Grandpa's Old Haunt...

I reluctantly carried the Dreaded Plague into Bretagne.


Jude and I had pre-paid tickets for the Train a Grande Vitesse and a pre-paid stay at the hotel just across the plaza from the terminus of the line.  Earlier I'd taken Mother Nature to task for giving us a wet, cold summer and She wanted to make up for the mess by offering us a Glorious September.  It was dry and warm and was perfect for spending a few days away.  There was no way we were going to miss this opportunity.

It was less than 15 minutes out of Saint Malo and my mind was in a Fuzzy Haze of antibiotics and my stomach filled with tasty sandwich au jambon.  I was regarding the passing scenery in the aforementioned Fuzzy Haze when a realization crashed in on me.  I Fully Understood we were descending on a Truly Magical Place. Sitting in a farmers field was a ring of neolithic standing stones.

A walk thru Saint Malo on our first full day brought us to one of the Top Five Greatest Meals Ever.  The next day saw us out at Mont Saint Michel with our final full day in Bretagne being spent in Dinan.  Yes, magic could be found everywhere.


We like to travel on the shoulder seasons.  That is, we like to visit places when the prices are lower than during the peak and when there are fewer of us tourists to clog things up.

Mont Saint Michel was a source of concern for us as we'd read where the place is practically insupportable! with the vast numbers of tourists and pilgrims visiting the old monastery.  The site is the second most heavily visited location in France (after, of course, Paris).

Incredibly, fortune was on our side.  There was plenty of space to walk.  There were clear views of just about anything you might want to see.  We were able to take Mass with the brothers and nuns who live in the monastery.  We were able to pass thru the monastery with ease.  Lunch tables were un-filled in a surprising number of restos that are found on this history steeped island.


Back in the late-800's the Viking Rollo (aka: Robert I), son of Rognvald Eysteinsson, invaded what is now northern France (Normandy) and gained control over the region that includes Mont Saint Michel.  Rollo appointed an archbishop of Rouen who's direct control included the Mont.

In 933 William Longsword (William I) annexed the entire peninsula from the Bretons.  Squabbles with the Bretons would leave William dead after being ambushed while attending a peace conference.

The 1000's saw William the Bastard (aka: William the Conqueror) fighting in the region around the Mont as he maintained control over his father's and grand-father's land.  Some of the Big Events from the Bastard's life are recorded on the Bayeaux Tapestry.


Even as the Dreaded Plague was dragging me down Jude and I were like Two Little Mountain Goats.  We climbed, walked, skirted, and wandered all over the island.  I climbed the long, steep staircase to the monastery three times!  The first was with Jude to see where the stairs lead and to decide the seemingly over-priced museum was Probably Not Worth It.  I again climbed the stairs to ask questions of the Front Desk after we started to reconsider our initial decision.  And I climbed yet once more with Jude once we realized we simply had to see the monastery since that's what we'd come all this way to do!  Such were the continuing effects of antibiotics and the plague on my State of Reasoning.

As for the expected Vast Crowds, why were there so few people during our visit?  Was it our Good Fortune in planning?  Were there fewer people due to the Air France pilots strike?  Or was this a broader indication of the general state of the global economy?  Some things might just remain a mystery.

Voila une petite histoire...

I mentioned to someone in our French/English conversation group that Jude descended from the Dukes of Normandy but that I couldn't remember the details.  This sparked everyone's interest, a long conversation ensued, and Jude set out to re-research her family history.


Jude's daughter and niece had looked into the matter and had come to similar conclusions.  No one saved the Family Tree for future reference (the websites in question had deleted their research histories).  So... Jude was off to look into the matter once again and try to keep a record of her findings.

