Paris loves the voxtrot!

VOXTROT and LONEY, DEAR at La Fleche D’Or:

What a cool venue. Not far from La Maroquinerie, in a seemingly less than glamorous section of the 20^th at the far western edge of Paris, sits La Fleche D’Or – on this « Soirée Indie Rock » , an indie rock venue ‘til midnight-ish, a dance club after. I came in during the second band (of five – not a typical Paris show) and talked to Ramesh a bit who is just the sweetheart you’d think he is – just so nice and I would think a pretty awesome person. We talked about France (he knows enough French to get by from his mom), his solo performance on a French radio show the next day (he wasn’t sure which songs he’d play), their upcoming set (I wondered if they’d play “Warmest Part of the Winter”, which he said – and I agree actually – would be kind of boring onstage here but thought it made a potentially good choice for the radio show!), his drink he didn’t like, and a popular lesbian club in Paris.

Before Voxtrot was Loney Dear, who I didn’t realize I knew until he started singing – that unmistakable voice! (and there’s always gonna be this little girl inside of me…)

Unfortunate that he came on then, because the crowd was still a little high from the energy of the last band, The Jai Alai Savant (who were pretty good I thought), and was also excited for Voxtrot – it just wasn’t the best environment for his type of music, which requires more patience and, quiet. I still was convinced that I need to go get his CD at some point, though.

Wow – wow – when Voxtrot took the stage – well, the keyboardist remarked halfway through their set (which was short, maybe a half hour) that they were amazed to have this sort and this much of a response for their first time in Paris, and frankly, so was I. They went absolutely nuts. Maybe it had a lot to do with the fact that I was one person from the very front and around me was a group of really rowdy, excited fans that danced, jumped, screamed, crowdsurfed at one point, and even stormed the stage during the last song, one girl running right into the bassist – god, they were shameless – I mean they just hoisted themselves up there, scattered amongst the little space there was left on stage, and danced! So maybe I got a different impression being in the middle of all that, but even just the fact that there was a group of people that excited, and that the rest of the crowd if perhaps not that extreme was still nonetheless really into them, well, that definitely said something about the band and how far their music has reached. And just how damn good they are… and how big they could be in the near future, especially after they put out their first full-length album. Watch out, everyone!

Ramesh doesn't by any means stay still long enough for me to get a good picture...

(the stage-storming)

The set, though short, was great – all of the band had energy, but Ramesh, he brought it out of the audience too, jumping around on stage, running around, you couldn’t keep him still; he just seemed so happy to be there, playing for us. They played the big ones (“Raised by Wolves”, “Mothers Sisters Daughters and Wives”, “Soft and Warm” – much to my great relief! my favorite!), some new ones that sounded great, and ended with “The Start of Something” – that’s when the stage was besieged – and the crowd shouted and chanted so much that they brought them back on for one more, and they played another one – was it “Missing Pieces”? I’m not sure. But wow.

Afterwards I congratulated Ramesh briefly on how well the show went. He had said before they left the stage that he wanted to meet us all – and it indeed seemed that way, as he asked some others and I if we were sticking around – I wish I had, I’m sure he and the band hung out with their fans and had a great time. What cool people. And what a great venue. And what a great show! Damn! : )

Believe me and check out Voxtrot now, or don’t and check them out later when you hear of them yourself, because I’m pretty sure you will.

www.voxtrot.net

First Day of School

(Warning: Journal entry.)

Yes, my classes just started today. I love France.

Well, my real classes started today, you could say – my CUPA program course (art history: 19^th century French painting) and atelier course (figure drawing, in an independent studio in my arrondissement) already have, but the other three courses are at Université Paris VIII – St. Denis. It’s about an hour metro ride from me, which doesn’t seem that bad in this context since it’s on the metro and I’m used to factoring in a half hour/forty minutes for getting pretty much anywhere, but when I think of being back at Georgetown, wow, an hour commute to classes? It was enough to be “off-campus” and have to bear the 15-minute walk. It’s so different living and going to school in a city – perhaps I now can get a sense of what non-campus city schools like NYU and GW are like. Plus, in France, as we’re told, campuses aren’t as much of a home for students at all – besides not actually housing them, they’re more like just stops that have to be made during the day; where you come, take your class, and leave. There isn’t a connection to one’s university like there is at home in the US. There isn’t all that school pride and varsity sports teams and tradition and social events and all that make us so homesick for our universities in the states; that make our campuses become more home to us than where we’re really from.

