Inside the Flatiron, Union Square, Gramercy Park triangle

Sadly, dusk descends and congeals into darkness way too quickly at this latitude.  The tops of the buildings on Broadway leading up from Union Square fade into the dim light.  One moment – and magical light is gone as night descended onto the city – The City.

The triangle encompassing Union Square, Gramercy Park, and the Flatiron Building contains some of the best examples of the New York Art Deco architecture.  New York does not possess the perfect ensembles of the great Old World cities and that is where its charm lies.  On the same block your eye will glide over an Art Deco tower framed on either side by nondescript buildings accentuating its finesse.  Down the block, another building with ornate relieves and fine balconies is a neighbor to a quintessential downtown five-story walkup set out by fire escapes.  A brick church with stained glass windows completes the block.  And on the street level are artfully decorated storefronts and chic but inviting restaurants

Perfect beauty is always appreciated but only an imperfect twist will drive one crazy.  In Paris, the same type of beauty is expected and delivered street after street, block after block.  Here, one doesn’t know what is around the corner or even down the block.  The unexpected is exhilarating and every new discovery is so much more rewarding.

And hey,  our New York girls can hold their own against Parisian girls!  They are as stylish and quirkily fashionable as ever!

Love you, New York!

Paris, Canal st. Martin, Ile st. Louis, Opera Garnier

We started our last morning in Paris again lingering at breakfast too long, gabbing away with the British, joined by a  female from San Francisco and a model-looking couple from Belgium.  Once having our fill of baguettes, croissants, and other yummy bread products, we headed for a walk along Canal St. Martin – the area now being gentrified and aspiring to become the next coolest Parisian neighborhood.  Personally, I don’t think it’s got a chance with all other cool neighborhoods already in existence here – it’s somewhat architecturally challenged.

The next stop was Ile St. Louis – the second and the smaller island of the Seine, next to Ile de la Cite (where Notre Dame stands) which I somehow overlooked during my previous trips.    This tiny island with two long streets, one intersection, and stately palaces along the Seine, instantly became my favorite Parisian neighborhood.  Most of the palaces were built in the 17^th century, they are quietly elegant, and the main street has a slew of adorable little shops and restaurants baring strong resemblance of a quaint French village.

We split our last crepe by the Notre Dame (violins, please!) and treaded to the Latin Quarter.   The Latin Quarter was never my favorite part of Paris– too noisy, too crowded, too many tourists and mediocre restaurants.  Nothing seems to have changed there.  We grabbed some  dinner, not our best in Paris, and rushed off to the performance of Balanchine’s Jewels at the Opera Garnier.  Now remember, the other opera house, Opera Bastille, was modern, Zen even, with clean lines and understated in the Japanese way.  Perhaps, its architect wanted to counteract Garnier’s extravagance.  Garnier is the most outrageously opulent opera house I have ever been to.  When you walk in, you feel like you are entering Aladdin’s cave and the feeling is that of being inside a pirates’ treasure trove filled to the brink with randomly piled jewels.  I am not sure how I feel about the décor.  It didn’t please my senses nor did it offend them.  It was designed to impress and bedazzle the visitors with its blinding opulence and over the top wealth.  The ceiling was painted by Chagall.  Again, I am not sure it fits the already overdecorated interior and seems to be just a  another jeweled bounty mindlessly tossed by the pirates into the trove to sparkle on top of the pile of gems.

If I had mixed emotions about the décor,  the intimate size of the theater was straight forward great.  Even though it is bigger than most European theaters I’ve been to, it is still small enough to feel a part of the action.  What’s even more amazing is the size of the stage which is bigger than any stage in any other opera house – it looked like it was bigger than the orchestra where the people sit and the orchestra pit put together!  Before the ballet started, the entire company plus the students of the ballet school pranced onto the stage to the sounds of Berlioz and positioned themselves artfully in a choreographed arrangement.  The whole scene was reflected and magnified by a mirror  at the far end of the stage.  The total effect was magnifique!

As to the ballet performance, it was sweet, but no Russian ballet it was.  No one yet has outdanced the Russians!