Here is what Jude found.  Some of her family who moved to Montana were named Eckley.  They came from somewhere along the east coast of the US.  Importantly, Jude was able to trace her family through the Eckley line back to Devon, England.  Many years before jumping the Pond to the New World the Eckley family line was connected to the Giffard/Gifford family line.  Many years before jumping the Channel to England, the Giffards had lived in Normandy and were, in fact, the Dukes of Normandy.  Many years before jumping the North Sea to invade northern France, the Dukes of Normandy had been Kings of Norway and Danemark.  Jude's daughter found a link to William the Bastard, as well.  It was a simple matter of following the lineage of one of William the Bastard's own Bastards, et voila!

Jude is a direct descendant of Rollo, William Longsword, and William the Bastard.

Hence our interest in things related to Mont Saint Michel.  The monastery island had been under direct control of her family for several centuries.  Our visit had been a visit the Old Family Stomping Grounds.

The Dreaded Plague could not keep us from paying the place a visit and submitting it to inspection to make sure they were keeping things in Good Order.

Q&A Time ~ Topic Number One

... reaching deep into our mail bag to see who might have a good question to ask us, your Long Suffering But Very Dedicated Editors... um... hum... here's something interesting.


Question:  "How do you find good places to eat that won't dent the wallet, yet deliver excellent food that France used to be known for?"

Now there, indeed, is a fine question.

France is long known for it's amazing cuisine.  Yet, in the past few decades the kind of food we oftened dreamed of in our youth seldom materialized once we were On The Ground and In-Country.  Why? you might ask.

Jude has a pretty straightforward explanation.  I'll paraphrase and remove all the swearing by saying simply that it's tourists and changes in French business practices.

Tourists visit Paris by the tens of millions each year.  75 million tourists come this way, in fact.  Restaurants know they have a captive audience and can charge whatever they like for the microwaved Rungis pre-prepared food they slap down on the tables.  Think "TV Dinners" French-style and you'll understand.  It is very rare these days to find a decent resto that has a fully operational, fully staffed kitchen.  Don't believe me?  Take a close look the next time you're in town.  You'll be shocked.


Add to this Sad State of Affairs two important things and you'll have a sense of just how bad things have become.  First, French business is trying to keep up with the Anglo-Saxons.  What this means is that instead of spending a leisurely two or three hours over lunch during the work-week, many people can be seen grabbing un sandwich and eating, nearly literally, on the run back to the office.  Second, since the Locals aren't spending much time over lunch, a great many restos have closed.  A little research using The Force (Google) quickly reveals how dire the situation has become.

Between tourists who are in no position to demand quality and business folks eating on the run, what's a retired person to do? The easy answer is to cook at home.  Jude is an amazing cook.  Her recipe list is broad and deep.  Yet, when traveling or simply wanting a Night Off there has to be a Better Way.  Which leads to the harder answer, which is to do Boots On The Ground Personal Research to uncover the Last Jewels in the Civilized World.



You can find good food anywhere you go by following a few simple tips.

• Read the carte posted by the front door.
• If they offer more than hamburger and steak-frites, closer observation may be in order.
• Stake the place out and watch.  This may take time, so bring a stool so you can sit.
• Observe the comings and goings.
• Are the people Locals? or tourists?  You'll want a place where the Locals are.
• If promising, dites bonjour! au barman and enter the kitchen.
• Before they drive you off, quickly check for a micro-onde and confirm the staff is French.
• If they have a micro-onde, walk out.
• If, however, they swear at you in perfect French, it might be worth sticking around.
• Leave the kitchen (if not already thrown out) and observe the wait-staff (from the sidewalk if necessary).
• If the wait-staff is friendly to the Locals (even as they are being efficient and quick with the service), you may have found a good place to eat.
• Look to see where they are in the Michelin ratings.  Two or three forks and no stars means you might eat well.  Add a star and you may gold.

Hmmm... OK... so it's not so simple and they'll never let you into the kitchen without killing and dressing you first.


Perhaps it would be best to use the only Proven Method I know:  Bring Jude along.  My wife has the nose of a Bloodhound and the food-sense of a Master.

Using our Proven Method we have scored some amazing meals for very reasonable prices.