Anyway, St. Denis isn’t um, the nicest area, but the school is pretty cool. They offer a lot of really fascinating sounding courses – many of which I didn’t sign up for because I was either afraid to take a high-level course in French or unwilling to take anything at remotely inconvenient times, including days like Thursdays and Fridays (ha) – and have all the departments I’d consider taking classes in. Hardly any of the other universities had a psychology department.

So here are some thoughts/notes from my first day; already some differences between the French system and what I’m used to are vividly apparent:

I arrived to my first class (Psychologie de la Santé) (santé = health) a half hour early, with something to read; I’d left myself plenty of time to find everything and see how long the metro journey was. I was surprised to see about 15 other students already there this early. It’s a good thing I got there though, because by the time 9am rolled around (when the class was supposed to start) (I had to concede and take one horribly early class), 30 or 40 more had piled in, and the last 20 or so had to go across the hall and grab tables and chairs from another room. The extra tables and chairs were packed so close to each other and to the professor’s desk that there was barely any space for her to speak, let alone sit down. I didn’t like this because I’d chosen a seat at the end of a table near the door, so I could get up and leave as inconspicuously as possible if I needed to for any reason, but now there were chairs placed in every possible space so that I’d have to make at least four people stand up to worm my way out of the room.

The professor finally arrived at 9:20, and it was not the professor listed on the course offering. Nope – that’s it. She didn’t even know the guy who everyone had expected to see. She then said something I didn’t understand and everyone got up, so I followed suit and realized we were moving to the room across the hall, which I didn’t think was much bigger, and it wasn’t, but at least we all had seats and table space now. So by the time we actually got going, it was closer to 9:30 – fine by me if that’s what happens every time, considering it’s a three hour course.

So, some things that surprised me: the first thing she did without saying anything about the subject was say that there would be a written final exam but that we could also choose to do an exposé (oral presentation) instead, and asked for a show of hands for who’d like to do that, and asked those people to come see her during the break and sign up. I mention this as surprising because it’s pretty much the first thing she said, at home we’d be given lots of time to decide what we wanted to do, and lots of information on each of the options before having to choose one. And we certainly wouldn’t be choosing our topics and dates on the first day either. Moving on… During class, a student said she couldn’t see what was written on the board, and suggested the teacher borrow her dry-erase pen since it was red – and she took it and used it – this is just interesting because it makes it seem like there’s less distance between the student and professor, as if she’s on the same level as we are, which is the opposite of what I’ve been told about French professors. I guess it varies. This was confirmed at the break, when everyone went outside and put their coats on and lit up a cigarette – including the professor. She smoked and talked with the other students, and looked like one too. Funny. We came back in after 20 minutes and in the second half, the students were talking to each other so loud – while the professor was lecturing – that sometimes I could barely hear what she was saying (ha, let alone understand it). I was amazed at their audacity – blatantly leaning over, joking around with each other, laughing, clearly paying no attention – and then it was the strangest thing, they seemed to know when she’d say something important, and everyone would get quiet all at once, and start taking notes. Hmm.

The three-hour course wasn’t nearly as bad as I thought it was, but maybe that’s because it started late…

I headed to my next three-hour course straight after, which started at the same time this one ended. Thankfully this one also started late. This professor carried herself very differently: she told us straight off, don’t talk when I talk, and this is an exchange: I spent time preparing a program for you, so do your part by cooperating with me.

