SPAIN JUNE 2014 -1- MEGABUS IOWA CITY-CHICAGO: NO-NONSENSE SERVICE, WET SEAT, SUNRISE

6/14/2014

MEGABUS IOWA CITY-CHICAGO: NO-NONSENSE SERVICE, WET SEAT, SUNRISE

Three alarms go off almost simultaneously in Iowa City: 2:15 am. We are to get up to leave at 2:30 to be at the transportation center at 2:45 in order to catch my 3 am Megabus to Chicago. This is the first time I am checking Megabus out to catch my flight to Seville, Spain this afternoon. I don't know what possessed me to make this plan. I tell Greg as we are waiting for the Megabus among mostly college students, who are also waiting to get on the bus, which will not arrive from Des Moines until 3:10 and depart until 3:30 (could have had another half an hour of sleep!), this will probably be once in a lifetime experience I will consider. This brings memories of a loop that I had done on Greyhound years ago, when I had just moved to the USA.

I had to interview at two hospitals for residency positions. Thus, I took a bus from Columbus, Ohio to Detroit, Michigan, to Buffalo New York, back to Columbus. I recall getting on the bus and feeling unsafe instantly, and had grabbed the seat closest to the driver, just in case. Even before completing the journey, I knew I wouldn't do it again. I was actually told that Greyhound trip was not the best experience one could have, but the price of having an open jaw flight like that was so prohibitive, I had no other option. Furthermore, how could I know, traveling on an interstate bus would be so different (like day and night) compared to taking an inter-provincial bus in Turkey. Until recently, when the airline business picked up in Turkey, such bus service was very close to airline comfort utilized by most middle and upper middle class people. On this greyhound, I was trying to calm myself down in terms of safety, but I sensed, I wasn't feeling not safe for no reason: First of all, the driver started with informing us all that guns, drugs, and other illegal activities were not allowed on this bus! The thought that rushed through my mind was "Oh my gosh, are we in Texas of old or what?"

In half an hour, the bus stopped, the driver stood up in his seat and turned his body and stern looks (angry should I say?) toward the back seats and threw at them all kinds of threats about throwing them off the bus if they didn't behave themselves, what he saw I never found out, never asked, didn't even look back to see if there were any indicators for me to appreciate why the driver was alarmed. I was naive and new to America and the backstage of American culture, some of which I was witnessing on this trip. I clearly was scared considering all the stereotyping I had been exposed to through American movies back home.

After hearing this story, Greg tells me his story about a Greyhound loop he had done when he had graduated from high school. He had started in Chicago, traveled to Montreal, then to Maine, down the east coast, through the southern states all the way to the west coast and back home in 30 days. He tells me about one of his tricks while traveling: In major cities, he would stay at the end of the line for the possibility of the company calling a second bus to accommodate all ticketed passengers. Surely, the second bus would be less crowded with the spill over passengers once the first bus was full. Isn't it interesting that anything one engages in, there is room to develop skills to a significant depth? I appreciate that my daughter is right, everything every human being does on earth has an importance and requires certain depth in skills-development. As I read recently in "Alchemist" by Paulo Cuelho one more time, "every human being in fact is a hero of their own story and saga".

Finally the bus arrives. A female assistant gets down to address the luggage of some 30 people waiting to get on. She is clearly a no-nonsense woman just like the Greyhound driver of 17 years ago. Somebody attempts to get off, who turns out to be out for a minute to stretch his legs. Her order is concise and stern: "Get back on the bus", and he does, too! Greg is waiting to hand my luggage to her, he will not move until he is told so, neither will I, she knows how to have a grip over her audience! I get on the bus and find a seat after asking if a young woman would sit up and leave the second seat she has been occupying in her comfortable sleep from Des Moines up to Iowa City to me. She reluctantly and without a word sits up and I have a seat at the very front of the upstairs coach. 

More passengers are getting on and more young people are kindly asked to sit up and release the second seat they are occupying to the newcomers. There is a mixed-racial beauty who is repeatedly advising every new passenger that the seat next to her is wet. I read on everybody's face just like mine when I had attempting to take that seat "how did it get wet?" Nobody asks the question, neither did I. Until all the seats are taken and there is still a passenger that needs a seat. Our no-nonsense assistant appears upstairs and asks the mixed-racial beauty "How did it get wet?" I bet many people think "finally the question has been asked". No-nonsense continues "There is no leakage here, it is your seat, you must have wet it!" I am stunned, such brutal honesty is rare! She goes away murmuring "I have plastic bags, it is no big deal", her voice is like a slap on the face. She comes back with a black garbage bag, puts it over the "wet seat" and asks the mixed-racial beauty rather orders her "you sit here and leave the dry seat to this lady". I am "This is too much" rises within me, I am expecting the order recipient to rebel, to my great surprise she doesn't. I am compelled to tell her "You don't have to do that, you know, she can't order you around like that." But then, something inside me tells "She is an adult, she can defend herself if she needs to."

I wait to see what unfolds. She gets up obediently with no sign of anger or frustration and leaves the dry seat to the lady without a seat and moves onto the plastic covered seat. She is so free of any emotional reaction, I understand that she indeed might be the one who perhaps spilled water on the seat next to hers and is now taking her minor punishment gracefully despite the not so graceful presentation of it. Later on, the young woman next to me will wake up and I will discover that she was just shy in not talking to me earlier. She eventually tells me that she and her friends, the mixed racial beauty turns out to be one of her friends, will fly to Colombia today to visit family and have vacation: they are all from Colombia by origin, their parents immigrated to the USA  "to have more". I don't ask "of what?". Her mother was the one who brought the family to Omaha, Nebraska, where she is going to be a sophomore in health administration next fall. In a few years, perhaps even before I retire, she may become my administrator, who will have a larger office than mine, and more say in how we deliver health services to our clients... She has a very innocent, naive air to her, I wish that doesn't go away... That is my Megabus experience for you. I am glad I did it once, I don't know if I will do it again, hoping fast train project can become real between Iowa City and Chicago some day.         

Sunrise in Illinois

I try to sleep for a bit. After an hour, I give up and open my eyes. The dark is not as intense as it was, I notice. The shade of gray is getting lighter and lighter by the minute. Finally the first line of orange at the horizon toward which we are fast approaching emerges and becomes thicker and thicker. Orange turns into red, into dark red and occupies the entire horizon climbing up to the sky, finally covering the entire eastern panaroma; in other words, the sky is aflame. Just before sunrise, I conclude, it was worth to get up at 2:15 am, if for nothing else just to see this, one of a dozen times, I managed to savor the wonders of nature at sunrise....

