It is hard work being a tourist. It is not as if I am on a 5 week Caribbean excursion, with the only real effort required being the periodic rotation of my body to ensure maximum sun intake (in conjunction with the proper and consistent application of UV Ray protection).

I am here in France for a long yet suprisingly short amount of time, and I am trying to see as much as possible- ranging from the touristy to the more authentically Parisian. What ends up happening is that at the end of the work day, I'll rush quickly into the city to check out a set destination and its surrounding area. Assuming at least a 30 minute commute, 40 minutes getting lost time, and the fact that everything closes by 7:30pm, I really have to strategize.

But yesterday I did manage to fit quite a bit in. I left work early and with only 25-30 minutes of lost time (I walked north instead of south out of subway stop), time was on my side. I hit Notre Dam and the Latin Quarter for wandering and shopping. Then I stopped for a rosé break on a wonderfully charming tourist destination that was a dinner boat on the Seine. See picture above. Then I went on to meet my fellow switcher Sara for dinner. We ended up having 2 dinners actually, but that is a whole separate story all together. It was a good night.

There are many incredible churches and cathedrals in France and Spain. At this point, I feel that I have visited my fair share...
http://picasaweb.google.com/alexandra.pulver/Cathedrals 

Just as surely as I know that I'll see French people carrying around baguettes as accessories, when I set out to see the sites in Paris, I know that I will end up in places that I could not have predicted. Take this past Saturday. I started out at the Louvre. After that, I had every intention of scoping out the Paris Plage (a temporary beach set up along the Seine). I somehow missed the Plage all together and wound up at the Paris Sewage Museum. I know, it sounds ridiculous but here is what happened-

After walking for what seemed like miles, and experiencing what felt like severe dehydration, I came upon what I thought was an information booth. It wasn't. It was a ticket booth for the Paris Sewage museum. I had heard about the underground "catacombes" in Paris, and thought maybe "sewers" was a rough translation. I decided to check it out. Turns out I was wrong about the catacombes: this was a museum dedicated solely to the wonders of sewage drainage.

I only lasted at this underground museum about 10 minutes. The smell was horrible, likely due to the filthy waste water rushing by beneath our feet. On the plus side, I did learn a little about the innovative nature of the system- how it was the first of its kind in the world. Napoleon spearheaded an overhaul of the Paris sewer system in the early 19th century. Then, under Baron Haussmann in the mid-19th century, it became the first of its kind to bring fresh water into the city for drinking while flushing out the not-so-fresh water via separate channels. Plus, the underground tunnel system allows the entire system to be accessible, which was good for fixes as well as for tourism, even back then.

It is a funny business, being at such a famously beautiful and amazing landmark as the Louvre. Upon arrival, you slip completely into hyper-tourist mode. The camera comes out. You get a hungry look in your eye. You know the scene has been photographed millions of times before you ever got there, and that your digital camera shots will in no way improve upon those taken before you. But you can't help yourself. It is all so beautiful- just like a 0,90 euro postcard- and so you must take pictures, many of them, and you must try to add your own creative stamp to the scene. See above, and for many more: http://picasaweb.google.com/alexandra.pulver/Thesites )

A project I am working on while in the Saatchi Paris office has led me to uncover a recent Advertising Age report, and a special one at that, that reveals who were the top 100 advertisers Advertisers in the U.S. in 2005.

For the first time in American advertising history, the $4 Billion spending mark was broken...by not one but two companies. Yes, Proctor & Gamble and General Motors each spent in excess of $4 Billion in order to provide advertising support for their brands for 1 year of time. To be clear, this Ad Age report measures only advertising spending (in TV, print, radio, outdoor, online). This report does not take into account "below the line" spending (for promotions, sponsorships, events, PR), which could amount to as much of a cost if not more.

My initial reaction to this news was that of the bleeding heart liberal that I am not: "Oh we could save the world if even a small amount of that huge amount of $ was re-directed to a good cause!". But I don't want to go there- we have Bono and Angelina both working hard for us at the moment on that front, new baby aside.