This was Sociology de la Ville (of the city). The first thing she had us do was write down a list of words we associate with “city”, and then she had several of us read them out loud, and after the girl from Columbia went, whose French was far more terrible than mine, I was sufficiently encouraged to try, and read my list a few people later. Seems like a really interesting class, though it also seems I’m going to have to work! I suppose that’s kind of the point – I forget that sometimes nowadays.

Here are some pictures of the inside of my new favorite bathroom – haha – that sounds really weird but seriously, this bathroom is very interesting – it appears the wallpaper is very amenable to suggestions and additions, most often in the form of captions.

This one I like - according to the artist, this woman is thinking,
« I think that I love him but how can I be sure? Love is only an illusion... »

By land, by sea, by dirigible… The Decemberists arrive in Paris!

I quite stupidly thought I’d follow the model of the Hold Steady show at the same venue a week or so ago, and arrive an hour after doors and be okay. Why it didn’t click that the Decemberists are a lot bigger in France than the Hold Steady are, and that this show was indeed sold out, I don’t know. So I got there at 9, doors having been at 8, and I’d completely missed Lavender Diamond, who I remember vaguely liking at the last show in DC, and the place was packed. I’d actually planned on arriving a little earlier but of course was late. Anyway, I found a little space along the side and peered around for better spots but was too afraid to try and fail, so I held ground for the rest of the five minutes or so that were left before the band came on – they don’t waste time around here before, between, or after sets.

There was a couple next to me in which the obnoxious guy – who kept shouting song titles during breaks in between (I hate that! Like they’re really going to just change their setlist and play what you want to hear…) – seemed to insist on standing in front of his girlfriend – which was lame both for her, since she was a bit shorter, and for me, because it meant I couldn’t see too well either. There’s always someone you want to clock in the head with a hard object at a concert. Anyway it was hard to take pictures so what I did take, well, they’re not spectacular views but at least they’re better than, say, crappy camera phone pics or something.

They brought out Lavender Diamond for the last song before the encore, and again for the very last song. One of them brought out their little son (the one in the picture), who Colin beckoned out with a grin. Those two songs were actually the best of the night, in my opinion, because of all the energy – the Decemberists were tired, which Chris Funk confirmed after the show, as it was their last stop on what I think was a pretty long tour. I understand and don’t blame them, but couldn’t help but be let down, having seen them last at their amazing show in DC which was taped for NPR, which you would barely know was the same band compared with this show. Whereas both DC shows I saw (supporting Picaresque and then The Crane Wife) had Colin talking to the audience nonstop, interacting with us (e.g. taking someone’s cell phone and calling his mom), calling for our participation, and walking into the crowd, this one in contrast gave us a somewhat stone-faced Colin (who, okay, may not smile all that much in general but is sure known to grin slyly), who didn’t talk at all between songs and seemed ready to leave. They sounded good, minus the energy, but the setlist was pretty short. I was very glad to hear “The Engine Driver” and “Red Right Ankle” but I think the rest of the crowd probably shared my disappointment in missing out on “Yankee Bayonet”, which I was most looking forward to.

It was the drummer who announced the last song, telling us this wasn’t a song we should go home and sing for our parents or anything – here’s some video from the awesome rendition of “Feel Like Making Love” – it was great enough just hearing Colin sing the words.

[ ]

In any case, it was awesome to see the Decemberists in Paris, which also gave me a sense of home despite the oddity of not having my concert partner Ween with me L! Ah, see that’s why it wasn’t that great – they didn’t bother putting forth their best effort since you weren’t there, Weenis. You and Colin are destined after all.

Hear all the bombs fade away…!

Know Your Pastries!

So I’ve taken various photos of all the amazing pâtisseries we’ve/I’ve been eating, and why not throw them all here in one place. Alternate title for this post: If I Start Getting Fat In My Pictures, You Now Know Why.

And here we go:

Opéra

Le Divorce*
What a great name! A divorce between café and chocolat is a divorce I can support.