For example, we recently visited Saint-Malo (see prior post about contracting the Dreaded Plague).  It was lunch time and we were hungry.  But we wanted desperately to avoid Tourist Traps that offered endless Gallettes and Cidre.  We wanted Real Food and happened to be walking through the center of the Intra-Muros.  We stopped from time to time to look at a menu and to see who was showing up for lunch.

After a half dozen places, Jude stopped and looked carefully at one particular menu.  The prices were "right" (around 30Euro a plate).  The Locals were eating there.  The smells coming from the kitchen were "right" as well.  The problem was sorting out exactly what was on the menu that Jude could eat.  So we walked on to see if anything else turned up.  We went as far as the main gate and the Galette/Cidre Row and decided to ask a few questions back at the place Jude had spent time with the menu.


Thus began one of our Top Five Meals ever.  Each dish had a To Die For flavor, subtly, and texture.  This is what we came to France for.  This was The Place to spend a few hours enjoying a meal and conversation.  Le Chalut, it turns out, has a Michelin star.  Well deserved we feel.  Our meal exceeded our Wildest Expectations.

In another example of Jude's Amazing Abilities came during a side-trip to Dinan.  We heard it was a lovely old town and were to be there over lunch.  So, quick as a bunny, Jude looked on TripAdvisor for the top restos in Dinan.  Two came up as potential candidates and would need to be confirmed by showing up and Checking Things Out.

The first place on Jude's list was noted as being difficult to get into and that reservations were strongly advised.  Still, we had to take a look for ourselves.  Meat was on the menu and wood smoke hung heavily in the air.  Real Honest to God Grilling was taking place here.  We asked if they had room to accommodate us and were surprisingly quickly shown to a table by the window.  No reservations required in late-September, apparently.


Jude's Amazing Ability had found us yet another great place to eat.  La Viande was cooked perfectly.  Yes, the side of veggies was a Little Suspect (boiled! of all things), but we were there for the meat... and desert... and coffee... all of which were exactly what we'd hoped they'd be.  Le Cantorbery is well worth a visit.  We walked away with our clothing smelling heavily of wood smoke.  Heaven.

Now before I get too Frothing At The Mouth, it must be noted that Jude's Amazing Abilities are not in the ex cathedra sense completely and utterly infallible.

The night we arrived in Saint Malo found us sitting down to a meal at the Relais d'Alsace.  I had the special... and boy... it was sure special.  Fish wrapped in pasty-dough and deep fried.  Sitting on top of a slice of andouiette sausage.  If you know anything about andouiette you know it's best when tasting a little like the Ass End of the pig it came from.  A friend nearly died trying to eat andouiette sausage when we were in Lyon last May.  It was disgusting. What a terrible way of destroying a perfectly good fish.  Can French cuisine be this bad?  Maybe it's the German influence.

We should've known that a German-style eatery in the middle of Brittany would be a Bad Sign.  Yes, I know that Alsace is currently found on the French side of the line.  Still, the food was heavy and, well, heavily suspect.


Other than that, there you go.  To eat well in France, just bring Jude along.  She can (most of the time) sniff out great places to eat.

Thanks for your question, dear reader.  I hope this answers your concerns.

Around Town ~ les journees du Patrimoine

It all started innocently enough.  We invited our Upstairs Neighbors down for a little apero.


Jude and I had plotted and planned a way to keep the boys happy, distracted, and busy.  We picked up a few DVDs from the library and hoped one of them would keep things calm.  I planned to watch the videos with them as another way to keep the peace.

What we couldn't plan for was what would happen should one of les enfants be a Bringer of the Plague, and the timing couldn't have been worse.  Les journees du Patrimoine were coming and I wasn't going to miss it.  Unless I was on my Death Bed, that is.

Each year the third weekend in September is set aside as a very special two day event.  All across France, places of history and importance that are normally off limits to visitors open their doors wide.  Millions of visitors see places they'd not usually see.


