Around Town ~ Palais Garnier

When people think of the Palais Garnier, they typically think of the Andrew Lloyd Webber musical, the Phantom of the Opera.  There is a lake under the building and the architecture and details of the interior are flamboyant, I'll call it neo-gothic, though it's really much more than that.  Perhaps the style is more like a French Rococo.


I had never been before, even after all our visits as tourists to the City of Light and during the past two years of our living here.  Visiting the Palais hadn't, until now, rising to the top of our list of things to see.

The day we decided to cross it off our list of place experienced it was cold, wet, and well, very Parisian Winter-like. The weather worked to our advantage, it turned out.  Very few people were out and about and only two small groups of people were ahead of us in line at the billetterie.

Yes, the 10Euro admission fee was a little steep for such a small venue.  The Louvre has ten miles of aisles to walk for only 10Euro.  Still, we were amazed.  The architecture was grander than my wildest expectations.


A short step lead us to the bottom of a huge staircase.  That's when our jaws dropped.

Entry included access to the rez de chaussee and the first level.  The upper level and front of the building (the one facing the Opera metro station) were closed the day we were there.  Still, there was plenty to see, including two viewing boxes from which we could see the stage, seats, and interesting Chagall painted ceiling.

We could see how "the other half" liked to live.  The place is posh beyond belief.  No wonder the Garnier is on the Tourist List of Must See - If Not Slightly Overpriced (4Euro would have been more like it) - places to visit when in Paris.


If you take a similar route to our's, note that tour guides may say something to you if you happen to be in the same room at the same time as they are.  They want their money and they don't want suspected free-loaders tagging along.  One such guide said something to Judith even though we weren't in any way interested in the Chinese language tour that was being given.  We just happened to be standing there taking it all in.

From a photographer's perspective, the Palais Garnier is an absolute "must."  So if you can, plan your visit when few people are there and you won't have to try and work around all the other gawkers.  For that's what you'll no doubt be doing, too.  Slack-jawed gawking.

Around Town ~ Steam Locomotives

I recently posted a (growing) list of fun things to do in and around Paris and started this series of blog entries by talking about la traversee de Paris that involved 600+ voitures anciennes.


For this entry, I want to talk about steam locomotives.  It's a topic likely not covered in the traditional Paris guidebooks.

Years ago I worked for a software start-up.  The offices were in an old building that backed up to Union Pacific's freight tracks.

One day an engineer came running into my office and said "Come with me.  You NEED to see this."  Out the back door we dove as he gestured to the railway an said "There!"

Sure enough, "there" it was.  SP4449 was running hard up the tracks.  It was just the steam locomotive and it's tender.  That was it.  But that was enough to get me interested.


As we stood there, I could hear SP4449 coming back.  There she went, in reverse, back down the tracks.

It took me a year or two to figure out where the locomotive lived.  Once it found her, I spent the following decade making images in and around the roundhouse, getting to know two other engines that lived in the same shed, and enjoying old railroads around the western US.

Moving to France, I was eager to find European steam.

After a year, I discovered that Mulhouse is in France, not Germany.  A little more digging revealed not only one of the world's finest automobile museums, but a vast rail museum as well.  Alas, we have yet to visit eastern France.  While I feel my high school German rising from deep memory, I remain uncomfortable with the proximity to... um... nevermind.


A bit more searching revealed a privately held rotonde located somewhere east in the vasty fields of Paris.  It's called AJECTA.

Jumping the metro to Gare l'Est and taking the Translien to Longueville was an easy hour and a quarter spent riding modern rail.  A ten minute walk from the modern station led to the early 1900's roundhouse and it's 14 steamlocomotives.

On the day I visited they were firing up one of the three working steam engines to ready it for un tournage that was to take place the next day.  I was thrilled as it had been a very long two years since I witnessed working steam like this.


I  am eager to take a look at two additional train depots as well as feeling the need to visit Mulhouse (no matter it's proximity to Germany (LOL!!!)). One is located north of Paris and is called the Musée des tramways à vapeur et des chemins de fer secondaires français.

