five strolls through the 12th

Guess who's back, back again
50 First States back, tell a friend
Guess who's back, Guess who's back ...

And like Eminem said in "Without Me", Operation 50 First States is back again.  And why not, with spring ending and summer starting?  It was time to stroll again though Paris in July, when I jump-started the operation (even though, as I write, the fall has arrived and winter is not too far away).

So starting in July, I took on the 12th arrondissement.  The game plan remained the same from the 11th arrondissement: stroll through the arrondissement, stopping by 10 landmarks and asking 50 people passed on the way if they came from one of the capitals of the 50 U.S. States.  The stroll was divided into 5 parts, each part comprising of 2 landmarks to visit, 10 people to meet, and, quite naturally, 10 inquiries to make.  I reused the same list of reasons (one for each of the 5 strolls) to give if the people that I approached asked why I was doing what I was doing:

• I am just bored
• I am just trying to be creative
• I am trying to change the world
• I am trying to overcome my shyness
• I am trying to stop caring about what people think about me

The one "improvement" that I added to the operation was dedicated to the ladies.  When the next person that I had to approach had to be a girl, I would only choose a girl whom I found pretty.  And before the end of the interaction, I would ask her if she would like to have a drink with me.  No frills, just a direct invitation to have a drink together.

It is worth pointing out that I was not able to ask every girl that I met for a drink, since some did not bother to stay five seconds for a chat.  Besides, among those that I did ask, not one of them said yes.  Nonetheless, I was prepared for the potential rejection.

And without further ado, I present to you a recap of my visit of 10 landmarks in the 12th arrondissement, accompanied with some notes about interesting interactions that I had along the way.

1. Gare de Lyon
Gare de Lyon is one of the six mainline railway stations in Paris.  The third busiest station of France, it is named after the city of Lyon, a stop for many long-distance trains departing from the station, most en route to the south of France.  Built for the Exposition Universelle (World Fair) of 1900, it is considered a classic example of the architecture of its time, whose most notable feature is the 67-meter high clock tower atop one corner of the station, similar in style to the one in London that houses to Big Ben.

Right on the parvis of Gare de Lyon was a girl standing idle with her phone.  After a slight hesitation, I went over to meet her.  Well, she was not from Sacramento, California.  When I asked her if she was game for a drink, she replied casually that she was actually waiting for her boyfriend, who was late.  "Ah", I said.  If I had any serious game, I would probably have followed up by asking, "So, if you were not waiting for your boyfriend, would you have liked a drink anyway?"  But no, I simply left.

2. Promenade plantée
Promenade plantée is an elevated linear park built atop the old Vincennes railway line.  Beginning just east of Opéra Bastille, it follows a 4.7 km (2.9 mi) path eastward that ends at Boulevard Périphérique, a ring road that separates the city of Paris from its suburbs.  As if it was not green enough, the promenade provides access to other parks and gardens such as Jardin Hector Malot, Jardin de Reuilly, Jardin de la gare de Reuilly et Square Charles Péguy.

It was in a scene of the film "Before Sunset", directed by Richard Linklater and starring Ethan Hawke and Julie Delpy, that I discovered the promenade for the first time.  Since then, I have always enjoyed visiting the promenade, and the film quickly became one of my favorites.

One interesting encounter in this improved version of the operation occurred while I was at Promenade plantée.  As I passed through a leafy arch, I came face to face with a girl coming from the opposite direction.  I promptly asked her if she was from Tallahassee, Florida.  She was attentive but did not seem to understand, so I kept repeating the question, each time more clearly.  That was when a young man, whom I had actually just passed before seeing the girl, appeared and inquired what was going on, as if he wanted to protect her.  I then figured that they were in the same company, which also included an elderly woman with whom I had seen the man earlier.  Suddenly embarrassed, I quickly found my exit without daring to ask the girl if she wanted to have drinks, leaving her to explain to the guy what had just happened.

Also on Promenade plantée, I approached a guy to find out if he was from Atlanta, Georgia.  He replied no, and but he was curious.  "What do you want?", he asked.  When I told him that I was just bored, he smiled.

3. Viaduc des Arts
Viaduc des Arts is a collection of art shops and galleries grouped in a unique construction along Avenue Daumesnil.  Its location was previously occupied by the former viaduct of Paris that was built in 1859 to support the old Vincennes railway line.  It was in 1990 that the mairie de Paris (Paris city hall) decided to rehabilitate the viaduct by renovating each of its vaults in order to transform them into a new conservatory of arts and crafts.

Culinary arts, anyone?

I ran into one guy accompanied by a girl near an intersection along Viaduc des Arts.  When I asked him if he was from Indianapolis, Indiana, he shot back : "Do I look like I'm from Indianapolis?"  I replied that I was just trying to be creative.  "Nice try", he said in return, smiling.

4. Rue d'Aligre
Rue d'Aligre is a street in a neighborhood called Quartier d'Aligre that begins at Rue de Charenton and ends at Rue du faubourg Saint-Antoine.  Every day except Monday, it is home to Marché d'Aligre, an open-air market, and in the middle of the street, on Place d'Aligre, is the Marché Beauvau, a covered market.

Marché Beauvau on Place d'Aligre

Rene Miller encore!

At Marché d'Aligre, I ran into Rene Miller, the musician that I had seen performing in Marché Bastille when I was running Operation 50 First States in the 11th arrondissement last year.  It seemed like he was taking a break, and I went over to have a chat.  He told me that he was American, and I told him that I was from New Jersey.  Then the lady who was standing next to me and who must have listened to Rene's performance, mentioned that she would be in New Jersey soon.  Next thing you know, I was talking with her.  She said that she knew Rene from before and had just arrived in Paris from Memphis, Tennessee for a stay lasting several weeks.  I discovered that she was an illustrator and also an urban sketcher, which only increased my curiosity.  Naturally, I told her about the urban sketching community in Paris that I was a part of and invited her to come sketch with us during our session at Jardin du Luxembourg that was taking place the following day and that I was organizing.  She said that she planned to make it.  What an interesting encounter!

