So. My sister- whose manifold virtues and sheer brilliance I have extolled several times- is the most Parisian American I’ve ever met- or heard of. All here Paris friends are lifelong, born and bred, Parisians. She lived there off and on prior to moving to DC, etc. etc. Anyhow, by popular request on her blog (which is brilliant, btw) she posted a list of things to see/do/sit/eat.
Lost in the madness of the weekend was, perhaps, my favorite event of the Cycling calendar: Paris-Roubaix. Congrats to Boonen for crushing the field, but really ‘The Hell of the North’ always wins. While the Master’s unfolded in Augusta, surrounded by genteel azaleas and magnolias, the best cyclists in the world embarked on a race of lunic proportions: they race, race not just ride, road bikes- ROAD BIKES- along cobblestones and dirt tracks through spring weather in northern France. This is absurd. And completely badass. I mean, watch this crash. Anyhow, I would love to just amble along this ride someday- in good weather- just to roll my wheels across such storied cobbles.
I admit, this is a gratuitous Paris pic, and an old one. Yet another great moment on the sister’s ex-roof. Anyhow, the point is the boots. It seems chic work boots are all the rage now, which is OK I guess, but there is really only one bootmaker in the world: Red Wing. I have waxed poetic about my Red Wings many time, nevertheless I shall repeat: they have sloshed through spring mud in England, climbed a volcano in Iceland, post-holed through late season snow in the Italian alps, dealt with snow/slush from London to Istanbul (in one epic trip, mind you!), served me well in the saddle, at work at the bakery, or at High Table, and never once let me down. While trendier boots may exist, my Red Wings will still exist when trends change.
Last Call (by zach.stone) The erstwhile end of a good night. Somehow we ended up eating piazza in Bastile a good time after this.
Golden Dusk (by zach.stone)
Probably posted this before, but I am still glad that I will spend tonight in Paris…
The Home Stretch (by zach.stone) I know it is a terribly cliche picture, but I love Paris. And though the weather was crap, Scott and I blagged a free run up to the top of the Arc. In fact was one of my favorite me-french person interactions ever. Scott, though a red blooded American, and a sodding Yank, got in for free because the brits bungled his driving license and it says he was born in the UK. I, though, only had a US Passport with a British Visa. This failed to suffice to prove I was a young resident of the EU at the Pantheon so I resorted to new tricks. I brought a bank statement with my name and UK address. Seriously, who shows a bank statement as ID? Any how, here is my interaction with the clerk at the Arc
me: (handing bank statement and Oxford ID)
me: Oui (hopefully)
clerk: And where is your posh English accent?
me: (crestfallen) I just moved, I do not have English ID yet
clerk: (smirking) es tu American?
me: (sadly reaching for my wallet) Oui, but I do live in England
clerk: I think you are a great liar. But it was a fun lie. (slides free youth ticket over)
Moral: English people get pissed at you for lying. French people get pissed when your lie is neither creative nor entertaining.
Notre Dame at Night (by zach.stone)
Ah, Paris. Very glad I will spend the night of 31 Oct on the Isle St. Louis.
Don’t know why, but I really like this one I took in the Louve. Somewhere I have another empty chair pic from Athens I really like too. Maybe I should just become an empty chair photographer
Drawing (by zach.stone)
So I pretty much have the greatest sister in the world. I think of this because of how much I have loved my first week in Italy. Had it not been for her encouragment I would still be pouting about unemployment in Kentucky rather than actually doing something with myself here. I could ennumerate the reasons why she is awesome, but it would take to long. Keen followers of the blog will have noted the number of pix taken from her ex-appartment in Paris. Basically Hannah is like human 2.0. She is pretty much good at everything. Good southern host and cook? Check. Proper Parisian? Check. Ran a half-marathon? Check. Fully funded for grad school? Check. Not one, but two kick ass blogs loved by many? Check. Genuine class A, high quality, going somewhere yet not snotty boyfriend? Check. Deep enough pockets to bail out troublesome and irresponsible older brother? Check (thank God). Pretty much the best Christian I know? Check. Damn good artist? Check (she is sketching in the Louve suckers). The rest of the fam ain’t slackers either, well except for this one…
Vespa (by zach.stone)
More Paris, I guess. I liked this Vespa. I wish it was mine. And that I lived in the 6th. Or 5th. Or really anywhere on the Left Bank.
Paris is Burning (by zach.stone)
Don’t know if I have anything else to say about Paris. Just love it. And love this picture I lucked out with from Hannah’s place.
Anonymous asked: You are the reason people have fantasies about librarians while spending inordinate amounts of time in the stacks.
If a person is stuck in the stacks fantasizing about librarians, I’m assuming it’s because they can’t find their book and need help real...
It takes an ocean not to break.
“Poetry must resemble prose, and both must accept the vocabulary of their time.”— William Butler Yeats on modern poetry in a rare 1936 BBC recording.