Paris in the early days

This weekend was easily the worst one I’ve spent in Paris. It wasn’t the weather, though the gloom and drizzle reminded me of home; it wasn’t the newly felt absence of Campbell, though I really could have used a boyfriend-like person. Quite simply, I hate moving. Moving in Paris, without a car or any friends to call on, traveling up six flights of stairs, purchasing and transporting furniture, not to mention the cats – well, let’s just say it was not fun.

I actually began quite optimistically, though on the later side, on Saturday. I took my huge backpack (a gift from my brother and invaluable for this whole process) and a duffel with wheels given to me ages ago by my grandmother, and walked the mile from my old apartment next to Jardin Lux to my new apartment near Rue Mouffetard. Those two bags were full of clothes, including some that I’ll be putting in storage in Maryland soon. They were heavy and I was pretty tired after hauling them up the stairs, but looking forward to my next venture – shopping.

I headed to Place d’Italie, where a cheap hardware/furniture store had been recommended. And indeed, it was exactly what I was looking for, cheap stuff that I would put together myself. I really wanted to get all my clothes in a dresser before moving the cats as they infect everything with mounds of cat hair. The guy at the store expressed some concern with my ability to carry said dresser, but I assured him “je suis forte”. I did a good job all the way across the mall and up the stairs. Then my arms gave out.

I don’t think I’ve maxed out my muscles this way since the days that Lina and I used to spot each other, trying to bench our body weight. My forearms ached. I would pick up the long box, travel about 15 feet, then put it down. I only needed to go about 1/4 of a mile, to the bus stop, and it took me a half hour. It would have taken longer, but a kind woman stopped and helped me for the last 100 yards. After getting off the bus, I had maybe 50 yards to go but my body was really protesting. I was moving the box by rotating each corner on the sidewalk and someone else took pity on me and helped me – all downhill, thank goodness. I got it into the building and then brought up the pieces of the dresser in 3 trips.

I had all kinds of plans for my Saturday, of more trips to and fro my apartment, of putting the dresser together and even of going out that night, but it had been three hours since I started moving and I was already spent. I hopped on a Vélib back to my old place and thought about taking a nap, but eventually decided that Vélib might be a good way to move. I brought over the last of the clothes and the first of the books, filling my field bag and the big backpack again. The field bag, heavy with books, went into the basket on the Vélib.

Now, you might think this is a bad idea, and I might agree with you. I was super unbalanced. I later discovered that this might have been a problem with the particular Vélib I chose, but the upshot was I felt at any moment that I might fall over. Going straight was okay but any turns were tricky. And let me just rant for a second about scooters and motorcycles in Paris. They are CRAZY. They weave in and out of lanes, cut off drivers, go the wrong way down the street, and sometimes use the sidewalk. Worst of all, they often use the bike lane. They treat bicyclists like cars and cut as close as possible to them when passing. Here I am, completely unbalanced on this Vélib, with a huge backpack and big black duffel in the basket in front of me, and all these scooters are passing between me and the car next to me. One guy even had the nerve to grin at me. And on occasion, a car would sit in the bike lane while the owner was picking up a baguette or dropping off a pizza, and then I had to maneuver around them, into the primary traffic lane, full of irate drivers. It was terrifying. My only saving grace was the ride between apartments was short. Trip number 2 out of the way, I headed home and crashed.

On Sunday I got another late start, this time due to dread of the whole process. I packed another load of books in the big backpack and various items into a smaller backpack, set the smaller on in the basket on the Vélib, and headed over. Since it was Sunday, the roads were much less crowded and I made it without incident. At the new place, I spent a couple of hours putting my new dresser together and getting the apartment in order. Then I went back to retrieve my very important companions.