PARIS MAY 2014 -7- IMPRESSIONISM AT ITS HEIGHT : MONET'S GARDENS

5.10.2014

IMPRESSIONISM AT ITS HEIGHT : MONET'S GARDENS

The first glimpse of the lillies in Monet's garden

We had made a plan to go to Giverny, Monet's home and gardens on our last day in Paris. Greg has done his homework very well, we need to leave early so we can catch an 8 am train rather than a 10:30 from St. Lazare train station. Thus, I discover that St. Lazare to Paris is the Grand Central Station of New York City. We are glad we arrive at the station earlier than needed since the train was scheduled to leave at 7:50 due to the big weekend following the anniversary of Nazis being expelled from the country on May 7th. No wonder, we had huge festivities on Wednesday night along the river, in front of Notre Dame, which felt like all the thunderous noise came from right below our window at the hotel.

Lillies and the willow tree

The train ride to Vernon takes about 45 minutes. Vernon is a small, quaint town with very sweet character. Giverny is a bus ride away from the train station. It takes two buses to carry us all to Giverny, all the visitors of Monet's Gardens, mostly American. How sweet that there are so many Americans interested in going out of their way to visit Giverny by dedicating an entire day to the task.

It turns out to be another highlight of our visit to Paris.  Giverny is yet another small, much smaller than Vernon a town, we learn from an atelier owner, it has only 600 population.

Lillies and reflection in the pond

It does have a church and a cemetery around it, but we don't see any school. The only Main Street is lined up with gift shops, gardening shops, ateliers and galleries, and cafes and restaurants. The old Baugdy hotel/restaurant is interesting in its history: Madame Baugdy was asked to board a few impressionists when they started coming to Giverny following Monet's footsteps: There was no place for them to stay in town. Smart woman, figuring out that these young painters would continue coming back, converted her house into a room and board place with subsequent further conversion into a hotel and a restaurant, and the rest is history. We have the best salad in Paris at this small restaurant, which is successful in squeezing in as many people as they can. Pretty much, everybody is in elbow contact, which triggers conversations around lunch table, another fun thing to do while traveling. 

More than lillies at Monet's Gardens

Visiting Monet's gardens especially his "water garden" where the infamous pond, the willow trees, the bridges, the lilacs, and certainly the lilies reside turns out to be a "de ja vouz" in its own term. I try to look at my surroundings trying to see what Monet had seen in his time. But, we can't bathe in the same water twice: even Monet couldn't depict his water garden, his lilies identically the same twice, how could I see one of his scenes after 400 some years. I just try to take it all in and carry with me to Iowa City for difficult times. In the gardens, among other things, the numerous variety of columbines catch my eyes.  The colors are so gorgeous and varied from white to yellow, to pink, to red, to violet and many more shades...

Columbines at Monet's Gardens

When we are dropped off at the Vernon station half an hour early, we cherish that opportunity to walk around town by going to the town center and discover the magnificent cathedral, again in Gothic style. Greg wants to take me to the Laduree Tea house in the Saint Germain neighborhood, which is famous for its macarons. We take the first train back to Paris at 2:15 pm and arrive in town around 4 pm. Good timing for tea!

Cathedral in Vernon

The store where I get a small box of macarons for my friend Nukhet is crowded with mostly Parisians: I cannot believe how they load their bags with sweets of all kinds from this open buffet type of store. "That is elite Paris for you Resmiye" I think to myself. We go in to have tea/coffee and macarons. It is not unusual to order one mini-macaron with tea in this place due to two things: price is probably prohibitive for many as well as the sweetness of the goodies. We do the same since we are planning to have dinner, too. The place is painted in light green color, but all the walls are covered with Chinese themes as well as the wall trimmings and selected furniture pieces. First time in my life, I am served tea out of silver tea pots! Did I tell the reader Paris has been full of new experiences for me?

Architecture in Vernon

Before going out to dinner, we walk through neighborhoods again. We bump into the narrowest street in Paris: Rue du chat qui peche. Latin Quarter is interesting with its ethnic cafes and restaurants, where you don't pay much, but be ready for suboptimal food, proving one more time "what you pay is what you get!" We eat at a Greek place with the most unfriendly waiter you could find, whose ice I couldn't defrost even by speaking Greek. After dinner, we go to one of the cathedrals.

The narrowest street in Paris

I would like to meditate, Greg is very supportive: I close my eyes and focus on my breath as well as thoughts. I observe my thoughts and emotions as they come and go, their intensity, their variety. I just acknowledge how I feel without making any attempt to change them. I observe my thoughts about what Paris meant for me in the past, what it has meant for the last week, what it means now and what it may mean in the future. I also observe thoughts about what home means, how much at home I feel in Paris. I notice my longing for being at home, in my own house, in my own town. I had exceptional experiences in Paris, yes, but it is time to go home, to Iowa City, it is good to have roots some place on earth that I can call home, to always return to... That is what makes all the traveling so precious and meaningful for me. 

One for you one for me

PARIS MAY 2104 -6- VERSAILLES AND THE MEANING OF ARCHITECTURE IN HUMAN HISTORY

5/9/2014

VERSAILLES AND THE MEANING OF ARCHITECTURE IN HUMAN HISTORY

We have two more days left in Paris: We plan to go to Versailles first, not that I care much about imperial palaces, but as a first timer in Paris, one needs to see Versailles I hear. We get up early, Greg has our breakfast figured out already, I have my first macaron (I prefer the pistachio one) along with some other light baked good. We finally get on the train and travel southwest for 35 minutes. As soon as we get off, there is almost a line of ushers leading us toward Versailles situated every 30-40 yards or so. I am so impressed with how organized the palace foundation must be: I am innocently thinking they are all the staff working for the palace. It turns out that they are a private enterprise! They are leading us to a ticketing agency, which provides multiple services including VIP entrance service! Never had been designated VIP  before, but my friend Greg is a veteran VIP: He proposes we choose this option so that we may avoid the lines at the entrance. Paris is full of new for me, why not one more? We are provided with a map which will be interactive with an audio device as we get into the palace: Cool and it works, too. One end of the audio device has a laser eye, which recognizes the pictures on the map and starts lecturing to us on that particular feature as soon as we touch the map, makes learning easy, I like it. It feels like what we paid is going to pay off. 