This year our Across the Hall  Neighbor invited Jude and I to his place of work over in the 1eme.  He'd give us a personal tour.

In our conversation group we were strongly encouraged to visit the ambassador's residences of Romania and Poland over in the 7eme.

We would spend Saturday with our Across the Hall Neighbor and Sunday visiting the residences.  Or so we thought.

As the week ground on I became sicker and sicker.  By Saturday I was a mess.  The Little Virus Vectors of our Upstairs Neighbors have delivered a Plague of Apocalyptic Proportions.  Damn them!


Come Saturday afternoon I resolved to suck down as many throat lozenges as it took to get through the tour.  We couldn't miss this as our Across the Hall Neighbor is a director of some importance within the French government.  It was an honor to be simply invited.  I girded my loins, packed my lozenges, and we set off.

On the other side of rue de Rivoli from the Louvre sits the Conseil d'Etat.  There is so much history in this one place (as we came to learn) that it's hard to know where to begin.

An all to brief overview goes something like this...  Cardinal Richelieu had his residence built near the king's so the king would have easy access to advice on how to run the state.  The Ducs of Orleans lived here with their family for a short time.  Moliere's first Comedie Francaise was located on the site.  There were several fires and the building was rebuilt each time in a different configuration.  Emperor Napoleon formalized the functions of the Conseil d'Etat soon after he took power.


The Conseil d'Etat is an interesting institution.  It's only responsibilities relate to government administration and laws pertaining to government.  Nearly everything else (civil order and other non-governmental non-administrative law) is handled by individual Maries and the Prefecture de Police.

The Conseil d'Etat has three primary functions.  It helps craft language for future law that fits within the framework of constitutional and related law.  It oversees the process where law is contested.  It ensures the administration of government complies with French law.

Looking at this from a US point of view, The Conseil d'Etat is an advisor to the law making process and would arbitrate any disputes that might arise.  Alas, there is no real US equivalent.  Could you imagine a process or function that would help write US legislation to make sure it fit the language of the constitution and all related law before Congress, Big and Monied Interests got their hands on it?


The Conseil d'Etat has a similar function to the US Supreme Court, but only for things related to the administration of government.  It is the final arbiter in cases where a contest arises.  It seems to act as a Fine Toothed Comb for administrative law.

As our neighbor was explaining how the Conseil d'Etat worked I asked how political influence was managed.  Afterall, in the US all it takes a sufficient money and a sensitive ear for legislation to be written in your favor (business and monied interests love the US process for how easy it is to manipulate).

It turns out, political influence is managed, as you might guess, rather differently here in France.  The President of the Conseil is appointed by the President of France.  It is a life time position.  It is strictly a-political.  How this can be, I have no idea, but our neighbor assures us this is the case.


We had the opportunity to see the Vice President of the Conseil.  He is a tall man of pleasant continence and seemingly abundant patience.  He seemed to answer every question put to him.  There were a lot of people who had questions, from the looks of things.  I couldn't help but notice the beauty and precision in his use of the French language.

Toward the end of our tour we asked about recruitment policies and how France found the right people for this kind of job.  It turns out recruitment is rather straightforward.  The top five students from Institut d'études politiques de Paris each are given clerical positions in the Conseil.  Only the very best and very brightest are allowed into this ancient institution.


Just as I felt like I could take no more and that the Dreaded Plague was having it's way with me, we thanked our host for the generosity of his time and knowledge, and bid adieu to our Across the Hall Neighbor.  I struggled back to the Metro and then to Home and Hearth.

The Romanian and Polish Ambassador's residences will have to wait another year.  The best I could do was stagger to a pharmacy to beg for relief and to schedule a doctors appointment for Monday.

Tuesday we would leave for Saint-Malo.  Dreaded Plague and all.

Around Town ~ the Passages

Seeings as to how this summer has been cold and wet, I thought it might be time to talk about those wonderful covered passages that certain parts of Paris are filled with.

There are wonderful on-line resources that will list the passages and where they can be found, so I won't go into too many details.  Here's an article from the Guardian.

