If you are a lover of art like myself, you will love Paris. There are several groups you can join that offer a cozy environment of like minded people with great artistic merit. One of my favorite events to attend although I am fairly new there is Spoken Word in Paris. It is a very friendly and inviting atmosphere with poets from many countries sharing their perspective in prose, short stories or reading something written by another author that they found interesting.
Here is a photo of me at the last event in September along with my video readings.

The rules for reading are: There is only one rule, you have 5 minutes to read your stuff. David reminds you when your time is about to run out by ringing the bell as you hear in the last video.

For info on these events, follow the blog at: spokenwordparis.blogspot.com
And to meet people in Paris and create social networks go to: meetup.com

S andwiches are very common in France. Because of that I have gotten in a habit of trying the different kinds they have. They have the salami and cheese, the turkey and tomat (tomato), the saucicion, le fromag avec tomat, there are literally thousands of them and they vary by which shop you visit. My favorite is the turkey with cheese and tomatoes that is oven toasted. But don’t expect to get chips with your sandwich. The chips combination is not a big thing here but you can get fruits or a choice of desert at an extra price.

But today I decided to make my own. I ran to the store, got the ingredients and this came out.

From Paris France

It is a tomato, turkey, lettuce, onions, mayo, mustard, president cheese sandwich. It was delish.

I also picked up a French version of pringles. Behind it you see a glass of juice I bought with it. It was raisin juice. It was disgusting. Raising juice is probably the worst kind of juice I have ever tasted. Try it at your own throw-up. I think it made me sick because after drinking it I felt weired and got nothing done for the day. Instead I went to bed and slept until 7pm. Now I am up watching family guy online and preparing for my open mic poetry jam on Monday at Belleville, downtown Paris.

From Paris France

A simple yet tasty meal. But I find that sometimes the simple meals are the best ones. That’s not always the case however.

Walking is one the best ways to see a country. It allows you to walk around and absorbe all that an area has to offer. So, I do just that. I take the train downtown the city like here in Paris and get off somewhere random and walk. I see a lot of things on these walks and sometimes I see things I prefere not to see like a guy urinating on the side of the street. I have not only seen this in Paris, but in Korea and China too and I am sure it happens in other places. Although I am sure it is illegal, the cops can’t see everything. Anyhow, another great way that is very popular here in Paris is bike tours. That’s right, you pay and you get someone to rife around with you to show you the city bike. You ride around with a guy or gal who takes you to all the “to go places”. I havn’t done it because I prefere to walk but those that do it seem to enjoy it. But nothing beats walking to me. And when I walk downtown Paris I always see something ridiculous yet interesting.

While walking downtown Paris today to go to Pont Du Neuf by the Seine river where all the boats are and you can take a boat tour of the city via the river, I saw this guy who was about to walk on a rope as his partner played music for him. I thought to myself, that is not safe, but he did it anyway. I stood and watched him and couldn’t help but record it and hoping he doesn’t fall off.

Here is the video.

Entertaining yet uncouth, but I wish I could walk on a rope. Maybe not.

One thing I really appreciate about Paris is art. There is history here and along with that history is art. There are museums, art galleries, historical landmarks that take your breath away and a whole lot more. You cannot get tired of discovering new things in this city. And that is exactly what happened yesterday.

I was looking for a jazz club yesterday but didn’t know exactly where to go because I forget my city guide at home. But that didn’t prevent me from finding a great jazz club. I took line B or RER B down to Gare du Nord and continued until I got to Chatelet Les Halles and got off the train. I usually get off at this stop because it seems like the center of everything downtown Paris. But this time instead of going out the downstairs exit, I went upstairs and men oh men. It was one of the most beautiful areas I have been in Paris at night. There were jazz clubs everywhere next to each other. It was like discovering a gold mine.

I walked up to one called “Paris Jazz Club” located at 42 Rue(street) Des Lombards – 75001 Paris, metro stop Chatelet. Immediately walking in I was greeted by a Polish girl named Catherine and her sister whose name is a bit harder to pronounce and spell. Soon after she introduced me to the owner. And then the waitress came and took me to a sit and brought me a glass of champaign as I requested. She was cute and provided excellent service so I gave a 5 euro tip and we chatted a bit.

