertly ridden by an equally powerful looking Frenchmen.  We wandered the wide lanes of the canal and watched as crows expertly floated above the water long enough to delicately snatch bread floating on the surface.

When we spied a nesting pair of grebes I knew instantly that I needed to bring my Big Bird lens back with me from the States.  Perhaps I could make a few more bird images?  Rambouillet seems like a nice place to practice the craft of wildlife photography as birds expertly play out their unique roles of their lives.

Perhaps the President's own Summer Nesting Season has yet to begin?  The only wildlife we didn't spot was his Two-Wheeled Conveyance d'Amour.  Maybe we'll spy it on the next visit.

[more photos from Ramouillet here]

Around Town ~ Sceaux

I have to laugh.  The first time I heard the name of this town I instantly thought of the Mexican soccer announcer going nuts when a goal is made.  OK.  This is a little obtuse.  I guess you have to be inside my mind to fully understand.

My first visit to the area was by RER to meet with Arthur Morgan over lunch.  We had sushi and plotted how best to attack a project he was leading.  It was a conversation filled with steampunk and ideas of art and publication.

Morgan mentioned that there was a chateau at Sceaux and that it was well worth visiting.

It turns out that Jude had a book that described a visit to Sceaux.  It's An Hour From Paris by Annabel Simms.  For those who have time to spend around l'isle de France, this is has turned out to be a wonderful resource.

We were up and out by 11am to take the tramway to catch the RER B to Sceaux.  A short ride down the line led us to a quiet village just outside the periphique.

Following the directions in Annabel's book took us across a quiet, nearly deserted town.  A short stroll through a small wood took us to the middle of les jardins in front of the chateau.

Apparently the original building was destroyed during the revolution of 1789.  That's one of the interesting things about France is that it's hard to tell exactly when these kinds of things were built.  I don't yet have an eye for these kinds of details.

It was a cold late winter day and a walk through les jardins was relatively short.  We passed through the chateau to check out a few old things.  One of the big rooms was under construction and the smell of paint was heavy.

Back into the fresh air we dove.  We decided that a nice cup of deca was needed so we could spend a little time sunning ourselves out on the terrace.  After finding a place to sit it was nice to take in the surroundings and listen in on nearby conversations.

Morgan had, of course, been correct.  Sceaux.  So close to Paris.  So easy to get to.  So beautiful to visit.

[More Sceaux images can be found here]

Around Town ~ Provins

We've often wondered what we'd do in the unlikely event we ran out of things here in Paris.

Brittany and Provence seemed like major undertakings to visit.  They are more like Serious Vacation destinations than easy jaunts into the countryside.  Beyond that, we knew nothing about the areas outside of Paris.

Les banlieues just beyond la periphique are rumored by Parisians to be filled with seething restless masses living in modern ugly concrete structures.  L'isle de France did not seem very inviting and I considered it terra incognita.  Dragons there lay and all that.  Warning signs surely must be posted at the ends of each metro line, right?

Recently, Jude stumbled on a book that looked rather enticing.  It's An Hour From Paris by Annabel Simms.

Jude agitated for leaving the city to see what's out in Terra Incognita.  I'm glad she did.  Vasty tracts of land await.

One of the first trips we took was to Provins.

It's an ancient city, perhaps reaching it's height of influence some time in the 12th century.  Portions of the old fortifications still exist, as does much of the 12th century character of the buildings and streets.  An amazing place this is.

From April thru October there are weekend events that attract crowds of tourists and interested French.  The theme is consistently medieval.  For a photographer such as myself, I'll bet there's lots of great things to see and photograph at these events.

For our day out, Jude and I took advantage of early spring weather.  It's unseasonably warm this year.  Last year at this time (March) we were snowed on during a friend's wedding in London and again snowed on in April when we visited Jude's friend in Girona, Spain.

Our Provins visit included a walk up the hill from the lower city to the upper.  We ate lunch in the square while watching Harley riders come and go.  A walk around the old ramparts came next, wherein I spied my first serious flock of Jackdaws.  Followed by a very lovely tea in a beautiful jardin as we made our way back to the RER station to make our way back into the capital.

We were happy for the change in the weather.  Warmth! This is much more like it.

After our first visit to Provins, I can say we'll be returning from time to time to check things out.  Besides, it's just a few stops beyond Longueville where my favorite steam locomotive shed hides.

[A somewhat small album of images is here.]

Are we really retired...?

I know.  It's been a little quiet on this blog.  Here's why.

1) I'm being published in LensWork Magazine for the second time.  I had an interview with Brooks Jensen three weeks ago and prepared a bunch of materials for them two weeks ago.  It's done from my side and it's now theirs to finish and publish for their April/May issue of Lenswork Extended.  They choose a series of images I created in Paris cemeteries.  Right nice of them, me-thinks.

2) I'm working with a pair of authors and a publisher to illustrate a mook on Steampunk.  All in a fun Paris-style.  I've been busy every single day for three and a half weeks!  Great/Fabulous photoshoots as far as the eye can see.  Well, the shooting part is coming to an end.  The image processing will continue for a few more days.

3) We need to head down to the Prefecture de Police to get a recipicee for our Visa which will allow us back into the country even as our visas will have expired.  We have an appointment with the PdeP already, so this should be easy.  Right?  Wrong.  We went to the commissariat and were redirected to the marie, and have been forwarded to the PdeP on l'isle de la cite.  Ugh.

4) We needed some documents translated for French healthcare and for our visit with the PdeP for our visa renewals.  The first set of documents are translated and will have a second set worked on before our PdeP appointment.

5) As soon as the first set of documents were translated, we headed to the French CPAM office to face the nasty fonctionaires.  Again.  For the fourth time.  This is the one place where the French can be as rude and arrogant as their reputations lead the world to believe they can be.  Bad stuff... but... if we can get healthcare, it'll be at a fraction of the US costs we're currently paying.  The paperwork has been submitted.  Yea.  Now we wait.

6) We're hosting a dinner for the Anglophone society we belong to.  Tomorrow night.  For just a few hours.  Fortunately.  But is should be fun.  We'll be hosting the meal at our favorite bistro.




7) And... we needed to submit our US taxes.  So a few forms needed to be filled out and sent to the States.  All it takes is time, right?

8) Our French library bill for checking out CDs and DVDs arrived.  We needed to sort out where to pay and when.  Arriving at the local tax office, we waited while the very kind functionnaire figured out how to take our money.

9) Well, our US-issued healthcare bill has come due and... it'll cost us a small stack of money.  The older we get the higher the costs.  It's pretty amazing to watch the costs skyrocket.  A bottle of champagne est dans le frigo against the day our French healthcare is granted.

10)  This is all working toward the time when we board a plane and head back to the States to clear out our storage unit.  I hope it takes less than the three weeks we'll be there.  But... if it doesn't, we'll have to find a place to store what's left.  Likely it'll be at my wife's son's house.

It's been crazy around here... and it's time to get things set up with our friends in the US so we don't leave them dangling any longer regarding our schedule...  Whee...

As my father continues to remind me, retirement means being busier than you've ever been in your entire life.