Crêpe chocolat chantilly

Moelleux amandes

Tarte aux fraises

Tarte Normande (poires, amandes)

Gâteau chocolat

Assorted

Millefeuille*

Réligieuse (café)

Tarte aux pommes

Assorted

Forêt Noire (Black Forest)

Tarte aux framboises

Galette des Rois: This one of the cheesy Pirates of the Caribbean galette I discreetly (or so I hope) just had to take, having spotted it sitting there in the super-ghetto supermarket near Flávia. Around this time of year this huge circular flaky, layered, buttery, delicious cake is cut into slivers and shared among friends or family (I've had it with my host family, real family, and friends - excellent), and whoever finds the little truc inside (it's a little figurine) gets to wear the paper crown and be the king (Roi) or queen (Reine). From the looks of it the one that comes with this one is pretty effing jazzy. We should have bought it.
See my post in late January about my cousin Sophie's party for further info on this topic.

Tarte aux fraises, éclair chocolat

Assorted

* contender for Favorite Pastry

A Massive Night: the HOLD STEADY à la Maroquinerie

There are nights I think Sal Paradise was right…

Despite being pretty sick and despite the rain and hour-long metro ride to the most random place to have a concert venue, I was very excited to check out La Maroquinerie to see the Hold Steady for the first time. They have since been catapulted to the front of my list… well, at least, nearer to it. Awesome show, and awesome venue! We finally stumbled upon the place, a little hole in the wall, with seemingly no one around, a little past eight and checked out the inside and got some drinks before we found a spot to watch the rest of the opening act. Not that it was hard to find a spot, at all – it was rather strange, there was a very small standing area, vacant, bordered by a small set of steps on three sides, which everyone was sitting on. No one was standing. The opening act was pretty mellow, though, so I guess it’s understandable – though all four of us (myself, Yotam and Niko, and another American we’d been talking to, a really nice guy) kind of looked at each other and back at the stage, and then back at each other again – when the Hold Steady came on stage and no one flinched or moved a muscle. (“Ummmm…..”) Thankfully, a few people got up and and stood at the front, and by the time they finished tuning their instruments, enough people had followed suit, and we joined them. We moved to the front after a few minutes too, as the crowd was so spaced out and scattered that there was plenty of room to move, and no one was standing on the right side in the front. It definitely wasn’t the packed, smashed, smoking, sweaty, jumping, flailing crowd that I’d imagined, but that’s got it’s good and bad points. It was intimate and awesome, and they sounded great. I didn’t get to hear First Night, but heard Stuck Between Stations, You Can Make Him Like You, Stevie Nix, Multitude of Casualties and Southtown Girls, so I was happy as a clam. I really liked every song they played.

Here are some shots of the band and Craig that I think pretty much capture the feel of the music and the night – the Hold Steady is a band you feel drunk just listening to, and indeed that’s a fitting sentiment, given the lyrics Craig Finn spewed and spitted out, while lurching over the microphone, teetering on the stand. If that thing had fallen I think he’d have gone down too. He stumbled around on stage, dropping his glasses, chucking his near-empty Heineken bottles on the floor of the stage, repeating lyrics without the microphone for emphasis (“High as hell!”) (“Positive!”), spitting while he shouted.

How’m I s’posed to know if you’re high if you won’t even dance?

If you get tired of your boyfriend’s friends, there’s always other boys, there’s always other boyfriends

Craig also enjoyed a little dancing (read: flailing) during the harmonica solo

If this shot doesn't capture the night, I don't know what does

Southtown Girls won’t blow you away… but you know that they’ll stay

And here’s the set list he accidentally kicked off the stage halfway through the show (but that I tastefully waited until after the set to pick up):

The lead guitarist Tad (I think) and I. We talked with him at the bar after the show for a bit – about how different the crowds are in Paris, for one thing (and how early shows start and end). It was only eleven at that point. He was very nice and down-to-earth, and asked about us and what we were doing in Paris. He told us their last show on the tour is going to be at the Templar in Dublin, and that it’s going to be great – oh man, I can only imagine.

We said hi to the keyboardist on the way out, who Yotam and I agreed was our favorite (and would have been Ween’s too, I imagine ;) . Craig was, as you can imagine, “passed out somewhere.”