What I want to talk about is manners. About showing a little bit of respect to others by showing a little bit of restraint. The question I have, is at what point do companies reach a level of spending that exceeds the limits of what most people would consider to be in good taste?

What would Emily Post have to say about spending that kind of money as a means to getting attention? How much is too much to spend on that party dress that will help to make you the belle of the ball? When is it best to rely on your natural charms?

Maybe companies don't need to be bothered with manners- they are about making $ after all, about business. Ok then, so at what point do these levels reach the absurd?

These are hard questions to ask when the competition is so steep, in an environment in which it is harder and harder to stand out. But there has got to be a better answer and it has something to do with the "less is more" philosophy, which hasn't quite taken on yet in our country. To say the least.

I have opened up a whole can of worms. It is a longer discussion than I want to get into right now, as I am currently sitting in a hell inferno. No doubt I will be adding and revising some more as clearer thoughts come to me. Alas, that is the beauty of the blog.

I'll keep this one to the point: the metrosexual movement is alive and kicking here in Paris. 

When you tell somebody that you are going to Amsterdam, one of two things generally happen depending on the age of the person with whom you are conversing. Older people will tell you to go to the Anne Frank museum, and younger people will ask whether you'll go to any of the coffee shops. wink wink.

Sorrow and substances aside, Amsterdam is a bang up little city. I loved it. Loved the biking everywhere, loved the canals, loved the charming tilt of the buildings that are sinking into the very soft soil, loved the shops, loved that everyone generally spoke English...

I had just a really wonderful weekend. The weather was gorgeous and I was with a friend, Tomoko, who lives there and was my tour guide away from the touristy (though we did feel obligated to walk around the Red Light District) and into the real. While it is always great to come upon hidden treasures in new cities, it is also quite wonderful to have a buddy to help you weed through the clutter- to show you "Times Square" as well as the way that the people actually live.

My AC unit, Paris-style

According to weatherchannel.com, it is 81 degrees fahrenheit in Paris and it "feels like 80 degrees". If the good people at weatherchannel. com were in the Saatchi Paris office right now, I think they'd agree that it feels like 100+ degrees. And when the sun really comes out, right at the post-lunch return-to-desk point, it feels unbearable.

I am not a big fan of air conditioning. But I am a big fan of puns. In fact I hate AC- it makes your throat scratchy and it chills you to the bone. But when summer time rolls on into a big city, it is a necessity. I have a high tolerance for pain and time I invested at the Russian/Turkish baths in NYC has proved to be time well spent in that it has prepared me for this summer in Paris. But still, it is so hot. Where is my cold water bath now?

Someone here told me that it will be hot for two days here, then it will rain for a day and cool everything off, so on and so forth, and in sum- the Paris office does not need AC. I see the logic but disagree. I'd rather be comfortable and productive for three whole days versus for just one.

The secret garden? No, this is the Saatchi Paris lobby. As far as I can understand it, every so often we have a designer showcase and this is the latest installation. Just a way to keep things fun in the hot summer sun....speaking of which...see above...

The strength of the Cornell Alumni circuit never ceases to amaze me. My good friend and freshman year roomate, Rachel, put me in touch with a good friend of hers who is living in Paris. And this friend told me about an event that was taking place last night at a Parisian club called La Flèche D'Or (rough translation: the golden arrow, alt: the golden point?). It was organized by the Cornell Club of Paris, which I hadn't realized existed. The friend of a friend wasn't going to be able to make it, but I thought that I would pull out the "Big Red" spirit and give it a shot.

I guess I wasn't in a very sociable mood when I got there, as I spoke to no one aside from the bouncer upon entering and the bartender upon ordering a beer. That was ok though- I am getting used to going places with the primary intent of soaking it all in. Though I had, uncharacteristically, remembered to bring some business cards just in case.