Although, I must say, since the fall of the Soviet Union they haven’t produced any more Baryshnikovs or Nureevs.  They still manage to stamp out great ballerinas, but the guys are all gone.  While during the dark ages of the Soviet times ballet was the dancers’ ticket into the light, apparently they no longer  want to endure abuse and drudgery of the Russian ballet school and find the way into the light some other way.   And who can blame them?  But boy, how much would I love to see the likes of Baryshnikov flying in giant leaps across this enormous stage!

Paris, Shopping, the Louvre, Mona Lisa

We had a late start this morning.  After having prolonged breakfast with our new and very friendly b@b neighbors from London, we finally walked into the rainy streets and headed to Galleries Lafayette, one of the oldest Parisian department stores.  Foreign department stories are Kenny’s favorite, I prefer boutiques, but I spent a good 45 minutes surveying the shoe department.  The fashions here tend to be a bit wacky, not everybody has good enough taste to pull it off.  Personally, I prefer Italian understatement to Parisian extravagance.  Often, it crosses into gaudiness.

Anyways, in our family Kenny is the shopper.  I shop my favorite  outlets and the Neiman Marcus last sale and do a lot of damage in an hour.  Kenny, on the other hand, spends  hours trying things on and ends up not buying anything.

So 3 hours later I finally extracted him from the men’s department and insisted on the cultural program which for today was the Louvre.

I am sad to report that the Louvre disappointed me somewhat.  I haven’t been there, really, in like 30 years (if you don’t count the brief stop there 12 years ago).   The Louvre has probably more Raphaels and Leonardos than any other museum in the world, but the rest of the world masters are underrepresented.   Also, the way the art is displayed is outdated and does not invite visitors to stay and linger.  There was one hall where I started experiencing the symptoms of  Stendhal Syndrome, but  the rest of the museum dampened them.  We went to visit Mona Lisa.  When I first met her 30 years ago, she was not hidden behind a glass and crowds notwithstanding, I could get to her face to face.  We looked at each other and it was love at first sight.  At least on my part.  Now, she is covered by a glass and separated from the crowd by several barriers.  There is no more connection.  What is even more maddening is the insane crowd who rushes to worship her, past all the other Leonardos, completely ignoring the Rafaels, not to mention some other “minor” painters like  Botticelli and Caravaggio, and on to raise their cameras above other tourists’ heads and snap, and snap, and snap more and more photographs.   Some people really value and appreciate art, what can I say!

We ended the day at a neighborhood dive rubbing shoulders with the locals.   I was strong today and held out against the sweets.  Will compensate tomorrow.

Paris, Window Shopping, Eating, Walking,

Today we headed to the ritziest part of town.  I put my best, Chanel shod foot forward onto Rue Fauburg St Honore – the fanciest shopping street in Paris.

In today’s day and age,  actually,  globalization took some fun out of shopping.  No matter where you go, the shops are mostly the same.   There are some gems, however, like the famous Collette, an institution more than a shop.  The clothes here are presented on mannequins rather than the racks.  Almost no racks are to be found – just the artfully  outfitted mannequins.  The featured designers that attracted my attention were Comme des Garcons, ever avant-garde,  and very cool outfits by YSL , which warrants a trip to Woodbury Commons.

Another highlight was a visit to a miniature mall featuring meticulously restored antiques from the Louis XIX period through Art Nouveau and Art Deco – my personal favorites.   This place was like a museum of decorative arts, only everything was for sale.  That made it more exciting than a museum – the fact that all those treasures could be had if you had enough money.

Well, the antiques were out of our price range, so we walked to Fouchon  where I bought and consumed a piece of art of a cake whose  taste matched its looks.  It consisted of a caramel and meringue heart surrounded by a perfect semi-globe of chocolate sprinkled with some gold powder for the full measure.

From there we walked to Le Marais for another falafel and, I couldn’t resist, some Middle Eastern type of sugar-covered zeppole that called my name out of another amazing pastry shop painted with frescoes.

