Merry Christmas

I'm listening to the Christmas playlist I made on my ipod while eating breakfast with two Spaniards and Sebastian, my Chilean roommate. We're getting ready to catch a train at 9:20 AM for Frankfurt, where we'll take a plane at 5 PM to Shanghai. I'll be in China for two weeks, giving 9 concerts with the Vinorosso Ensemble, a world music/Balkan music group. We'll travel nearly 2,000 miles in 14 days through the cities of Shanghai, Hangzhou, Zhejian, Shandong, Shenyang, Beijing, and the Jilin Province and through temperatures ranging from 50 degrees in southern Shanghai to -10 degrees F in the north. It'll be tiring, I'm sure, but a lot of fun too. Regardless of where you are in the world or what your holiday plans/lack thereof are, spend this time in peace and hopefully with people you love. Merry Christmas, everyone. I'll try to update as we go along in China!

Ridiculousness & London

For those of you who don't know, I love to write poetry. I used to write more frequently and would like to believe that it was better during this time period, but hey, who I am kidding? Most of it's pretty crap. I take no offense to this, though, as I enjoy writing it nevertheless. Here's a good one that summarizes my journey today on the Deutsche Bahn from Bremen via Osnabrück and Herford to Detmold: on the train listening to the JT Mix and Radiohead scattered raindrops on windowpanes the whir of the engine coughing and then sputtering and then no more. sigh. "es tut mir sehr leid, aber gibt's verspätung jetzt..." right, stay calm. the guy across the way from me is pretty darn cute. makes it all a bit better. After a lovely four days spent in London with Sara and her quartet buddies, I trucked my to London Stansted Airport to fly back to Bremen. The amount of ridiculousness I dealt with from Ryanair, a supposedly reputable low-cost airline, was, well, ridiculous. Not only did I receive the rudest treatment I've ever seen in the airline industry, but I would have missed my flight had it not been for a Random Act of Kindness from a completely German stranger. Basically, after having to pay a host of ridiculous fees for baggage check-in (I know I'm overusing the word ridiculous, but I'm sorry - there's just no other fitting word), I got caught up in a line at the currency exchange and also in the Ryanair fees payment line, and still didn't have enough pounds to cover my expenses. This wonderful lady who was also paying fees and on my Bremen flight leaned over and said in German, "These people are complete jerks. Don't worry, hun, I'll pay your fee with my credit card and you can pay me back once we're in Germany." I could have kissed her. It was a sheer moment of holiday guardian angel-ness. Afterwards, we zipped through security - well, I was ridiculously (there I go again) held up for 5 minutes until another holiday guardian angel security guard came over, asked, "What's the matter, love? You look like you're going to cry there" and then checked my bag, muttering about the incompetency of her colleague, and sent me off - and barely made the flight. In Germany, I endured 2.5 hours of ridiculous verspätung (sounds like some weird Spam-like meat, huh? It actually just means "delay"), came home with five minutes before a rehearsal, and so ran out again, only to eventually eat "dinner" (cold pasta + strawberry yogurt...no, not mixed together...I do still have some culinary refinement, thank you very much)at around 11:30 PM. Hmph. Could have been, worse, I suppose. Anyways, back to London. What a fabulous city during the holidays! We went for walks, ice-skated, watched lots of Family Guy and Sex & The City, and just chilllled out. It was exactly what I needed. Seeing Sara can clear out months of agitation and uneasiness like no other. Although the workload starts the second my foots hits German soil, I do feel refreshed. If you want to see pictures, check out my photo website some time next week.

And I'm back.

I had a stark realization yesterday. It occurred while I attempted to write essays for this incredible summer project I'm applying for called Cultures in Harmony (check it out, seriously: www.musicforthepeople.org). I have lost touch with writing and communicating my thoughts in English! It's been months since I last wrote anything here, and this livejournal was the one way I kept up my writing skills and maintained a personal voice preserved on paper (er, electronic paper...). I found that while writing the essays, words were coming to me first in German and Spanish, and while on one hand that's a good sign because it means these foreign languages are starting to become a part of me, it also means that my mother tongue is starting to fade. It would be a real pity to lose the gracious literary teachings which were imparted to me by Ms. Scholz and the GBN English Department, and so I am going to try to get back into writing regularly on here. Let's see, where were we? Oh yeah...I played a million concerts in places like Münster, Potsdam, Paris, Lage, Paderborn, and various other cities in the region. I have had many lessons, and am playing two pieces with my piano trio - Brahms C Major Trio from last year and the Mendelssohn d minor Trio. I've developed a sheer love for the baroque violin and baroque music/art in general, and also fell in love with Sevcik Opus 3 exercises for bow technique once again (thank you, Andy Mark, for freshman Orchestra Rep class). I lost hours of sleep, ate too much chocolate, smoked too many cigarettes, drank too much beer, and still managed to cook some amazing Indian meals. I lived out of a suitcase for a while, and will again this weekend when I go to London for a mini-break and to visit my dear friend, Sara. I've been enjoying the new experience of playing viola in a string quartet (Beethoven Op. 18 no. 5 in A Major) with three wonderful other musicians, and we just finished playing for the Tokyo String Quartet in a master class yesterday. They gave one of the most genuine performances tonight, and we ended up dining and sharing drinks with them for a few hours afterwards, which was, suffice it to say, an unbelievable treat. I love my roommates (Cristina from Spain, Sebastian from Chile), and my Spanish is getting to a level of fluency that is continually more comfortable and authentic. I met another American here, Nathan. He comes from Virginia and is a very mature 18-year-old who took a gap year by deferring admission to UPenn for a year...he's a smart and sweet guy. Iris, a Spanish cellist, has become a very good friend as of late, and I'm starting to practice yoga with my roommate, Cristina. My health has been quite poor lately because I've neglected it for so long (note: DO NOT try to live off of dark chocolate, black tea + coffee + hot cocoa, pasta, bread, and vitamins...you will eventually crash), but I'm learning that the basics in life are the most important things to keep in order, and that we do have more control over them than we think. I'm sorry to those of you (ahem, parents) whom I've not had regular contact with. I'll try to improve, but do bear with me because the next few weeks are really tough. Lots of love to everyone...take care of yourselves!

Tangled Up In Blue

I am sitting in Cafe Gothland and my fingers keep hitting a "z" every time I want to type a "y" because I've been using a German keyboard for so long. This is my first time actually using my laptop thus far in Germany; this is probably also the longest passage I've written in English for some time now. As a matter of fact, I do believe that this is the first time in at least a week during which I am actually seated and collecting my thoughts. How I wish I could just sit here and continue to dwindle away my time, writing and thinking! We have been speaking rapid-fire Spanish in our apartment since the arrival yesterday of my second roommate, Cristina, from Spain. It has been really fun - each conversation brings back more vocabulary. However, there are those times when one yearns to simply communicate in good old American English. Thank goodness I have this live journal as my outlet. I have been in Detmold since September 26 after a hellish journey here (a three-hour delayed flight from London to Frankfurt, an hour delayed train ride - WHAT, heaven forbid, would a journey be for Geeta in Germany without delays, a local train that was mistakenly taken, a practically hitchhiked ride back to Detmold, and nothing at hand except the extra keys to a friend's apartment...where someone else whom I'd never met was already settled!), the last three weeks have been anything but peaceful and easy riding. Many of you perhaps already know this, but we are constructing a kitchen...yes, as in installing an electric stove, fridge, cabinets, and building a sink + counter top piece, not to mention hooking up plumbing and installing light fixtures. I was so overwhelmed, and often still am, but things are looking up. I think we'll be more or less finished with the kitchen in less than a week, and our apartment is very nice and roomy. There have been interpersonal, intrapersonal, and personal problems galore in all contexts (emotional, physical, and mental), but none of it is worth getting into in this space. Let's just word it as at the end of the day, a supposed cunning vixen and a burden are the last things one wants to be, and a complicated love triangle is the ultimate provider of stress and tangled up feelings. Perhaps Robert Frost put it best when he said, "Love is an irresistible desire to be irresistibly desired." Sometimes I wonder how I am still sitting here. I mean, I hitchhiked with a random German guy at around 10 PM! Sebastian and I carried a slate of material on our heads Indian-style for 65 minutes because we had to walk back from the hardware store to our home after the bus route had ceased to run. I've been living out of someone else's kitchen for the least three weeks. I watched someone explode over a broken heart, was chastised by a friend and accused of being unfaithful, drank more than I have in a long time in the last three weeks, and have been showering with no curtain and no tiling (we have cork flooring in our bathroom). My jeans are loose, sleep is lacking, and yet I am continuing to pour energy into the violin. I have to chuckle and dramatically ask myself, is this the starving artist lifestyle? In any case, here I am. Back in Detmold, and after three packed, volatile, and difficult weeks, I am finally ready and looking forward to clearing the slate and starting anew. Building a kitchen has been a great learning experience. Dealing with some of the personalities I've encountered has taught me a lot. I just hope that I can somehow find some peace within and stay true to what is best for me regardless at what life brings forth. Time to pack up and face the German rain...

Double Chocolate Chip Cookies

This is a great recipe for chocolate chocolate chip cookies (double chocolate chip cookies) that uses no eggs and 1/3 amount less fat than the normal Tollhouse recipe. And it tastes really good. I'm posting this so I remember it myself, but also because you should try it. Double Chocolate Chip Cookies Ingredients: 1/4 c softened butter 1/2 c sugar 1/4 c brown sugar 1 egg white (I used egg replacer) 1 tsp vanilla 1 c all-purpose flour 1/2 tsp baking soda 1/4 tsp salt 1/4 c cocoa powder (use a good quality cocoa...it makes a massive difference in flavor) 1/3 c chocolate chips (again, use good quality) 1). Preheat oven to 375 degrees F. 2). Beat butter and sugars together with a mixer until creamy. Then beat in egg white and vanilla. 3). In a separate bowl, combine flour, baking soda, salt, and cocoa. Add the dry ingredients to the wet, and then stir in the chocolate chips. 4). Drop the cookies on a greased cookie sheet. 5). Bake for 8-11 minutes. *side note: the original recipe said "Don't worry if the dough is crumbly" which, sure enough, it was. I think my dough was exceptionally crumbly because I didn't use an adhesive agent i.e. egg white to bind everything together. My mother suggested I put 1/4 cup yogurt in the dough to "glue" the ingredients together, and it worked out fantastically. So if you have dry dough, just add some plain yogurt and you'll be ok. Enjoy!

