And on that note ...

Well, the strike hasn't seemed to impact the metro much, as I made it to the monument where the Bastille once stood (I would have stormed it, but it's in the middle of a busy traffic circle with no crosswalks) and then back to Musee Rodin without a hitch (though I may have limped slightly).

Rodin is a different experience when nobody is rioting. I spoke to a couple of the museum workers who were there yesterday. They said they basically were stuck inside the museum all day, and that protestors were tossing firecracker-like explosives into the garden where many of Rodin's sculptures stand (or sit and think, as it may be).

But aside from one floor of the place being closed, no big problems today. Much of Rodin's work is fascinating. He was a master at capturing angst and emotion, and beauty (and I'm told he wasn't too nice a dude). I'm really not sure why this place is relatively downplayed in some guides. It's not a massively overwhelming or entrancing experience like the Louvre or Orsay, but nonetheless plenty worthy.

Some of the sculptures are impressively complicated -- especially one of several city founders being marched to the scaffold. The Thinker overlooks the place while the unfinished Gates of Hell (which, according to several historians, lead to Gary, Ind.) stand almost in his gaze.

There were many other notables, including The Kiss, the two hands and Victor Hugo. Good stuff. I'm in.

After Rodin I headed up to the Gare St. Lazare area to meet Julien for lunch. Then it's back to Pont du Noo-eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee, some souvenir shops somewhere and then the airport.

-----------

Fast forward.... Good lunch, souvenirs surprisingly hard to find, ended up running a bit behind sked, bus to airport running way behind because of strike, shared cab with two other people (didn't this already happen in Venice?) and got there in plenty of time partly b/c my flight time was 50 minutes later than I thought.

On the plane now. Seems like a good time for ...

RANDOM STUFF:
*Woman on the street the other day said, "excuse me."

I said, "yes?"

After hearing me speak, she said, "I'm sorry, you are not French?"

No, but don't be sorry about that.

*Good exchange I didn't witness:
Some chick: "I don't drink white wine, only red. I'm a wine snob."

LN: "That doesn't make you a snob. That makes you stupid."

*Almost dream moment in Dublin:
Guy at club: "Are you playing tonight" before Jess Klein?

Me: "Only if you need me. Just hand me a guitar and I'll be ready to go."

Guy: (laughs) "Ok, we just might."

They didn't. Damn.

*FUN FACT: I actually watched the Champion's League final last night. And got into it. Sorry, Lago -- though y'all could have been down 3-0 in that one.

*By the way, there's been more MSFT-YHOO merger/partnership talk. From an insider's perspective, here's the real scoop:

THIS CONTENT HAS BEEN REMOVED AND MAY NOT UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES BE REPOSTED. THANK YOU FOR YOUR UNDERSTANDING IN THIS MATTER. court order aqsm4u2c-ilkt2000.

*Summing me up:
Me: Laughing at something.

KW: "Are you amusing yourself?"

Me: "Usually."

*This morning at a street market I found giant gummy bears. Yes, I'm lowercasing this time because they were awful. The ones in Germany, however, were the real deal. And pretty much just like in U.S. (in Haribo I trust).

*Cabbie wisdom:
(talking about American views of French folk, and vice-versa)

"Americans from New York are good. From California? Good. But not from places like ... Dallas."

And his thoughts on Paris St. Germain, the local football club?

"A catastrophe. Catastrophe."

Then he asked me which American football (soccer) team is best. I only vaguely remember what I told him because really, who the hell knows? (Sorry Revs and Dynamo ...).

OK, as for my three-week tour ...

Maybe later I'll have some final thoughts to tie this all together (like admitting that I already am pondering another Eurotrip). And I'll post some photos here and/or on Snapfish. But for now...

Thanks to all those who followed along here, commented and emailed, and to everyone who hosted me (David&MJ, and Kathryn) and guided me around these (not terribly) strange places (including old friends I saw and new ones I found) and to those who gave/lent me useful advice stuff. Advice and stuff are good.

Also to all family, friends, coworkers and other miscellaneous mammals who encouraged me to take this trip and didn't call me crazy (at least not because of this). And, of course, to dad for picking me up from airport ... Though I suppose I should wait to see if he actually decides to get me.

Also, thanks to the groovy folks I met throughout the trip (but not the un-groovy ones) for making it more memorable. Good times, good times. And nice job, All-Stars, in surviving three weeks and not quite crippling me.