But enough said of the gluttonous delights.  My soul needed some nourishment too.  That was provided by a visit to the Opera Bastille for the performance of L; Elixir d’Amour with the glorious Anna Netrebko in title role.   Her tenor-counterpart,  however, was not on par.  He screwed up Una Furtima Lacrima, not hitting any of the high C’s and even, to my ear, taking a wrong note.  But everyone else was wonderful, the production was very nice, rivaling that at the Met in the inclusion of moving vehicles and one live dog.  The opera house is modern, minimalist, even austere, but pleasantly unobtrusive, and the acoustics was superb.  Even in our nosebleed section, third row from the back,  the sound was perfect and the view unobstructed.

Another great day in this great city.

Paris, St. Germain

Today we headed into the historical neighborhoods of St. Germain.  Once in the outskirts of Paris and home to penniless artists, it is now posh and home to the moneyed bourgeois  – anathema to its former inhabitants.  As for us, we were happy it turned out the way it did.  This is one of the most beautiful and fun parts of Paris.  We just walked the streets admiring quintessential Parisian buildings with their distinct roof structure, ornate balconies, magnificent front doors, and intricate moldings.   Here I realized what it is that makes Parisian streets so lovely.  In most cities,  intersections are created by four streets, and the four buildings of the intersections form 4 sharp corners.  Not here.  Most intersections have 5 or 6 streets radiating from the center and almost no buildings have sharp corners.  The corners are either rounded or sliced off  to form an additional wall where the sharp corner would normally be.   This additional narrow wall is decorated with balconied windows and moldings.  This makes every intersection look more like a square.

We walked through narrow passages between main streets where ancient crooked cobblestone  reflected its 400-year old history.  We sneaked into an art school housed in a former palace dating to the 17^th century.  We walked across the Seine on the oldest bridge frozen in history as the “New Bridge “ (Pont Neuf).  We had lunch at a café off the bridge that belongs to the parents of  Lisette’s and Paul’s friend who now lives in Allentown.  That was very nice, only the parents din’t speak any English so I had to gather all my primitive French and carry a conversation.  Somehow I pulled through – God only knows how, mostly due to the  fact that my understanding  of French has been improving in the francophone environment.

We came back to the far-from-the-center neighborhood we are staying in, and had dinner at a local hangout where the owner, it turned out, was a Russian major in college and spent many a winter in the former Soviet Union.

Gotta to tell you: I am subsisting on carbs.  Can’t get enough of the bread products and sweets.  They are sublime here!

Paris, Le Marais

This morning we were woken by voices outside our window.  It turned out that there was a communal garage sale (known here as “attic sale”) going on.  So we walked up and down the street surveying the French junk, not much different from the American junk.  Then we decided to continue our off-the beaten-track Parisian tour and walk from our very residential and nondescript area toward the old town.  We headed for Marais, it is being a Jewish neighborhood, open on Sunday.  The walk was long and non-eventful.  We passed nothing exciting to report.  It turned out much farther than I anticipated and some hours later we finally crossed the Seine and walked into le Marais.  Boy oh boy!  The neighborhood has changed since I last visited.  Where it was dull and sleepy then, today it is full of life.  It was totally hopping.  Mobs of people were walking the beautiful streets, sitting in luxury cafes and walking in and out of boutiques.  The mood and feel was that of the Village and the look unmistakably Parisian.  We walked to Place des Vosges that years ago was a remnant of its former grandeur – an empty square amidst a perfect architectural ensemble of dilapidated buildings with fading and peeling paint.  I remember rueing about this amazing piece of real estate having gone to seed along with the neighborhood.  Not today.  The square and the whole surrounding area are restored to their former glory.   The buildings boast fresh paint, the covered arcade at their base hosts cafes and shops, and the park in the middle is full of beautiful people hanging out to see and be seen.  We walked the restored streets to the heart of the Jewish Marais, Rue des Rosiers.  Another surprise – the street is not the sleepy provincial street of yore.  Still very Jewish, its restaurants reflecting that, it was bustling with young people, the store widows were amazing, and the falafel we sampled was the best.  So was the pastry from a local patisserie.  This neighborhood once was home to an Ashkenazi community most of which perished in the Holocaust.  It was repopulated in the 1950’s with Sephardic Jews fleeing the wrath of Arabs in Algeria, Morocco, and Tunisia.  The restaurants and bakeries therefore are mostly Middle Eastern.  Unfortunately, we had to leave this wonderful neighborhood and run to the Latin Quarter where we had reserved tickets for a classical guitar concert at the Syrian Orthodox church of St. Ephrem.

