Tales of Two Cities

Yay Wellesley!

Got an email today from Sally Katz, the secretary  of the Wellesley Club of France.  It contained this link to this year's Forbes list of America's best colleges.  I'm not surprised that Wellesley College placed so high, but I am shocked that West Point came in first. 

Meaningless statistics:  In my and Charles' families there are two Wellesley grads and 5 West Pointers over 5 generations.  In fact, in the generations before mine, none of the women in my family attended college. Charles' mother and aunt went to the University of Utah and spent a year at the Sorbonne in Paris.  So far as I know, they were the first women in their families to go to college.

Actually, the statistics may not be so meaningless.  There is probably some fodder for sociological commentary in there someplace. 

I am only qualified to say that Wellesley is a wonderful school and I am glad that my parents were willing to sacrifice to help me go there.

The Storm, Disruption and the Gift of Family

Anyone following the news knows that a serious ice storm on the night of December 4-5 wrought tremendous damage to much of New England, including large parts of Western and Northern Massachusetts.  Thousands of homes in the hard hit areas are still without power, including our daughter's. Many homes sustained damage.  Happily, Liz and Steve's house seems to have weathered the storm.

This is part of the view from my daughter's house on Friday morning from a video Elizabeth took. There is a driveway some where in there. The storm dramatically altered the landscape.  The lovely, tall, deciduous trees that cover most of their property lost their tops.  Many of small trees were bent and broken under the weight of the ice and will likely not survive.

Steve used his chain saw and tractor to remove debris from most of the driveway. Towards the end of his labors, his dad showed up to help. By early Friday afternoon, Liz, Steve and Emily were able to go over to Steve's parents home which was being powered by a generator.  They took showers and charged their cell phone.

After assessing the situation, it was decided that Elizabeth and Emily would come and stay with us until the power is restored, which we hope will be by the end of the week.  (Another ice storm is forecast for Thursday.)

Steve is staying at the house.  The wood burning stove is helping  to keep him warm and hopefully preventing the pipes from bursting.  He is also taking care of the cats, including a lucky stray that ended up on their doorstep a few days before the storm.

Emily, who has never before spent the night away from home, has been a trouper. Her spirits are wonderful  She misses her daddy very much (as does her mother), but she is adapting well to the change in her routine. 

While we are delighted to have Em and Liz with us, our two furry creatures do not agree with us that Emily is an Adorable One. Both cats have gone into hiding so that even Charles and I can't find them. Leia appears occasionally to glare balefully and hiss at the perpetual motion machine and non-stop talker that is Miss Em. 

 I am so thankful that we are here to help and that every one is safe. 

Election Day

Since our return from Paris almost a month ago, we have been inundated with campaign news and I, for one, have grown quite weary of it all.  So it was with relief that I woke up early this morning so we could get in line at our polling place, the Boston Public Library, before 6:30 a.m., ready for the doors to open at 7.

I even felt some enthusiasm at the thought of participating in this record breaking election, even though my vote will have no practical impact in this state that will surely go to the Democrats whatever my vote.

Mindful of stories of problems with registration lists, Charles and I made sure we had our passports and drivers licenses with us.  We have never been asked for ID (though you should have some just in case) but who knew this time around. 

(In fact, when we got home we heard a report that updated lists had not been provided for the polling places in Cambridge - known to some as the Peoples' Republic of Cambridge - and a number of registered voters had been forced to complete provisional ballots.  The lists have since been updated and those voters are being encouraged to revisit the polls before tonight's 8pm closing.)

It was a beautiful morning.  The fog had almost completely lifted, trees were sporting gorgeous fall colors and the temperature was already in the 50's headed for the 60's. 

We arrived at the Public Library before 6:30 and found roughly 25 people there ahead of us.  We were clearly not the only ones who planned to be there early.  Within 10 minutes the line had snaked around the corner.

This is a picture of the front of the line about 10 minutes before the polls opened. 