There was another nice moment at Marché d'Aligre once I had resumed the operation there following morning.  On one hand, it was remarkable because the girl that I had passed while wading through the crowds was wearing the most lovely, summery white dress.  On the other hand, it was unremakable because I had done nothing, except to watch her get farther away.

There was a couple of youngsters that I stumbled upon on Rue du faubourg Saint-Antoine, after leaving the market.  They both looked drugged and my interaction with them was weird.  The girl acted as if she wanted to help me when I asked the guy if he was from Jackson, Mississippi, whereas the guy wanted to keep walking.  They could not make up their mind between themselves, while at the same time they continued their interaction with me (sort of).  The whole encounter was a mess.  Even my "I'm trying to change the world" remark fell on deaf ears.

5. Opéra Bastille
Opéra de la Bastille, or more commonly Opéra Bastille, is a modern opera house located on Place de la Bastille.  Inaugurated on 13 July 1989 on the eve of the 200th anniversary of the storming of the Bastille, it became the main facility of the Paris National Opera, alongside the older Palais Garnier.  Many opera performances are shown here along with some ballet performances and symphony concerts.

I was waiting to cross the street to get from Opéra Bastille to the other end of Place de la Bastille when a girl joined me.  I jumped on the opportunity and asked her if she was from Lincoln, Nebraska.  She replied no, crossed the street smiling (the light was already green), and disappeared.  Either she was walking too fast for me to ask her out for a drink, or I was too slow to pop the question.  You figure.  While lamenting a missed opportunity that had nevertheless started out great, I ran into the girl again on the quay at Port de l'Arsenal sometime later.  Talk about luck!  I had been granted a second chance, and I did not waste it.  In response, she giggled and passed me by without saying a single word.  She probably thought that I was not serious.  Her loss.

6. Bassin de l'Arsenal
Bassin de l'Arsenal, also known as Port de l'Arsenal, is a boat basin that links Canal Saint-Martin, which begins at Place de la Bastille, to the Seine, at Quai de la Rapée.  Excavated after the destruction of the Bastille fortress in during the French Revolution, it was designed to replace the ditch that had been in place to draw water from the Seine to fill the moat at the fortress.  During the nineteenth century and most of the twentieth, the basin was a commercial port where goods were loaded and unloaded.  It was converted into a leisure port in 1983 and serves as a dock to approximately 180 pleasure boats.

The port beyond the platform of the Bastille metro station

Towards the north : Place de la Bastille

Towards the south : Quai de la Rapée

Strolling along the quay at Port de l'Arsenal, I noticed a boat.  Actually, it was the blond girl standing alone on a raised floor on the boat that I noticed.  Compared to other opportunities, this one was sufficiently unusual to not pass up.  Besides, I had one more girl to approach before ending the operation for the day.  So I shouted "Hi" to her ‒ I had never realized I could shout ‒ and she said "Hi" back.  I asked her if she was from Concord, New Hampshire and she said no.  When I asked her if she would like to have a drink, she said "No, thank you" and immediately went inside the boat through a door behind her.  I could do nothing else but resume my stroll.  Moments later, I turned around and saw the girl getting off the boat with a guy.  I looked back again a few seconds later and they were both walking hand in hand on the quay towards Place de la Bastille, away from me.

My last encounter at Port de l'Arsenal was with an older guy seated comfortably on the grass of the garden bordering the quay .  In a perfect American accent, he told me that he was from somewhere in Ohio.  He added, "Why do you ask [if I am from Trenton, New Jersey]?"  I replied that I was trying to change the world, to which he responded, "Good luck".

7. Palais Omnisports de Paris-Bercy
Palais Omnisports de Paris-Bercy, often abbreviated as POPB or Bercy, is an indoor sports arena and concert hall.  Easily recognized by its pyramidal shape and its walls covered with sloping lawn, it provides a limitless range of technical applications for unlimited sound, lighting and special effects.  POPB is the venue of the Paris Masters tennis tournament, as well as competitions in other sports like including handball, basketball, boxing, gymnastics, athletics, track cycling, and show jumping.  It has a seating capacity ranging from 3,500 to 17,000, depending on the event.

The POPB becoming Bercy Arena

As I turned right from Boulevard de Bercy into Rue de Bercy, around the corner where the Palais-Omnisports de Paris-Bercy was, I saw two girls standing with luggage and chatting.  Speaking English with an unmistakably British accent, they revealed that they were not from Santa Fe, New Mexico and turned down my invitation for a drink, saying that they had to go somewhere.  One of them then asked for the reasons for my actions, and I told her that I was trying to overcome my shyness.  Instantly, both girls stated that I was not shy, which I found flattering.  They kept asserting that I was not shy, and when I could not take it anymore, I said "well you don't see me all the time".  A brief and more conventional conversation ensued.  One of the girls saw the sheet of paper fixed to a plastic board that I was holding and asked to see it.  I started to present it, saying that it was a list of the capitals of the 50 United States, only to be interrupted by their departure after a third girl had appeared.  All alone again, I started to wonder.  Word on the street is that I may not be shy after all.  What an idea.

8. Parc de Bercy
Parc de Bercy is a public park located along the right bank of the Seine. Inaugurated in 1994 on the site of former Bercy wine warehouses, the park has an area of 13.9 hectares and is composed of three different gardens, each having a distinct theme: the "Meadows", an area of open lawns shaded by tall trees, the "Flowerbeds", dedicated to plant life, and the "Romantic Garden", which includes fishponds and reconstitutions of dunes.

