Wheely Cool

Not mine

In terms of commenting on the remarkable bicycle phenomenon here, I think I have been able to hold out longer than most people when first arriving in the Netherlands. I didn't want to sound trite - Amsterdam, and Holland as a whole, is way more than red lights and bikes.

But with an estimated 700,000 bikes in this city of about 740,000 people, to not say anything about it would be a little strange. The stats say Amsterdam citizens use their "fiets" even more than their car - using them .87 times per day, compared to .84 times per day where they use the four-wheeled mode of transportation. Environmentally-speaking, this is no small fiets.

I'll save the red-light stuff for later - maybe never - and just speak of the spokes. (The Dutch even have an expression that marries the two: "Op een oude fiets moet je leren" - "You need to learn on an old bike." And trust me, there are all kinds of old bikes available in the red light district, with many enthusiastic-looking groups of young, er, cyclists. But I digress.

Biking here is the preferred mode of transport - particularly in Amsterdam, with its narrow streets not suited for large amounts of vehicle traffic. And cyclists come first - as far as I can tell, it's bikes, then scooters, then cars, then pedestrians in the traffic pecking order.

And a word to the wise for my Western Canadian friends who are used to stepping off the sidewalk and having the world screech to a halt for you - doing so here, as in most international cities, will result in you getting brained by a truck's mirror or run over by a scooter.

A few more observations from 3 weeks in this wet, windy, and wheeled city:

• Bikes are incredibly silent, and bells are used sparingly. You need to keep your head up at all times - getting off the tram, crossing the street (including pedestrian-only streets), and jogging anywhere.

• Getting almost run over is not solely the domain of young punks. You are as likely to lose your toes or your nose to a cellphone-wielding supermodel as you are a 65-year-old grandmother.

• One of the more enjoyable activities? Watching tourists (I say so without derision - give me a few more weeks for that) on their rental bikes for the first time. Their expression - "Whee, look at me...yay, biking!" - quickly turns into shock, followed by hardened, street-wise savvy after the first tram turns the corner and almost takes off their front wheel along with their face. This is good - it builds character.

• Once the bars clear out in this almost taxi-less city, packs of people anywhere from 18-45 head home a little wobbly. Pedal Alcohol Syndrome, call it. They are still pretty adept at avoiding sober pedestrians though, so not to worry.

• Bike theft is apparently rampant here - so much so that a local friend tells me it has come full circle over the years; he's had 4 bikes stolen, including one the first day that it saw pavement. But, resolute and practical as most Dutchmen (and women) are, he has resigned himself to this and has bought two or three bikes of his own - even ordering a style of bike once - from, er, non-bike owners.

• With so many thousands of bikes on the road all the time, some people choose to customize them as much as an L.A. gang member tricks out his car. I should buy the rights to air "Pimp My Fiets". (More examples/photos hopefully on a future post).

• Singing cyclists are a very pleasant thing to see and to hear. Again, there is no age or race to classify the people in this group - a chubby African guy one morning, belting out a Dutch pop song; and a slender blonde female university student the next, humming pleasantly while biking past at Mach 3. And on my own rental the other day, apartment-hunting along the waterfront, I found it impossible to not quietly throw out a few lyrics of my own (I forget what song - something from Bichael Jackson? Bike and the Mechanics? Feel free to add your own suggestions in the comments field below). I'm not sure where the biking-breeds-singing link stems from, but it's real.

Days Like These

There are absolutely some travel days where you're better off hiding under the covers and starting again the next day.

And rather than merely present the good/interesting days all the time, perhaps it's more realistic to occasionally blog about the "other" days as well.

The "there will be days like this" axiom holds true even when you're at home, but there are frustrations and challenges on the road that make the bad days even more pronounced.

To balance it out, I suppose it can also be said that the ways to remove the stink of such days are more numerous and more enjoyable on the road too. So, allright October 20th, we'll call it a draw. But I don't need to see days like you again for a while.

En voyageant, everything is heightened - the good times can be really good, and the bad days can make you want to book the next flight home to mommy. (I didn't do the latter, I should add).