Charles is hidden behind the people in front of him in this photo, but you can see him in this one.  He is the reading the Wall Street Journal to pass the time.  The people watching was entertaining and time passed quickly.  Not surprisingly, many chatted away on their cell phones.  Others drank coffee picked up from the nearby Dunkin Donuts.  Not everyone was voting.  Runners in shorts and sweat shirts ran by, mothers with young children headed for the nearby daycare center, others entered and emerged from the nearby subway on their way to work.

Poll workers entered the library, always an encouraging sight.  Then someone announced that the doors would open in 9 minutes.  The line tightened up.

We were inside by 7 and out by 7:15, having stopped to talk to Eric, our building superintendent, who had arrived well after us and was waiting in line to pick up his ballot.

Ballots were paper.  Black pens were provided in the semi private spaces for filling them in.  There was no possibility of chads and it would be hard to make a mistake. (Presumably, if you did, you could get another ballot.) Each of us was provided with a special cover for our ballots to protect our privacy but with the logic of those who do not think things through, we were required to give up the cover and stand with our ballots exposed while waiting to check out with a policeman maintaining a second registration list.  A minor glitch, but irritating just the same.

As we left, the line had grown.

This afternoon, the house is eerily quiet.  The TV and radios are off.  There is nothing more to do but wait.  Perhaps it is the quite before the storm, but for now, It is rather nice.

 

'Tis a Puzzlement

The more I learn about the ongoing strikes and the strikers, the less I understand - not only about the strikes themselves but about the French system and the French. For me, the situation just gets more and more confusing.  Perhaps this means that I am moving towards wisdom. Probably not.

The ongoing strikes do not cause us much inconvenience. We live close to a subway line that has been working quite reliably.  It, in turn, connects to the main east-west subway line through Paris.  As a result, we can get fairly close to anyplace we want to be.  Our feet do the rest. Although we understand that many exhibits are shut down in the major museums because employees have not been able to make it to work, the flexibility we have in choosing what we will do insulates us from frustrations.  For the most part, there is nowhere we have to be at a given time.  We decide each day what we want to do, knowing that we will be here a few more weeks then back again in April.  Nothing is urgent.  We are not stressed. Even today's lack of newspapers, which caught us by surprise, did not deprive us of news.  We simply went on line.

The strikes result in a much different experience for the French, whose lives are being seriously disrupted. For us, the situation is theater (one might even say, theater of the absurd) but at what a price to the participants.  'Tis a puzzlement.

Here is an article from the International Herald Tribune that gives a coherent update.

We've Learned a New Word

La galère.

It means a mess in the sense of a royal pain.  That is what the past four days have been for many of the French trying to get to and from their jobs and for anyone seeking to get around France using ground transportation. 

We've seen or experienced some of the situations reported in the media, but have not observed any rage.  Mostly people on the streets and in the métros seem cheerful or resigned. Still, there is a growing sense of frustration in the face of day after day of aggrevation.

First the métros.  Because  each métro line is represented by a different union, the level of service can and does differ dramatically from line to line.  On a given day during a transportation strike, some lines may not be operating at all even as others run on a reduced, but steady schedule.  Happily, reliable information about métro schedules is available on the Internet.  This allows people to plan ahead.  Nevertheless, there has not been enough service to handle commuter traffic, which means packed trains for much of the day. (See photo on the left taken on the afternoon of day three of the strike.) The good news is that we haven't had to pay to use the métro since the strike began.  I figure this buys us half a glass of wine each time we don't pay.

Charles used the métro mid-day during the second day of the strike and experienced very few problems.  Yesterday, we took the same route and, when returning in the afternoon, found the subway mobbed, presumably because people were heading home early in the hope of avoiding the problems they had experienced the night before during normal rush hour. At times we were packed with our fellow riders toe to toe, unable to move, tipping forward as the train stopped and backwards as it accelerated, hoping always that the masses would keep us upright. As Charles pointed out, however, it was really no worse than being on the Green Line when it is full of Red Sox fans headed for a game.

Movement by rail has been much more curtailed.  The logical result has been an increase in automobile traffic.  And boy has it been snarled.  Scooters, motorcycles and bicycles weave in and out of cars that only move to dart forward a few yards at a time. The daily number of accidents involving two-wheeled conveyances has reportedly more than doubled in recent days.  Air pollution has skyrocketed in Paris.