The second is not exactly a museum, but does have at least one working steam locomotive.  It's located out in Britaigne in une petite ville qui s'appelle Paimpol.  Our first landlords live out in the Cotes d'Armor and the steam locomotive would be a good excuse to stick around Britaigne for a few days.

Around Town ~ la traversee de Paris

I recently posted a (growing) list of fun things to do in and around Paris.


The proposed list has less to do with rediscovering famous sites than it does in trying to uncover the slightly, though some might say extremely, odd and out of the way places and events.  I figure that the well attended Tourist Sites have been well covered for generations by better people than I.  If I happen to cover one of the Pickpocket Magnets, it will be from a unique, perhaps little known, perspective.  In short, I want to share some of the wonderful things that no Tourist Guide covers and things I found after Diligent Digging or Stumbling Happenstance.

My photography blog will cover des trucs from the perspective of a camera equipment gear-head.


For this, the first entry of Around Town, I present la traversee de Paris hivernale 2014.

If you can imagine 600+ Voitures Anciennes (old cars) invading the streets and disrupting the Normal Flow of Traffic, if you can imagine Taking Time to talk with car owners who are happy to share their latest addition to their Gods Gifted Supercharged! Guzzi-Powered Triking, and if you can imagine it's only 09h00 on a Bitterly Cold Sunday morning where baguette, wine, and cheese are required fortifications half way around the circuit, you'll have a good handle on what la traversee is all about.


La traversee is hosted by the Association Vincennes Anciennes.  Members seem to have a wonderful sense of good humor and know how to have great fun.

People who enjoy old cars can watch them go by at many points around the circuit.  If the past two years hold true for the future, the event begins at Oh Dark Thirty at the Chateau de Vincennes, heads Up The Hill to Montmartre, slithering downtown to park and spend seemingly hours at Ultra Swank Uber She-She place Vendome, before blasting up the Champs Elysees, down to the Trocadero, around Gustave Eiffel's tour, Showing Off along the Blvd Saint Germain des Pres before jumping Pont Sully on their way back to the Chateau de Vincennes.


This year, while we were a little light on Bugattis and 1930's Formula One Alfa Romeo single seaters, we were entertained instead by Big American cars (notice I did NOT say fat, no, I did not), early (and I do mean early) French voitures, as well as a few tasty Ferraris (new and old) and Aston Martins (where the British were well represented).

For the second year in a row, I was surprised and delighted that wet weather was held at bay by the Touring Automobile Weather Gods.  As I mentioned, it was brutally cold.  After watching a couple old square riggers make good time over Pont Sully on their way to la place de la Bastille, I could see that a good thick fur coat has it's place in life.

If a person can't get enough of old cars and if they happen to be in Paris in late July, the Association Vincennes Ancienne will be hosting the summer version of la traversee.

Paris activities ~ 2014

When we lived in the US, our city played host to all kinds of wild and wonderful parades, festivals, and artistic activities.  Moving to Paris I learned that I would have to dig a little deeper to find a similar level of creativity.


This is my short list of must do things for 2014.  Yes, it is slanted to photo-opportunities.  But make no mistake, each event or venue is great to show up to without a camera.  I think nearly the entire world but us has a cell-phone camera and software to process and share the experiences with if they chose to.

Year round -

• La Rotonde de Longueville ~ steam locomotives.  Lots of them.  Some working.  Some not.
• Catacombs ~ the remains of millions of Parisians.  Take your own flashlight for the darker, creepier areas.

12 January -

• La traversee de Paris hivernale ~ Old cars on the streets of Paris.  I mean, really old cars.

5 to 9 February -

• Retromobile ~ Old cars, motorcycles, and motor memorabilia at la porte de Versailles.

2 March -

• Carnival de Paris ~ Fun filled parade of Trolls and Faeries.

30 March -

• Carnival of Women ~ Men and women dressed up as royalty, queens, and other femininity.

