Midday in Paris: Sleep, Existential Sleep, and Optimization in the City of Light.

Hello,

I worked intermittently on this post and present it to you now in a rough state. Please forgive any errors in grammar and focus on the good bits.  I must publish this post now or risk it spoiling in my drafts folder like half of an avocado that got moved behind everything else that I am doing this summer.

Introduction

Paris is magic. By day in this place you can touch and taste importance in the air.  And by night breathe an indulgent youthful now.  So much of it is lovely, or breathtaking, or iconic, and the parts that aren't are a welcome reminder that this is real life.

Our new friend Ben. He is Emily Ecklund's other best friend so he and Stef stuggled to find things to talk about.  (No)

We quickly found that Paris was "La Ville-Lumière." The historic city of light with it's thinkers and sparkles. It was for us though, equally, the city of Blackout Shudders.  

We awoke at noon or a quarter hour after on our first full day in the same sort of frenzy that hits you when your alarm plan doesn't pan out and you have almost enough time to get to work, but not enough time to shower or eat or look for underwear.  

I had inadvertently lowered the shades the night before in a half sleep by pressing the wrong round gold patina button next to the bed.  We were staying in the nicest most luxurious hotel I can ever imagine staying in.  Stef had pulled out an enchanted arrow from her quiver of exhaustive research life hacks.  This arrow is the Everest of life hacks. The coup de gras (if that phrase means what I think it does).  We received two free nights at any Hyatt in the world for opening a Hyatt credit card.  Any.  No exclusions. Not even the Hyatt Vendome in Paris where the most basic rooms go for $880 a night.  This deal is well known in secret online threads.  So well known in fact, that the general term for opening a credit card to reap specific rewards is called "Vendoming" after our hotel. Our sojourn to the lives of the mega-rich. 

 We had the option for a newspaper to be delivered every morning which we declined because we were unprepared for the question and uncultured to the point of not having a preferred global news source.  

We had the option to eat breakfast in bed starting at €50 each.  We were given unlimited access to the old worlds version of the internet, a Concierge, which we took full advantage of. And of course we had the ability to easily lower the shades without leaving the bed.  We probably needed the sleep since we had slept 26 minutes in Stockholm the night before, but we were in Paris where every minute, every waking minute, counts.  

We marched forth into the after noon clearly conscious of the fact that it was after noon.  However it felt like we hadn't wasted the whole day since we were still greeted with Bonjour for several hours more.

This is how much my shoes weigh when I am in them.  79.6KG

This car had a white bandanna hanging out of its tailpipe.  Shout out to Eddie, Julio, JR and the rest.  

Outside the Louvre before our day one recon mission.  This is when stef realized that we needed to buy a real camera even though I have an iPhone 6. It was the right choice.  

This is when I mentioned the efficiency of Napoleon.  Stef Loved it until she realized the Megalomania thing. 

See Look this is Paris. 

All you women who independent- Destiny's Child

Notre Dame/Our Lady Day one Recon. 

This scene foretells how I would feel the next day on the metro home from Mont Martre.

Shoes at the Bastile where some people were marching in protest of a new labor law and others were smoking cigarettes and talking to their friends and Americans in protest of a new labor law.  Stef and I agreed that the brown shoe black jeans guy was a French Hunk.  

Never before has such bravery been seen at the dinner table.  

I snuck this one.  His shoes have a rooster on them.  I liked the Rooster shoes. 

The opera was a delight.  Aside from the fact that there was less leg room than the backseats of a Ford Ranger, it was a thoroughly enjoyed moment of our trip.

The Ballet was an interpretation of Corsaire, a poem by Lord Byron, featuring three beautiful female dancers vieng for the admiration of a powerful and unabashedly clumsy Sultan.  We quickly developed very pragmatic nicknames for the three portaganistas; Left girl, middle girl, and right girl.  Left girl was blond and played it cool during the mating ritual, only to mesmerize the crowd later in a lift sequence facilitated by right girls brother.  Middle girl gave Alladin a rose in the opening rose ceremony, but the the Sultry Sultan gave Middle girl a palace and thus the man vs. man over woman conflict began.  What became of right girl you ask? I believe that she slowly assimilated back into her former life as an ensemble dancer, but Stef maintains to this day that she switched roles with right girl at intermission.  Scandal.  We may never know the truth.