The Meadows

The Flowerbeds

Crossing over to the Romantic Garden

The Romantic Garden

La Grande Terrasse

Shortly after arriving in Parc de Bercy, I approached a man who was perhaps in his 60s while he was taking a break from a power walk.  When I asked him if he was from Bismarck, North Dakota, he pointed to the ground with a finger and said, with a slight smile: "I am from here".

I had an interesting encounter with a smartly dressed young man with a girl by his side at the end of the park, near Cour Saint-Emilion.  When I asked him if he was from Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, he said yes and kept saying yes even though I had started to stress "Pennsylvania".  Surprised after the nth yes, I had no choice but to go further in the conversation, so I went, "Well, I'm from Philad ..." before he interrupted me.  "Pennsylvania?  No I'm from Paris!"  The good young fellow that he was, he wished me good luck.

On Passerelle Simone de Beauvoir, I had an somewhat strange encounter with a woman.  I wanted to find out if she was from Rhode Island, Providence, but it seemed difficult because she responded with words that were barely audible.  Even though I tried to make my question clearer, each time I heard practically nothing in response.  When I was about to take my leave, the woman let out a familiar expression in a voice significantly less inaudible than before: "Au revoir".

9. Cour Saint-Emilion
Cour Saint-Emilion is a pedestrian street that is the main attraction of Bercy Village, an area on the southwest end of Parc de Bercy.  It takes its name from the wines of Saint-Emilion, a French AOC-designated red wine produced in the region surrounding the town of Saint-Emilion, near Bordeaux.  With the 42 white-stoned wine storehouses that border it, the street is a vestige of the Bercy warehouses where there was a large wine-producing industry for more than a century.  Today, Cour Saint-Emilion is a shopping mall, offering boutiques, restaurants, a multiplex, and much more.

Hello Cour Saint-Emilion

Goodbye Cour Saint-Emilion

One of my most interesting encounters of all time ever took place on Cour Saint-Emilion.  I saw two girls, both pretty, and I stopped one to find out if she was from Montpelier, Vermont.  What ensued was something that I had not expected.  In response to the question that I asked about her origins, she inquired about what I was doing and why I was doing it.  I no longer remember if I gave her the already prepared reason ("I am trying to stop caring about what people think about me").  In any case, I presented the list of U.S. state capitals to her and explained how I was using it, only for her to claim that I was holding myself captive by roaming the streets to ask random strangers my questions.  I defended my actions, arguing that I was just creating potentially interesting interactions.  When she asked why it was her that I had stopped, I admitted that it was because she was pretty.  I felt that she was displeased by this revelation, especially when I repeated in passing that she was pretty, so I stopped using the word.  At some point during our conversation, she told me that God loved me (and would tell me that again several times).  It was surprising and rather amusing.  She told me about the church that she was going to and asked me I knew it.  "Hillsong?", I repeated after her.  "Yes, I know it, I have been there before actually."  Apparently happy with this discovery, she insisted that I attend the service the following day (a Sunday), no matter how many times that I told her that I had other plans and that I almost never went to church.  The pressure that she was putting was rather heavy; it seemed like that she was not listening to what I said.  Only so that she would stop, I told her that I would try to make it if I could.  At one point, she referred to her friend, who, at a certain distance, was nothing but a spectator throughout this event.  Having just learned her friend's name, I asked her what her own name was. She replied "Fille de Dieu", meaning "Daughter of God".  We had spoken for a few minutes, and after a while she started to take things less seriously.  Perhaps she had understood that what had just happened was an interaction that aimed to be friendly even if a bit peculiar.  She insisted once again that I come to Hillsong the following day, and left smiling with her friend.  I felt relieved, even though it was a fun experience.  Needless to say, I did not get a yes in response to my invitation for a drink.

Before leaving Cour Saint-Emilion, I approached a girl to ask her if she was from Olympia, Washington.  At the same moment that she asked the reason for the question, after indicating that she was not from there, I asked her if she wanted to have a drink.  Really smooth.  I wonder if this abrupt behavior on my part was influenced by the presence of the security guard a few steps away.

10. Place Félix Eboué
Place Félix Eboué is a square located at the former location of the Barrière de Reuilly, one of the barriers along the wall built around Paris in the late 18th century.  Formerly called Place Daumesnil, the square was given its current name in 1947 in the memory of Félix Eboué (1884-1944), a French colonial administrator and politician who was among the first people to join the Free France government led by General Charles de Gaulle during World War II.  Installed at the center of the square is the Fontaine du Château d'Eau, a large circular basin supporting three smaller ones and decorated with eight statues of lions spitting jets of water.

I met a girl while crossing the street on Place Félix Eboué.  No, we were not on the crosswalk, but on the platform on the middle.  When I asked her if she was from Madison, Wisconsin, she stated that there were few chances that I would run into someone from Madison in the vicinity.  Noting that, I asked her if she wanted to have a drink.  She said no and went on to cross the rest of the road, walking rather briskly.

Here are some other interesting scenes captured during the strolls:

Jardin Hector Malot, accessible from Promenade plantée

Rue du faubourg Saint-Antoine in the direction of Place de la Bastille

Barrio Latino, a salsa spot on Sundays

Where rollerbladers and skateboarders meet on Place de la Bastille

Look, it's the Maison de la RATP!

The Cinémathèque Française in hiding

Passerelle Simone de Beauvoir towards the 13th arrondissement

Passerelle Simone de Beauvoir towards the 12th arrondissement

When metro line 6 crosses the Seine

Jardinière Avenue Daumesnil

small talk

Inspired by the discovery of a book titled "Le grand art de la petite conversation" (English edition: "The Fine Art of Small Talk") at a FNAC store in Paris last week, I thought that it would be neat to address the topic of small talk.  The book was written by Debra Fine, a communication expert, and I am still reading it.

In order for the loner in me to have the social skills necessary for a fulfilling life, it would make sense that I strove to get better in small talk.  Fittingly, I devoted an entire operation to the subject.

