Weekend at the Alps

The weekend started Friday morning (11 January) when the infamous J. Bizness (a.k.a. Dr. Jonah Berger) arrived to town.

After a quick detour to Berger Strasse (no pun intended) to stop by my place to drop off the clothes he didn’t need and get my bag, then to the bank to get money, we got in Geertje’s car (which I had picked up the night before) headed to work to pick up Thomas and we were off to Lenggries.

Thomas drove the whole way…and very fast mind you, but with good reason—we wanted to get to the place before 4:30pm (when the gondolas that takes you up to the top of the mountain closed). Furthermore, we had an additional detour to Munich so Thomas could get the stuff he needed, and Jonah and I also needed time once we got there to rent ski equipment (skis, boots and poles).

Anyways, during the drive, Jonah and I slept probably 5/6 of the way. But I still found time to take a couple pictures:


This is the world famous Allianz Arena. I say world famous because its shaped like a white nest and they can light up the outside different colors (red, white or blue I believe… seeing that these are the colors of the Bavarian soccor team that plays there) as they see fit.


These are the fields where they grow the plants from which their world famous Bavarian beers (like Augustiner Muenchen) is made.

Upon arriving in Munich, Thomas was quick to get his stuff and load the car. Of note, we met his girlfriend Micha (like Michael, without the “L”):


A little over an hour later, we got to Lenggries, Jonah and I rented our ski stuff, then Pascal, Geertje, Romana, Martin (not the head of valuation, another Martin that also works for the company) and Steffie arrived shortly thereafter. Then we all took the gondola up.

Now, one of the things that intrigued me about the trip (aside from it being in the Alps), was that we were going to be staying in a cabin located right on the mountain. However, before going up, I didn’t bother to ask where the cabin actually was, I sort of assumed it'd be right there by the gondola (or at most a short walk from there). Wrong! Come to find out, we had to walk (with skis, boots, poles and luggage, and all) about half a km…on the actual slopes, mind you, to the cabin. The walk sucked…but I’m not going to front though, it was beautiful up there:






The funny thing was that the cabin was at the bottom of a hill, so we had to either walk, ski, slide or fall to get down there.

After catching our breaths and getting settled into our rooms on the upper floor of the cabin, we all got beers…then shnapps…then dinner…then more shnapps…then I don’t remember. These were some of the pictures taken:







Jonah and I got to bed around 10 (we got there around 5:30-ish), but I heard some people stayed up till 3:30.

The next day we got up and had typical European breakfast (bread, cheese and salami) and were on the slopes by 10am. But first, I took some pictures...






I was skiing like a bamma for like the 1st two runs, but by the time the clouds arrived, I was somewhat getting back into the groove of things. I say “somewhat” because this ski trip made me realize a very painful truth…I am very out of shape. Aside from how out of breath I was from the walk to the cabin on Friday, I realized that I can’t attack the slope with the vehemence that I used to over 10 years ago (the last time I went skiing when I weighed less and did a lot more physical activities during the natural course of the week—like play tennis, basketball, rollerblade, etc.) I felt it most in my thighs. For those that are unfamiliar with proper ski-technique (like I’m about to explain this with any sort of professionalism), when going down the slope, you’re supposed to bend your knees (keeping them together) and use the edges of your skis (via your thighs) to “cut” into the slope from left to right to left to right, etc. (providing for the sort of “weaving” action you see skiers make as they go down the slope. Well, the steeper the slope, the more work your thighs have to put in to control your speed as you go down the slope (the steeper the slope, the faster you go down and the more you have to “cut” into the slope). So what I found was the steeper the slope, the more often I had to stop to give my thighs a rest and catch my breath. I absolutely have to get back into jogging.

Somehow, Jonah was able to comprehend the map and where we were at all times, so he was basically the leader for Romana and I (the three of us went out together while the others fragmented into their own groups).

(lift "tickets" are a thing of the past, its all digital now)

(shout to English Muffin)

Unfortunately at times that means you can end up here…


…where the about two feet of semi-packed snow is covered by a thin layer of ice so you have to crawl back up to the top of the run once you realize this may have not been one of the resort’s designated runs (lol). But naw, all jokes aside, Jonah was a good “Kimosabe” cause I damn sure didn’t know how to get to all the trails (which is surprising because I normally have an excellent sense of direction) and we got in a fair share of different runs before the slopes closed at 4:30.

Upon getting back (we were the first), we got a beer and shortly thereafter Pascal and Steffi arrived. Turns out, they skied the whole mountain (even the part where the gondola takes you up). They said in all, it’s 5 kilometers from the cabin to the very bottom…wow.

Truthfully, this night was no different than the other night except it was snowing outside and we played this game called “Sixes-out.”


