In France They Kiss on Main Street

I'm in Amiens, France today, just a few blocks from the Cathedral. A bunch of students are out getting a dinner of Kebab and Frites, but I'm taking the night off to catch up on my notes. My notes are in sorry shape. What's worse, I'm getting centuries and even cathedrals mixed up. It's starting to blur together, like cars on a freeway. When you study at least one oversized thousand-year-old structure per day, they start to overwhelm the senses and the memory. 

In France, they kiss on main street. That's what Joni Mitchell says. Rather, I've found a few other things that are more common on main streets:

• Kebab joints.
• Kebab joints, and any joint, that serves frites (fries) and mayonnaise. A whole lotta mayo, as Page...wouldn't sing. Along with the mayo, there's a lot of orangina and limonade floating around.  It's a happy thing. Well, not the mayo, but the refreshing drinks.
• Dog poop. The French love their dogs (which is wonderful; I make at least one new friend every day!) and they take them everywhere. Hotel? Restaurant? Mall? No problem. And no self-respecting French person, it seems, picks up the leftovers. So when you're out walking on a sidewalk, you just have to watch your step. It doesn't seem like the end of the universe. For some reason, it seems that French dogs' tootsie rolls don't stink as bad as Americans' anyway. Maybe the dogs eat healthier here, too.
• Clothing stores. Clothing everywhere. Right now (I called it!) slightly monochromatic, drapey folds of clothing are in style. Especially in taupes and grays (which, I might remind my friends, is reminiscent of my recent obsession with champagne and off-color pearl tones). I have many outfits like that, but didn't bring any of them because they weren't practical. Word of advice for someone planning to do Europe: DO PACK more clothing than Rick Steves and everyone else says. Don't overpack, but don't underpack. I feel like a schmuck in my same gauchos every day, especially since I have some really artistic ensembles that would fit right in here. At home.
• Along with that: nice shoes. Everyone wears nice shoes. We all knew this. I'm quite comfortable, mind you, in my black and army-green Chaco sandals, but I will occasionally slip on my goldish-pink slippers just to look a little cultured.
• Also, I think I know why French perfume is so popular. The pipes here, for some reason, sometimes have a sulfurous smell. There's this repeating, underlying smell. I did encounter the same thing in London. Maybe I'm just spoiled living in the Pacific Northwest. Maybe I'm just really sensitive.
• Last thing that is common on main street, anywhere in France: buildings that are older than my country. Buildings that are older than colonization in my country. Buildings that are older than archeological digs in my country. I have a couple hundred photos of the partially wooden structures with the cross beams and cute little leaden glass crosshatched windows. They sometimes lean into the street or away from the street, depending on original orientation and the settling of the ground and materials. 
  

A lot of the older parts of town had one level, at the bottom, that was wide enough for buggies to get through, with large arched windows where merchants did their business at street level. The second and sometimes third stories, then, were often built out over the street, to make more floor room, and were where merchants and others lived. So the streets would be narrow; as Stephanie, one of the students, quipped, you could probably have coffee with your neighbor across the way without leaving your house. A few days ago in Clermont-Ferrand, we walked to an old part of town where the buildings dated from the 12th to 15th centuries and later. There were Romanesque elements, old tiny courtyards encased in buildings where a public fountain would have been. There was a shop now called something like the Apothocarie's Bar (in French) because it was once a pharmacy of its day. At the top, two gargoyle-like statues illustrated the building's use: One, on the viewer's left, was the upper body of a man, leaning out from the roof, pointing a needle. The other, on the right side of the roof, was a woman's exposed and bent-over bottom. Literal advertisement for a mostly illiterate society.

But that doesn't mean they were uncouth; it's just that the grotesque and the bodily elements (particularly nether-regions) were acceptable topics in the 13th and 14th (?) centuries. By contrast, the older Romanesque statues (which would be from the early 12th century on) which featured full nudity in a more flattering way, were deemed inappropriate and often removed from buildings. An example is Giselvertus's gorgeous carving of Eve, which was removed from Autun because it was inappropriate. But other churches from Autun's time and later have naked butts hanging off the pilasters. A set of ancient wooden choir benches at one of the churches we went to (I'd need to look up the name) features little carved figures above each section--one of which is a woman exposing her genetalia. It seems raunch to us, and it was part of the most sanctified part of the church, where the laypeople weren't even allowed to see!

We're guilty of the same blind spots. A lot of people in our own time will say that gay love is disgusting and then turn around and watch CSI Special Victims Unit while chowing down on pizza. We are victims of our time and the ideologies that surround us.

Anyway, I've written enough for tonight and my real goal is to GET STARTED ON THAT PAPER already. Signing out.

Oh, just a few more things: Today was exciting because we drove through Paris. I saw the Eiffel Tower, the Champs Elysses, and some other exciting, fabulous buildings that are associated with Paris because they are located there (amazing coincidence, yes?). Our bus driver is pretty rad and he altered our route so that we were literally a few feet away from above-mentioned structures. We also drove around the Egyptian obelisk that marks the spot of the French Revolutionary guillotine. Slight bummer. On a positive note, though, they were getting it all ready for Obama's visit. He'll be speaking on the same spot. Nice historical contrast. I hope it stays peaceful while he's here (it just occurred to me). We also drove right over the spot where Princess Diana was killed. Major damper on the day. Then we drove past a motorcycle accident in a busy intersection. The motorcyclist was lying on his side in the street (and, fortunately, an ambulance was on its way and he had people looking out for him) and the motorcycle itself was literally sticking out of a windshield. Suspended like that, with a wheel in the windshield and the other pointed toward the sky. It was surreal.To add to that, a few days ago I was sleeping but most of us in the van witnessed a motorcyclist skid sideways and wreck. So those are not so good moments. I hope everyone involved is okay. 

Well, over and out...