2 to 6 July -

• Japan Expo 2014 ~ Anime, Manga, Cosplay, Lolita.  It's how France's youth "puts on the dog."

I'll be attending as many of these as I can.

Testing the System...

I am instantly awake to the words "Chris, I think something is wrong."

It's 6am and it's cold and dark out.  Jude is not feeling well.

She'd been fighting a virus, but this is different.  So, I try to clear my mind as I reach for our invaluable copy of "Bloom Where You're Planted - How to Live in France" to find the emergency numbers.

OK.  Here's a number for the cardiac hotline.  Hmmm... time to see if my early morning French is any better than my after beer French.  The kind doctor tells me to dial 15 to reach the SAMU.

A somewhat long conversation ensues where I refresh my earlier education about how to relate what hurts and where.  I speak to two people and they determine it's time to dispatch the Sapeurs Pompiers.

I get dressed, brush my teeth (to kill the Dragon Breath) and head downstairs just in time to meet three large Paramedic/Firefighter type men.

They work on Jude and after awhile say we're headed to the Pompidou hospital.  It's a public hospital. 

Jude had spoken to hear doctor just a couple days before about what to do in the event of an emergency.  She learned that her doctor preferred the semi-private Saint Joseph hospital over in the 14eme.  So she tells the man on the phone where she'd like to be taken.

We wrap up Jude as warmly as we can and head downstairs to the waiting paramedic unit.  As I climb in I see by the lights of an on-coming car that it's lightly snowing.

I sit in a seat behind Jude who's laying on a stretcher.  The unit drives pulls away from the curb and a backboard slams into me.  It's not locked down.  I grab the back of Jude's stretcher and put my foot on the backboard to keep it in place.  The siren wails as we wend our way through narrow Paris streets.  It's dark and cold outside.  We pass a long line of police vans, all with their blue oscillating lights turned on bright. This was quickly becoming Mr Toads Wild Ride!

A short time later we pull into St Joe's and they whisk Jude off to be triaged by a nurse.  Some time later, she moves into an ER room where a doctor will take a closer look at things.

Three and a half hours, two EKGs, and one rather large blood work-up later we learn what we need to learn.  In short, Jude's heart is in great condition.  She needs to see her regular doctor to review her meds and to visit a cardiologist. 

The doctor rather apologetically hands us a piece of paper that lists the services rendered.  It was as if anything having to do with money is difficult for the French.  We are free to head toward the checkout counter.

I draw a deep breath.

In the US, any time we've visited the ER, after our insurance paid whatever they'd negotiated, we were left with out of pocket expenses between 900 and 3500USD.  We experienced two non-ER visits to a hospital for one hour tests (one for Jude and one for me) with shared costs (insurance and out of pocket) exceeded 10,000USD.  The costs were consistently scary high, and we had medical coverage through my employer.

We moved to France to benefit from the number one rated medical system in the world, while, at the same time, avoiding the kinds of costs we experienced while living in the US.

I can't imagine what it would've been like had we not had insurance while living in the US.  The number one reason for people declaring bankruptcy in America is due to unpaid medical bills. 

As Jude says, they'll take your house and put you on the streets if you can't pay for your medical care.  It's not that way in other first world nations, but this ER experience was putting to test our ideas of how affordable proper medical care is outside the US.

I have butterflies in my stomach as we reach the check-out desk.

After several seemingly eternally long minutes, the man behind the desk hands me the RF-enabled credit card reader where I can see what the total cost of the visit is as I enter the PIN.  I can feel my own blood pressure drop through the floor as I completely relax. 

We're out less than 200Euro _before_ insurance picks up their share.

Promise me something, will you?  Promise me that we never have to return to the US.  It's cheaper to live here.  Literally.  OK?  Got it? 

Gods help us! this is exactly why we moved to France.

The Kindness of Creative People...

For those who may follow my PhotoSketchPad blog, you'll know that I'm a nut for photography.