Versailles Gardens and the Pool

After visiting the gardens we will meet our guide, who will walk us through the gate with no waiting time. It really turns out to be a best choice. We tour the gardens in a quick hour after which our Spanish chaperone meets us exactly where she is supposed to at the time she is supposed to and lets us into the palace with no waiting in line. Both at the gardens and in the palace, I feel exactly the way I had felt at Topkapi palace in Istanbul. We are were in an imperial space where the imperial power allowed a small minority (nobles) to come and enjoy what the king/sultan was willing to give them for their unquestioned loyalty and contribution to making the royal few appear even bigger and stronger, perhaps bigger and stronger than they actually were. And all this was displayed to the view of the masses and the world. At what expense?

Versailles Gardens

The king and the queen and any member of the royal family had no privacy: the king had servants sleeping with him in the same room; separating him from them was a mere velvet/silk curtain hanging down from the ceiling. The queen had her own space. How did the king and the queen spend private time together? Did any king and queen fall in love with one another, or was it all arranged according to political alliances and the power needs of the time? If they did fall in love, how could they tolerate not to have their own space, their own time just to dedicate to their love? I wonder if anybody made a movie or wrote a novel about these intricacies of the French royalty as in Turkey a soap opera titled "Magnificent Century" revealed all the details, political games and killings in the royal palace of the Suleyman the Magnificent's era. 

Versailles Chapel

Gold and silver and marble and semiprecious and precious stones are abound at Versailles. Hall of mirrors; paintings by masters of the Renaissance era scattered on wall after wall, ceiling after ceiling through the too numerous to count rooms and sections of the palace; the furniture sets in every room with a color coordination among the upholstery, the walls, the curtains, and the fireplace screens; vases, candle sticks, lamps made of semiprecious stones among other things (in one room all adjunct ornaments in the room are made of malachite with many kilograms of malachite on display!!) are good testimony to what the rulers of the French Empire enjoyed once upon a time when its peoples suffered under plague, hunger, homelessness, and crime. The only person, whose death under guillotine I don't feel sorry for is Marie Antoinette, who shamelessly stated "if they don't have bread, let them eat cake!" for the starving masses during the uprisings of the 18th century. After we are done with the main palace, we head toward Marie Antoinette's estate. How arrogant she was that she couldn't find enough space for herself in the enormous main palace and needed a palace all to herself at the northwest corner of the estate. Not only her though, King Louis the XIVth also built an additional palace for himself. In fact two: The initial secondary (private) palace was made of porcelain, which, after a while bored the poor king! He ordered it to be demolished for the current mini-palace to be built in its place for him to meet with close friends, listen to music, and read. After all, he was a human being, too, and needed to be in his comfort zone and claim some privacy at times. I will learn from Victor Hugo when I listen to Hunchback of Notre Dame on an audiobook upon my return from the trip that a general had told the starving masses to eat grass instead of bread, who was killed in the end with a bunch of grass stuffed up into his throat.

Doorframe from Versailles

It will be interesting to learn from the Genius Victor Hugo, who describes architecture as humankind's historical register until printing was invented. Although, most architecture represents what the ruling class was doing at its time, due to colossal sizes of historical monuments such as Notre Dame, Parthenon, Colosseum, Taj Mahal, etc were built over centuries and perhaps a nation was devoted to the building of such structures, the people, the masons inserted their own "signatures" into these buildings. He describes, how some such structures that were built in the name of religion in fact had elements that were blasphemy that were inserted by the masons, that is the people. He will give many examples of such structures, which will be an eye opener for me not to judge all architectural monuments as representing the power of the ruling class. What will be very interesting to learn is the fact that with printing being invented and books becoming readily available, architecture plunging into its demise over the following century. I had never looked at it that way. Books and literature became the new documentation system or with Hugo's terminology humankind's new register and stone stopped being the tool to document history!

Color and texture coordination at Trianon

We are glad we are done relatively early with our Versailles trip. This may now give us the chance to visit Rue Cler, which apparently has been made famous by Rick Steve, an American travel writer, Greg tells me. That's where I read about this place anyway. It is indeed couple of blocks long a street lined with small pleasant shops and cafes. We visit all of the interesting places Rick Steve mentions in his pocket book on Paris, buy honey for the girls and my friend Nukhet as well as shopping for cheese, bread and tomatoes for breakfast for tomorrow. I can't resist the cherries at a corner fruit market, which are abundant in Paris by the way. In the end, we settle down at a cafe for a bit more people watching. The neighborhood indeed is real with young and old, with kids of various ages, with Parisians going about their own business with their baguettes sticking out of their backpacks, with their cloth and paper bags carrying goods to their homes, some sitting next to us to sip a glass of wine before they head home, as they tolerate us tourists appreciating their neighborhood.

Barbershop at Rue Cler 

Time to go to the hotel to take a quick shower, we will go to a restaurant tonight that one of my French friends recommended in the Italian section of the let bank, where we will have an early birthday dinner for Greg. La Petite Marguery is the name of the place. I am a bit apprehensive about the place since I don't know much about it. But it turns out to be an exquisite experience for both of us. The food is grand, we have escargot and frog legs as starters followed with sea bass and vegetables to share and finally share a soufflé as our dessert. No music tonight, but being surrounded with only French is yet another brand new experience for me. The punch line of the evening is the three ladies in their 60s, who each has a small dog along with them, one sitting on the bench next to its owner (spoon-fed by its owner with her own spoon, off the table! I know my daughter, who is a very good dog trainer will not approve of this), the other two on chairs next to their owners like family members! Another highlight surprises us: ALl I had heard about French dining was "Be ready for waiting and waiting before each dish is served" and I was, I am all relaxed, but I must say, Parisian waiting staff must have learned American way of serving! They are the ones pushing us to order as quick as possible after each dish. We finally tell them with a smile that it is OK if we wait a bit after our order and they get the message: we are learning the French way of enjoying the food!



Somebody is happy with his day



PARIS MAY 2014 -5- MUSEUM TIME!

5/7-8/14

MUSEUM TIME IN PARIS

On my way back home... So much happened in the last 4 days introducing me to different layers of Paris. Greg's past experience in Paris led some of the way for me and our mutual decision making on what to see, what to experience took us to such unexpected gems of Paris.

