Summations and Realizations

Rome Day 6: Boy O Boy O Boy!!! I could go on…The food here is dangerously scrumptious. Gnocchi with oxtail, Linguini with seafood, carbonara to make you tear up, and gelato to make you wish you had 5 stomachs. It’s as if I’ve never even had Italian food. As if everything that came before it was just an essence of what it should be. Tomatoes that pop in your mouth with sweet juices and varieties you’ve never seen. Peaches so big they look like small melons and juicy and fresh as off the tree. FYI- always eat your peaches warm, the juice drips down your cheeks with tasty goodness, sweet syrup and you can’t help but lick your fingers in delight.

You find these water fountains with flowing cold fresh water on nearly every street. They let them run because they say it's the best way to keep the water fresh and filtered.

 

I was fortunate enough to meet some really great people earlier this week. The Italians like the French are a bit of a tough cookie to break but in come the salvation of the plethora of foreigners and expats. All with the same appreciation and wonder of a land unlike what they’ve known. They are here purely because the love it and not just because they were born here. Not to mention they had to work their ass off to make it happen. Battling the visas and lack of employment for those yet not attained. English teaching and tour guides seem like the only option for people who may have spent their whole lives working at their dream jobs. Now they seek dream lands. That makes for a hell of a lot more appreciation. 

The Italian language sounds so beautiful. A sing song of words. And once you are introduced, they treat you with the utmost happiness and warmth. Did I mention the hand talking? It’s fantastic! They talk about food with movements of their hands and mouth and boy do they love their food. Ask any Italian and they will tell you it is the best in the world. No exception. And it’s obvious they are all on board. In most big cities you see a variety of restaurants. The Chinese place, the sushi house, the Mexican spot. Such is not the case here. You really have to look hard to find anything other than A Pizza spot, trattoria or Italian pastry shop. And they have these great little café’s where they serve up coffee, sandwiches and grilled veggies. They know exactly what to do with veggies to make them taste like a treat.

Complaints:

• It’s hot as hell!
•  So much graffiti in a place that could look like a fairytale with the ruins and historic buildings and at night it all lights up like magic.
• Public transportation is not so great for such a big city. They only have 2 metro lines but Paris has spoiled me.
• I miss my shoes! The cobblestone is a nightmare. The Italian woman are gods to risk their lives and their designer shoes.
• The bread has no salt and taste insipid but again Paris made me such a bread snob.
• Wifi is nearly impossible to find! Ahhh…frustrating as hell for the technology and communication starved.

Trading Bonjour for Buongiornio

First,let me just say that if you can make it to Paris on any June 21^st, DO IT!! The Fete de la Musique aka World Music Day, although the direct translation is Festival of Music. Any who…it’s fantastic. All types of musicians take to the streets and venues on nearly every block and the crowds rejoice! Because every living soul with a pulse loves music.  The city vibrates with sweet tunes all evening long. What a treat to have been here and what a perfect bon voyage from the city that steals just a little bit more of my heart every second. 

Musical mayhem in the streets of Paris

Rome! You are a charmer. A city built amongst, incestuously with the ruins of an ancient empire. Every which way you turn, you are reminded that you are surrounded by a city mature beyond your imagination, who happens to just have celebrated it’s 2765^th birthday!  An ancient civilization so advanced that they had libraries, working toilets and running water. We can’t even say that’s true for parts of the world today. FYI – America is 235 years old. They have street trash older than that. France is 1400 years old…1/2 the age and it shows, you sexy young thing! 

 

Roman Forum

As you may recall, I reported that I would in fact discover the secret behind Italy’s mind bogglingly low divorce rates (20%). I may be one step closer. On the train ride into the city from Rome’s Fiumicino airport, I met a friendly woman by luck alone. Let me just say, I have a habit of winging it when it comes to my trips. I do as little research as possible so as to not leave out any possibility of chance sweeping me off my feet. It’s all in the wonder -  In the magic of discovery. Well, that also means I don’t always know EXACTLY how to get where I’m going and when you are talking about cities unkown and dimly lit streets at 10pm, that’s sometimes a crap shoot. In come my Italian guardian. She happened to be going to the exact same stop and happened to live on the same street. Talk about dumb luck! An escort home from a wonderfully interesting woman. And so I begin.

