Club Med Gym

My gym in Paris is the Club Med Gym.

I've been a member since the very beginning of our lives in Paris -- 2002. I used to go to the gym on rue St. Honore. When we lived on rue de Seine, it was the closest location. I would walk up rue de Seine, pass the statue of Voltaire, go through the little doorway in the stone next to the Institute de France, cross the Pont des Arts, cross the street, go through the Cour Carre of the Louvre, then cross rue de Rivoli. I loved the walk more than the gym.

The gym was in the basement, no windows. It was filled with flagrantly gay men wearing next to nothing. They did more talking and parading than working out.

When we moved, I missed the walk to this gym but not the gym itself.

Now, my gym is the Club Med Gym, rue de Rennes. The walk is not spectacular. Up rue de Fleurus to rue de Rennes. It takes about the same amount of time as the old walk, about 10 minutes. My warm up.

The gym itself is better. Most of it is on the ground floor of a building, and the ceiling is glass in part of it, so it feels a little bit less claustrophobic. There are plenty of women of all ages at this location. They take the classes. Popular classes are stretching, and something called "Culture Physique". I have no idea what it is, but about 40 women take every class. They all look good too, so maybe I should try it.

The gym was remodeled last year. It was closed completely during the remodeling. When it was finished, I realized that all they did was move the equipment around. It took two weeks. Everything else was the same. And, I liked the layout better the old way.

Gyms in France are not big like they are in the US. There are lots of treadmills and elliptical trainers and bikes, like the US, but the weight machines are limited and difficult to figure out. There is one of each thing.

The men do an unusual thing. They seem to try to "hog" two pieces of equipment at one time, while using neither. Here's how it works: the man in question is sitting on one machine, reading a book. He doesn't move for a long time. The machine next to him has a water bottle and a cell phone on it. They are his. If you want to use the machine with his "stuff" on it, he will claim he's using it. If you stare at him while he's sitting and reading, he won't look up or notice you at all. I have no idea what the term, "working in" is in French or if it even exists.

So, the devilish one, me, just pretends not to notice any of this. I've started moving the cell phone, water, towel, or whatever is on the other machine. This gets an immediate response from "the reader", who claims that he's using THAT machine. Then, we have to go through the whole discussion of which machine is he really using -- the one that's really a library or the one that's really his locker. Eventually, I win. I'm sure I'm getting a reputation at the Club Med Gym.

Public Transportation

I've blogged about public transportation in Paris a few times. Many of the posts have been about strikes. I rely on public transportation to get around town. Walking is possible to a certain extent due to distances and I'm afraid to ride a bicycle on the city streets.

Most of the time, I get from point A to point B on time and with no problems. I almost take it for granted.

Yesterday, a bright, warm sunny day, I jumped on the 82 bus to go to Ecole Militaire to meet a friend. The bus was stopped. I was just swiping my Navigo card when a big bang along with a sudden jolt almost knocked me down. The driver said something to me, pointing at his dashboard, but I couldn't understand what he said. I assumed he was telling me that it wasn't him. So, I sat down.

Several seconds later, he made an announcement that everyone must get off the bus. Complaining and mumbling, this is not a rare occurrence on the bus, but still we are not happy. What's happening?

We all got off and then realized that a car had rear-ended the bus. There were three police cars already on the scene and the back of the bus had enough damage to send it out of service.

The bus pulled away, the police took the car and the driver around the corner so that the traffic jam (honking, waving, screaming) could disperse.

We all stood on the sidewalk, waiting for the next bus to arrive. No one checked to see if anyone was injured, no one took down names, we were just left at the scene to fend for ourselves.

If I had rear-ended a bus full of people in the US, I would have faced litigation until the end of my life. Every person on the bus would claim some injury. In France, no one even checked. I guess since everyone has medical care in France, if they are injured they can go to the doctor and get it taken care of, it's no one's fault and the system will take care of it. It's the same if you slip on something in the grocery store I think. And, they leave plenty of slippery things, boxes and other obstacles on the floor most of the time.

The Newspapers Are On Strike

Don't they know we can read the internet? The people who print the newspapers in France have been on strike for two days. Not the people who gather and write the news but the people who MAKE the newspaper. So, we can still get all the news we want, just not in the normal printed form.

