Yesterday I went on a 2 1/2 hour boat cruise: the Canal de l'Ourcq, to the Bassin de la Villette, through the scenic and famous Canal Saint-Martin, and finally along the Seine to the base of the Musee d'Orsay.
The weather has been wonderfully moody, just like my very own mood.
The boat passed through a long stretch of voûte souterraine, a covered canal that passes under the Place de la Bastille, during which our guide played a haunting melody on his clarinet.
The river rests at different levels along the canal. I'm sure there is a technical word for the water elevators our boat used to lower itself to the next level. Whatever the word, it was a cool thing to witness:
Our boat stopped at this gate/dam and a similar one closed behind us. The water drained from our cell...
...and the boat lowered as the water drained...
...until we were at the right level and the gate opened. As you can see in the above photo, another cell awaited us to lower our boat to the next level so that we could proceed on our journey.
From the Canal Saint-Martin, I saw a restaurant I'd eaten at just a few days earlier, Le Poisson Rouge. My Italian roommate and I ate dinner there to celebrate our life transitions. You know what mine is. Hers: she finished her master thesis in clinical psychology. Brava, la mia amica!
My entrèe dish: calamari
Me and my roommate. (Oh my. Have I developed a double chin? Time to cut off the chocolate. He's taking advantage of my generous nature! That bastard.)
Somebody has to do it: a man changing the metro's billboard advertisements.
Home, it seems, is never too far away. Something about Bruce Willis screams America. Perhaps it's his rugged and masculine good looks. I know I'm bored with urban European metrosexual masculinity. Nay, I'm sick of it!
Bruce Willis, I never thought I'd say this, you look delishious. Meeeoooow.
Where was I? Ah, yes. Paris. I'm still in Paris.
Today, I found myself in Marais and in the same neighborhood of Chicha Café, a bar-restaurant one of my French friends introduced me to last month. Their mint tea is to die for.
I died for this tea today. It's difficult typing when one is a ghost.
The tea hit the spot, but it was dinnertime and I wasn't ready to leave the restaurant just yet. I ordered a Moroccan plat traditionnel Kebab Maghdor, lamb loin with an egg in a flavorful sauce:
Friday night was a blast. I was invited to a French rock concert at La Scene, followed by drinks at a famous rock bar Les Furieux with more new Parisian friends. In my cute new Italian cream colored flair skirt, brown Italian pumps, Venetian beaded necklace, and blue-print v-necked fitted shirt, I felt out of place in the sea of black t-shirts, denim, Converses, and 20-somethings.
Still, I had a great time.
The band we saw was Kinito. All but three songs were excellent. The three non-excellent songs--one of which is Monnaie, the first song that plays on the page linked--weren't horrible. They are what I call "bathroom break" songs. It's fun to judge a song as such and then count the number of people who agree.
Kinito is excellent on stage. They are very entertaining to watch and have great energy. I was reminded of Red Hot Chili Peppers more than once, because of their positive engaging energy. I'm going to keep my eye on this band.
The guy who invited me knows the lead singer and bassists. I felt pretty cool chatting at Les Furieux with them even though our conversation was brief.
Les Furieux, a rock bar in Paris.
When I was a child, I thought it was grossly unfair to have to go to bed when the sky was still somewhat lit at 8:45 at night. I wonder how Parisian children feel when the sky looks like this at 9:45 pm and they're supposed to be in bed:
Speaking of bed, it's that time for me! Bonne nuit and sweet dreams.
3 comments:
They're called locks.
Well, now I just feel silly.
Man, I was going to tell you that. Not a fancy technical name.. but totally cool nonetheless. I do believe they were the American engineering marvel that allowed boat traffic to bring trade through most of the country.
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