The place was cool- intimate, dark and the warm-up band was good. Then The Crooners came on stage and there was immediate recognition on my part. I hadn't realized that the band members were actually going to be from Cornell, but I should have figured that out since it seems as if every music group coming out of Cornell is called "The somethingorother" (e.g. The Hangovers, The Breakers). And in looking back at The Crooners' site, even their font looks like it is straight out of a playbill from a Cornell acapella performance at Sibley Hall. http://thecrooners.com/

The band was composed of three guys- two of whom were distinctive-looking enough for me to recognize them from my Cornell days. The first guy was a well-kept metrosexual with artfully-composed dreadlocks. The second guy fit into the genre of "I've toured across Europe and have seen a thing or two and therefore my hair is messy and I wear cigarette pants, stripes and skinny ties". The third guy I didn't remember but he also looked familiar in that he looked like your average financial analyst. But that might have been partially because of the way that he was dressed- in pleated slacks and an oxford and a tie.

I can't figure out if the band had written & composed any of their own music, or if they were just putting their own spin on blues/jazz classics from the 20's and 30s, but either way- it was great. Their music made you want to link arms and dance around, Little House on the Prairie-style. One of the guys- the dreadlocked metrosexual- even had this string bucket instrument...a "string bass" i hear?....anyway, it was very home-spun Americana and pretty cool.

Anyway- so The Crooners were really good. Real showman. The only thing is that the entire time, the same question kept running through my head...."weren't you guys in a frat?"

Ignorance really is bliss.

I decided to check out the Montmartre area last night after work. Montmartre is most well known for its tremendous cathedral, La Basilique du Sacré-Coeur and for its role as an artistic hub at the end of the 19th century. It more recently gained acclaim when Jean-Pierre Jeunet based his film Amelié (2001) there.

I got off at the Pigalle Metro stop and wandered my way up winding sidestreets, passing charming restaurants and boutiques (that were actually still open!) and generally loving what I saw. I wandered my way up "la butte" via a long set of stone stairs. I stopped along the way, soaking up the gradually elevating view of Paris, and it was wonderful. Until I got to the top.

Now let me backtrack for one second. I will be in Paris for a little over a month. While I am technically a tourist, I do not live in a touristy area nor have I done too much touristy sight-seeing since being here for the past 2 weeks. I hadn't expected Le Sacré-Coeur to be pristine; in fact, I hadn't thought much about it. So, when I got to the top of Montmartre, it was a shock. It was as if I had been sucked into the vortex of a tourist tornado...as if the Sacré-Coeur was a giant "sticky tape" for tourists, hanging above the Parisian skyline.

There was a massive crowd of tourists swarming like mosquitos all around the top of the mount. They were at bars, at restaurants, eating french onion soup (in 90 degree weather). They had cameras swinging dangerously from hands. I beelined it into an ice-cream shop where a snot-nosed child immediately started to stomp on my foot. He must have been American, as his dad did nothing at all to stop him. I stumbled out onto the street, with melting ice-cream cone in hand, where people started to run into me left and right. I was beginning to think I was invisible but then I passed a man, an "artiste", who was soliciting people to get their portraits drawn. He looked at me and said, "I wish to be your ice-cream cone".

My stride quickened as I headed towards the cathedral. When I got there, a French boy was playing Bob Marley's "No Woman, No Cry" on accoustic guitar, and his partner was collecting money. There was a bag of overflowing trash at the entrance to the cathdral and special tourist-oriented coin-presses sitting within its beautiful walls.

Le Sacré-Coeur itself is stunning, inside and out, but it was a relief to head back down into the streets of Paris. A little sign of proof that life is about the journey not the destination.

Back in NY, it would have to be a pretty dire situation for me to turn to a vending machine for sustenance. I would have to be at a point of mission critical hunger. Not that I haven't always given myself a healthy dose of chocolate, but not, oh no, not chocolate sourced from a...a vending machine (shock! horror!).