Something about the people: once again I found the French very nice and hospitable.  I never had problems with any of them and feel that they did not deserve their bad reputation.  As a matter of fact, they are very accepting.  Yesterday, when we sat in a restaurant at lunch, a gypsy women strolled in and walked around offering to read the patrons’ palms, nobody objected.  Then, an elderly African man walked in and tried to sell a tribal necklace.  Lo and behold, a couple next to us engaged in a lively conversation with him and ended up buying the necklace.  Not to mention the fact that they let dogs in the restaurants.  As to the eating habits, we all know that the French live to eat.  Yesterday, at the antique flea market, where American merchants would grab a sandwich on the run, the French set up folding tables and chairs COVERED WITH table clothes and laid out Babette’s feasts of steaming platters and the obligatory wine.

Yes, the French like their basic comforts.  Today in Marais we passed a homeless man’s lair – a  mattress with pillows, blankets, sheets, and a tied up cat.

So we had had enough of the alternative Paris and as of tomorrow we are going to revisit all touristy neighborhoods  because, my dear friends, they are touristy for a reason.

Paris

We arrived in Paris this morning and, without wasting any time, headed into town.  Actually, not into but right outside town, to the weekend flea market, Marche aux Puces St.-Oven.  I haven’t been to Paris in 12 years, and what struck me the most was the number of beggars in the subway: some blind, some lame, and one woman in particular who was running around on her hands and feet like a dog, her knees were inverted in such a way, that her feet were facing back, not forward.  This scene was better suited for the Middle East, not for a modern European metropolis.  What made my feeling of being somewhere in the third world even stronger was the people of North and Sub-Saharan origin who constituted about 99% of the pedestrians and subway riders in the area of the market.

The market  itself is huge and is a maze of streets with shops selling various, mostly expensive antiques, some junky, some pretty cool.   We priced an artsy coffee table from the 1960’s and learned that it was 14,000 euro.  Then we admired an enormous ceramic tureen, 3 m long, evidently made for giants.  Beside the antiques, we spotted several interesting characters, including but not limited to a transsexual or a drag queen, an elegant  elderly man in a flowing long coat and a fedora, a duo right out of La Cage of Folles, and a women whose appearance would be better suited for a circus performer.

One of the stalls at the market housed a photography exhibit featuring John and Yoko right after they were married and came to Paris for their honeymoon. The photographer who took these pictures was present on the site and took a liking to Kenny, talking his ear off about his friendship with the couple.

From the market we walked several blocks through mostly African/Arab neighborhoods and back to Paris at Montmartre where we ended the day with a crepe bought outside of an amazing chocolate shop.

Pictures are to come later at kentoff.zenfolio.com

Peru: Aguas Caliente

In Aguas Caliente we stayed in an eco lodge with their own coffee and
tea plantations and a processing plant. These coffees and teas are
served to the guests along with home-made jams.  We then visited a hot
spring and for a whooping $3.50 a head immersed ourselves into the
warm and cloudy waters all the while inhaling the aroma of hydrogen
sulfide.
The town of Aguas Caliente is a way station to Machu Picchu.  It is
basically a shantytown amidst magnificent Andean mountains and a
stream running down from the mountains over boulders of different
shapes and sizes.
We then boarded an antique-looking train back to Cusco, and today we
are flying into Lima from where, after a half day tour, we will fly
back home.  Since I am not going to have Internet anymore, I am going
to wrap up my narrative right now.
So, to sum this all up, this was one of the most unforgettable trips I
ever took.  The scenery is breathtaking, the ruins and Cusco are
magical, the indigenous people have a unique culture, the food and
shopping are very good.  Now, having recovered after the hike, the bad
is fading into the background, and the good is surfacing.  The nature
was glorious and the ruins we passed could not have been reached any
other way.  The trail was incredibly difficult but what exacerbated it
was that the camp sites are assigned by the Peruvian government at random, I believe,

so our campsites were such that we had to hike two long days
and one half day before we arrived at the last campsite.  If the
hiking distances were spread out more evenly, it would make the trek a
bit easier.  The second thing was my nasal congestion, and the last
but not least was the crazy pace of the hike.  We were doing power
walking bordering on jogging  on a difficult terrain, in high
altitude, on a constant incline-decline.

