Nous Sommes Arrivés!
Have you ever carried a baguette through the streets of Paris, the length of the bread naked to the elements but for a small tissue wrapped around the center? It's impossible to do this and not feel French. (And nearly impossible to do so without poking anyone walking the other way along a narrow sidewalk.) I will never be as thin, as good-looking, or speak like a local. But give me some pointy bread to wave in the city of lights and I feel completely at home. Heather's no slouch, either. Just look at that attitude, that confidence. She's armed. She's Fronsh.

And so, we have arrived. 16 Quai du Louvre, 1er arrondissement. We're all unpacked and stretched out in our loft, whose three sets of windows open onto a balcony right above the River Seine. If you crane your neck and look between the trees and beyond Pont Neuf, you can make out Notre Dame in one direction, the Eiffel Tower in the other. We're a block from the Louvre, just across the bridge from the Latin Quarter/Saint Germain. The first few days have mostly been about getting our bearings, stocking the apartment with staples: pasta and serrano ham, eggs, fresh vegetables, and many bottles of rosé to take the edge off the extremely hot days. We've also been dealing with minor tragedies (a botched internet connection meant two days to shop for and install a wifi network in the apartment, a stolen credit card -- the numbers, not an actual mugging -- meant lots of back and forth with Visa), going for long walks, trying to squeeze in some work, and, of course, keeping up with all the World Cup madness.

If you hadn't noticed, Europe digs football. Through sheer happenstance, I was in England when the English were winning, in Italy when it was clinching the division, and we arrived in Paris on the day that France beat Brazil...and of course were here last night when they toppled Portugal. It's hard not to get caught up in the excitement -- or at least in the spectacle of the excitement. I can't
really think of anything in the US that would draw the entire country together in the same way. Sure, we all root for the same hockey team during the Olympics. But do you feel compelled to dance in the streets when they win? I read a bit of (American) speculation the about why the US, the land of opportunity, prefers games with more chances to score, about how soccer is really a metaphor for the European plight -- a lot of drama and buildup about the intermittent, fleeting chance around the goal, followed by the inevitable wide-right or off-the-crossbar shot and a lot of arm-waving, face-grabbing disappointment. I don't know about all that, but I do know that everywhere we've been, people have been going nuts. Every day feels like a Superbowl, except the games are all competitive (if indeed, low-scoring) and the experience seems more inclusive.

For the most part, we've been enjoying the games at a safe distance, as visitors. Rather than going to a bar to watch, we go out for dinner, and catch glimpses of the games from the streets -- where people are lined up 10-deep to peer through a window at a flatscreen on the wall. Rather than hitting the Champs-Elysses after the Portugal victory to see the fireworks and avoid the M-80s going off in the alleyways, we went as the game was just getting started, watched the riot police unload from the paddywagons and fall in along the sidewalks. By halftime, we were safely back at the loft, halfway into a bottle of Gigondas and eating steak frites as the masses below waved their flags and prepared to pour beer all over each other. And that was just fine by us.

Today is shopping day. Heather tells me something about how sales are regulated in France. They only occur twice a year, and we just so happen to be here for one of them. Lucky us. It's a curious notion...the government dictating when and how a store can mark down its own inventory. It must completely change the wholesale buying/distribution process. Whatever price the retailer decides, it's stuck with for six months. Weird. But that's an issue for another day. For now, we're all about scouting out the bargains, trying to spend these thirty pieces of silver burning a hole in my pocket.

There are a couple of bottles of rosé in the fridge and a nice burgundy on the counter. The combo on the front door is 19-b-20, and the wifi's screaming fast. Come visit. Come with a baguette. And carry it like you belong.