Month: February 2017

The book I had chosen for the EU legs of my trip was the Lucifer Effect, in my case 488-page tome printed with small font describing the Stanford Prison Experiment from the perspective of the principal researcher. In this experiment, designed to better understand the bureaucratization of evil, a group of 1970s undergrads at the liberal Bay Area University were randomly assigned to be guards or inmates in a simulated prison located in the basement of the psychology building.  Begun on a Sunday, and expected to last for two weeks, the experiments had to be called off on the first Thursday night due to the abuses the ‘guards’ were heaping on the ‘inmates’.  I had reached the point in the story where the worst of the mistreatment occurred and the student breakdowns began, and was wishing I had brought a cheerful romance to read instead.  I was also feeling that strange combination of headache, fatigue, and restlessness that I get when I combine not enough exercise with not enough sleep.

I was soon outside, back in the park, more precisely on a path leading from the park into a nearby neighborhood.  Gravel crunched under my feet, the wind caressed my shoulders, and sunlight peeked between the trees and apartments to the west.  Fresh air and the steady pace of my footsteps began to clear my mind and relax my body.  The end of the path came far too quickly, a T at a road, and after a short pause I turned left toward town.

Two houses down, I was met with a delight: a front yard bursting with spring flowers. I stopped and took it in, pink hydrangeas and peonies, red geraniums, white jasmine, orange lilies and violet pansies, among others; all carefully arranged and tended along the brick walk leading to the front porch.  As I took in the abundance of cheerful colors and the sweet fragrance, two insouciant cats took up guard on a tongue of grass, gloating as they encouraged me on my way.  A sign on the fence indicated this was a stop on the upcoming garden tour, and I was sorry I would miss it.

As I continued on, I was struck by the pleasant ordinary-ness of this village nestled just off the final approach path to one of the largest airports in the world.  My walk took me past a brew-pub style restaurant and a flower shop.  I perused the magazines and children books in the librarie (bookstore) I had passed earlier in the day.  A right turn led me to the health clinic, and a left into a neighborhood, a new development of cozy homes with warm sand stucco exteriors accented with redwood-stained shutters, each with a small patch of lawn between it and the flower-lined sidewalk.  I slipped through a small alley (Rue de l’Europe) to a larger cul-de-sac (also the Rue de l’Europe) lined with apartments.  As I proceeded back to the village center, the newer residences gave way to more established structures.  I passed a pharmacie, a marker embedded in the plaster indicating the building’s history stretched back more than a century.  After a quick stop in the other grocer (a Petit Casino), I headed back to the hotel.

For some reason, it had not registered that the town was on a low incline, with my hotel near the crest and most of my walk toward the valley.  I headed uphill, but, legs beginning to tire, stopped halfway to rest on a low wall.  Locals walking by greeted me with a cheerful ‘Bon Soir!’ and I even got to pet a few dogs, mostly small breeds but also a chocolate lab and a Pyrenees mix.  I continued on, up the steps that led to the park.

Tired again, I stopped at a bench to rest my now weary legs.  It was a quiet little spot, with a second bench placed opposite mine so friends could talk or play. The nearby grass was shaded by large trees, with sections of path bordered with well-manicured hedges.  There was a fountain, flower beds, and the stones nearby were littered with rose petals left by the girls who had had been playing earlier.  I took a deep breath and tried some lovingkindness meditation.  (Remember all those meditation retreats?)  May all beings be happy, may all beings be safe, may all beings be healthy, may all beings live with ease.  It was a nice moment, and the more I sat, the more relaxed I became.

And then, calmness.

It was a calmness of a depth I have rarely experienced.  It was the calmness I had gone to monastery hoping to find.  The air was warm on my skin.  Leaves fluttered in the wind.  Birds chattered and sang as they worked.  And I sat.

You are here, my mind whispered.  Now.  Just enjoy it.

And with a deep breath, I did.

I will be the first to admit I do Paris totally wrong.  This trip would be my fourth time through, and so far the closest I had come to the Eiffel Tower was speeding past it in a taxi.  I was determined that this time it would be different.  When I had booked travel to my next destination, a small town in the breadbasket of France, I had built in a night in a small town near the airport.  The plan was to fly in, stash everything in my room, hop the Metro, and give myself a proper tour of Paris (or at least a few elements of it), returning in time to catch the train in the morning. Fate, or perhaps my subconscious self, had other plans.