As soon as Greg arrived (can't believe he is not aware of the jet lag concept! Such a world traveler), we went to Musee D'Orsay, the house full of impressionistic art. The work of Sisly, Cezanne, Manet, Pissaro, but most of all, that of Monet and Van Gogh was phenomenal. We walk through history, almost in a chronological pattern absorbing all the vistas impressionists viewed for us and eternalized the beauty they encountered for the generations to come. The beauty in the people, the beauty in the nature, the beauty in the way people lived in the fields, in the dance salons, in the studios, on and on...  I feel grateful for that. The grand station the musee once was is another architectural phenomenon to appreciate. We walk through history all around us and finally decide, it is time to feed poor Greg, who has not eaten for the entire day.

Van Gogh exhibition at the Louvre

We go to Cafe Les Deux Magots for lunch after this visual feast. We share a delicious salad. French drink wine day and night of course. Not being much of a drinker, I prefer drinking mint tea. They do have really nice mint tea, however, when they look at me when I order mint tea, what I read in their eyes is "what's wrong with you? In Paris, not wine and you will pay more?". It is true, your good old mint tea is more expensive than a glass of wine in Paris! I smile and place my order anyway. One thing I have been noticing almost constantly is that French waiters are no nonsense people. Few of them are friendly and talkative, but most some get the order in a rush, almost throw at you or the table two napkins, and do their job without caring for any additional human connection. Call it, American spoiledness, where waitstaff sometimes may be annoyingly friendly, I find it a bit odd. The waiter we have at Cafe Les Deux Magots is exactly of that kind. Two napkins are dropped onto the table, the salad plate that we will share is pushed inbetween us with no "excuse moi". Well, that love/hate relationship between French and Americans... We smile and enjoy our salad.

 Musee D'Orsay was established in an old train station

After our lunch, we decide to do a walking tour of the St. Germaine neighborhood, which is one of the artsy sections of town with lots of galleries in the hinterland of the School of Fine Arts. The streets are lined with lots of shops and cafes and restaurants as well. Long lovely walk, Greg discovers hotels he had stayed at previously, restaurants he had eaten at, cafes he had visited... We enter cathedrals and absorb the peace, serenity, and beauty of each interior. I've always liked gothic style better: with its deep arches embracing one another, I find some kind of camaraderie in Gothic churches. That's what we find cathedral after cathedral in this medieval town. Although we spend some time to find the "Frog place" Greg looks for with great enthusiasm, finally, we decide to eat at a place that was established in 1686, medieval times! Le Procope, where multiple old timers had eaten and frequented. Now, it is an upscale place with lots of mirrors, expanding into the three elegant floors of this building. After a salad based salmon starter, Greg orders French style Chicken cooked in a heavy wine sauce. I order a "Beef cheek" dish, which turns out to be a version of the Turkish "haslama". Each dish comes in its own cooking apparatus: Greg's in a copper pot and mine in a clay pot. They are both beautiful and elegant. The waiter serves us a bit of our food by spooning it out of the pot himself. I see for teh first time in my life how juicy food is served in a spoon when a second spoon is carried under the first to capture driplings. No end to learning in this life!

The Louvre through the clock at Musee D'Orsay

We both feel this impromptu choice of dinner place was a great success and we are happy as we walk out of Le Procope and the historic district that has seen a lot from Bonapartist era to the revolution and aftermath. We walk back to our hotel, which is right across from Notre Dame. Notre Dam at night is a different spectacle. There are huge tents in front of the cathedral tonight and it looks like there is something about baking inside during the day time. we make a plan of stopping by in the morning. Sure enough, in the morning, the place is full of life with bakers, boulangiers, pattisiers, you name it. They are cooking right in front of us, some teaching children do the same. No wonder French cuisine is so spectacular all over the world. We are thrilled with this spectacle, me in love with cooking since my childhood, and Greg an emerging chef of the last several years... We buy some of their products, they taste delicious!

Le Procope and its brief history

Off we go to the Louvre. Among other things, there is a special exhibition on Van Gogh's work with interpretation by Artaud, who also had mental illness like Van Gogh. We immerse ourselves in it as the first thing to do. In addition to the beauty of the art we try to understand better how indeed, Van Gogh was left to his own devices other than being supported by his brother financially and from a long distance. I question one more time how Van Gogh's life could have changed had he had the connection he had expected from Gaugin. Although, I have carried this slight aversion toward Gaugin because of how Van Gogh deteriorated mentally after Gaugin's abandonment of Van Gogh, I also question myself one more time "how fare is it to expect a person to keep healthy another person? More so, how feasible is that? Haven't I seen enough examples of such failures unless the person wants to and is capable of keeping themselves on their own feet?" I try to come to peace with Gaugin's style and choices one more time settling with the question of "How much can one expect from others to help such a fragile mind, which most likely would have refused any help to be given by the society as well?". As much as I enjoy the visual work, I am left with more questions than answers on how Van Gogh's life ended after several brief decades.

The Louvre from Musee D'Orsay

Then, we start chasing one masterpiece after the other. Greg has the map and is guiding us through the very complicated sketch of the Louvre, which once was a palace for the kingdom before Luis XIV decided to move to Versailles. Many pieces from antiquity, including Venus de Milo, the Ancient Greek sculpture depicting Aphrodite, Parthenon frieze and Athena in the Gallery of Statues, Winged Victory of Samothrace, Michalengelo's timeless sculptures of slaves... Then we move to the renaissance era where we see mostly 2 dimensional pieces of biblical legends' depictions along with mostly chartered paintings of kings and critical individuals including the Madonna of the Angels from 1200s, Leonardo da Vinci's Virgin, child and St. Anne and Rafael's La Belle Jardiniere and finally infamous Mona Lisa, all from 1500s... Again, for both of us, the most impressive section is impressionism. More Monet, Manet, Pissaro, Sisly, Cezanne, Van Gogh, Gaugin and others... What a feast. Greg proposes to go to the Musee de L'Orangerie, too, where we will see more Monet, especially his water lilies.