Stef accidentally contorting into a classic El Greco pose (Whats up Nicotitio?)

Impressionism. 

After the ballet we returned briefly to our hotel to breathe expensive air and drink mineral water from glass bottles.  Although the word was never spoken, it hung in the air. Easily accessible and mutually acknowledged. Rally.  So we hit the town for a nocturnal ascension of Paris' most iconic attraction.  We zig zaged the industial switchback stairs,  stopped to learn from plaques at each landing like true lifelong learners, and questioned our choice of footwear. I was wearing my slick black shoes that give me (and Kevin) heaps of confidence; pros outweighed the cons. The first level came with ease and the pain of reaching the second was softened by view and accomplishment. I have no photos of our night climb because I left my phone in the hotel room.  Regrettably that also meant that I didn't get credit for the grip of stair sets we climbed. Fortunately I had an experience up there that was better suited to the pen than the lens.



While we stood amidst the the lacework of steel beams, I was drawn into what felt like an important scene in the film of everything.  The tower, an inland lighthouse, sent a searching beam out to the horizon.  Maybe it was the light fog that warped it down, but I was convinced then, that I was watching the light follow our curved earth.  And I felt that I could go with it to a rough Western coast and a dark still ocean. Then on again through the night to a square room with brown walls where I slept.  The earth seemed alive and expanded. I was here and there. Asleep in California and about in France. I imagined dozens of other enchanted places I would never see, content though with a new faith that they exist.  And someone is out exploring the night even now!  I like to think about the cars and taxi's turning left to cross the Seine. Something of their tail lights and head lights reflecting in the water below. A clear well focused shot.  I have seen Paris so often in magazines, and romantic comedies, and picture frames at Pier 1 imports, but for me it was born that night.  It materialized. Pulled me in. Held me up to look over a fence into my own backyard. I'm back in California. Its dark now in Paris and someone is standing on the Eiffel tower saying things that seem important to them. Taking steps that are important to us all.  

On the way home I was punched by the driver of a bike taxi. I was quite surprised by that.  I don't have the energy to explain the story so please comment if you would like to hear it.  

End Scene Day 2 

The next few photos show the progression of how I felt on Day 3 in Paris. 

Whoa. We can do this. Were going to make this strict schedule work. Soon we'll be touring those towers. 

This day is inspirational but I'm tired. I wonder what kept Joan of Arc going besides the visions from G-d.

Is my head still on my body? If it falls off Stef, will you carry it back to the hotel?  I'm sure there is some expensive instrument in the closet to reattach it.  

Thursday in Paris was a marathon. By the numbers we

Took 37,000 steps. (As a reference point, my apple health app measured 42,000 last summer when we hiked half dome.)

Climbed 66 flights of stairs

Explored 4 museums

Visited 3 churches, one of which must hold the world record for Heineken Consumption per square meter.

Saw hundreds of paintings including famous works by Botticelli, da Vinci, Monet, Degas, Van Gogh, and scores of other geniuses whose names rarely make it into the American Vernacular.

Admired dozens of sculptures by the likes of Rodin, Michaelangelo, unknown Greek artist, and unknown Egytian artist.  

Thursday in Paris was loaded with sight smell and sound.

Sainte Chapelle was built as a sort of display case for the relics of the Passion (Crown of thorns, the nails that would eventually wind up in Greg Noble's ears and maybe that little cloth that Jesus wears on the crucifix.)

Well groomed line of trees.  Would this be considered a hedge? 

Paris was once part of the Roman Empire and thus two babies drinking straight from the tap. 

Seems like the medieval users of this well almost always approached from stage right.  

Iconoclasm I think.  Rachel told us about this. Maybe she can explain it in the comments.  I didn't read the plaque. 

Some sort of unicorn. Sorry my captions aren't funny anymore. Must. Finish. Blog. 

Stef at the flower cafe where Hemingway and all the debonair Americans who were too cool for America in the twenties liked to eat.   

