Lasting Images

One morning I was in Paris and by afternoon I was back in Houston, TX.  To be able to be on two different continents on the same day is a feat that will never lost its luster in my mind.  On my final day in Paris I walked the city until I felt saturated with its beauty.  30 days of rapid fire travel leaves little time for reflection.  I was reminded that reflection can not occur by force, but will only happen naturally over time. Over the coming months before law school begins again I will learn from all the sights, sounds, and feelings experienced and endured during my European Tour.  As it was art and image that dominated my experiences I believe it was only fitting that my blog became more visual than literary. With that I bring the blog again to a temporary close, and do so with a singular photo.

One Night in Paris

I grew the 'stache so I could look the part in what is my favorite city of the entire trip.  I hope its not a cop out to claim that Paris is my number 1. My blog doesn't reach the depths required for a proper exposition of why the city has captured my attention.  The architecture, sights, diversity, food, and style are all obvious reasons - although some, including my cousin, could legitimately argue the food point.   As a person who purposively doesn't watch movie previews I made an effort not to judge based on preconceptions.  I couldn't help it. However, Paris, above all other cities, met and surpassed its reputation. I'm already figuring out how I can get back for an extended stay next summer.  These picks were taken on our last day in the city before flying out.  I had to say good-bye, or au-revoir, for now.

Best Picture Nominee 3

Now that I have your attention - I plan to write captions for each of the previous posts.  Latin America easily wins the internet accessibility world war against Europe.  I will write up something witty for each tomorrow on the long rail ride to Barcelona.  We plan on conquering Spain one Mexican Spanish word at a time.

Si Se Puede!

While in line to get our reservations to Barcelona from Nice I was informed it would not be possible – well at least for two days.  The reason: Strike.   I joked with the ticket vendor that the French are always protesting.  She knew it was a joke but didn’t want to give me too much of a laugh, maybe so as not to undermine the seriousness of the nation wide strike – as serious as protests can be when they become a way of life.  As a political scientist, if I can call myself that, I was both appreciative of being effected by the political stance and annoyed at the prospect of not being able to get to Barcelona.  Unexpected, but Latin America to this point wins the transportation world war too.

A Toast to Nice

50 CLs is the right amount.  I do not know what CL actually stands for, nor do I care to take the time to look it up.  It is as unimportant as ineffectual.  What it represents is the right menu volume of wine for Max and I to order at dinner.  It is that amount because it allows us to dig into memories past, to be a little funnier, and affords us that extra time once the food has been consumed to sit at the table to watch the everyday fashion show that is walking from A to B in Nice.  Yes the laws of high society demand we drink white with white meat and red with dark.  But, as it is with us, we are only going to follow the unwritten rules as far as they feel democratic and not tyrannical.  I think it’s a tyranny against men to be forced to drink white over red if the latter is available.  Therefore, as we leave Nice, I give a toast to the newest beach beauty that has been discovered by my own conquering, with red only of course.

Best Picture Nominee 2

I was robbed of a chance to become cool again, to return to a status held previous to my current graduate school education. I had an idea that was to go into effect in that spoken of future which never actually comes to be.  It was more of a grand idea struck at a bar than an elaborate plan.  I was to reach into the glory days of my youth – a time when the holes in jeans were earned and the energy to accomplish such a task was as ample as the holes – and withdraw a pastime that should never have passed.  But she undercut me, she and many others.  There they were carrying out my never to be carried out idea and being as cool as I was before. Rollerblades are rolling again in the French Riviera.

Drive Slow Homie

Needless to say the French Riviera is where the money is.  Eye candy comes in many forms – cars, yachts, and people especially.  Only one of which I particularly care for.  Even so, here are a couple pictures of the vehicles. Passenger is better than the ride. 

The Beach

A day at the beach can be judgmental.  Have you progressed or are the variables the same?  This is most applicable to my own life because of the vast difference between the beach I grew up with and the one that I laid on this week.  The water is no longer the murky maroon of the gulf but a translucent fade between green and blue.  My sand has blossomed and each grain has become a rounded smooth stone. This most noticeably results in an absence of the pervasive phantom sand that can be found in your car, the back of your ears, and the lining of your swimsuit for hours after departure.  The seawall that was a constant landmark has figuratively fallen as all great walls eventually do.  Instead palm trees create the only necessary barrier.  I am no longer scooping up the mud sand to make sandcastles or to fling so accurately at mouths but instead diving into a refreshing novel devoid of any and all legal terminology.  I will return to Galveston Island, TX sometime soon this summer but for now I enjoy the distance between us and all that it implied by it. 

Day Market

This post is to bring a blast of color.  Some of my best pictures are of fruit.  The color, texture, and ability to stay at rest make it an easy target.  It might be Max’s only competition.

Nice

Eiffel Tower at Night

This is the only presentable picture I have of the Eiffel Tower. Max and I must return to fly out of Paris and will take some better ones then.  I don’t understand how I have taken a thousand pictures but forgot to get one with the Eiffel.

Mona Lisa

Pics Before Leaving Paris

National Museum of Modern Art

Of all my relationships, the ones I have with museums of modern art seem to be the most tumultuous.  Love and hate are adequate.  I feel a necessity to enter the galleries of modern art because to not do so would feel like turning my back on my own century or peers.  But beyond necessity I love to hate on the works and this usually evidence of love.  The National Museum of Modern Art in Paris did not completely help me validate my cynicism.  It displayed a toilet piece (hate) but also architectural plans by Le Corbusier (love).  The temporary Calder exhibit, 3-D forms out of bent wire, was pleasurable because it displayed two qualities I find necessary to my own definition of art worthy of fixture in a museum (Control and Something-I-Can-Not-Do).  Also, I have nothing but love for the rooftop dining area complete with long stem roses and a panoramic view of Paris.  It is a must-see if you ask me, if only so you don’t feel guilty later for deserting your time period – as is my best false excuse for visiting MOMAs. 

Sacre Couer

Best Picture Nominee 1

Versailles

"I can walk down the hall of mirrors in Versailles, and be so satisfied when I look myself in the eye" - Jay z

When hearing the above lyric I felt personally challenged by the greatest rapper alive.  Part of the dynamic quality of hip-hop is that we fans voluntarily listen to threats, outlandish boasts, and demeaning insults.  One can either classify the messages as worthy of censorship, as something to embrace, or as a standard by which to grade success.  I have not selected the measuring stick of 20 inch rims and Luis Vuitton backpacks but I have adopted a few choice accomplishments of the artists as my own.  Visiting Versailles and assessing my life to date was a goal.  At a fresh 24 years of age, I did so, and felt so satisfied.

Musee de Orsay - Impressionist

Impressionist art is a good descriptive name because I was thoroughly impressed.  It seems Paris museums don’t want to provide peaceful visits but exhausting ones.  The art never ends. The eyes get no rest.  The feet say the same. Paintings span entire walls and sculptures run entire lengths of halls.  I have many pictures.  They must do the describing on this one as my mind was completely overwhelmed. 

Luxembourg Park

Notre Dame

There is no hunchback.  Regardless, the cathedral is as magical as the Disney movie presents it to be.  Gargoyles align the outside walls, the stained glass has a life of its own, and the vaulted ceilings leave you wondering just how they were able to create such a structure.  My art humanities cathedral terminology eludes me unfortunately and that is the extent of description I can provide.  My first interaction with the cathedral was during a morning run.  I ran the streets above the Seine and watched the sun rise over the gothic architecture.  It became illuminated and the shadows provided a depth like wrinkles on an old face.