It should come as no surprise that when the Salon de la Photo trade show hit town that I'd be near the front of the crowd clamoring to get in.  I met Daniel Smith, photographer and Director of the Visual Arts program at WICE and Al Alistair, photographer and manager of the film courses that WICE offers.  We promised that if our credit cards were at risk for buying some new tasty piece of equipment that we'd be there to support each other.

We checked out Fuji's camera offerings, and wandered by to see the new Nikon.  We then each our own way, promising to catch up later, if possible.  I wandered over the Canon counter to take a look at the small SL1/100D and to try a 70-200mm f2.8 L on a full frame camera.  As a comparison, I visited the Sigma counter to take a close look at their 70-200 f2.8 EX OS HSM.

There were plenty of fun things to look at and fondle.  Yet, I found that I was wandering around in a distracted daze.  Something wasn't quite right and I wasn't terribly excited by the wonderful gear on offer.  Perhaps it had a lot to do with the fact that traditional artists don't talk so much about their brushes or tools of their trade as much as they do about what they create and why.  Photography, on the other hand, seemed to be about what you could afford and how much of it you could acquire.  It doesn't seem there is as much attention paid to the final image as to the camera and lenses a photographer carries.

Realizing this, I walked off in search of photographs on display.

While there were some potentially interesting images, I was left cold by the photo-reportage that seemed to be in abundance.  I was left unimpressed by the landscapes and scenery.  There wasn't anything that I fell in love with and would want to hang on our apartment wall.

There was one last aisle to walk.  So, walk it I did...

... and found Daniel talking with a student from a class I taught just the day before.  Dr. Elizabeth Rand had volunteered to help the de Groot Foundation.  I knew nothing of the foundation and so ensued a conversation about who they were, what they did and, gee, take a look at this photograph by a wonderful young artist from Peru...

A quick look around confirmed that these were indeed serious photography folks.  I learned there were six jurors, three in France and three in the USA, who reviewed over 5,000 entries.  Selected images across six categories were awarded a prize by the foundation.  The top winners in each category were flown to Paris to participate in the Salon de la Photo showing of their work.

We, Daniel and I, were introduced to Clydette de Groot.  She was working the display area and shared some of our seemingly boundless enthusiasm for the photographic arts.  It was then that I realized how much my previously dour mood had lifted.  Here was infectious joy expressed around the art of image creation.  Each photograph  was a very worthy winner, from what I could see.  Fabulous work was on display.

Clydette (if I may be so bold as to use just her first name here) said that I must be introduced to a young lady who's work had won one of the prizes.  But before she introduced us, she wanted to explain a little about Mafe Gracia's background.  Her's was the image I was first impressed by when I first wandered by.  In brief, all of the men in five generations of women in her family were dead.  Instantly I better understood what I was looking at and my appreciation for her work deepened dramatically.

I met Mafe and we had a long conversation on photography, life in Lima, Peru, what it was like for her to travel to Paris to participate in the Salon, and what her future plans might be.  I am enthusiastic about her work and shared this with her.  She beamed.  I know, as artists, how we like to be recognized and encouraged.

I found Daniel talking with Dr Elizabeth and tore him away to talk about other fine images in the collection.  There was an amazing image of a dead bird.  Clydette explained that a young lady made this, too, and that she was here in Paris with her mother for the celebrations.  If this kind of image-making was any indication, the future of photography is in good hands.

We moved over to take a look at a very nice portrait.  I explained to Daniel how a Petzval lens was likely used in the making of the photograph.  As I was wrapping up my thoughts on the topic, Mafe returned with something in her hand.

She said "Here.  I want you to have this."  It was a copy of her beautiful work "Lazos de Familia."

I was nearly speechless.  All I could say was "You know how to make an old man cry."

As we walked away, Daniel and I looked at each other and asked "what just happened?"  It had been an emotional, touching, beautiful moment shared.