Jude has a Passage Walk she likes to do.  It's a lot of fun and can keep you away from Mother Nature's more serious dousing.  She'll still have her way with you, though.  The wind can be pretty cold on cool days.

Jump either the #8 or #9 metros to les Grands Boulevards.  Head around the corner to take lunch at le Bouillon Chartier.  It can make for an interesting original 1920's in-expensive bistro style meal.  They'll add up your addition right there on the paper table cloth for you.  You shouldn't miss it, even if the line getting in can be long.

After lunch, continue up rue du Faubourg Montmartre (away from Boulevard Montmartre where the metro stops first deposited you) while keeping your eyes open for Passage Verdeau on your left.  Once inside you can gawk like the rest of us.  The iron frames holding the glass ceiling seem like they shouldn't be able to do what they're doing.

Wandering though Passage Verdeau and out the other side will lead you to spy the entrance just across the street to the Passage Jouffroy.  Art and toy stores can be found here.  Just up the stairs and around the corner will lead you to one of my favorite places in the city.  Skull, antlers and giant walking sticks will mark the spot.  If the elderly gent is in, take a moment to have him demonstrate his canne de marche.  You'll quickly get the point of the visit.

Continuing out the south porte you'll see you've come back to Boulevard Montmartre.  Just across the perhaps surprisingly wide boulevard is Passage des Panoramas.  This leads to a wonderful rabbit warren of passages.  You'll find the Galerie des Variete, and Galerie Feydeau as off-shoots of the main passage.  There are stamps and documents and little places to eat.

Once you've had your fill with the Bunny Warren, head down rue Vivienne.  A couple blocks down the street after you've passed the modern Bourse you'll come to the entrance to Galerie Vivienne on your left.  A wonderful old bookstore is found in the passage.  There used to be a photo gallery too, but I don't remember seeing it that last time we were there.  Recall that Vidocq had an apartment here.  One of the circular staircases leads to his hold haunt (unreachable by Mere Mortals, in who's numbers we count ourselves).

Having taken your time to enjoy as many things as possible you might be once again hungry.  If so, vous avea de la chance.  At the south end of Galerie Vivienne is the wonderful old Bistro Vivienne.  Jude and I had an amazing cote de boeuf pour deux some years ago.  If for nothing else, the patina of age is worth the experience, particularly if you're an Old Paris Romantic.

However, if your wallet is bigger than ours, the Grand Colbert is just around the corner.  It's patina of Old Paris History is buffed and shined even brighter and is a truly lovely looking place to dine.

There are many other passages sprinkled through the area.  If you're smitten, do a little research and you can have further amazing experiences.  There's even a passage that's given over to Indian food, both markets and restaurants.  All pleasantly out of the rain, of course.

Around Town ~ Real Indian Food!

A former colleague once told me that the closer you are to India (geographically) the better the Indian food gets.

We seriously challenged that idea with Chandrika's incredible South India cuisine where we used to live in the States.  That woman could cook.  I had a hard time telling whether I was in India or not, it was that good.

One time my wife and I picked up a couple India engineers that we had over to do some work for my team.  I asked if they'd eaten yet and they both nodded "yes."  They were full.

Well, Jude and I were hungry so we asked if they minded if we headed over to Chandrika's place for a bite to eat before heading out to see the city.  I'll never forget watching as these two Indian software engineers ate what must've been a half dozen different dishes.  Jude and I were full after one or two dishes apiece.  Those guys?  They packed it in and went back the next day for more.

Moving to Paris was to be a test of my former colleague's idea of "closer is better."

After settling into our current arrondisement we found a couple "Indian" places and tried them.  It was not good.  They didn't even taste like Northern Indian cuisine though some of the owners said they were from Dehli or Bombay.  The food was more "gloppy" than it should have been and we were told the French do not like spices, so these restos wouldn't add any to their cooking.  It was so bad that I once found a sliver of metal shavings from the can they just opened.