Operation Small Talk would resemble what follows Operation Bonjour when it comes to having an interaction with a stranger.  Whereas the latter requires merely saying "Bonjour" to an unfamiliar person who just happens to be at the right place and the right time, the former is all about having a light conversation that starts off with something other than "Bonjour".  In essence, Operation Small Talk gets directly to the heart of the matter, bypassing the rule of beginning with a standard greeting.

The operation consists of creating 10 small talk moments in the course of a week.  For someone who was naturally sociable, which currently does not apply to me, this would be a trivial task that could even be completed in one day.  What constitutes a small talk moment is a verbal exchange that I initiate with a stranger and that does not begin by "Bonjour", "Excusez-moi" or something similar.  People at work in places like shops and restaurants do not count as strangers, since they are generally expected to cater to people.  As far the exchange itself, I started off simple ‒ saying something to the unfamiliar person and hearing him respond once.  If he does not respond, then there is no small talk moment.  In general, I do not retry with some other sentence; instead, I accept the rejection and move on.  Once I complete the operation 10 times over 10 separate weeks (meaning 100 small talk moments), I take things to the next level ‒ for example, saying something to the person and hearing them respond on two separate occasions.  After that, I keep setting up more difficult levels to reach, until each exchange ends up being a substantial conversation.  At that point, one could claim to be naturally sociable and the operation would be no longer necessary.

Any moment of small talk created in the hopes of connecting with someone does not require deep topics of conversation.  In addition, there is more than the weather.  There are your surroundings, which are usually rich with all sorts of information, be it people, animals, objects, behaviors, events, etc..  There is also your mind, which is busy processing this information in multiple ways, which in turn produces even more information.  Imagine that this new information that you just produced was shared instantaneously with someone within your physical reach.  That would potentially be a small talk moment.

In order to increase my chances of creating these moments, I do my best to remain aware when I am surrounded by people.  Even though I like exploring the contents of my mind, I figure that sharing with someone a thought that I just had would also allow me to discover things.  It could be some practical information that I was not expecting to receive on a subject that I was familiar with or an opinion on a topic that I knew little about.  In addition, the discovery could lie somewhere beyond the person's actual reply.  I could find out that the person actually had a friendly demeanor whereas I had initially assumed otherwise or I could recognize that despite our obvious differences, we were both essentially seeking similar things.

As if Debra Fine's book does not say enough about the value of it, I would argue that small talk helps people (including the person initiates it) to open up and thereby encourages trust.  Interestingly enough, it seems that if we had more trust in ourselves and in others, we would be able to open up even more.  I may be a loner, but I want to be open too.

I conclude with two examples of small talk moments that come to mind and that both happened recently.

One evening two weeks ago, in an Eric Kayser bakery that I go to several times a week, I picked up on an unusual yet rather pleasant smell.  Yet all I was surrounded by was bread and pastries.  In all truth, there was also a variety of bottled drinks and boxes of prepared dishes in self-service, but the smell could not come from there.  Noticing that there was a lady ahead of me in line, I said, '"Ca sent le poisson ici !" ("Why it smells like fish in here!")  She turned around, looking amused, and said, "Effectivement, je sens le poisson aussi !" ("Indeed, I smell fish too !").  I was relieved.

At lunchtime last Wednesday, I was in the cafeteria of my work building.  I took a break from approaching the pretty girls around by joining the queue for the grilled dish of the day.  Along the queue was a dessert stand, from which I picked up one of the ready-made fruit salad bowls.  The guy behind me also picked up a bowl, but I noticed that his was about only 60% full.  Hello!  Small talk moment!  So I intervened by saying to him, "Il y a encore de bols qui sont plus remplis de salade" ("There are still bowls that have more salad"), indicating with a hand gesture the difference between the contents of his bowl and those of the others on the stand.  Once he understood, he replaced his bowl almost instantly.  "Merci !" ("Thanks!"), he said, before making a comment that I did not hear clearly on the benefits of eating fruits.

why i love paris (6)

On Thursday, May 29, 2014, just four days after the drawing session in the 14th arrondissement of Paris, I joined the Paris Sketchers crew at the Institut du Monde Arabe (Arab World Institute), an organization that is dedicated to presenting the cultures of the Arab world among other things and whose building is located by the Seine in the 5th arrondissement.  It was Jeudi de l'Ascension (Feast of the Ascension), a public holiday, and I was thrilled about the idea of spending the afternoon in good company in a place that I had always been curious about but that I had never visited.

For this special event, I owe a lot to Marina, who organized the outing.  She wrote a brief and enticing presentation about everything that the Institute had to offer an urban sketcher, noting in particular the "Il était une fois l'Orient Express" exhibition that was ongoing.  I got excited upon reading this, even though what fascinated me the most was the panoramic view of Paris from the rooftop of the building.  A view that was accessible for free.

I arrived at the Institute around 2pm, by way of Vélib.  A locomotive was on display close to the building, welcoming visitors and passers-by.  Nearby on the parvis was a line of train cars, a queue along it, and a longer one in front of a ticket counter that was decorated as if it belonged in a train station.  The Orient Express.  The celebrated train service that connected several cities in Europe to others in the Middle East as early as 1883.  This was definitely a special event.

I found a few familiar sketchers outside, including Marina, and went to say hello.  Most of them, including Tula and Jean-Marc, were already at work.  Feeling the urge to join them, I began to figure out what I should sketch.  Marina had mentioned the view of the Notre-Dame cathedral from the rooftop of the building, but I was still undecided.  It was sort of a dilemma: would I remain outside to contemplate the locomotive, the train cars, and/or the building that had intrigued me for years, or would I go inside this same building to see what was interesting from the rooftop?