On Thursday evening , I was in a car trying to get from the Place Vendome to our apartment.  It took almost 2 hours for what would normally be a 20 minute trip.  On Friday (day three of the strike), Charles and I observed stalled traffic by mid afternoon as many people started their trips home from work early in the futile hope of avoiding the frustrating experiences of the night before. 

The snarled traffic takes a huge economic toll in addition to the obvious increase in fuel consumption.  Yesterday morning, the family that sells cheese and other dairy products at our local Friday market was an hour and a half late because of traffic.  This translated directly into lost sales, adding frustration to frustration. One imagines variations of this situation happening to small businesses throughout France. 

Today is day four of the strike.  Hope that the transportation strike would end early are fading, even as the strike is weakening  and more travel options are becoming available. It looks now like it will continue until the civil servants go on strike on Tuesday.  I have no idea what that will bring.  I only know that we have a dinner with the Wellesley Club of Paris on Monday night and it is all the way across town.  Will we get there?  Will we get home?  Stay tuned.

Oh Wow!!

Thanks to my good friend and superb photographer, Ellen, I discovered that if you Google my name one of the first entries to come up is this one.  I'm thinking that I may have just experienced my fifteen minutes of fame. 

Party Time

A reception with the artist was held one week into my Paris Insolite photography exhibit at the Boston French Library Alliance Française and what a delightful evening it turned out to be.  Despite the fact that there were other events going on in Bean Town, including an appearance by Hillary Clinton at Symphony Hall (in case you missed it, see it here on YouTube), 77 people came to sip wine, look at the photographs, ask me questions about same and, most of all, to chat with each other.  The room overflowed and at times the noise was so loud that it was hard to hear and be heard.  Many who came were friends, acquaintances and former business associates  Others just came to see the show and stayed to talk.  The reception, scheduled to last 1 1/2 hours, lasted a full two hours. The picture on the left was taken of Charles and me after almost everyone had left. 

I was touched and pleased by the people who made the effort to show up, especially when I learned of the terrible traffic jams caused by the Clinton appearance. Folks from Lexington with whom I used to work and hadn't seen for years were there.  My manicurist, bearing flowers, brought her husband, her brother and his wife.  Our cats' veterinarian came with her fiancé and her technical assistant.  Many friends and acquaintances from the Back Bay came as did fellow Francophiles Ginger and Foster, of whom we see more in Paris than in Boston. Photographer Robert Castagna, who is now showing his work at the Rolly-Michaux Gallery in the Back Bay, came to lend his support. (Here is a link to a page with some of the remarkable photographs from his series, Kyoto in its Seasons.) Then there were the young people and other members of the French Library who took the time to talk to me.  One young man chatted with me for a while then asked me to autograph my business card and clutched it happily to his chest as he left.  A young woman asked it she could email me for advice about her own photography efforts. It was touching and very humbling.

I was having a really fine time, when Sophie Koenig, the Library's Cultural Programs Planner & Web Editor gently pulled me away from the people I was talking to for the formal part of the event.  This was the only part that I didn't enjoy.  There I was, standing under lights meant to illuminate photographs, not women of a certain age, feeling very, very naked without my camera to hide behind.  I suppose there was a certain poetic justice in that, but still....  We had agreed ahead of time that I would not make any remarks, but Elaine Uzan Leary, the Library's Executive Director, was fascinated by the photographs of Belleville, in part because her first husband was a Tunisian Jew whose family had settled in Belleville as part of the first major influx of immigrants into the area in the early 20th century.  She wanted to know what had drawn me into photographing the area and that gave me an opportunity to talk about my logitudinal project of trying to capture the Belleville of today and the impact of the every changing ethnic mix of the population.

Many were generous in sharing with me which picture or pictures they liked best and why, which I greatly appreciated.  Particularly gratifying was the number of people who were intrigued by the Belleville collection. What pleased me most, however, was the excitement of those who know Paris well who were drawn to the picture on the left taken looking down the rue de Belleville toward the Pompidou Center and beyond to the hills on the other side of city.  They couldn't believe that they had never seen this particular view before.