Rather than ramble on with a list of actually frustrations though, I will proffer some handy travel tips instead:

• When you are leaving your home country, it is best to notify your bank. If you don't and they see a number of foreign withdrawals from your account, they may freeze it. The bank however, doesn't tell you this. And this, oddly enough, leaves you unable to withdraw money and unable to do online banking. You simply get an error message stating "It looks like you're having trouble." Yes, no freaking kidding I'm having trouble. You just froze my account.

• When calling (more on that in a moment) your bank to get it sorted out, it helps to find a good customer service representative. This is luck of the draw, of course, but to have one scold you, actually scold you, for not having the foresight to notify them ahead of time that you are leaving, is really not helpful. (Who actually does the call-the-bank-before-leaving thing anyway? Who's even heard of this? You're lying).

• Before settling into a neighborhood, try to locate local call shops ("belcenters" in Holland) that you can use if you need to access a landline. And then do not use them. At least not if you need to try to dial a 1-800 number. I may as well have been in the jungles of Borneo, sending smoke signals, to get through to my bank. The call shops don't allow calls to 1-800 numbers in North America. This I found out after going to about 4 of them in a 20-block radius.

• What's that you say? Just use or get a cell phone? Ideally, your phone is equipped with GSM that works everywhere in the world pretty much, and it allows international dialling. If you have a CDMA phone, a slowly dying North American standard, you cannot use it in Europe. I knew this going in - so I figured, "I will buy a prepaid phone when I get to my country of choice, and simply swap out the SIM card when I get to another country." The latter part of this works just fine. Except when your SIM card provider does not allow you to call 1-800 numbers. (As an aside, the prepaid rates are fairly exorbitant, so only buy a prepaid phone if you think you really need it).

• Before you go, enlist a trusted relative (thanks sis) or friend back home who can get things done on your behalf if you are really stuck, and then call them. A conference call patched through them to the right agency/bank really helps.

• Don't do laundry, groceries, or attempt anything at all really when one of your days begins with wandering the streets for 2-3 hours looking for an ATM that will take your card or a call center to take your call. You will lose socks, buy the wrong food, and nearly break your toe on a wayward cobblestone. Just sit down at a local cafe or find the local stress-relieving method of choice - Amsterdam has abundant choices - and wake up tomorrow. My personal statisitics for travelling indicate that there are 23 great days for every one like this.

Short on Sports

Post-goal celebrations here are waaaay different

Before embarking on this extended trip, I was already curious as to how my brain would react without my usual cultural touchstones to rely upon.

There would be no Daily Show (although the Internet has helped out here), no "24" most likely, no So You Think You Can... ok, maybe I shouldn't make that one public. In general, there would be little to no TV at all, and what there was would be in a language that I can understand, but not at quick conversational speed.

There would also be a whole different ballgame in terms of sports. No golf, no ice hockey, no basketball, no football - at least in terms of the leagues I grew up following. And I can safely say this is the only area that I miss from a cultural standpoint.

Soccer - plain "football" in these parts, although using the term "soccer" does not raise eyebrows nor ire in Holland - is absolutely king here in Europe. It seems to even match or exceed Canadians' love of hockey, which is no small feat.

So I've traded Favre for Fabregas, Sidney for Cisse, and LeBron for le foot.

And having attended my first ever European soccer match Saturday, October 24th, I can say that so far my trades have been one-sided, and not in my favor.

The rain was coming down in a fine mist and the wind was gusting, but about 45,000 raucous fans were not daunted. Some great soccer songs were being belted out every few minutes, each one walking a very fine line between love/passion and malevolence/anger. I'm sure the possibility of violence breaking out at any second is what keeps most fans awake.

It was Feyenoord - the Rotterdam club - versus VVV-Venlo (no idea what the 3 V's mean, although after about the 39th minute, it could have been changed to ZZZ) from south Holland. After a 1-0 Feyenoord win, and maybe, maybe 2 shots on net after 90 minutes, it was time to head home. To be fair, my hosts told me it was in fact one of the worst games they've seen. But wow, that was some kind of boring.*

In search of a fix I scoured the Internet, which revealed a few spots in Amsterdam that broadcast NFL games on Sundays.