But here I am now, in Paris, and my new favorite snack is a Kit Kat Chunky, which I purchase almost each day at work from a vending machine upstairs. In fact, see that one up there? I just ate it. These Chunkys are so good...with a thick layer of chocolate coating and crispy, crunchy interior...they are much more satisfying than those skinny little guys we have back in the US (also available here as well). And for some reason, in Paris, the vending machine stigma (shock! horror!) has ceased to exist.

France loses to Italy in W.C. Final.

http://www.nytimes.com/2006/07/10/sports/soccer/10paris.html

 

I have been in Paris for almost two weeks now. I can't say that I have mastered the French language (yet) but a handful of vital catch words and phrases (e.g. où est les toilettes?) have been pulled out of the recesses of my brain and onto the tip of my tongue. Nothing grammatically correct but when push comes to shove, I can get the job done. Most of the time...hand gestures are also useful, as is having a drawing utensil and paper on me at all times.

What I have also picked up, suprisingly, is a voice in my head that speaks in English as a second language. This happens specifically when I am writing. So, if I can't think of a word, a voice in my head will say, "ehhh, how you say"? Or, I will feel the desire to slightly rearrange a phrase or word so that it is slightly "off" from how we would say it in the U.S. (e.g. in a recent email from Spain, I referred to salsa dancing as "dancing the salsa".)

I have, thankfully, been able to interact with Europeans (in Spain, and now France) who generally speak excellent English. It has been humbling (read: I feel like a dumb American). But there are points of hesitation when it comes to certain words and phrases- I like it when this happens. I like the way it sounds when Europeans speak English more slowly, with thoughtful pauses, more formally and with fewer colloquialisms, even if they aren't 100% correct in the way of vernacular. So my mind, if not my tongue, must be picking up on it. But, sometimes it kind of feels as if the Alex character from Everything is Illuminated is in my head.

I think this must be what French woman do to themselves every day- douse themselves with Evian water- because they all have this unnaturally natural-looking, "dewy", sun-kissed glow. It is remarkable. I thought I had pretty good skin but it pales, literally, in comparison. My co-worker in NY, Julie, is French and she too has this beautiful, honey-flushed skin tone/glow. I thought she was an exception but now I see it is the rule here. All that Evian must counter-act the pore-clogging chain smoking they do. I think I need to stock up.

Last night after work (and before the big game) I set out to stop at Bon Marché, a very old, very upscale department store in France. I had met Claire there last week, but didn't have much time to really look around before it closed. I wanted to go back as it is sale month in France. The bad news is that, this time, the store was fully closed when I got there. The good news is that La Grande Epicerie Paris, Bon Marché's upscale food market, was still open. Oh, what a joy it was.

I can't honestly think of a food store that could compare, in NYC at least. Sure we have our Dean & Deluca's and Balducci's. But, more often than not you come out of those stores feeling like you have been robbed in the name of high quality food. Plus, they don't have the lighthearted personality, the "joie de vie", of La Grande Epicerie. Whole Foods, which certainly has beautiful food and is a little more fun, lives more on the "green" side. And while we now have a Trader Joe's, with its quirky specialty foods, it is more value-oriented than upscale (a different experience all together). Fairway is great- with its reasonable fresh food- but very rational; you are in and out of there (once you make it past all of the little old ladies with the shopping carts).

Bon Marché makes shopping for gourmet food fun. It makes you feel good about over-spending, because each little item it sells is wrapped up and presented just so. You feel as if you are buying beautiful little gifts for your stomach. Which, I think, is very much fitting the way the French approach food and life in general. C'est la vie--- it is meant to be savored.