By the end of the evening, several photographs had sold, which was pleasing for me and great for the Library.  It will use its proceeds to further programs for children among other efforts.  But best of all, it was a good party.

Many friends and family members made the exhibit possible  by encouraging me, inspiring me, prodding me, and supporting my photography efforts over the past few years. I am deeply grateful to each and everyone of them.  Special thanks, however, go to my patient, incredibly supportive sherpa, Charles, to our wonderful friend Chris, without whose generous gifts of time and knowledge the exhibit would not be as classy as it is, and last, but not least, to fellow photographer, Bill, who took me on my first Belleville photo shoot. 

Mon Dieu!

I was amused to read this article in today's on-line Washington Post.  It seems that jogging in public is totally unsuitable for the serious intellectual.  Or is it that, to be taken seriously as an intellectual, you shouldn't jog in public?  Whatever, it is yet another American export that apparently sets some French teeth on edge. 

And now for round two!

Surely all you Francophiles are aware today that yesterday France took a step closer to having a woman President - and an attractive woman at that.  Ségolène Royal is a politician of a certain age who allows herself to be photographed in a bikini or with a glass of wine in her hand, a woman who promises a kinder, gentler way of making necessary socio-economic reforms and one who, in the last days of the first round of la Présidentielle, appealed directly for the women's vote in a country where all citizens are considered first to be French and only secondarily  white, black, brown, male, female, socialist, Green, far right, center right, communist or whatever. 

The campaigns of the twelve candidates for the first round of the La Présidentielle have engaged our attention daily since we arrived in Paris.  We have followed the polls and read numerous articles in the French press about various voter strategies as well as stories in the US press about how the French system confounds US political pros (what, no focus groups?).

There was real tension in the first round contest.  Although the polls consistently showed Sarkozy ("Sarko) and Royal ("Ségo") running ahead of all the other candidates for the two run off slots, many feared that the far right, xenophobic Le Pen would be a spoiler, just as he was in the 2001 Présidentielle when a cast of 20 ran in the first round, dividing the vote and allowing M. Le Pen to eliminate the viable socialist candidate from the race.  Since most French had no interest in having Le Pen as their President, the election of Jacques Chirac was assured to the chagrin of many.  Yesterday's results suggest that a significant number voted not with their hearts but with their heads to insure the French the opportunity to choose between two very different visions of the France of the future. 

Another development we watched with interest was the rise of the centrist, Francois Bayrou.  Many thought he had a real chance at squeezing Ségo out of the race, but, although he made a respectfully strong showing, it was not to be.  Nonetheless, many believe that his centrist party is now part of the French political landscape suggesting the end of the right-left dichotomy.

Yesterday evening at 8 o'clock we were being seated at Balzar, one of our favorite left bank bistros, just as the television stations were announcing the election results.  Minutes later, our cell phone rang.  Bill, our friend and landlord, had sent us a text message with the results, so we ate our dinner feeling very au courant.

As we prepared to pay the bill, Charles asked our waiter what he thought about the election results.  This opened up a floodgate.  Unfortunately, monsieur had a strong non-Parisian accent and neither Charles nor I got all of what he said. If I understood the gist of what he was saying, however, he believes that the French have the best social system in the world but that too many people take advantage of the governmental largess to obtain more than they are entitled to.  This results in their being less for everyone.  He also railed about the fact that certain classifications of workers (e.g., those who work for the railroad and the government) get all sorts of benefits during their years of employment then are able to retire at a very young age with very generous benefits and can even make more money after retiring by consulting on the side.  Meanwhile he, who has worked harder and just as long with fewer vacations and benefits, has to continue to slog along until he is 60 and maybe longer if there is not enough money by then to pay his benefits.  He never did tell us whether he planned to vote for Sarko or Ségo. But I can guess.

The final round is scheduled for Sunday May 6. 

Goodbye to Winter

For those of us in the northern hemisphere, tomorrow is the Vernal Equinox, the first day of spring, but you wouldn't have known it was coming from the weather we had a few days ago.  This was the scene last Friday afternoon at a small graveyard off of a country road in western Massachusetts.  Beautiful, but cold and very, very un-springlike.