Iberisk Skovsnegl

Snails and slugs are a bit of a problem here. After a rain the sidewalk is littered with these not-so-little pests. If you don't keep an eye on the ground you're pretty much guaranteed to step on one. I'm not sure how long ago they arrived, but apparently these slugs have oozed all the way from the Iberian peninsula. There are lots of strategies for keeping slugs out of your garden, but no one has thought of a way to keep slugs out of Denmark.

Roskilde Viking Museum

These thousand year old scraps of wood once sailed to Ireland and North America to rape and pillage and do other sorts of Viking things. To really 'get it' you have to see the reconstructed ships in person and then try to imagine these tiny things sailing all the way across the Atlantic. I got sea-sick just standing there thinking about it.

The museum has been building new ships using techniques similar to those used a thousand years ago. Later this year they will sail to Ireland using only authentic equipment. No motor, only sails, oars, and luck.

Sometimes I scare myself.

A Beautiful Idea

The Dutch are smarter than they look. These clever pee stations should be deployed in every bar district across the globe! Just try to imagine a world without smelly alleys and wet toilet seats. Leave the cramped WC for the ladies, I want to pee under the stars!

Lambic Beer

As I hope you know, Belgium is world famous for its unique and absolutely delicious beer. Our best discovery was Lambic, a very distinctive type of beer made only in the Brussels area. Virtually all beers are brewed with clinically cultivated brewer's yeast in totally sealed containers. Lambic, in contrast, is left exposed and local airborne wild yeast causes 'spontaneous fermentation.' Also separating it from conventional ales and lagers, Lambic is brewed for three or more years in wooden barrels. I don't mean to insult the beer, but it kinda tastes like a sour wine cooler.

The Gueuze shown in this pic is a mixture of one and three year old Lambic. The combined young and old beer undergo secondary fermentation in the bottle, giving it some nice carbonation. It has a very long shelf life and is supposedly available in the US... I'll see about that soon enough...

Tourist Food of BeNeLux

There's something special in all corners of Europe, and the corner containing Belgium, The Netherlands, and Luxembourg is no exception. For starters, there are several foods from this region that apparently all tourists are required to taste.

My experience with waffles doesn't extend far beyond Eggo and IHOP, but still, I know when I'm eating something good, and Belgian waffles are awesome! They're sold as street food by vendors in the center of Brussels, but we went into a bona fide waffle house to sit down and enjoy the full meal deal.

Frites are available and popular throughout all of BeNeLux. For some unknown reason they're always sold in that cone shaped package. I have to say I just didn't see or taste what all the fuss was about. They did have a nice variety of sauces, but other than that they were just fat french fries. I guess I can see why Europeans would think they're cool though. During my five months in Denmark I have never seen 'real' fries outside of McDonalds.

The Netherlands is famous for its mild cheese, which I have realized is delicious for most Americans and rather boring for most Europeans. Apparently Amsterdam's cheese shops import from the rest of Europe because when we we stepped inside, WHAM! the stench almost knocked us over. I was planning on grilling the guys behind the counter and buying something uniquely Dutch but instead we quickly pointed at a couple of blocks and headed for the door. Of course we chose one of the most offensive (French) cheeses available.

My worries about this fish sandwich were unwarranted. If you appreciate sushi then a sandwich with raw herring will be right up your alley. The 'natives' were eating the little fish straight, no sauce or bread necessary.

Amsterdam Refueling Stations

No matter where you are in Amsterdam there is never a shortage of places to grab a beer. As you approach the city’s center, the concentration of bars increases until it seems that every other building facilitates the sale of frosty beverages. If DQ is the “Texas Stop Sign,” Heineken (or Amstel), is the “Dutch Stop Sign” – or at least it was for CK and me. On every street, scores of the familiar round signs beckoned us to step inside for a couple drinks. Most of the bars were smaller with a subdued, but very friendly atmosphere. Bar hopping in Amsterdam is a great way to see the city and meet some interesting people, provided that you pace yourself well enough that you can still find your way home!