Basically, everyone starts with 30 points (your score). You have 6 dice and then every roll you have to remove at least one die. The number on the die or dice is added until you've rolled all the dice. The goal is for your total, after all of your rolls, to be 30 or higher. If your number is 31 or higher, you get a bonus roll (with all 6 dice) and for every die that shows the number of the amount difference between your total and 30, you take those dice out until your roll doesn't show that amount again. Then that total gets counted against the score of next person's turn. Sounds confusing right? For example, if my total (at the end of my initial rolls) was 34, then I get a bonus roll (with all 6 dice) and for every '4' that shows up (the difference between my score (34) and 30) that counts against the next person's score. I then take all those fours out and roll again. I keep rolling til no fours show up. The goal is to be the last man (or woman) with points at the end.

After playing the game several rounds with Pascal and Thomas, Jonah and I got bored with the game and then tried to make up our own version called “American 3’s”, the rules of which we made up as we went along. It didn’t work. Anyways, we also played the game where you try to bounce a coin into the cup and both Jonah and I arm-wrestled Martin and his 2-meter, 2-centimeter tall self (do the math).


But given we were stuck in a cabin in the middle of Alps and we had nothing but each other, alcohol, music and each other to keep us company (and the games I said before), the night basically proceeded like this:

Sunday morning, we woke to fresh powder (it snowed the night before) and were anxious to get on the slopes before it was all gone. More early morning pics of the Alps...





But after breakfast, I found there was something else that concerned me. Thomas, Geertje and Pascal, eager to avoid the traffic that would no doubt swarm the roads more and more as the afternoon progressed, wanted to meet at the bottom of the slopes at 12:30 (it was around 10 at this point). Me, realizing I would probably never come back to Lenggries again in my life, wanted to spend considerably more time on the slopes that day. Thomas, Geerjte and I got into a bit of a tiff because at the time it seemed they were unwilling to compromise nor hear me out (I absolutely hate it when people cut me off…especially in situations like this). In the end it was all good and we compromised that Jonah and I just wouldn’t meet them for lunch (which is what they were planning to do after meeting at the bottom at 12:30) and would link up with them at 2pm.

Once back on the slopes, my style was progressively improving considerably as my body began to remember my impeccable ski-form from the yester-years. What also helped a lot was the fact that, unlike Saturday, it wasn’t snowing and, as the day progressed, the sun came out—thereby highlighting the terrain considerably more.


I wish I could have gotten even more runs in, but I was satisfied with those that we had done. So around 1pm we got back to the cabin and got our stuff. Now here was the tricky part, we had to ski back to the gondola with all of our luggage. I mean, if skiing without it (and the workout given to my thighs) wasn’t enough already, now I had to worry about the shifting of a considerable amount of weight from left to right to left to right each time I cut into the slope (given I didn’t have a backpack, but a bag with a single strap). But somehow I managed (Jonah was smart, he had a bag that had an extra strap that straps around your waist). Nevertheless, we made it to the bottom and returned our ski equipment with time to spare. And guess what…come 2pm, they weren’t even there. I wasn’t tripping cause Jonah, myself and Romana (who we saw at the bottom once we got there) were still hungry so we got something from this place called “Alte Mulistation” (go figure). They arrived sometime before 2:15 and we were out soon thereafter.


Cheers.

Adventures in Babysitting (the Brussels Blog)

Paris was from the 23rd to the 26th of December, Amsterdam was from the 28th of December to the 1st of January. That left the night of the 27th (and the morning/afternoon of the 28th) open. The original plan was to go to Cologne, Germany. But after learning that Eurail pass included Belgium…I’m sorry, lemme take a step back and educate the viewers at home:

There is a plan that is open only to non-EU residents called the “Eurail” pass. Basically, for 2 months you’re allowed either 5 or 10 days of travel between 3, 4, 5 or all 18 EU countries…with each plan increasing in price the more days and/or countries you’re allowed. But here’s the thing, you have to select the countries up front. Now, Kadija and I, starting in Germany and desiring to travel to Paris (France) and Amsterdam (the Netherlands) obviously wanted the 5-day, 3-country pass. Luckily for us, “the Netherlands”, in addition to Holland, included Luxembourg and Belgium (Google Earth it, dammit!).

Anyways, lonelyplanet.com has been my guide for many of the weekend trips I have taken during my tenure out here (Sidebar: Them bammas are going corporate because when I was looking for our Amsterdam accommodations back in November, I was able to see the editor’s picks and get phone numbers and all. But now, they don’t give you any of that stuff and try to have you book your rooms through them.) So when I went here and saw that, “From November to March, the weather is often wretched (right around freezing with plenty of slushy precipitation),” I figured Brussels was not the best of ideas. The site did have a very good review of Luxembourg, but unfortunately, the country is either so small or off the radar that there were no reviews or suggestions of places to stay. So during my day at the Paris office, I asked where we should go. The overwhelming answer…Brussels.

So here’s the funny thing. We didn’t have Internet access on Christmas (and we were busy out and about all throughout the 24th) so the only day (i.e. night) I could book something was the 26th (i.e. the night before). Considering the Christmas/New Year’s holiday, you’d think we were doomed. But the night of the 27th, given this week’s distribution of days in 2007 (i.e. Thursday night), was the exact mid-point between people’s Christmas and/or New Year’s plans/travels. So while I was aware it was last minute, I was also aware that there may be openings. Aww, lemme stop b.s.-ing, I was ready to take the first place that answered, spoke English, took Visa and was ready to book us. Surprisingly, it didn’t take long and within an hour we had the basement room in the Phineas Fogg—a 4-room (what in D.C. would be called a “row house” and in NY a “brownstone”) B&B in Brussels: http://hotels.lonelyplanet.com/hotel/-P131455.html

Nothing much happened between checking out of the hotel in Paris and checking into the B&B in Brussels except:

• When traveling in and out of Paris, you have to have a reservation…regardless of whether or not you have a Eurail pass, and there’s a guy at the train door who checks each person getting on to make sure they have a reservation. So when boarding the train in Paris, when the guy in front of us tried to act like he didn’t know, the train checker-guy straight sonned him by saying (in the most stereotypic French accent you can conjure), “I do not know who told you this, but he is a lyeur!” Kadija and I were laughing about this the rest of the trip (and still are). What’s even funnier is that he also came around to where we were sitting later and struck up a conversation. He said he loved “Pulp Fiction” (replete with the John Travolta “peace sign” dance) and said he’ll only begin to come around on his not-so-positive views on America if Barack Obama was elected (he was black by the way).
• I took this picture of Kadija:
  

• And just like all of Germany, there are no subway turnstiles

So after arriving and getting settled in our room, Karin (the owner/operator of the Phineas Fogg)…


….drew us a “spot-on” map of the path that we should take to get downtown.

Here are some of the pics from our walk:
















OK.

So, the original plan was to head back to the B&B, charge our (and the camera’s) batteries, sample (i.e. drink) all 6 of the Belgian beers we purchased from…


…and then head out to the authentic Belgian restaurant that Karin suggested and depicted on her hand-drawn map. But after uploading pictures from the camera, drinking delectable Belgian ales and realizing a 20-30 minute (round trip) walk just wasn’t a good look, we decided to try for something a little more closer to home-base. It was around this time that Karin asked us if we wanted pizza. Now, Kadija (for some-odd-English reason) does not like pizza and I wasn’t trying to impose, so we politely declined.

Some 15 minutes and 2 to 3 beers later, Karin asked us to babysit while she got the pizza. To her defense, there was another guest that hadn’t called to let her know (or lied about) when they were to show up. So the pizza would have been gotten earlier (i.e before we got there), had they shown up or let her know when they were going to be there.

This is a pic of her and her beautiful daughter.


Kadija and I were both a bit leery or this situation, but I figured Karin wouldn’t be that long getting the pizza and I was also a bit sympathetic to her because, being the traveler that my experiences with her and her place led me to believe she was (and lonely planet described her as being), I felt that she might have just needed a break away from it all (if not just for 5 to 10 minutes). So, speaking on behalf of the both of us, I agreed.

For the majority of the 20 or so minutes Karin was gone, things went well. Her Karin’s daughter (I’m sorry, I forget her name) sat on my lap and looked at my pictures in iPhoto. Some she liked…


Most she didn’t…


[Yeah I know Karin is in the background of these pics, but this is basically what was happening the majority of while she was gone.]

I even taught her to call Kadija a “bamma.” But then…. Look, the truth of the matter is this girl was no older than 4. And despite the fact she can probably speak 6 languages better than I can, she can’t speak none of ‘em fluently. And I don’t care if your mother or one of the many guests taught you to be an origami master, scissors without your mother’s supervision just ain’t happening.

Now Kadija will tell you herself, she dislikes children (especially bad-ass German ones—see here). So when little girl sulked and ran to the corner in the other room after I took the scissors from her, Kadija just pursed her lips, slightly shook her head and continued typing. I, on the other hand, followed her to the corner, and attempted to console her. I thought I was making headway, then she started saying, “I want Mommy.”

Luckily shortly thereafter Karin showed back up and when the little girl ran up to Karin speaking another language…I feared the worst. I then told Karin that she tried to pick up some scissors and took them away from her. Karin said she completely understood and thanked us for looking after her. Shortly after that, Kadija and I left to go to the same Italian place Karin got her pizza from. Not only were we hungry, but we were both extremely eager to talk about the situation that had just transpired.

Basically, both sides of the story were like this:

• On one hand, she shouldn’t be leaving her 4-year old daughter in the care of strangers she just met no more than 6 hours ago. To do so is just plain simple irresponsible parenting because you never know what could happen…even if you’re gone for 5 minutes. The fact that she found it OK to do so might be reflective of her not wanting to be bothered for a period of time (as evidenced by Karin playing solitaire (by herself) several times during the evening and her daughter’s insatiable need of attention—meaning Karin may not be paying her enough of it). If this is indeed the case, this also lends to the notion of irresponsible parenting.
• On the other hand, the fact that she found it OK to do so might also be reflective her liberal mindset in maybe wanting her daughter to be exposed to as much of the world and life as possible (i.e. spending time with complete strangers without her supervision will not only teach her English, but also teach her to be independent). Furthermore, the likelihood that one of her guests would do anything heinous to her daughter is slim to none—given her place is small and not that publicized, I would suspect that the “lonely planet” crowd that stays there is more civil than the general traveling populace. I know you can’t put a profile on a traveler or the type of person that would do something heinous, but that’s just my sentiment. Of note also, as I stated earlier, there are no turnstiles in the Brussels subway system. And if my assumption, that people who ride the subway pay for tickets to the same degree that they do in Germany, is correct, the people of Brussels have some sense of morals (i.e. paying for tickets) and would be less inclined to do something to her daughter than they would be in America.
  

Still, Kadija and I were both in aggreance that were it our child, we wouldn’t have left him or her alone with us, or any strangers for that matter. But then again, neither of us have been parents, nor have either of us run a B&B.

After dinner, we went back to the Phineas Fogg and went to bed. We woke the next morning to your standard European breakfast (bread with butter and/or jam, sliced meat, coffee and boiled egg (optional), and headed out to Brussels again to catch some pictures in the good weather before leaving to head for Amsterdam.

These pictures and many more can be found on my photobucket account...link coming soon.

Cheers.

Weekend at the Alps (preview)

Cheers.

Don't Worry, Amsterdam is on the Way...

In my quest to educate ya'll bammas to music on an international scale, I present to you "Non Stop" by Partysquad [the DJ's] ft. Brain Power [the MC]. You don't have to know Dutch to know he's snappin', but if you actually try to pay attention, I guarantee you'll catch a few lines.

Enjoy.

Cheers.

P.S. The Paris Picture Reel and the Brussels Blog are also on the way.

The Santa Claus Blog

You know the story. If you're a good little boy (girl), provided your parent(s)/relatives have the financial means, Santa will reward you with the presents (and possibly more) that you desire. If you're bad, you get a lump of coal in your stocking.

Now, we all know that Santa doesn't exist...but that still doesn't mean the idea of Santa still doesn't hold true. If you get good grades and act right, your parent(s) (playing pseudo-Santa) should reward you come Christmas. Maybe not to the lofty designs characterized by your standard Santa/Christmas images, but gift(s) abound nonetheless. The same holds true on the other hand, if you're bad and/or get bad grades, you won't necessarily get a lump of coal, but you definitely won't be rewarded for the (rotten) fruits of your behavior/labor.

I wonder if the same idea holds any relation (even in the slightest) to God, heaven and hell.

Now make no mistake, this is no atheist rant (I personally believe in a higher power and I pray every night). I just wonder if the way in which "God" is portrayed in many religions is too literal...much like Santa. Although "Santa" (with his snowy beard and the red outfit delivering gifts to all the children of the ENTIRE world by flying in his sled with 12 reindeer and climbing his fat arse up and down coal stained chimneys without getting scratched or dirty) doesn't exist, the idea of Santa is physically manifested through your parents. So, in freeing your mind from the physical/literal, does that make that make "Santa" any less real?

With respect to God and religion (specifically Christianity, Islam and other monotheistic religions...and my not-so-grand understanding of their basics), its basically if you're good and follow the word, you'll go to heaven...if you're bad and don't follow the word, you'll go to hell. If you're following the metaphor, I'm likening these to the "Santa gift bonanza" (heaven) and lump of coal (hell) referred to earlier.

Now, I haven't exactly figured out who the metaphorical "parent(s)" are with respect to religion, but in the end, that's neither here nor there. It's the ultimate "idea" of God that I'm getting at...and not its literal portrayal (I personally believe many of the stories in religious texts are parables anyways, and not to be taken as literal occurrences). It goes then, in staying with the metaphor, that neither heaven or hell are respectively gangbusters in their pleasure or pain, but do follow the theme that if you live your life as a good person (in keeping with the tenents suggested by the word), then the afterlife (in whatever manifestation you believe it to be) will be peaceful--or maybe its something along the lines of just dying in peace (i.e. without having any unfinished business on your deathbed that causes you to grief during your last days). On the flipmode, if you don't live your life as a good person (not in accordance with the tenents suggested by the word), the afterlife (or life on your deathbed) will leave you unfulfilled.

To reiterate, I'm in no way saying that God doesn't exist, I just wonder in if the way in which many people in the world view "God" is too literal. That maybe "God" is moreso the means (as in process...as in thought process...as in the process that should ideally guide one's thought) to the end that awaits each and every one of us.

Cheers.

While Out on Inspection Today...

I saw this...

If it's hard to tell from the picture, its basically a HUGE canvas image of trees, draped over a structured parking garage. The story goes, people working on this side of the building (from which I took the picture) were tired of staring at a boring garage everyday at work. So either they or the landlord produced three of these canvas images (which were taken of the trees on the opposite side of the building) and hung them along the side of the garage which faces the building. I'm quite positive that it has helped...or at the least provided a mid-day chuckle out of the people forced to have to stare at an otherwise dull parking garage facade.

I personally think this is the greatest idea I've seen in a while. I'm sort of reminded about the Nationals Ballpark which is currently under construction in SE Washington, DC. A big debate between the developers and city officials, prior to construction, concerned where parking for the stadium was to go. The City, obviously wanting the area surrounding the stadium to be as aesthetically pleasing as possible desired underground parking. Additionally, underground parking would allow the space where the above-ground (or "structured" lot) would be constructed to be utilized for some other higher and better use. The developers, on the other hand, stated that there was no way they could incorporate underground parking into the stadium's design because it would no doubt throw off the construction schedule causing the stadium to not be complete by the April 2008 Opening Day. But anyone with half a brain could see the real reason was that the cost to construct underground parking is many times more expensive than an above ground lot...and the developer's weren't about to sacrifice cost (which was already another LARGE issue in and of itself) for aesthetics when an above-ground lot is comparably functional.

Once it was determined that an underground lot just wasn't going to happen, the City tried presenting the idea of putting some sort of multi-family use above the structured lot, but for some reason that didn't work as well. There I go on tangents again...

Long story short, I think doing this imaged-canvas sort of thing and draping the entire above-ground lot with it could be something. I mean, they could even make it into a competition for artists and/or architects (local or otherwise) to compete to design the "art" (if you will) that will engulf the parking garage for the newly constructed Nationals Stadium. If it's done right, I think it could work.

Hey, at the very least they'd win novelty points cause I haven't seen anything like this in the States...or in DC at least.

Cheers.

P.S. More Christmas/New Year's blogs are on the way...

Paris Miscellaneous (Paris #4)

• There are WAY more black people (i.e. Africans) than you’d think.
• Subway is dirty and more confusing than New York’s...
  

• They make excellent use of lights…and not just the Champs-Elysees, everywhere from storefronts to hotels.
• Nicolas Sarkozy (their prime minister) is short and many of the French make jokes about him, especially in regards to comparisons to Napolean...

• Speaking of which, apparently having a “Napolean-complex” was a phrase that originated outside of France as the people in the Paris office hadn’t heard of it before.
• CAN SOMEONE PLEASE EXPLAIN TO ME THE HOOPLAH ABOUT THE MONA LISA?! Last time I checked, when someone takes or paints a picture of someone who is looking directly at them (or the lens), no matter WHERE you stand, it will look as if they are staring directly at you. SO WHAT’S THE BIG DEAL?!
• Homeless people speak your language (doesn’t matter which one), and highlight this when asking for change..."Par le vous Francais?","Habla espanol?","Do you speak English?","Spreckenzie Deutsche?"...
  
• For Australians, in order to get a visa in America, all they have to do is come over to America, find a job, leave the U.S., go to the U.S. embassy in Australia, show proof of work and they'll get a visa...it's that simple. It's called the "Iraq Visa" (unofficially), as I believe)its sort of like a favor-for-favor thing in return for Australia's help in the Iraq war. [I know this doesn't have to do with Paris, but I found this out in Paris so that's why its here.]
  
• During lunch, someone told me that Germans, while civil within their (Germany's) country's borders, oftentimes act a fool overseas (specifically, Ibiza). Take it for what you will, but I thought it an interesting observation given how "by the book" I have seen them to be since arriving in Europe.
• And finally...Smoking indoors was banned in France as of January 2, 2008 (who’d have thunk it…in France of all places).

Cheers.

The Paris Office (Paris #3)

Prior to arriving in Paris, I sent out an email to the valuation department in our Paris office notifying them that I was going to be in town from the 23rd to the 26th and would love to stop by. They replied that they'd love to have me, but as it seems the week between Christmas and New Year's is an un-official holiday all throughout Europe, the only day to do so would be Monday, Christmas Eve. The following is a recap.

This is the view to the south from the 8th floor (Valuation's Floor) of the building. Supposedly, were it not for the building to the right, you'd have a clear view of the Eiffel Tower.


This is the view to the northeast along the Avenue de Freidland (it runs parallel, to the north, of the Champs-Elysees). According to Paul (the head of Paris Valuation whose desk is adjacent to the small patio from where I took this picture), a visit to the area surrounding the cathedral (I think) in the distance is a must if you are visiting Paris for an extended period.


This is the view to the southwest along the Avenue de Freidland. As you can see, the Arc de Triompe is in the near distance.


These were the two valuers that were nice enough to take time from their no doubt busy day (not only work-wise, but also because it was the last day to get in your Christmas shopping and they were walking distance from the main shopping destination in all of France--the Champs-Elysees). The guy on the right is Sam. He was super cool and actually knew Julia from the Frankfurt office as they befriended each other during this international valuation symposium held by our company in NYC last year that they attended. The guy on the left is Rodolphe. What's funny is that this guy is like the American stereotype of a 20-something Frenchman--from the accent, to the dress, to the overall way he carried himself. He was cordial, no doubt, but all throughout he also had this air of French cockiness about him. I could never tell if the sort of sarcastic way he was talking to me was reflective of his limited grasp or contempt of the English language. Still though, as I don't speak ANY French, I can't say anything negative cause he can speak complete sentences in English.


Although this guy isn't in valuation (per se...he's the head of Capital Markets in Paris), I had to take a picture with him. His name is Olivier (pronounced just like the dude who won the Cut & Paste competition in Berlin I blogged about back in October) and he was involved in a recently completed transaction involving an office building in Paris to the tune of 2 billion Euro. Supposedly this is the second highest valued transaction ever for a commercial building...across the world (and the highest in recent history). And yes, he is one of the few people in the Paris office that has his own office.


Just like the London and Frankfurt offices, they have an open floor plan.


This is their kitchen/eating area on the ground floor of the building (the kitchen is in the alcove to the right of the dude in the white shirt). Aside from having a striking color scheme, this area is also adjacent to the courtyard where many of the employees go to enjoy a smoke (as seen by the lady on the other side of the sliding-glass door).


Yes, they also have a bunker stocked with sparkling and still bottled water. Guess its a European thing...not just Frankfurt.


OK. Nespresso is a company that makes gourmet espresso packaged just like the little pre-packaged coffee cups at work you put into the coffee maker where it spits out a single serving. Only they come in a ton of different flavors, they also sell espresso makers in a bunch of different varieties (that also come with an optional carrying case), they have a 2,000 square meter, 2-level store right on the Champs-Elysees (Paris’ 5th Avenue equivalent)...

and have commercials with George Clooney....

No joke, it is officially what is hot on the streets of Paris. Hell, I even saw these commercials in Amsterdam and the lady who ran the B&B we stayed at in Brussels had a Nespresso machine (and she said the customer service, when her espresso-maker needed to be repaired, was superb).

Later, myself and a group of people from Paris valuation had lunch, which I heard was somewhat of a special occasion (despite me being there) because they had been meaning to have a valuation group lunch for a while but hadn't had a chance to until that day as things had been so busy at the close of the year. Well, I don't know how they normally get down during these type of "extended lunches," but it lasted about two hours and, in addition to the actual meal, consisted of about 3 or 4 rounds of red wine, 2 rounds of bread and cheese and a round of dessert (how French is that?). We ended up discussing a number of topics (politics, the French and U.S. real estate markets, the weak dollar, Germany and Germans, etc.)...but I'll attempt to summarize the important points in my Paris Misc blog.

Cheers.

Christmas Eve Dinner (Paris #2)

So, Kadija has a model friend named Mahady.

The story goes, when Kadija was in NY going out for calls, she met this girl whose call sheet basically mirrored hers. So they went out together to all of the calls and have been good friends ever since. Oh yeah, she she speaks very little English (and not European “I-can-conjugate-verbs-but-not-speak-good-English” very little English, but for real she only knows a few words in English (more than my German though)). Anyways, she was nice enough to open her home to us for Christmas Eve Dinner.

First Course:

Mahady and her family are French, but hail from one of those African countries whose colonizers spoke French. Anyways, when they offer you an opaque-brown liquid in a bottle with no label, you know you’re in for some isht you’ve never tasted before. I know my description won’t do the taste any justice but it was very sugary and tasted like some African fruit that I’ve never seen or tasted before and you can only get in that country…and the only way you knew there was alcohol in there was from the look on their faces when they offered you some. I wouldn’t say I was ga-ga about the taste, but it wasn’t bad at all. It was one of those drinks that had two distinct “during-” and “after-“ tastes. I rode out with the cup they poured me the whole night.

Second Course:

Now these WERE THE BOMB. They poured these in a wooden bowl (the size of a cereal bowl) and it took all my druthers (and Kadija) to stop me from eating these straight from the bag (much less finishing the bowl). I don’t know if they have these in the States but I HAVE to get my hands on some (Josh, you’re up on these type of things, what’s the deal with these State-side?). Of note, along with this were a bowl of small cut-up pieces of three different types of uncooked sausages/pepperoni (of which I ate about 2 or 3 pieces) and a bowl of crackers (which I didn’t eat).

Third Course:

Just your regular salad with a creamy dressing similar to Ranch. I crushed this and ate Kadija’s tomatoes (I like this picture of the table by the way).

Fourth Course:

OK.

Pancakes. Regular silver-dollar sized pancakes.

Smoked Salmon. The same lox that you throw on a bagel with some cream cheese.

The Pink Spread. Man, I don’t know what that stuff is but I was told that you’re supposed to spread it on the pancakes…and like a good little boy I did. I can’t tell you about it’s taste cause I ate it in combination with everything else on the plate, but the good thing is that it didn’t detract from any of the other foods.

The Blood Sausage. Yeah, they actually use the blood of a pig or something and cook it with some refried bean consistency stuffing (but its more coarse). You’re not supposed to eat the skin, so I pulled it back and just ate it in combination with everything else on the plate (dude, I was hungry by the time we got to Mahady’s cause I hadn’t eaten anything since lunch with the Paris valuation office). Again, I can’t tell you its specific taste cause I ate it in tandem with everything else on the plate. But what sticks out was its consistency (and this holds true for the smoked salmon and pink spread). But I’ll get to that later.

Fifth Course:
Duck "Pâté"
(sorry, no picture here)

“WAIT!!!! Don’t you dare call it pâté!” Why do you ask. Well, according to Mahady’s sister, pâté is what you call a pâté-looking dish where you don’t know its contents or its contents are a myriad of meats. When you know what it is, as in duck, you call it...I forget. Anyways, for those unfamiliar with pâté-like dishes, it basically has the consistency of hard cream cheese (in look and feel in your mouth), but the taste and process to get it are completely different. As it was told to us, they basically gorge a duck until it dies, then take its remains (don’t ask me which remains cause I don’t remember…and even if I wrote this the next day (which I had planned to but the internet went out in the hotel room on Christmas day) I wouldn’t have remembered) and grind it up (I believe) and make the dish. As for the taste, it’s about 1.5-times thicker than cheese and has more complexity in terms of what you actually taste as you’re chewing. I hope that helps and I really wish I had a picture but I don’t.

Sixth Course:
Roast Leg of Lamb
(again...sorry no picture here)

Unfortunately, by the time we got to this dish, it was around like 10:30pm and both Kadija and I were full…so we left (got a ride home from Mahady and her sister) before this dish was even served. Trust me, we did NOT leave because we just couldn’t take the food anymore, we were just full and tired. Furthermore, I’m sure the consistency of this dish would have agreed with my palette the most of all the prior two courses…which brings me to the conclusion.

The consistency of French cuisine is more foreign to me than its taste. Nothing from this dinner tasted b, but I’m not sure I’m in agreeance with how it feels in my mouth. I’m sorry, I’m used to solids that I then use my teeth to break down. It seems, from my limited experience with real French food, that many of their dishes (from cheese to the dishes experienced at Mahady’s house) have this pasty or creamy consistency (even escargot is on some other stuff). I’m sorry, it’s just not my cup of tea. As a result, it’s hard for me to separate the taste (which I’m sure many-a-culinary aficionados would tell me is exquisite) from the feel. I mean, if you were a milk lover, I bet you wouldn’t drink a cup that looked green or brown. That’s what I’m getting at…real French cuisine is on that next level…where taste transcends what you actually put in your mouth. And I'm not enough of a foodie (yet...?) to "free my mind."

Cheers.

Sidebar: Mahady’s boyfriend is super cool and a buyer for Nike Stores all throughout France. Dude looks like he should be playing European league basketball (and I think he used to or something), but that’s not the point(s)…there are two. One: The Nokia N series phone that he had was OFFICIAL! It was basically an iPhone without a Qwerty keyboard and all the hype. It had just as many gigs and a sleek hardware to match. Looking for a new phone…don’t sleep, do your research. Two: The next Jordans (the 23’s) will be the last Jordans produced. And according to dude, they are SICK! The story, as I remember it, is that they are bringing back Tinker Hatfield--who was the designer of the Jordan 3’s through the Jordan 15’s (as well as the 20's). Ask about (or google) ‘em.

Reflections on Tipping (Paris #1)

I’m sure many of the commenters/viewers of this blog are familiar with my friend Cynthia. For those that aren’t, I went to high school with Cynthia and she showed an uncanny talent and propensity for the arts all throughout. Truthfully, I personally believe that Cynthia will be an established actress (via TV or film) within the next 5 to 10 years. But that’s besides the point…

Cynthia, following high school, went to and graduated from NYU and, following that, was a server at many an establishments in NYC. During my many visits to NY (namely during my extended stay internships), I would chop it up with Cynthia. And whenever we went out to lunch and/or dinner, we would inevitably be presented with the bill, at which time we would almost always engage in a debate about tipping.

She, deriving a sizable portion of her income from the service industry, would vehemently take the stance that you should tip 20% unless the waiter/waitress did something deplorable. I would always take the position there are two players (not one) involved with her pay—the consumer AND the employer. “Don’t try to put it on me that your boss doesn’t pay you enough. If he’d pay you more and not try to pass the cost onto me, you wouldn’t have to worry about whether or not I tip,” I’d say. Furthermore, I always felt why should I have to pay extra for a waiter or waitress doing their job. Well, it wasn’t until Paris that I realized that “average” service in America is “good” service in Paris.

The following is a list of things you probably take for granted at restaurants in the U.S. that are either nonexistent or they just don’t care to implement in Paris:

• Hosts. Christmas night, Kadija and I went out to a restaurant that was suggested by the desk clerk at the Royal Hotel (the hotel where we were staying). After taking a gander at the menu outside, we decided to give it a try. As expected, we weren’t the only ones, as the restaurant was fully packed and there was a small crowd of people waiting just inside the door in what would be called the “host area.” I say, “what would be called” because there was no host. Now, I’m not sure if this was because they never have a host or felt that because they were packed, “what do we need a host for?!” But it wasn’t until the patrons at a couple of tables vacated that the waitress bussing those tables came to the “host” area looking to seat the next people (good thing for us one of the tables was a table for two and Kadija and I were the only couple that were waiting for a table). And this wasn’t the only place. While at many other places we got seated probably just as quickly by the nearest waiter as we would have were there a host, there was nevertheless no identifiable “host” behind a podium.

• Receiving menus and/or drinks in a reasonable time frame (if at all). After checking into the hotel our first day in Paris, we walked around the immediate area (i.e. the Champs-Elysees—pronounced “Shauns Eleesay”…or as I like to say “the Chandra Leevy”) and happened upon what seemed to be a somewhat upscale African restaurant (no I don’t know the region but if I had to guess…Moroccan, maybe?). We went inside and after asking the nearest waiter where to sit we were sat in the non-smoking section. I could go through the theatrics right here but it took a good 10 minutes for us to receive menus (after we non-verbally gestured to the guy who sat us who then notified our waiter that we didn’t have menus). After another 10 minutes or so, he came back to take our drink orders. Not sure if he would come back in a timely fashion to take our meal orders, we hastily ordered both our drinks and meals. After another 20 minutes, we said we’d give the guy til 6pm to come back with our drinks (which was around 5 minutes from then); and mind you, we ordered beers, not drinks that were to be served with meals. At 6:01pm we got up and left. As we left, dude looked over at me and had this puzzled look on his face (which was probably the first time since leaving the table that he gave any indication of our existence). I then replied, “Don’t worry about it cuu” (as FAMU-ish as possible ;-). Now, I don’t know if dude was having a bad day, lazy, didn’t like us cause we were Americans (much less black Americans…and yes, he was black too), or any other excuse…the bottom line was that the service was absolutely deplorable.

• Stopping by after the meal was delivered to make sure everything’s OK. This never happened…but let your glass be half full with the sparkling water you purchased and they’ll promptly empty the rest of the sparkling water bottle into your glass and ask if you want another (I hate it when they do this in the States…much less overseas)

• Ordering something that is not to your liking, ordering another dish and not having to pay for both. All I can really expound upon regarding this was at the restaurant we went to after the African restaurant fiasco, Kadija ordered this red wine that was brought to her chilled. What the waiter told us later was that this particular wine is supposed to be served chilled. Still, she had a taste for red wine at room temperature, so she ordered another. When the bill came, we were charged for both. But over at Kadija’s blog, she has a much more elaborate explanation of the horrors of French service. You can read about it here: http://muffinmoments.blogspot.com/2007/12/paris-quickie-1-service.html.

I said all this to highlight the beginnings of a change in my viewpoint on tipping. You see, overseas (not just in France), tipping is not required. However, what this inadvertently does is not give the waiter/waitress any motivation to provide good service. Before leaving for Europe, I thought I understood this and was cool with it (thinking that “good” service entailed things like a smile or recommending dishes from the menu...actually bringing the menus and drinks in a timely fashion I felt to be required of the job). But after visiting France, where the things listed above were absent and I was left with no recourse but to either get up and leave or ask for the manager (which according to Kadija’s blog doesn’t work either…and on top of that you’re speaking in English—a language spited by many of the French), tipping might actual provide a useful purpose...to keep the waiter/waitress courteously on their job. Additionally, it also (theoretically) keeps prices lower as the manager doesn’t have to pay the servers as much.

Cheers.

Sidebar: Mainly attributable to the guilt trip Cynthia has bestowed upon me, I have almost always tipped between 15 and 20 percent when in the U.S. And I’d say since being in Europe, around 60 percent of the time I have stayed true to tipping that much (even though I don’t have to).