And finally, me and my little hoodrat friends (L-R, Niko and Yotam.)

Great night!

Cultural Differences: Plus/Minus

There are those that I very much appreciate, and those that I find incredibly frustrating. A subjective ongoing list that I’ll keep updating as I go along…

PLUS:

-high value on conserving resources e.g. electricity, water, etc.
-education system: With the BAC, students are forced to have a much better general knowledge base before they enter college; students are left very independent (i.e. no homework – usually just a midterm or oral presentation, and final exam); and of course, university is basically free
-importance of leisure time: you deserve it! 36-hour workweeks and 6 weeks vacation in starting jobs? Yes.
-student discounts everywhere
-resistance to our impending culture of immediacy: you still have to at least sit down at the counter for a few moments if you want a cup of coffee before work, for example. Not a lot is open Sundays and not a lot at night, because people want to devote those hours to themselves rather than to working, and because people manage their affairs so that they don’t need everything all the time, like we do. It’s really nice to stop, take a breath, and learn to enjoy life a little more.
-popular music isn’t all crap
-smaller (i.e. much more realistic) portion sizes
-wine is cheaper than coke… and always good

MINUS:

-everyone smokes, everywhere – the newly enacted ban on smoking indoors has fazed the French perhaps even less than I expected it would.
-education system: all of college is über-specialized with very little electives if any, which also means that you can’t really change your mind without starting all over; since it’s free, facilities and professors are not necessarily as good; classes aren’t posted until the very last minute and often change or are cancelled at the last minute; students don’t care as much or have as much respect for professors (at least in my experience)
-resistance to our impending culture of immediacy: it’s freakin’ frustrating! I want my midnight coffee now and to go, so I can drink it on the run on the way to the library or somewhere to pick up a snack – Oh wait, neither of those things will be open either. We all burst out in laughter when Isabelle (from our program, who was taking us on campus tours) told us that the library at the Sorbonne closes at 7. Oh, Midnight Mug, how we miss you…
-concerts end and bars close early
-showerheads not affixed to anything but a hose
-tiny cups of coffee
-telephone service is hideously expensive
-there does not exist a sandwich without a copious amount of mayonnaise already on it
-tips are included in prices, so waiters don’t care too much about good service, and the idea of substitutions or special requests is unthinkable

Example:
“We’ll have a pitcher of wine…” (pitchers are on the menu)

“No pitchers.”

“Okay, how much is a bottle?”

“No bottles, just glasses.” (a glass costs practically the same as a pitcher)

“Okay… then I’ll just have a mango tea.”

“What?”

“A tea… Mango.”

“I don’t have any of that.”

“Um, alright, can I have a passion fruit tea?”

“No more.” (Um, can’t you just maybe tell me which teas you have?)

“Okay. A café.”

(Nods, goes away.)

Visite à Montmartre

Here’s an a-capella group I listened to while waiting outside the Abbesses metro stop for Susannah, who sang in French, English, and Spanish. Besides “chile con carne”, my favorite song was the first one I heard, mostly because of the chorus, which went like this: “You can be/ What you want to/ All I need/ Is to boogey down!” I found that amusing enough to put it up here.

After our lovely lunch (we split the best galette we’ve had so far), we met up with the group and were led around Montmartre by our lovely tour guide Sabrina. We’d both been before so it was nothing new but it’s always nice to promenade around the area, with its charming winding streets and humble restaurants and boutiques. It has a very local and friendly air to it – though bordered by the sex district on one end and less-than-beautiful Boulevard Barbès on another (which I’d already been acquainted with thanks to last summer’s two nights in “Friends’ Hostel” – oh, good times), it manages to stay rather quiet and inviting. You can imagine lots of Amélies living there. Here, indeed, are two very Amélie shots – the first a view of the carousel and Sacre Coeur in the background, and the second the café Les Deux Moulins, where she worked as a waitress in the movie.

Here’s a glimpse of later that night:

myself, Ray, and Flávia, the latter two of which are amazing dancers – when together, an event to be seen


mademoiselle Chelsea et monsieur Aaron

Embarrassing moments, translation issues, and other socially awkward situations

1. Saturday 1.20
   

So the first installment of this lovely series of embarrassment and awkwardness comes on my first day in France, when Madame’s daughter and husband (and ADORABLE little son, Thomas) come to visit for the weekend. I was a little groggy and out of it when I met them, since I’d just arrived from my red-eye flight, so when the husband said something and put out his hand for me to shake, I wasn’t exactly sure what he said but I guess I thought it was « Bienvenue » or « Bonne » -something, so I said « Merci ! » and shook his hand, and no wonder he’d looked confused, because he had actually said, as I realized later, « Benoit », which is his name. He was introducing himself and I’d said “Thanks!” and shook his hand. Wow.

2. Monday 1.22

Embarrassing moment #2 happens chez Starbucks, which I hate to admit I went to here in Paris – but in my defense, it was my third day here and I was going through major coffee withdrawal, and besides, it was interesting to go and take note of the differences between the two countries’ Starbucks. And I haven’t been back since and as of now don’t plan to. Anyway, I got to the cashier ready to order my drink, with the right French words for ordering my latté that I’d repeated in my head fresh in my mind and ready to use, so I was a little taken aback when one of the two young guys at the register said « Ça va ? » (“how are you”), and in my daze and flabbergastedness I once again reverted to « Merci » : apparently when I find myself in peril I give thanks, and this strategy really hasn’t worked well so far. The cashier turned to the guy next to him (there were kind of two people at the same register) and smiled, knowing now that I was a foreigner – who else would say “Thanks” to someone who asks you how it’s going? He probably thought I didn’t know any French but was pretending to understand. I then laughed at myself and admitted my French wasn’t great yet, to try to smooth over the situation a little, and then moved on and ordered my drink, while they continued smiling.

3. Monday 1.22
   The crêpe man signals for my hand, after I took a picture of Flav and Betsy with crêpes, and I give him my camera thinking he’s volunteering to take one of all of us and enthusiastically say « Oh, Merci!! », but then realize, as I try to give it to him and he doesn’t take it, that my camera is in the same hand as my money, and what he actually wants is the 5€ bill to pay for my crêpe. Everyone got to see that one… it was pretty funny.
4. Tuesday, 1.23
   Walking out of the supermarché, Susannah says: « Il faut marcher vite » I say: « Fromage vite?!? Quoi ?!? » (“We have to walk fast” / “Fast cheese? What?”)
5. Tuesday 1.23
   On the metro, there were three of us sitting in one of the booth-like sections for four, Susannah, Flavia and I, and next to me was a tall, somewhat older, kind of sketchy looking guy who definitely seemed like he was listening to our conversation, which had been mostly in bad French. Then he started talking to us, I think addressing Susannah, and I’d been impressed and jealous that she’d understood what he’d said, as she laughed after he spoke. He went on and on, and turned to me, and made little gestures, and on… and Flavia and Susannah smiled and laughed and I eventually said apologetically, when he addressed me, that my French wasn’t too good and he said to them, « Ah, elle n’est pas française? », and continued and they laughed, and I caught a few words (« rigoler/des femmes/laide/belles ») and Susannah was signaling to me, pointing to her cheeks on her face, and so I thought he was saying something about how beautiful women smile, and ugly women are women who don’t ever smile, so I thought they were all trying to get me to smile, and I did, and said I thought I understood… anyway, when we got off the train and I asked what the crap he was talking about, it was revealed that neither Susannah nor Flavia had understood barely a single word he’d said either, but had just ever so smoothly gone along and laughed at everything anyway, and were trying to get me to do the same. I’m… such an idiot.
6. 1.25.07 Susannah was telling me what cigarette packs say in France: she said « Fumer Tue », but I heard « Fumer Tout ». So I was like, “What? Wow, ‘smoke everything?’”, when in reality, it was “smoking kills.”
   