I love reading a newspaper. It's part of my family tradition to read at least one (maybe two or three if there's time) daily newspaper(s). It is enjoyable to hold the paper, see the ads, read the editorials.

I don't think I'm in the majority though. Today people can get their news on the radio, on the TV, on their phone, on their computers. I don't know if these people who are on strike right now have thought this through. Maybe we don't really need them. Having a daily newspaper is a "nice to have" since all we really want is to know what's going on.

Normally here in France a strike lasts for one day, but it's already been two. If they're on strike for much longer, they might as well start looking for another profession, we don't really need them.

So, whatever grievance they have, they should weigh the potential for unemployment on a long-term basis.

Strikes in France are usually for:

Continuing to be able to retire at 60 years old or after 40 years of service
Continuing to be able to work 35 hours and be paid with time off if they work above this number of hours.
Keeping other benefits including vacation time.

In my opinion, they can't have it both ways. They can't do a job that isn't critical and expect to hold everyone hostage to give them more "stuff". If doctors went on strike or even policemen, we'd be in trouble, we need them. But newspaper printers? Guys, get back to work and deliver my paper on time for a change.

I actually got to use "C'est Moi" yesterday

I read somewhere that there is a method for adding words to the vocabulary. I think it's basically the same principle as creating a habit. You have to do it, use it, think about it with regularity and then it will "stick" in your brain.

It gets harder with age, too. When I was young, I only had to read it or think about it for a second and it was stored in my brain for later recall. Maybe it's because I've got so much stuff floating around up there -- french words, English words, schedules of what's open when, what's where, phone numbers, to do lists. The brain is a wonderful thing.

I blogged recently about the phrase, "C'est moi". It seems that it is used idiomatically to mean, "you're welcome". It's real meaning is, "It's me". Unless you're identifying yourself in a picture, the term usually involves a confession. I did it, it was me, etc. So, even in English this is a phrase that I rarely use.

But, the phrase, "C'est moi" keeps popping up in my daily life here in Paris, so it's been on my mind.

Yesterday afternoon, I was tearing back and forth between the Orange store and our apartment. I was trying to buy an iPHONE (eePHONE in French) but I didn't have all the proper documentation. To buy an iPHONE here I needed my passport, a RIB (bank paperwork so they can deduct the monthly charges directly from our account), a debit card for the same account, a credit card to pay for the phone, my LiveBox password and serial number, my "fixed" phone number so they could access my account, and my existing cell phone. In the US, you walk into a store, tell them what you want, they get it, turn it on and you pay for it. In France, it's the better part of an afternoon, even if I'd brought the proper stuff in the first place.

I was returning to the store, laden with all the documentation to continue the purchase of the phone. I'm sure that the salesman at the store didn't think I'd return after he gave me the list of things to bring back with me. But, I'd thought about this purchase for a long time and I was determined to complete the transaction. I was walking fast through the streets, hoping to beat some of the after work traffic in the store.

The afternoon rush hour, 5 to 7 PM also seems to be the time that all the really old people in Paris venture out of their apartments to run their errands. I'm sure there's a reason for this, or maybe it's just habit. They all come out at about this time, Monday through Saturday (Sunday everything is closed) dressed and coiffed, ready to buy their bananas and yogurt. Canes clacking on the sidewalk, stockings sagging, out they all come.

Streets are narrow and a small person who is walking slowly with a cane in one hand and a panier in the other takes up the whole sidewalk. It's rude and a bit dangerous for them if you to push past them.

But I was in a hurry to get my iPHONE. A woman with a cane stepped out of her building and started walking at a snail's pace right in front of me. Cars were on both sides of the street making it impossible to me to bypass her in the street. I walked along for at least 20 seconds before I had to make my move. I approached her from the back and when I got next to her, I twisted sideways to pass. She noticed this and sweetly said to me, "Excusez-moi". I felt terrible! She knew I couldn't pass and that she was going slowly. "She knows she's old, she knows I'm in a hurry", I thought. She also knows that I've been rude. What can I do? Evoke my new phrase, of course!