Girl Cousins' Reunion Weekend 2007 + East Coast Week

I think it's fair to say that since arriving in the U.S. on August 23, my life has been nonstop. This whole summer has been one whirlwind after another. Finland, India, five airports in 48 hours and a click of my red shoes, and then I finally arrived at O'Hare International Airport. My cousin, Deepa, was already there, with her sweet roommate, Shrada. Shrada stayed until August 26 and then Deepa and I enjoyed cooking and bonding together until August 30 when Cousin Anjali from Toronto, Cousin Reshma from New York City, and Neetu (well, you know Neetu!) arrived for a full-fleged weekend of reunion among five cousins and Dad. Our father had five daughters that weekend, and really enjoyed it. As for us, we did everything under the sun - shopped and partied all day and night on Friday in the city, enjoyed an au naturale experience at The Grove + Mexican food on Saturday, picnicked with Guru Bapuji and BBQ'd with our awesome neighbors at a block party on Sunday, and jetskiied on Monday with Doyle, our sporty and generous neighbor. Everyone left on Monday, and Neetu and I scrubbed the house and watched Hot Fuzz, a highly entertaining British film about police authority. Neetu left on Tuesday for Missouri, and I flew out early Wednesday morning for Boston. Boston + New York City. What to say? I've had the greatest time visiting everyone. Running around Manhattan over the weekend like a chicken with its head cut off was a great thrill - what a seriously crazy city. I'd love to live there for a few years. I saw my inspiring and wise yoga teacher, David, today, and even after only 1.5 hours of seeing him, I have enough food for thought and good energy until the next visit. He is going to give me a copy of the teacher training manual he wrote for his teacher training workshop, and I cannot wait to read it. I'll be back in Chicago on Wednesday for another glorious two weeks in the U.S. Home is home, no matter how long you've left it, and I love feeling that.

Frankfurt after a lot

I don't even know how long it's been since I've written. I traveled through Finland for three weeks and the India for another three, so I'd imagine that this posting is the first after approximately 6 weeks. A lot has happened, and honestly, I'm too tired to write about it all. You should look at my photo website to catch up: www.geetaabad.shutterfly.com. Finland + India pictures will be up sometime later this week (Finland is already up). Posting and updating that site has been a feat in itself. I left Mumbai early this morning for Frankfurt via Kuwait, and am staying in a youth hostel just for a night. My flight to Chicago via London is tomorrow at 11:20 AM. At this point, all I can think is the sooner I get home, the better. I had such an amazing summer but now need some time to reflect and just stare at the sky, not to mention the fact that my violin hasn't been properly practiced in some time... I hope you've all had good summers too!

Kuhmo

I have been in Finland since July 13 and am currently in Kuhmo, a small town that is about 100 km from the Russian border. I am playing in the Kuhmo Chamber Music Festival, which is comparable to something like the Aspen Music Festival in terms of its great artist-faculty and concert series, and how it is so revered in this little town. There are 120 concerts in two weeks, 120 music students, and a full faculty of maybe 50-60 world class musicians from around the world, so you can see how much organization this festival requires. It is incredible out here - full of nature & wilderness, delicious Arctic berries, and shy but friendly Finnish people. Finnish is a strange and difficult sounding language that I cannot understand at all, but most Finns speak great English, and I have been speaking German, too, with some German musicians here. I spent from July 13-15 in Helsinki, sightseeing on my own, and then headed to Tampere, a city about 2 hours north of Helsinki (and the headquarters of Nokia) where I visited a cousin of a cousin and his wife - Amit and Payal. They were great hosts, and I felt so at home, especially with all the tasty Indian food. Food has been somewhat of an issue here. We eat at the festival cafeteria, and after many years of music festivals, I know to expect that food will probably be sub-par. However, in one instance here, I took a bite of the vegeterian entree (paella) and ended up spitting out clam. Attention to all: fish is not considered vegetarian. Therefore, if something has fish in it, or if you eat fish, the food and you both are NOT vegetarian. Needless to say, I was not happy with that experience. Masanori, my old BoCo cellist colleague, is also here, and he lives in a beautiful fully equipped apartment, so I have resorted to cooking there. It makes everyone happy because I can cook (I would hope) better than the cafeteria and so we all get to spare our stomachs. I have to go now, but perhaps I can write more later. Moi moi! (Goodbye - and actually hello, too - in Finnish)

Empty Room

I'm sitting on the floor and taping editions of violin parts from Brahms Trios together. Our trio coach, Frau Kilcher, lent me her Henle editions and I figured, hey, might as well copy all 4 trio parts - well, 3 but 2 different editions from Brahms himself of the B Major Trio. It's empty enough here for the doors to echo when they shut, for the cold to seep into my body when I sit on the floor, and for me to hear the old fridge buzzing away in the middle of the night. I'm noticing the parts of my room where mold is growing and also the fact that the daddy-long-legs have now been replaced by giant mutant-like flies. I cannot deny that in some ways I'm thrilled to leave this house. But let it be said that we enjoy a truly beautiful German garden, and this was my first time living in a house that's at least 150 years old. The end of one year/officially half a school year has come. After performances galore, the Brahms Chamber Music Competition of last week, and four different parties (including the surprise goodbye party Maaike and I gave Frederika & Mathilde last Friday), things are winding down. At this time in three days, I'll be sleeping in a hostel in the Olympic Village in Helsinki. Where has the time gone? I came here on September 19, 2006. It's been almost 10 months. During this time, I have learned German & can understand a lot of French, adapted to life without a clothes dryer, have seen one film in the movie theaters, traveled, lived alone, dated a French guy, acquired a set of German parents aka my old landlords, lived with less than half of my normal wardrobe, ate breakfast every day, gained weight, had a constant case of sniffles due to the immense moisture here, lost weight, stopped wearing makeup and drying my hair, became completely ok with spider inhabitants, cooked more than I ever have in my life, learned to truly drink and enjoy beer, taught English, wore (am wearing!) sweatshirts in July, and made friends from literally around the world. I played Ysaye, Prokofiev, Mozart, Schubert, Brahms, new music from student composers, Bach, Lutoslawski, Gershwin, Faure, Bloch, Ravel, cheesy wedding tunes, Handel (and Halverson), Vivaldi, Nick Tolle, Harbison, Beethoven, the viola, and of course Sevcik. I've had 2 German teachers, a string quartet + a piano trio/duo teacher, 2 private violin teachers, and 2 master class experiences with guest professors. I cried because I felt completely alone when Virginia Tech occurred. I cheered when Democrats beat out Republicans in elections. I discovered Simon Fischer's Basics and am a changed violinist. I learned to count out in euros as comfortably as dollars and nickels. I danced to Turkish music and to atonal chords. I watched all three Shrek films in Spanish. I ate in Parisian boulangeries and Antwerpen chocolateries and Turkish donor stands and the Musik Hochschule Mensa (cafeteria)...and of course there were pretzels. I saw the Berliner Philharmoniker. I experienced the World Cup in Germany. I learned to never sign up with Deutsche Telecomm again. I played musical chairs but in German. That's not even scratching the surface. What a year it's been here. I can't wait for what comes next.

India

I am going to India from August 1 - 22 with my parents and brother, Neil. We haven't traveled together to India since 2002, and so I'm especially excited that this trip will be shared as a nearly complete family (Neetu will be greatly missed). I felt an especially deep calling to India this year, and I don't know why. I think being in Germany and therefore away from my two homelands has made me reflect even more on my identity and what it consists of. It's easy to hop from Indian to American culture and back and not even have to think about it...when I'm in India or America, that is. Germany is a bit different. I now live in a neutral third party where I can't cling to former identities. I had a hard time with this at first, but after thinking about it and sorting things out with Neetu (my brilliant sister whose main research deals with cultural/immigrant identity issues), I realized that 1). I don't have to define myself based on anyone else's definitions or expectations (aka "you speak broken Hindi and therefore you aren't Indian" - I say BS to that, and won't prescribe to what someone tells me about who I am) and 2). being Indian-American and therefore having a 'mixed idenitity' is beautiful for just that reason - it's not the former or the latter, but rather something that can be defined based on what values one chooses to preserve from both cultures. For example, my cousin in Germany is raising Ahren, my nephew, to speak Marwari and Marathi fluently. At the age of 4, he has a wonderful command of Marwari. Contras this with my Indian tongue, which is somewhat functional but is more or less a mess of three different languages awkwardly strung together. It's something that I will sort out via Hindi classes once I move back to the States, or rather, once my German is fluent enough to my liking. Didi, however, allows Ahren to eat meat, something that our Marwari culture does not support. I personally do not desire to ever eat meat nor will I raise children who do. The question here is not over who is wrong or right, but rather, which values we've both chosen to uphold. It's all relative from person to person, family to family. Being someone who is very interested in languages and cultures in the world at large, I'm sure that I'll always have identity issues. And in the end, they're good for us - they build character. Understanding comes, however, when I realize that I am who I am and that's all that matters.

Imagine

Hi! I know I've not written for awhile, and I will later when I have more time. However, I just listened to John Lennon's "Imagine" and as cliche as it is, I have to put the lyrics up because they really speak truth. Enjoy :) Imagine there's no heaven It's easy if you try No hell below us Above us only sky Imagine all the people Living for today... Imagine there's no countries It isn't hard to do Nothing to kill or die for And no religion too Imagine all the people Living life in peace... You may say I'm a dreamer But I'm not the only one I hope someday you'll join us And the world will be as one Imagine no possessions I wonder if you can No need for greed or hunger A brotherhood of man Imagine all the people Sharing all the world... You may say I'm a dreamer But I'm not the only one I hope someday you'll join us And the world will live as one

save the world? Hm.

