The Jazzy Bahsoun

Life's our oyster and we're gonna suck that bitch down with a champagne chaser.

Behavioral Therapist
MA Developmental Psychology, Columbia
BS Psychobiology/ French, UCLA

Shelfari: Book reviews on your book blog

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by George R.R. Martin

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Saturday, September 09, 2006
The Parisian Chronicles: Part V - Culture from the Cheap Seats
I'm writing this post, part five of the 287 part series of the Parisian Chronicles, in the wake of a week of intense procrastination and French essay writing which I literally completed in the nick of time and right before I debark on a one week Alaskan cruise. (Don't worry, I won't torture you with the Alaskan Chronicles...I think) So before I have to leave in roughly 6 hours to become more in touch with my geriatric self, I thought I'd give to you, the loyal reader (singular) the next installment in the increasingly hifalutin chronicles.

It goes with the territory that we would be exposed to various forms of French culture... and with culture, come field trips. Ever since grade school, I always loved field trips because we got to skip school and we got to go somewhere on the school's dime. Fifteen years later, field trips have lost their pizazz because you usually have to drive yourself and you usually have to write some sort of paper afterwards. But in Paris, I had very few complaints. When you're in Paris, you go places, be it on your own or with a class, despite the 175,000 degree weather (Celsius). One of our first field trips was to the Senate.

The interior of the building was amazing with the most extravagant decorations Liberace couldn't afford, but what was bizarre about the whole trip was this fat cat who kept appearing out of no where in our group, and in my pictures.

This character was lumbering around the Senate bellowing in hackneyed southern English to his personal tour guides, "Is that there some real gold or s'it fool's gold?" When we got to the main senate floor, he insisted on sitting the Senate Chairman's seat (I forget the term in French), and so he did. The guy must've been an oil exec of some sort because his guides seemed to be so appeasing to him and his fat self. I'm sure there was a Hummer parked out front to take him to a McDo after his inflated tour.

Our next field trip to the Musee de Louvre was more an exercise in fancy footwork and nasal tolerance than culture exposure. The tourguide gave us the Speed Racer digest of a couple wings of the Louvre. With so many people and so much B.O, who could blame her. We stopped to take the obligatory (illegal) pictures, where it seemed like the point of seeing these works of art was to take a picture, rather than actually look at the painting. With masses of heads all around you, though, the experience is destroyed. So I took pictures.

However, the paintings and sculptures not scarred by The Da Vinci Code could be viewed in comfort. That guy totally caught me stealing a picture of the Mona Lisa. Let the culture seep in through every orifice, I told myself.

Our first solo field trip would turn out to be one of the most hilarious and insane experiences of the trip. And to l'Opera we went. I was committed to seeing an opera in Paris at the famous Opera Garnier. That goal would become defunct as the final show at the Opera would be a ballet. So the ladies dolled themselves up, the guys polished their boots (my Adidas') and off we went, determined to get the student standby tickets. At 6 euros, we were thrilled. Even if the tickets said "Sans Visibilite." I'll let you translate. But we were at the famous Opera so we couldn't complain. A solar flare had just gone off inside the place, but it was ok. We loosened our collars, bought overpriced Perriers and toughed it out. When we actually got to our seats though, we would find out the real definition of "Visibilite Reduite."

I suppose we should've asked whether La Dame aux Camelias was to be performed mostly on the left side of the stage or the right. I have to say, though, that the 1/5 of the ballet I did see on the 1/3 of the stage that was visible was beautifully performed. "Sans Sarcasme." But in such a beautiful building...

...with some of the best performers in the world (that we could see)...

...in such good company...

...the night was anything but a bust. Sure I was drenched in sweat at intermission (who isn't), but I looked so strapping with my dress shirt over my shoulder, white t-shirt and jeans outside the theater, ladies were swooning left and right.

The truth is, the highlights of the trip weren't the cultural experiences even though they were fascinating and educational, it was the journey that we took to have those cultural experiences and what happened when we got there. Getting yelled at by security guards at the Louvre saying "Pas de Photos!!!" but taking pictures anyway (no flash). The torrential downpour right when we got out of the metro station to go to Notre Dame and hiding in a flower shop till it died down. Asking tourists to take pictures of us in front of monuments, and then going through our catalog of languages to figure out which language they spoke (French, English, Korean, Chinese...). Paris is a city of astounding culture and art as well as a city filled with adventures to be had, mostly by silly and naive American students.

Coming up in Part VI: An Independence Day that puts July 4th to shame
1:28 AM
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