I decided on the latter.  And five minutes later, I was on the rooftop, having taken the elevator nine floors up.  Admiring the view where I could, as tourists were all over the place, I eventually laid my eyes on Notre-Dame, in the west.  In its direction, I spotted a corner that was somewhat isolated and from where I could get the closest and clearest view of Notre-Dame.  I went towards it, certain that it would become my drawing location.

I set up my equipment and started sketching what I saw.  Within the two hours that it took me to finish, Marina stopped by and did some sketches of her own in watercolor.  I had only met her once before, on a previous outing, but being up there with her gave me the opportunity to know her better.  She eventually left to go sketch elsewhere, but not before we confirmed the meeting time at the cafe across from the building.

I was feeling a high after having taken on Notre-Dame from such a viewpoint and was largely satisfied with the result, especially since it was the first great Parisian monument that I had ever drawn.  Having time to kill before reuniting the group, I decided to enjoy more of the setting by doing two quick 30-minute pen sketches of the cathedral and its surroundings.

Once the sketches were completed, I said goodbye to the rooftop and took the elevator downstairs.  I was going to show up late at the café.

***

On the evening of Thursday, August 28, 2014, I returned to the Institut du Monde Arabe without the sketchers.  This time, I did not go to the rooftop.  I was not even interested in entering the building, which was already closed.  Quite simply, I showed up for the attraction of the moment, which I had chosen not to sketch the last time around: the Orient Express.

Why return three months later?  Because the exhibition was ending on August 31st.  And I wanted to mark the moment in a sketch, or several.  Better late than never.

I came back two days later, on Saturday, August 30, 2014, for a more serious drawing.  I wanted everything in the composition: the locomotive, the train cars, the building.  I was able to pull it off, even though it took me five hours over two days.  Two days, because I came back the following day, the last day of the exhibition, to put the finishing touches.

Thanks to Marina, who had given me a free ticket, I was able to visit the train cars open to the public on the second day.  The following are some souvenirs from my tour.

I had a few amusing moments with security officials working at the exit of the train car tour.  They had seen me sketching earlier from their post and had come over from time to time to take a look at my work.   As I came out with everyone else in my tour group, one of them volunteered to take pictures of me inside the train cars with my camera.  So I went with him and had my pictures taken without anyone else in sight.  Precious.  Later on, another security guard called out to me while I was sketching to offer some encouraging words: "You have a talent, you should exploit it ... you have get yourself known ..."  Flattered and embarrassed, I replied "OK, but later", to which he said "Time is running out ..."  And as I was leaving for good, he added "Do not forget."  "What?", I asked.  "What I told you earlier."

The icing on the cake was the moment on Pont de Sully when I crossed paths with Jack Lang, the president of Institut du Monde Arabe and a former Minister of Culture, as I walked towards Place de la Bastille to catch the metro.

operation rescue

If there was an operation that I was struggling with greatly, it would have to be Bar Games.

I mentioned Bar Games previously in an article but I have not really presented it.  Well, let me take the opportunity to give you an introduction.

Just like Operation 50 First States, Bar Games has me going through the arrondissements of Paris from the 1st to the 20th.  But unlike 50 First States, which takes place on the street, Bar Games takes place ‒ as you guessed it ‒ in a bar.  Or in just about any nightlife venue with a counter and patrons who can have drinks there.  The general idea is to create unusual (if not fun) situations with people in a bar, and to up the ante on my antics each time I move up an arrondissement.  From the 1st to the 7th, which is the last completed arrondissement at the time of writing, I have done things like saying simply "Hi!" to random people, inviting them to a toast with "Cheers!", and asking them "So are you guys left-siders?".  Oh yes, the interactions happen in English.  And what results is sometimes surprising, usually in a good way.

An arrondissement is completed once I have carried out the operation in the above manner in five different bars within that arrondissement.

My struggles with the operation have been recent.  It was not about completing the operation, but simply about launching it in a given bar.  These difficulties started in the 7th.  Perhaps it was due to the small number of eligible bars in an arrondissement filled with embassies, government buildings and posh residences.  Or perhaps it was the result of a lack of resolve on my part.  Whatever the reasons may be, I had a hard time.  What should not have taken more than two months (to get through five bars) took six.  So when I finally completed the arrondissement, I felt more relieved than joyful.

Ladurée Champs-Elysées

As bad as it was in the 7th, things were even worse in the 8th.  I could not get past the first bar!  As I had a rule of starting an arrondissement by going to the bars that I had visited before, I had to first make it past the bar of the Ladurée site on the Champs-Elysées, which I had been to on two occasions in the past with friends.  Actually, it was the only bar that I remembered in the 8th, so I really had to get through it in order to move on.  But I couldn't.  I stopped by on at least five different nights and everytime except once, I could not muster the courage to leave my seat to approach the other few patrons around.  The one time that I did manage to do that, the response from the people at the first table was "Well, I am happy that you are a left-sider.  I am here with my friends and we are just trying to enjoy our evening together."  Yet given the body language and the voice tone of the girl who delivered those words, what she seemed to be really communicating was "You could not bother us any more than you are bothering us now."  I was crushed, and without a bounce-back strategy prepared, I abandoned the idea of going to the other tables and returned to my seat, believing that I had done something wrong and feeling more ashamed than discouraged.  I quietly finished my drink, paid the bill, and exited the bar.  In short, a failed operation (again).

Sure, all this was my own interpretation of the events.  It was like as if I was looking for real proof from the patrons or the staff of the bar that I was doing something wrong by running the operation there.  Why?  Well, the bar looked posh, compared to any of the ones I had been to in the seven past arrondissements.  And posh places tend to elicit a certain kind of behavior from the people who spend time in them.  Say the kind where people stay at their table and where there is no mingling with people at other tables.  Of course, there is no rule stating that this is the behavior to adopt in such establishments.  But most people behave like this, in places beyond posh bars for that matter, so this is considered normal or at least socially acceptable behavior.  While being guilty of acting in a very similar fashion in bars, I thought that it was a crippling habit, since the operation that I wanted to carry out clearly required something different.  As a result, each time that I went out, I experienced a conflict between my fear (of what people would think) and my desire (to do something unusual), and ended up giving into the former.

After the stress of too many failures, I decided to get out of this conflict by taking a step back.  A step back, almost literally, since I was envisioning a return to the bars of the 7th, the previous arrondissement.  Clearly, I was not ready to take on the challenge of those in the 8th, so why not go build confidence doing something less difficult, something which I had done before anyway, and after that retake the step forward?  The idea sounded too good.

Too bad that it did not work out too well when I tried it out.  When I went out to the 7th, I found out that the first bar was no longer there.  Or perhaps it was being renovated.  In any case, I saw no one and no entrance.  I had put all my eggs into one basket ... er, I mean bar, and I had to accept trying out the other bars if I wanted to take my idea seriously.  The warrior in me decided to continue.  But without a total resolve after the bad news of the first bar.  Ultimately, upon catching sight of the crowd in the second bar from outside, I lost all focus, gave up on the operation, and started figuring out my way home.

Strike two.

I was fed up.  Though still the warrior, I came up with an even bolder idea than the previous one.  Going back to the Ladurée bar in a do-or-die situation and burying the operation for good if I did not complete it there.  In essence, it was like a win-or-go-home event, as some American sport commentators would say.  It seemed like the necessary thing to do, and it was dirt simple.  Do I care enough about my beloved operation to keep it alive, or am I satisfied with imagining solutions (to my problems) that I will never implement?  That was the question.  And hesitating to respond was giving me too much stress.  I deemed a resolution necessary, so that I could move on.  It's not like I absolutely needed to do Operation Bar Games.  After all, I could suffer.

But since I did not want to suffer, I decided to carry out my new idea the day after my return to the 7th bombed.  Besides, I needed to achieve my quota of operations completed during the week, and time was of the essence.

D-Day.  I was pumped about the task that I was going to accomplish and naturally a little anxious as well.  The do-or-die aspect was extremely motivating.  I was just going to enter the bar and do what I set out to do: approach the patrons, regardless of whether they were young or not, with a family or not.  I would leave them alone only if their reactions showed that they were not open to my visit.  And if the members of the staff were displeased with it, then they should better let me know.

I arrived around 9:10pm.  I spotted a group of four young people seated at a table beside the entrance, and a young couple and a baby in stroller on the right side of the U-shaped counter.  I passed the couple on my way to my usual spot.  I was a little sweaty and decided to chill for a moment, in spite of these opportunities ready to seize.  "I'll use the time to prepare myself mentally for the task", I told myself, while hoping at the same time that this decision was not the sign of a loss of focus, however small.

I ordered my usual glass of cranberry juice.  Actually, I did not have to ask for it.  The server at the bar knew that it was what I had always got during my previous visits and suggested it.  She gave it to me with a strawberry hanging on the rim of the glass, which was a new touch.  I sipped away while reading the book "Dieu voyage toujours incognito" by Laurent Gounelle (English edition: "The Man Who Risked It All") that I had brought out from my shoulder bag.  All the while, I kept my mind regularly on the clock, knowing that the real reason I was there was not to read a book, as exciting as it was.

I decided to jump into action at 9:30.  I was just going to do it, that is, get up off my seat and start approaching the group of four, whether it was considered wrong or not, whether I was still sweating from anxiety or not.  Beforehand, two Asian girls had arrived and had taken seats at the left side of the bar counter.  It was certainly good news, since I needed people to be able to get the job done.  But they had ordered to eat, so I was not going to bother them for a toast, at least for the moment.  "Shit, I'm playing it safe again", I told myself, critically.

So 9:30 arrived, my nerves were tingling madly, and in almost robotic motion, I got down from my seat, took my glass in hand, and started walking towards the group of four by the entrance.  And when I could, I was thinking, "I hope that they [the male and female servers] won't think this is weird and won't end up kicking me out."  Clearly, I had some issues with taking the risk of making mistakes ... mistakes in public.

Eventually, I reached my destination and delivered the magic words, accompanied by the appropriate gestures.  "Hi!"  "Cheers!"  "Are you guys left-siders?"  The two guys in the group seemed cautious and kept mum, whereas the two girls with them were quite responsive.  One of them was especially cheerful, which put me quickly at ease.  In fact, she did not only reply my question by telling me that she was right-handed (or left-handed, I forget which), she also started a new conversation by asking me what I thought about French President François Hollande.  That was a first.  Moments later, I said goodbye to them and left to head back to my seat, elated about having broken the ice.  Then I just had to do that four more times.

For some reason or the other, I was not sure whether to approach the young couple next.  I passed them again without talking to them.  Well, you snooze, you lose: minutes later, they packed up and left the bar.

While a part of me lamented the loss, another part eagerly awaited an opportunity for Approach #2.

Shortly afterwards, a French family of four walk into the bar and take seats at the left side of the counter, beside the Asian girls and directly across from me.  There was the man, his wife, and their two adolescent children, a boy and girl.  Hmmn, going over to a French family to ask them if they were left-siders.  How unusual.  As a result, I was hesitant.  Besides, they too were going to eat, like their Asian neighbors.  I decided to return to my book, keeping an eye on them to find out if they had finished eating and if all that they had left were drinks.  And then, a middle-aged French couple arrived and took seats on my side of the counter, three or four seats away from me, where the previous couple and baby had been earlier.  This was wonderful.  "I will not falter, like I did with my previous neighbors", I said, trying to convince myself.