...or at least the Fjords in Norway. A friend sent me an interesting email concerning a discussion she had with someone else. They were talking about the planet and its doom etc. etc. and this person said, "I think we need to work from a more love-based perspective rather than from a fear-driven one." I know, that sounds all yoga-y and New Age but that comment taps into something that underlies the basic reason for discord on the planet. Fear. I prefer to not define it as "good" or "bad" but rather a powerful emotion & instinct that influences everyone in some way or another. Fear has its place, but when problem solving in general, it's probably not the best stance to work from. I've never had kids, but from what I understand, the best parents work from love and not fear. The earth is like a child for all of us in that we have to take care of it and do the best we can to ensure for a safe future. I understand that not everyone can go out and afford a hybrid car, but such drastic changes aren't required on everyone's behalf (cracking down on overfishing in the oceans - see an earlier entry - = drastic change that should happen.). It's all about the greatness in small things. Since living in Europe, I feel as though my lifestyle is very different and much more aware. For example, I can't think of the last time I used a dryer for my clothes, I use candles all the time when serving dinner and in other instances in order to save electricity, and I take a shower for about 7 minutes during which most of the time the water is turned off. I have yet to see one garbage disposal in a sink here (everyone composts) and the German system of recycling is one of the most efficient and well organized I've ever come across. Europeans keep their heating on an absolute minimum, and while the chilly temperature does initially take some getting used to, there is much more sense in the end in putting on an extra sweater than upping the thermostat. Europeans have had to adapt to the conservationist lifestyle early on simply because their natural resources are so limited. It's as though America's greatest strength (our abundance of natural resources) fuels and provokes our greatest weakness (our need for excessive luxury and comfort - I mean, large Italian restaurants who require tomato paste aside, do we really need electronic can openers?). Our ability to change and innovate as a collective group is perhaps the most amazing aspect of human civilization. It has gotten us this far in our survival on this planet, and I don't see why it can't take us even further.

I have the memory of a goldfish...

...meaning I forget everything every 5 minutes. Please read this and help accordingly. Pass it along to anyone who can contribute something. Thanks! Dear Friends and Collective Wisdom, Most of you know me from my stream of press releases and information about the artists I represent. Today, I'm writing to ask for your help in connection with a unique event: the Iraq Summer Performing Arts Academy in Erbil, Northern Iraq, July 14 - 22, 2007. American Voices (http://www.americanvoices.org/), a not-for-profit organization based in Houston, is partnering with the U.S. State Department, the U.S. Embassy in Baghdad and the Iraqi Ministries of Culture in Baghdad and Kurdistan to create a Summer study program for Iraq's young musicians and dancers and its established cultural institutions. including the School of Music and Dance in Baghdad, the Iraq National Symphony Orchestras and the Orchestras of Erbil and Suleimaniya, the Iraq National Folk Dancing Ensemble and the Institutes of Fine Arts of Erbil, Kirkuk and Suleimaniya. This will reach approximately 250 Iraqis, with the emphasis on young people aged 14 to 25. A faculty of ten cultural specialists from the U.S. will introduce music and dance students from throughout the country to Jazz, Broadway, Hip Hop and other uniquely American performing arts. In addition to the educational elements of this program, three gala concert evenings on July 17, 21 and 22 will culminate in all of Iraq’s three orchestras united for the first time on one stage. This is where I'm asking for your help. Would any of you be able to donate or give us some ideas of where we could get donations of the following scores and parts for Mozart, Schubert or Haydn quartets and any standard rep quintets or trios (especially Haydn & Mozart)? If you can help with any of these items, please contact me at jamesarts@worldnet.att.net. Your help is greatly appreciated and will be a tremendous gesture of good will toward the people of Iraq. Many thanks and all good wishes, Jeffrey James -- Jeffrey James Arts Consulting 45 Grant Avenue Farmingdale, NY 11735 USA Tel: 516-586-3433 E-mail: jamesarts@worldnet.att.net Website: http://www.jamesarts.com

Oh yeah!

I forgot: I am going to Finland this summer from July 13-31 for the Kuhmo Music Festival! Scandinavia! Yay! I will be in the States afterwards from August 1 or so until mid September, so for 4-5 weeks. Let me know if you'll be in Chicago at some point...I am also hoping to possibly visit Bostonians & New Yorkers for a week.

Gig

I haven't written in a long time. I've thought about writing, but nothing has struck me as terribly exciting or unusual. I've been very busy with rehearsals, lessons, and some gigs, but it's all just part of the daily grind. I did a gig this past weekend for Pfingsten, or Whit Sunday - the seventh Sunday after Easter. I don't really know why it's important, but it's a national holiday nevertheless in all of Germany, and everything is also closed on Monday, or Pfingsten/Whit Monday. We played in a town called Rheda-Wiedenbrueck. It's 1.5 hours from Detmold so we stayed overnight at church choir members' houses. I stayed with a very nice couple - middle-aged with three daughters in their early 20s. They were very suburban, "All-American" types; it sounds strange to describe Germans as All-American, but I can't find a better description for people who are all about the 2.5 kids + a dog deal. The mother has been practicing yoga for the last 10 years, which I found way cool. I've met too many people who are very Christian and actively attend church, and claim that yoga is something from the Devil, so this was a breath of fresh air. Christians in Europe tend to be a lot more liberal than Christians in the States. On Saturday night after the mass, a choir member and her husband hosted a church potluck dinner/BBQ in a barn on their pig farm. We even visited a Mama sow who had just given birth to 13 adorable piglets. I felt like I was in Aledo again (a tiny town of 3,000 in the rural Midwest where I grew up until the age of eight). During the mass, I observed that one of the priests in the church (which was a massive old baroque-styled cathedral...quite beautiful) was Indian. I didn't speak with him, but just heard him reciting liturgical texts in German with a strong Indian accent. It was interesting because I've never met/seen an Indian Catholic priest in India or America, let alone in Europe. I would have liked to meet and talk to him in person, but I didn't think it'd be a good idea to walk up to the altar in the middle of Mass! Sadly, I have nothing more to report. I have been reading The Onion, though, lately, and that's got a great deal of humorous things to report. Check it out: www.theonion.com xo

Pain & Bach

We are currently rehearsing and eventually performing (this weekend) Bach's Mass in b minor. By we, I mean the school's baroque academy, so we're playing with baroque bows. Like every other musician, I have always held Bach as a sort of god on Earth, but besides the Ciaconna for violin (the piece that made me want to play the instrument), I've not felt as moved by Bach's work as this Mass. It deals with existential questions of "Who are we?", "What is life?" and so on. For me, however, it also addresses a big part of life on Earth - pain. I'm reminded of a quotation I read: "Pain is inevitable. Suffering is optional." If you listen to Bach's b minor Mass, you will hear, in the more anguished movements (particularly "Qui tollis peccata mundi" or "Who takes away the sins of the world"), something reaching out and continuing. From this dark and deep point of the Mass, the music and motifs come forth and are actually reborn. Rebirth and rejuvenation are not ideas only from the east - they're found everywhere in Bach's music. And you find these ideas most often in the desperate and forlorn works. I think this idea indescribably beautiful. And hopeful. You don't have to suffer with pain. You just have to learn from it and channel the energy towards creating something new.

Amsterdam

I had an interesting weekend in Amsterdam (one of the best cities in Europe). I left on Saturday and had to spend nearly 3 hours on the train next to a Pakistani man who kept asking me for my age/phone number/marriage prospects, and then just babbled away with bad breath in Urdu. He blasted India in half the conversation, saying that we're the reason why he can't visit India although he has an Indian visa. I was trying to be nice, but at one point, I finally exclaimed, "Okay, I'm going to sleep. Bye." 1). Why do men think that asking for your age/asking you to guess their age is a discreet way of picking you up? 2). Harshly (and ignorantly) criticizing my country is not going to help your case, buddy. The weekend was fun. Monday was Koniginnstag, or Queen's Day, a celebration of former Queen Juliana's birthday. It's become one of the biggest national parties in the Netherlands, and my goodness, Amsterdam was raging. Everyone wears orange, and basically drinks from sun-up to sun-down...think Marathon, er, Patriot's Day in Boston but with many more millions crowding the streets. There is loud music from hip-hop to techno (mostly techno) blaring on the streets, vendors & carnival/amusement park rides (including this crazy gizmo called Booster that Nick made us try out...it's a massive roller coaster arm that turns you upside down at 5 Gs hundreds of feet high in the air, and makes you pray that the seat fastener is properly working), and drunken debauchery everywhere. The Dutch, while a hearty & friendly bunch, aren't what I'd call the most elegant types. Although quite trendy and 'hip,' they tend to be bigger in not only size but also volume. I really like Dutch when Frederika & Maaike speak it, but to hear it yelled and cajoled on the streets is not so pleasant. I suppose any language is like that, though. We ate Mexican on Saturday night, I cooked Indian on Sunday night, and we then stuffed ourselves with pure grease on Monday. I was a bit disappointed to have not seen one of Amsterdam's many famous museums, but ran into a massive crowd as we didn't properly plan on the right time to go (early in the morning when the museums first open). Amsterdam is a liberal's heaven, but a smoker's nightmare...I've never reeked so much of stale cigarettes...or stale pot, for that matter. On Saturday night, we attended a birthday/salsa party of a Spanish pianist in Nick's girlfriend Yuko's studio. It was really fun - a tiny room full of Spaniards gettin' down with salsa. I talked with a nice French girl for awhile who confessed that she wanted to dance but "felt a little too French and embarrassed!" I told her that she's still Latin and could do better than a German...and to my humiliation, a German was standing next to her! He was a good sport, though, and laughed, admitting that Germans many times don't know what the heck to do if they hear salsa (they're often worse than red-blooded Americans)..."Usually, we just look for more beer!" I got lucky on that one! Today on the train, after reading in German, I had the sudden urge to finally "enjoy a reading experience!" and quickly bought a copy of National Geographic in English. I was immediately depressed. The April 2007 has a special report called "Global Fish Crisis: Saving the Sea's Bounty." It was all about how fisheries have overfished to the point where nearly 90% of some species of fish are depleted...90%!!!!! The report addressed economic problems, environmental problems, problems in developing nations (areas around Europe, Japan, and northern U.S./Canada are so depleted that these nations are going to the African coast to fish...leaving nothing for the millions of Africans who rely on the fish for protein and other nutritional benefits), and so much more. I know I can't change the world, and I know that many of you don't want to read another heavy entry of mine (sorry! This journal is a good outlet for me! :) ), but I just wish people would realize that if they became vegetarians or simply lowered their consumption of meat, we wouldn't need to kill the planet the way we do! Consider this: fish could be left alone to their own ecosystem, untouched and not bothered. This would regenerate the ocean's ecosystem and restore proper levels of fish populations in the waters again. Eating less (or no) beef & livestock (don't even get me started on the horrors of the meat industry and how they slaughter) would mean that we don't need to deforest in order to create ranches/grazing areas for cattle - this would save the ecosystems of forests around the world (for example, the Amazon, to name a major environmental concern) and hundreds of creatures who rely on the forests for survival. Also, nearly 2/3 of the grain supply in the U.S. goes towards feeding livestock; this food could go towards the millions of ordinary people who starve everyday in the world (the U.S. included)! I often hear the argument that "vegetarians don't get enough protein. Vegetarians have unbalanced diets and cannot survive as so." OH really? As far as health goes, so many diseases that humans suffer from would be lessened in strength and numbers of cases (heart disease, bacterial agents in meat causing infections and internal complications), people wouldn't have problems with obesity, and the human diet would be far more properly balanced with greens, fruits, and other vegetables. I understand that in earlier times, people in middle Europe needed to eat meat because there wasn't an availability of fresh vegetables/fruits before...these things simply don't grow in this part of the world due to unfavorable climate conditions. However, life today is different. I buy at the outdoor market every week in little Detmold in our main square and find an enormous variety of fresh fruits and vegetables. Spices, once only found in specific regions of the planet such as the Indian subcontinent, are now plentiful and readily available. Eating a vegetarian or less-carnivorous diet is also much cheaper on your wallet (bums in Boston would scowl at me many times when I offered them apples or fruits, insisting that they "need a Big Mac...I can't eat all that sugar!") So...why the resistance? Do people really 'NEED (OMG I'm craving steak, I'll die without it...ahhh!)' meat?? Another point that the National Geographic article raised was about our attitude towards the ocean. I quote: " 'Cruel' may seem a harsh indictment of the age-old profession of fishing - and certainly does not apply to all who practice the trade - but how else to portray the world's shark fishermen, who kill tens of millions of sharks a year, large numbers finned alive for shark-fin soup and allowed to sink to the bottom to die? How else to characterize the incalculable number of fish and other sea creatures scooped up in nets, allowed to suffocate, and dumped overboard as useless bycatch? Or the longline fisheries, whose miles and miles of baited hooks attract - and drown - creatures such as the loggerhead turtle and wandering albatross? Do we countenance such loss because fish live in a world we cannot see? Would it be different if, as one conservationist fantasized, the fish wailed as we lifted them out of the water in nets? If the giant bluefin lived on land, its size, speed, and epic migrations would ensure its legendary status, with tourists flocking to photograph it in national parks. But because it lives in the sea, its majesty - comparable to that of a lion - lies largely beyond comprehension." --National Geographic, April 2007 We seem to think that because we don't live in it/don't see it, the ocean's well-being doesn't affect us. I used to babysit for kids who thought that while playing hide-and-go-seek, as long as they can't see me, I can't see them. Unfortunately, that's not the way that the problems we've created in the ocean's ecosystem can be dealt with. I'm not insisting that everyone must be vegetarian (although for the aforementioned reasons, I think it'd be great) - I realize that's impractical. One billion people, mostly from developing nations, rely on fish for protein and other nutritional elements. I just think that we could use some more fairly enforced rules and regulations, i.e. allow the African people to eat their own fish instead of stealing it for a wealthy American couple dining at Tru Restaurant in Chicago who really doesn't need it...