It goes without saying, but thank you Jess Klein and the Republic of Ireland. Now go kick Wales' ass.

Oh, and Mr. Sarkozy -- that's OK, you can pick up lunch next time.

And with that...

Au revoir, Paris. Ciao, Europa.

Grazie.

Paris: A riot and a wreck

Louvred it up like nobody's business this morning. Followed Rick Steeves for the last (or second-to-last) time on this trip, taking a two-hour tour through just one of the massive museum's three wings.

The place is overwhelmimg. I definitely would recommend a Rick Steeves-type book if you are going. Just ask Laz for his if I ever give it back.

Anyway, Venus di Milo. Winged Victory. Mona Lisa. Alf's quintuple self-portrait. Some giant works of art. Many believe the Mona Lisa is the most over-hyped of the bunch. Maybe, but it still produces an awe factor unsurpassed by almost anything else I've seen on this trip. Both the sculptures were amazing, too -- especially Winged Victory, which probably is in more need of its missing parts than is Venus.

I also saw several works of art here and at Orsay that I already had seen on this trip, not knowing the others were reproductions. Damn _____! (to curse Heathrow, press A. To curse the Welsh, press B. And to curse German efficiency, press C).

The Orsay, in some ways, is more accessible, what with the more contemporary works. But the Louvre has many of the giants (Van Gogh, Michelangelo, Giotto, Strahan ...) and some of the most famous works of art. Easily worth the visit. No diggity, no doubt.

...

So there I am in line at Notre Dame, actually going in this time and getting ready for tons of steps. There's some guy with a creepy mask lurking around and scaring the hell out of people, much to our collective delight. Really seemed like something you'd see on a hidden video show. Or Mr. Bean.

Climbed the towers of Notre Dame (it wasn't authentically moto ... Rather, it was quasi-moto (boooooo) ...), reached a lookout point and took in perhaps the best Eiffel-including views of Paris one can get without a jetpack, a magic carpet or the power of levitation. Then climbed in the bell tower, took one pic of the big hunk of metal and my camera battery (which had lingered valiantly all day) finally crapped out.

Climbed to top of tower for even better views, using the trusty pocketpc to take hopefully worthwhile pics (they were so-so ... oh well). Was more worried about it not getting the job done later at Musee Rodin, but it became sort of moot. More on that shortly.

We begin the long climb down the tower, with me leading the group. One woman was on my tail for the first 50 or so steps, but I sped it up on the unbelievably narrow and somewhat slick staircase just for the sport of it. Blew her away.

I was counting all the steps on the way down, but about the time I got to around 32or so, I decided it would be more fun to make animal noises that would echo back up the staircase and to the other tourists. So that's what I did. There was an owl, a monkey, some other random noises I'm sure they enjoyed it. I know I did.

Looking at the clock and the closing times of various sites, I basically had a choice between a nearby church with what reportedly is some of the most amazing stained glass in the world, or Musee Rodin, home of The Thinker. Line for the church was insane, so Rodin it was.

Took the metro relatively close and then walked it. Kept running into streets barricaded off by police. They told me how to get around and to the museum, but more police were around every corner (not literally). I was thinking some head of state was in town or something.

Nope, just fishermen.

When I got to the museum, I encountered more police than I had seen to that point. They all had riot gear -- shields, barricades, guns, etc. -- and many were right in front of the museum.

Ponder that, The Thinker!

A sign said the museum was closed (sorry, Rick Steeves).

"Will it be open tomorrow?" I asked one officer.

"Yes, tomorrow."

"Why is it closed?"

The officer pointed to all the trash and debris on the ground.

"What happened?"

"Fighting."

I found an English-speaking cameraman who explained that the fishermen were protesting because fuel prices are too high, which hurts their business.

Apparently the ministry of French Fish is right next to the museum. It started as a protest but got ugly.

(Off topic: I had great onion soup yesterday. Thought to myself, "I wonder if this is like French Onion Soup. ... wait, I'm in France. So it's just onion soup here!" I'm very smart.)

After taking in the scene -- which included many lingering protesters and other curious passers-by, I found some food and then took the train back toward the Notre Dame, where nearby sits a Holocaust memorial of sorts. As I was trying to figure out where the site was, a motorcycle accident happened right in front of me. Guy hit or was hit by a car, hit the ground and skidded his bike. He got right up and approached the car(s) that hit him, looking none too pleased. He appeared to be fine -- and police and an ambulance were on the scene in an amazing 30-45 seconds (helped that this happened right next to a hospital).

