Sunday, May 8, 2011
Team Tennis à la française!
Within about two days of arriving in France in October, I found my tennis home at the Racing Tennis Club de Joinville. The regulars at the club have become my little family here in Paris. A week ago, we began league play in the Ligue de Paris.
The first week, we had a relatively easy match against the club "Les Cheminots de Paris". The actual tennis left a little to be desired, but the ambiance was amazing. It doesn't get much better than a beautiful spring afternoon out on the terre battue, or red clay. For us, it might as well have been Roland Garros.
Since the removal of the big white bubbles that allow us to continue to play on the clay during the inclimate winter months, the Racing Tennis Club de Joinville as taken on a whole new vibe. Tennis at the club has now become a spectator sport. The club's faithfuls come out to sit under the awning of the club house, drink beer or Orangina and cheer on the team. The atmoshphere was magical. It had rained a bit during the afternoon, and the dampness brought the clay to its most magnificent deep red. It was one of those moments in which you'd wish for the power to freeze time just so that it could last a bit longer. I didn't even take any photographs for fear that they would spoil my impression and memory of the moment. Perhaps I'll post a photo of the club in a later blog so as to allow the image to simmer a little longer.
Yesterday, we played our second team match and posted our second victory. This time we were "à l'extérieur" (away) at the "club sélect" in the Bois de Boulogne, Tir aux pigeons. I heard whispers from my teammates that there is a 4-5 year waiting list, you must be sponsored by 2 members, and the cost is about 4000 euros per month. In any case, the grounds were awe-inspiring. As we entered the main gate, with the restaurant on our right, just past the reception, a small lake opened up before us. I excused myself with my teammates for being such a shameless tourist, but they were equally enamoured with the place and happily paused for a photo.
As the tennis club is situated in the Bois de Boulogne, you have a view of the nearby business district called La Defense. I had a kind of "out of Paris" experience for it is not the skyline that you associate with the French capital. The view from the courts reminded me of playing tennis in Grant Park in Chicago in the shadow of all of the Windy Cities tall buildings.
The deceiving aspect of these courts is that they are "Quick", a kind of hard court that resembles the pavement of a road, which were converted into terre battue. While red clay does not allow for the same surefootedness as on hard court, these courts riveled the experience of playing tennis on an ice skating rink (which I have never done, but can only image the challenge!)
Nonetheless, our team pulled out our best "Système D" (a French expression that indicates an individual's ability to use all available resources to overcome adversity), a simulataneouly pulled off a win.
 |
| Our 60-year old Dominique pulled out a 3-set nail biter over a 17-year old! |
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| Christelle showed that she is worth more than her ranking by beating another 17-year old with an FFT standing two levels higher. |
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| Team victorious! (me, Christelle, Dominique. Not pictured: Teiya) |
A la prochaine, Tir aux pigeons!
Sunday, May 1, 2011
Recap: Le marathon de Paris
Since I had been on vacation until this past Tuesday, so had my blog. I had not been away from my computer, but dissertation demands required a bit of a break from "fun" writing. Now for catch-up:
April 10, 2011 - Le Marathon de Paris...
...was a success! In terms of time, it was my third best performance as I crossed the "ligne d'arrivée" at 3:44:26. I felt as though I was prepared to run a better time, but the 70 degree+ conditions towards the end of the race slowed my legs a bit. Watching others pull off to the side with major body cramps, and feeling a slight cramping sensation in my upper right quad, I decided to play it safe and remain content with finishing under 3:45.
In terms of scenery, the course was the most beautiful of my now 6 marathon finishes. It's hard to compete with Chicago, Boston and New York, but Paris takes the cake. The Champs-Elysées isn't closed for too many occasions (the only other sporting event I can think of is Le Tour de France bicycle race). To run down it towards the cobblestones of the Place de la Concorde was simply magical. The 42k loop includes views of les Tuileries, le Louvre, l'Hôtel de Ville, la Bastille, le bois et le château de Vincennes, Notre Dame, la tour Eiffel, Roland Garros, le bois de Boulogne, and many more! For almost half of the race, we ran along the Seine and through the tunnels alongside it. Although the organization wasn't necessarily at the level of the big city American marathons that I have run, I was ready for it and thus not overly affected. There were bands and various dance groups along the course that offered a welcome distraction for runners. Given the rising temperatures, certain refreshment stations were equipped with waterhoses to cool us off. We felt like children reliving the days of running through sprinklers on hot summer days. However, instead of sprinting across the lawn in the back garden, our playground was the streets of Paris.
