Organic Beef?

I saw these cows outside a "restaurant bio," or organic restaurant, near the library and had to take their picture. I'm not sure how organic they are, but their English-language messages of "All you need is love" and "Life is a dream. Make it real!" have a certain kind of "all-natural" sentiment to them. I love the red hooves.

Music on the Metro

I've often thought that a great subject for a documentary film would be the music of the Paris Metro. There are always buskers who hop on the train, play a few songs, and then make the rounds with a hat to collect contributions from their audience. A few people give, although most don't.

I haven't seen as many on this trip. Maybe the Metro administrators have cracked down. Lots of people have i-pods and listen to their own songs. Maybe I just haven't been riding the right trains.

Today, though, when I got onto a train, a man was singing a lovely ballad (in Spanish I think) with a guitar. Then he switched to a rendition of "Love Me Tender." The music on the Metro is nothing if not diverse.

Paris Loves You

It doesn't always feel this way, but according to the sign on this shop, Paris loves me. An interesting way to sell souvenirs. I like the combination of Eiffel Towers and peace symbols on the sign (you may have to click on and enlarge the image to see it).

Silent Film

I went to a film showing at the Orsay museum with my colleague Katheryn Wright. This was not the sort of thing I'd normally go to, but it related to my research. They were showing a series of short films linked by the theme of "reportage," some old ones in black and white, others more recent. It was a strange mixture of things, but there were several minutes of footage of the 1910 flood, the subject of my research. That's why I went.

The selection seemed even stranger given the audience: schoolchildren. We had to make special arrangements to get into this viewing since everyone else in the audience was about 7 years old (with a few parents and teachers scattered throughout the auditorium). In many ways, the kids' responses to the films were as interesting as the films themselves. At times, they laughed, at times they applauded. When the person from the museum finished his introduction at the beginning, they all yelled out "Merci!"

One of the shorts was an interview with the photographer Robert Doisneau who is famous for his pictures of Paris, including one of a man and woman kissing by the river. The kids had been pretty quiet up to this point (although it took lots of shushing to keep them that way). When Doisneau's kissing image came on the screen, though, they all started whispering and chatting. They seemed to know what the picture was about.

The flood footage was interesting, especially getting to see the moving water. But in some ways it wasn't much of a surprise. The film looked pretty much like all of the photographs I have seen of the flood -- scenes of rescue, of flooded streets, of water up to the decks of bridges. Photographers and filmmakers probably stood in the same locations and took the same shots. And the film was silent, giving me no voices from the moment.

Interestingly, the kids in the audience were (relatively) quiet too during that portion of the presentation, the only silent film in the bunch. I don't know if they were really watching, but a film with no sound made for an audience with very little noise, even when that audience was about 7 years old.

Sandwich, Drink, Dessert

In French "le menu" is not the entire listing of a restaurant's offerings, it's a preselected list you can choose from all for a set price. In American terms, it's like a combo meal. In nice restaurants, you often choose an appetizer (what, in French, is the "entree"), the main course, and a dessert.

The sandwich shops where I sometimes eat lunch also have a menu, or sometimes they call it a "formule," or formula. But there, you choose a sandwich, a drink, and dessert.

This always strikes me as interesting because in the US, our combo meals at lunch are usually a sandwich, drink, and chips or some other kind of savory side dish (potato salad, pasta salad, slaw, etc.). But here, you don't eat chips or potato salad, you eat dessert. Does this speak to some kind of French affinity for the sweet, even at lunch?

Today, I had a sandwich, a soda, and a delicious chocolate tart -- a very dense and rich chocolate cake. But I couldn't eat it all because it was too big. So I took it with me, something which the French don't tend to do (there is no "doggie bag" tradition here). It reminded me of "the great mi-cuit abduction" of last summer when Ellen's mother, Kay, took her molten chocolate cake with her from the restaurant where we were eating. Some things are just too good to leave behind, especially the sweets.

The Hard Truths of History

These two plaques, and others like them around the city, speak to a dark chapter in the history of France. The first is on the side of an elementary school in Montmartre and commemorates the Jewish students from that school who were sent to Nazi death camps in Eastern Europe. The second, located at the Orsay (now a museum, then a train station), remembers those who made it back. The plaque notes that the Orsay was the major site for the repatriation of people from the Nazi camps.

Anyone who studies French history knows about the troubling history of the war years, although it's something with which the French themselves have struggled for a long time. Note that the date of the plaque on the school says that it was only installed in 2003. It took American scholars to help tell the story of occupied and Vichy France because French historians were reluctant to delve into that episode on their own. What the scholars have found is that the French sent their Jews to the east even before the Nazis asked them to. They hoped, mistakenly, that they could befriend the Nazis and make the occupation less onerous. In the end, it was a devil's bargain.

Every nation has its demons -- France, the US, everyone. History is often not a pretty sight (take it from a professional historian). But maybe plaques like these begin a process of learning for everyone. I don't believe that history has strict lessons to teach us, but we can reflect on what has happened in the hopes of being better and wiser people as we confront the future.

Students Everywhere

There’s a lycée -- a high school -- just down the street from the apartment, and most mornings I can hear the students gathering outside in the street. They stand around in little groups, just like American teenagers, but the collective effect in this little street is to create an enormous sea of kids. Their voices echo the sounds of French on the stone and brick walls of the rue Suger and fill the morning air with talk and laughter.

Reid Hall, where my office is located, is the home not just of the Columbia University study abroad program but also hosts many other schools’ study abroad programs. So it’s full of American college students, many of whom like to gather in the garden and talk in English, sharing stories of their lives in Paris.

Living so close to two groups of students, it almost feels like I’m still on campus much of the time. And there really aren’t that many differences between the French and American students I see so often. They gather to share each other’s company and to learn about life and themselves.