Protests, riots, harmless motorcycle accidents -- this place rocks! Oh, there's the art and culture stuff too, of course.

Anyway, the memorial, called Memorial de la Deportation, is simple but effective for what it is. Quartz pebbles (based on Jewish tradition) representing all French victims of concentration camps (200,000) are lined up in a hallway with a light at the end.

After that -- and my long but ultimately successful search for a phone that takes coins (I now have a phone card I don't need -- any takers?), I wandered to the metro to head back to Pont de Noo-eeeeeeeeeeeeee. But there was a pep band in my way.

Not sure it was a pep band, but sounded like one. Lots of brass -- they were great. Entertaining a crowd at Place de Chatalet, of which I was part for 20 minutes or so. Good stuff. What fun. Seriously.

Finally made it back here, where MJ helped find me food. And I've been researching this transit strike happening tomorrow, trying to figure out if/how I will get to airport. But before that I have just a little more sightseeing to do. Then, tomorrow evening, I'll be NY-bound ... and back to LA soon after. Crazy.`

The cabby and the hair

After spending much of Tuesday morning depressed in bed after being told that my hair looks like a mullet and my beard makes me look old, I finally got going and hit Musee D'Orsay. But first I needed food, so I got me a banana and chocolate crepe, just like Laurie never could used to make. Yum. And washed it down with a Coke Zero. Of course.

Anyway, the Orsay was grand. Impressionism and post-impressionism were refreshing after seeing so much ancient and classic art on this trip. Van Gogh and Monet, among others, had it going on. It's fascinating to read how some of them were received (or ignored) in their time. For instance, Rodin (I believe) had one of his sculptures roundly booed upon its public unveiling. Good taste or not, how great is it that the public cared that much?

8.1 greats, I believe.

(By the way, the ticket woman at Orsay asked how old I am ... Apparently there's a discount for 25 and under and she thought I might make the cut. Take that, hair haters!)

After the Orsay I went back to Notre Dame. Got there by 6; signs and books say it closes at 6:30. Guy at door says no. It's 5. I point out that sign says 6:30. He just shrugs his shoulders.

So I meander down toward the Latin District (there's a Dan Quayle joke here somewhere that I can't quite put together) and walk by the Pantheon (didn't I already do that in Rome?) -- which was closed, so I didn't go in. Seems to be a common theme here -- I walk by without entering.

"Paris: Come visit and walk by our stuff."

So I walked by Jardin Luxembourg and am reminded, "der, you were here before." There is an amazing large-print gallery of vivid photographs from around the world (a Russian ship stuck on ice, New Orleans, famine in Africa, underwater scenes, 9/11, etc.) outside the jardin, along with that friendly giant head you see atop this blog.

Then grabbed a bear at a cafe in the Latin Quarter and people-watched for a while (clearly I meant "beer" but that typo was too funny to fix). It's a cafe/restaurant-filled area near the Sorbonne, which I also walked by but not it. Lots of people -- good social scene. Fun area.

FUN FACT: The vast majority of Parisians smoke. But probably only about a third of them actually carry a lighter. Still, at least half dispose of their cigarettes by tossing them in the street. Keeps the street-sweeping industry booming.

Fast forward past my mad dash to find a bathroom (found a friendly McDonald's just in time) and eventually I head up to Sacre Coeur, a church at the highest point in Paris. It's night, so I'm looking for a good vista. I trudge up a long, steep staircase and do irreparable harm to my knees (didn't I already d this in Rome?) but finally make it up there. Plenty of tourists being entertained by some guy singing "Mrs. Robinson."

Church had just closed (crap) but the view of the tower is lovely. Unfortunately, must of the rest of the city is obscured by trees, a restaurant and marching German soldiers. But I see the hourly tower glitter show and get a few decent pics.

Run into a few Americans. Some of us head back down, cross the party-filled Pont du Artes, get amazing views/pics of the Seine at night and had to a bridge with an ever more spectacular view of the tower. Had the same "holy crap" feeling I did when first arriving in Venice. Took that view in for a while. Perhaps a little too long, as ...

FUN FACT: The last train leaves at 1 a.m. I got to station at about 1:01 (damn German efficiency). I find a cab driver who is happy to take my green American money (he don't take cards and I'm low on Euros) so off we go. I try to explain where I want to go.