Baking festival in front of Notre Dame

Before that though, we want to find a restaurant where Scott Fitzgerald had eaten frequently. We find the address, alas, the restaurant is now gone. We walk toward the corner, voila, there is a tucked in cafe under a deep owning to protect us from the rain but also to allow us do people watching, which seems like we both like to do. Not only that, I am glad to discover that Greg is also into chatting up people around us. He has talked to the receptionists at the hotel quite a few times and established a lovely connection with especially Francisco, who is clearly an intellect with great curiosity about many things in life. It is fun to chat with him. Once we are well-fed with healthy salad and soup, we head toward Musee de L'Orangerie. We have to wait in line, under a drizzling rain, slightly chilly, but we survive. In about half an hour, we conquer the line and are in. In addition to several pieces by Monet and other impressionists, this small museum has a dedicated oval room, the four curvilinear long walls of which are dedicated to 4 water lilies from Monet's gardens, clearly painted for this place. Greg tells me, he had become a famous painter while he was alive, which will become clear when we go to Giverny to visit his house and gardens. I can't wait till I get there after having been exposed to so much of impressionistic work.

Michalengelo's Slaves at the Louvre 

For our evening, we head toward Monmartre. Greg clearly likes Monmartre and from my brief visit with Teresa and Gustino a few days ago, I can see why. It is such an eclectic and vibrant place. This time we approach the hill top on which Monmartre is situated from the east; Greg walks me through a park that spirals up the hill. Sacre Coure is another spectacle at dusk. We look for places that Greg had visited before again, some we locate after so many years of his visit and discover some had disappeared just like the restaurant Scott Fitzgerald had frequented. On the way to the top, we locate a few places that look promising for a place to eat. And one has music, too, "Le Cremaillere Cabaret". Greg takes me to a small park at the cliff end of which, the sheer wall is covered with a huge plaque which displays "I love you" in hundreds of languages. Apparently, the city of Paris had funded a project to celebrate the diversity in the city through what Paris is best known for! What a becoming project and product. We search the entire surface twice until we find it in English and Turkish.

Phototaking of the beautiful lillies by Monet is forbidden

Finally, we do settle down at the newfound cabaret. We are pleasantly surprised to find a "Frenk" "Frank Sinatra" singing with a beautiful voice and style across the attractive place as the customers dine. Soon enough, we discover there is a table back with French customers, who are able to join the singer with his French songs: the most romantic and acoustically beautiful language on earth is French, proven one more time in my mind. The French customers join in the singing a lot of times when the singer generously hands the microphone to one or more of them as he entertains that area.

Next to us is a table with an American family, the woman is quite bubbly, her husband very stoic, he barely smiles at what is going on around when his wife can barely contain herself in her seat. All of a sudden our Sinatra starts singing a most wonderful romantic song. I know my reserved friend will never call me to dance, but I can; if he accepts my invitation or not will be his choice. and he does, too! It is great to enjoy this beautiful music in this very friendly, cosy, embracing place when people around us solely enjoy that we are enjoying ourselves. With the next song, the American lady can not contain herself any more, she gets up to dance by herself to start with and ends up pulling the singer to dance with her! And he does manage both singing and dancing with his customer, how sweet... We end our evening by sitting at a small cafe at the foot of Sacre Cour and enjoy the view of the monumental structure in the night. Although, brand new compared to everything else we have seen and thus lacks the elegance of other structures, this place also has its own grandeur over the highest place around Paris with a different type of command over the city... That one needs to salute, and we do, too.

I love you in hundreds of languages in Monmartre

PARIS MAY 2014 -4- SOME NICETIES IN PARIS SOME NOT

5/6/2014

SOME NICETIES SOME NOT...

As elegant and embracing as she is, there are some not so nice things in Paris as one would expect in any other big city with such diversity, where some people are rolling into each day in survival mode. I discovered this morning, the ticket to the show at Opera Garnier had actually a value of E25, which I paid E50 for. A brief bout of disappointment when I thought I was savoring the niceties of Paris is quickly replaced by "but you had your debut at Opera Garnier, it is worth it"; back to peace. In the afternoon, I finally remember sending a message to the hotel to let them know that i had left my cell phone in my room and ask them to put it in a safe place till my arrival. The hotel staff returns to me with a "Bon voyage Madame!" I smile to myself, "Ok, there is someone who doesn't understand English well here". I ask again "Merci, but I wonder if you were able to locate my phone", the answer is a scary "NO, we didn't find your phone, Madame." Again, that tiny bit of disappointment returns, but I calm myself down very quickly "I bet they didn't understand where exactly I left the phone". I decide to return to the hotel to look for the phone myself to arrive at my peace of mind as soon as possible. Voila! It is exactly where I had left it. Such a relief: Not only for having my phone back, but more so for refreshing my trust at the hotel staff. They are indeed a sweet bunch of first generation immigrants from all over the world...

Sorbonne and its disciplines

At this point, there is no reason to go back to the conference for the last hour of the day. Instead, I seat myself in front of Cafe Notre Dam to have a glass of mint tea as I am reviewing my "Literary Paris" book in preparation for our full day in Paris the next day when my friend Greg will join me. My phone is casually sitting on the table underneath the cover of the book since I consult with it occasionally on its map application. At some point, when I am lost in what I am reading, a sheet in a plastic bag lands on my book and somebody is murmuring something inaudible over my shoulder. I believe he is trying to sell me something, but what does it have to do with this weird sheet; I can't read what is on it, and why in a plastic bag. Luckily instead of turning around to look at who the person is and what he is trying to sell, I instinctively push the sheet away to let him know I am not interested in whatever he is selling. Wow, underneath the sheet is his hand, his fingers reaching under the cover of my book trying to pull my phone out and of course away!! Having been exposed, he pulls his hand and the sheet away and swiftly walks away semi-running. Of course a boy of 14-16, no more. As I am fearfully infuriated, I can't help appreciating the creativeness of his method. I am sure he has or will catch somebody, who will turn around first to ask the guy "What, I don't understand you?" at which point, he will pull a phone, a wallet, whatever he may fancy that is lying on the table and out and off he will go. Despite recognizing the ingenuity of this trap, my guts are filled with an unease and distaste for big city one more time. 

A sweet vase in front of a tent makes it home

I spend some more time at the Sheakspeare company bookstore this afternoon. This way, I am able to understand better that, upstairs, there is always a group working on writing projects. Upstairs books are usually old up to several hundreds of years of age or more and most of them are not for sale, but to be read there. More like a library on-site. Downstairs books on the other hand are for sale including those of Shakespeare. I buy his sonnets as a gift. 