Thanks, but no thanks.  Either we found the "real" thing or we'd go without.  If we weren't trying to be too dramatic, maybe we'd find a compromise.

What recently fueled our interest in India cuisine was a series we YouTubed.  It was a great way to spend a pleasant evening reclined in bed and drooling at the thought of something incredibly tasty.  Jude got into the mood by preparing a few of her own very tasty Indian dishes.  It looked like we'd have to rely on Jude's efforts to keep us in Fine Fettle while no doubt offending the sensitive French nose with cooking smells making their merry way out of our apartement.

One day a new member of our French/English conversation group showed up.  She looked Indian, so I took the highly "un-PC" move of approaching her and asked if there was anywhere in town that served real Indian food.  I told her we wanted something where the spices were truly Indian-hot and that we wanted Dosa, by gawds!  Give us Dosa or give us death!!

Without hesitation she said that "yes", we could find what we were looking for.  I replied "no way!"  It couldn't be possible as the only area we hadn't tried was up around the Gare du Nord.  She laughed and said "just go", where the words were delivered with a little South Indian head nod.  Of course that would be the one area where a large Pondicherry, Sri Lankan community is found.

Paris has become a Multi-Layered Paradise.  Anywhere we look there is something to be discovered and reveled in.  It was with this in mind that we boarded the metro bound for la Gare du Nord.

Up out of the metro we popped and down the street we went... to see a place that came highly recommended... but served no ETOH... and past several promising restos... the scents and smells of the South Indian continent wafting everywhere... bringing tears to my eyes at the memory of time spent in the Indian state of Karnataka... and of colleagues who've since become friends... and... to the street where our destination would be... um... er... ah!... there it is!  It's right on the corner.

Dosa!  Kingfisher!!  Vindahlo!!!  Nirvana.

The prices are "right."  That is to say, a LOT less for wonderful "home style" food than you typically spend at a "low-end" bistro where they microwave your this-morning-Rungis-prepared repas to luke-warm temperatures.  More importantly, the food is fantastic.  It has all the right flavors, all the right scents, all the right qualities that make Indian food the amazing cuisine that it is.

Yes.  We've found it.  Real Indian food.  Right here in the City of Lights. 

It's good to find the Indian gods and goddesses smile kindly on this peaceful land of France.

Les Crottes de Chien ~ Summer Awards

Voici my first (and possibly last) blog entry wherein I give awards for various items of special mention and excellence in their fields of, well, whatever.

To start things off, let's have a look at Mother Nature.

Why pick on Her?  The answer is very quick and easy.  It's because the weather in July and August here in the City of Lights has, frankly, sucked.  It's been cold and wet for going on two straight months.  But, you say, at least June was nice.  Right?  Um, sorry.  Everyone was still working Like a Dog two months ago.

Things are so bad that tourism is down.  Way down.  In some places we're welcoming 50+ percent fewer guests.  In the most popular places there are at least 15 percent fewer people than last year.  Rappelez-vous that last year tourism was down in France due to a bunch of people running around and chucking things throw the air in London.  Even the Rom thieves left Paris for London to see the Olympics and to pick up a few quid along the way.

It's serious.  The weather is depressing.  Just look outside and you'll see what I mean.

In spite of the tourist-dousing weather, Jude and I have worked on our tans.  It's good enough to fool most people into believing we've spent a good month or two away on les vacances.

Having said that, Harry the Diplomat tells us that come Septembre the French will return home from les conges annuels in a very grumpy mood.  Afterall, what mood could one possibly be in after spending a Glorious Month away from the city... um... under a gray and many times spitting sky?  No tan.  No beach.  No sun.  Ugh.

Mother Nature, this one's for you.

The second Crotte de Chien award goes to an American company for taking a business that used to be ranked #1 in the industry (Test and Measurement equipment) to #3 in a field of three in five short years.

