Fete de la Musique (For Emily)

I climb out of the Odeon metro stop and instantly hear "Smells like Teen Spirit" by Nirvana covered by a cute 16-18ish boy band-so cute, wearing plaid flannel and a Nirvana T-shirt. After listening for a couple minutes I cross over to my favorite allee (Cour de Commerce) with its bright multicolored twinkle lights strung over cobble stones. Typically empty, it is now crowded with outdoor seating and a band playing "I Can't get no Satisfaction." I take a right onto Rue de St Andre des Arts and I pass a few more bands doing more covers of American songs when I happily stumble across my favorite band of the night, Otway Ross. This three piece indie rock band played original work and were really good. Even the habitually staunch Frenchies couldn't help bopping along to funky tunes, one including a song about not thinking he's creepy if he smiles, just trying to be sweet. The lead singer looked as if he had been plucked straight out of California. Sandy hair, short sleeved plaid button down paired with jeans and flip flops. The drummer in the middle with sunglasses perched on his head throws my American group theory when he is called Seamus and the bass player, definetly French with his petite build, slicked hair and cigarette dangling from his lips. (I looked the band up today, and they are based in France, but the lead singer spoke very bad French, so expats perhaps?) After bopping along till the end of their set I head towards St Michelle, hearing everything from rap to steel drum groups.

Turning left at the Seine, I make my way towards the Louvre hoping to culture it up with some opera or orchestra. A reggae group plays in front of the Eglise St Germain l'Auxerrios at the far east end of the Louvre. I cross Rue de Rivoli to the Comedie Française thinking I am sure to meet with an orchestra in the square-none. But in between the square and the Grand Palais a choir takes advantage of the acoustics in the alcove.

Back to the Louvre, where sadly, I find nothing! In front of Arts Decoratifs an exclusive looking group dance with cocktails in their hands to unimaginitive DJing under purple lights-so right bank.

Back to the left bank. I cross over in front of the Musée D'Orsay and walk towards Solferino. I hear what sounds like wannabe old school jazz (think Amy Winehouse) which turns into more thumping. A night club like atmosphere has taken over the street, where at least this time there are real performers. Being on my own and not fond of being picked up I push my way through the cigarette smelling (typical) and rose scented (oh the parisiennes love of parfume) crowd.

I turn left onto St Germain, I am really hoping to hear some jazz! I come across a Latin American group beautifully staged in a courtyard with incredible light installations, but not my type of music. Arriving at St Germain des Près and the oh so famous Café Flores and Café Duex Magots, where this a boy of about 10 playing his electric guitar to White Stripes (mind you, its about 1130 at this time). He proudly competes with a much larger production in front of the church across the square.

I take a seat at café Bonaparte to soak in the last bit of atmosphere and get a petite crème before I have to catch the last train out of Paris. Despite being nearly midnight and Monday, Paris looks like 3pm on a Saturday afternoon. There is a definite fete atmosphere and it feels more like a welcome to summer than a music celebration. While observing the fashion and attitudes of the super cool St Germainites, I ponder the lack of ability of the French in delivering good new music. (Disclaimer-I am aware of exceptions, Madeline Peyroux and Pheonix to name a couple- I am just talking stereo types). But as far as music goes, especially modern music, the French do not have the edge. One thing I have observed about the French is they have sought the best- quality, procedure and structure-and in so many ways have it right and nothing can touch the essence that is French. But with this well deserved superiority comes an acute inability to think outside the box and those who try lack originality and often miss the mark. Often it is a cheap and unimaginitive imitation and I am sorry to say feels a bit euro trashy. Sadly, some even try to mess with what is already perfection within itself - why accompany Le Vie en Rose on an accordian with a boom box!?!

But over all, I really enjoyed Fete de la Musique for the music, the atmosphere, the extremely late sunset behind the Eiffel Tower as well as pondering all that is French. (PS I'm sure what was really lacking, was not taste, but good friends! Love you and miss you all.)

Italy

Two weeks ago I expanded my exploritory territory with a quick trip to Itlay. Hopefully, it is the start of further treks. I love, love, LOVE Italy. The language is so beautiful, the people are so friendly and there is plenty of good food, wine and sunshine.

Carly and I stayed in an apartment in the Trastevere quarter of Rome. Trastevere is characterized by superabundant vines scenting the air with their sweet jasmine and creeping up buildings painted faded shades of gold, copper, pink, and honey yellow that deepen as the sun rises then begins to set. Many of the streets are too small to drive down and the bold car that attempts this feat must toot his horn in the politest way possible in order to clear pedestrians from his path.

Saturday commenced in traditional European fashion-at the market. Thanks to Carly's adeptness in the Italian language (after gaining a petit mastery of French I am definitely moving on to Italian-so musical) we quickly make friends with the vendor selling grapes the size of kiwis, beautiful juicy tomatoes, salad, oranges and so on. Really I don't know why we make candy - nothing beats Jehovah's own sweet concoctions. After procuring our ripe bounty, and marriage proposals, we made our way to the cheese vendor. Carly loved that the people continued to speak Italian to her, not only to sharpen her skills but to experience a warm Italian welcome and encouragement. Of course, we obtained our buffalo mozarella and olives and could barely contain our excitement for dinner time.

After this essential shopping we made our way up the Tiber toward the Vatican and our goal: the Sistine Chapel. Afer baking in the sun for over an hour and winding our way through the cathedral, we rested our feet at a bench as we gazed up at the art of Michealangelo. Honestly, you are in the presence of genius and greatness when seeing this art. Even the throngs of tourists and the constant shushing of the guards could not detract from the brilliance of this masterpiece. The dome is adorned with nine biblical scenes, along the sides of the walls are the prophets and below these tapestries of scenes from Jesus ministry. Behind the alter is "The Last Judgement." What was the most amazing to me was the depth of the figures, they really looked liked three dimensional sculptures and not flat paintings, giving tribute the Michelangelo's superior talent in sculpting. I was also impressed with how he interpreted biblical stories. It is amazing to think of what it will be like to talk to many of the artists who obviously meditated on these accounts and were able to bring them to life with so much emotion.

On our last night, of course Carly and I had to have a good Italian dinner. We decided on a small tratorria in the Trastevere with three little tables on the street providing a prime people watching spot. Our waiter promptly sat himself down in the third chair at our table and did not let us down in our expectations of real over the top flattery. After letting us know that he would choose our wine (of which later in the night he helped himself to a glass of) he commenced in choosing our cheese, and our main courses. He was right in letting us know that we do not know he knows what is best. I was worried that the food would not live up to its hype and I was so wrong. All of the flavors were so light and complimentary, nothing overpowered. Our fiesty waiter entertained us all night long, despite being told off by his superior. At one point he stole a guitar off a couple street musicians and composed a song right there with which to serenade us. Allthough the words consisted mainly of la, la, la and were peppered with amora, it entertained and sufficiently embarassed us. Of course after a bit the rest of the group joined in creating a little italian jam session. And so ended our time in Italy.