Le Centre Pompidou

Paris_Pompidous-1, originally uploaded by david_stirling.

Today I made my way across town to Beaubourg and the Centre Pompidou, which is a very pleasant three miles from my apartment. Three miles, as long as you don't get lost. My system of navigation tends to involve gradually circling my target in decreasing radii until I finally crash into it. Part of the problem is that Paris is filled with one-way streets. And not one-way streets like they have in New York, where this one goes one way and the next one goes the other way. I was riding down rue Rivoli, homing in on my destination. There on my right is a sign for Centre Pompidou pointing up a one-way street in the wrong direction. OK, so I'll take the next... huh, that's one's the wrong way, too. Repeat above times four. How is this possible?

By the time I had zig-zagged my way up the constantly changing one-way streets, I wasn't sure I was even in the same arrondissement any more. Fortunately, I have a city map I bring with me. Unfortunately, it does not indicate one-ways in most cases, so I'm often prevented from taking my initial planned route. This is when it's extremely good that I travel alone. As long as I'm not in a hurry, I'm perfectly happy to wander toward where I think I'm supposed to be going, trusting my non-existent sense of direction to guide me. However, if I was trying to guide someone, say someone who wasn't fond of wild goose chases, things could get tense.



The Centre Pompidou is the national modern art museum of France. It is also one of the prime hang-out spots in Paris, despite the somewhat uninviting stone courtyard. There's actually a decent amount of the building you can see without paying admission. You can take the escalators (which famously lie outside the main structure of the building) to any of the floors; there is a ticket taker in the lobby of each floor. There's even free wifi in the ground-floor lobby. Even so, I decided to spring for an annual pass, with the plan that I will spend a little time there as often as possible, in an attempt to get a grasp on some of this crazy modern art. I think modern art is best ingested in small quantities, rather than in a five-hour gorging. Sort of like olive tapenade.

Bicycle, Bicycle!

She ain't much to look at, but she's mine.
Paris_MyBike, originally uploaded by david_stirling.

Today I took a walk through Père Lachaise cemetary, into the neighborhood on the other side of the cemetary from where I am (Gambetta), then I used the Vélib' bike rental to ride up to a municpal pool.

Vélib' (which combines the words "vélo libre," meaning "free bike") has stations throughout the city with sturdy bikes that you can ride for free, once you have signed up. It's kind of like ZipCar for bicycles. You have to pay a small fee to sign up: 1€/day, 5€/week, or 29€/year, but once you have done that borrowing a bike is as simple as entering your code on the electronic kiosk to unlock a bike and off you go. The first half hour is free, then it gets progressively more expensive the longer you hold the bike. The idea of course is to have a constant supply of bikes being made available.

The Vélib is a great idea, and a ton of people use it, but it became clear to me that even for only a month I was going to want the freedom that came with having my own bike. It seems like way too often the stations are empty or, worse, have nothing but bikes with mechanical issues. (The custom is to turn the seat facing backwards if a bike is broken.)

So anyways, I called up a shop I had seen on Paris Craigslist that specialized in used bikes, got their address, and headed on over. Upon arriving, my reaction was a little like a first date with someone from match.com: yikes, she didn't look like that in the photo. But I took one for a ride and despite her homely appearance one of them had the specs I was looking for: lighter than a city bike with higher gearing for speed, an upright position for better vision, smooth tires for the road but sturdy rims. And at 50€ she was a relative bargain. As a bonus, she shrieks when I put on the brakes which serves as a nice warning to bystanders in the absence of a bell.

Vive McDonalds!

Vive McDonalds!, originally uploaded by david_stirling.

As you can see from the photo, I have arrived safely and am enjoying all France has to offer. Namely, free internet at McDonalds. Gorgeous weather today, so I decided to go swimming at a municipal pool nearby. I was still a little messed up from jet lag and language shock, but I managed to pay my 2€60 to enter and made my way to the locker room. In order to extract the locker key, you have to place a coin inside the door and I couldn't figure it out. I asked a guy standing nearby and he explained that I was putting the coin in the coin return and he showed me the correct slot. Two boys nearby thought this was hilarious and watched me as I shut the locker and strutted out the door--to the lobby. So I turned back around and walked past the boys again, saying "this way, eh?" to which one responded "Yes, this way, sir! (hee hee)". I successfully navigated the shower area and found my way to the pool, at which point I had the following conversation, (translated liberally)...

Lifeguard: "Hey, you sir, you can't swim with those shorts"
Me: "With these shorts?"
Lifeguard: "Yes, you need a swimsuit"
Me: "But this is a swimsuit, look it's got a lining..."
Lifeguard: "No, you need a skintight suit"
Me: "A skintight suit? What..."
Lifeguard: "Unless I can see your figs, you cannot swim here."
Me: "But I..."
Lifeguard: "I must see figs!"
Me: "But..."
Lifeguard: "FIGS!"
Me: [walking fuming back into the locker room]
Two obnoxious kids: HA HA HA!

So now I need to go to a sporting goods store and find something that passes muster without offending my American sensibilities. Looks like I'll have an extra special souvenir to show off when I get back.

The apartment

Paris_Apartment, originally uploaded by david_stirling.

Here's a photo of my charming little studio apartment, on a little horseshoe offshoot of the main street. The kitchen is in the back of the photo (which is actually the front of the apartment--the apartment door is just to the right in green). There are two windows that let in a ton of light and air. The windows are shielded from most of the noise of the main street. There are some children who like to yell quite loudly when they play below the window, but it's mostly happy yelling.

Arrival

I arrived on Thursday after a pleasant but sleepless flight (I highly recommend the 11:00 PM AirFrance out of Boston--non-stop and the seats less than a quarter filled). I made my way on the metro to my stop (easy to remember: Alexandre Dumas). At that point I needed to call the caretaker of the apartment in order to receive the key. However, it turns out my iPhone had no service with the American AT&T card. I crossed my fingers and hoped the jailbreak I performed on it before leaving would allow me to use a prepaid French Orange card. Happily, fifteen minutes and 30 Euros later I had a functioning French phone with 5 Euros of airtime, which works out to about five minutes. Yes, $1.60/minute for local calls.

The apartment is a very short walk from the metro station, up a short hill filled with restaurants, cafés, bakeries, butcheries, flower shops, bookstores, and just about anything else you could need for daily life. It is a terrific neighborhood, just outside of the centre ville, in an area that is clearly gentrifying yet still filled with a wide variety of families of all nationalities. The apartment is small but very comfortable, on the third floor so I get a wonderful breeze in the window. The view isn't spectacular; basically I see the roofs of the nearby buildings. However, if I look closely, I can peek through a few trees and catch sight of a few of the graves in the Père Lachaise cemetery (famous for being the final resting place of dozens of famous French literary figures, musicians, actors... and Jim Morrison).

I know they say it is critical to get outside and stay awake for the rest of the day when arriving in Europe, in order to get on track with local time. Once unpacked I resolved to do that, right after I set my head down on the table to rest for just a minute. Two hours later I awoke in a puddle of drool, shook myself awake, and stumbled down to a nearby Indian restaurant for dinner. In the end, I had no trouble going to bed despite my little nap, and was able to wake the next morning reasonably adjusted.