Playing Catchup- First weeks in Paris

Okay, after a few days of spotty Wifi at the homestead, I'm back up and running on the blog. I'll get to the whole Regalia thing once I've gotten to that point in getting caught up on what I've been up to, since it took me so long to get a blog up, much less running. So, without too much further ado, here we go!

I got into Paris on September 22 and stayed in the Blue Planet Hostel near Gare de Lyon. The hostel was almost adequate for what I needed- that is, a place to stay while I found another place to live. The main advantage of the hostel was the fact that it was so cramped that you had no choice but to meet people. Other than that... you could get a coffee and a couple of cheap croissants for breakfast? So I guess there's that. They kicked you out from 10-3 to clean, the staff wasn't all that friendly, getting hot water took a really long time, Internet was 2 euros for 30 minutes (unless you tried to poach the wireless from the hotel across the street, as we did). A good thing about it was the fact that it was so cramped that you didn't have much choice but to meet people.

Of course, since I got in town around the time that the train strikes were starting, it wasn't too easy to get around, and since I didn't have a place to live yet, I couldn't get a bank account, which meant that getting a Navigo card would have been appropriately stupid. This, in turn, meant that I basically just went to the areas around my hostel, which weren't too terrible I guess?

On one of the early days, I made the trek out to Père Lachaise cemetery. Of course, for anyone who's been to Paris, you probably took the metro to Père Lachaise or were staying in the 20th close enough to get there easily. I... walked. Another point that I'm sure my parents and Amanda would point out is that I was not eating nearly enough- I lost about 20 pounds since I got here through eating less and just walking all over the place, which is great, but when you're eating half a cheap ham and cheese sandwich, a croissant, and a banana for a whole day and doing regular long walks, you might have some issues. Anyway, I made the walk to Père Lachaise and was appropriately exhausted by the time I got there. Still, I wanted to make it to at least one notable grave. And of course, there are many, like Jim Morrison and Oscar Wilde and Edith Piaf, but really? Do I want to see all that after walking for about 45 minutes just to get there, to say nothing of negotiating finding the grave itself? No. No I do not. I most certainly do not. That hill when you get in there is steep after that much walking. Seriously. Go look at a map of Paris. I'll wait. Find Gare de Lyon and then find Père Lachaise. Walking all over that cemetery I did not wish to do. Buuuut I did, because I did have one grave I wanted to find. No, not Morrison or any of that sort. I'm not huge on The Doors, haven't read any Oscar Wilde, and just... no to Edith Piaf.



The grave! Also, hooray for the respectful solemnity of exclamation marks!



So what grave was worth going- no, screw the leadup. I went to Gay-Lussac's grave. He was the only hard science person I could find on the map that I recognized. So hooray for gas laws. And hooray for his grave!

 

For the non French speakers, the tombstone says: "Joseph Gay-Lussac, Member of the Academy of the Sciences and all the learned societies of Europe, Grand Officer of the Legion of Honor, Former Peer of France. Born at St. Leonard (Haute Vienne) 6 December 1778. Died in Paris 9 May 1850." All you really need to know? V1/T1=V2/T2. Also 42.

So after that I went back to the hostel. Oh! You want to see the wonderful view of Paris I had from my hostel? You do?

Oh, you don't?

Well too bad, because it's happening just happened (sorry, still figuring out the image insert mechanics here) anyway. (Has Rob become drunk with blogging power? Quite possibly. Perhaps he'll be cussing a swear or two later!)

Isn't that scenic? I mean, there's laundry and everything! Of course, ever the optimist, this was just more reason to get away from the hostel and see the city/find someplace else to live.

Basically, I wandered around the 12th a whole lot during those first few weeks. Made it over to the Bastille area where I got ripped off for a few euros, not that I'm still mildly bitter about that or anything. Not at all. But here are pictures of the general area where the little scammer was (i.e., the open air market near Bastille)!

There was also a lovely exposition on toilets! It was actually really informative and interesting and (most importantly at that point) free.

 

Free expositions=happy Rob at expositions. And here's the title card, which I'll translate below.

Translation time with old Rob! Who hopefully won't screw up and make an ass of himself (oh look he cussed a swear what a rebel)! Also I'm trying to get the photos in at this point and the blogspot image insert dealy is being difficult, so please excuse these early attempts. We'll see if I can't do better soon.

Anyhoo, translation!

Chiotissme! Photo exposition on toilets throughout the world. Presented by the SIAAP, in large format, open air, and free access. September 9- October 20 2010.

Toilets, a mirror of man

The 46 photographs presented (taken by 42 photographers in 31 countries!) accentuate the stakes represented by W.C.'s around the world. Why make gold toilets (in Hong Kong)? Why do the Taiwanese go in such large numbers to the Marton restaurant? Why did Andy Warhol have Eve Arnold photograph him seated on toilets? Toilets offer us something trivial and profoundly human, like this man photographed by Chris Maluszynski who waves an American flag the eve of Barack Obama's inauguration, like these floating toilets from Djakarta or these young Chechnians who play around the toilets of their refugee camp.

Toilet photography isn't a recent genre. Fifty years ago, Willy Ronis stopped before the Metro toilet lady, Robert Doisneau from his side had fun with these guys of Les Halles relieving themselves from the crowd of the belly of Paris.

Images of the past. Projects of the future on the other hand that these slabs of toilets produced by an African village that will well render services to its surroundings, or these toilets installed every 20 meters on a construction site in South Africa. Toilets (and the photographers) don't stop telling us something about ourselves.

Okay, that's a good start. I don't want to have too much more of a wall of text, since I'm actually getting to a point where I can start bringing in other people. So! Onward and upward!

And here are pictures of the grave!