"Pont du Neuilly (noo-ee)."

"Porte Maillot?"

"No, it's past that. Neuilly."

"What? What is address?"

I show him the address on the pocket PC. He tries to put it in his GPS but clearly is struggling. So we drive a bit.

"This is Porte Maillot."

"OK, it's farther -- Pont du Neuilly."

"You know where it is?"

"I can get there from train station."

"What train?"

"Pont du Neuilly."

"OH... Pont du Neuilly (noo-eeeeeeeeee)."

Apparently my slight mispronunciation caused all sorts of problems (didn't this already happen in Rome?).

"It's off Rue de Chateau."

"Your French is very good! I don't speak good English."

"You are doing OK. ... It's the third right. Un, deux, trois."

"HAHA - very good, very good!"

Lucky it wasn't the fourth street -- in French I can only count to three.

"I know a little English ... 'hello ... How are you ... How much? ... Where are you going ... Goto hell.' Not you!"

Thanks for clarifying.

So my Lebanese cab driver named Michael -- who has a brother named Johnny -- dropped me off, happily took my U.S. Dollars and went on his way.

And I took a nap and prepared for the final full day of European craziness.

The ex-girlfriend tour of Europe continues ...

First full day in Paris and I hung out with my old buddy Laurel, who happens to be on her own Eurotrip right now.

But before I get into the details of the day, I must report this:

IT'S ALIVE!

My trusty Samsung mp3 player somehow came out of its Amsterdam fog and has roared back to life. Maybe it noticed me beginning to entertain thoughts of finally breaking down and giving in to the man by getting an iPod. It couldn't allow that. And I thank it for that.

Anyway ...

It was mostly a walking and boating day. I'd like to say we started off at the nearby Jardin du Luxembourg, but I have no recollection of this (space cake finally kicking in?). We then walked to, in and around Notre Dame (but not up a tower -- I may still do that), which asks its visitors to be respectful, quiet, not to use cameras (thought everyone does), and only enter certain areas if you plan to pray (many tourists ignore this) -- all while having souvenir machines placed throughout the impressive cathedral.

Then we hit the mighty Baltobus boat. Basically it's a hop-on/hop-off water shuttle with no tour guide. But still nice/useful. We went around Ile St. Louis and by the Hotel De Ville before getting off the boat at the Louvre and not going to Musee D'Orsay (like other fine salons, it's closed on Mondays).

More walking around ... And noticing that much of this city's architecture has the same "important" feel, as if each building must be some historic landmark.

Eventually we Baltobus it again to the Eiffel Tower, which is more Eiffely in person. Walked under and around the site of one of Superman's most important accomplishments, walked nearby the Paris Hilton (ah, remember the good ol' days when that wouldn't be a joke?) and then to Palais de Chaillot, where we had a snack and chilled with a spectacular view of the tower.

Lingered there for quite a while.

Eventually we met up with Laurel's friend Julien, who brought us to an English pub (never before has English pub food tasted so good -- of course, this had more to do with me being on the verge of passing out from hunger) and then, somewhat accidentally, to the quaint Chez Julien (no relation).

This was an authentic Parisian restaurant -- no chain, just its own decorations. Of course, I was full on pub food, so the other two ate. Good call on my part (not really).

Then trained it back to David & MJ's, where I'm now trying to do laundry. If only I could read French ...

And thus ends an unspectacular recap of Monday's action (I'm tired ... Trying to ramp up for a couple of big days before dodging yet another train/bus strike on Thursday and heading to the airport).

Oh, we almost saw Sarah Jessica Parker. She was in some store on Champs Elysees promoting her new perfume. Big crowd outside the door.

Man, I travel thousands of miles away from LA and still I can't get away from that woman. I feel your pain, Matthew Broderick. Go give Mia Sara a call.

Daffy 1, Bugs 0

A wee bit drowsy, but I've made it to Paris, where David and MJ are serving as my gracious hosts (David being my sister's husband's father, and MJ being my sister's husband's father's wife -- there's got to be a name for that (other than MJ) ... any suggestions?).

Trained it down from Amsterdam (a city which failed to cook my brain but succeeded in frying my mp3 player -- damn Welsh... the people, the jam, the old A's pitcher) and did a quick sightseeing primer before the heavy touristing of the next few days.