"C'est moi, Madame", just came right out of my mouth without even thinking. Used properly, too.

Paris and The Volcano

I love Paris. I am very sad every time I leave. I don't even want to go on a vacation to another part of France.

Now we have a volcano spewing volcanic ash, steam and lava into the atmosphere. It's all happening in Iceland but it's messing with all of us.

Even if I wanted to go back to the US, I can't right now -- no flights are taking off in most of Europe. I pity the poor American schoolchildren who are on holiday here and who are stuck, without money. I pity the families that are separated -- parents in one place, children in another or a husband and wife separated after a business trip.

But, I'm happy. I'm not going anywhere. The CNN report says that the last time this volcano erupted, in 1821, it continued to erupt for two years. Does that mean no Trans-Atlantic travel for two years? Or does it mean having to take a train to another city to get on a plane?

I have concerns. First, my US mail is sent to Paris every two weeks via UPS. It gets on a plane on Friday and arrives at my doorstep by Monday at 10:30. It works really well. If the UPS planes can't land in Paris, what will they do? I've contacted UPS and am waiting for a response. In a worst-case scenario, I'll have to have someone in the US scan all my important mail (it's not that much) and send the scans to me so that I can deal with them. Luckily the volcanic ash hasn't interfered with the internet or I'd be sunk.

By the way, the weather is gorgeous, warm and sunny, no visible cloud of ash, no particles falling from the sky. It makes it makes it kind of hard to believe that there is a problem up there in the sky.

C'est Moi

It should be simple. C'est moi" means, "it's me". But, more and more lately I've heard this phrase used instead of "You're welcome" and other pleasantries. I've had a hard time with "De rien" (it's nothing) even though it's in the dictionary, but, C'est Moi? Everyone, even educated people say it.

So for the next few days, I'll be running around town using "C'est moi" all the time to try to drum it into my head. By the time I get used to it, it won't be the thing to say and I'll have to learn a new "phrase of the instant".

McDonald's, Paris

This post is for all the french people who tell me that obesity and fast food are an American problem, not something that is happening in France.

Having Aidan in Paris for a week has allowed us to see many different sides of Paris. Yesterday we had to take a break from the Jardin de Plantes, as Aidan was hungry. Not much to eat in the garden, so we ventured out and the first thing we saw, right across the street, was McDonald's. Aidan was ecstatic since he doesn't get to go there very often at home in the US.

This McDonald's is not an ordinary one, though, it's enormous. Even though it was about 4:30 PM, not a meal time, it was filled with people, 5 lines stretching from the counter to the front door. This McDonald's is also on two levels. The man in front of us was with a small boy, maybe 7 years old. I wouldn't say he was obese, but he was definitely overweight. They ordered so much food that they needed two large bags for it all. Away they went for their mid-afternoon refreshment. I wonder if kids in the US eat a full meal at McDonald's at 4:30 PM, I have no idea.

Wine and beer are available at french McDonalds. Probably necessary for the parents, this place was a zoo. They also have selections that are not available in the US -- croque McDo, and a variety of cold french-type sandwiches with ham inside.

We ordered Aidan his happy meal. It came with juice and yogurt, kind of french. I guess he could have gotten a soda, but he is five and we didn't offer it. But, he did get the chicken mcNuggets and fries like in the US and a nice toy.

One thing that's similar about McDonald's around the world is that they have nice bathrooms, especially for kids.

This is my second visit to a french McDonald's. The first was on a wintery night in Carpentras when everything else was closed. I guess McDonald's fills a demand in France, but let's hope they don't end up on every corner.

Mother Nature

or... an earthquake in California.

Did your mother ever use the term "mother nature"? Ours did. I don't really know what it means but I like the idea of it, except when there's malevolence involved. But I guess we have to take "her" both ways.

Last year while we were in Paris, there was a moderate earthquake near Manhattan Beach. We assumed that there was no damage.

Months later, after our return, Terry opened a kitchen cupboard to be greeted with falling shards of glass from above -- our champagne glasses! They'd somehow moved forward toward the doors of the cupboard and when he opened them, the glasses flew out and showered him with glass. We lost four and I had to rescue him from a big pile of broken glass. Remember, it's California and we're always walking around barefoot.

