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