So this is the end of my Peruvian journey.  I apologize for all the
mistakes.  The Spanish keyboards are different, plus they differ from
one hotel to the other, and it is not easy sometimes to find all the
punctuation marks. And remember my disclaimer: Opinions expressed here
are solely mine and do not represent blah-blah, blah-blah-blah…

-

Peru: the Inca Trail

Day 1. And so, 11 intrepid souls set off on a journey to Machu
Picchu.  There is an idiotic custom in this country to issue tickets,
including train and entrance tickets, with names AND ages of
whoever it was issued to.  Moreover, my train ticket has a list of all
the members of our group.  SO that is how I know their ages.  No, we
didn’t have a 10year old but
A British man, 55
his two strapping young lads, 20 and 22
two girls from San Diego, 40 and 35
two women (nurses) from Atlanta, 49 and 51
two guys from South Africa, 31 and 32.
So the first day started at 730 am on a fairly flat ground. Now the
ground on the trail is never really flat, it is always on an incline,
usually a steep incline, and always made of rocks, but the first
stretch we walked for 5 hours was not too bad.  After lunch the trail
went up.  This was an endless stone staircase going only up, no
breaks, I immediately fell behind.  Between the altitude of 11,000
feet, steep stairs, and nasal congestion which made it totally
impossible for me to breathe through my nose, I basically climbed for
one minute and rested for two.  I gotta tell you, that was awful.  I
felt I was on a death march, only they didn’t shoot you if you fell
down and fed you well.  The guide who was bringing in the rear, that
is me, was trailing behinds me.  Her English vocabulary consisted of
as many words as my Spanish vocabulary, which rendered us both mute.
That horrid climb lasted 3 hours.  I arrived at the camp site a little
after 5, and, according to our guide, we were supposed to arrive
between 5 and 5 30 PM, but our group got there between 4 and 4 30.
Lisa with them, I was very impressed!
The camp was at about 11,500 feet, and it was very cold,  Everybody
bundled up and gathered in the dining tent.  The food was actually
very good. After dinner, everybody put on all the warm clothes they
had, and climbed into their sleeping bags for the night.
Day 2.  This morning almost everybody reported pain in their limbs,
but me.  My limbs were fine, I was just completely out of breath,  So
we set off on another horrid stone staircase to the highest peak of
Dead Woman´s Pass at 13,600 feet. That took me two hours, from there
it was down, down, down on the huge stone stairs, and then up again to
the next peak from which we descended to our next camp at 9,500 feet.
That was like being on a StairMaster for giants for eight hours.  I
was panting behind everybody, the worst thing was that everybody had a
lot of rest stops but I had practically none, having arrived to the
stops when everyone was ready to take off.  I felt that was an
endurance test and I was failing.  I can´t even describe how utterly
exhausted I was when we finally reached the camp.  The worst thing. in
my opinion, was that all the energy went towards surviving the march
and there was no time to stop and smell the coffee.  I felt that there
was too much rush to get to the campsite before dark.  That night one
of the nurses gave me sudafed, and the next day (Day 3) I could
breathe.  Also, the altitude was lower, and we were going mostly down,
so I caught up with the rest of the group and leaped like a mountain
goat over the rocks with everyone else.  Now mind you, you have to
understand, even the way down is steep and stairs are made of huge
stones, there is no easy stretch on this trail, really.  On the way, we
visited several Inca sites which are always set up amidst the most
beautiful mountains. We passed through Idiana Jones type passages and
wild alleys.  Part of the trail was on a ledge built by the Incas 500
years ago and still holding.   When we arrived at the campsite at 12:
30, our guide said, that was that for today.  I couldn’t believe the
torture was over!  Now, that decline did a job on everybody’s legs.
Most of the group was hobbling around on stiff legs.  In the afternoon,
we walked a short distance to the nearby Inca site, resplendent in the
setting sun.  This last campsite, the closest to Machu Picchu, housed
several groups and many porters, so the few bathrooms became quite
foul,  But so were we after sweating on the trail during the day and
not having a shower since the beginning of the trip.
Day 4.  Up at 4 AM, at 5 AM got in line with other campers to get onto
the trail which opened at 5 30 AM, started a brisk walk on the sore
legs and reached the Sun Gate at 6 30 AM.  And there it was, down
below. If I weren’t so exhausted I’d cry.  From this vantage point, in
the dim morning light, the Lost City of the Incas lay beneath us under
a light cloud of mist.  It is not Machu Picchu itself that is so
beautiful but the setting of the mountains surrounding it, a picture
perfect art piece of nature.
From the Sun Gate we walked to the Temple of the Sun, and finally, to
Machu Picchu.  The site itself is amazing and incredibly well
preserved and it sits on the slope of a mountain in the midst of
breathtaking peaks of various shapes and heights.
From Machu Picchu, we took a bus to the nearest town of Aguas Caliende and all our senses
were assaulted by the hustle and bustle after four days of being with
nature.  The shower felt like the most luxurious thing on earth!

