Paris, Part Four - the Tour de France - Fini!

The Tour de France is so much more than is depicted on television, especially on U.S. TV.  The media focus is on the sport, on the athletes, and on who wins and loses.  But being at the event itself...well...the sport is almost only half of it.  It is very much an international celebration, and a celebration of the bicycling culture of Europe more than anything else.

I won't go in depth about the European bicycling culture here, as my dear John is doing that on his own blog.  However, it's very different here than in the U.S.  Bicycling in Europe is an everyday, utilitarian activity, often on "city-style" bikes that have seen better days.  If you want to go to the grocery store or to a local restaurant, you hop on a bicycle in your street clothes (no helmet!) and go.

Paris, Part Three

You can't put such a thing as that poor hurt French girl out of one's mind; obviously I haven't put it out of my mind even now.  But, facts were facts:  we had done all we could, and there was nothing more to be done.  As John and I headed back to our hotel, we discussed the incident, and then tried to think of other things.  It was hard.  When you witness something that shocking, the rational part of you understands the limitations of the situation, of being human, of not being able to do more, and understands that those with medical experience are much more able--should be the ones--to deal with it, and that ordinary civilians could do more harm than good.  But the heart doesn't reason like that, and there is always a bit that wishes, hopes, wonders if somehow you could have done more. And for us, there isn't closure.  We will probably never know what happened to that young woman.

We are old enough to know that unless you move on past something that hurts and is difficult, unless you make the best of what you have, you do no one any good.  It was our first day in Paris, a Friday.  We had Saturday and Sunday, and then we'd leave on Monday.

We would make the best of our stay in Paris.

Paris, Part One

Yes, that's Paris, France, and it means I went there.  :-)


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So about a month or so ago, John suggested that we go to Paris for my birthday, and I stared at him in disbelief because that is what you do when someone hands you the fulfillment of a childhood dream on a plate.   "We could have dinner at the Eiffel Tower," he said.  "Why don't you make reservations?  We could go by train."

I was so floored by this that I didn't even blog that we were going just in case I might jinx it.

J'ai tricoté au Tour de France

Which is my high school French attempt at saying, "I have knitted at the Tour de France." Here is a picture of what I was knitting, a cell phone (or "handy" as they say here in Germany) sock. I'm making it out of wool and silk tweed yarn, using a US size 3 Skacel Addi lace knitting needle and "magic loop" method. Why? Because 1) I kept running out of minutes on my cellphone while it was in my purse and it would get hit on this or that button and dial whatever number without my knowledge, 2) it was the first yarn I picked up and hurriedly packed away before I went to bed last night, 3) and we were going to be sitting there waiting for hours before the bicyclists would whiz by.  Unfortunately, the deep aubergine color (note, I use French for "eggplant") does not show up well in this light. At least the needles show up somewhat (I bought them at the Unraveled Yarn shop back in Federal Way, WA--I also think I might have bought the yarn there, too).

Happy Independence Day - and the Tour de France

Happy Independence Day, all you United States citizens, wherever you may be.

I'm feeling this day more than usual, as I'm not in the States, and I do miss it. On this day at home, we'd be hearing fireworks shot off here and there, sometimes even starting the day before. John would be suddenly seized with a bit of pyromania and have gone on a trip off to the fireworks stand to load up on explosives. I would be fixing something to be prepared on the grill, while our friends would be doing the same. We would often get together with our long-time friends, the Thompsons, and pool our food and our fireworks in a display of gustatory and pyrotechnic indulgence.