A little rest for the dogs that were barkin'.

Eucalyptus is Stef's Kryptonite

Thursday was a good day. Maybe not as good as Ice Cube's good day, but close.  There is so much more to tell, but I am going to meet a guy from craigslist who is selling a little foam surfboard at a good price.  So I'll end with this.




Dear Paris,

 We will be back to walk down your wide boulevards and eat your snails and to have another crepe with Ben and Benoit. We will be back to haggle for laser pointers and to time travel and to fall in love again.

Peacefully,

The Benevolent

From holm to Stockholm: What could have been a smooth transition to Euro-life.

Although Stockholm has a great reputation and shows up in at least one Conor Oberst song, we had never placed it on our wishlist.  The pen of fate however, inked it it in like bookends for our European vacation when the fabled google flights/explore revealed to us that it was  temporarily functioning as a magical portal to Europe, through which travelers could jump across the pond for Kilometers on the mile.  (I like this analogy, but fear it is confusing as my jokes often are.  I am tying to say that our plane tickets were two thirds of the price we would have paid to fly directly to France, or Italy or Spain.)   

Here the adventurers are pictured in their most comfortable travel uniforms.  

Here is a photo of me, the author of this blog.  I love airports. Those are my sunglasses in my mouth. 

The Palos Verdes Peninnsula from the window of our LAX to MIA appetizer flight.

Aside from having my jar of cookie butter confiscated at the security checkpoint, the preliminary steps of our travel day went smoothly. At our LAX terminal I enjoyed a sub par American breakfast (I am using the phrase sub par as I think it ought to be used. Remember that it is very desirable to be under par in the game of golf, no matter what side of the pond your on.) Those were the last morning eggs I would have for over a week. Tear. I recorded some thoughts about the shoes people were wearing, hardly any vans. I did some translating for a nice Spanish woman who was trying to get her work Visa here in the EEUU.  She foreshadowed the joy I would feel when I was reunited with Castora.  

I'm going to sell this photo to the Macintosh Company (Apple) for iPhone Backgrounds.  They want it so bad!  

 

Finnair cares about Health. And portion control. 

This is the first friend I made on the trip.  Our friendship is complicated. Mostly I admire her ability to remain under that blanket for 9 hours, and she does the rest.  

We arrived in Helsinki after 17 hours of travel and less than 2 hours of travel sleep, which we all know is sleep of the lowest and most disorienting quality. Unless you are my brother in law who seems to be gifted with the super power of sleep anywhere.  Maybe he is part Snorlax.  That is a thought journey for another time.  

At this point we were tiered, but optimistic.  The quality of light and the timberline out the windows of the Helsinki airport were familiar enough to comfort and foreign enough to intrigue.  Stef had made it to Europe without the need of the nicely folded white bag in the seat back in front of her.  We found gum for a reasonable price, and apparently the travel notes on our credit card account were correctly entered this time, because the transaction was authorized.  Life was good, and it would remain that way for a time.  

Cultural awareness is great, but lets be real, we travel to fill this bad boy with stamps.

Love the timbers.  

Stef encouraged me to talk to this gentleman, like a mother pulling her child from her knee on the first day of Kindergarten.  It was a success! I asked if he wanted to be friends and now we are!  (That is not exactly how it went, but we do follow each other on Instagram. )

We did it.  We had arrived in Scandinavia and we were feeling good.  Just one more flight to Stockholm! (And then a bus to the central station.  From there it's just a quick ride on the metro and then a 10 minute walk, 15 if you get lost, to the air b&b)  

As suggested by the parenthetical statement above. This is where our travel day got a little too long.  When we arrived at the Air b&b we were exhausted, but dazed and exited and courteous enough to talk to our host for about an hour.  Then we zombie stared into our phones for another 30 minutes, making use of the precious commodity that is WIFI and went to bed and did nothing else that night.  The local time was 11:30 and it seemed as if we had, serendipitously, beaten the modern phenomenon known as jet lag.  Neither of us woke up wide eyed in the middle of the night, except for maybe Stef, but she is not a good sleeper, unless it is the morning and her alarm is going off, then she is bomb AF.  You could say that she is the antithesis of Justin, my brother in law. Remember him?