The Russians

I once read that death claims in three. Rostropovich was one of the greatest musicians, cultural/political activists, and mentors the world ever saw. I implore you to read this New York Times obituary if you don't know much about this amazing man: http://www.nytimes.com/2007/04/27/arts/music/27cnd-Rostropovichcnd.html?pagewanted=1&_r=3 Yeltsin was the first president of the Russian Federation, or modern-day democratic Russia after the Soviet Union broke up. He served from 1991-1999. My memories of him are mostly the images that flickered across Peter Jenning's ABC News Tonight. He led Russia during a difficult time (post-Soviet Union) and that took a great deal of courage. Frederika's grandmother was a very intelligent woman. She was one of the first ladies in university to have studied science (she was a prominent physicist) and she also spoke four languages fluently. I didn't know her personally, but I find it amazing that she made significant advancements in areas that did not welcome women easily. Rest in peace. Thanks for everything. In other news, I'm just busy with chamber music rehearsals and my routine. The weather has been a blissful 75-80 F everyday (22-26 C). I'm heading to Amsterdam tomorrow for three days to visit Nick and observe the happy celebration of Queen's Day in the Netherlands. Apparently there are millions of flea markets all over the streets and everyone gets quite drunk. Hmmm. Should be fun. I leave you with a quotation by Rostropovich. In an interview with National Public Radio from 1987, he said: "My mother carried me for 10 months. I tell her, 'Mother you have extra month, why you not make for me beautiful face?' And mother tell me, 'My son, I was busy with make you beautiful hands."

An Offering

Candlelit vigils, Kleenex, insensitive news media, American violence, gun control, murder, capitalism and democracy, 157 Iraqis, loneliness, college campuses and their supposed joie de vivre, immigrant difficulties, terror, Korea, Holocaust, professors, dorm, students, outrage, shock, grief, isolation, Virginia, fear.. Silence. On our refrigerator in Chicago hangs a serenity prayer called "Desiderata". I recall staring at it, bleary-eyed, while sitting at the kitchen table and finishing papers on a late-night wind during the high school years. One sentence stays with me, and I hope it will forever: "In all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams, the world is still a beautiful place." All I can do now is just breathe and search within for compassion.

Listening to Rent

Unwinding after a...well, a pretty light day :) I practice about 5 hours a day here, but I'm hardly ever ragged and turned topsy-turvy like I constantly was in Boston. I used to run around like a chicken with no head and certainly no caloric break/sustenance from classes to rehearsals to work to gigs to errands to Whole Foods to Back Bay Yoga to Harvard in order to squeeze in some time with Lakshmi to Symphony Hall to NYC for the weekend to the MFA for a cultural 'break' to Music Espresso to NEC for lessons to the freakin' Cape for a concert to...where, the moon???? Yes, all that in one day. Whereas in Detmold, I wake up, do my hour of yoga, shower, enjoy a nice breakfast, and practice from 10-1. The siesta here from 1-4 annoyed me at first, but I actually really like it now. It literally forces me to make time to eat, read, study, cook dinner for later that night, and just enjoy my life. For example, I sat outside under 70 degrees of warm sunshine in the beautiful garden (I think that my house was planted right smack in the middle of Frances Hodgson Burnett's "The Secret Garden"...well, minus the whole English rose garden thing) and read Harry Potter in Spanish for two hours. I can't remember the last time I did something like that. It was probably in Chicago; definitely not in Boston. Busy bee Boston. It's often warmer outside than inside the house! This isn't because of the American tendency to keep the house air conditioned to the point of creating an icebox. The walls of the house are up to 1.5 feet thick, requiring an immense amount of heat to keep the entire place at a comfortably warm temperature. I live in a real Valhalla fortress. Consequently, I have to prance around the house in sweaters and legwarmers. Such is the price to pay when you don't actually pay anything for your rent. It ain't so much to ask. We had a quartet meeting today at my place over tea to figure out who our second violinist should be. Our first violinist revealed that she was actually dismissed from her teacher's studio in Detmold and therefore has to attend a different Hochschule come next autumn. She spoke in such fast & heated German that I wasn't sure if I got all the details, but I think there was some misunderstanding with a former student in the studio, and it resulted in her getting the boot via an SMS from the professor. An SMS...geez, what a jerk. He didn't even have the decency to call her in person! I can't imagine how I'd feel if I was in that position. For her sake, I hope we'll have a good quartet experience. My quest for a violist in our Brahms Piano Quintet group still continues, because I certainly don't have the viola chops to play that viola part, and nor do I want to. An early Beethoven quartet is one thing - a mid-Romantic massive Brahms piano quintet is an entirely different sort of beast. I'm listening to Rent at the moment ("Ginsburg, Dylan, Cunnigham, and Cage...") - what memories it brings back! I feel a bit sad sometimes, in a nostalgic way, knowing that these years and scenes of jumping around the house with Neetu while lip-syncing all the words perfectly are more or less a figment of the past. We do, however, manage to keep the kids inside of us alive by still fighting over borrowed sweaters/who does the dishes next :) My latest website find is Hilary Hahn's online journal (www.hilaryhahn.com/journal), a record of a 'nomadic musician...a modern day troubadour.' I've always respected her as a musician, a mature, seemingly-down-to-earth human being (uncommon among famous concert artists), and now, as a lyrical writer. Unlike many concert artists involved in the solo act thing, her journals and attitude towards people makes her quite approachable and 'normal.' She also has good string player practice tips, too, for those of us who need them (I always do). I bid thee farewell by offering a parting blessing for the wonderful Kurt Vonnegut, who passed away today at the age of 84. "God Bless You, Dr. Kevorkian," is one of the last books I read before moving from the States, and I thoroughly enjoyed it. We'll miss you.

In the Aftermath of Parents' Visit

I'm sitting in my new apartment on the "other side of town," as old landlord Klaus menacingly put it to me. It's a beautiful old manor (I'm guessing from the mid-1800s) with three floors and various tenants all under the surveillance of Frau Rehmer, an older German woman who is so OCD about conservation that she saves her dishwater to feed to plants. A bit much, I think. I am actually subleasing my two rooms from a very nice, green-friendly couple - Eugenia & Frank. Eugenia is from Mexico and although she already speaks quite decent English, she needs to pass an exam in order to be certified in teaching English in Germany, and since I'm a native English speaker, she and Frank are offering me an apartment until mid-July (when school is done) for free in exchange for speaking and practicing English with her. I have two rooms, a bathroom, unlimited phone usage (within Germany) and internet, and we all share the kitchen - I pay only utilities, which amount to fifty euros a month. It's a fantastic deal, and the house is much closer to school (about a five minute walk). Eugenia & Frank are gifted and enthusiastic cooks; we've already exchanged many recipes. Although my living quarters aren't as warm and fuzzy as what I had before, I am quite happy with the situation. Everyone is returning to Detmold next week after Easter. I've got some time to practice and catch up on life after a crazy six week 'break' if you can call it that. My parents were here for one week and we did the works: spent 3.5 days cleaning the old apartment, packing, and scrubbing the new one, I played a recital in Paderborn which they listened to, they met Kiwis, Germans, Asians, landlords (new and old) and even my Nepali vegetable-selling market friend Bhuwan...we then spent a quick 2 days sightseeing in Berlin, then 3 days in Wuerzburg with my cousin's family, and then I zoomed back to Frankfurt to drop them off at the airport & continued on to Detmold where I hastily returned the car before 2 PM yesterday. We had a beautiful VW Passat, and I enjoyed the thrill of being behind the wheel on the Autobahn (Germany's highway system) at 140 mph, ohhh yeah :-) Basically, I'm gearing up for the second half of my first year in Germany. Can't complain about anything as long as all the spiders down here in the basement leave me alone at night. Ewww.

New apartment and address

As much as I love my landlords and this current apartment, I have to move because my lease is up. I did manage to find a nice place near the Musik Hochschule. If you want to mail me after March 31, here's the new address: Geeta Abad Brahmsstrasse 11 32756 Detmold GERMANY I no longer have the same home phone number, either. But my cell phone/mobile/handy/however you call it will remain the same as it is now. We recorded for nearly seven hours yesterday. We = Ensemble Sarabande, a student-formed baroque group that was started by Eric, a half-Spanish, half-German violinist who studied at the Hochschule. The players are all good and enthusiastic musicians. I played one concert with them and then Eric asked me if I'd be around in March to record some Handel pieces for a CD. The Hochschule's sound engineering institute is one of the best in Europe, so we were able to use really good equipment in a professional setting. I think the CD is going to sound fantastic. Although it was difficult at first (and still often is), I am really enjoying playing baroque music with a period bow. It is liberating because you can create proper articulations with greater ease and the resulting tone is more pure which suits the music better. The difficulty, though, is intonation; a pure sound will surface any faulty intonation, so intervals have to be as balanced as possible. Tiring as it was, I was happy to have played with the group.

Photo link

Hi, I've created a photo website. It's a work in process, but here's the link: http://geetaabad.shutterfly.com/action/ Enjoy!

The Journals of France & Belgium

Hi everyone! Here are the details of my travels through French-speaking western Europe (well...minus Switzerland). The entries start on my first date of travels - February 21. So you will have to scroll down and find the entry below. Enjoy and feel free to comment!

Le flâneur

I have returned to Detmold after three weeks of incredible traveling. I do believe that this journey was one of the best I've ever taken. I've got an audition coming up so I don't have the time at the moment to properly update the livejournal with all the details, but that's my project for this coming weekend, so hopefully before March 22 (the date my lovely parents arrive in Germany), you'll all be able to indulge in French Western Europe. I am also creating a photography website because, well, Facebook just isn't cutting it for me. I will post that link on here in due time. In the meantime, here's an intro toutes les choses françaises with the second movement from Ravel's String Quartet performed by the Hagen Quartet...perhaps one of the best recordings/performances I've heard of it. Enjoy :) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5xvwPMuCZEU

Rue Cler, Le Pompidou, Quiet Sunday

The first three days of my stay in Paris were hectic and full. Today is Sunday...the day of rest. And I certainly did. The whole family and I gloriously slept in till 9:45 (that's late, ok?!) and then Liat + Bryan decided to take me out to one of their favorite cafes in the area for their delicious Greek salad and French cheese blintzes. Located on Rue Cler, a street known for outdoor markets (but not like what you see in Mouffetard), Liat and I stopped at one particularly busy stand and bought her weeks' supply of produce. We continued on to Cafe Marche where it was quite an ordeal to steer the stroller through the tiny cafe...a single baby carriage is hard enough! Thankfully, the babies both fall asleep the minute you put them in the stroller, and to my surprise, they didn't wake up. Everyone in the cafe cooed and awwwed as Liat + Bryan tried not to knock over anything while pushing the babies past. It's nice to see that Parisians are kid-friendly. We sat down, ordered our food, and Liat motioned for me to observe the French children behind her with their parents. They were probably not older than 5 or 7 years old, and used their cutlery with such elan and ease (Liat: "Now compare that to American kids! I mean, have you ever??")...I mean, I have problems using cutlery! That, however, is because I didn't grow up using it very often. Eating Indian food with cutlery is not only taboo...it just looks silly. We returned home after being thoroughly stuffed with feta cheese, French cheese, and more food than I'd eaten in a long time, and...ate more food! Roasted almonds and green tea. I finally said, "Guys, I have to see the Pompidou so I'm leaving...that and if I stay, I'll probably start on chocolate next.." Armed with my copy of "Hectors Reise" in case I decided to pass some time in a cafe, I headed out to the Le Pompidou. On my way there, I passed the Hôtel de Ville (City Hall) with beautiful Gothic statues of France's great literary minds decorating the facade - I snapped a photo of Camus. The area is quite artsy, and as I wandered down Rue Renard, I admired art galleries, touristy-but-not-touristy-looking postcard and gift shops, and cafes. I arrived at the bizarre structure that is Le Centre Pompidou. Have you ever played Nintendo Super Mario Bros 3 and gotten to World 7, or Pipeworld? Well, that's what this building looks like. In front of the museum hangs a massive sign that reads, "An artist is never ahead of time, but most people are far behind theirs." ~ Edgard Varese. From the start, the motto of the place is stated quite clearly for people to either accept or be offended by. After paying for admission and being laughed at by the lady behind the desk while she looked at my passport (the photo on my German Aufenthalterlaubnis, or residence permit, is smeared across my right eyebrow because the lady who processed everything didn't wait until it dried properly...it's pretty ridiculous looking) I spent the next four hours in this amazing center for modern art. It's divided into the National Museum of Modern Art, Galerie Sud, and Espace 315 (a viewing gallery), plus some theatres, a library, and research institutes. The National Museum of Modern Art is incredible. I know that I always say, "That was the greatest modern art museum" whenever I leave a particularly famous one, but this time I mean it - this museum is certainly one of the greatest in the world. It consists of 40 + gallery rooms that are in a clearly explained (French and English) chronological order so you can actually learn about what you're viewing. I appreciated the educational approach because face it - most of us aren't art scholars, let alone modern art scholars, and the more you can educate an audience about the current trends in art, the more interest and support they'll take in our era. Half of the appreciation one develops towards modern art comes from understanding the theories behind it and how someone arrived at such a conclusion. The problem with Berlin's Neue National Galerie was that things were too chaotic and jumped around too much. This museum was perfectly spaced and timed out. Some notables were: -Matisse: Le violiniste a la fenetre -Balthus: Alice -Man Ray's collection of photography, particularly: Le violon de Ingres (cliche, I know, but hey - I'm a violinist and appreciate the picture) -Robert & Sofia Delaunay: they donated nearly 60 of their paintings to the museum. I wasn't previously aware of their work, and I'm glad that I know it somewhat better now. It's great stuff. -Kandinsky: Had about 10 paintings in the museum and was marked as the 'herald' of modern art in the west -Jean Dubuffet: La Gigue Irlandaise I also learned more about: -Picasso and Braque and how they laid the foundation for cubism. The whole movement was also furthered by Juan Gris. -France's embracing of nudity, especially the female body -Suprematism: a Russian modern art movement originating in the earlier 1900s, celebrated the usage of basic geometric shapes and in often neutral colors -COBRA: COpenhagen, BRussels, AMsterdam = COBRA. An art movement from these three cities, go here for more information (it's damn cool): http://www.cobraart.dk After my visit there, I bought some coffee coasters with prints of Degas, Modigliani, and Renoir from an Indian man on the street - I haggled him down in Hindi from 3.50 to 2.50. I struck up a conversation with a Sri Lankan man selling food on the street while buying a gaufre avec sucre (waffle w/sugar), and the man gave it to me for free. I insisted on paying because this is how he makes his living, but he said (in very broken English), "You're one of the first tourists who's been so friendly all day. Enjoy Paris." It was quite sweet :-) I took the Metro to the Marais to walk around it again, but being Sunday, things were mostly closed and quiet. Paris may be many things, but it's no New York or Mumbai in being a "city that doesn't sleep." Perhaps Parisians value their beauty sleep more. I decided to walk to the Bastille because even though Michal told me it's rather anticlimactic, the memorial site happened to be in the area. She was right; it's nothing more than a tall phallic-like structure in the middle of a somewhat busy cul-de-sac. The Opera Bastille is supposed to be a great building though (Thomas told me, as he's played there, too), but I was tired by that point and wanted to get going to Liat's. While on the Metro, I read "Hectors Reise" and noticed that an older French man was staring at me...I mean, blatantly. I finally looked up at him with a "Yes? Do you mind?" face, and he asked me in French, "D'où êtes-vous (Where are you from?)?" I replied with, "I am Indian but American and live in Germany." He blinked, and said, "Ahh, oui, un melange. (Ah, yes, a mixture)." He switched to broken English with me and explained that he just couldn't figure out where I was from - "I thought maybe British, but then you read in German...American didn't cross my mind." He asked me if I'd ever been to Vienna. I answered that I hadn't, and he said, "Well, you must go. It's the musician's city. Say hello to my friend Mozart when you visit." Then he got off at the next stop. Interesting exchange we had there. While being in Paris, so many random Parisians have just struck up conversation with me on the metro, thinking that I speak French. I don't look Parisian at all, but I guess people sometimes just can't figure out where I'm from until they hear me speak. I used to complain about it to Mom, and she just replied with, "I had the same problem...no one ever thought I was Indian, and people would insist that there was no way I could be. I was bothered by it until I realized, 'Wait, this is a wonderful thing. To be able to fit in wherever you go is a gift, and I should be thankful that people feel connected to me.' " I've said it before and I'll forever be saying it - my mother is an incredibly lady.

Louvre, Cafe Angelina, Bagnolet & interactions with the French

Alright. The last two visits I'd made to Paris were devoid of anything Louvre-related. I know, what's wrong with me, it's perhaps the most famous art museum in the world. However, in the past when I simply walked by the building facade, I'd get an uncomfortable feeling in my stomach and quickly procrastinate a visit there until next time. I don't think it was a case of not wanting to see it because "everyone already has," - for starters, I am not that condescending, and I'm also an avid Harry Potter fan. The sheer idea of viewing some of the greatest works of art in the middle of Paris in a massive building with 100,000,000 other tourists running around and screaming simply frightened me. I discussed the whole matter with Liat, and she said, "Look. I don't have patience for more than an hour there. But I think you should see it - it's like someone coming to visit you in Chicago multiple times and not seeing the Sears Tower at least once." Thus it was decided - I would see the Louvre today. After breakfasting on warm challah and chai, I practiced (that's right, you hard me...I ACTUALLY practiced while in Paris) for about an hour and a half - mostly scales and doublestops, dreading how I'd be sounding on the fiddle after not properly working for 2 weeks. I left at around 11:30 for the Louvre. The Jardin des Tuileries was full of international tourists but provided pleasant terrain for a walk, although I must say that I have been in many a prettier park - they are certainly lovelier public gardens in Paris, too, than the Tuileries. The location of the park, its history, and the views of great monuments/buildings from the Tuileries is what makes the place so famous. As I approached the Louvre, I made out the infamous glass pyramid entrance and saw a truckload of Germans spill out of a tour bus. What's a day in Paris without a daily sighting of Germans. I grabbed a map and planned my strategy. First were 15th and 16th century French sculptures (ok) and then 18th and 19th French sculptures (much better...more expressive to me). I wandered through an exhibit called Armenia Sacra, or a special exhibition done by the Louvre on Armenian Christian art. It was quite interesting, but it took me a good 15 minutes to figure out where I was and what the exhibit was even about - it wasn't very well marked, even in French. I have a love for Egyptian art so I looked at Egyptian Thematic and Chronological Art during the time of Pharaoh and was really impressed. I figured that the Louvre would have an impressive array of Egyptian art because of Napoleon's conquests and imperialism attempts in Egypt, but upon further reading, I found that most of the collection had been privately donated or obtained. Nothing, though, will top the King Tutankhamun special exhibit at the Field Museum that our family went to see last year. I headed to the ceramics section to see "Venus de Milo" - it's magnificent. The way the statute twists and spirals upwards makes it seem like it's alive and ascending. I've often wonder how an artist turns a hunk of dead stone or marble into something that breathes. I would have liked to spend more time examining it, but that was difficult to do with all the camera flashes and shrieking international tourists. The next masterpiece Hellenic statue is positioned dramatically in a stairwell - "The Winged Victory of Samothrace." For me, this work is the decidedly more 'masculine' out of the two Grecian statues. The "Mona Lisa" wasn't so far from this point so I decided to walk through the classical art gallery corridors and head to the most famous gallery in the museum. There was a group of at least 30 tourists at any given time staring at the painting, I couldn't get a good up-close views of her (his?) unsmiling (smiling?) face. Anyhow, the Mona Lisa is famous because of da Vinci himself and the theoretical reasons of why he painted the piece. For those whose aesthetic preference for beauty can be defined as being accompanied by early Mozart string quartets while eating dinner, the Mona Lisa is probably a disappointment. The painting is situated in the Louvre's biggest gallery connected to a corridor that is full of romantic large scale French paintings from the 18th and 19th centuries (mostly nationalistic, depicting bloody battles and decorated military officials), a large collection of Italian works (including a few stunning works by Raphael - controversial, though, because unlike Michelangelo, Raphael worked with a large group of assistants, so scholars aren't sure which paintings have actually been done by him), and late romantic Italian art - the section that I would have liked to see more of but ran out of time with by that point. I did see El Greco's Christ on the Cross Adored by Donors. Known for the highly emotional and expressive themes of his paintings captured in the eyes of subjects and also for his beautiful portrayals of hands, El Greco has always been one of my favorite Spanish painters. I left the Louvre around 3:45 and concluded the following: I appreciate the place but it's too big and too full and just too much. As I've been going to more art museums and reading more about European art over the past few years, I'm seeing myself gravitate towards Flemish Renaissance painters, Hellenic sculpture, and Spanish oil-on-canvas artists in general. I did appreciate the international feeling of the tourists in the Louvre, too - a group of people surrounding one painting would be speaking at least three languages. Another thought I had was on the Indian and European/American traditions of museums. Throughout most of my visits to India, I've rarely visited an art museum there. Perhaps that's because I've only recently started to become a tourist there since I'm finally old enough to travel alone within the country and am at the point in my life where I am more interested in India's classical and cultural history. Even saying, I do believe that, like religion, 'classified art' is incorporated into daily life; it's still in use. There is no reason to exhibit a murti because we pray to it every day. There's no reason to encase the gates from the Vitthala Temple in Maharashtra in a museum because they are still being used every day. We don't have to actively 'protect' our artworks because that would be like protecting a soup spoon that you'd eat with at any given meal. Perhaps I'm overdoing it a bit by making such a statement, but there's a certain amount of truth to this idea. Liat, Bryan, the twins and I met for hot chocolate at Cafe Angelina on Rue de Rivoli and Alice also joined us. It's an upscale looking place where Parisians look intimidatingly trendy and tourists try to keep up (one particularly Syosset/North Shore Chicago-looking woman with a thick Long Island accent tried to cut the line with her fur-clad daughter while uttering a wretched-sounding, "S'il vous plait, can we just get through? Geez, people."...ummmm cricket). Thankfully, the waiters didn't make us leave the baby stroller outside. Liat was wearing her rain gear and tennis shoes, and Bryan had on the same. While I mussed about whether I should have worn better shoes, they were perfectly comfortable with looking like basic working parents in the midst of a very chic scene. I like people who still remain normal while living in Paris. Here begins the people section of my entry. The interactions between Alice and Liat + Bryan were very interesting. Alice has forgotten a lot of English (we speak in only German now) and so Liat switched to speaking with her in French, and every now and then would look across the table at me and form an "F" with her fingers while mouthing the words "REALLY French". I understood completely what she meant, and honestly, I don't really know how to explain it in words. I am, however, beginning to realize that I'm quite different around Europeans than Americans, but not in a bad or artificial way. I can't joke in the same way because many of my European friends would probably not find American humor the least bit funny, and I usually need to modify the English that I speak to be more understandable and less infused with slang/trendy language. Similarly, I wouldn't have certain conversations or make jokes and word phrases in ways with Americans as I do with Europeans. I don't feel like I can't be myself; I rather like how different people bring out different sides of me. It can be awkward, though, when the two sides meet one another, because then I sometimes don't know how to act. It worked out fine in Cafe Angelina but I have to admit that I was a bit nervous. We paid after an, ahem, interesting stint involving Alice's small change (most of her money was in single, double, and five cent coins, and she was a bit short but was embarrassed to ask for more money, so I had to figure everything out discreetly in German while the waitress was stood impatiently at the table). It was also awkward because I thought I was going to hang out with Alice that night, but she had a chamber music rehearsal with her friend Jessica, a Parisian born to American parents and whom I'd met in Detmold (very nice). Jessica had told me in Detmold that I "must have dinner at her place and meet her Californian mother - she'll be thrilled to meet you!" So I said, "Well, great! I promised to see Jessica anyways, so maybe I'll just come meet you at her place, and then I can meet her mother, too?" Alice acted a bit odd about the whole thing and I realized that I'd just accidentally invited myself to someone's house. It was such a weird position, because if someone came to visit me in Chicago or Detmold or India or wherever, I'd do everything possible to hang out with that person and make their stay just fantastic. Alice was being very sweet, but didn't seem to understand that part of the reason why I decided to come to Paris was also to see her and become acquainted with her Parisian life as she'd previously invited me to do. After a few scrambling phone calls, Alice said, "Ok! No problem! We'll be finished at 8:30 so you should come then and have dinner." She gave me directions to Bagnolet, an area just outside of Paris' 20th arrondissement and the start of Parisian suburbia. In the meantime, I had a good 3 hours to do one of the Parisian Walks. I decided that while I was on the north side of the Seine, or the Right Bank (Rive Droite), I'd do the Place des Voges walk, as it's in the Marais, or a very Jewish section of the city that Liat and Michal both told me I must go see. I took the Metro to St. Paul in the 3rd arrondissement and was enchanted by the lively near-dusk scene of the Marais on a Saturday. I walked past a beautiful church (St. Paul) that seems to be falling into ruin because Paris local officials aren't properly taking care of it...I walked into the church but a mass was being held and I felt rude for interrupting, so I quietly left. The walk itself actually begins at Place des Voges, so I strolled by some fruit stands and patisseries on Rue St. Antoine until I reached a narrow street leading to Place des Voges. Basically, it's a collection of elegant old apartments that enclose the oldest square in Paris. Originally known as Place Royale, it was built by Henri IV and has a colorful history of residents including Victor Hugo (a museum is now there in his old place of residence - it was unfortunately closed by the time I arrived), the dreaded Cardinal Richeliu, various members of high class French society and important city officials, and women such as Anne de Montbazon, a precieuse (n. An affected woman of polite society, esp. a literary women of 17th century French salons) who was known for her torrid and scandalous love affairs. While you can admire the beautiful reddish-pink color of the buildings, its elegance, or the high-arch style of architecture, nothing will make it come alive to you as my Parisian Walk's explanation did. There are between 40-50 apartments here, and each one has a fascinating history that's detailed in the book. I walked from apartment to apartment and leaned against walls as I read about what had taken place in Place des Voges. It was like reading a Danielle Steele novel! Apartments went from being near-brothels to jewelry stores to synagogues to what is now a preschool today! And that's only the start of it. The book explained which doors you could push through to enter a lovely secret courtyard or an old staircase. I felt like I was holding a treasure map. If any of you go to Paris, I highly recommend that you do NOT buy a typical tourist guide (Lonely Planet, Frommers, Rick Steve's, Fodors, or whatever you fancy), but invest in any edition of Alison and Sonia Landes' "Paris Walks". Mine was 1 cent on Amazon.com and while it's the 1981 version, nothing is outdated or less interesting (except for some shops/restaurants provided in the back of the book...but it's not intended to be a guide to such places). While typical guidebooks are helpful and provide decently practical information, I think that it's more interesting to go by foot and thus forge a truly personal connection with Paris. Let me know before your trip and I will mail you a copy of the Place des Voges walk or any of the five walks in the book for that matter. If you have the patience to read and walk simultaneously, this is a great way to see Paris. The walk wound through some other streets in the area, but its main focus was Place des Voges, so I decided to wander around by myself until 7:45 when I'd take the train to Bagnolet. The Marais is full of eclectic cafes and hole-in-the-wall type places. I quietly strolled by myself, window shopping and observing and pausing to admire the decor in a particular restaurant or a tree. It is a truly fantastic neighborhood. I took the train to Gallieni which is the start of Bagnolet, and then followed Alice's scribbled out map and directions. On my way, I picked up a bouquet of yellow roses for Jessica's mother. I missed a turn, though, and found myself on a poorly lit Arab street. Feeling worried and a bit insecure, I stopped in a butcher's shop to ask for directions. Me: Bon soir, monsieur. Parle vous anglais? Butcher: No, pardon. Me: Espagnole? Butcher: No, pardon. Me: Allemand? Butcher: No, pardon. Me: Hindi?! Butcher: Oui, en fait, un petit... Apparently, he'd picked up bits from watching Hindi films! The gentleman actually proceeded to give me directions in broken Hindi + French and thanks to him, I found my way. I arrived 20 minutes late at Jessica's place where Alice sat, worried out of her mind. They didn't know I was a vegetarian, either, so Jessica had to quickly fix a cheese + bread platter for me, which was kind. I know that it is difficult for many Europeans to think of something quick that's completely vegetarian/egg-free. They don't have the benefit of knowing how to prepare delicious Indian cuisine :) There was also another Parisian couple present - Zadien and Dominique. They had a very avant garde and artistic look about them. Dominique is a pianist and was Alice's chamber music teacher while growing up, and Zadien is a composer. They don't speak a word of English, but were quite nice. I told Zadien (via Jessica as translator) that I have a keen interest in new music so if he has any compositions for violin, I'd be interested in taking a look. He actually took my email address and said he'd be in contact with me if he composes a piece any time soon for violin. Jessica's mother is a warm and welcoming lady. She grew up in San Francisco and had the choice to attend Juilliard or Stanford (she chose Stanford - didn't want a professional career in music) and although she's now a French citizen who's lived in Paris for the last nearly 40 years, her French, while perfect, is heavily American accented. Jessica was telling me that she thinks it's a pity that her mother always spoke French to her - "I could have learned perfect English from my mother!" Her English is quite decent but I understand that it could have been really good. They live in a clean and fresh house with a beautiful flower garden in the backyard. The adjoining house is rented by Jessica's mother to Jessica and her boyfriend Tristan, a horn player studying at the CNSM Paris (same school as Thomas). After visiting with Jessica's mother for some time, we headed next door to Tristan and Jessica's flat. Tristan fixed us an alfredo pasta dish complete with chocolate mousse for dessert - he's a talented chef. The three of them asked me where else I wanted to go in Paris, and I mentioned the idea of Fontainebleau. Alice was staunchly against the idea - "Es ist wirklich zu gefaerlich fuer dich wenn du bist allein! (It's really too dangerous for you when you're alone!)" Jessica was relatively ambivalent about the matter, but Tristan also whole-heartedly agreed with Alice and tried to convince me to see Buttes-Chaumont, a large public park in the middle of Paris. They didn't seem to understand that I wanted to see the residence of old French royalty and not only the forest of Fontainebleau. Zu gefaerlich, eh? Well, I'm writing this entry weeks later, still alive! Tristan put a French film on for us called Delicatessen...a sort of a surrealist dark comedy about a landlord who serves cannibalistic meals to his weird tenants (reminiscent of Sweeney Todd). There weren't any English subtitles on the DVD so we watched it in French, but because the storyline was quite figurative, you didn't really need to understand all the dialogue, only the gist of the conversations, which I didn't have so much of a problem comprehending. At around 12:30 we headed back on the Metro and I came home by 1:30ish. I was very happy to have seen Bagnolet because it took me out of tourist Paris and into a part of the city (or the near outskirts) that many Parisians told me that hadn't seen. It is always a treat to see experience something of real life when you're an ambling tourist in a big city.

Mouffetard, Musee D'Orsay, Shabbat Dinner

I woke right around the same time as Liat was tending to early morning cries from Arielli and Michaelle, her beautiful nearly-1-year-old twin babies. A bit on Liat and her family: I had never met them prior to this Paris visit, and got connected through a mutual friend, Michal, a cellist studying at NEC who I met while gigging in Boston last summer. Michal lived and studied in Paris for 2 years, thus the connection to Liat's family. Liat is married to Bryan, both of whom are Jewish Americans. Liat was partly raised in Israel, and Bryan met her while studying abroad in Israel during college years, and then didn't return to the States for 10 years. They've lived in Paris for the last four years, although Bryan actually works and lives in Brussels during the week and then comes home to Paris on the weekends. Liat is also studying for her masters at Hebrew University in Paris. They both speak Hebrew, and Liat is also well-versed in Spanish (which she speaks to the babies every other day) and French. Right when I entered their house, I felt completely welcomed. They live in a beautiful flat with an extra guest bedroom + bathroom stocked with as many guide books/Parisian-for-Dummies guides as a person would ever want or need. The guest bedroom operates as a sort of "international hostel" room for people who are direct friends of theirs or (like me) friends of friends...or even friends of friends of friends. Basically, this is one couple that loves company and providing wonderful hospitality. I have always said that Indians and Jews have many common values, and that I feel very much at home in culturally Jewish homes. My experiences in Paris convince me more of this sentiment. Although it is somewhat disappearing in modern culture, the "I am going to do everything possible to make you comfortable because you're my guest" mentality still exists and it's one of the facets of both cultures that I love. I am glad that there are still people today who preserve it. Liat and Bryan are also vegetarians and Liat is a welcoming and talented cook - another major plus in a city that a). expensive for food and b). gives you three varieties of cooked potatoes as a 'vegetarian meal' (ask my sister Neetu about that story). After eating breakfast of tea + pistachio bread (really fantastic! Dad, with your love for pista, you would have enjoyed it), I met the Colombian nanny, Marina, and then Liat and I left together. She went to the gym and I got on the Metro at Ecole Militaire to go to Mouffetard and start on the Parisian Walk of that section. In Roman times and shortly thereafter, this area was known as Bourg St. Marcel, and become populated with working class people - tanners, slaughters, skinners, dyers, and similar craftsmen. Today, the area is most famous for being one of the oldest and liveliest parts of the city. Every Saturday and Sunday, the most incredible market comes to life on the nearly pedestrian-only rue Mouffetard - most of it is alley-sized. The walk started in the churchyard of St. Medard; although it doesn't look particularly unique, the book gave some historical tidbits that are fascinating. Dating from 1163, a lot of what remains is from Gothic mid-fifteenth century renovations, and its courtyard served as a mass burial site until 1765 when a law was passed, forbidding burials within Parisian city limits due to space shortages. People continued to be buried in secret at St. Medard, though until after the Revolution in 1795, the French police wreaked havoc on anyone who broke the law. When an excavation took place in 1913, archaeologists found a layer of bones 24 inches thick! The other fascinating story took place at the grave site of a young Jansenist (dictionary.com offers this for Jansenism (n). - the doctrinal system of Cornelis Jansen and his followers, denying free will and maintaining that human nature is corrupt and that Christ died for the elect and not for all humanity) named Francois Paris, where miracles supposedly took place. A group of young girls came to be possessed by the site and started to do bizarre things, like eat the dirt on the gravestone, fall into religious fits and ecstasies, and would insist on being beaten while screaming the whole day long. The book states, "They wanted to have their tongues pierced, 25-pound-weights placed upon their chests, their bodies raked with iron combs, or their breasts, thighs, and stomachs trampled on until they fainted. Some girls had themselves tortured like this twenty times." After reading this part, I was reminded of "The Crucible" and the Salem Witch Trials. This craziness went on for 35 years and then a the church cemetery was locked and a rhyme was inscribed on the padlock: De par le roi, defense a Diu De faire miracle en ce lieu. By order of the king, God is forbidden To perform miracles in this place. Rather comical, I think! The walk continues on through the markets of Mouffetard, detailing the interesting histories of the houses in the area, explaining the history of the street signs and coat of arms markings on the houses and butcher shops, bakeries, pastry shops, perfumeries, and hotels. I bought a traditional (in boulangeries, you can have a baguette or a traditional, and everyone told me that the traditional was much better, so that's what I always ate...I think it's just bigger and requires a different baking process) arrived at Place Contrescarpe, a picturesque square with a colorful history and a frequent of local bums, and then continued down Rue Blainville to the first public library in Paris (from the 18th century). The walk ended here and I somehow stumbled upon a fantastic vegetarian/vegan cafe in the middle of Mouffetard! It was on Rue Cardinal-Lemoine and was calld Les Cinq Saveurs D'Anada and advertised as having "specialites Macrobiotique et Vegetarienne: 100% bio" (in Europe, 'bio' is organic). Alice's mother gave me a coupon for 7 euros that could be redeemed at most any restaurant in Paris, so my lunch of a brown rice + seaweed salad and a glass of red wine (which made me tipsy for the rest of the afternoon...I always forget how much of a lightweight I really am) cost me only 3 euros. Not a bad deal. I paid and left to walk around the Jardin des Plantes, a beautiful botanical garden in the Latin Quarter of Paris. It's near the Arab Institute, where you can have fresh Moroccan mint tea, something that makes me think of Mary. I have wonderful memories of drinking it with my mother at Pita Inn back home in Chicago. It started to to rain, so I took some quick photos, strolled through, and then walked on Rue Monge (literally, Food Street) until I reached Boulevard St. Germain to go to the Maison Kaiser Boulanger. Liat had read an article about the 10 best boulangeries in Paris, and Maison Kaiser was on the list. She told me that it was in the Mouffetard neighborhood, so I should hit up while on my walk. Definitely no regrets that I walked a bit out of my ways to reach it. I enjoyed a croissant d'amande, or an almond croissant (and I think mine had chocolate, too) on my way to the neighborhood where Notre Dame is. I visited Michal's favorite accessories store, Kazama, full of colorful scarves, beaded jewelry and German tourists. Germany seems to follow me wherever I go (you'll see why when you read about my trip to Louven in Belgium). I am struck by how Indian influenced fashion is today. If people only knew how much cheaper the authentic thing actually is in India than in trendy boutiques in big cities! I suppose that the expenses of a plane ticket to India do impose a financial restriction, though. I sifted through tourists while walking along the Seine River and snapped a very cool picture of a massive barge carrying tons of recyclable paper. I bought a few postcards, and then arrived at the western strip of the riverbank at the Musee D'Orsay. The line was annoyingly long, and so while I waited, a young Pakistani woman struck up conversation with me. She was very done up, new-money looking, and rather ditzy, but her husband who is a politician in Karachi was very interesting - he spoke beautiful French and explained that they were on their honeymoon in London and Paris. We finally got into the museum and I took Michal's advice to start with the third floor and work my way down (3rd - Impressionism, so the most famous collection, 2nd - Belgian/Flemish Art Nouveau, 1st - art leading up to Impressionism). I spent most of my time on the third floor and the second, and I thoroughly enjoyed the collections of Renoir, Monet, and Degas' bronzed dancers. While I do appreciate Impressionism, I am not as crazy about it at some. Nevertheless, it was just fantastic to see one great work of art presented after the other, and in such a manner where you could follow the connections/relationships that the artists' works had on one another. I left the museum at 5:45 and followed the Seine again towards the Eiffel Tower and Liat's apartment. On my way, I passed the American church, advertising a free concert of Schubert lieder on Sunday, and jotted down the information. When I arrived at Liat's, the door was opened by a very startled looking woman who had no idea who I was. I thought I had the wrong apartment, and then Liat's husband Bryan said, "No, no, it's just Geeta, it's fine, let her in" (it being Friday, he was home for the weekend). We introduced ourselves and I immediately took a liking to his easy-going and calm manner. The lady who had answered was Maja, a Russian who married a German. When she heard that I could speak German, she erupted in Bavarian German, the sort of fast and fancy-free accent that Bernhard, my cousin-in-law, speaks with me. Maja is a family friend, along with another lady who sat sipping tea - Klaudia, who is originally Argentinian but has lived in Paris for nearly 25 years. I ended up speaking English with Bryan, German with Maja, and Spanish with Klaudia. It reminded me of being in India and sometimes dealing with four languages at once. Shai, as Israeli friend of the family's who had just moved to Paris 7 months back, arrived. Shai is the boyfriend of another Maja who was good friends with Michal when she lived in Paris. I realized that they all knew each other, and that Liat + Bryan were the connection, and finally the whole circle of people made sense to me. The last person to arrive was Claire, a Canadian who has lived in Paris for the past 6 years and works as a lawyer in the international court system. Our first conversation: Me: "So, how do you like Paris?" Claire: "It's whatever, Paris. I'm trying to leave actually." Me: "Where? And why?" Claire: "London. To find a husband. But the French are, you know, [mumbles something French in a hilarious, oh-I-can't-help-you way], Latin, as they like to be called. They all marry too early here so I can't find anyone. Maybe it's the Catholic thing, I dunno." Me: "Oh." (Makes immediate connection between Claire and Miranda from Sex & The City. Mental note: this lady's damn cool). Maja and Klaudia left to go home, and after putting the kids to bed, Shai, Claire, Liat, Bryan and I sat down for Liat's incredible dinner. I noticed a big loaf of freshly baked challah cooling off on the table, and realized, hey. It's Shabbat. They're Jews. So we're having Shabbat dinner, my first one ever. This is so cool. We went through the ritual of blessing the bread, washing our hands and returning to the table without saying a word, and then everyone drank from a goblet of wine and had a piece of bread, just like our prasad ritual. Liat made an amazing Mexican corn soup, a Moroccan soup, and a bulgar (kasha) dish. Through out the meal, we all enjoyed challah with olive spread and a tomato dip. I had fixed a big feta salad, and although none of us had room for dessert, we put together a great chocolate fondue + fruit platter. It was an incredibly satisfying meal, complete with a full on explanation on my behalf of Jainism/Hinduism/how I grew up culturally. Geeta Abad the Walking Multicultural Museum Exhibit. Such is life. I spoke with Alice after dinner and we agreed to meet up the following afternoon at Cafe Angelina on Rue de Rivoli. It's supposed to serve the best hot chocolate "I've ever had" according to Liat, and while I'm sure it's good, I wonder if it can beat Burdick's. That's a tough call, as the Bostonians out there know...

The Tourist Day in Paris

I woke to the lively sounds of Paris from out the window. I miss living in a big city because you can feel the energy of the outside bustling world no matter the hour. A far cry from the silence of Detmold! Olivier and I had breakfast together which was a very funny experience. He asked if black tea was okay, and then while brewing Darjeeling black, he placed two bowls in front of us. I assumed they were for cereal, which is a bit odd because I have rarely seen anyone in Europe eat cold or hot cereal for breakfast. He then proceeded to pour the tea into the bowls, hastily gestured "help yourself" towards the bread and Nutella, and said "Bon appetit." I was so confused. The only person I know who takes his tea/chai in a bowl is my father in the mornings when he's running late, and that's only because it cools faster. As a child I used to laugh at - I still find it weird. Olivier, sensing my confusion, started to laugh and apologized, saying that many people in French culture take their tea this way in the morning so to arrive at work on time. Everyone also takes black tea straight up, another custom I'm not used to, having grown up with the British-Indian tradition of always taking a bit of milk and sugar in black tea. I understood, and realized that this was one of the many cultural differences to come my way. After Olivier left, I attempted to practice but was completely unsuccessful, and decided to arrange what time to go to Liat's place that night. I then called Thomas...actually, I woke him up at 9:30 AM. He sleepily mumbled, "Let me call you back." He figured some things out with his parents, and called me back, saying he'd come to Paris later because he needed to look at two apartments anyways. We agreed to meet up at 2:30. In the meantime, I got ready and headed out with my Parisian Walks book to embark on the first 2 hour walk, "St. Julien le Pauvre." It started at Petit Pont (the place where all geographical distances in France are measured from) near the Notre Dame and then proceeded to walk on Rue du Petit Pont (Rue = street) and Rue du St. Jacques, passing one of the oldest churchest in Paris, St. Severin and the St. Michel fountain and bridge. All along the streets outside of shops and restaurants were coquilles, or Spanish scallops from Santiago de Compostela, Spain. The tradition came from French Catholics who made the pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela and wanted to show something for it, so they brought back scallops and displayed them. These days, the scallops are not only displayed but also eaten, and I guess that people say they're quite nice. I started to wander and got a little off the book's walking path and ended up on Boulevard St. Germain. After checking the time, I hurried onto the Metro to meet Thomas at Gare du Nord (North Station). I scrambled around, searching for the platform for where trains from Lille come (I asked a woman where a train from Lille would be by saying, "J'espere pour en train pour Lille." Completely crap, but it worked, although I learned that French "esperer" is not Spanish "esperar" - it only means "to hope." One must say "J'attends" to say "I wait.") and thankfully met up with Thomas soon thereafter. We hopped on the Metro to Villiers, an area where Thomas needed to look at an apartment. He explained the history of the neighborhood to me, saying how it used to be where the old CNSM (his school, the Conservatoire National Superior du Danse et Musique, or what we know as the Paris Conservatory) was and so there were many luthier shops in the area. His father entered the old CNSM at the age of 15. Thomas' family is an unbelievably musically virtuosic family. He also pointed out his brother's flat and scooter parked outside. We then decided to see the beautiful Palais Garnier, where the Paris Opera is based. Thomas has actually performed there. We eavesdropped on a tour guide who narrated the legend of the Phantom of the Opera, the novel written by French author Gaston Leroux. Apparently the Opera Garnier inspired the novel. We took a photo of St. Augustine's Chapel and then went on to Eglise de la Madeleine, a completely gorgeous massive church in the 8th arrondissement. The serenity and majesty of the building reminded me of the B'hai Temple in Chicago. Thomas and I exchanged thoughts on faith, religion, and their appropriate institutions and I was surprised to discover that a). he actually takes the topic seriously and b). we share the same dislike for institutionalized religion. After soaking in some meditative silence, we enjoyed the view on the steps of la Madeleine straight down Rue Royale to the Obelisque and Place de la Concorde (where Queen Marie Antoinette was beheaded). Thomas and I stickied our fingers with chocolate crepes and then walked down a stretch of Rue Royale and Rue St. Florentin where many embassies (including the U.S., British, and German) stood. People are actually forbidden to photograph the American embassy; if you even so much as hold up your camera, a guard will come and yell at you. At the end of our embassy walk, we came upon the Élysée Palace, or the presidential palace. We joked about ringing the bell and asking to speak with Jacques Chirac. Somehow, I don't think the idea would go over too well. We continued onto the main part of the Champs Elysees, past the Grand Palais where there are many great exhibitions (currently there was one on Egyptian art, something I'd have loved to see) and towards the Place de la Concorde. I photographed the Jardin des Tuileries, the Assemblée Nationale where France's parliament meets, the Musee D'Orsay, Louvre, and a fancy hotel called Crillon on Rue de Rivoli - one of the oldest luxury hotels in the world. Thomas had to quickly get back to Gare du Nord to catch his train to Lille, so we took the typical romantic photo in front of the Eiffel Tower and he bade me goodbye. I wandered around la Madeleine and then got on the Metro at Palais Garnier, exited at Porte de Versailles and had dinner with Arlete (omelettes -not exactly vegetarian for me, but I appreciated her eagerness to cook for me). She helped me figure out where Liat lives (Rue Duport des Loges - 7th arrondissement, one of the wealthiest because of the Eiffel Tower and beautiful residential areas) and I made my way over to Liat's house after having to ask some Germans who were living in Paris for help (in German...good thing I can actually speak it now, otherwise I'd have been lost). I am now lying in bed after having acquainted myself with Liat and her lovely hospitality and Israeli rose chai. I think we are going to get along great. I know it seems as though I flew through the tourists spots of Paris, but I really didn't have as much interest in seeing them as I did in just wandering through the less touristy areas of Paris; besides, I'd already done tourist Paris with my parents and once alone some years before. Don't get me wrong - these places are renowned and celebrated for reasons, and they should be seen. However, there's a lot more to Paris than the Eiffel Tower.

First impressions of Paris

I am sitting in Alice's apartment with a beautiful and silent black kitty called Deneb crawling around my feet. Alice named her as a little girl for one of the stars which make up the "three beauties of Summer" in French. Alice's father, besides being a film editor, is an avid star-gazer which explains how Alice developed the hobby. Her parents' names are Olivier and Arlete and they're wonderfully nice. Olivier can speak working English but her mother speaks only broken words and half-phrases. Between madly gesturing, Spanish, and veeery slow English, we manage somehow. The journey from Germany was a bit stressful because at the last minute, a flight attendant made me check my violin into baggage claim. I was so caught off guard that after pleading for a few minutes, I started crying (which was incredibly embarrassing). The entire time on the flight, I was praying that everything would be okay. Thankfully, nothing was out of place or broken. I then took the Metro to Alice's arrondissement in southwest Paris near a big convention center. I was confused as to where the building was on the street, but after a French lady pointed it out to me on the street, I was faced with the next dilemma of entering the building. I ended up calling Olivier at home with my German cell phone - a moment of sheer irony because right as a I hung up, someone came and entered the building. 2 euros gone to waste. Timing!! Her parents served me a rice, bean, and lentil dish with three French cheeses and chocolate pudding for dessert. The apartment is a typical tiny city-sized place with only one bedroom for Olivier and Arlete. Just as I was about to do, Alice grew up sleeping on an air-mattress type of device in the living room. Nevertheless, the place is quite cozy and beautifully decorated. Olivier and Arlete are well-traveled and cultured, and are proud of it in a good way. They're already attempting to teach me bits of useful French - hot (chaud) and cold (froid). Hey, it's a start.