Fast forward 30 minutes later, and I'm sitting next to Rob the software salesman from Boston, eating a kangaroo burger in Coco's Outback, an Aussie bar. I went all out and ordered it "Oz" style - with a fried egg, a slice of cheese, and a beetroot.

To recap - a bar, in the Netherlands, run by Aussies, broadcasting American football, while being served by a Hungarian server. With a side of French fries, no less. It is truly enjoyable and it doesn't happen everywhere, that's for sure.

*Disclaimer: I realize there is a complete parallel here; the European visitor to North America would likely be bored stiff watching golf with its snail's pace, American football with all its stoppages, etc. So apologies to my European friends reading this - feel free to equally insult the North American sporting landscape.

P.S. The kangaroo burger? Tastes like chicken.

Work It

While jet-setting (or train-setting) the globe, dating women with foreign names, and eating dessert for breakfast all have undeniable charm, there is a rather unfortunate necessity that is rearing its head of late - work. Or rather, the need for money to gain access to more of the above, which usually involves work.

The self-actualization gurus often advise us to build on our strengths, and not spend so much time trying to shore up our weaknesses. So with 3 languages under my belt and English being the best of them (and giving up on the idea that I'll ever be remotely useful with a power drill or drywall), I am giving translation services a shot.

The Dutch are quite possibly the most skilled non-native English speakers you'll come across. It still amazes me in stores and restaurants just how effortless their English is, particularly those young'uns under 30, who have not only received formal education in the language since the age of 10-11 years old (roughly 3 hours per week), but who have also been raised under a global media culture that is largely English.

Despite this, however, their business materials and websites are still lacking in completely proper English, including humor that is cultural and simply doesn't translate well. Understandable of course (I imagine Bob and Doug Mackenzie or Seinfeld probably wouldn't make a lot of sense here either) - no matter how much education or exposure one gets, if it's not your native language you won't write it perfectly - but it does create an opportunity for, ahem, skilled wordsmiths.

So via a Dutch-Calgary connection, I met with the owner of MagStream, a very interesting company based in the Netherlands. They create and power online publications - newsletters, brochures, magazines. *(Note - if you go to their website prior to Nov.1 or so, the updated "clean" version may not be up yet... lest you mock my editing skills).

They are housed in a large, open-concept space in The Hague (Den Haag here in the native lexicon). Stepping into the building - a large converted tobacco factory called Caballero Fabriek - is a little like stepping into the future. If you've ever walked into an Apple store, the feeling is somewhat similar (although you feel less broke after walking out).

Inside the MagStream office

The modern .com office, complete with obligatory foosball table

The offices of design firm/gallery "Trapped in Suburbia"

The central lunch area, shared by all companies in Caballero Fabriek

The overall building houses over 50 companies, largely design, web, and creative small businesses. Some of the tenants refer to it as the Dutch "Silicon Valley".

Despite being the only dork who brought a camera to work... a workday spent speaking with the owner, putting my marketing and English skills to work and providing some suggestions and an overall website clean-up all meant for (cue angelic sound of "ahhh") billing in Euros.

After being, to put it delicately, bent over by various overpriced taxis, train rides, hotels, and bars, it is very nice to make even a small entry in the positive side of ledger. I will expand upon just how expensive Europe is in a future entry. Not news to many of you, I'm sure - but there is still sticker shock even when you are expecting it.

Another interesting and very appealing aspect to Dutch society - when taking the train home at the end of the day, the businesswoman across from me was enjoying a beer. Not from a paper bag either - complete with small plastic glass and mini-table bolted just below the window. This may not raise eyebrows on this side of the pond, I realize. But a capital idea that North American society needs to adopt.

Love handles, Actually

Today marks the one-month anniversary of my departure from Calgary, in search of a new adventure, a new beginning, and ultimately a new home. I am also in search of a new gym.

A month of living (quite happily, I hasten to add) on restaurant food and occasional home-cooking with various relatives, interspersed with about 4 half-baked workouts and approximately 3 vegetables, has taken its toll. As I type the big words, I can feel the love handles moving ever so slightly.

New York started out the adipose assault. With the classic American truck stops followed by all of NYC's assortment of restaurant and roadside choices, the game was over early in the first period. I knew it was trouble at our first roadside stop, when the vending machine happily ate my dollar, I punched D3, and the pizza-flavored Combos slid from their coiled prison down to the tray below.