Wedding's all about in the Eternal City

 

In our short 30 minute train ride she tells me of her incredible life. It reads a bit like a love story of the ages. 18 years old young girl from Madrid studying in London meets a young Italian in medical school. They fall madly in love and wed one week later. Move to Rome. Followed by 42 years of marriage, she becomes a United Nations worker specializing in nutritional enrichment and him a leading Cardiologist. He has a heart attack late one night and the ambulance arrives 25 minutes too late. Mind you they lead the healthiest of lives and ran marathons in their free time. He falls into a coma and recovers just enough to live out the next 5 years of life in a wheel chair with little speech and cognition. She describes them as the best 5 years of her life. “Had I lived this life to only love my husband, to know his love and be by his side, that would be enough for 5 lifetimes.” She never left his side in those 5 year. She sang to me the song of eternal love she was singing to him the morning he died in her arms one year ago today. Passion, instinctual attraction and the heart to follow the palpitations that tell you it’s so. Just a glimpse. More research to come. 

Dining in  Piazza Navona and capturing the exact moment Italy scores the game winning point against England during the 2012 Euro Cup- Priceless

Pretty Woman their ass!!

Antonio and I dinned with Ema Stone last night. I had the Tartar. Okay! Fine! We dined while she waived at us from across the street. No? She waived in our direction as we dined. Such a stickler for the details! It was great fun! We had our shot as the paparazzi. It’s a bit tiring. I don’t recommend a career change and people just LOVE to shove! 

 

I met my gal pal for an after dinner drink to attempt a shot at a new wine bar up the street. We go in and there is a sign at the counter that says “Fucking Tourists!” with an old man with a middle finger. This may have been my sign to let my Parisian gal do the talking. The bar man says to me, “Good evening. Can I help you? Because we have no more seats.”(translation) Hmmmm…interesting. My Parisian gal clarifies that they only allow as many patrons as there are seats so you must arrive early or make a reservation. Ummm…Bullshit! I’ll have to call in most American voice (Like I have another…lol) and attempt a reservation to see if it’s not the occasional, No Non-Frenchie’s allowed middle finger. It wouldn’t be the first time. Antonio  and I meet up afterwards and he suggests we go back with a bottle of wine each and “Pretty Woman their ass!” I nearly died of laughter.

The outside of the wine bar. Totally packed, as you can see.

In come the perfected spotify playlists. The music was so good here I didn’t want to leave but we finally scrape ourselves off the couch and head up the street to a few cool spots we found. Gotta live it up while I have my little brother here. I don’t get him very often and it’s cool to know he’s turned out so awesome! 

We met the coolest people last night! A couple of guys (a chemist and the sales guy) on business with a make-up innovations company here for a huge trade show at the Louvre this week. (http://www.makeup-in-paris.com/) The trade show showcases the latest trends and innovations in make-up and hair for all the top brands, Mac, Bobbie Brown, L’Oreal etc. They outsource that! Who knew? They were kind enough to offer to escort us in tomorrow. I’m psyched! To be continued…

Then specimen cool guy #3, a South African /Italian who’s life story reads a bit like Lord of War. Like Nicholas cage was portraying his grandfather for reals. Arms dealer for stolen military tanks and guns for guerilla warfare, I think. I was shocked. I didn’t catch his profession because I was too busy thinking this was pure madness. But he himself, training to be a pro bono police officer and doing so in one of the most dangerous places in the world with the most corrupt of systems. Had he been getting paid, a cop in Johannesburg makes $700 a month. And we wonder why they steal? “So,why? Why in bloody hell would you do that?” I ask. To which he replies, “If not me, then who? My country needs to change. It is my calling.” Unbelievable! Talk about living for a purpose and for the enrichment of your karmic soul. Perhaps it is the universes own form of balance in blood line. A little Yin and Yang action, live and in color. Either way, cheers to that!