So, the Inca Trail.  I read a lot on the Internet how difficult it
was, but no one mentioned it was a boot camp, not a hike.  We passed all
these beautiful vistas, groves of myrtle type trees, and whatever else
I didn´t notice because I was trying to breathe and climb the giant
stairs.  For future travelers I would recommend to skip the trail, stay at Aguas
Calienede and take a short hike to the Sun Gate and from there down to
Macchu Picchu.

Peru: Cuzco, Sacred Valley

So that is how the paragliding went.  I woke up today feeling a bit nauseous
not because of the nerves but some stomach thing that affects a lot of
people here whether because of the altitude or because of food.  Not
the best day for physical activity.  The only time my stomach started
churning was when we arrived and I knew IT was inevitable.  We were
both strapped into separate cushioned bucket seats and hooked to another bucket seat
holding a pilot.  My pilot had a hat, glasses, and face of Jack
Nicholson in Shining.  He was very gallant and kissed my hand before
we took off.  WE ran in tandem to the edge of the mountain but didn´t
have to jump.  The wind caught our para-whatever and we became airborne.

Then I sat in my bucket seat and that was that.  The first
five minutes it was cool.  Lisa and I waved to each other from our
seats, but then we kinda circled and circled in place and it became
sort of boring because we were circling over the same spot.  All this
circling made me nauseous but apparently it happens to a lot of riders
, so my pilot had a plastic bag which he graciously offered to me and
told me to go ahead and vomit.  So I did.  At this point we started
going down.  The total height was 1000 meters.  We landed feet up in
our cushioned seats and the pilot kissed the back of my head.  Aah….
The whole thing took 30 min.  He told me they usually fly for 15 to 40
min, so we didn´t do too shabby.
Now, I have been nauseous all day.  I hope to feel better tomorrow -
which is the big day.  WE are being picked up at 4 AM at the hotel and
driven to the 82nd km to meet up with the rest of our group.  Beside
11 brave souls (aged 10 to 55) we have 2 guides and 18 porters who
will carry our tents, tables, chairs, and provisions.  The first day
is the longest hike – 10 miles, the second day is the hardest,
including the highest elevation of 13,600 feet known as Dead Woman´s
Pass, about 7 miles, the third day is mostly downhill except one
short but very steep incline.  The last day we wake up at 4 AM again
and hike 3.5 miles to make it to Machu Picchu by sunrise.  The last night
we are going to stay in a hotel at the bottom of Machu Picchu and I
will try to write from there if I have any strength left.
Now I count on you guys to get your collective energy and send it to
Pacha Mama (Inca goddess of the Earth) to support us.  You should also
make a human sacrifice in her honor, but if you don´t have any spare
humans around, try a fruit fly – the creature with closest to humans
dna.  If no fruit flies can be found, sacrifice a potato.

On this end, we bought 6 bags of coca leaves and a catalyst to enhance
it.  Not all the bags are for us.  WE were told to give each porter a
handful as a sign of respect and friendship.  I have already tried coca
leaves but they didn´t seem to make any effect on me.  Maybe the
catalyst will help.

Off we go