A mighty wind is blowing...

So, last night, we were concerned about the possibility of rain, and the guides had contingency plans all set out for us. I woke up this morning to a howling outside my windows. The rain is nothing; I could definitely bike in this rain.  The wind, on the other hand, is quite strong.  Blow us into the Rhône strong. As in, it's too dangerous to bike this morning.  Jenn (the other guide) said "Yes, the wind is disconcerting."  Understatement!  So we're being stuffed into a van and taken to Arles.

Hopefully the wind will have calmed down enough by this afternoon.

30 k + 40 k = a lot of biking

Yesterday, I was flying down a winding road next to a deep gorge in Provence and I thought: This is amazing. I saw wild poppies blooming by the side of the road. Wow, I thought. I saw olive trees and vineyards aplenty. Suddenly the fact that my cell phone will not be able to charge anymore and that my Palm Zire has suddenly given up the ghost didn't worry me as much anymore.

10 things I hate about Paris*

*From the movie 10 Things I Hate About You

1. I hate your hard water that makes my hair all crunchy and my tea kind of icky. 
2. I hate that there are all too many beautiful places that nonetheless smell like pee.
3. I hate that you are so expensive. I never got used to paying nearly $7 for a cup of coffee.  Although one does pay exactly what it says on the tag or menu because tax is included.
4. I hate  how much of my French I've lost, and how understanding everyone has been of my grammatical and vocabulary mistakes.
5. I hate your fabulous bread, tempting me at every turn.  Ditto chocolate.  And crepes.  And cheese.  And...
6. I hate that I am now addicted to macarons.  Oh, you delicate confectionary temptresses!
7. I hate the Paris "look" that I could never quite capture, and that no matter how often I practised, I could never quite tie my scarf with the same élan as the Parisian women.  They must give special lessons at the lycée.
8. I hate the café culture I have acquired such a taste for, making it near impossible to go back to work in July.
9. I hate how the waiters don't hover over you as you eat and actually wait for you to finish one course before bringing you the next.  And that they don't put smiley faces on the bill to get a bigger tip, because it's included.
10. I hate the efficiency of the labyrinthian metro.  And how it's quiet because of the rubber wheels.  And that some of the stations are downright beautiful.
11. I hate that I'm leaving so soon.

All is forgiven, Paris!  I'll be back!

There is never any ending to Paris and the memory of each person who has lived in it differs from that of any other. We always returned to it no matter who we were or how it was changed or with what difficulties, or ease, it could be reached. Paris was always worth it, and you received return for whatever you brought to it." -- Ernest Hemmingway, "A Moveable Feast"

Off to Provence!

Spring is like a perhaps hand*

So after I wrote that last post, I took myself outside (then back in again to get my trench because it got a lot colder all of a sudden) and walked south, doing pretty much the same route I took my first day in Paris.

And I felt less blue.

So kiss me and smile for me...

Paris, I believe, is a man in his twenties in love with an older woman. -- John Berger

I'm feeling a bit blue, today. It's my last day in Paris. My train leaves for Avignon at 7:46 tomorrow morning, but I've been putting off packing. I'm trying to eat the rest of my food, although I might be gifting quite a bit of stuff to Darlene and the next tenants. I've made my last pot of tea.

Whereas I owe it to Photoshop...

I am following Nature without being able to grasp her, I perhaps owe having become a painter to flowers. -- Claude Monet

I went on a bike trip to Giverny yesterday. The gardens were beautiful, and it was fun trying to take pictures as Monet would have framed them. I will put up my pictures some time in the very near future, I promise, but in the meantime I decided to have a little fun with photo-enhancement software...

Here's the original photo:

In which Physicsgirl meets Pepé le Pew*

*without the smelly skunk part

At Pousse au Crime last night:

I'm dancing with some friends to French (and a few English) pop songs -- not swing dancing, but freestyle, as it were. In a circle, as one does. There are a lot of people in the bar. Suddenly, there is a guy in front of me. He has taken me by the hands and is dancing between me and the people I came with, effectively cutting me from the herd. It was very neatly done. Sheep dogs could learn something from him.

   So what do you do in Paris?

   Right now, I'm dancing.

   That's great!

(I look over at Darlene, who is watching this with a look of "Do you need help?" mixed with much amusement. I'm also pretty amused. He's trying to move me away now, but with the number of people in the bar, he doesn't get far.)

   Actually, I'm dancing with my friends. Over there.

   That's okay.

(I try to gently let go and turn back to my friends. He persists and I spend the next few minutes keeping his hands away from my hips. He says something I don't quite catch because it's loud and he's speaking rather quickly.)

   I'm sorry, my French is so-so. What did you say?

   You speak English? (in English)

   Yes, but I do speak French. I just didn't get what you said... (in French)

   Where are you from? (in English)

   Canada.

   I don't care. No, where are you from?**

Et c'est fini. I couldn't possibly continue dancing with someone who didn't believe I'm Canadian! (Maybe I should get that flag after all!) Plus, you know, effective as the hands-on approach was, I like a little conversation before. I'm funny that way.



**I'm pretty sure he just misunderstood me. But wow, not shy these Frenchmen.