I had started to nod off during the approach to Charles de Gaulle airport, the excitement and cognitive workload of the past few days taking their toll once again.  Once on the ground, it took longer than expected to collect my luggage and maneuver to the platform where I would meet the courtesy shuttle (navette).  It was hot, with no shade for waiting passengers, and after a short time I, and all the passengers around me, were sticky.  Once on the bus we careened through the airport and down the highway (past a Concorde static display, swoon) to our lodgings.  By the time I made it to the front of the check-in line I had the mother of all headaches.  It was at this moment, when I just wanted to collapse into the lap of luxury, I was advised the king room I had reserved was not available, and they would be providing me a twin.  All I could picture was the small, hard single bed I had slept in while at monastery, and it was all I could do to hold back the tears.  Respite came in the form of the language barrier.  When I opened my door, it was to find a sunny, coolish, and thankfully quiet room with two (count them two!) double beds for my enjoyment.  Once cleaned up, I accepted I was in no shape to explore a strange city on my own at night,

The idea of downtown Paris abandoned, I decided to seek out a nice meal.  Google maps had indicated nearby cafés and even a quik-e-mart (or the French version of), so after refreshing myself with coffee (Nescafé avec little cups of cream) I set out to find some sustenance.  I crossed the street and entered a green space that turned out to be the town’s municipal park. A path of neatly placed pavers took me past a playground (swings, slide, monkey bars, roundabout) full of enthusiastic youngsters, and an open-air amphitheater on the back of the mairie (municipal building), surrounded by rose bushes, where a self-organized group of kinder-age girls were acting out an impromptu play.  Much to my dismay, the cafés on the other side had anglicized menus and were filled with British tourists.  Seeking local flavors, I continued in to the town.

I passed a patisserie, a librarie (bookstore), and a pizza shop (take out or by the slice) but nothing sit-down that appealed to me.  (Okay, the patisserie appealed to me but I did not think it was a good recovery strategy.)  In the end I popped in to the quik-e-mart (a CarreFour*), where I was pleasantly surprised to find fresh fruit and veg and cheese section in the cooler.  After careful consideration, I purchased some carrots, plums, a red pepper, triangles of cotswold and brie, and a box of crackers and headed back to my room.  Every one ahead of me in line had been air crew, most with a selection from the surprisingly complete wine, beer and spirit section of the store.

Once back in my room and sated from my grazing, I curled into bed with a book.  Little did I know, the best part of the day was still to come.

More soon!

* This is the name of the brand, like Stop and Shop or Publix.  Another big chain in France is Casino.

The Symposium complete, we lingered in the school’s courtyard over lunch.  I sat with a group of Americans, most physicians, but one the insurance company researcher.  Between conversations about health care at the VA and in private industry, he shared stories of his work (the director of a large restaurant chain had called him to ask about older people and stairs and curbs.  His answer: they don’t go well together, try ramps) and also suggestions for me as a younger researcher (self-driving vehicles).  As the afternoon sun grew hot and the groups thinned, I took the opportunity to explore the grounds.

The north border of the courtyard was a tall stone wall.  For days I had been teased by a small door, and I slipped through.  There I was met by a stone courtyard (driveway?) and a small chapel.  This chapel, I would later learn, had been in this spot in some form since the thirteenth century when an image of Our Lady of Funchal was observed on the site.  The current incarnation, a white plaster exterior accented with grey stone (and an oddly placed clock) had been built and dedicated in the aftermath of the 1755 earthquake.  The chapel bordered a street, and on the other side was a small park that allowed a view of the canyon and hillside beyond it.  And also a gift – a young man, seated at the base of a cross, practicing his Portuguese raps.

Along the school’s southern border was a park.  I had become curious about it our first morning while I had watched a woman, small and thin yet strong, with the dignity that many people who survived the Second World War all seem to have, walk her equally small, strong and equally arthritic smokey grey poodle around the fountain just beyond the fence. The two had been there the following days as well, their slow, short, proud steps a steady presence that provided a glimpse at life in and the rhythms of the neighborhood.  Upon my return from the church, the symposium crowd had thinned considerably, and so I said my good-byes.  On my way to the Metro station I took a detour through the park to take a look.

The park was a normal park, one you would find in any city.  It was small-ish, one block wide and several blocks long, with a structured form of sidewalks (laid out with the symmetry of a formal garden), hedges (dark green and brown from the heat), with benches, lawns and play areas laid out along the sides. The paths were filled with locals, mostly older (the local school was still in session), ladies chatting as they walked, older couples and singles watching from the benches, gentlemen playing cards in the picnic area near he concession stands.  The park was surrounded by apartment buildings, cement blocks twelve stories high, and these plus the trees created a nice shade.

Along the eastern border were a series of apartments, newer and slightly more stylish than the others, and I detoured off pavement to take a look.  The ground floor, the other side of a narrow street, each side packed with cars, alternated empty garages and finished open space (possibly for studios and shops) with enclosed alcoves for reaching the apartments above.  There were terrific views of the canyon and neighborhoods beyond, but it all looked a bit unkempt, as if people only passed through counting on a non-existent someone else to keep things up.  I found the juxtaposition between the two, the old world of the park and the new world of the street, the manicured wealth of the school and the shabbiness of the neighborhood a bit jarring.  I quickly grew tired, and made my way to the Metro station.

Dinner was an egg and croissant from the bus station’s automat (not for looking, I will spare you that tale of woe).  As night fell I turned in, feeling restless, and tossed in my sleep for most of the night.