The race finished just short of the backside of the Arc de Triomphe. How à propos! Knowing that in less than 24 hours I would be boarding a plane to the US, I walked awkwardly down the side streets of the 16th arrondissement towards the Eiffel tower.
Weaving through the tourists and street vendors, I managed to find a shaded spot on the plush Champ de Mars to stretch my overworked body and marvel at the iron construction towering over me and my fellow lawn loungers and picnickers.
April 10, 2011 - Le Marathon de Paris...
...was a success! In terms of time, it was my third best performance as I crossed the "ligne d'arrivée" at 3:44:26. I felt as though I was prepared to run a better time, but the 70 degree+ conditions towards the end of the race slowed my legs a bit. Watching others pull off to the side with major body cramps, and feeling a slight cramping sensation in my upper right quad, I decided to play it safe and remain content with finishing under 3:45.
 |
| Sunrise pre-race |
 |
| The outfit |
 |
| Victoire! |
In terms of scenery, the course was the most beautiful of my now 6 marathon finishes. It's hard to compete with Chicago, Boston and New York, but Paris takes the cake. The Champs-Elysées isn't closed for too many occasions (the only other sporting event I can think of is Le Tour de France bicycle race). To run down it towards the cobblestones of the Place de la Concorde was simply magical. The 42k loop includes views of les Tuileries, le Louvre, l'Hôtel de Ville, la Bastille, le bois et le château de Vincennes, Notre Dame, la tour Eiffel, Roland Garros, le bois de Boulogne, and many more! For almost half of the race, we ran along the Seine and through the tunnels alongside it. Although the organization wasn't necessarily at the level of the big city American marathons that I have run, I was ready for it and thus not overly affected. There were bands and various dance groups along the course that offered a welcome distraction for runners. Given the rising temperatures, certain refreshment stations were equipped with waterhoses to cool us off. We felt like children reliving the days of running through sprinklers on hot summer days. However, instead of sprinting across the lawn in the back garden, our playground was the streets of Paris.
The race finished just short of the backside of the Arc de Triomphe. How à propos! Knowing that in less than 24 hours I would be boarding a plane to the US, I walked awkwardly down the side streets of the 16th arrondissement towards the Eiffel tower.
Weaving through the tourists and street vendors, I managed to find a shaded spot on the plush Champ de Mars to stretch my overworked body and marvel at the iron construction towering over me and my fellow lawn loungers and picnickers.
Thursday, April 7, 2011
It's coming!: 3 day countdown to the Marathon de Paris
Agnès Varda: an evening with a great cinéaste @ Forum des images
"Usually after directors make their first feature-length film, they don't ever go back to making shorts. I've gone back to making shorts. I guess that's like having moved up to the big kids class and then going back to elementary school. Well, I've gone back with the little kids."
"When I'm making a film, I often get completely absorbed in what I'm doing. Since I'm also holding the camera, this leads to some interesting footage. (She then explains several 15 minute segments that she's found of her pant leg, and other such shots.) When I was filming "Les glaneurs", I discovered a clip in which I had been carrying the camera at my side and while I was walking, the lens cap was swinging and bouncing around in front of the lens. It amused me so much that I decided to leave it in the film. Then, I decided to take it out. After all, we were making a film on a serious subject: people living on the margins and consuming what society had discarded. But it amused me so that I decided to leave it in. And then I took it out. And finally, I decided to leave it in. For why must one always be serious when talking about a serious topic."
"Some of my films have been shown all over the world. It is moving when a scene touches (not necessarily emotionally, but leaves a mark on) a particular group. In Mexico, there was a group of young people who conveyed to me their reaction to such a scene. Like the story of the swinging camera lens, this was also taken from. "Les glaneurs". At a moment during the filming, I was riding shotgun while one of my colleagues was driving. I have always enjoyed watching large trucks go by on the road, so I decided to film them. Watching them through the camera, I realized that I could put my hand in front of the lens and pretend to catch the trucks by snatching my hand closed in the field of vision. So that's what I did. As we drove down the road, I spent my time catching trucks."
These were just some of the gems that came from last night's "Master Class avec Agnès Varda". Having seen her most recent documentary called "Les plages d'Agnès" in which she explores her own past while exploiting different tecnhiques and mises-en-scène, I was stunned to see how much this Agnès resembled the one on stage before me. She was just as eccentric and loveable as in her film. Perhaps, as some said about "Les plages", she is slightly narcissitic as well, but who isn't. At times she expresses her pleasure for what she has done. At other times she is humble to the point of self-depricating, but mostly, she just loves telling stories about her lives and "normal humans", as she says.