How'd they do it?  They mistook a high tech company for something it most definitely wasn't and stripped assets ("free cash flow!") beyond any ability to recover.  The acquiring group paid $3BILLION for the business and wanted to get their money back as soon as possible.

What better way to set the tone an impose the new corporate culture than to piss off the employees?  Jim Lico laughed in the face of an employee who innocently asked (in front of a rather large crowd, mind you) if he was moving manufacturing to China.  Within six months her's and thousands of other jobs were given to the People's Republic of China.  Is it any wonder that American companies that rely on virus/malware-free software stopped buying from them?  This was, of course, only after Jim had threatened the Governor of the State of Oregon with moving jobs overseas if he wasn't granted a huge tax break.

One of the next faux-pas they made was to bring in the Loose Canon. This man fears that CEO (Larry Culp) will find out he doesn't know what he's doing.  So his bravado is even greater than many "senior executives".  While twisting the company this way and that, wringing out as much money as he could, Amir Aghdaei foolishly laid off the group of engineers who knew how to make the widest, fastest, deepest analog to digital converters in the world. 

Amir thought he could buy the parts the business requires by going to an outside company that had never made these kinds of parts.  His claim was that instead of waiting five years for world beating performance parts (the old group told Amir it would take that long to move to a newer technology), he told everyone we'd have great parts in a year.  That was five years ago and still there are no new parts.

Well, Larry seems to have wised up, realized that it takes knowing something about technology to successfully run a technology business and has moved Amir out of the company he single-handedly mis-managed into near oblivion (going from $1Billion/year down to struggling to make $400Million/year on the original core business). 

In a rather telling comment the CEO told the media that "...our task and challenge is to innovate as best we can."  But, you might ask, the New Guy doesn't know anything either, right?  Interesting times, these.

Try acquiring something that doesn't exist (the take-over group is very "acquisitive", as they say on Wall Street).  Try rebuilding a team of skilled engineers half a decade after you've gotten angry at their proposed schedule and arrogantly sent them into the un-employment line.  Try "innovating" your way cheaply into success by relying on Chinese engineering when engineers in that country don't believe in the laws of physics (ask them if grounding of electronic equipment is required and prepare to pick your jaw up off the floor at their reply).

In the meantime, Tektronix has become only one in a rather long line of "rollup company" controlled zombies.  No real way of generating "organic" growth (one of Larry's favorite phrases) after you've Kaizen'd out the door everything that's not nailed to the flow, including probably the single most important innovating engine the company ever had.

So, to Danaher Corp goes our second Crottes de Chien award.  Great job, guys!  Pray Wall Street doesn't find out how "well" you really understand your markets, customers, and how you really run your businesses.

Lastly, we would like to address a few things about how "stuff" gets done around these parts.

Take, for instance driving une kilometer par heure over the speed limit.  It's a ticket-able offense here.  If one of the 1,000 police cameras record you, you receive a Nasty Gram in the mail demanding 137Euro.

Here's another example of what I'm getting at.  The month of August typically allows free on-street parking every weekend.  Let's say you pull up to the curb, park, and walk up the street to enjoy a relaxing three hour lunch on a beautiful Saturday afternoon.  Let's then say you spy a little green piece of paper on your car's window after downing the last glass of chardonnay wine.

What is it? you might ask.  Well, it's a little note from the police saying there has been an infraction.  It gives absolutely no indication what that infraction was.  Further, there is no indication of the time, date, nor the number nor name of the officer who gave you this late-afternoon gift.

You're left to wonder what happened.  All you can do is stand there flat-footed with a growing sour-churn in the stomach.  Soon a letter arrives that explains everything.  It indicates you parked without paying the meter and putting a sticker in the window.

What changed?  The law.  That's what changed. How does one know the law has changed and that parking is no longer free on weekends during the month of August in Paris, France?  Search me.  I have no idea.  The French themselves don't seem to know.

To make matters worse, unlike in the US where you can go before a judge and cry your Crocodile Tears, in France there is no case.  There is not one single person you can see who will listen to you and, perhaps, take pity on you.  You simply have to pay.  Or else.  Period.  End of sentence.

How can the French stand it?  I smell a revolution.  That's what I smell.

The bright side of this little tale is that Jude and I do not own une voiture.  We moved here to explicitly enjoy the libertie, egality, fraternity associated with not owning a car.

Still, this is nasty business and I can see why the French tend to be grumpy.

This final award, therefore, goes to Those Who Shall Not Be Named, but who sneak things in on you when you're not looking.

[A short note regarding les crottes de chien.  Jude and I spied these today when we were out for a walk.  We just had to scurry back home to pick up our cameras.  The French have such a wicked sense of humor.  Sometimes.  When they're not working on being grumpy, that is.]

Around Town ~ ... somewhere outside Paris deep in the countryside...

[This entry is re-editted  from my Photographic Sketchpad blog]

Working with creative people here in France has opened up into being an incredible experience.

Sometime I would like to write about how and why creative expression is so different in France from what it is in the US.  I couldn't imagine the impact of the Catholic Church and the Ancien Regime on modern culture and creative expression, but I've learned a few things from talking with people that illuminate the topic well.  For this post suffice it to say that once I gained access to the artistic community, finding subjects eager to work with me has become a lot easier.

I am forever grateful to Arthur Morgan for personally introducing me an amazing group of people.  After our work was published in Fiction #19 (France) my association with M. Morgan gave me an all important Stamp of Credibility.  There's a French word for this.  I need to ask a friend to remind me what it is.

Recently, a friend of a costume artist I'd work with contacted me with the suggestion that we shoot in an old abandoned chateau.  How quick to you think I was to reply "hell yes!!!"?  Indeed.  I was very excited to be involved in the project.

We plotted and planned.  The project coordinator wrote in excellent English.  The model had a few interesting costuming ideas.  The makeup artist turned out to be someone we'd worked with.  Her boyfriend was interested in lending a hand on the project too.  Jude, my wife, was thrilled to come along after looking at a few images of the location.

On the day of the shoot we had several inauspicious events.  Jude bumped her head against a cabinet door that I'd left open.  The weather was to turn sour during our prime shoot time.  The chateau turned out to be at least an hour out of Paris by donkey cart or TGV.  I was unhappy to leave Jude behind but she needed to rest after her accident.

I kissed Jude goodbye and met Niko (aka: Project Coordinator and Abandoned Building Safety Officer) at his waiting donkey that was standing in front of our apartment building.  Into the saddlebags/boot/trunk (depending on which side of the Pond you live) went all the camera gear required to make serious photo-shoot many miles from home.

Just outside of town we could see a huge black cloud that stretched from horizon to horizon.  From time to time the sky lit bright with streaks of lightning.  The god Poseidon had risen from the depths of the Atlantic Ocean.  Things did not look good.

Passing through the first wall of water was unlike anything I'd ever experienced.  We couldn't see the road.  We couldn't see any of the cars around us.  We swore we could see salmon trying to swim up-stream.  We didn't like the fact that it was August and these kinds of things Just Don't Happen pendant les conges annuels.  The drenching went on for far too long.

Eventually the Big Black Cloud finished having it's way with us and decided to move on to Paris to give everyone behind us an Equal Opportunity Drenching.  The Big Black Cloud would trap the model, the MUA (make-up artist), and her boyfriend just as they were leaving Paris.  It produced a enormous embouchon (traffic jam).

To me it was instantly obvious what needed to be done while awaiting the arrival of the rest of the team.  Exploring the site we learned from a man who used to live on the property (20 years ago) that the chateau had been sold and would be torn down in the next couple weeks.  Knowing this gave me a strong reason to get as much of it "on film" as I could.  It would be the first and last time I ever visited this most amazing place.

After working a couple hours with the model and team we packed up and headed back into town.  Greeting us over the Normandy horizon was the last of this year's Supermoons.  La lune hung in the evening sky guiding us back into Paris.