I decided to bring the kitties on top of the roller duffel, so I could roll them along while I carried their litter pan, litter, and various other heavy things on my back. This was by far the worst trip of the five. For one, the bag on my back was really, really heavy. The kitties themselves weigh about 35 lbs total, so dragging that wasn’t so fun, either. And though Bird didn’t seem to mind seeing the streets of Paris, Flotsam was having none of it. He screamed his head off the whole way, prompting startled stares from strangers and little kids and dogs to follow us. As is usual when I travel with him, I was in no mood for sympathy expressed for Flotsam. It’s really not that traumatizing.

When we arrived at the bottom of the stairs, I let them out, meaning to carry them one at a time up; but they both dashed out and made a run for it up the stairs, so I chased after them and encouraged them to keep going. Bird slowed down after three flights or so, Flotsam after only one, so I kept picking him up and putting him six steps higher, all the while saying “allez allez!” Good kitties that they are, they dashed right to the door of the apartment, where I let them in and they promptly hid under the bed. But Bird pretty soon managed to explore the property, especially the outside and the neighbor’s flower boxes.

I made one last walking trip this morning, after spending the evening and morning cleaning my old apartment, which included a 7 am trip to the laundromat. I am exhausted and must work, go to class, work some more, hand in the keys, and go to ultimate. But at least it’s done. Once I get the new place more set up, I’ll take pics. It’s really nice and I’m happy to be there. Hopefully I won’t move again for a long time.

Three posts to catch up on the events of the past ten days, lots of words and lots of pictures. This weekend I visited my dad’s friends Witold and Elisabeth at their home in Senlis, a lovely medieval town about a half hour north of Paris. Their house and the town reminded me a lot of Chaponost, where my family lives near Lyon. Elisabeth showed me the Gothic cathedral, the Normandy-style houses, and the ancient Roman towers. The latter were from the 3rd century AD (!!!) I find myself getting used to how old things are in Europe, to the point where a 19th century Haussmann building seems quite young. And yet Arnie and I were proud of how old our Seattle Craftsman house was (built in 1902). Gothic cathedrals are so weirdly lovely. I wish they still built churches this way, with alcoves for statues and strange gargoyles. Even the statues that are meant to be beautiful, like those above the front entrance, have this odd surrealist aspect to them. What a different way to worship – how interesting the transition, from the mosaics in Ravenna to the Gothic cathedral to the Renaissance and beyond.

Today we went to Chantilly, famous worldwide for horses and its enormous chateâu. My camera died, but I’ll link instead to a lovely photo from Wikipedia. The building is so big, it took me over an hour to walk through it, and I didn’t see the private apartments. (And somehow missed the monkey room.) Then I walked out and realized I had no time to explore the vast grounds, which includes lots of ponds with swans, an English garden, gazebo, a labyrinth, stables, tennis courts, Henri’s lawn, “le petit parc”, and a kangaroo enclosure. Google won’t tell me how many acres the grounds make up, but I would estimate they are at least four square miles, the chateâu itself comprising only one small piece. We did get to see some competitive jumping, a sport alive and well in France. I would like to tour the Grand Stables when my mom comes to visit; I’m not sure the horses actually appreciate the lovely large windows, not to mention the sculptural ornamentation surrounding them, but I do love to see how the French aristocracy lived (we are – sadly or happily – lacking for any true aristocracy in the US).

Back in Paris, I picked up the keys to my NEW APARTMENT!!!! I am very excited, because it’s bigger and nicer in a neighborhood I prefer (but still close to the Jardin Lux). The only problem: stairs. Lots and lots of them.

So, interestingly enough, the setup of my building, a classic Haussmann, is quite standard. Each floor is a flat, and very expensive. The front staircase thus leads up to only one door, the front door to each apartment. Because they are civilized (and rich), there is a lift installed inside that front staircase.

But there is also a back staircase, for the maids. Back in the 1800s, the maids lived on the top floor, in tiny rooms, and used the back service stairs to get from their apartments to the flats they served. I live in what used to be called “chambre de bonne”, literally “the maid’s room” (since bonne is maid. I actually thought this was “good room” but I’ve since been corrected.) Some apartments are still advertised this way, but only if they are very nice.