I have been to these "Master Class" at the Forum with a couple of other film directors,Abdel Kechiche and Andre Techiné, whose films I enjoy and whose interviews I have appreciated. However, in both instances, the directors sat the the table with Pascal Mérigeau (the man who conducts all of these interviews) and mostly just responded to his questions while facing him. It usually felt as though the two men were having a private conversation, and we the audience were the observers on the opposite side of a two-way mirror, quite uninvolved in the discussion between these two men.
However, when Madame Varda walked out onto the stage, she promptly stated that she was very intimidated. Not by the audience, but by the format. In fact, it was really the phrase "Master Class" that gave her pause. She preferred something more a long the line of "An evening with" or "A conversation with", which is actually what these sessions are. For anyone who has ever been to a masterclass, there is nothing "class-like" about these encounters. And with that small grevience voiced, the Agnès Varda show began. Although Monsieur Mérigeau did ask a few questions, he played a much more accessory role that usual. In fact, he might as well have been an extra with just a couple of lines to recite next to storytime with Agnès.
Apparently, her favorite color is burgundy. On the large screen that served as both a backdrop and an advertisement of the evening to come, there is an image of Mme Varda wearing a burgundy coat and the same color outfit underneath. As she appeared on stage, her hair was "styled" in the same "bob cut" that I have seen previously. The top three-quarters of her hair revealed the three quarters of a century that has been her life. The bottom quarter, the same burgundy color as on the screen and as the head to toe outfit (minus the black maryjanes) that she was wearing on stage. In a way, the proportions of her hair coloring seemed to suggest a sort of "sablier" (hourglass, in French) for her life. So, perhaps we can expect another 25 years of stories from Agnès? I certainly hope so.
Sunday, March 27, 2011
Paris for a year
Today marks the two week countdown to the marathon. The banners are posted once again, like before the semi-marathon. "Marathon de Paris dimanche 10 avril 2011," cautioning the Sunday regulars to the bois de Vincennes to reconsider the timing of their weekly outing. Emotions are high among those who will toe the starting line. Although I may be imposing my perspective on others, it feels as though there is a spirit of competition and comraderie among those of us who call the woods of Vincennes our running home, its château our unofficial mascot. The exchanged glances as we pass feels different, a kind sizing up to try to determine whether we are actually as prepared as everyone else seems to be, knowing all the same that you can't always judge the worth of runner by his or her body...within reason.
When I returned home, I considered going out for a movie (they're about half price at my nearby theater on Sunday before 12h30), but then opted for a quiet afternoon in front of my computer, reading the news and then sifting through my notes from the previous day to write a little of my dissertation.
While reading the New York Times, I stumbled across an article entitled "A Paris Farwell." Although my "farwell" won't be coming for another 3 1/2 months or so, I found myself projected into the future my the prospect of having to say goodbye in a much more tangible way than in the past. We never really know what the future will bring, but it is unlikely that I will return to France as often as I have over the past ten years. Since 2001, 2007 is the only calendar year marked by the complete absence of my feet in the Hexagon. 2001 marked my maiden voyage and set the stage for the years to come. Although I arrived into CDG - Paris Charles de Gaulle, I spent the majority of my first 6 weeks here in the sleepy city of Tours. Just after my 21st birthday in 2002, I returned to France to visit the families that had hosted me during my first trip. 2003-2004 marked my first true Parisian experience, under the auspices of the Middlebury MA program and endeared me to the 14th, 5th and 6th arrondissements. In 2005, I experienced Lyon, thanks to a fellowship which kicked off my graduate career at UVa. 2006 introduced me to the Côte d'Azur (the French Riviera) and Provence (Arles, Avignon, Nîmes, le pont du Gard, lavender, Roussillon, etc.) Trips to New Zealand and Australia in 2007 made a French trip impractical. In 2008, I had the chance to head back to Lyon and Paris to visit my dear friends Alix and Céline, from their year abroad at UVa. 2009 led me back to France for a similar journey, and in 2010-2011, well, here I am, perhaps for one of my last long séjours abroad. Being that only a few months away from the beginning of my 30th year, I must accept the reality, both exciting and sobering, that certain decisions in life need to be confronted sooner rather than later. As I write these words and evoke these emotions, I regret very little and am looking forward to what the future may bring all the while savouring the past with which I have been blessed.