7. 1.28.07
   Note to future grocery shoppers while on vacation in France, weigh your fruit in the fruit department before you leave it. That is to say, before you wait in line at the register, get to the cashier and start to realize what you’ve done when she turns your bag of pears over in her hand, sheepishly say “no” when she can’t find the price sticker and asks if you’ve weighed them while staring at you skeptically wondering what kind of idiot you are, head back to the fruit department with your bag of pears, have them weighed and price-stickered, wait in line again, and re-hand your fruit over to the cashier who then lowers her head and raises her eyebrows a bit, remembering you from a few minutes earlier and still wondering what’s wrong with you. Stupid foreigners…
8. 2.6.07
   Not really an embarrassing moment but so could have been: I was trying to describe “boyfriend” to my host mother, and I asked, does one say “petit ami”? That’s what I’d been taught in french class but I figured it might be the case, as it often is, that what they teach you comes right out of those 1980s textbooks and videos (gotta love Robert et Mireille…) and doesn’t really work with today’s world. That was indeed the case, as she told me that a « petit ami » is « quelqu’un qui on emmène à son lit » , meaning literally, someone you bring to your bed. She said if you use « ami », it’s a bit more ambiguous, that is, it could of course refer to a friend, but you’re not really saying what type of relationship it is. When you say « petit ami », however, you are blatantly indicating that this is someone you “take to your bed”. Therefore we laughed and I continued my story with « mon ami »… anyway, c’était marrant (it was funny), and definitely could have made for an awkward situation in front of a different audience.

Another pic from the "fumer tue" night, at "Le 10" at Odeon, otherwise known as Sangria Bar.

Mémorial de la Shoah

« Si le monde savais, nous étions liberés ! … La liberté refleurira… »

David and I spent two hours that easily could have been three or four this afternoon at the Mémorial de la Shoah: the Holocaust Memorial. It’s interesting that the French use the word « Shoah » to describe the event, which literally translates to “catastrophe”.

The wall of names, reminiscent of the Vietnam memorial where I’d otherwise be home, stands to preserve the legacy of those who perished at the hands of the Nazis during the Holocaust.

The Holocaust, selon moi, is one of those things/events in history you think you’ve been told about a hundred times, that you think you know all about, Yes, yes, the Holocaust, it was terrible, inhuman. But I was reminded that not only do we (or at least I) easily forget the magnitude of exactly how terrible and inconceivable a genocide like this was, but we assume we’ve been told all that there is to know – which can never really be true. I was surprised at how much I learned today, and we only made it to two and a half floors’ worth – there are still three more. In a nutshell, I was just overwhelmed, being reminded by placards, paragraphs, posters, videos, and pictures how horrible a human being, and worse, a group of human beings, can become, and what they can do to one another – and could not begin to imagine how it must have been for those who experienced it first hand, and how something like this (in terms of a genocide) could ever be forgotten, denied, or worse, repeated again in history.

Just a few interesting things I learned during the visit:

The memorial acknowledged that at the beginning, there wasn’t a lot of aid or support for the Jews from France, that the Vichy government delivered Jews under 16 years of age to the German occupiers, and that the responsibility and culpability of the Vichy gov’t wasn’t recognized until 1995, finally, by President Chirac. I just found it interesting how frank and forthcoming the museum was about France’s shortcomings in this.

There were operations (notably Operation 1005) after the war devised by the Nazis (or what was left of them and their supporters, I guess?) to destroy proof of the mass destruction of Jews, such as planting a forest to camouflage a concentration camp site, or using a machine like this one to further break down the remains of the burned corpses that were left.

Le Mémorial des Enfants – 2500 photos of children deported from France, 1942-1944.

Daily rations in the Warsaw ghetto, 1940, after the occupation and regrouping of Jewish communities into centralised ghettos:

Allemand (German): 2,613 calories
Polonais (Polish): 699 calories
Juif (Jewish): 184 calories

The quotes at the very top come from an interview with a Jewish woman who survived the Holocaust. She had said with hope, when the horror began, “If the world knew, we would be free! Liberty will flourish again…”