From there, I head on foot to the Louvre and Tuilerie Garden, which is an open semi-botanical garden. It is a peaceful place in the middle of the city, which houses Muse Du L'Orangerie, where Monet's Lillies are displayed. Near the museum is an orange orchard with trees grown in wooden pots, pretty impressive. One thing that is becoming more and more clear in Paris is that Africans are the ones keeping the guts of the society clean: all restrooms I visited that had an attendant, was presided over by an African attendant. All young or old gentlemen selling souvenirs on-the-run are also Africans. That reminds me of a movie I had watched in the last 3-4 years working on the undercurrent racism around Africans in French society. Not everything in Paris is romantic after all, which is not surprising at all.

Seine River at dusk has a different beauty

I then cross the river heading toward the City Hall of the 15th arrondissement (neighborhood/borough). Our farewell reception will be held there this evening. Initially, I walk around the Parliament and pass through neighborhoods where most of the ministries and governmental buildings in addition to consulates and embassies are lined together. Gradually, past the Military Museum and le Hospital de Invalides, I start understanding what "The belly of Paris" means. The 15th Arrondissement clearly is an ethnic neighborhood with eateries from many countries, small grocery and fresh produce stores and other ethnic stores. Thus, after a 4.5 hours of walking on both sides of the river, I arrive at the City Hall where our closing reception is to be held.

15th arondisement, an ethnic part of town

It turns out to be so rewarding. Not only because of connecting with old colleagues and their spouses, but also with new unexpected people: Dr. Adambaum, who presented new and very important information through the conference tells me her mother and uncle were from Izmir, my home town in Turkey.  What is more important is that she tells me her parents and her maternal uncle, who is a radiology professor are also coming to the reception. What an unexpected encounter! When I finally meet them, it becomes clear that they never spoke Turkish because their household languages were Ladino and French not Turkish, just like my dear friend Aron, who is also a Turkish Jew. I sense initially, they are a bit anxious about how I will perceive them since they had left the country in the first place due to discrimination against Jews. How can they know I am most open about discussing and embracing these things. As soon as I give them the clues that I was a pure internationalist with no nationalist streak in me, the relief was tangible. I obtain their family names to ask my friend Aron about their family. It is quite possible that Aron's family might have known them before they left Turkey. 

After saying good bye to them, I connect with another group from Australia: she turns out to be a Greek woman, a pediatrician born in Greece, who immigrated to Australia in her 20s. Her husband is a Greek from one of the islands across from Turkish coast. What a sweet hour I spend with them. Both of them but especially her husband is very well read on so called, artificially created Turkish Greek conflict, who shares my politics regarding world citizenship, refusal of nationalism, but also understanding why nationalism was necessary at some point in time in all lands including Turkey. I hope I get to see them again. We exchange contact information to continue communicating.

Another ethnic restaurant from 15th arondisement

As Dimitra, her husband, and I end our conversation, I murmur to myself one more time how much I love this unforeseen "complication" of globalization; this human kinds of all lands coming together, getting to know each other better, developing empathy, interest and warmth toward one another. Globalization move was put in effect for business purposes of course, but just as with any tool, it also created a life of its own, now serving both entrepreneurs in their money mongering, but perhaps more so in bringing peoples of the world together. There may come a time that  peoples of the world may refuse to fight against one another just because of globalization ...

PARIS MAY 2014 -3- LETTING PARIS LEAD ME WITH HER HEART..

5/5/2014

LETTING PARIS LEAD ME WITH HER HEART..

Voila...Another day full of Paris adventures, rather letting myself sail with the wind of Paris in the hands of Paris!!!  I woke up with a desire to have breakfast not at the conference hotel, but at a local place. How do you find one in the middle of the coeur of tourism in this city? I walked to Odeon metro station instead of the closest Saint Michelle, but didn't see any creperie, where I hoped I could find local breakfast.  I hopped on the train instead and got off at Javel, a station different than the one I got off at to go to the conference hotel yesterday. This time, I am approaching Novotel hotel from the west. I must say it will pay me very well!

Saint Michelle square

As I cross the street, I see a brasserie; by the way for almost every product sold in Paris, there is distinct store name: For baked goods, brasserie; for desserts boulangerie, for crepes creperie, on and on and on... very similar to Turkey in fact, another reason that Paris makes me feel at home. Of course all these places have outside seating, another similarity with Turkey. What is inside is on the outside as well, in a way, quite transparent. You can tell what kind of a place you will find inside by looking at what they have out on the curb... Again just like in Turkey. Actually, in Turkey, the inside of almost every store becomes useless since everybody would like to sit outside in the spring through the fall. I will see the same in many eateries in Paris in the days to come.  Anyway, I walk into the brasserie and ask the nice young guy at the bar whether I could have breakfast there. Certainly! He has a fixed menu of a chocolate croissant and bread and butter and jam with orange juice and an additional drink (coffee or tea). Although I can't quite understand why croissant and buttered bread go together, when in Rome do as Romans do is my motto when I travel, so I say yes! First I plan to sit outside to watch passers-by, but in a minute I change my mind. I can't talk to passers-by and learning simply by watching is somewhat limited. There is nobody around the friendly barman. So, why not keep the young waiter's company and chat him up a bit.

Arch of Triumph

I move back in just before he brings my breakfast out. However, before we engage in any conversation, a flock of young Frenchmen in their 30s enter the bar. Apparently they all know one another and all they order is an espresso. They are standing by the bar sipping on their espresso while chatting animatedly for about ten minutes, and off they go, to be followed with another bunch of men, and another... I am quietly eating my breakfast sitting at the bar enjoying this apparent local routine. Finally, the bar is clear of customers for about 5 minutes, and I ask my server if this is a neighborhood cafe, I am impressed that he gets the concept. He seems like he is enjoying practicing his English with me. He tells me that this particular area is crowded with many governmental offices including Ministries of Labor and Justice among others. These men are professionals working in these offices, still kind of a neighborhood.  I am very happy that I stopped at this bar to witness a brief section of the locals' lives in the half hour I spent there.

Eiffel Tower from Trocadero

After the conference day I am determined to walk my way up toward the Opera Garnier. I start walking along the river toward Eiffel Tower, where I cross the Seine toward the Trocadore. Trocadore is named after a battle that took place in a Spanish island named Trocadero, in which French forces triumphed. Once I cross the river and climb up the steps of Trocadore where the Chaillot Palace is located, passing through many Africans selling Eiffel Tower related souvenirs off of their hands or out of a bag, I realize the significance of this public space much better. The entire grandeur of the tower is best appreciated from across the river, from the steps of Trocadore. Just like the Lincoln monument across the reflection pool in Washington DC. I start walking my way through centuries long history on the right bank toward the Arch of Triumph. What a profound structure indeed. I could neither climb up the 300+ steps up to its deck nor wait till 6:30 to see the flame being rekindled and flowers being refreshed for the unknown soldier buried at its foot. I had to reach the Opera house before dark just in case there may be a show...

Madeleine Church

I just recall that must nearby and decide to walk through it. Just as I expected: Globalization taking over even the elegant French culture. Somehow, I was expecting French bourgeoisie would have stood up to globalization to display its style a bit differently, with preserved French elegance in her own land, specifically in Paris out of all places. No, Champs et Lyses is no different than the Magnificent Mile in Chicago, and other similar places in any metropolis of North America or Europe for that matter. Boss, United Colors of Benetton, Gap, Zara and others all over the avenue, no major French brand I know of. In the middle of all this is a colossal McDonalds!!! And all the restaurants and cafes are serving pizza!!! And they are all full!!! I am having a hard time understanding: if you are a tourist, what in the world are you doing at McDonalds in Paris when you have the chance to eat the best of food in its origin? If you are French, the question is even more obvious. But then, isn't McDonalds restaurants also full at all times in Turkey, too?

Opera Garnier

Half way down, I decide I've had enough of Champs et Lyses and take a side road and find myself on a road named Avenue ...D'Honore, on which I will discover soon the president's palace. But what is more interesting is that the French boutiques that have been pushed out of Champs et Lyses line up this avenue left and right in little boutique shops, not as "gorgusuz" huge department stores lining up both sides of Champs et Lyses. Although I won't do any shopping in any of these, either, at least I am somewhat happy that, there is some dignity and modesty preserved in parts of Paris outside of Champs et Lyses.

Inside of Opera Garnier

Finally, I start feeling like approaching my destination, the opera house once I see the elegant Madeleine church. But there is a small problem, I just can't go on anymore, I have to find a restroom. I regret rushing by McDonalds in distaste: I could have stopped by to use their bathroom! It is a mile away now. I enter the first cafe, trying to catch the eyes of the barman. This is where it gets funny: Even before I am able to ask him whether I could use their bathroom or not, he is pointing toward downstairs. I don't understand what he is doing and ask my question anyway, he is pointing toward the same direction: Aha, either a guy, who is very keen to body language (I didn't think I made it that obvious, but who knows?) or everybody entering the cafe the way I did asks the same question!!! I am laughing to myself as the bathroom seems to be the best place I have visited all day today...

Ceiling of Opera Garnier

In fifteen minutes I am at the Opera Garnier. Although, I do not have a ticket, I follow the crowd that rushes into the house as the doors open; clearly there is a show tonight. However, after entering the house, I start looking around for the ticket booths. There is none! I ask one of the ushers, he offers that I could check the last minute ticket sellers, who may be selling to the right if I go outside. I follow his instructions, but no right turn is needed: A not very trustworthy looking young man is holding two tickets for E50 each. I tell him I need only one, he is willing to split his tickets. five ten-euro bills change hands and voila, I have my pass for entry. It turns out the ticket was for a private box, I feel, "OK, that must be the reason why it was so outrageously priced". I am enjoying being in this impressive building to watch a ballet/opera combination of a contemporary piece of art: "Orphee et Eurydice".

Orphee et Eurydice team

There are two couples in my box, and I start chatting with my neighbors during scene changes. The gentleman is a microbiologist working for Pasteur Institute, his wife a geneticist working for a hospital in Paris. They are both prototypical of French politeness, constantly apologizing for sitting in front of me and asking me whether I could see well. Eventually the gentleman stands up and moves his chair behind me claiming he is much taller than I. Good people are all over the world, I am so lucky to bump into them wherever I go. Halfway into the first act, the door opens and a lady enters to take the last seat in the box. She is clearly a tourist just like I. I wonder where she had gotten the ticket. Sure enough, she was a Canadian, who had no plans of coming to a show at the Opera tonight since she was leaving for Canada the following morning. I bet my guy had sold her the second ticket he had. And, sure enough that was the case, in fact he convinced her to see the show!! I thought to myself, Paris is an interesting place, you never know what it will do to you. I am glad I opened my heart to her today and with some desire of course, she took me to the best place I could've wished to spend my evening tonight at the expense of missing my dinner.

When I arrive in the Latin Quarter, Notre Dame is shining with all her grandeur: I want to spend some more time outdoors taking this in. This gives me the chance to finally have a crepe with chocolate and bananas before returning to my room. My final decision after trying crepe with sugar and butter, crepe with mushrooms and cheese, and this: I must say crepe in Paris is overrated! I would like to invite everybody to come to Iowa City and try the much more delicious crepe found in "Crepes de Luxe Cafe", which is run by a Moroccan family. I will go back and praise their crepe even more than I've always done when I return.

PARIS MAY 2014 -2- A Portugese man and a Turkish woman in the guidance of a Portugese woman in Paris

5.4.2014

A Portugese man and a Turkish woman in the guidance of a Portugese woman in Paris

I collapsed with jet lag at 10:30 pm in my tiny, cosy room on the third floor. Hotel Esmeralda is an old hotel, built in 1600s, tells Francisco, the receptionist, with whom I had communicated earlier. He is very friendly, speaks better English than I do French. We understand each other. I understand he is a partner in this business drawn into it by a friend of his. My friend Greg will learn from him later on that he is originally from Peru and came to Paris in 1980s.. The hotel has a narrow facade like those in Amsterdam, a steep staircase, thankfully Francisco volunteers to take my luggage to the third floor, on condition, I will stay by the reception desk in his place! Nice exchange, I take it....  Throughout the week, I will enjoy this medieval neighborhood with its churches, old medieval buildings and streets.  

 

One of the oldest churches in Paris

When I wake up, there is the night staff at the desk and he doesn't speak English. I am on my own to find the metro station, which must be a different one than the RER train station. I do find it quickly, but getting the tickets is a different story. After, annoying my French fellow travelers at the ticket machine, which doesn't accept my credit card (apparently, certain French devices accept credit cards that have a PIN number only, thus American cards are out, fyi! shops and restaurants do accept American cards, too, though). Finally an elegant and smart French young woman figures out what my problem is and guides me to the next station where I can deal with a human being to get my tickets. Great relief for all the other Frenchmen that piled up behind me at this early hour of the morning! At the next entrance, there is a ticket booth and voila! I have 20 tickets for the week.