I find the above "Real Cheese" claim highly dubious.

From that point on, with places like Stanton Social House and Bar Carrera (the latter - a wine/tapas bar - was an accident - we were starving after walking around for a hours looking for a place that had room), there was no looking back. Both spots were really cool and the food was excellent. Both were lively, filled with good music and good-looking people. Carrera was really affordable as well.

Paris, as anyone knows, is made for eating. Although it helps to have a local show you around as they do have a number of places that cater to tourists and are not necessarily the best quality.

Where the city catches you is in the small patisseries and boulangeries on every corner (mentioned in an earlier post). One of the deadliest was literally right next door to my apartment, where I was defenceless against the Viennoiserie aux Amandes (or in English, "crack"). An almond-paste-filled Danish, essentially. And having one of these, sometimes two, per day is simultaneously totally recommended and totally not recommended.

Metro stations advertising full-on, 4-day exhibitions devoted to chocolate

And here in Amsterdam, cheese and bread and cheese are staples of the diet. With occasional extra cheese.

Of course, virtually every meal is accompanied by wine in Paris (cheap and very good quality bottles can be had for 4-8 Euros), and beer in Holland (A glass of Amstel Bock, a new favorite, can be had for 2.50 Euros). I suspect this is not helping either.

The good news? I joined a gym yesterday here in Amsterdam just three minutes from home - Your Fitness Centre

The better news? Here at my local Coffee & Company, three feet away, behind the glass, I see My Chocolate Brownie.

Parisian Life Part Trois

Back after the aforementioned 3-day retreat to the Auvergne region and La Platriere, I found myself delaying my trip to Holland by a few days. This was mostly forced, as the Internet connection was severed by French workers digging up cable, thus making the much-needed Amsterdam train booking impossible for a few days. And I was informed by my hosts that this type of "work" - break it and then repair it slowly - is a pretty common ploy among the French blue-collar crowd.

But Paris has become increasingly tough to leave at any rate - I'm guessing the Eiffel Tower could double as the world's largest magnet.

Staying for 2 nights at the Best Western Mercedes (not nearly as tacky as it sounds - it was in a very French-ish building and came complete with the authentic shoebox-sized elevator), I spent most of the weekend in Parc Monceau and Montmartre, with a short time spent on the Champs Elysees.

Parc Monceau is in a much less touristy part of town - a solid 10-minute walk to the Champs Elysees. Here you'll see tons of locals, of all ages and with or without kids, just lounging in the grass or on the many benches places throughout. It also serves as a good example of another of Paris' great features - despite non-stop hustle and plenty of concrete, there is always a bench, a chair, or a square of grass to call your own.

Parc Monceau, above and below

The Champs Elysees is pretty much a massive collection of retail shops and a few restaurants, and really is only worthwhile for the die-hard tourist.

The quintessentially French village of Montmartre, despite being overrun with tourists, is a much more interesting place to spend the afternoon. We were there on a Sunday afternoon, and stopped by huge pots of hearty foods, artists doing potraits (some of them amazing, some less so) of passerby, and cafes and restaurants.

Chorizo sausage, potatoes, and other stuff - 5 Euros gets you a pretty good portion

I never sausage a dish as this

We saw people dancing in the street, Picasso's home, heard a jazz band with the world's oldest drummer, and witnessed a crazy lady belting out tunes, complete with a mechanical music box and a mechanical monkey.

The only drummer who keeps the beat with his pacemaker

If you can withstand the hordes (Sunday - the day of the above photos - is apparently the busiest) and make the climb up towards Sacre-Coeur, Montmartre is a must-see.

Parisian Life Part Deux

A few Tuesday nights ago it was off for a taste of Parisian nightlife. Now, many of the guidebooks for Paris talk about the odd contrast between the bustling cafe "joie de vivre" and its relatively stale late-night bar scene. And I can confirm that this is pretty much spot on. Ask any of your cafe neighbors what there is to do or what places are worth checking out post-dinner, and they are hard-pressed to come up with an answer.