In the morning we got up at cockerel and headed out into the suburb outside of Stockholm.  We found a fun bakery with coffee, pastries, and the few Swedes we met who didn't speak English.  It was very difficult trying to figure out if the coffee pot with the orange lid was decaf.  The word for caffeine and coffee are very similar in a lot of languages.  This was the type of experience we were looking for.  

I am now going to follow this anecdote down a path that will wind back toward the blogs subtitle.  Come with me.  This interaction with the orange rimmed coffee pot was by far the most difficult language issue I dealt with.  The Swedes speak phenomenal English as a whole.  We met a waiter who swears she had never been to California, but could have fooled Lauren Conrad herself.  She even displayed an adroit and appropriate command of curse words, something many Americans are still working on.  The language barrier didn't exist in Stockholm and this did make it feel more like holm.  Furthermore, the people of Stockholm look like me to the untrained eye.  I was about to say that there were more blond-haired people around than I am used to, but I went to Cal Poly SLO and grew up in Yucaipa and now live at the beach so, well, it wouldn't be true.  But I clearly didn't stand out as I would in say France, or Italy, or Spain. Furthestmost, Stockholm is a clean city with wide boulevards, clean sidewalks and, little graffiti, it is the hallmark of pleasant, the poster child of Nordic Socialism. We were being eased into our travels with the eloquence that one of Fitzgerald's protagonists would have insisted on, and none of the agony you would expect karma to bring along with the prize of six hundred dollar round trip transatlantic flights.  Everything was bra.  (which means good, and is one of the 12 Swedish words I know) It was better than bra.  

Drinking our hopefully caffeinated coffee, we walked down another wide clean street toward the metro which would take us to Gamla Stan, Stockholm's historic old town.  We got off a stop early so we could walk across a bridge and experience one of the city's defining characteristics, the water.  It was a good choice.  Soon we were walking up the cobblestone scallops of medieval streets and pausing in plazas to kiss or listen as the summer voices and laughter of elementary school girls fell on us like a playful rain. We accidentally wandered up a famous alley, eaves dropped on a tour guide explaining the Reformation, and made idiosyncratic observations about the layout of the stones or the design of signs in the street.  

Perpendicular cobbles and a cute girl.  Do you think cobble stone is connected to a shoe maker being called a cobbler.  What about someone who makes shoes on blackberry street?

I saw these buildings on a postcard so we took a picture with them.

Cute children soften our hearts.  When they wear veils and vests we have to call a medic.  

May also be famous.  

Vans alert! Cha bra. This couple was from Finland.  I guess there is some up and coming skate culture there.  

Megan Maurer told me this was instagram worthy so I made it extra large.  Are you okay with that compromise Meg? I would have captioned it: Anywhere you go, I'll follow you down. Or. . . I'm the map x7 #DiegoampersandsDora

I guess Stockholm felt like it didn't have graffiti more than it didn't have graffiti.  

This felt Americana to me.  I just googled "New Deal Industrial Paintings" to confirm that.  You should too.  There are some gems.  

Holding hands when you cross the street is a Marxist plot to subvert Capitalism. Is the pinkish color of that building coincidental? How about the shape?  Looks to me like that thing Jay-Z does with his hands. 

 

Feeling hungry at an appropriate time (Take that Jet lag) we made another loop around Gamla Stan, this time through notably larger tourist clusters.  We skipped a place with nice tree and ended up at a place that served American Brunch.  Watch out! Tourist trap. It turned out to be great and offered me my second experience with Swedish cuisine.  It was decidedly better than the meatballs I ingested at the Costa Mesa Ikea.  Oh yeah, our Air b & b had the same cabinets as our house.  

Notice the arced cobblestones in the background.  

Our air bib host showed us a great view point and I paid Disneyland prices for an Ice Cream.  

Is it okay to compare yourself to James Dean?

Should I have mixed up the layout? 

After this our host took us to a great place overlooking the water for a Fika which is typically a drink and a pastry.  It was okay.  

