An ode to a twisted ankle...
Jim's Musings from Paris November 2022
On the warmest October day ever in France, in the middle of Toussaint, the autumn two-week scholastic holiday, I’m somewhat laid up with a twisted ankle. How did that happen you may ask?
Well…after one year, we finally figured out the Parisian bikesharing system. There are actually several different systems available throughout the city, but the one that works with our transport card is called Vélib’ Metropole. The three-speed bikes are a bit clunky, weighing about 50 pounds (22.5 kilos), with a front basket, hand brakes, LED lights, and a charming bell to warn pedestrians that you’re coming. Paris is investing a lot in creating a bicycle-friendly urban center, with miles of bike paths and about 1400 Vélib’ stations around the city. As occasional users, not subscribers, we pay 1€ (approximately $1) for every 30 minutes of use. When you choose your bike, you need to make sure you get one in good condition. You can imagine the logistical nightmare of keeping 20,000 vélos (bicycles) in working order. We’ve gone on several bike adventures already around the city and are looking forward to getting more use out of the system. So, how did I twist my ankle?
As part of the holiday, we’ve taken Léo, our 5 year old grandson, on several excursions, including bouldering in Fontainebleau, the Ménagerie in the Jardin des Plantes, and the Grande Gallerie de l’Évolution (Gallery of Evolution). Fontainebleau (about one hour from Paris by train) and the surrounding area is a primary destination for bouldering and rockclimbing for all of Europe. The forests in the area offer an astounding variety of circuits and climbing possibilities, from easy to extremely challenging. Our guides, Jairo’s sister Luza and her husband Dominique, live near the boulder zone. They met us at the train station in Nemours and, after a short drive, they carefully shepherded us along a well-marked trail with caves and crevasses, fascinating formations and stunning views. We picnicked, French-style, at the entry to a cave that Léo selected, and discreetly picked bits of sand (kicked in the air by Léo’s excitement) from our delicious quinoa salad, hard-boiled eggs, and cider. I’m always impressed by Luza’s cooking and, especially, that she can make a meal, transported miles from home, taste just as fresh and flavorful as if it were concocted at that moment in her own kitchen. My mouth waters just remembering the wonderful combination of avocado, tuna, quinoa, and egg, topped with an exquisite vinaigrette. The meal finished with a subtly-sweet, homemade apple compote and coffee. Délicieux!
One of our destinations for the day was an ancient carved stone. Jairo remarked how the stone is similar to one we had seen at Delphi in the early summer. Luza believes the French stone exerts special powers for women, in particular. The Fontainebleau forest is rife with such treasures. One truly feels in an ancient place here, a sacred place, where humans fought for survival and forged the tools and techniques that would eventually lead to what we now call civilization. During these dark days of 2022, when war once more spreads its shadow across all of Europe and democracy, civilization’s crowning point, teeters on the precipice in the United States, waiting for next week’s election to determine its future, coming to a place like the forest of Fontainebleau allows one to breathe more deeply and find some peace.
Plus, we all had the incredible opportunity to experience the day through the eyes of a five year old child. Léo’s world has not been touched by Russian drone bombardments or Putin’s nuclear threats. For several hours, we were able to marvel with him at the magic of picking mushrooms, the beauty of pheasants strutting along the road, and the spectacle of a brief orage (storm) that unleashed wind, rain, and hail later in the day at Luza and Dominique’s country house. Léo’s sleep that night was deep and still. I wish I could be like him. My restless legs refused to remain in his world, however. I was awake every couple of hours, walking the floors (as my grandmother used to say), and wondering (not worrying) about the future. No, I didn’t twist my ankle climbing on ancient rocks or communing with Nature. It happened right here in Paris.
Sometimes it just hits me in the face: Paris is a big city. I’ve navigated the freeways of Los Angeles and Orange County, lived only 30 minutes from Chicago’s Loop via the Eisenhower Expressway (when it was moving smoothly), and often commuted between one Twin Cities’ downtown and the other, but I’ve never really made my home in a big city—a really big city. The sheer number of people in Paris can often be overwhelming. I recently read Nobel laureate Paul Krugman’s “An Ode to the New York Subway.” Paul Krugman is one of my favorite New York Times columnists. His writing makes the obscurity of economics more understandable. In this article, he leaves his usual beat to discuss the current state of the New York City subway, citing several violent incidents that have occurred recently as his reason to defend the aging system. He points out some of the benefits that come with living in a high-density urban environment, like easy access to a range of services, and argues that taking the subway gives city dwellers the chance to interact with diverse populations. He writes:
Indeed, just commuting on the subway (which I do) brings one into regular, if casual, contact with people of different economic classes and ethnicities, which I consider a social good. Hostility to groups that don’t look or sound like you tends to be highest when you don’t encounter people different from yourself very often.
