I wouldn’t hold out hopes that your own four-footed friends will do the same for you, though.
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
Canine Christmas
I interrupt this string of posts about France to bring you this video. Just think of it as a holiday gift.
I wouldn’t hold out hopes that your own four-footed friends will do the same for you, though.
I wouldn’t hold out hopes that your own four-footed friends will do the same for you, though.
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
Champs Elysées
On my last day in Paris I headed over toward the Arc de Triomphe—hadn’t been there since my first visit 30 years ago, when I’d been overwhelmed by what I termed the “belligerent patriotism” expressed all over that monument.
I got off the Métro at the Champs Elysées/Clemenceau station and ascended to…a marché de Noël.
That put paid to the idea of me walking all the way down to the Arc. I am a sucker for Christmas Markets. I’ve taken two separate trips to Germany just to see the Christkindlmärkte: Nürnberg, Köln, Augsburg, Dresden, München. It’s wonderful, being in the crisp cold air, sipping a nice hot Glühwein, occasionally indulging in a bratwurst and just walking up and down the rows of merchant huts.
These days much of the merchandise comes from China, and the EU has probably cracked down on hygiene standards for the food products sold so flavor has disappeared. But those markets are still wondrous.
They were setting up a marché in Bordeaux, but it didn’t open until the day I had to leave, so I missed out on it. And I hadn’t even considered Paris, much less le plus grand boulevard de la ville.
Well, I had to wander up one side, down the other and then back up again. I must have looked like Gomer Pyle, oohing and ahing over all the goods on offer. There’s a lot of the same stuff scattered about, but I did find things suitable for Christmas and Chanukah gifts. And of course I had a cup of Glühwein.
(In Germany they serve it in an actual cup; they charge you a deposit and then you get it back when you return it to one of the many Glühwein stands in a market. Here it was in a paper cup.)
In addition to the vendors, there were carrousels and other little rides for children. Didn’t have the cozy feel or a market crowded into one of the town squares, but it was still a find.
Never made it to the Arc de Triomphe; but it’ll be waiting for me the next time I go there.
I got off the Métro at the Champs Elysées/Clemenceau station and ascended to…a marché de Noël.
That put paid to the idea of me walking all the way down to the Arc. I am a sucker for Christmas Markets. I’ve taken two separate trips to Germany just to see the Christkindlmärkte: Nürnberg, Köln, Augsburg, Dresden, München. It’s wonderful, being in the crisp cold air, sipping a nice hot Glühwein, occasionally indulging in a bratwurst and just walking up and down the rows of merchant huts.
These days much of the merchandise comes from China, and the EU has probably cracked down on hygiene standards for the food products sold so flavor has disappeared. But those markets are still wondrous.
They were setting up a marché in Bordeaux, but it didn’t open until the day I had to leave, so I missed out on it. And I hadn’t even considered Paris, much less le plus grand boulevard de la ville.
Well, I had to wander up one side, down the other and then back up again. I must have looked like Gomer Pyle, oohing and ahing over all the goods on offer. There’s a lot of the same stuff scattered about, but I did find things suitable for Christmas and Chanukah gifts. And of course I had a cup of Glühwein.
(In Germany they serve it in an actual cup; they charge you a deposit and then you get it back when you return it to one of the many Glühwein stands in a market. Here it was in a paper cup.)
In addition to the vendors, there were carrousels and other little rides for children. Didn’t have the cozy feel or a market crowded into one of the town squares, but it was still a find.
Never made it to the Arc de Triomphe; but it’ll be waiting for me the next time I go there.
Sunday, December 6, 2009
Bump in the road
Back in Seattle. Deep joy.
It was a close-run thing. I had a 0640 flight from LHR to CDG, which was to arrive at 0900, plenty of time for me to make the 1030 flight to the States. I set two alarms for 0345 to ensure I got to Heathrow by 0500 to get myself & my bags checked in & be well ready for boarding at 0605.
Only for some unfathomable reason, they held up take-off for 40 minutes, for six people. An entire A321 full of passengers blown off for six.
Naturally the delay lost us our take-off slot, so more wait. & then, descending over Paris we lost power in one engine, so a complete circuit to come in upwind.
The upshot was that we docked about five minutes after boarding started for the Seattle flight.
I sprinted across two very long sections of Terminal 4E, flinging myself through yet another security screening, & barely got on the aircraft before they closed the doors.
My checked bags, of course, weren’t as fast as I, which is what I’d expected.
(I should be grateful, I suppose, that I made the connection—many of my fellow Paris passengers didn’t make theirs at all.)
Well, I’m putting it down to the concept that Forces there are that don’t want me in the Emerald City. With which I fully concur.
It was a close-run thing. I had a 0640 flight from LHR to CDG, which was to arrive at 0900, plenty of time for me to make the 1030 flight to the States. I set two alarms for 0345 to ensure I got to Heathrow by 0500 to get myself & my bags checked in & be well ready for boarding at 0605.
Only for some unfathomable reason, they held up take-off for 40 minutes, for six people. An entire A321 full of passengers blown off for six.
Naturally the delay lost us our take-off slot, so more wait. & then, descending over Paris we lost power in one engine, so a complete circuit to come in upwind.
The upshot was that we docked about five minutes after boarding started for the Seattle flight.
I sprinted across two very long sections of Terminal 4E, flinging myself through yet another security screening, & barely got on the aircraft before they closed the doors.
My checked bags, of course, weren’t as fast as I, which is what I’d expected.
(I should be grateful, I suppose, that I made the connection—many of my fellow Paris passengers didn’t make theirs at all.)
Well, I’m putting it down to the concept that Forces there are that don’t want me in the Emerald City. With which I fully concur.
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