She left to do some stuff so I watched the band that was playing at the moment, but there was only 10 minutes left until finish and the next act would not until 20 minutes later. When the act finished, the waitress came back and introduced me to the band. It was a guy named Fransisco from Cuba and another guy whose name slips my mind from Bulgaria. They were great. They had been travelling all over the globe and were heading to Holland next. The guy from Bulgaria told hilarious stories for awhile about him getting in trouble for dumb things with the cops in his home country and how much he hates the cops there because they are corrupt and think they are above the law.

It was quite an interesting night. I got to meet other musicians at another club we visited after Catherine was done working. She said her sister will be playing there tonight because she plays drums. After chatting with them a bit longer after they were done working, I had to leave because I needed to catch the metro back to Aulnay Sous Bois where I live. So I left them promising to try my best and come back to see her sister play. But there is the world cup final tonight so that might not happen.

If you are in Paris and want to know where the to do things are, I found this great website. It is www.paris-city.fr There is also a jazz festival coming up soon. Information about the festival can be found at www.saveursjazzfestival.com I will not miss that festival.

There is this myth, stereotype, rumor or whatever you want to call it that French people are rude.As you read this, keep in mind that everything is contextual and each experience is seen differently depending on the beholder. As such, something that might be considered rude to one person might not be so for another. In short, there is no universal definition for rudeness.

So, while I have been in Paris for about a month now minus time spent in Portugal and Spain, I have been observing to see how the stereotype that the French are rude might have emerged. There are several situations that have happened that may push my personal perspective one way but it’s not that easy. I wrote about one such situation on the biggest asshole in Paris. But I would be wrong to judge a people based on one experience or based on the actions of one of it’s citizens. However, these could be some of the reasons many people think the French are rude.

First,

more than 50% of the French population speak English. How does this excuse them from seeming rude you ask? Well, I find that when you try to speak French no matter how bad you think your French is, they are more willing to help you. They themselves initial that they speak English and are happy to help you in your tongue. Yes it’s strange I know; they learn English but don’t like to speak unless they really need to. But sometimes that need to does not include helping you find your way. Why is that? Because even though a lot of French people speak English, they are very shy about speaking it. Plus it is not their language. So try not to get offended when you ask for directions in English and you get brushed off with the perfect sentence, “sorry I don’t speak English”. To put it simply, I get better responses when I speak French first and words I do not know I say in English and they understand; well, some of the time other times I end up playing a mime for awhile.

Second,

the cusomer service at restaurants is not the best. In most restaurants I have eaten at in Paris there has been something wrong with the service. Like me, you could be expecting too much that is not there. One of the places I ate at, the waiter was slamming food on the table like I had insulted him in a previous life. In another one, there was hair in my food and when I asked for a new plate, there was another hair in my food. There was no apology offered for this either as you would get in an American restaurant and in some cases, not only will your meal be replaced, your meal would be half priced or free for the inconvinience. You won’t find this in Paris. And as a food lover this is especially annoying. But I cannot fault the system; I fully understand it’s not America and not everything is great about America either so I take what I can and do not accept the unacceptable – regardless of culture. However, hair in ones food at a restaurant you are paying 11 to 16 euros a plate is unacceptable and I think a sense of acknowledgment and an apology would lessen the hairiness of the situation.

Thirdly,

the French culture is not like yours. I am sure there have been things you see in your home country and say to yourself that’s just rude. Being that there is a cultural difference, you cannot expect the French way to be like your way. I found it offensive that the waiter slamed my food on the table and blew past me most of the time when I raised my hand for something but the French people eating around me where perfectly content with the service. Thus, it’s normal here and I cannot judge it. As they say, “when in Rome, do as the Romans do”; the same goes for France.

Show respect

for their culture and you will be fine. If you disrespect things and people here, you will be disrespected too. Respecting a culture means accepting their way of doing things and enjoying that difference. Why would anyone travel to see the same thing? It would be ridiculous for me to go eat at McDonald while in Paris when I can have a crepe or other French traditional foods.