I'm in love

Our courtship has only lasted 10 months thus far but every bit has been a dream. Even when I was not in your presence you graced my mind every day without fault. I give you a lot of shit but I know it’s because you play hard to get. I love you for not being a cheap slut even if you make me admit it. Paris, won’t you marry me already?

“If you are lucky enough to have lived in Paris as a young man, then wherever you go for the rest of your life, it stays with you, for Paris is a movable feast.” – Ernest Hemingway

and a different variety...

 

You can walk for days in every which direction and enjoy endless open air cafes with people in utter bliss. Random symphonies and street music, architecture to die for and history around every corner. The Eiffel in the distance, Notre Dame in the landscape occasionally framed with the gorgeous lines of the Seine. Winding and glistening in the evening with river boats and spectators in awe. 

“When good Americans die they go to Paris.” –Oscar Wilde

The Parisians may not always be the easiest group to break into but when you do, it’s a glimpse at a life unlike any other. I’ve met more interesting people and made more lasting friendships than ever I could have hoped for. And not just the Parisians. Like my friend Jean Baptist once said “Why go to America when all the coolest American’s come here?” I have to agree. The American’s I’ve met here have been incredible. Perhaps it’s the connection we make based on a unified love of this unique city. 

“the only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones that never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes ‘Awww!’” - Jack Kerouac

Great taste in music, great taste in food, drink and a zest for travel and places outside anything we know at home. And plenty of it readily available. You can travel to countless countries with completely different languages and cultures for $100 or less and every street is full of specialty food stores and wine shops from every possible region.

I love random encounter with a goat at Jardin des Tuileries, more beautiful than any park you can build in your mind. On every gorgeous day you find the entire city strewn upon its gardens. Children with miniature sailboats in the ponds. Today was one of those days, the kind Renoir would surely paint once more. I met a writer for the New Yorker a couple weeks back who said “What I love about Paris is that countless hours spent lounging at a park is a totally acceptable way to waste an afternoon.” 

Moosh is what there was and moosh is what you got. Don't hate me ;)

PS- Some have inquired if I've met any nice companions of the opposite sex. As long as my little brother is here, that won't be in the cards. He shouts "No!!!" to every unsuspecting suitor that tries to approach me and when that doesn't work he brings out his karate moves. God love him!! (Antonio...don't kill me. I had to tell them. It's too fun not to share.) 

Homoerotica on the Mainland

Doesn’t matter how many experience I have, people I meet or places I go - I still feel the quivering chills of culture shock on a daily. 

In a trip to collect the keys to the apartment I rented for my brother's stay, we encountered a naughty door that would not open. Yes, I got him his own place. Is that silly? Maybe but who wants to sleep in the same bed with their grown bro for more than a night or two? I’m newly single-habitating and still reaching out all night for a cuddle. Can’t take a chance.  In come the locksmith with a backpack full of x-rays. X-rays! Like of a brain. I thought, he must have just come from the doc’s. No sir! Maybe in America. In dear sweet France, that means he was going to use 5 of them to try and finagle the door open. 

Which reminded me of a great article my gal pal sent me a few weeks back. “The Land of Milk and Honey.” A couple living in France from America. Their stove breaks and the repair man takes a look at it and says “It needs Milk!” "What”says the puzzled man. “Oui! Oui! Milk.” As he storms of. He goes to the doc for his allergies and he says “You need honey.” Again, “What” says the puzzled man. “Local Honey.” Turns out there is a salve for the stove for the electrical conductors that you can get at the hardware store and local bee honey will alleviate allergies. Which is great! But at home, the repairman would get and apply the “milk” and the doc would prescribe us a full panel allergy test and a Claritin for the ride home.  To cover his/her ass of course from the certain lawsuit if the honey didn’t cut the rash. 