Krugman also maintains that riding the subway teaches us discipline and good manners, what he calls “consideration for other people.” “But to ride the subway is to see large numbers of people behaving well, and only a few behaving badly. I, at least, generally emerge from my commute thinking a bit better of humanity.”
I’m not sure I left Paris’ Gallerie de l’Évolution thinking better of humanity. I can’t remember the last time I was in such a crowded museum. The building itself is amazing. For those of you familiar with Cleveland, imagine a space similar to Cleveland’s Arcade, only about five times larger. Maybe even more. However, yesterday each nook and cranny was not only filled with taxidermied specimens of earth’s biodiversity, but living ones as well. Also, Léo, along with every other child under 10 and adult over 75, was having none of the open stairs rising to the upper balconies of the building. He did eventually make it to the third floor. But I was sent on a mission to check for an ocelot on the fourth floor. Only if an ocelot’s existence could be verified would he venture up another floor. Needless to say, he stayed below with his abuelo in the cantine, happily eating a ham sandwich and a donut, while I braved the hordes of parents on the stairs tugging at their reluctant toddlers and terrified elderly who had somehow not noticed the elevators going up and down. I completed my mission—and, no, I did not twist my ankle on the scary stairs—and we began our bus journey home.
When we arrived to the bus stop, we saw a warning that the Paris métro and bus system was extremely “perturbed.” The French word for problems or disruptions on the bus or subway systems is perturbé. I find it funny to think of the métro being perturbed when there’s a problem. I’m the one who’s perturbed! In any case, there were many disturbances in the system and we ended up having to walk a bit further than we had planned. Léo, who already had three days of excursions under his belt was tired, so Jairo had the idea to rent a bicycle, put Léo on the seat, and he and I would walk beside the bike, giving Léo his needed break. I was skeptical of the idea, but decided to play along. Unfortunately, the bike Jairo selected was not in great shape. We began to push Léo up a small hill. Yes, Paris does have hills. When we got to the top of the hill, I began to protest. It was hot, I was sweating, and the whole situation was not conducive to teaching discipline and good manners. As we paused to consider our options, I proposed that Jairo and Léo take the métro to Léo’s place. From where we were, they would only need to ride one stop and a short walk. Meanwhile, I would proceed home on my own on the bicycle. After all, I had been the one chosen to go on the mission to the fourth floor of the Gallery. I felt I deserved some reward for my labor. Everyone agreed on the plan.
I handed over Leo’s sac à dos (backpack) and began to accustom myself to the bike. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw that Jairo decided not to take the subway and to walk the entire way, instead. I became perturbed. I was afraid he’d end up carrying Léo or something absurd like that. However, I decided to let him go and busied myself with crossing the major plaza (Place Daumesnil) and finding the street I needed to take home without getting hit by any cars or buses. I had to stop several times to adjust the seat on the bicycle, which was not keeping its position very well. Once I got everything fixed, I began the ride home. About halfway there, I realized that my telephone was missing. I stopped, checked all my pockets, and rechecked them. Nothing. I turned the bike around and retraced my steps back to where I parted from Jairo and Léo. Nothing. I was distraught thinking about how I could have so stupidly let my phone fall from my pocket. I was stopped on the bikeway, balancing precariously on my tiptoes, thinking that maybe I had distractedly put the phone in Léo’s backpack, when I heard the charming sound of the bell and had to make way for another biker. At that moment, I lost control of my clunky machine and careened to one side, coming down hard on my right ankle. I heard the crunch of the ligaments as it twisted, felt the shot of pain, and knew it was not good.
After testing the ankle a bit, I realized that I could bear the pain and doggedly got back on the bike. I returned the cursed machine to the station nearest our apartment and limped home. Once there, I began to research what to do if you lose your Iphone. I did not have Find My turned on. I wrote Jairo a message asking about the backpack, but he actually came through the door before I could send it. While I iced my foot, he called Léo’s mom, Kena, to see if by chance the phone was in the backpack. No such luck. Kena suggested that we call the phone to see if anyone would answer. I hadn’t thought of doing that. When Jairo called, a woman picked up immediately. Happy ending: she had the phone and was not far away. Jairo left to meet her and get the phone and I wrapped my foot and put it up to rest. As I finish writing this newsletter, the swelling and pain have almost entirely subsided, Léo is on another excursion, with his parents this time, to Normandy—and I am definitely “thinking a bit better of humanity” today.
USA friends: The news here is all about a Republican wave. Jairo and I mailed in our Texas ballots. Please vote. Protect our rights. Protect our democracy.
Here is a video about bouldering in Fontainebleau:
Bouldering sounds really cool, and the museum also sounds amazing! hope your ankle is better now 😄 big hug!
So brave of you to ride a bike in Paris!!! And how is the singing club? making new friends? Great idea to join :) Bisous d'Akron