Amsterdam

Known most famously among my generation for its relaxed policies on drugs and prostitution, Amsterdam was an obvious choice for a weekend visit. (Just kidding, Mr. and Mrs. K!) …But it’s true that “coffee shops” legally serving (although never advertising) cannabis and magic mushrooms are ever-present, and the red light district is home to some of the most beautiful entertainers that I have ever seen. I wish I could share some pictures of the latter, but there is an unwritten rule forbidding photography in the red light district that is sometimes violently enforced by Russian pimps who lack anything remotely resembling a sense of humor. Still, the atmosphere in the district is fun and largely unthreatening. It reminded me of a cross between Austin’s 6^th street and a zoo with exotic women prowling behind the glass instead of exotic animals. Is it demeaning? Definitely. Did that stop us from looking? Nope.

So, here is rundown of what Amsterdam has to offer besides drugs and prostitution:

Bars – Plentiful and pleasant. See Saturday’s post for details.

Cheese – It stinks! See CK’s post detailing the food of BeNeLux.

The Van Gogh Museum – This was an important visit for me because it helped me to realize that I don’t appreciate visual art for anything other than the technical skill required to paint a realistic-looking scene. No matter how hard I looked at the paintings, the intense sea of emotions that Van Gogh poured into his work seemed to flow right over my head. I could tell that CK was a little frustrated with my lack of appreciation, but he can’t say that I didn’t try! At least I learned how to properly pronounce Gogh, which rhymes with cough, not so.

Canals – Canals are everywhere in this low-lying city, but most notable are 5 concentric canals, known as the Grachtengordel, surrounding the historical center of Amsterdam. The decreasing radii of the canals make it a breeze to find your way to the center of old Amsterdam. Finding your way back, on the other hand, can be a little more troublesome – particularly, for the sobriety impaired…

Bicycles – I thought Copenhagen had a lot of these things, but Amsterdam definitely had Copenhagen beat in this department. The bike parking garage pictured below was 4 levels high, and did not seem to have a single vacant space. One thing that I noticed was that most of the bikes looked pretty crappy compared to the high dollar machines I’m accustomed to seeing in the states. The reason: 80,000 bikes are stolen in Amsterdam each year, and 25,000 end up in the canals. Riding a “beater” discourages theft, and minimizes the potential for economic loss by taking a wrong turn into a canal.

Grafitti "Art" of Copenhagen

The only evidence of any crime I saw in Copenhagen was graffiti. I in no way condone the destruction of property (public or private), but I have to admit that some of the graffiti that I saw was amusing to me.



The first piece of graffiti I found made me feel right at home. The “Wu Tang Clan” mark is a tribute to a U.S. hip-hop group of that name consisting of 8 living members, plus the late Russell Jones (aka Ol’ Dirty Bastard, aka Big Baby Jesus, aka Dirt McGirt, aka Dirt Dog, aka Osirus). I am not a fan of most hip-hop music, but I am partial to Wu Tang Clan and was very surprised to see a reference to this relatively obscure group.

Reserved...

Reserved for guest blogger Chris Weber

How to Ruin Perfectly Good Ice Cream

To support our never-ending quest for calories, CK suggested that we should pick up some Soft Ice (that’s DQ-style ice cream to you ‘mericans) from a nearby mall in Copenhagen. The procedure seemed familiar enough: we each selected our cones, flavor of ice cream, and style of sprinkles. Naively believing that all sprinkles have the same sugary flavor, I selected the most aesthetically pleasing sprinkles. The green and black sprinkles coated the Soft Ice so completely that no Soft Ice was visible until I took the first bite... The sprinkles instantly shocked my tongue with an extremely salty taste accompanied by a hint of bad licorice flavor. The taste was unpleasant enough that I thought that my taste-buds were deceiving me, but a second taste confirmed that I was eating the worst tasting sprinkles in the world. The sprinkles were flavored with saltlakrids, or “salty licorice.” Saltlakrids contains ammonium chloride (NH4Cl or sal ammoniac) in addition to the liquorice root extract, sugar, and starch or gum arabic that are typically found in liquorice. Apparently ammonium chloride does not kill you in small doses, but it does ruin perfectly good Soft Ice.

-CW

It's Burqa Time

I wonder if any other statue in the world has been vandalized more frequently than the Little Mermaid. I mean I'm sure there are many statues out there with more graffiti and general abuse, but this one is clearly special because it's Denmark's #1 tourist attraction. For whatever reason this little lump of bronze is actually important! All it would take is one flood light and a security camera and maybe even a security guard. But no, the authorities continue to allow wild-eyed hooligans to have their way with her in the wee hours of the morning.