Conclusion

I think the stereotype is just a misunderstanding of the French personality. People from many cultures and more so Americans smile a lot when they meet new people. This is customary for them and at times expected. But it is not like that in France; they don’t smile unless they mean it. Not that some Americans don’t mean their smile but sometimes it is done out of politeness not out of sincerity. So an American in Paris might
be wondering, how hard is it to smile back? Don’t, it is just the culture. It is simply the way of the French. Here in France and perhaps in other places the prevailing argument is that the most rude people in France are American tourists. Is this true?

Still not convinced? Then check out these great books:

What say you?

Beware when coming to Paris. Like any major city, Paris has a lot of beggars that bother you. In New York, you have them, in Madrid you have them, in Atlanta and so forth. They particularly target tourists. They know that foreigners are unaware of their tricks, but the natives know better.

Yesterday I was at the Seine river near the Eiffel Tower and I observed a scam take place. There was an American couple sitting by the river enjoying themselves when a girl walked up to them and asked, “do you speak English”? Unfortunately the couple said “yes” and the scam began. There is a group of them that use different stories to fool foreigners into giving them money. Whether they work together or not, I don’t know but I have seen a few of them talking to each other.

Anyhow, the story of this particular one I watched went something like, “I am from Bosnia and I have a child there who really needs money. But I don’t have a job and I really want to provide for my child, could you give me some money”? The lady suspected she was lying because she kept asking, “then what are you doing in Paris”? The girl had no answer. But the gentleman just wanted to give her a little money. So they reached in their pockets and gave her a few euros.

It is kind of the couple but this is a scam that’s popular in Paris and the sad thing is that it ruins it for the ones that are really in need. After observing this, I walked up to the couple after I finished writing my poem and told them I had observed this happen to other foreigners and they should be careful. They were appreciative of this and thanked me.

Although as they did and as I want to give to this people, it is very difficult to do so when you think you are getting bamboozled and told a tear dropper story for the sake of a few euros. I don’t mind giving them 3 euros or so if I know their cause is legit. Ultimately you are the one to judge for yourself. Most people can sniff a scam from a mile away. For the rest of us, just be observant; see what is around you. A few hours later, one of the girls involved in the scam came up to me and asked, “do you speak English”? I said, not today and she moved on to the next traveller.Don’t get scammed like we did when we went to china.Beware and safe travels.

What say you? Ever been scammed?

I am Paris. This is a part of me that no one sees. It is a part of me in plain sight but hidden. Only a few will notice me and some will even stand and stare at me as I lay with my dirty feet, my rags with dirt dripping off me like the sewer that sometimes is my home, my hat, my pen, and my pants made of the filth you blessed ones throw away. I too acknowledge my blessings that spill like the blood of future wars. Wars that will be waged by the homeless who on these street corners protest their agony but feet only pass by. In vain their voices whisper but only bikes cycle by, cars only honk by; the homeless shall one day prevail on these streets of Paris.

Le Louvre Des Antiquaires

They shall say no more. And the ones who will these pens to raise their whispers that no one heeds shall pick up muskets with them and say I am my brothers keeper. I have been watching you and you are ready because your time has come. You have been ready but trampling feet that do not care for the homeless have kept you down. See your brothers Paris; see your sisters Paris, see them when hungry and see that they never again beg for a meal. With taxes to start a new country, why can you not afford this Paris? And if your high taxes cannot do, pack an extra sandwich a day and give it to your homeless brother when passing bybecause you are him and he is you.

Allan arrived in Paris yesterday early in the morning. Madam Leila and I went to pick him up at the airport instead of me going by train to get him. We had been planning this trip while we were in Korea but she was not part of the equation. Now she is and she is the best part of it perhaps. She has embraced him like she embraced me and has been of great help.

My financial situation would be very different from what it is now if it was not for her. After all, Paris is the most expensive city to live in in the world. That is why most travelers I meet here only stay for a few days at a time. At the U.S and England game I met a few Americans from California and other places and all of them were not staying in Paris more than 4 days. The only exception was one who was studying in Finland and came to Paris to visit a friend.