This is what I came to experience in living here.  Sharing, talking, and some times gifting between humans.  All on a personal level.  Regardless of where we come from.  With a deeper, richer understanding of each other and sharing our life experiences.  The community of artists in my small sphere of personal acquaintances and friends is growing.  I could see that Daniel might have felt similar things.

Such a great day, this.

Walking into the cool, damp early afternoon, Daniel and I said our goodbyes to each other and I headed up to my favorite rugby bar, le comptoir, for a Karmeliet Triple and lunch.

The Sharp End of French Diplomacy...

Lunch!


Where?  At le bouillion Chartier over in the 9th arrondissement just off les Grands Boulevards.

Why?  To celebrate a friend's birthday. He and his wife are Canadians.  They're visiting as part of his wife's World Tour in celebration of being able to retire.  It was our time to say goodbye to two nice people and to wish them well on their journeys.

Le bouillion Chartier is a grand place to eat.  The food is decent and the prices are light on the wallet.  If I were to dream of a timeless Parisian place to eat, with all the visual queues, proper food smells and filled with interesting people, this would be it.


Je prends le steak frites, s'il vous plait.  Et de la bière aussi.  Vous avez de la Kronenbourg?  Je n'aime pas la bière d'Allemagne.  Qu'est-ce qu'il faut faire?  Ah bon. La Kronenbourg, s'il vous plait.  Only to learn that Kronenbourg is actually brewed in Alsatian France.  It was tasty, too.

It was early enough in the afternoon that the Fall Sun had not yet set.  So the four of us decided to take a walk through the passage ways that riddle this part of town.  Starting with Passage Jouffroy we headed from the street back toward Hotel Chopin and... er... what's this then?  I'm instantly side-tracked.

Skulls.  Antlers. Des cannes de marche.  Oh, we have to go in, don't we?


The four of us stuff ourselves into a small shop.  A small well dressed man wearing glasses appeared from behind a tall counter at the back of the shop.  I couldn't help but notice his cataract-ed right eye.  Votre magasin est ouvert maintenent?  Oui, bien sur, he replied.  Alors...

We were surrounded by baskets and pull out drawers filled with walking canes.  The styles on offer were wide ranging and looked, in some cases, to be quite old.  A short conversation confirmed that, indeed, some were three or four hundred years of age.

Reaching into one of the display baskets, I asked if I could inspect a very interesting item.  It looked to be made of animal vertebrae stacked to form the cane and was topped by a beautiful skull.  The vertebrae were from sharks and the skull was vraiment carved ivory.  The price was in line with what I might be expected to pay for a 1939 Traction Avant in driving condition.


The shopkeeper reached into one of the drawers and pulled out a gorgeous cane and... YIKES!  Faster than a blink of an eye, I found myself on the business end of a period epee.

Even as certain disembowelment and inevitable death hovered lightly at one of my lower shirt buttons, I couldn't help but notice the artful etching down the slender steel blade.  Hope rouse in my heart that the shopkeeper's Good Eye could gauge depth and distance.  I was looking Death straight... well... down the blade.

I figured that if I was going to die, it was a Good Day in any event.  Lunch had been fine.  Besides, not everyone could say they Passed to the Great Beyond at the blade of a 1700's epee that had been hand crafted for the art of dueling.

Death passed me by and the epee was returned to it's canne de marche.

A few more passes by Death were made as we were shown other blades, long and short, that hid well within other fine examples of cannes de marche.  Each time, lethal blades were thrust my direction.  Each time, I hoped his Good Eye remained keen and clear.

So this is how French diplomacy was conducted back in the day, eh?   No wonder it was so effective.


At the time I failed to wonder why it was I and only I that the shopkeeper directed his demonstrations.  There were, after all, three other people in the room with me.  Such thoughts only came later as Death Passed and moved Along His Way.

I learned that dueling was a common practice in Paris through the time of Napoleon III.  I wondered if we were about to re-engage the art of dueling right here in M.G.W. Segas and soon decided that must not be the case.  Yet, when it was time to leave, I was happy to walk through the front door alive and in one happy and relieved piece.