Click here for a taste of Bon Marché food porn: http://picasaweb.google.com/alexandra.pulver

Holy moly, last night France won vs. Portugal in the semi-finals (as if you needed a reminder). An exciting night. More fireworks, lots of joyful screaming. All night. Even this little man, who was wearing a Portuguese jersey at the beginning of the game, jumped into the festivities. for more photos: http://picasaweb.google.com/alexandra.pulver

Bonjour! Exciting day here in Paris. France plays Portugal tonight in the semi-finals of the world cup. You can almost cut the tension in the air with a paté knife. While I am not a die hard soccer fan, like most Americans, I did play the sport in school and do enjoy watching it. Plus, it is impossible not to get caught up in the frenzy over here, as everyone seems to eat, sleep and breath the sport. (see above picture: "Praying to the Deity Zidane")

I am particularly anxious about who wins the game tonight as it will help to determine what I am doing this weekend. My first priority is of course for France to win, but let me explain--- I found this cheap airline, called Hapag-Lloyd Express (HLE). Its tagline is "Fly for the price of a taxi" and its airplanes are painted like yellow cabs. I, obviously, had to book a flight on this airline immediately.

I thought it would be cool to go to Berlin for the final game of the World Cup and my friend's boyfriend lives there, so I would have a place to stay. But, flights to Berlin were too expensive and the timing wasn't right. I did find reasonable fares (relatively, once taxes were factored in) to Stuttgart, where the 3rd place game on Saturday night is happening. I didn't know anything about Stuttgart, but I booked the ticket and was pleased to find out, after the fact, that the city is both a wine destination in the Black Forest region as well as a spa hub. Ahhhh...perfect. Additionally, it is the home to Porsche and Daemler-Chrystler; fitting, as I am working on this Toyota brand review while at Saatchi Paris. The Mercedes Benz musuem is apparently not to be missed. I never thought I would utter such words.

So, book the ticket I did, not thinking that Stuttgart might not be the best atmosphere if Germany loses in the semi-finals. Nor did I think about the fact that if France wins in the semi-finals then I will defoinitely want to be in Paris for the event. Apparently I still have a lot to learn. As it turns out, Germany lost to Italy last night in overtime (2-0). It was sad; for both of us. But, we will see what happens tonight. If France wins, my "cheap" ticket to Stuttgart may just be the price of entry.

FRANCE BEATS SPAIN 1-0

A HALF MILLION PEOPLE DESCEND ONTO THE CHAMPS ELYSSES

When someone or something's actions fall beyond the scope of reason, beyond the limits of restraint, in America we would say that the person, thing, or situation is "over the top". While this saying does not apparently exist in France, I think it should. I have been in Paris for over a week and have experienced several things integral to French culture that I would deem to be, quite frankly, over the top. Don't get me wrong, America is a country of excess and extremes, for better and for worse (e.g. we are all big as houses, but man do we work long and hard). It is for this reason that I was somewhat relieved to witness first hand that a country with as sophisticated, classy, and evolved a culture as France can also at times live in excessively...as in over the top. OTT. (yes, Americans LOVE acronyms! and exclamation points- go team!).

Some cases in point:
In America, we are fearful of carcinogens. We believe that smoking is bad for the health, and it is generally a frowned upon habit (which sometimes adds to the appeal). In France, there doesn't seem to be a negative stigma associated with smoking and the majority of inhabitants revert into human chimneys, daily. I have been around, but have never witnesses such chainsmoking in all of my life. It is remarkable.

In America, we are slowly recovering from the carbophobia that raged unrestrained a couple of years back. We eat bread, but there is still a lingering guilt associated with consuming "white food". In France, people on the street have bread coming out of their bags and pockets. Literally. Don't leave home without a baguette.

In America, we have areas and cities that are quite charming. In France, charm is taken to another level. Every area, city, region, is charming for its own reasons and in its own unique way, whether you are training past a lone stone farmhouse standing amidst rolling green farmland, witnessing the entire architectural spectacle that is Paris, or, as I most recently experienced, if you are in the seaside villages along the Northern coast of France, in the Normandy region. If I had more technical ability, and could better read french, I would be able to incorporate more than the above image into this blog entry. And I wish that I could because the beauty of the landscape and the charms of the little cottage and cobblestone towns, no matter how touristy, were breathtaking. One point for France.