 

My friends from Portugal, traveling together with Teresa's guidance

My dear colleagues from the University of Porto, who are also attending the International Abusive Head Trauma Conference with me are in town and we make a plan for the evening. Teresa, who did her PhD in Paris on forensic evaluation of victims of crime with disabilities will be our guide today. Her colleague Agustino is also a first timer in Paris, just like me! Apparently, Teresa took him to Notre Dam yesterday along with Eiffel Tower and today their plan is to go to the Basilica du Sacre Cour and Montmartre. I wasn't necessarily planning to go there today, but that is OK, plans are made to be changed... After my talk, we meet and get on the metro. By the way, Paris metro is very good, serving the public in a very efficient and effective way. After one transfer, we are close to Montmartre. There is a totally different feel here, more funky, artsy and bohemian, just as i had imagined Paris to be. Except that I was expecting this air along the river, apparently it was to be found up on the hills of Paris.

 

Monmartre ambiance is indeed funky

Around us, I find a bit of Istanbul, a bit of Izmir, a bit of Ankara, and even a bit of Porto from the start as we start climbing up the hill on a meandering road around the hillside. Little cafes, small souvenir shops, lots of painters drawing, painting, coloring what mostly appears to be art for tourists. I stop at several of them by their desk and admire their skillful doing. As the crowd tightens, we feel we need to watch our belongings a bit better. The basilica is profound from the outside. Interior is extremely peaceful, gothic style, with scarce furniture; seating consists of single chairs arranged around a circle in the middle under the main dome. As in every church in Paris my friend Teresa tells me, all windows are covered with stained glass art with lots of biblical stories. Two front yards of the basilica terraced up the hill is covered with people of all colors and shapes. After climbing up the hill, I can see how they can appreciate the sun and the vistas of Paris as they relax on the grass.

 

Paris from the lower terrace in front of Sacre Cour

After our visitation, we sit at a creperie. Teresa orders a "butter and sugar" crepe, the most traditional one and I order a cheese and mushroom one. Agustino will have a chocolate cake with ice cream. It is a great treat while we watch passers-by. A great place to watch the stream of people. Teresa tells me stories about how young people put on shows with their bikes and roller skates up and down this hill even the steps along the funicular that carries the people, who can't climb up the hill on foot. We crack up quite a bit over Teresa and Augustino constantly slipping in and out of two languages between French and Portugese even in response to my questions in English. Both of them realize they have been going on in French in response to one of my questions, sometimes realizing that only when I request "Englais, s'il vous plait!". We crack up over and over again...

Mulin rouge, quite a history around dance and music and much more...

We finally head down, Teresa is keen on showing us Moulin Rouge. I don't know what it is, I haven't read anything about it in my RickSteve book on Paris. It is something about dance and music. Teresa feels the need to ask somebody if we are in the right direction. We are, but, just as we depart, the gentleman hollers at Teresa "Madame!", we turn around and he makes the most interesting gesture: He puts his right index finger on his right cheek bone just below his eye and pulls his lower eye lid downward. When I am lost wondering what this means, Teresa's response is "Merci" with a pleasant voice. Wow, Teresa knows this unspoken language, one could have never learned anywhere but in Paris! Apparently, this means "Be watchful madame, pick-pocketers are out and about!" I crack up and hold onto my backpack that I  carry in the front, better than before.

 

Music is part of Monmartre

As we move forward, I notice that the number of sex shops and shaky appearance of the neighborhood increase. We even pass by the Muse du Erotism. I start wondering whether this Moulin Rouge is something of a sex show. After all, Teresa, her team and I have an interesting story in Amsterdam. When we had decided to meet in front of the Oude Kirche in Amsterdam, I had unknowingly found myself in the red light district and that had caused a lot of laughter among the crew. I remind her and Agustino of our history and she protests with a smile: "No, no, no, this is really a good show. Everybody goes there, they eat dinner and watch the spectacle" It looks like it is something like a cabaret. We finally arrive in the square where MR is located with a huge crowd taking photographs. So do we, indeed it is a cabaret show. I guess this part of Paris is the night life section.

 

Shakespear and Company Bookstore

Time to go back. we get on the metro and depart upon our transfers, which are going to be to opposite directions. Before I drop off my load at the hotel, I decide to stop at the Shakespeare Company bookstore, which happens to be just underneath my hotel. It is indeed an interesting place. I climb up to the top floor to find a group of people listening to a man, and African man telling them the story of a woman. It sounds like a reading session, I approach the group to sit in. At the entry, a gentleman opens up room for me to sit on a bench. However, in a few minutes, people from the group start asking questions to him.  This is not a reading session, I get it. I have to ask what it is to not intrude if I am not supposed to be there, but also not to be rude for leaving without a word. How did I get myself in this situation? I whisper to the man next to me "Is this a closed group meeting?" and sure enough he replies very politely "This is a writers' workshop". I apologize for intruding and leave them alone. The man's words still echoing in my ears "She was nice and caring some days, but druggie, obnoxious "feeling f..'d up" most of the time. I tried to write about her as honestly as I could..."

It turns out the lower level of the bookstore is for contemporary books that are for sale. The upper level on the other hand houses books all the way from 1600-1700s. Those are to be read on site mostly, rarely, they would sell a copy, I guess if they are offered a good deal. The rear room upstairs is open for groups for readings or writers' workshop meetings. Quite an intellectual sanctuary. On the last day, we find a lovely book on "How to interpret impressionist art" there.  

Notre Dam in black and white

Once I come out from my hotel again around 9 pm, I discover there is a music show at Notre Dam tonight, I will take it. Since lines are prohibitive to be able to get into Notre Dam during the day, I am happy that I will be able to see the inside of the church, and good music is a bonus of course. I always find the inside of churches very peaceful although, what goes on behind the scenes in the entire church network may not always be as peaceful and good for human kind, especially looking at the medieval history of the religion... The music is in French, all the better, I don't understand most of it, this way I can only enjoy the aesthetic of both the instruments and the human voice. I do, my preconcert meditation turns into a lengthy one throughout the concert as well. finally refreshed following a full conference day and traveling one full quarter of Paris, it is time to go to bed again, in peace and content....

Stained glass windows at Notre Dam are best photographed at dusk