Anyway, even if one could put a lift here (and there’s really not any room), one wouldn’t, because it would only serve us poor kids on the 6th floor. Oh, and don’t forget, the French count like computer scientists, so I have to walk up seven flights of stairs to reach my apartment.

But that’s a minor quibble; I much prefer my new place to my current one, no lift and all. It’s bigger; the stove and kitchenette setup is nicer; the bathroom is a lot nicer and has a toilet; the ceiling doesn’t slope so severely; the window is large, and I can even have plants! I move in sometime this week. Campbell comes tomorrow, which is ever-so-exciting, and I have tons of work to do by Tuesday, which is less exciting. Pictures of the new place below, as always click for a larger version.

Today it’s raining, but in general Paris in the spring time has been everything the poets and songwriters describe. My favorite place, the Jardin Lux, has exploded with flowers. Tulips, daffodils, dogwoods, cherry blossoms, all in pretty pastels. When I arrived a month ago, I took the first picture on the left; pretty, but no leaves at all on the trees. Yesterday, I took the picture on the right. (Note the Parisians eating McDonald’s. They love McDonald’s here. I don’t really understand it.)

Here are some more pictures of the garden. I haven’t really captured it all; on Sundays, it is so lively, with joggers, flowers and statues, lovely winding paths under blindingly green trees, children playing, and old men tossing petanque balls.

OK, so let me answer some of the most common questions asked of me.

Question. How’s your French?

Answer. Still not great. It was nice going to Italy and then coming back, and realizing my French isn’t as terrible as it feels. On the other hand, I can barely communicate with the patient postdocs who practice with me, let alone my French ultimate teammates. French class isn’t great, because the level is a little too easy; on the other hand, I have to miss two weeks, so perhaps it will be better when I return. I’ve been listening to Champs Elysées, a French news program with audio exercises, at speed. I’ve had some success with that, but my speaking is well behind my listening. Reading and writing, I’m better at. This summer I will be taking very intensive classes at the Sorbonne, and ideally surrounding myself with French (getting my news in French, listening to music in French, etc). But for now, it’s difficult, especially with how much I’m working.

Question. Speaking of that, how is work?

Answer. Work is good. Very very challenging. Probably more so because this isn’t my area of expertise, so I’m learning a lot, all the time, just to do what’s minimally expected. My supervisors are quite good and very hands-on, more so than I’m used to. I like it, because I think this is how I will excel, but I’m also stressed out a lot, and very tired. I take the weekends to explore the city. Otherwise, I’m usually exhausted when I get home, and can’t do much more than watch American TV on youtube.

Question. So how’s your social life?

Answer. Pretty much nonexistent. Various people are coming to visit, and that spurs me to actually go out, eat at restaurants, go to bars – explore the nightlife of the city. But eating out is really expensive and not always worth it; it’s tricky to find good places. Drinks are also really expensive, as are cover fees. Bands that would be relatively inexpensive in the States are very pricey here, so I have yet to go to a show. Nonetheless, I want to; I follow music blogs and get Lylo every two weeks, the listing of all the shows in Paris and the surrounding areas. So if I’m feeling peppy one night, I can go on my own. In this also, not speaking French is a barrier. I would like to go out alone and meet people, but I’m essentially afraid to strike up conversation in French (and I feel like speaking English is rude).

All that said, I do have the beginnings of a social circle – postdocs at the lab, Animesh and the Rhum-Rhums crew, the Yaka girls, family friends of Dad, and of course my family in Lyon.

I spent the last week in Italy, first at Paganello, a beach tournament in Rimini, and then in Ravenna and Venice. Paganello is a very big European tournament, with four divisions (mixed, open, women, and juniors), and around 100 teams total. Taking place every year on Easter weekend, it is expensive but incredibly well-run. The schedules are organized and game scores are updated regularly; fans can easily follow the action at the fields or online. And amazingly, lots of locals come out to watch the games – chic Italian women in heels, carefully stepping along the sand into the stands.

My team, the Yellow Submarines, has been playing together for nine years, but has never made the trip across the Atlantic to this premier tournament. And in our first time, we placed second! We played a total of three games in the arena, which was the showcase field with stands, and there were hundreds of people watching. It was an amazing experience, “best weekend ever”, and I was so glad to be there with my closest friends.

After the tournament, I traveled with Schmucker, Emily, and Dave to Ravenna to see mosaics, and then up to Venice. I wish I’d taken more time off and spent the next few days with them, because we had a lovely time. The mosaics in Ravenna are religious art pieces from the Byzantine era, created around 500 AD. It was incredible to think of the age of the Christian religion – these are of course pre-Renaissance, pre-Middle Ages, and they feel very old and unusual indeed. But Christianity was already an old religion then. Not to mention Judaism; for this reason, I’d really like to visit Jerusalem sometime.

And then, Venice – what a spectacularly unique place. There are no cars, only tiny, winding streets and water everywhere. It seems crazy that anyone would think to build on these islands, but of course there was more land 2000 years ago, plus they had to escape those barbarian invaders. The city is lovely and decaying, and it seems an almost impossible proposition to save it. It is sinking into the Adriatic. Mold attacks everything, and the buildings are all very old, much older than those in Paris. The Italians also seem less able to maintain their buildings than the French; for instance, on the big Plaza, soot mars the white facades. In Paris at least, buildings are constantly undergoing restoration, and this sort of damage is not common. Venice is also not the bustling city it once was; its primary industry these days is tourism, and that gets quite tiresome after awhile. Still, we stayed in a lovely hotel, had a fantastic dinner (with great, cheap, local wine), and really enjoyed our trips along the Grand Canal in the water taxi. It was all too brief; I came back to Paris after spending less than 24 hours in Venice. I hope some day to return.

Here is a video I took from the water taxi of Venice, and below is a gallery of images from my trip; click to see a larger version.

It’s late and I’m still at work.  To be expected, as the week was fairly unproductive up until a meeting with Josef refocused me. As I’ve mentioned before, my lab is quite good, and he’s emblematic of that. He essentially introduced bag-of-features to the vision community with a paper called Video Google, and he works as hard as any researcher I’ve ever been around (and that includes you, Adrien!) Incredibly brilliant and incredibly nice, a good supervisor for me, as sometimes I need to be pushed, but ever-so-gently.

Right now I’m doing work involving face detection, and the title of the post is from Josef. I’m currently watching my script run just to be sure it doesn’t do anything stupid. When bounding boxes flash in the wrong places, those are the ghosts that haunt us. In this picture, of course, everything is kosher.

Tomorrow I leave for a week’s vacation, the first I’ve had since Christmas, and desperately needed. I’m going to Rimini, Italy, for Paganello, a European beach ultimate tournament. My team, the Yellow Submarines, is celebrating our ninth year together. We’re pretty good – we’ve won Wildwood a few times – but in nine years, a lot changes. Back in the day, Schmucker was reluctant to take me and Emily on the team, since Em was Dave’s new girlfriend, I was her friend, and he didn’t trust that we were any good at ultimate. We changed his mind pretty quickly. Then Dave and Em got married and had two kids, I moved to Seattle, Jared to NC, Pavel to NY, Geneva and I made it through grad school, and now I’m in Paris. Throughout all of it, we managed to get together at least once a year to play a tournament. I missed last year though, so I’m really looking forward to playing Paganello. It will also be great to see some Tufts alums (Becca, Anne-Marie, Sally) and Seattle friends (Wu, Zucker, Drew, Mer. Mer counts as Seattle because that’s where I met her.) Plus apparently most of Yaka is on my flight tomorrow. Animesh is taking care of the kitties, who are certain to hate me by the end of the week. And with that, I’m off! Pictures and posts from Italy next week.