A Big Steaming Mound of Haricots Verts

Well, here we are, in the wonderful City of Light, after a trip through the Chunnel on a train seemingly full of families bound for Euro-Disney. Lots of little kids. Not what I was expecting, but then, it is Spring Break.

We jumped right in when we got here, taking the metro to Montmartre to find our hotel, and then setting off on a long walk across town to the Champs-Elysees and, as you can see, the Eiffel Tower. We stopped for a glass of wine on the Champs-Elysees and did some people-watching in a cafe where cigarette smoke drifted into my face from both directions. Merveilleuse!

The last time I was in Paris, in 2000, I didn't go up in the Eiffel Tower because the lines were ridiculously long. This time Dave and I found dwindling lines in the late afternoon, and besides, we'd had a glass of wine, so we stuck it out. I'm glad we did. The views are amazing, and we didn't even get all the way to the top. (The top deck was closed, for some reason.) This photo shows the view looking north, through the Trocadero toward modern high-rise Paris.

There's lots of interesting street art in Montmartre, so much that I've already decided I have to limit my photography to what I really like. I could spend a lifetime on it, otherwise. Maybe I merely wasn't as tuned in to graffiti when I was here last, but it seems like there's a lot more now.

There are lots of interesting characters wandering around, too. I've been surprised at how readily people speak English. Maybe they just don't want to suffer through my impenetrable French, but the hotel clerk and both of our waiters switched immediately to English when we began speaking. I do not remember that happening before.

Last night Dave and I had dinner in a little cafe in Montmartre, and I was served the most ridiculous pile of green beans that I have ever seen. Huge. We both had to laugh. Hence the title of this post. (And for the record, I ate them all.)

Out The Door

I guess to "stay wild" one would have to be wild in the first place. I'm not sure this really applies to me. But we are off to Paris today, so I suppose that counts as slightly wild, right? Maybe I'll eat an extra croissant or two while I'm there.

We have 11:30 a.m. reservations on the Eurostar train through the Chunnel for the two-hour trip. We're staying in Montmartre at the same hotel where I stayed when I went to Paris the first time, back in 2000. (At virtually this same time of year, actually.) And Dave has booked us an evening at this restaurant, because he wants some really exceptional French food (though in Paris, any corner cafe is likely to be good).

I'm taking the computer and the camera, and I do hope to blog from there, depending on the reliability of le wi-fi.

We had a scare with Olga when she developed an upset stomach yesterday morning. I called the vet and the kennel, knowing we were about to depart, with fearful visions of having to cancel the trip. But neither the vet nor the kennel owner were concerned about her symptoms, so we stuck to our plans.

And sure enough, when an attendant for the kennel picked up Olga yesterday evening, she trotted off with him just as excitedly as she would have with us, and she never looked back. It's depressing to discover our dog is so...indiscriminate.

Oh, and I finished that weighty Richard Brautigan biography, "Jubilee Hitchhiker." Mission accomplished! It really was good and remarkably detailed -- definitely worthwhile for anyone with an interest in his writing or in the literary culture of the '60s and '70s. I was impressed by how hard he worked for his success, constantly corresponding and networking with editors and agents, and also how many talented people he grew to know -- the San Francisco beat writers in his early years, and Peter Fonda, Jimmy Buffet, Tom McGuane, Jeff Bridges and others during his later residency in Montana. Connections mean so much, don't they?

(Photo: Graffiti on Latimer Road, North London.)

Paris Preparations

Not a lot to report around here. I spent every free moment yesterday reading -- I'm trying my best to finish my 3.75-lb biography of Richard Brautigan before we depart for Paris tomorrow. I have about 100 pages to go. Then I can bring all our accumulated New Yorker and Harper's magazines, catch up on those en Paris, and contribute them to the solid waste disposal system in the City of Light when I'm done.

We cleaned out our closets this week and dragged a couple of bags of garments to the local Oxfam thrift shop. It always feels good to make room for new (and hopefully fewer) clothes. I almost never buy clothing. I don't understand how we wind up with so much. (Most of it was Dave's from before we got together -- it's been hanging around a while.)

Olga goes to the kennel this evening for boarding. Supposedly they'll take her out to suburban London where she can run free at a special "dog house" with all the other dogs. She's snoozing next to me on the couch now, with no idea what's about to happen, poor thing. She does like her routines.

(Photo: Golders Green, on Wednesday.)

Pink Oyster Mushrooms

There's a guy at the Portobello Road market who sells only mushrooms. (A sign on his stall says, "No, I don't sell the magic kind.") He has the most amazing variety of mushrooms I've ever seen in one place, though admittedly I am not a mushroom aficionado.

The other day he was displaying a big bowl of what looked like pink chrysanthemums. He told me they were oyster mushrooms. Knowing Dave loves mushrooms, and knowing his desire for new cooking challenges, I bought some. I also picked up a few British beech mushrooms which, unfortunately, were not nearly as photogenic.

Last night Dave cooked these mushrooms into a chorizo risotto. We liked trying them out, but ultimately they didn't seem to have a great deal of flavor. Maybe they were simply overpowered by the chorizo. (To be fair, the mushroom man warned me they were very mild and more for texture and color than taste.)

We spent yesterday watching movies, including "The Lost World" from 1960, where a group of adventurers encounter dinosaurs in the jungle and have to escape through a lava-filled cave. Jill St. John wore a pair of slim-fitting '60s pants during the ordeal that, come to think of it, were pretty much the color of our oyster mushrooms!