The opening lines of this article drew me in, as they more or less mirror my feelings and relationship to Paris.
"I’ve always been one of those girls. A die-hard Francophile. An American helpless in the face of Parisian charms and pleasures (...) who could never seem to shake the City of Light. I went for a college semester, I went with boyfriends, I went to eat chocolate. And finally (...) I went to live my dream."
"... my vision of Paris has been altered. What was once mysterious is now intimately understood. What was once mythical is now more real (though, admittedly, still magical). To some extent, Paris will always belong to the Truffauts, Fitzgeralds and Bernhardts of the world. But now some of my own history runs through its streets too."
"Weaned as I was on “A Moveable Feast” (...) when I moved to Paris, I saw it clearly divided between the artsy Left Bank and the buttoned-up Right Bank. The Left Bank was for thinkers and dreamers; artists and musicians; students and stargazers who famously sought inspiration — and, peut-être, absinthe. It’s where Josephine Baker shimmied, where Hemingway feasted and where Sartre and de Beauvoir had endless philosophical debates.
The Right Bank was for bankers at the Bourse and flâneurs on the grand boulevards. It was where manicured gardens, symmetrical squares and majestic monuments reigned supreme; a mélange of foreign embassies, tony boutiques and chichi cafes, all steps from where King Louis XVI and thousands of others were guillotined at the Place de la Concorde during the French Revolution."
(...)
"On an amazing market street filled with patisseries, fromageries and boucheries, nothing made me happier, or feel more Parisienne, than meandering up and down the pedestrian blocks, inhaling the irresistible smells of roasting chickens, stinky cheeses and warm, yeasty baguettes."
Great emotion wells up inside me as I read Ms. Thomas' account of her American experience in Paris, for it could just as well be describing mine. At least intially. She is writing for the Times Travel Section, so her account eventually devolves into a guide book listing of all the gourmet desserts she has consumed and the upscale tables she has visited. While I have certainly consumed my fair share of French delicacies, my experience in Paris, particularly on this trip is less notable for what I have consumed than for what has consumed me. I feel brought into the fold of Parisian life in a way that I could not have been if my financial means allowed greater expenditures. Sure, there are times when I would love to be able to take advantage of all the "culture" that fills theater halls, covers museum walls, and is sold at vendors' stalls. And yet, it is the phenomenon of recognition, of people and places becoming familiar that begins to make Paris another home. Frequent trips to the supermarkets and the bakeries in my neighborhood allow me to identify when the employees are having a good or bad day, for I have seen them throughout their many moods. Walking through the halls of my apartment, I can now offer a genuine smile of familiarity to the people with whom I exchange a neighborly "bonjour" or "bonsoir". Boarding the bus with the students going home for lunch, I recognize faces and the behavior of certain children. Running through the woods, I identify the regulars, either for their faces or running or walking movement. I even recognize certain people who make their living in the woods, either doing work for the city of Paris or providing more intimate services for certain men of the city of Paris. I even have begun to encounter familiar faces walking down the street or in various places of commerce. At the University, I continually cross paths with current and former students and with colleagues. Every once in awhile, on my way to the tennis club, before arriving and exchanging greetings with my little Parisian family in Joinville-le-pont, a familiar face in a passing car will give toot of the horn, a wave and a smile.
These and many more experiences and encounters have shaped my months in Paris. The streets of the city provide their own stage, and I am relishing the opportunity to play a year-long cameo role.
When I returned home, I considered going out for a movie (they're about half price at my nearby theater on Sunday before 12h30), but then opted for a quiet afternoon in front of my computer, reading the news and then sifting through my notes from the previous day to write a little of my dissertation.