Later off to N’importe quoi, a bar in the 1^st for a birthday celebration. It’s common here to rent out a bar or a private part of a bar for your birthday bash. And it’s free! I love that. We don’t get that at home without months of prep and a hefty down payment. I quickly learned why the bar was called It doesn’t matter (translation). The bartenders cross-dress. At first I felt tricked. I’d promised less gay bars but they are not gay! And this is a straight bar. There is no escaping it. In America you don’t pretend to be gay unless you are or maybe will be in the next few weeks, or you lost a wicked expensive bet. Not here. It’s cute to pretend, it’s fine to act out and when you get drunk you may come closer to the line than we dare. Don't get me wrong, there are the college years when it's not uncommon to hear of someone getting ubber drunk and fondling a nip or making out with a gal but it's not usually after the age of 21. Not common at all amongst the male population. There are the slutty club gal exceptions but they probably didn't get enough attention in their youth or just got their implants and need someone to look their way.

Apparently, it’s even more common in the Business school crowds. I’m guessing the repression makes them more susceptible to oopsies. This place happened to be a business school crowd hangout. Just a few weeks before, a friend of mine witnessed an intoxicated man strip naked, lay on the ground while his buddies jumped on top of him. Yup! Just a regular Saturday. Had this happened at the local watering hole across the pond, the guy would have to drop out of school and enter the witness protection program for such debauchery and public erotica. He’d also likely pay  a hefty price for his ticket for indecent exposure. 

Are we too stuffy or are they too free?  Too much of anything implies it’s in excess of appropriate but since everyone is okay, I guess it’s just right for the latitude and longitude. I say, go on with your bad self!

DISCLAIMER: I hope this goes without saying but not every Parisian partakes  in the homoerotic festivities just much more than at home. 

Monogamy on Day 1

Ladies and Gentleman, O’ye faithful followers, it’s time! Maris in Paris: Season II The extended stay. This year I promise less museums, more glitz, more glam more food and drink (always a good plan), a bit of travel and less gay bars. Barking up more pointed trees.  I’m proud to announce last year’s blog racked up 5,000 hits an average of 40 or so each day still checking for more 10 months after the fact. You love me! You really love me!! Or the juicy tales sometimes raunchy, sometimes sad but always unique and shocking stories of foreign lands.  Although, 30% of my readers are European. Not too shabby for little ole American me.

Where to begin…I have so much to tell you. Let me start with a little story about some very interesting research I’ve undergone. Did you know there is no French word for Dating? Yup! They don’t do it. They meet someone and they are automatically boyfriend and girlfriend. No titles necessary. Monogamy is mandatory. That is of course unless you expressly say, We are just “friends with sexual benefits” excluding daylight and group functions. This part is the same as at home. Not the intriguing part. They try it on for size and wait it out an average of 2-6 weeks celibate and then they do the dirty. I hear 50% end there. No mojo, time to move on. Understandable. The rest continue on only to see each other an average of 2 days a week for as many years as it takes (FYI- In the UK that’s 2 years and 11 months). 

 Commitment without dating? Talk about blind faith.  They maintain their independence unlike our crazy lustful American ways. We meet someone, we want you madly and we tell each other so. We continue to date other people or keep the door open and until I’d say a month later we go “Hey you want to be exclusive?” Then we carry on until the passion dies, we get knocked up or hitched. A,B and C can happen in cohesion. Don’t get your panties in a bunch if this does not apply to you. It is of course my blog and my observations. I have been to a place or two and had a conversation or 4. 

I’m not certain what sounds more ridiculous. So instead of trusting my better judgment I consulted the google machine for divorce rates. According to the US Census, we are neck and neck at about 50% So, I guess  Frenchies, do your thing and we’ll do ours. Mixed continent daters be forewarned.  Italy had by far the lowest at 20%. I hope to find out the magic love potion while I’m there next week and report back the goods. Free of charge and void of commitment ;) 

Au Revoir, my lover. I meet you here again on the morrow.

http://www.census.gov/compendia/statab/cats/births_deaths_marriages_divorces.html

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Courtship