Moaning Lisa

Well, moaning Gigi and Pippa is more like it. The Louvre is not, shall we say, very kid-friendly. At least not friendly to our kids.

We do not have long lines, and we get there early to avoid big crowds. We head directly to the Mona Lisa and are able to walk right to the front. Nevertheless, the girls are underwhelmed. Sacrilege Alert: Gigi asks, "Why is it so famous? That is -- literally -- the most boring painting in the entire museum." And I must agree. On the other hand, if you are standing at the Mona Lisa and turn around, you will see "The Wedding at Cana" occupying nearly an entire wall.

image from: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Paolo_Veronese,_The_Wedding_at_Cana.JPG

This painting, complete by Italian artist Paolo Veronese in 1562, is 6.6m x 9.9m -- that's 21.6' x 32.5'. It's fascinating, huge, detailed, colorful, and seems like it would have been completely impossible to paint. It gets my vote for best painting in the Louvre (well, best of the ones I see, since Lord knows I don't actually see them all). Why is this not more famous than the Mona Lisa? We all agree that Veronese got robbed.

Another amazing painting on the same scale is "The Coronation of Napoleon" by Jacques-Louis David. Granted this painting is "only" from 1807, but it also stands about 6m x 10m. It both dwarfs and fascinates the girls, and Gigi would much rather look at either of these impressive paintings than the ho-hum Mona Lisa.

  

The building itself is impressive -- if a bit too much for a 7 or 9 year old (or a couple 40-somethings, for that matter) to take in all at once. Still, the children are now officially enriched, having seen the Louvre, the glass pyramid (from both sides), the Mona Lisa, the Venus de Milo, the remains of the old castle upon which the Louvre is built, and the thing that excites them the most....

 

  

 

... the vending machines in the subway. Yes, having just visited and poo-poohed arguably the most famous painting at the most famous museum in the world, the thing they enjoy most is that we allow them to buy a drink from the vending machine. Since we have lost approximately 50% of our money in all attempted vending machine purchases, the fact that we are willing to let the girls try at all is a huge and very exciting victory for them. The fact that the drink actually comes out this time is almost more joy than they can bear.

 

Well, good. At least they're not moaning anymore.



 

Math: the Universal Language?

Isn't math supposed to be the universal language? And shouldn't it transcend boundaries? Yet doesn't this look like gibberish to you? Let me just say that it can be tough when Gigi asks us for help with her homework. And it's not just the usual new math vs. old math battle. This is French math vs. American math.

Here's what Gigi's homework looks like:

taken from:http://www.mathovore.fr/divisions-et-problemes-cours-maths-45.php

Now to translate that into American math:

1) Calculate 45 ÷ 8 and 32.12 ÷ 4

A pointer to help you interpret the French method: You may remember that a comma in French numbers means the same thing as our decimal point. So when I write out "1,325" it means 1.325 and not one thousand three hundred twenty-five. Long numbers from the millions on, such as 198,325,410, are written 198 325 410. This is not your phone number, which would be written (01) 98.32.54.10. For numbers from the "milliards" -- which means not "thousands" ("milles") or "millions" ("millions") but, confusingly, "billions" -- this requires a lot of counting of places.

The division process, of course, involves subtraction (which the girls can no longer properly pronounce, since the word in French is "soustraction"). The French don't "borrow" from the tens or hundreds column on the top number when they have to "substract" larger digits below as in

121

 -49

Instead, they add to the column to the left on the bottom number. Gigi and I don't understand each other's methods, and I have to calculate on my own scrap of paper to see if she's done it correctly.

And this is only elementary school. I can only imagine what's going to happen once middle and high school hits.

So, math. Not so much the language that unites us; more like one that divides.


 

You Don't See THAT Every Day

Walking across our bridge one day, I see a jazz band with an outdoor piano, a lady walking her cat on a leash, and a man wearing a clown nose and tap-dancing with a full fish-bowl on his head. My first instinct is to say, "You don't see that every day," but of course living right by the hottest busking bridge in the city, we pretty much do.

  

 

 

Beyond the ubiquitous accordian players, there are musicians that range from the more conventional...

  

...to the less conventional, whether it be didgeridoo or a one-man band playing "Wonderwall",...

 

...to a visiting marching band. And no, the Kamiak High School band is not the only one I've seen, just the only one I had my camera handy to capture. 

 

 

 

 

There are dancers -- tango on the quai of the Seine's left bank, Latin dancing with blow-up dolls, the tap-dance stylings of a garbage marionette, or hip-hop (here with audience participation).
 

  

 

 

There are brides...

 

   

 

...and birds on an almost daily basis.

 

 

One night, we are having dinner at the table when I suddenly jump up and run to the window; I have just seen a large glowing heart float by in the night. From our balcony, we see people standing on the bridge releasing large, flame-powered balloons over the Seine.

