Paris and the case of the sleeping polar bear

Lucky for us, our misfortunate victimization in Paris (read our previous blog if you’re confused) couldn’t have been more spectacularly timed. In fact, Kate and I had a whole weekend to enjoy before we noticed our car had been broken into. So, for us it was quite the bon voyage!

We stayed in a hostel in the multicultural northern end of the city that offered surprisingly nice views of the city. Here's one, in fact, of Montmartre, which I'll mention later.

The purpose of the trip was to run in the Paris half marathon, a 13.1-mile jaunt through the complex web of grande Parisian thoroughfares, including a short stretch along the historic Seine. To use an over-used, under-appreciated phrase, it was in-Seine!

Je ne sais quoi I’m talking about. Anyway, the trip was good and the run was a success.

We started with a tour of Château de Versailles (NOT pronounced ver-SALES, I later found out), which was the de facto capitol of the Kingdom of France for a good many years. Residents included a bunch of French Louises (that’s the plural of Louis) and even an Italian named Napoleon. The most prominent frog who lived there, however, was Louis XIV, who was known as the Sun King. #14, as he liked to be called, apparently held lots of wild soirees and had a grandson (also named Louis) who married a crazy Austrian named Maria Antonia Josepha Johanna von Habsburg-Lothringen. Seriously. To us, she’s known as Marie Antoinette or the “let them eat cake” lady.

Anyway, the Sun King had a very nice place and I would definitely recommend a tour to anyone heading to Paris. Just don't get the "Louis, louis" song stuck in your head, because the irony far outweighs the annoyance.

We then walked the Sun King’s grounds and got a better understanding of why he was called the Sun King as we were temporarily blinded by the radiance of it all.

The next morning we ran our little feet off, recouped in a quiet, dark room, and then made our back out into the world full of joie de vivre. Our first stop was Sacré Cœur, the basilica on the summit of the hill of Montmartre, the highest point in the city. It was a beautiful, sunny day and there were lots of frogs walking around, holding hands, and enjoying the live music, which, curiously enough, all seemed to be written by Bob and/or Ziggy Marley. Slow, peaceful, and all about Zion, the music added a calming and romantic ambience to the afternoon that Kate and I very much enjoyed.

Perhaps it was all the THC in the air, but afterward Kate and I had the munchies and headed out to a hole-in-the-wall restaurant recommended to us by Kate’s brother, Edward. It was a fixed-menu fondue place where you drink wine from baby bottles. Yes, it’s here that you can get your booze fix, your cheese fix, and of course your oral fixation fix, all under one roof.

The place had a beaucoup of tourists there – mostly American college girls apparently doing semesters abroad – which seemed annoying at first as we were trying to soak up all the frenchiness (and cheese) that we could. It made me realize it’s really nice to live in Europe where we can go out and not be tempted to (or able to) eavesdrop on conversations, thereby allowing us to focus on each other’s thoughts. Or, as the case stood, to focus on drinking out of baby bottles.

The next morning we got up. This may not seem like much, but it was quite an affair considering we were probably both very close to cardiac arrest after ingesting the colossal portions of fromage the night before. So, to celebrate, we headed to the Louvre.

As you’d expect, the Louvre was great. Although the swarms of tourist made it almost impossible to avoid the American patois, we could easily escape into our thoughts as we contemplated the works of art such as the Venus de Milo, the Mona Lisa, and the Sleeping Polar Bear. (Kate especially enjoyed this last one).

Afterwards, we bid adieu to France and headed home in our windy little car.

An unfortunate occurrence

Kate and I drove the 4.5 hours to Paris this past weekend to participate in our first organized run – a half marathon. We expected to make a weekend out of it, including a visit to Versailles to see the ostentatiousity (I made that word up) of Louis the XIV and to take in some of the finest art in the world at the Louvre. As this was our second time here in six months, we also set out to take it slow - to enjoy the café culture and to eat a lot of bread and cheese, two things that the French do really freaking well.

Our goal, therefore, was to get a better idea of what Paris has to offer. And, boy, did we get that.

Paris is a city. It has 9 million people in the greater urban area of all walks of life. Some are rich. Some are poor. And some are crazy. As you can see, one of the crazies broke through the rear window of our dirty, unadorned Ford Ka to steal a schmutzy eight-year-old backpack. Of course, he had absolutely no idea what was inside.... It could have been my dirty socks. Or a bomb. Or dead squirrels.

Fortunately for him (and unfortunately for us) it had our computer (less than a year old), our passports, my cell phone, and all of Kate's school work. The worst part is obviously the computer, as that had our entire lives on it. All Kate's work. All my work as a teaching assistant. All our pictures. Etc.

So, it sucks. There's no other way to say it.

After reporting the crime to the Paris police and seeing the bureaucracy of that government up close, we wiped the remaining tears and made the long journey home. It was a cold and windy 4.5-hour. C

The worst parts: Our car insurance won't pay for the damage because it's under our deductable. Home insurance won't pay for the computer because it wasn't IN the home. And the passport rigamarole, which consists of photos, money orders, government forms in triplicate, etc., will probably continue for the next couple months.

Quarter life crisis for Pecos

As many of you know, Pecos just turned four and is going through a quarter life crisis. He still can't decide if he's more bitch or more butch.

Of course, we're a little concerned. But all a loving parent can really do is just love them and hope that they find themselves in the end.

Fasching

Not much going on this week, but I realized earlier that we hadn't posted any snappy snaps of the German Mardi Gras - called Fasching. Here's a pic of a guy in a broccoli suit. Oddly enough, he was not the only person I saw dressed as broccoli. (Although I didn't see any other costumes that represented the vegetable kingdom around).

Kate and I went as cowpokes. Here's me.

And here's Kate unashamedly eating something that most likely contains cow.

As you may have guessed, Fasching is to Germans what Halloween is to Americans - a good excuse to dress up in whatever you have around the house (e.g., a broccoli suit). As such, people dress up in junk and call it a theme.

Take, for example, the below picture. In it, you'll see the following: Dorothy, who is wearing a blue wig, of course; the scare crow, whose costume consists of suspenders and an alien mask; perhaps another scare crow with a funny Bavarian hat; and a girl dressed as a sexy cat (perhaps representing Toto?).

Much like Mardi Gras, there are also symbolic floats that mean something to someone. This one, however, means nothing.