I am getting a little bored with the chronological nature of this blog so I am now going to tell you how we ended up at a super hip restaurant with a Michelin star.  

A Modern Retelling of John Henry

Stef found a hipster city guide that featured a place called Oaxen Krog & Slip.  We then had a competition to see who could find it the fastest.  Stef searched for a Wifi Signal to skitch on as I started profiling passersby.  As Stef navigated the terms and conditions of a hotel login I found someone who spoke good English but was just to old to care about our destination. Stef's google maps was loading. I spotted the perfect pair of twenty somethings. One of them had heard of it! He pointed in the direction of the sacred spot and I glanced back to see Stef's hand mimicking his like a shadow. The steam engine had won.

As I walked back into the range of the borrowed Wifi, Stef and I both had a feeling in our heads that is often on Jesse Mountjoy's face.  Continue and I bet you can picture it.  We had simultaneously realized that the restaurant was in a park where we had spent the last 2 hours of our day. And the park was over a mile away.  Can you see Jesse's face? All the visual indications of a laugh without any of the sound.  Head tilted back, turned slightly to the side, chin tucked.  

This is not the face, but I can't miss an opportunity to show you guys this one again.  Zoom in if your browser is into that.  

We were able to appreciate this Irony because we had the sure fire cure for travel mishaps; Love.  And BIKES! Yeah we rented city bikes and it was one of the best decisions we made.  Pedaling our mechanical ponies we were able to discover an intensity yet un-found in Stockholm.  Commuters charged around us at break neck speeds, shouting Swedish warnings as they approached and waving as they passed with only their neckties in the wind.  We eventually found our groove and cruised out to a serene green space where the pace was slower, the allergens more abundant, and the love for ABBA more pure.  We shifted through the mild hills of this park getting a low impact leg exercise that all airplaners want and need.  

Here is Stef humoring me by trying to censor Heracles with her position in the shot.  Her patented "this is slly" head tilt defeated the purpose.  

And then as you know, we left the park for our directions competition only to return for a Dinner from the 4th dimension (Heaven).

Oaxen Krog & Slip was like a successful privately funded space expedition to discover new planets in of our solar system; the ship is the food, the planets are taste buds, and the chef is Elon Musk.  And the sun turned out to be the Michelin star. 

We had no trouble getting reservations because it was a weeknight and we showed up to eat around 8:30 (20:30).  As we sat their pondering each gentle texture and spice, we truly experienced the Nordic daylight hours for the first time.  The sun seemed to pause on the horizon, illuminating the windows of houses across the harbor in a prolonged ethereal kiss.  In this moment a small gear in me started to turn.  And that small gear turned another and another.  The centripetal force of the midnight light would not let me sensibly return to our lodgings.  It called us to a ledge where we leaned and kissed. It marched us along yet another wider cobblestone lane to a 7-11 with cheap beer and candy. It taught us a dance, let us borrow a skateboard, and from our lips it drew the Hallelujah.    

23:00 ish

Without the night to hide you a tourist might film you making out.  

Candy was a key.  

THPS

Oh my.  00:45.  We still hadn't slept.  This is not the sun coming up.  It was still lingering somewhere out there at 12:45am. 

Finally we returned to our bed and slept. For 26 minutes we slept and then we were off to Paris.  26 minutes of uninterrupted sleep.  Because the subway wasn't running at 3am and the RyanAir bus schedule didn't fall in our favor and an 8am flight requires you to arrive 7am. 

2:50am

This lady from Germany had regular sized Mini-kicks.  

Stockholm was a daydream, a clock, a quality and quantity of light.  It was a familiar color, seen through a new set of eyes.  And its invitation, like the sirens song sent us back into the sea of irregular sleep.  I wouldn't change how it all played out, but I know someone who might if he or she had the chance.  

Stockholm could have been the perfect orientation, the ideal space to acclimate and recharge our batteries for the city of Light, but it would not be ignored.  It demanded our attention and we agreed. It had trapped us, fooled us, held us captive, but we liked it. At night still ,my brain wanders through the streets there in the dusk that is dawn.    

I have more stories to tell, but will have to make them shorter.

See you soon maybe,  

The Benevolent.