 

Once in a while there's somebody actually in the Seine; most often it would be police trainees, though this appears to be a casual snorkeler.

 

 

We hear the clippety-clop that alerts us that the Guarde Rebuplicaine is riding by (note the nun on cell phone) on the bridge,

 

 

but have less warning when we occasionally see the Vietnamese-style Chitty-Chitty-Bang-Bang contraption in the Marais.

 

 

Returning home from school, the kids often stop to play with the gigantic bubbles. The bubble guy has taken to doing his new statue bit when the kiddies aren't around, however, because it makes him more money. The down side is that he claims the police are more vigilant about chasing away busking statues -- his theory being that the costumes and masks are viewed as potential terrorist threats.  

  

Nevertheless, there are statues busking around the city.

 

And on both ends of the peace-and-love spectrum, we regularly see both soldiers with machine guns patrolling, and masseuses making money by tips alone:

 

 

 

Our favorite performer is Fred, a.ka. Mr. F, who lets the girls dance before his shows to draw in the audience. He has negotiated a deal with them: When people give money at the end of the show, he gets 100%; they get 0%. But when they are 18, he will give them 3%, and once they hit 21, he will give them 5% of the takings. The girls think this is very generous, indeed. Mostly, they are just happy to be an occasional part of his show. We adore Mr. F and like to stand around with him snidely critiquing the lesser magicians and performers.

 

  

 

Yup, it's just a typical day for us on Ile St. Louis. So instead of "You Don't See THAT Every Day," perhaps I could have more accurately titled this posting "YOU don't see that every day."

 

The Longest Four Minutes

And vying for the longest four minutes of my life....today we finally have a reason to put into use our Emergency Metro Protocol.

Growing up, I remember that every place we went -- every store, festival, amusement park -- the first thing we would do when we arrived was come up with a meeting spot in case we got separated. There was always a plan: e.g. Meet at the big information booth in front of the roller coaster on the hour. This was before the days of cell phones, of course. One would assume this was to keep my brother, sister, and me from getting lost, but in fact it was generally because my dad would wander off to take pictures of something that interested him (which is everything) and lose the rest of us.

So with my family training, one of the first things I did when we moved to Paris was come up with an Emergency Metro Protocol. I drilled the girls on it so much, they would groan when I even brought up the subject, but I wanted them to do it reflexively when the occasion arose. I say "when" and not "if" because, really, it seemed inevitable to me that one day we would be separated getting on or off the metro.

On our way to gymnastics today, Pippa gets on first, and the train is not making the buzzing noise that warns the doors will soon close. I am partway on the train just as I hear an unusually anemic buzz, so low I'm not even sure it's for our train, but I turn around to see how far behind us Gigi is. She's walking slower than usual because she's a little sick, and in that moment of my hesitation, the door closes. As 95% of me is still on the platform, I have no choice but to pull my foot out and watch as my little seven-year old goes off on the Paris metro -- alone.


Usually, the next train comes within two minutes. Often, it comes within one minute or less. But Murphy's Law goes into effect, and this time there is a four minute interval.

Emergency Metro Protocol: Whoever is on the train gets off at the next stop, at the same door, and does not move. Whoever is left behind gets on the next train and meets up with the first person at the next stop.

I have friends here who say they teach their daughter to stay put if they get separated, which is fine normally when you can retrace your steps. But I'm trying to convince them that wouldn't work if she's the one on the train. Does "stay put" mean she should stay on the train to who-knows-where? Or find her way back by herself on the metro? No. Our Emergency Metro Protocol is a simple but elegant solution, because otherwise we would be panicking and running around wondering who is going to whom. In some stations, it can be very complicated to find the train going in the opposite direction, and it's clear to me that backtracking would make it more difficult and take longer to reunite.

I see through the window that Pippa has a slightly worried face as she goes off alone, and she says she gets some stares on the train and when she gets off alone and waits on the platform. While we wait, Gigi tries to ask about an ad she sees, and I have to say, "I can't concentrate on a thing you're saying. I'm just watching the clock and breathing and assuring myself it will be OK." Gigi is totally confident. "Pippa knows what to do. She's going to do the right thing." And I agree with that, with 100% confidence. What Gigi doesn't know that I do, however, is that there are some weird people out there....But still, it seems pretty safe having Pippa stay on the platform, in full view, and she absolutely knows that she is not to go anywhere with anyone. If somebody wants to stay with her to make sure she's OK till I get there, she can't stop them (and, frankly, if I saw a small child alone, that's what I would do as a stranger), but she is not to leave that spot.

Indeed, when our train pulls into the next station, four loooooooooong minutes later, she is leaning against the wall. She buries herself in my chest for a while and cries a little, but I am so proud that she does just what she should do and holds it together while necessary. Yeah for the Emergency Metro Protocol and for Pippa -- our successful independent urban seven year old!

(So why doesn't she look sad or scared? Because this photo is staged after the fact...)