Undaunted, and taking my own advice, I returned to a favorite place from a previous visit to Buddha Bar.

With 12 locations around the globe in places like London, Dubai, and New York, Buddha Bar is a marketing phenomenon as much as it is a really cool restaurant and lounge. Visitors can buy t-shirts and other branded gear at the front entrance, and their musical collection now sits at over 10 CDs. It's all a variation on the same theme - chillout/lounge music that speaks of exotic locations and hushed conversations.

Stepping into Buddha Bar Paris at about midnight on a Tuesday, one of those conversations may well have included the not-so-hushed phrase "29 Euros for 2 drinks?!?" Yes, it's that absurd - $45 Canadian dollars for a glass of red wine and a Ketel One vodka and lime. It's a neat marketing ploy actually - you need to drink more to ease the pain of what you are spending. It also explains the high degree of well-dressed sugar daddies and their much younger companions sprinkled around the place.

The setting and the music are tough to beat though, so you tell yourself that so long as you don't go every night (or every month), it's totally worth it. And it is. This is an absolutely cool place - perfect music (selon moi), perfect lighting, and a large restaurant below ringed by a lounge up top, with all kinds of dark corners to carry on those hushed conversations.

I can recall a dozen or so times in my travels throughout the years where I've suppressed the practical, rational money-saver in me with a full-throated "When am I going to be here again?"

And it has never failed me - the memories are almost always worth the gouging. And on those occasions when I've let frugality win the day, I've always regretted it afterwards (sitting in the nosebleeds at a Phoenix Suns game still smarts).

Plugged in - Museum Photos

Sitting now in Rotterdam, Netherlands with (finally) a solid Internet connection, after close to 5 days of non-existent or spotty coverage.

There's no getting away from the dependence on the Internet these days - from train tickets to topping up mobile phone minutes to basic blogging, it is sadly pretty vital.

But then there are things like Skype that allow us to connect to parents, grandparents, friends (meeting a great friend's newborn daughter in L.A. while I sit in Montreal or Paris - very cool); booking travel, electronic boarding passes, and so on that make it all quite worthwhile. (P.S. e-mail me if you want to connect via Skype).

Onto some more catch-up. First, some more photos from last week's Musee D'Orsay visit, with a reminder to click on the pictures if you want a closer look.

"Girl Taking a Bath" perhaps. How times have changed; doing a Google search today using the same words yields an entirely different and less artistic result

My personal favorite - lots going on in this painting

You can expect a similar scene when trying to board a train at Gare du Nord

"Early Player" or, for hockey fans, "Ron Duguay" - see below for similar image

From the 1980's collection at "Musee d'Hockey". His chest and stomach topiary is exquisite, non?

(*Note - I'm not sure what cultural karmic wrath I'm incurring by including some of the most masterful art work of our time alongside Ron Duguay posters, but I imagine it won't be pretty.)

One of the "Grand Salles"

This clock is likely 30-35 feet tall - it rests on a bank of windows at one end of Musee D'Orsay, and the photo doesn't do it justice. Amazing stuff.

Museum Day, Take Two

Well, Monday's day of culture was a total write-off - as mentioned earlier, the Musee D'Orsay was closed (this Interweb thing really could have been a time-saver, had I checked first). Then, my arrival at 6:00pm at the Centre Pompidou was met by police tape. And not the artistic kind - very unfortunately, someone decided to take their own life from the roof of the building late that afternoon and it was of course closed for the day.

Resetting things for Tuesday, the Musee D'Orsay was back on the agenda. Perfect timing, actually, as it was the first full day of rain since my arrival in Paris.

One note for eventual travellers to Paris: the Louvre is closed on Tuesdays, which may account for the massive line-up to get into Musee D'Orsay. We waited close to 45 minutes to get in - not bad during peak season, but there are probably better days of the week to choose in order to take in the impressionist art at D'Orsay.

Once inside, the museum left, well, quite the impression.

It is just fantastic to see what talented people can do - even if you're not a typical art fan, this place will not disappoint.

I will let the photos of the amazing art speak for themselves (mostly - I may interrupt at some point). More photos will appear shortly on a new post as well. Be sure to click on each photo to view a larger version.