Walked by the Louvre (didn't see Mary's corpse), the garden thing nearby, the Seine, the Arc de Triomphe (where a ceremony of sorts was taking place), witnessed a minor car accident (old guy decides not to go at green light, young blond girl behind him does), saw some crazy obelisk-type thing and wandered down Champs Elysees. And took the metro a few times. And made breakfast plans for far too early tomorrow.

FUN FACT: The Louvre is quite large. But it would neither confirm nor deny that it also is in charge.

Also ate rabbit on the train. It wasn't being served -- I just brought my own.

Was tempted to have duck later. But one cute animal per day is plenty. The actual dish can be seen here. On a happier note, the advertised "potato salad" really was roasted potatoes with some other yummy stuff, not that gross mayo-mixed stuff. Go train!

Too tired to write more and worry about formatting. So I won't.

I knew better

In my last post I wrote:

And on that note... My Amsteradventure essentially comes to an end -- assuming the bus doesn't take me back through Haarlem (or Harlem) and leave me there.

That wasn't the original. My first attempt read something like this:

And on that note... My Amsteradventure essentially comes to an end -- assuming the bus doesn't crash.

I didn't want to jinx myself. Good thing.

On our way back, some car -- apparently driving in a lane he shouldn't have been in, and driving very, very fast -- nearly plowed into our bus as it pulled away from a stop. Missed by inches.

On the bus I was confronted with one of today's greatest moral dilemmas. I sat next to someone when I got on, taking the first available open seat. About 10 minutes later, two seats opened up across the aisle. Do I get up and move to give the other person more space? Is it odd if I stay? Would they be offended if I left?

I stood my ground (or sat it, as it may be) and didn't change seats. And I don't regret it. Not for a second.

Also, I saw another Kentucky Fried Chicken. That's three. Way inordinate.

So I get back to the room and nobody is there. But I can predict what will happen.

I just get to bed when everyone storms in, turns on the lights and makes as much noise as possible. Then they start doing bong hits and the entire room fills with smoke. So much for airing out my clothes by hanging them up.

One of the guys decides to leave the room for a while around 2 a.m. but he doesn't bring his key. So later he spends about 15 minutes banging on the door before anyone lets him in. (I'm sure it's hotel security, as drug use here is a no-no, so I wasn't going to get the door ... unless I could have been the turncoat!).

Eventually people do fall asleep, but the dude in the next bunk over is snoring like there's no tomorrow -- which for him almost became a reality.

Not surprisingly, I'm up and out first. They trashed that place beyond belief. They left wrappers on my bed. F'ing Welsh. Is it petty that I'm glad Cardiff lost?

OK, now really I'm on my way out...

Janga jenga

As I finish my pastry and type on this addictive little pocketPC, some people at my table are trying to figure out who I am .. Or who I look like. One told their theory to another, who kept trying to surreptitiously look over. The first finally decides, "yeah, that's who it is."

I sort of hope they ask me, because I'm curious. Really, who wouldn't want to know who they are? This mystery is more engaging than the Rembrandt House, at least.

Wondering how wise it is to blog right now. But maybe it's good to document what I may have forgotten by tomorrow morning. I just hope I can find the bus.

(I'm greatly exaggerating here ... The cake has had virtually no effect.)

"The thought of the guy jiggling his cornpipe out the window...," the person who knows me says in response to someone else in her group.

I hope that ain't who they think I am.

I ordered a vanilla shake here. But they had run out. I said I thought it would be a good combo. The guy here at The Bulldog agreed.

"That's why we're sold out," he said.

Indeed.

They now are playing jenga. I was watching. They invited me to play. I guess whoever I am doesn't come with much on an intimidation factor.

Holy crap -- maybe I am Campbell Scott after all! Or a Ukrainian.

I left without ever finding out.

There are an inordinate number of Kentucky Fried Chickens here (it's not KFC in Holland yet). I've seen two thus far (including on this walk to the bus; no, that wasn't a space cake-induced random thought), which seems inordinate enough.

And on that note... My Amsteradventure essentially comes to an end -- assuming the bus doesn't take me back through Haarlem (or Harlem) and leave me there. It's kinda like Vegas here -- OK in moderation and probably much, much more fun in a group, but no desire to go back anytime soon.

On to Pa-ree.

P.S.: "First generation turbo lighters (something something)," some guy just mumbled to nobody in particular as he ambled on by.

Just seemed like something that should be shared.

So there.