Hackney, and Ceylon

We had snow yesterday. SNOW. And not just polite springtime flurries, but full-on, big-white-flakes snow. The ground was too warm for it to stick, but that's a small consolation.

I took Olga for a long walk yesterday morning up into Maida Vale, the neighborhood northeast of Notting Hill. We spent some time wandering along the Grand Union Canal, where she made several valiant attempts to fight with the geese (which would have kicked her butt). Then I tried to swing by the pet store to get her more food but I keep forgetting our pet store is closed on Thursdays. An errand for today!

In the afternoon, on the way to meet my friend Sally for a walk in Hackney and a movie, I found this great old stamp lying on the sidewalk. How a 78-year-old stamp featuring King George V from what was then the British colony of Ceylon wound up lying on a wet sidewalk in Notting Hill I have no idea. I picked it up and tucked it into a plastic case in my camera bag, and dried it out when I got home. It's a bit rumpled, but I'll add it to my childhood stamp collection, and I expect it will flatten out over time.

Anyway, Sally and I had arranged our walk weeks ago, thinking it couldn't possibly be cold and miserable in April. When it became apparent the weather wouldn't cooperate, we tried to go to the Geffrye Museum as an alternate plan. But it was between exhibits, so we decided to bundle up and walk anyway. I got lots of great photos, including the peculiar cat-face building above.

We went to a pub for dinner (lentil stew!) and then to the movie, a tenth anniversary showing of "Finisterre," a poetic paean to London by the band Saint Etienne. (Here's the trailer.) It was good, as beautifully photographed and scored as Saint Etienne's subsequent film, "What Have You Done Today Mervyn Day?" There was a discussion after the movie with the director but I confess we didn't stay, because by this time it was 10 p.m. and I was barely keeping my eyes open!

A Dog, a Sink and a Brush With Fame

I took a long walk yesterday through North London, from Kensal Rise (which is just north of us) eastward to Golders Green. It was a chilly day and there wasn't much sun, but it was still great to get out, as always.

I found lots of interesting storefronts, like this colorful, nameless hair salon that may or may not still be in business.

And I found some interesting characters, like this guy walking with a huge stuffed dog and a kitchen sink. (As one of my friends said on Facebook, "Maybe the dog needs a bath?")

At the end of my 3.6-mile walk, I hopped on a bus in Golders Green that would take me right back to Notting Hill, practically to my doorstep. Gotta love a good bus system!

I'd already put my camera away when the bus, wheeling through West Hampstead, passed this colorful woman sitting on a wall, smiling beatifically. I recognized her immediately as Camila Batmanghelidjh, a child advocate and charity leader who I've seen on TV several times. It took me a second to retrieve my camera which is why I have only this terrible image. I wish I'd gotten off the bus at the next stop, walked back and asked her for a photo. She looked so terrific and I'm sure she would have said yes. But I was tired and I just couldn't make myself move fast enough!

Oh well. Missed opportunities.

Last night Dave and I went to the Cous Cous Cafe, a tiny Moroccan restaurant near our flat that I've wanted to try. (I posted a photo of it here.) The food was yummy, though maybe a bit expensive. On the way I was stopped by a youth who pointed to my green jacket and said something like, "Do you have anything the color of your jacket?" I had no idea what he was asking me, so he rephrased the question: "Do you smoke grass, man?" I told him I did not and he went on his way. Dave and I wondered if wearing a green jacket sends the wrong signal? Very strange.

Teacup Chihuahua Entanglement

This post is going to be a whole lot of Olga. Just to warn you at the outset.

First, Dave and I did a few non-dog-related things yesterday. We went to brunch just a few steps from our apartment at Tom's Deli, a tiny little place owned by Tom Conran (a son of Sir Terence) where I had a nice mushroom and cheese omelette. I was impressed to find a mural of Trellick Tower, which as you know I photograph and visit frequently, on the Deli's tiny back porch by artist Jo Peel. I tried to take a picture of the art but as Jo notes on her site, it's in an almost impossible location for photography. It's basically this image, but much larger.

Our day became more Olga-centric in the afternoon, when we took her to Hyde Park. We had beautiful clear skies, so we wanted to get outside and let her romp freely. We brought along her neon-green chew stick (yes, I am aware that it looks like a sex toy, but I swear it's not) and took off her leash when we got to the park.

She loves the park. Loves it.

If there's one thing I'm really happy about, it's that we can let her run around without fearing that she'll get into trouble with other dogs or run off. She always sticks near us, basically running circles and zigzagging around us as we walk, and she plays well with others.

Our only moment of fear arose when we came upon two young women walking a tiny, tiny teacup chihuahua. (Or some kind of teacup dog. I couldn't swear it was a chihuahua.) This dog was so tiny it was barely recognizable as a dog.

I'm not sure what Olga thought it was, but she dropped her stick toy and went after it like white lightning. While we called her name fruitlessly, she chased it in a circle and bowled it over onto its back. The little dog yelped but Olga never attacked it. I really think she only meant to play, but I was terrified she'd mistaken it for a squirrel.

By the time we got to her and pulled her away, the little dog was back on its feet and one of the women scooped it up. (They were strangely blasé about the whole thing. They said nothing to us. All I heard was one of them say, "Awww," when squirrel-dog yelped. Maybe this happens all the time.)

We gave Olga a swat so she'd know she has to listen when we call her. And then we went on our merry way with Olga back on her leash. We trailed at a respectable distance behind the two women, and I noticed the teacup's paws never touched the ground again.



Olga had a terrific day, in any case. And I think I'm glad we bought her an insurance policy.