Le Col de la Faucille n'est pas facile

(Geneva, Switz.) - I started out the day with the plan to take the 1.5 hour train ride to St. Gervais and then do some hiking from there. If got inspired I was going to take the cog train up to the foot of Mt. Blanc and head up until it was time to head down. The alarm started screaming painfully early and "Lazy Peter" tried to talk "Motivated Peter" out of the day's plans for 10 minutes. Finally the impasse was broken with "Motivated Peter" offering to make coffee and the promise to sleep on the train, which was sneaky, but did the trick and we were on our way.

Despite it being 7:00-ish(early for me), the sun was still coming up as I rode my bike across town to arrive at Gare des Eux-Vives. Milling around on the platform were a bunch of other early morning travelers, border cops, and the most energetic and poorly trained police dog I have ever seen. I nodded my "Bonne Matins" around....No other hiker looking types, I think the civilians were mostly the clubbing crowd heading home to France after a "big night" in the "big city". Then the train arrival time came and went. And went. And went. The border guards went home and everyone else left. A 1/2 hour went by and so I was left by myself wondering what happened. I walked out front.

My French is good enough now that if I make an effort I can read all the signs with no problem, but I am pretty much immune if I don't try. The hand written note that I had ignored on my way in that said something or other about workers with social contracts and unreliable service on Friday and Saturday. Ugghh... a strike. What about me? What about my needs?

So I sat down and ate my sandwichs that I had packed for lunch. The next train was 11:30, but who knows if it would come and that was really not going to give me enough time in the mtns. I didnt feel like hanging around either. So I went to work. For a little while. Then I went home and went for a ride.

And I did my first real "Col" today. What does that mean? Read on.

Bundled up against the chill of the day and headed north to attack the gap in the ridge of the Jura mtns that rise above Geneva N. side. Rode across the Rhone river flats, and then through CERN, into France and before reaching the town of Gex started climbing up. And up. And up. They like to name things over here and this particurally thing - this climb - is called the Col de la Faucille. As it turns out this was on the Tour route last year (on the day that Armstrong chased down Simeoni), and was the last big climb of the years race. Although the name is kinda funny, it really was a haul to get my hulk to the top. Comparatively speaking it is not a super big one... only a Cat 2... but good enough. I got to get out more. The hand painted "Virenque Allez!", "Armstrong dopage EPO", and crude syringe drawings still cover the road the whole way up.

It is a nice easy 6.5% most of the way that winds up through the village of Gex and then into pine forests. Halfway up there is a fountain coming out of the hill with the stone engraved saying that it had been placed by Napolean's troops in 1805. Cool. Actually cold, as last week's snow still started poking out of the trees as I neared the top. It will not be much longer till the sad little ski area at the pass actually has some people coming up to see it.

A few minutes sight seeing and then the opportunity to freeze myself stiff on the way down, and happy that although I felt overdressed when I started out, I had those extra layers, full tights, jacket, and booties. It was late in the day and all the puddles of water in the ski area parking lot were frozen over. I took it down pretty easy until about half way on account of the possibility of black ice. It'll be nice to come back in summer and let 'er rip in the corners. Lit up by the last ray of sun were amazing views of Mt. Blanc across the Rhone valley on the way down. A lot of the mtns. in Geneva are obscured by fog much of the time, but when you get up high the Alps stand out like a wall of white as far as you can see... and Mt. Blanc seems like it takes up half of it. Wow. I tell myself at times like these that "Physics is good".

Anyway... got back to my place just before dark. Pretty cool that I could do a Cat. 2 climb from a Tour stage in a 2.5 hour ride from my place. Another day saved from near disaster.

Happy birthday Mom.

Today for lunch...

... I had a turkey sandwich. It was - you undestand - the best that I could do under the circumstances. To my surprise in the salad bar it looked like they had cranberries, but alas they were something else. My Italian coworker didnt know for the name for them in English, but I can assure you they were not cranberries.

In case you were wondering.

Hrrppph.

Funny to be in Geneva, the birthplace of Calvinism, on a holiday started by Calvinists. They should celebrate Thanksgiving here.

I was in Cambridge on Tuesday. That was cool. More on that later.

Ahh Paris...

Spend last weekend visiting an old friend, Andrew and his girlfriend Celine in Paris. They had just moved into a new flat on the SE side of the city and I was honored to be their first house guest. I had a great time - it was cool to see Andrew and meet Celine. We did have pretty chill weekend, which was fine by me. I just liked being there. Mostly we just people watched at cafes, walked around, had dinner etc. I think tourist stuff, is by and large, overrated. I like to do things in a place that people who live in a place do in that place.

Among the touristy things we did do, was visit the Musée Carnavalet (below) which is now a history/art museum located in a Renaissance mansion of the Marais, medieval heart of Paris. I wanted to go to the Rodin museum, which is one of the big ones i haven't been too, but unfortunately they are closed. The Musée Carnavalet was home to a certain Madame de Sevigne's for nearly twenty years.