Publicly the Danes shake their heads at all this vandalism, but I believe they also appreciate it as a form of civilized protest. She's a sort of socio-political thermostat that whistles when things get a little too close to boiling. I think it's cool--much more civilized than a French riot and probably more effective too.

I am particularly fond of this nondestructive burqa 'vandalism.' It says, "Muslims in Denmark," but what does it mean? The perpetrator was nice enough to leave it ambiguous, allowing us make up our own minds.

Contrasting Codes

Denmark's building industry is a small fraction of the US's, and so is their design code. At first you may think that's good, it must be simpler and maybe easier. But no, it just stays closer to the fundamental principles--you remember, those magical differential equations from the early years of college. Few official design guides and tables are available, so often we're on our own armed with little more than Mathcad, Excel, and a high quality technical pencil.

In contrast, half of the American code is commentary, included solely to give the how and why. I will definitely return with a deeper appreciation for the stacks of resources that make my life much easier.

Amager Strandpark

Amager Strandpark is a new beach park immediately south of the city center. It reminded me of the Texas beach with its mostly open sand dunes and industrial buildings dotting the horizon. Also like the Texas bays, the water was quite shallow and clean. Not a single soul was fishing, though, which seems odd to me. I know the water is still cold, but you can't tell me there are no catchable (and edible) fish hanging out under that bridge.

Spæncom

LHAS is currently designing a new factory for Spæncom, a large Danish precast concrete manufacturer. One morning we took a little field trip out to their existing facility--a great dirty old factory guaranteed to satisfy an engineer's craving for big loud contraptions and that beautiful smell of wet cement.

This is a rig used to make prestressed hollow core floor planks, common structural elements used in almost all precast hotels and apartment blocks here and in the US. Those cables are pulled very tight before the concrete is placed and then cut once the concrete has set. They try to contract, placing the planks under a constant compressive 'prestress.' The process of prestressing makes the planks much stronger because concrete can withstand roughly ten times more compressive stress than tension.

Fredag Morgenmad

Friday breakfast is an important tradition for Leif Hansen's KON group. Fresh brød, smør, and the ubiquitous Nutella. I have always wondered why that chocolicious hazelnut spread isn't a its own food group in America like it is here in Europe.

Motorcycle Hygge

John has a passion for BMW motorcycles, and so does Henrik, shown here with his 1977 R100S (T?). It was only logical that I should introduce these three and let them take it from there (which they did for hours on end). I'm glad I arranged this meeting because it was certainly the best hygge experience I've had thus far, thanks in no small part to Vibeke's outstanding hospitality and those little cakes from Syd Jylland.

Liquor in the front, Poker in the rear...........It's a party!

Again, thanks to Chris for his hospitality and for risking his reputation as an upstanding young man by introducting me to some of his friends on my day off in Kopenhagen.

We started the day by foraging for food. Although not many restaurants in the area, we walked on down by the canal till we reached the old city and went in to have some of the best pastries I've had on my trip so far. I recommend the Rhubarb thingy. I developed a thing for Rhubarb in england, not neccesarily the texture...like snot...but the tangy taste. I do like tangy. Once we got past wondering if this attractive young lady standing by the side of the street with a questioning look on her face was in distress....I really wanted to help.....we went and bought way too much sugar. We sat on the walls of the canal and ate our spoils, preparing ourselves for the trek into Christiana. I think that's how it is spellt.

Chris did not have a very high opinon of this place due to his last visit here, but after finding beer for the price of what would be a lonestar or PB in a little convenience store, his heart softened. Christriana is a "self governing" part of Kopenhagen. I think the history goes back to squatters setting up in an old army barracks area in the 50s and 60s and making a go of it. You might recall the recent police and protester clashes as reported on the news throughout Europe when the community was up in arms over the demolition of one of these buildings within the little Sovereign nation. Like most things outside the norm of mainstream society, it is both the best and worst of worlds. It attracts your punkers, hippies, tourists or locals who want to go and smoke pot and have fun and other people who are making an honest go of living outside the norm of mass consumerism and impersonal politics. Not that punkers and hippies suck. Well hippies do....but I'm not much for hypocrits. The problem seems that in any place where you are the bastion of your own idea surrounded by people that at best ridicule you, and at worst try to wipe you off the face of the map, be that new developments or active government suppresion, is that you end up spending all your energy in an Us against Them dogfight. And that's what half of Christiana seems. Selling t-shirst and pot-brownies, making money off of tourists while you fight the good fight against consumerism. The other half if quite cool. Buildings and homes that have been adapted by their owners or dwellers to suit their needs without as much adherance to accepted and legal building codes, making for an interesting variety of pads. There's a bunch of families living there in great houses, what looks to be like a townhall for meetings and a school house for the locals and some other public amenity buildings. This is the working part of Christiana. I wonder how you end up becoming a part of it?

After this we worked our way around to downtown. The old part, through the office sections and financial districts till we got through the bustle of shopping time and to a plaza where we sat down and had some beer. An interesting thing about Kopenhagen is that either by design or culture, their zoning is very strict. For a city as old as this, and certainly one as untouched by WWII as this, (ask Chris or any Dane to tell you about the "phone call from Germany"--as an aside, one of the coolest things about DK history is the fact that the night before the Gestapo was meant to round up all the Danish Jews, they were secreted out of the country by a vertible armada of small boats and fishing vessels.) there is very little mixed use. Usually, taking Paris or Berlin again as an example, there is ground floor retail, shops or markets and upper offices and maybe still higher, living quarters. This seems not to be the case here. When its an office building....it's office...when it's government....it's government....(you can tell by the anti G8 graffiti on them). So the feeling is a kind of segmented, divisive downtown. Pretty, but it doesn't feel that lively. But this also might be due to the fact that the infrastruce of DK is massive. They've built their nation and city for an expected population 20 years in the future..and they have the cash to do it, which is totally different than the states where we are crammed into an apocalyptic infrastructure that reached its capacity and stopped working 20 years ago. So at times, it feels a bit empty.

I could talk about the little mermaid, but to compete with CK's comments would be a travesty, as mine could hardle compare. Let's move on to when John and Chris get schooled by 2 Danish shysters.

For dinner and entertainment that night, we walk to the new BoBo neighborhood of Chris's friends. I am a bad person so I don't remember their names, but I do remember loosing money, eating good pizza, having a great non-alcoholic beer, and generally having one of the best nights of my 10 week trip in Europe. We each odered a pizza from the local dudes down the street, stopped at the paki for brews, picked up the pies and sat down for dinner. Chris' friends, a couple, had just bought their pad and were renovating it. They had the largest bathroom I have yet to see in Europe, about the size of one in an American efficiency..(due mostly to the fact that these buildings are all so old that they originally had shared bathrooms on each floor)...and they accomplished this by knocking out a wall and doing a fine job of the finish... nice tile work guys. They both work in the archi-world...the lady friend as an architect....and the boy friend as a drafter / surveyor / project manager. They have a degree in Denmark which is much like an architectural degree, but is not as involved and focuses on the practical side of developement, drafting and project management. Chris Kahanek is very impressed.

After dinner, we sat down to a friendly game of poker. I was unaware that this is one of CK's least enjoyable activites. Mostly he says cause he has resigned himself to always loosing. I dig it cause I'm an excitement junkie. But I suck too. And it wasn't but half an hour till I was out and that I realized that my friends and hosts...1) spoke better english than I did, 2) must watch ESPN poker tournaments every moment they are on, 3) quoted more 80's and 90's pop culture references than you would run across at an over the hill Silverlake hipster party on Saturday night. I advocated a 2nd round, (shouldn't have) and for double the stakes this time. Cause what fun is playing if you are just gonna break even. Better to go out in a blaze of glory yo! I tried not to bluff so much this time, cause I suck and I'm bluffing hands that I couldn't possibly have with the cards that are face up, and I managed to hang in for a while longer, even beating Chris and watching it come down to the two friends duking it out(the boyfriend and another male friend--lady friend is asleep on the couch while we blast Faith no More), on their 11th beer each, the one repeating to the other , "you're such a bad poker player man....you know that....I mean...you suck....how do you live with yourself.....you're a fuckin' liar..." Now they are speaking english mind you...because we are playing poker or for the benefit of their guests I don't know. I suspect that speaking english while playing poker is de-riggeur, all the slang is english anyway. Imagine them having these conversations with Danish accents and the night is complete.


I got home, busted out some more renderings, packed my stuff the next day, cooked CK a breakfast that might make him rethink this marital ( or martial?) plans and then took the train, massive as always, to the airport where they charged me more for my over the weight limit luggage than my flight. When I saw the tiny little turbo-prop non-stop flight to Stuttgart that they were going to cram my shit into, I didn't feel so bad, except that I was worried that it would still fly.

Much thanks to all in DK who showed me a good time. Especially my Louisianna museum tour-guide who met us for dinner and drove us an hour to the DK countryside to look at modern art. I owe you a beer girl.

Toodles

John Zapf

Koooopehae - or that's how they say it....

I am honored by the guest blogging spot that Mr. Kahanek has afforded me. I especially appreciate his descriptive use of hyper-cynical. This of course translates to "reality" for me, making interaction with the rest of the world, at times....difficult.

It's been awhile since my trip to Kopenhagen, so I'll have to split it up into the 2 formative experiences....arrival (general appreciation of the city and of CK's appartment)....and when I got my clock cleaned by Americanophiles weilding poker decks.

I came to Kopenhagen via Hamburg, so I took the train, a scant 5 hours from door to door. The train is amazingly pleasant. It's Danish, which means the vast quantities of luxury tax, ie 180% of any vehicle purchase (luxury is defined differently in Europe....probably for the better of the world) go into producing and mainting a public asset. The train is high speed, quiet and comfortable, there were no angry german youths sitting next to me on this trip, brooding about the downfall of their grandfather's dreams that pretended not to speak english when I asked if he "was gonna be an asshole for the whole trip". Only polite passangers of varying nationalities which gives me a change to show off how I know about 1/50th of 3 different languages. I sound like I'm speaking Bladerunner street lingo. The really cool part is when the train boards the ferry and you get to go out on deck and check things out. They've turned the boat into a kind of mall with a bunch of restaurants and duty free stores, so don't bother buying water and a candy bar. You're gonna be stuck behind a 73 year old truck driver buying his monthly stipend of hard liquor.

Once off the boat, you are in Kopenhagen quick enough, and if you are lucky like me, you have what most would assume is a Russian bodyguard or a US Marine waiting for you at the train. Chris is neither of these, although his very open world view, tempered with libertarian American patriotism makes it seem like he has conducted Black Ops in various locales for either of these vocations. We hoofed it to the bus, me lugging all my stuff for the past couple of months, including the 40 pounds of computer gear that I packed into my bag. Chris lives in a residential development. Very nice, very new, lots of families, nothin else goin on. It's almost like Danish master planners looked at Houston and said.....yeah.....that's what we want. There is not much else going on in the hood and it's a bit of a walk to the nearest train. This is kind of interesting as Europe generally gets a good rap about their housing. But what might be a good thing, maybe is just old. When a neighborhood is 50 to 100 years old, buildings change, stores move in, different amenties open to support the local market. With these brand spankin new developements, you get none of that. And in the day and age of building out and low is cheapter, you wonder if these developments will ever engender the kind of density that will turn these projects into Berlin or Paris neighborhoods that people rave about.

After this first introduction, I sit down at Chris's desk and setup my laptop and drives, connect to the internet, not wireless mind you as the IT folks at Thornton Thomasetti have their spies everywhere. I mean....everywhere, and get to work, not to raise my head till my last day in DK.

Pirate Design

Fellow world traveler, UTSOA colleague, Angeleno, motorcyclist, and general iconoclast John Zapf dropped in for a few days. A year ago John started his own architectural rendering studio, Pirate Design. Clever as always, he has set up ten computers back home--a "render farm"--to crunch out his high quality renderings while he travels to Germany and elsewhere to meet face-to-face with his clients. He has landed many jobs recently (probably too many) and while I was at work he slaved away at my kitchen table. In the evening, though, there was still time enough to see the city, meet a few friendly Danes, and have more than a few mind-wrenching hyper-cynical conversations.

The Seine

The photogenic Seine runs right through the center of Paris. It was packed with those tour boats. I didn't ride one but it probably would have been nice. Probably expensive though. Many of the boats were holding what looked like black tie dinners.

Pâtisseries

You can find pastry shops just about anywhere in Europe and almost always walk out with something tasty, but these shops in Paris were a step above the rest because of their incredible variety. Every pastry is something totally different and I felt my sweet tooth being pulled in ten directions at once. I was always asking "What's that?" and "How does it taste?" The shop owners appreciated my enthusiasm and kindly helped me with my nonexistent French skills. Don't leave Paris without this experience.

Oh, and for something like this you definitely want to be at least a few blocks away from the nearest tourist trap--the difference in quality, service and price can be startling.

Musée du Louvre

The Louvre is the most visited art and culture museum in the world. It has one of the oldest and largest collections anywhere. It's really more of a spectacle than a museum. You get the feeling that many of the visitors are there primarily to soak up its overpowering scale and just be a part of the scene. That's fine, I went on a get-in-for-free day and did exactly that. The unfortunate consequence is that the art plays second fiddle to the building and massive crowds. You have to visit, though, because you just have to.

Got Gas?

After cruising around Paris for a while you start to wonder how can every single avenue and square look so nice, and then that leads to the question of why can't my city back home look this good? Well, first of all, once you get out of the touristy center things quickly start to look much more mundane, and second, Paris has spent exorbitant sums to hide the ugliness of modern urbanity.

Gas stations and parking lots: the titans of urban ugliness, yet absolutely necessary. They're there alright, but they're all hidden underground. Indeed, beauty has its price, and we can start with that sign for 95 octane gasoline: €1.43/L = $7.30/gallon.

Champs-Élysées

La plus belle avenue du monde. A very impressive stretch of road running perfectly straight all the way from the Louvre through the Arc de Triomphe to La Défense. They say it has the second most expensive storefront real estate in the world, surpassed only by New York's 5th Avenue. If you have the time and energy, the several kilometers from the Arc to the Louvre should definitely be on the top of your walking list.

The view from the garden in front of the Louvre. Beyond the Arc de Triomphe you can catch a glimpse La Grande Arche, a modern triumphal arch located in La Défense that's twice as tall as the original and is currently being used as an office building.

The Louvre far off in the distance, as seen from beneath the Arc de Triomphe.

Escargot

One of those things you're supposed to eat while in France. They were not so exciting. Just kind of chewy, reminded me of alligator. They're fun though, you get to use utensils that look like they were stolen from a dentist's office.

Racaille

After being abused again and again by the outrageous beer prices, we wanted to go to the 'cheaper' part of the city in hopes of finding a pub with remotely normal pricetags. We did in fact find such a bar, but we also stumbled upon a once-in-a-lifetime experience.

Earlier in the evening the French government officially announced that Nicolas Sarkozy had won the Presidential election. He is the leader of the UMP, France's largest center/right political party, and he defeated Socialist Ségolène Royal.

Socialists absolutely despise Sarkozy. They call him a Bush clone, and around here that's a truly hateful insult. After the announcement Royal's supporters started to gather in Place de la Bastille to protest. By pure coincidence our target 'cheaper' pubs were in the area...

Walking up the steps out of the Metro at around 22:30, we ran into a crowd of people and initally thought we had found an outdoor concert or festival. It didn't take but half a minute to realize that something was very wrong. Almost everyone--hundreds of people--were standing relatively quiet looking toward the other side of the Place. In another area not so far away people were moving fast doing something strange. A third portion of the square was totally empty. Looking across the emptiness we saw a squad of heavily armored riot police.

I found out later that the group of protesters 'doing something strange' were actually collecting and throwing cobblestones and bottles at the police. Not a good idea. We were standing in the crowd for no more than five minutes when we saw what looked like low flying bottle rockets shot from the police over our heads. Tear gas.

I don't know exactly what sort of 'riot control agent' was used, but it was not fun. Almost instantly tears started flowing out of my eyes like they were water faucets. I didn't know that was even possible. Worse, and longer lasting, my throat started stinging with a pain worse than any sore throat I have ever experienced.

Like everyone else, we ran. Unfortunately we picked the wrong road because the wind carried the gas right along behind us. I caught a good whiff of the gas, but the guys who were up front were choking nonstop. Eventually we reached a point where we could breathe normally and we turned down a side street toward a large boulevard. This is when things got interesting...

Most of the protesters had regrouped on Rue de Lyon, forming a line facing north toward Place de la Bastille. The police were also in a line approximately 50m in front of them. Neither line was moving and the protesters were chanting something about Sarkozy. Apparently the police were not advancing because they were giving the crowd a chance to disperse without more trouble.

The protesters were not ready to call it a night. Slowly their chants grew louder and more forceful. They started tipping over trash and recycle bins. Then, at the front of the crowd, I heard a popping sound. I'd call it similar to the sound made when you uncork a quality French wine. The sound of breaking windows. The police immediately started advancing and the crowd started retreating.

I have to say the next hour and a half was nothing less than a carefully choreographed performance. Once the window breaking started the protesters would work their way down the boulevard, methodically breaking almost every window. At some point they would stop with the windows and re-form a front line. The police would also stop a stone's throw away (literally). The chants and yells would commence and gradually build up. Sometimes they would light trash on fire. Then, once again, the Pop Pop Pop of windows.

We watched the riot work its way down the boulevard from the doorway of a pub that unbelievably stayed open during the entire riot. When the protesters got too close we left, but the bartender stayed with a handful of patrons to weather the storm. As a side note, we were happy to see that the prices were much more reasonable, just as we had been told.

Here you can see a fire in the distance. The police are just on the other side of the fire. Sorry I don't have better pics but I didn't feel like getting arrested.

The protesters were infiltrated by countless undercover cops. This was common knowledge and it was the reason why the protesters behaved in such a controlled manner. They knew exactly what they could get away with: breaking windows and starting trash fires. Looting, torching cars and buildings, attacking bystanders--these actions would have resulted in arrest and jail time.

The protesters thought we were cops (and told us so) because we were watching and not chanting. Once they found out we were American they were very intrigued by our presence. They seemed pleased to have outsiders--particularly Americans--watching them struggle against their own goverment. They must have felt that their effort to attract attention was actually working.

No one was at all hostile towards us Americans. In fact, they were quite friendly, and this shouldn't surprise anyone. Minorities here in Europe dream of a place where they can live the way they want and not have to conform to a foreign society. They believe that in America they can climb as high as they dare and no one will push them down. The American Dream is alive and well. Their words, not mine.

Now I know that riots are a terrible way to promote a cause, but it was still easy to sympathize with their plight. Ancestry means everything here. If your father wasn't a natural born citizen then you are an outsider and in many small ways you will suffer as a result. No one even bothers to deny this and some actually believe that's the way it should be. These racaille protesters were already on edge and now Sarkozy, a politician with a 'tough' attitude toward immigration, is their newly elected President.

The Eiffel Tower

Ah, the Eiffel Tower. It really is as impressive as it's made out to be, both up close and from afar. I highly recommend picnicking on the lawn in front of the tower at sunset. We stumbled across hundreds of Parisians doing just this one evening and it definitely seemed 'right.'

Arc de Triomphe

I believe the Arc de Triomphe provides the best view of Paris. Yes, certainly better than that of the Eiffel Tower. The Arc is located in the center of Place de l'Étoile, a roundabout connecting twelve tree-lined avenues. They radiate like spokes in a wagon wheel and no matter which direction you look you always feel like you're at the center. Also, the Arc's viewing platform is at the perfect elevation to see a nice skyline: above the rooftops but below the domes and spires. IMHO photos taken from atop the Eiffel Tower are rather boring because they look like they were taken from an airplane window. Visit the Arc after sunset when the street lights have been turned on. Three thumbs up.

Versailles

Louis XIV thought big, real big, as in all the way to the horizon. That's the end of his palace garden...if there's an end at all. There's certainly no end to the flow of tourists. This place had more tour groups than any other attraction I have ever seen. Did I mention this place is BIG?

We didn't bother going inside due to the long line, but we did wander around a fraction of the garden. In keeping with tradition the main fountains work for only one hour a day--11am to noon--just in time for the tourists to finish their cappucinos and fire up their cameras.

I felt like a flea on the back of a Chia pet. Just add water and voilà!

ch-ch-ch-chia!