Anyhow, Allan is here as we planned and the “journey of the men of waste” continues after our adventures in Korea. The only one missing from this journey is Dominique who opted to go home instead. But Sophia came along.Anyhow, we shall explorer, meander and conquer the streets of Paris with our steps of disobedience. Tomorrow, we will go and pick up Sophia from the airport. Then the triune will be complete.

It is much better when you travel with friends. But again I have met some other bag-packers that say that it is good to travel with friends but at times it is better when you split paths and explore on your own. That maybe why I came to Paris early so that I can explore a bit on my own before they got here. That way, when they got here, it would even be better. We shall see… experience is better than stories sometimes.

In a world rot with hate and separation it is hard to find a place to call home. There is a monster we have created that haunts all of us. The worst thing about this monster is that it lives inside of all of us and nothing but ourselves can save us from it. Like Einstein said however, “you cannot solve a problem at the same level of consciousness that the problem was created”. So we have to change our own views of the world in order to change it. But any change begins with oneself. That is part of the solution but what is this monster I speak of?

It is you, me and everyone. It is every thought of hate that has ran or runs through your mind. It is the monster that showed itself in Hitler. It is the monster that showed itself on Nagasaki. It is the monster that showed itself in Sudan. It is the monster that hovers over North Korea today and everyone looks the other way. It is that Hitler monster that lives in all us today. We are all responsible. Ignorance isn’t an excuse.

As humans we are the smartest creatures. We are also the dumbest creatures. The irony in that is, there is nothing worse than a dumb-smart creature. It’s like lighting a candle to light a room then turning on the fan. It’s like our foreign policy in Middle East and elsewhere – we do something that benefits no one but us and we and the rest of the world see that it’s wrong but keep doing it until it becomes acceptable and somewhat “right” at some point; i.e, Iraq. But since I don’t like politics I will end there on that. Here is what got me going on this tangent.

This afternoon some men came to fix a pipe that they had messed up the day before when they came to fix the driveway. We were about to go around town to see a few historical places and buy a few things. We walked out of the house and one of the workers asked who I was. Not that it was any of his business but Madam Layla is too kind so she explained how we met. Then the asshole turned to me and said, “you should go to Afghanistan”. I was thinking, “do I look like a soldier to you dimwit”? But I simply said, “pourquoi”?, or in English, why is that? And he moved his thumb against his throat – the universal symbol of “die” etc. Now, obviously he was from that area judging from his appearance and now lives in France. There is a large Muslim population here and I don’t know why the sins of my country or whatever you want to call it have become the reason why I should die.

Our leaders in America don’t represent the people anymore. They represent the corporations that pay them. Corporations run the country, ask any lobbyist. Minus that, are the sins of a father really the sins or of the son? Or in this case, are the sins of American political leaders those of the average people too? I think we should start voting for wars or just stop the fighting. But then again, it’s never that simple although it is. One can argue yes because of the old phrase that holds no meaning anymore that says, “a government for the people, by the people”. We should change it to, “a government for the corporations, by the corporations”.

I could be wrong though, I am sometimes. What say you?

Madam Layla was in the kitchen today cutting lamb, sausage, beef and vegetables. So I was curious to know what she was making. I went to the kitchen to see if she needed help and to see what she was cooking. She said, “I am making an Arabic dish called couscous”. She poured some oil over some yellow grains, added salt and started to mix it with her hands. She then finished cutting the meat and vegetables and made a hot sauce. It was an impressive process to watch. The results, a fantastic meal like none I have had before. See the video on the side bar.

She said her family origins are Arabic like me being born in Cameroon and grew up in America, she too has lived and grew up in France. She can understand Arabic as I can French but cannot speak very well. And as I have mentioned she can make the meals from her home country as I can but she is as French as anyone.

Anyhow, not only did I get to taste this delicious dish, I also had the privilege of meeting her husband’s family
today. The lights went off at his mother’s house and I asked him if he needed a hand and off we went. They are a magnificent bunch with a philosophy about life that cannot be described as less than “unity of all people”. Which explains how they have treated me since I met them and how they treat everyone they come in contact with. They truly live the, “we are one” philosophy.

More photos: