Paris, day six. The deluge.

On Friday, we took on the art museums. We went to Musee d' Orrsy, which is a converted rail station, to see the classics. Then we went to the Louvre (outside only ... line was huge). Then we went to Pompidou, which is full of modern art.

There we saw a number of impressive temporary exhibits, including a Gorky exhibit, an hommage to Samuel Beckett, and an installation called 'Air of Paris,' which is collection of modern art whose focus drifts around Paris and the 30th anniversary of the Pompidou.

The building is cool ... it's got all the escalators and HVAC systems on the outside of the building. It was also air conditioned, which was a welcome respite from the weather. Did I mention that it was insanely hot in Paris? About halfway through our trip there we decided to go to the roof-top cafe for some espresso and lo and behold, we saw some stormy clouds coming in. I actually managed to get a photo of some lightning!

It became quite breezy and then ... the deluge. It rained like a tropical monsoon for about two hours, finally bringing the humidity and ambient temperature down to something a little more comfortable. We waited out the storm by touring the permanent installation, seeing works from Picasso, Renoir, Matisse, Monet, Manet, Degas and a bunch of other works I recognized but can not remember the names of.

There was even an exhibit of inflatable furniture. After the rain, we went to a fancy tea joint and enjoyed mayonaisse sandwhiches and some white port. Also, macaroons.

After that, we went back to the apartment, had some sherry, and I packed up for the flight home.

Paris, day five. Revenge of the suckling pig.

Thursday. The big day. Candice's graduation.

But ... the night before, after the big basque lunch with the wine, the beers before dinner, the fancy five course meal for dinner, the wine at dinner, the three beers at the bar and going to bed at 3:00 am, I am awakened, ill.

Everything seems oppressive. I am convinced that the air coming in through the window is 'thick with smog,' thus making me nauseous. I have a glass of water and take a quick shower. I ask Tina to escort me to the local pharmacy to make a purchase of Mylanta.

They don't have Mylanta, but they do have Maalox. Funny thing is, the Maalox comes in little packets (like pixy stix). I shoot a few packets. Feeling a little better. Hop on the bus with the family. Approximately twenty seconds after getting on the bus, I start to get 'drooly-mouth,' the standard precursor to unpleasantness.

I press the exit button, afraid I'm going to lose it on the bus. Some quick negotiation with Tina and we've got her cell phone and our tickets to the graduation. The bus stops and I'm off to the local cafe for a visit to the men's room.

Fifteen horrible minutes later, I'm out. Chloe suggests I get some 7up and some pretzels. I do. I feel a bit better. We catch the next bus, and I manage to Keep It Together for the rest of the ride. We get to the theater in which the graduation is being held.

It's hot. I mean, really, really hot. You know how I mentioned it was hot in Paris? Imagine how hot it is in third-row balcony seats in a theater packed with people with no air conditioning. Super hot.

The nausea waves begin to return. I wander downstairs to find the men's room. I wander back up to the third floor, each step hotter than the one before. At the top of the third floor stairs is a couch. I sit down on the couch and thankfully doze away for about an hour. I miss nothing of the ceremony ... it started late anyway.

There was a good speech and there were four bad ones. So go graduations. Afterward, there's a reception. Candice appears to have gone to school with people who are featured in W magazine.

Everyone reeks of old money. There's even some private security detail surrounding a couple of the particularly elite classmates. Most of the young women are tall and leggy. Most of the old women are well preserved and draped in gold, Gucci and leapord prints.

The men are all in tailored suits with watches that cost about the same as my new car. Appearences aside, though, they are all quite friendly. Our party drifts away to a local sandwhich shop. It's still so hot I can barely breathe. After lunch, we go back to the apartment. I fall into a deep sleep until around 7:45pm.

We get up, go to yet another nice dinner. This time I rember the name of the place ... something something 'Moelle.' Fantastic food. Very nice. After dinner, I come home and sleep like the dead until morning.

Paris, day four. A giant radio tower.

Today was the obligatory visit to the Eiffell tower. Aside from (again) being hotter than the surface of the sun, the trip there was quite nice.

Today we started riding the bus instead of the Metro. While the metro is more direct, the bus gives you a chance to see more of the city. It also helps reiterate why the tour book clearly stated "Don't even think about renting a car in Paris."

I know Americans are frequently confused and overwhelmed by traffic circles. I'm not, personally, but the Parisian equivalent of the traffic circle is thus: five to seven radial streets converge into a giant circle of asphalt.

There are no arrows, no lights, no nothing. Occasionally there is some impressive-looking statue in the middle of the circle. Cars, trucks and busses enter the circle. Some do the 'imaginary circle' game, circling the outside.

Others drive straight through. Some drive to the middle and take a hard left. Amazing. Through all the mayhem, I saw one gentlemen ride through the whole mess, on a bike, no hands on the handlebars, futzing with his iPod. (No helmet!)

I wish I had gotten a photo. I would have called it 'Deathwish.' For lunch, we went to a Basque restaurant. The restaurant was fantastic.

Chloe and I have a particular soft spot for Basque food because of our (fading) love of The Harvest Vine but what was a amazing was that this restaurant had Harvest Vine flavors with Claimjumper proportions. I had suckling pig. I believe, in fact, that I was served one fourth of a suckling pig.

Had there not been a tiny cup of espresso at the close of the meal, I would have fallen into a deep food coma.

The Eiffell tour blows the doors off the Space Needle. Not only is it way bigger, since it's mostly outside, it's a much more visceral experience. Again, with the stifling heat, there was no real wind or stressful weather up top, and amazingly, it was actually quite cool and nice.

We didn't go to the tippy top (that cost extra and involved standing in yet another line) but we did go to the second floor. The second floor is high enough to take some good photos and whatnot.

After the big trip to the radio tower, we went back to the apartment for a brief respite and then off to dinner. Like lunch, this was another good meal. I had the duck.

And a chocolate cake.

Paris, day three. Sweatin' with the oldies.

Today was a long day of sight-seeing. Primarily, we went to see Versailles. Versailles is literally as large as an entire city. Apparently, at one point, over 20,000 people lived there.

We did not go inside. Mostly, this is because I've found that the DK guidebooks are usually more informative than an actual site tour, and secondarily, because the line to buy tickets to get in line appeared to be about 40,000 people strong.

So we toured the grounds. Very beautiful grounds they were, indeed. Apparently, in 1999, wind storms knocked down many of the trees that were planted back in the 1800s. I'd have never noticed.

We had a chance to rent a rowboat (for 28 Euros) and opted instead to not rent a rowboat.

We took a bunch of pictures. After Versailles, we took the train back to Paris.

Chloe and I met up with Fumi (who is in Paris rather coincidentally) for a drink. We then went out to dinner somewhere. The food was OK, but I don't remember the name of the place. (I'm now beginning to understand why my application to be a writer for the Berkeley Guides was so soundly rejected.)

Here's where I explain the point of this entry: Paris is really absurdly hot and humid. Everything we do is punctuated with sweating, fanning oneself, trying to find some shade, etc. I can't reiterated this point enough.

It's as hot as it was when we were in Jamaica. Except in Jamaica, my activities were limited to raising a bottle of red stripe to my lips and occasionally floating in the ocean. Hot hot hot.

I don't wear shorts and I never really have, so when I found out that the Parisians didn't wear shorts, I thought "Good for them."

Now I'm thinking they are fools in the pants department.

Warning: may cause break-dancing

I just love signs in foreign countries.

Paris, day two. My shoes hurt.

After yesterday's snoozefest, today was a whirlwind of activity. We woke up around 8:30. Tina asked some questions about how one makes coffee. I gave instructions as to the water/bean ratio.

Then, thinking that coffee would be brought to me as some kind of payment for my incredibly timely advice, I drifted back to sleep. Around 11:30, I woke up to discover that in France, a man has to get his coffee himself.

Thankfully, the coffee maker has an insulated thermos, so everything was still warm. We left to go to the 'Bascilla ca sacre ceur' which is French for 'chapel on the hill' or something along those lines.

This involves an enormouse huff up a steep hill and then some stairs. I was told that there was a funicular. There was, but it was broken. Aside from the view at the top, this particular church contained nothing of interest. It did, however, remind me of an odd expression that I learned from a pair of hard-partying Irish women that I met in India.

One had said to the other, "That vacation with my parents was just ABC." This is Irish shorthand for 'Another Bloody Cathedral,' which is based on the idea that if you've been to one gothic church, you've been to them all.

This is perhaps an overstatement, but if you were to amend it to say that if you've seen thirty gothic churches, you've seen them all, then it would be spot on. This was just ABC.

So Notre Dame left a similar impression. ABC. Big, dark, imposing. Blah blah blah. But! Outside the Notre Dame is a bread festival! Bread festival! You might imagine that French snootiness toward bread and cheese is a trait formed in secondary school or even at university.

But no! Small children are sent to bread festivals at a young age where they are incited into a frenzy in front of the 'milk bar' and are taken into enormous tents where they learn to make bread and eat scrumptious cheeses and wear funny hats like milk deliverymen.

Thankfully, Breadfest 2007 also allowed adults (and foreigners) and we had some excellent bread and cheese as we hung out around the Notre Dame.

But wait ... did I mention that we saw an enormous crew of the Amazing Race staff hanging around the back of Notre Dame? I don't know what they were doing (Chloe convinced me not to harass them) but I'm certain that an upcoming season of Amazing Race will have some b-roll from the Notre Dame area of Paris.

After some ice cream at Ber thi lon (behind Notre Dame) we went to the Jardim de Plant (known locally as the 'Botanical Garden'). Highlight of this trip was seeing an actual capybara inside the zoo.

We didn't pay to go into the zoo, but from the outside you could see the cabybaras. Then Chloe and I went to the 'labyrinth' ... which would be more appropriately described as the 'spiral shaped hedgerow.' We walked to the top. I took a picture. Then we took the Vu family back to the apartment. Candice and I went to get some beers.

Then we watched Tom & Jerry. Now Chloe is sleeping soundly ... with the Boef de Boef marinading in the kitchen.

Every time I wake her up to see how much longer it should marinade, she says "Another hour." It's 9:00 PM now.

This could be a long night.

Paris, day one. Lockdown!

How do you get to France? Here's how I did it.

• Florida > Georgia > Seattle > New York > London > Paris

Needless to say, I was quite tired when we finally arrived in our swanky little apartment in Paris. After the apartment manager gave us a tour of the place, I curled up in the bed to catch a quick nap.

Chloe mentioned that she was going to walk over to Candice's place, and so I figured I'd get a little shut-eye as they caught up. I heard them come back a while later and then ... nothing. At some point, hours later, I am awakened from my slumber by an incessant knocking and pounding noise.

Someone is trying to get in to the apartment. I'm still groggy and confused but I wander over to the front door to see what the hap is. It's Eli, one of the people who manages the place. It takes me a few minutes to understand that somehow the locks are broken from the outside and he's been pounding on the door for fifteen (!) minutes to see if I can let me in. After a few more minutes of groggy back and forth, I come to realize that it's not that the locks are broken from the outside, but that they are broken.

Period.

I'm locked in. Eli and I carry on a brief conversation. He assures me that 'someone is coming' and he takes off. I doze for a while. The girls come back. They chat with me. I look at them through the peephole. Later on, the apartment manager returns and directs me to a toolbox buried deep in the apartment.

I use a screwdriver to pry the broken lock open, and ... freedom! A visit from the locksmith and $1200 Euros later, functionality is restored with the installation of a new lock. I go back to sleep.

I'm writing this around 1pm on Monday. It occurs to me that I've slept for 20 of the past 23 hours. I think I'm all caught up! However, I have not yet left the apartment.

Chloe thinks I've developed agoraphobia.

Sunset over Darwin, Australia

A trip down memory lane

It will come as no shock to my regular readers that I rarely update my blog. But did you you know that I also have a personal website? It's called brussard.com and is also rarely updated.



But just how rarely updated? Let the data speak for itself!



http://web.archive.org/web/*/http://brussard.com



The 'Wayback Machine' demonstrates an amazing chronology of infrequent content changes.



Starting in 2001, we have five updates.



April 21, 2001: A brief expirement in ilegible content rich with poor, low-contrast color scheme. WTF?

May 15, 2001: Well, maybe the expirement wasn't that brief. No change.
Jul 20, 2001: Ah. A new color scheme featuring "readability". A mention of the fourth of July!
Sep 28, 2001: No change.
Dec 03, 2001 : No change.



2002. What a great year.

Jan 20, 2002: No change.
Mar 29, 2002 No change.
May 26, 2002: No change.
Aug 02, 2002: No change. Though thankfully, references to the fourth of July only seem a month old, not 13 months old.
Sep 21, 2002: Change! The trip to Camano Island is replaced by a link to our wedding photos.
Nov 25, 2002: Minor update: professional wedding photo link added. At this time my site (for some odd reason) was the third link on Yahoo if you searched for 'professional wedding photos' ... traffic was at all-time high.
Nov 29, 2002: No change.



2003 snuck up on me.

Feb 14, 2003: First mention of the puppies.
Apr 24, 2003: No change.
May 25, 2003: No change.
Jun 21, 2003: No change.
Aug 06, 2003: No change.
Oct 01, 2003: No change.
Dec 03, 2003: No change.
Dec 23, 2003: No change.



2004? Already? But I haven't updated my website!

Mar 24, 2004: No change.
May 12, 2004: No change.
Jun 04, 2004: No change.
Jun 14, 2004: No change.
Aug 31, 2004: No change.
Sep 03, 2004: No change.
Sep 23, 2004: No change.
Dec 15, 2004: Wait for it .... Change! Mention of my motorbike for sale! (Still for sale, BTW)



2005 ... Year of the kangaroo in Australian astrology.

Feb 02, 2005: No change.
Feb 05, 2005: No change.
Feb 10, 2005: No change.



And then ... nothing. Apparently the wayback machine didn't keep track of me during the rest of 2005 or 2006.



Now, halfway through 2007 and the wayback machine hasn't even bothered to swing by.



But surprise! I last updated my website in July 2005. (I started adding dates at some point).



How do I get the wayback machine to find me again?