While reading the New York Times, I stumbled across an article entitled "A Paris Farwell." Although my "farwell" won't be coming for another 3 1/2 months or so, I found myself projected into the future my the prospect of having to say goodbye in a much more tangible way than in the past. We never really know what the future will bring, but it is unlikely that I will return to France as often as I have over the past ten years. Since 2001, 2007 is the only calendar year marked by the complete absence of my feet in the Hexagon. 2001 marked my maiden voyage and set the stage for the years to come. Although I arrived into CDG - Paris Charles de Gaulle, I spent the majority of my first 6 weeks here in the sleepy city of Tours. Just after my 21st birthday in 2002, I returned to France to visit the families that had hosted me during my first trip. 2003-2004 marked my first true Parisian experience, under the auspices of the Middlebury MA program and endeared me to the 14th, 5th and 6th arrondissements. In 2005, I experienced Lyon, thanks to a fellowship which kicked off my graduate career at UVa. 2006 introduced me to the Côte d'Azur (the French Riviera) and Provence (Arles, Avignon, Nîmes, le pont du Gard, lavender, Roussillon, etc.) Trips to New Zealand and Australia in 2007 made a French trip impractical. In 2008, I had the chance to head back to Lyon and Paris to visit my dear friends Alix and Céline, from their year abroad at UVa. 2009 led me back to France for a similar journey, and in 2010-2011, well, here I am, perhaps for one of my last long séjours abroad. Being that only a few months away from the beginning of my 30th year, I must accept the reality, both exciting and sobering, that certain decisions in life need to be confronted sooner rather than later. As I write these words and evoke these emotions, I regret very little and am looking forward to what the future may bring all the while savouring the past with which I have been blessed.
The opening lines of this article drew me in, as they more or less mirror my feelings and relationship to Paris.
"I’ve always been one of those girls. A die-hard Francophile. An American helpless in the face of Parisian charms and pleasures (...) who could never seem to shake the City of Light. I went for a college semester, I went with boyfriends, I went to eat chocolate. And finally (...) I went to live my dream."
"... my vision of Paris has been altered. What was once mysterious is now intimately understood. What was once mythical is now more real (though, admittedly, still magical). To some extent, Paris will always belong to the Truffauts, Fitzgeralds and Bernhardts of the world. But now some of my own history runs through its streets too."
"Weaned as I was on “A Moveable Feast” (...) when I moved to Paris, I saw it clearly divided between the artsy Left Bank and the buttoned-up Right Bank. The Left Bank was for thinkers and dreamers; artists and musicians; students and stargazers who famously sought inspiration — and, peut-être, absinthe. It’s where Josephine Baker shimmied, where Hemingway feasted and where Sartre and de Beauvoir had endless philosophical debates.
The Right Bank was for bankers at the Bourse and flâneurs on the grand boulevards. It was where manicured gardens, symmetrical squares and majestic monuments reigned supreme; a mélange of foreign embassies, tony boutiques and chichi cafes, all steps from where King Louis XVI and thousands of others were guillotined at the Place de la Concorde during the French Revolution."
(...)
"On an amazing market street filled with patisseries, fromageries and boucheries, nothing made me happier, or feel more Parisienne, than meandering up and down the pedestrian blocks, inhaling the irresistible smells of roasting chickens, stinky cheeses and warm, yeasty baguettes."
Great emotion wells up inside me as I read Ms. Thomas' account of her American experience in Paris, for it could just as well be describing mine. At least intially. She is writing for the Times Travel Section, so her account eventually devolves into a guide book listing of all the gourmet desserts she has consumed and the upscale tables she has visited. While I have certainly consumed my fair share of French delicacies, my experience in Paris, particularly on this trip is less notable for what I have consumed than for what has consumed me. I feel brought into the fold of Parisian life in a way that I could not have been if my financial means allowed greater expenditures. Sure, there are times when I would love to be able to take advantage of all the "culture" that fills theater halls, covers museum walls, and is sold at vendors' stalls. And yet, it is the phenomenon of recognition, of people and places becoming familiar that begins to make Paris another home. Frequent trips to the supermarkets and the bakeries in my neighborhood allow me to identify when the employees are having a good or bad day, for I have seen them throughout their many moods. Walking through the halls of my apartment, I can now offer a genuine smile of familiarity to the people with whom I exchange a neighborly "bonjour" or "bonsoir". Boarding the bus with the students going home for lunch, I recognize faces and the behavior of certain children. Running through the woods, I identify the regulars, either for their faces or running or walking movement. I even recognize certain people who make their living in the woods, either doing work for the city of Paris or providing more intimate services for certain men of the city of Paris. I even have begun to encounter familiar faces walking down the street or in various places of commerce. At the University, I continually cross paths with current and former students and with colleagues. Every once in awhile, on my way to the tennis club, before arriving and exchanging greetings with my little Parisian family in Joinville-le-pont, a familiar face in a passing car will give toot of the horn, a wave and a smile.
These and many more experiences and encounters have shaped my months in Paris. The streets of the city provide their own stage, and I am relishing the opportunity to play a year-long cameo role.
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