The Madame de Sevigne was married at a young age to a hot headed nobleman, who Andrew insisted that she had murdered, but fortunately Celine put the record straight. The Marquess Henri de Sévigné died in a dual (over some dispute involving a mistress) some few years after their marriage leaving the Madame a widow with two young children. She become one of the most prodigous letter writers of her age, leaving behind a record of more than 1500 letters. More notably for that time, she also never remarried, and reportedly spent her single life caring for her son and daughter and "entertaining" legions of suitors (said Andrew). She was truly a women ahead of her time. They really must have had a heck of time in the court of the Sun King.

Saturday, Andrew and I went for a run in the Bois de Vincennes, one of the two big parks that flank Paris like giant bannanas on its east and west sides. We are both recovering bicycle racing addicts... so going for a run is like a trip to the methadone clinic (queue "...the needle tears a hole... the old familiar sting...").

Sunday brought a tour of the sewers (egouts en francais ) and Naplolean's tomb. The sewers were pretty cool- Built in 1850 or so, but some tunnels go back 100s of years, but in a certain sense they were a bit of a dissapointment, as I think this particular section had been prettified for the tourists. Sure they stank, but I would have like, albeit briefly, to be absolutely repelled.

Certainly the romance and drama of them ala Jean Valjean flight's wasn't to be found under the industrial kleig lights used to light their innards. Apparently, Victor Hugo found great significance in the sewers of Paris seeing them as the "'conscience of the city'; a place where there were no secrets, where distinctions became insignificant and society could be observed in a clear light."

"Here, no more false appearance, no possible plastering, the filth takes off its shirt, absolute nakedness, rout of illusions and of mirages, nothing more but what it is . . . The last veil is rent. A sewer is a cynic. It tells all." (Les Miserables; Jean Valjean, Book II, ch 2)

I just thought they were cool.

Finally we went to Napolean's tomb which Andrew hadn't seen before. I think he would be happy at his final resting place (Napolean, not Andrew). I have never seen such a monuement.

Then it was a quick subway ride back to their flat and then on to Gare de Lyon to my TGV, which brought me back to Geneva. Overall, it was cool and I had great time. I like Paris. I could live there. Fantastic vibe to the place. The hum and throb of some neighborhoods remind me of ...I dunno... Brooklyn maybe.

Purchasing Power of $1 in Swiss Francs

(Geneva, Switz.) - I never ever would have imagined that I would have any interest in the movement at the 3rd decimal point of international currency trading rates. But since a good chunk of my salary comes from the US, it matters alot! I am trying not to take the wiggle of the little line personally.

"Up! Up! Up! Turn up!"

The Paris report soon....

You've read the blog, now get the gear!

(Geneva, Switz.) - A friend of mine who is, like, the director of some super serious medical thingee in a major city in the Western US and has, like, way better stuff to be doing then reading my inane ramblings wrote:

"What kind of "MycleverBlog" gear is available?
Can I get a gym bag, or something?
I could really use a gym bag."

If there is one thing that we here at the CleverBlog aim for, it is to please our readership [even (err.. particurally) when it is not in their best interest]. We really aim for the common touch. So we are proud to unveil...the MyCleverBlogNameHere Store!

http://www.cafepress.com/cleverblog

It is your one stop shop for ALL your MyCleverBlogNameHere needs! So Dr. F****n look no farther. Your prayers are answered. (CafePress we found during the Widely Published Poet controversy)

If in the future you are looking for that special gift for just that special someone - fear not dear rider - the CleverBlog store will be accessible from the links in the sidebar.

Life may be just a meaningless moment of agony between the suffocating stench of the womb and the foul decay of the grave ...

... (paraphrasing David Brooks), but in the meantime I am heading to Paris!, which should serve the dullen some of the pain

That's right. Tomorrow morning I hop on the TGV (Train à Grande Vitesse). It's 3.5 hours and would be alot faster except that the route kinda takes us through a 'L' bend going through Lyon first. I took a few of these bullet trains in Japan a few years ago and was amazed with how well they worked. You'd be sitting there on the platform holding a ticket that say 12:07 and entrance C - and at 12:06 you are standing at entrance C thinking that the train was late... but ahhh... at 12:06:30 you here it coming .... and the moment the clock on the platform clicks to 12:07 the train stops within an inch of the line where it is supposed to. Amazing. Dunno if the Euros have it worked out as well as the Japanese.

I'll be visiting a friend whom I know from my Stanford years that has been living there since '99. Should be a great weekend. Geneva is fantastic, but it does feel a little small sometimes and the trip should be a good little break from the above. I think Andrew is here in Euro Disney for good. Just like some English explorer living with pygmies, he's gone full native - plunging right in with a fat civil sector job, French girlfriend, and cozy flat on the the Rude du .... If he is wearing a scarf around his neck when he picks me up at the Gare de Lyon tomorrow there will have to be an intervention.

The first rule of Fight Club is that you don't talk about Fight Club (aka I am not there yet...)

... but I am getting ideas on how to deal with rage.

"Straight male seeks Bush supporter for fair, physical fight - m4m"

http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/nyc/47785163.html

Infantilization (i.e. I'm not ready to talk about the election yet)

(Somewhere in the back of my head, Switz.) - Until recently I haven't been able to precisely place what was so familiar to me about this experience of being constantly disoriented and inarticulate whilst living in a country where my language skills are marginal. It is fascinating and invigorating, but also tiring and ...

... Mary-Lou Weisman had an article in the NYtimes a few weeks back about the experience of spending a late summer in the south of France, renting a house and learning the language. She hit upon exactly what I had been groping towards.

"I worried about being disoriented and inarticulate, conditions I had spent my entire adult life avoiding. Being in control was practically the whole point of being a grown-up, wasn't it? Why would I purposely make myself stupid?"

That was it. Being abroad in a country where I didn't speak the language was the experience of continual regression. I had become a child again. After 32 years, I had picked up and put myself 'plonk' down in the middle of somewhere where - using the usual standards - I couldn't really function as an adult. Mind you I am not a newborn babe in swaddeling clothes as I can kinda get around, assert myself, and I know some words, but by and large I need someone to look out for me, tell me where to go, and basically hold my hand while crossing the street. I am probably about 3. Using little words when I can, pointing and grunting when I can't, being constantly trundled off in random directions without my approval (by parents when we are 2, by getting on the wrong bus when we are 32), sometimes throwing a tantrum when I don't get our way, and after learning a new word - using it every concievable circumstance, the whole thing is an experience of being ... infantilized.

Last week I went to take a French placement test for a language class, I will take at Geneva's Université Populaire. It was the first of many retro-humbling experiences I will get with retaking French after 15 years I'm sure. I had thought that since I did take 5 years of high-school and middle school French (never worked at it too much though) and have been able to mangle the language around town for the last month I would fair OK and might test into the 2nd class in the sequency. Nope.

Not even close. I stared at the sheet for 1o minutes, chickenscratched some 'not-even-wrong' answers into the blocks, stared some more, then raised the white flag and told Christiane (a friend of a friend from LA who works at the UP) that "ahhh.... I think I will start with the easy one." It was just like high school. So that is a step back 15 years, but it continues.

Later that night was my first class. I was to debut as a 'Debutante 1' at Uni-Bastions. This is in one of the University's oldest and most forbidable looking buildings.

So as usual, running late, I zoom across town to get there (UniGe is decentralized over much of Geneva's westside. Although the origins of the university date to Calvin, most of it is newer and hence buildings were fit where there was available space over the town). It is late, I show my student pass at the door and ask the guard where my class was. He speaks little English and shows frustration at my French skills ("gimme a break buddy... I am here FOR my French lesson...grrrrr"). I work my franglais, and grunt and point at the receipt I got earlier in the day. He understands, gives me a pat on the head and sends me on my way. I think I find the room. It's one floor above - up past huge winding marble steps and grand granite hall accented with busts of distinguished professors long gone. I find the room... but noone is home. Hallloooo... noone home. check the number. yep right place (i think). Try to ask guard, with little results.... hmmm... now I am REALLY late.

I look at my ticket (mon billet en francais) for the class and take a double take...hrmmphh ... premiere classe novembre 15th. No wonder Christiane had looked at me quizically, but nodded in the affirmative after telling me the class was on lundi and mecredi and I asked "Mercredi est aujourd'hui?". It wasn't that I used the wrong words, or it was the wrong time for similar words, but it wasn't right altogether and so they came out in a way that was only right for a question that I didn't mean to ask. Like a 3 year old I know what I want, but I don't quite seem to be able to convey it to my satisfaction. So I cry alot. And stamp my feet.

So why do it at all? Why bother? Madame Weisman answers, "Because ... by putting myself in the circumstances of a small child, I retrieved what I was sure I had lost forever - the unalloyed enthusiasm a child feels when exploring and mastering the world."

She is right. Having learned electrodynamics, relativity, and the intracies of quantum mechanics, it is fantastic to get to go back and feel the "inordinate thrill" and satisfaction of learning how to tie my proverbial shoes again (only this time in french), or to spell c-h-a-t, or of learning easy things. Such a thrill can belong to grown-ups, but only if one has no qualms to going back and starting again in the first grade.

So what now? Well next week, having purposefully made myself stupid again, I will go back to Uni-Bastion on the correct day (i think) when I return to 1st grade with a bunch of other similarly lost adult children, for my first language class in 15 years. Will we get a nap?

So be it.

"Democracy is the theory that the common people know what they want and deserve to get it ... good and hard."
-- H.L. Mencken

NASCAR Moms for Kerry!

(Geneva, Switz.) - "Where were you on 11/2/04?" I am having a heck of a good time over here in Europe, but I gotta say I am real disapointed to not be back in the ol' USA today. I voted 3 weeks ago by mail, which is leaving me feeling a little impotent now. I just wish I could be in some place like Racine, WI or Cleveland, OH to see the lines at the polling places... or women like the below. All the news organizations report record numbers at polling places. Huge numbers are people are voting all over the US. Try as I might hitting refresh every 2 minutes on Google News and Salon, just doesn't convey the excitement of being there. I hope we know something when I get up and turn on CNN in the morning. I love the USA!

What were you for Halloween this year?

What were you for Halloween this year?