I decided to make my next move around 10:10.  I had guessed that the Asian girls would have finished eating by then.  I was still hesitant about the French family beside them.  The French couple beside me were likely targets as they were having drinks.  Soon enough, the clock struck 10:10.  I got up and started walking towards the other side of the counter, passing by the couple.  I did not stop until I was behind the girls, drawing their attention.  I delivered my lines and raised my glass, but their comprehension of my words and gestures did not seem to inspire them to do more than say "Hi" in return and smile when I said "Cheers!"  Without great surprise, they did not give the impression of having understood my English when I asked if they were left-siders.  So I left, but not without smiling back.  Two down, three to go.  I was feeling high and brave enough to go over to the French family just nearby before I noticed that they were talking with the server at the bar.  It felt uncomfortable waiting behind the two Asian girls for their conversation to end.  My feelings of euphoria had quickly disappeared.  So I turned around and walked towards my seat, stopping before the French couple.  My interaction with them was pretty quick; they used the "I-don't-speak-English" card, at the same not appearing offended about my visit.  But I was not disappointed at all.  On the contrary:  I just scored another approach, with two more to go.  And I was thinking to myself, "I can do this!  I can really do this!"

Back at my seat, the family of four had ordered dessert.  I decided to wait before heading over and picked up my book again while I continued sipping the cranberry juice out of my glass.  Once they had finished dessert (and could certainly order nothing more), I wanted to make my move.  Except that I was now out of juice!  So I gave in to the idea of ordering another glass.  But that it was not the female server who was around, but the male server, who handed me my drink without a strawberry.  Great.  Despite the disappointment, I did not waste time in redirecting my attention to the family.  The father was about to ask for the bill.  "No!  Wait!", I shouted, without a voice.  It was then or never if I was going to make my move.  Well, I did not budge, believing that it was no longer any use to go over there, even if their drinks were still on the table.  So I just watched them leave as I began to regret the several opportunities lost to approach them.  I mean, it was not like I absolutely wanted to have a conversation with them.  I just wanted to ask them my questions.  Why would I not allow myself to do what I want?

I carried on this session of self-criticism for a long while, especially since no new patrons were coming in.  The place looked dead.  In truth, with the exception of Valentine's Day, the bar was usually devoid of people on each night that I had come.  Sure, it was relegated to the back of the building, beyond the restaurant which was facing the Champs-Elysees, and behind the shop near at the entrance that was very popular with tourists.  Some curious people slipped into the bar, but only to look around, take pictures, and then leave.  And in my mind I was telling them, "No, stay!  Have a drink!  Wait a while!"

I kept dwelling on those missed opportunities.  If only I had done this, if only I had done that, this operation would have been done, and I would have been a happy man.  I am almost there, just two more approaches.  This operation cannot die.  What will I do?  I mean, I'm still in the fight.  I don't want to give up, but nobody's coming in anymore.  Time's running out.  I think they are going to close the bar soon.  Oh no!  Now I feel really bad after all that hesitation towards earlier opportunities.

After thirty minutes of suffering during which I tried to avoid the pain by concentrating on my book, a group of four entered the bar and took seats by the entrance.  "Yes!", I said to myself, joyful.  They looked like a family ‒ a man, a woman and two teenage girls ‒ and they seemed American.  They placed their order, which included drinks and desserts.  I decided to wait a while before moving in.  During this time, I saw a young couple enter the room, and it looked like they were going to stay.  "Yes!  This is it.  You got this", I told myself.  They settled into seats at the counter, with their backs to the entrance and within close proximity of the American family.  Soon enough, they were standing, taking pictures of the place.  Tourists!

At 11:10, I felt that it was time to end this drama once and for all.  So, without as much resistance as before, I got up and went towards the table where the American family was seated.  The man had just gone out of the bar, which left me alone with the woman and the two girls.  I arrived and delivered my opening, which had a rather lukewarm reception.  The girls looked hardly interested, and did not engage much in the conversation.  I was practically speaking with the lady, who was more welcoming, though not that much.  "Well, it was nice meeting you," she said, smiling.  I wished them a good stay in Paris and wasted little time in heading over to the young couple a few steps away.

It was the fifth and hence the last visit of the operation, and probably be the longest and the most comfortable.  The best for last, perhaps.  Anyway, I met Zach and Katrina ‒ we even had proper introductions ‒, who said that they were from the left coast (to mean the west coast) of the United States.  Los Angeles to be more precise.  Zach told me that they were in Europe for two weeks, spending the first in Paris and then the second in Brussels with a quick trip to Bruges.  Having visited Bruges on two occasions, I suggested places to visit, notably the Chocolate Museum and Fry Museum.  They were both curious about what left-siders were and I explained the concept to them.  I doubt that I succeeded in retaining their interest.  Note to self:  I need to improve my communication skills on a subject this important.

Five minutes later, I was back at my seat, overjoyed.  I could not believe that I had actually completed the operation.  After all those attempts made and all those glasses of cranberry juice drank.  I was free to move on.  I was in a great mood.  I was even in a greater mood given that I had came close to not finishing, as the server informed a group of three men upon their arrival that the bar was already closed.  Imagine.  If I had not taken the chances that I did take, I would probably not have been able to complete the operation and it would have died.

But no, it gets to stay alive.

My satisfaction reached a high.  I began to open up more to the two servers.  I learned from the girl that the bar would close for the summer in about two weeks ‒ what luck that I came that night ‒ and that she was going afterwards on vacation to Greece for two weeks.  Later on, when she was absent and the guy was around, I asked him what his vacation plans were.  Los Angeles.  "Really?", I asked.  "That customer at the end of the counter is from Los Angeles, you have got to talk to him", I added, pointing to the spot where Zach was.  "Oh, I was there last year, so I know my way around," he replied.  He said he really liked the city.

At 11:30, almost two and a half hours after my arrival in the bar, I took off, having settled my two drinks.  There was still some cranberry juice in the last glass.  I could not take it anymore, my mouth was not having it.  As I approached the exit, I passed by the family of four and said goodbye again to Zach and Katrina.  A minute later, I had poured myself out onto the Champs-Elysées.  The avenue was lit up and buzzing as usual.  I joined the crowd of passers-by, my spirits high and my conscience calm, as I enjoyed knowing that Operation Bar Games got to live again.

Maybe if the bar often looked like this, the operation would have been done with earlier?

a week in the life of misfit

It has been a great week.

Notably because I was accepting myself as a misfit.  Really.

The previous week was disastrous, and when I went searching for reasons, I found out that I was not accepting the misfit in me.  In other words, I was repressing the misfit instead of allowing it to reveal itself in my everyday experiences, especially the ones shared with other people, familiar or not.

So just before the week started, I decided to consciously hand over more control to the misfit.  More precisely, it was about handing over more control of my operations to the misfit.  If I found myself feeling any resistance to the tasks that I had to perform for an operation ‒ tasks that were born out of my own imagination ‒, I would simply tell myself, "But you are a misfit.  What you have to do does not fit.  It is not usual.  That is the very definition of misfit.  That is what a misfit does.  To do otherwise would be to fit in.  Besides, you know very well what happens when you do not accept the misfit."  And then, with that clarity in the mind, the resistance would start to dissipate.  The misfit would suddenly become more empowered and would end up completing the task.  And all would be well.  In fact, very well.  With the resistance a thing of the past, all that was left to feel was joy.  That is until the next operation came around.

Since there is usually a few ways to fit and numerous ways to not fit, I prefer being a misfit who can select carefully from the multitude of opportunities available.  This involves leaving out ways of being a misfit that provide little value.  For example, it "fits" to cross the road by walking forward when the pedestrian light is green, and sometimes even when it is red.  On the other hand, it does not fit to cross by walking backward when the same light is red.  But that is something a misfit could do.  Now is there value in doing that?  Perhaps yes, if it is linked to the risk of avoidable injury.  But I doubt that most people find value in that.  It seems to me that most people want to be alive or, better yet, comfortable.  So I think that it is generally best that those of us who choose to not fit do something of value.  And according to Simon Sinek, the standard of what constitutes doing something of value is our own.

Often, I try to add value as a misfit by demonstrating different ways in which we can connect with the people around us.  So this past week, I set out to do just that.

Whereas the majority of people in the Paris metro do not (yet) greet a nearby stranger, I said "Bonjour!" to someone in the metro upon entering and "Bonne journée !" when either I or the person was getting off, regardless of what time of the day it was.  I was not always successful, but there is always next week.

Whereas the majority of people where I work do not (yet) greet members of other teams sharing the open space with them, I went to go say hello to each person in the area in the late afternoon on Wednesday.  On some occasions, the interaction went beyond the initial hello.

Whereas the majority of people go to the supermarket to buy groceries, I showed up at one of the largest ones in my neighborhood in the early afternoon on Saturday to ask the staff for permission to stand inside by the entrance, just to say "Bonjour !" to shoppers as they arrived.  The cashier who I was speaking with was unsure about what decision to make, repeating that it was company policy that any activity involving solicitations take place outside the store.  While we waited (unsuccessfully) for the manager to come deliver a more definite answer, I tried to reassure her that that it was just an idea that had popped into my head and that I was interested in exploring.  She at least let out a smile when I told her that I tended to have ideas like that one.

These are all but a few examples of things that someone who sees himself as a misfit could do.  And I believe that they provide value.  To myself, and perhaps to some like-minded misfit out there.

In some way, being a misfit affords greater liberty than being someone who fits.  Just because there are much more ways to not fit than to fit.  It is like trying to fill a square hole when you have 100 pegs of distinct shapes.  Only a square peg will fit perfectly into a square hole.  The rest, including the rectangular peg, the triangular peg, and the round peg, will not fit.  As people that are looking to not fit, we are free to choose among the 99 pegs.  Now wouldn't it be great if we added value with the choice that we made?


Only when we paint the thing that doesn't fit bright red does it become a thing of beauty.

‒ Simon Sinek

creativity for dummies

This is just too good.

Creativity Something has published "The New Rules of a Creator's Life".

This follows the 2011/12 edition of their "Rules of a Creator's Life", which I had included in an article that you may have read.

Needless to say, all these "rules" speak directly to my soul.  Even though I do not always succeed in applying them, I am glad that I know them.  They just make sense to me.

So why bother anyway with creativity, or the power of creation?  A simple reason is that it occupies the mind.  Another simple reason that I find more important is that it can enrich lives, and not just that of the creator.

There are several popular beliefs regarding creativity.  For example, some people think that something that is not original cannot be a sign of creativity.  I beg to differ.  One can argue that creativity and originality are related, but they mean two different things.  Originality is concerned primarily with new things.  Creativity, on the other hand, implies creating something, whether new or not.  I could say "Hello!" 10 times each to 10 different strangers over the course of the day, and I would believe that I was creating something each time: an interaction that had not existed before.

Also, there is the misconception that creativity is mostly reserved for artists or people in art-related industries.  I imagine that this idea is based on the assumption that art is about things like drawing, painting, sculpture, dancing, photography, etc., even though art is much broader that that (I should probably not even try to define what art is).  Again, creativity implies creating something.  It does not matter whether you are a painter, a factory worker, an engineer, a secretary or even an occasional daydreamer.  As long as you are spending your time producing something that did not exist before, you are creating.  At least that is what I think.

In a way, we are always creating.  Our lives, for one thing.

While we are all generally capable of creating things, there are different levels of creativity.  Some require little effort whereas others require much more.  Also, some have an impact on an individual ‒ possibly the creator ‒ and others have an impact on society, as noted by the psychology professor Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi in his book "Creativity", where he distinguishes creativity with a c from creativity with a C.  Whatever the case may be, if you are looking to bring about more creativity in your life, you can check out the rules above or simply read no more than the message below.

"Everything I needed to know about creativity I learned by making mistakes"