Poor Timmy was often the subject of locker room ridicule

I call this one "Annoying Man Who Stood Like That For 5 Minutes"

Got the runs

...in that I needed to.

Saturday was another really good one - this time directly to the Eiffel Tower. Running west on the pedestrian path alongside the Seine, first past Notre Dame cathedral again, the tower itself only appears in glimpses between buildings occasionally - until it appears consistently as a great motivator to keep running.

37 minutes is how long it took from the apartment in Le Marais, accompanied by the soundtrack of "I'm Running" by Misstress Barbara and Sam Roberts, "Sky and Sand" by Paul Kalkbrenner, "Weighty Ghost" by Wintersleep, and "Notion" by Kings of Leon... pretty good company I must say.

It's quite something to run under and around the tower - although we've seen it thousands of times in pictures, it still has a pretty goosebump-inspiring effect.

Today's run was altogether different - same soundtrack, different locale - as I am at La Platriere, a Chambre d'Hote (Bed and Breakfast) in the Auvergne region of France.

A nice place to be writing from

It is about two and a half hours south of Paris via train. The train ride itself is a great way to go - from the modern and yet classic Gare de Lyon, it takes you a pretty high speed through picturesque towns like Nevers (and of course, on the way back, Nevers again...).

The main doorway at La Platriere

The morning was incredible - La Platriere is on a slightly elevated parcel of land, and the valley below was a mix of clouds, just-changing-colour trees and early-morning sunlight. At 8:30am, with the temperature about 14 and humid, I hit the wet street (it rained overnight) and then veered left soon after onto a tractor path.

The view from the "Crow's Nest" bedroom

It's all farmland here, with buildings and huge lots from around the 1700's in some cases. Thinking back even further, I imagined it's largely unchanged from medieval times. As I ran through basically a tunnel of oak trees, I could totally picture turning a corner and being stopped at sword-point by an angry knight on horseback, who, upon recognizing the coat of arms emblazoned on my chest, would say "What doth thou runneth from, Monsieur Nike?"

Blame it on runner's high.

In any event, this is a very nice place to unwind after the hectic pace of NYC and Paris. It is run by a British couple named Andy and Jackie, and they do a great job with home-cooked meals (Beef Bourgignon last night) and a very clean, relaxing set of rooms. I even managed to lie diagonally on a huge bed for the first time since leaving home, just because I could.

Funny - I got the same look from most waiters in Paris

The Crow's Nest bedroom

Parisian Life

Ok, if you'd really like to get in the mood for this next post... head to iTunes Radio, select "International" and then "Chanteurs.org" - it will be fitting music for the trip. This city has is quirks, like anywhere, but it really does get into your heart.

Moi-meme, I am this close to buying a Vespa, a pack of Marlboro Lights, and letting my dog relieve himself without picking up after him.

Now there is normally a negative connotation to any kind of cliche, but in this case all the cliches are authentic and they just work.

• As I write this, an accordion is being played in some other unit in the building, and the sound is wafting through the window. On some days, it's classical music rising up from some window in the courtyard.
• There literally is a fresh fruit stand on almost every corner.

• Ditto for bakery/pastry shops - placed with devastating accuracy so that as soon as the smell of one leaves you, another one picks up the slack.

• Virtually every neighborhood has its own pedestrian-only street, full of cafes, restaurants, butchers, bakers, and cancer-stick makers (everyone still smokes here). Streets like Rue Daguerre in Montparnasse and Rue Montorgueil near Marais (check out this video and the almost-fake-it's-so-authentic accent of the hostess) are just perfect and a real antidote to the North American big-box store.
• It's not a city stuck in a time-warp however - the aforementioned Velib program and programs like Paris Wi-Fi (a wireless internet connection in every park and green space) are decidedly modern.

There will be a few problems, as with any big city - and it's not all sunshine and croissants, to be sure.

• I'd suggest the noisy buildings - at any given time, you can hear noises from 4-5 units within your building, including the apparent bowling alley upstairs from us - are the biggest hassle.
• If you are a virulent non-smoker (I am not), you might get upset.
• It can be pricey - no getting around this in many ways, though you don't need to eat out every night.
• The serious countenance of the people can be a turn-off, but if you don't focus on it and you maintain your own inner happiness, you'll meet plenty of worthwhile people.