With the recent earthquake in Haiti, followed by Chile, I decided to pay attention to my heirlooms and valued glass pieces. I bought padded cases for everything and spent weeks putting everything into the cases and stacking them in ways that even in a large quake, they'd be safe. I reviewed my plans up until the day we left to make sure that I'd keep my "stuff" safe.

Now there's been an earthquake in Mexico, close enough and strong enough that it could be felt in Manhattan Beach.

Have my goodies survived? I think they have. Was I smart to take care of them -- yes. Some of my things were my grandmother's -- they are dear to me and reminders of an era long-gone. I don't use them much, but they are still great to have and will be great to pass along. They are not things that can be given away or purchased from someone else. They are worth preserving, if possible from Mother Nature. (I use capitals because I respect her).

Finding A Toilet In Paris

The first few years we were here in Paris, I carefully timed my water drinking to avoid needing a toilet while out and about. The possibility of dehydration far outweighed the difficulties of finding and using a public toilet.

Toilets here are scarce and dirty. They are often down a perilous, dark flight of stairs inside a brasserie. If you're in an unfamiliar neighborhood, you have to go inside and ask where the toilets are located since they're never clearly marked. That's always a little embarrassing.

Once I was with a friend from the US who needed the toilet and we went downstairs together only to find that the urinal was in the hallway leading to the toilet, so we had to pass within centimeters of several men as they were peeing. As we walked by, I thought to myself, "where should I look, don't make eye contact, but don't look down..." We just kept walking. I had planned to wait outside the toilet for her but changed that plan since I would have had to stand right next to these men.

We don't tour around Paris that much any more unless we have visitors. We've seen most Parisian monuments several times. If we go to a museum we are usually OK since they have toilets. If it's a busy day, the women line up to get in, but that's another blog post.

Yesterday guests arrived from the US including our grandson who is 5 years old. Pushing jet lag back for a few hours, we decided to get outside. It was a beautiful day, sunny, breezy, almost warm. We had a couple of errands to run before catching the cruise boat on the Seine.

While we were walking on a crowded street, he announced that he had to go to the bathroom. We quickly clarified "which one" did he have to do. The inevitable answer came back to us. Trying to act like this wasn't an emergency, we scanned the neighborhood. One very busy and old cafe. Probably not a good bet for a five-year old. But, across the street there was a small, nice looking hotel.

We set the plan. Terry would go in with them and distract the person, asking questions about the rooms, price, etc. Then, he would, almost as an afterthought, ask about using their toilet. The first part was completed but when Terry asked about the bathroom, the woman replied, "it's complicated". Not as complicated as a five year old needing a toilet in central Paris. Finally, she gave in and showed the them bathroom.

Minutes later, our afternoon was back on track, enjoying the late afternoon sunshine.

Grocery Fright

Guests are arriving for a week early Tuesday morning. So, I have a list of things to do to insure that they are comfortable and happy.

Grocery shopping is high on the list. This morning (Saturday) I decided that I'd better order the bulk of my groceries on-line for delivery on Monday evening. I finished the ordering process on the grocery store website and moved to the payment/delivery section.

It immediately came up that I would not be able to get a delivery until late on Tuesday, a day later than I needed. I looked and there were no deliveries available on Monday.
Of course, it's Easter Monday in France.

In the US, Good Friday is the holiday. In France, it's Easter Monday. Many people work but (obviously) not all.

How can I forget this small detail of French life, I've been discussing this for years.

So, I grabbed my coat, umbrella, scarf, etc. (it was pouring rain) and ventured to a large store. It wasn't too crowded, considering it was Easter Saturday, mid-morning. I made my way through the store and filled up my cart. Realizing that I'd have to carry (drag) it all home, I tried to be realistic, but I had quite a load. As I got to the front of the line, the cashier asked if I wanted a delivery. Well, yes, of course. It is free if you buy enough, and I'd certainly achieved the level needed. I signed the form, grabbed the few extremely perishable things and sprinted home in the rain.

As planned, the delivery man arrived. All is well in our household. We will survive until after the Easter Monday holiday.