But most of this place makes absolute sense and provides many ways to enjoy day-to-day life, at least from a part-time visitor's perspective.

Getting around Paris

Moi, je fais le Velib.

Yes, it appears that I am becoming a baguette-eating, scarf-wearing, wine-sucking dandy. And yet each of the above has provided me some pretty good street cred - I no longer get the looks from store employees and occasional passerby that reek of contempt, pity and disdain. I'm now down to just disdain. (Although chicks dig the scarf).

Now allow me to introduce you to Velib. I Velibbed for my first time Saturday, and the system was very gentle with me.

Velib - part "velo" (cycle), and I'm guessing part "liberte" (liberty) is Paris' very successful bike-sharing program.

Essentially, at every 300 metres throughout the city a range of sturdy, if unsexy, 3-speed bicycles are locked up and ready for riding. You set up an account, either online or right there at the location you happen to be, in what is a very short two-minute process (unless people are waiting behind you, in which case it will take you 17 minutes).

You punch in the code given to you by the system, your pin, and the slot number of the bike you want, and you are off to the races on Paris' very bike-friendly (no joke) streets.

You can have a 1-day, 7-day, or annual pass. The 1-day pass is only 1 Euro and the 7-day only 5 Euros - all with the first half hour of each "ride" (the time between when you take it and then return it) for free, with a small fee for each half hour after that. Locals and tourists alike use it all the time.

The other best way to get around Paris other than by foot is by Metro. It has to be, in my limited experience, the best subway system in the world. I've rarely waited more than 3 minutes at any stop, and with one or at most two transfers, you can get to anywhere within the city. And it is exceptionally easy to use.

If you're like me and actually get excited by just looking at a metro map and contemplating all the possibilities, you too have a problem.

Now Museum...

Due to weather conditions being ridiculously good - low 20's, mostly sunny or high cloud, I have yet to venture indoors to one of Paris' dozens of museums.

BUT as today it rains, I do have plans to attend Musee D'Orsay, the home of many works by Monet, Degas, Cezanne, Renoir, and a number of others who sound impressive but whom I really don't know a thing about (yet).

**Update** - just returned from a fruitless trip to the Musee D'Orsay - apparently Orsay is the French word for "closed Mondays". Eh bien. Time for a little rest.

And, to top off this cultural smorgasord, in the evening I have a private tour with an employee of this place - le Centre Pompidou at 6:00pm Monday. Le Centre Pompidou is a huge museum of contemporary art, as well as other rare works and photos - including the latest rarity to hit Parisian streets, "Jogger Before 10am".

Maintenant, some weekend photos and activities to catch up on.

Friday was a complete day of wandering, by design (or lack thereof), to an area called Montparnasse. It was an amazing stroll, with lively, bustling streets like Rue Daguerre and Rue des Mouffetards (not to be confused with Rue des Muffintops, which I seem to be walking down further everyday on a steady diet of almond croissants, beer, cheese, and very little exercise).

This area also includes the Cimitiere du Montparnasse.

Now walking through a cemetery where no one personally known to the walker lies in rest may not be one's idea of good holiday times... however the peace and beauty of the place quickly grabs you and it seems perfectly normal to be there once you walk down the various avenues. Yes, avenues - the place is that big.

And it seems that the French do everything very tastefully and artfully, including honoring their dead.

Some of the tombstones/gravesites were amazing, as seen below. At first I was leery about taking photos, but there is actually a guide map on site advising people where to go (Simone de Beauvoir and other writers are buried here).

This one said, in French, "To my friend Jean-Jacques, a bird who flew away too soon" When I go, it would be great to have a tombstone half as cool.

So while I first thought walking through here would be a grave mistake, it turned out to be a very nice experience in the end...

Below some additonal random photos from the day in Montparnasse:

This was one of the few restaurants in the entire city that had gone out of business. Alas, it was in fact, not to be.

Just a very imposing statue in a large intersection in Montparnasse

This was outside a museum, where the current exhibit was devoted to graffiti - this wall and others like it were purposely tagged.

More entries coming soon...