The Saturday Shot #30: alpine wisdom

A piece of alpine wisdom captured during a recent trip to two-time Olympic city of Lake Placid... A nice way to put things into perspective ahead of the upcoming back-to-school rush.

The top of the world at your finger tips

Mt Rainier on May 4th, culminating point in mainland USA

Alpine inspiration.

I am not sure why this year, more than any previous years, my alpine origins have crawled back in the front of my aspirations with a constant call back to the mountains.

This has led me to ski for over 28 days this season, including an awesome new experience: shredding snow on May 4th before enjoying an ice cream the same day both feet in the ocean (more charms to the already reported Seattle backcountry). But as expected, this nostalgia has also materialised in a flurry of blog posts gravitating around the alpine theme, whether that was paragliding over an avalanche, photographing the Mt Blanc in high resolution, or poetry whilst walking on a rope tied between two peaks...

Toping my world

So to continue on that path, and mark like many others the celebration of the 60th anniversary of the Everest conquest by the New Zealander Edmund Hillary and Tenzing Norgay, a Nepali sherpa climber from India, I would like to share a brilliant digital experience that uses the Himalaya as a background for some impressive innovations.

To help emphasize the beauty of the region and put into perspective the ascent to the summit, the filmmaker and explorer David Breashears has teamed up with Microsoft to build an interactive examination of the mountain and the Greater Himalaya region.

Everest: Rivers of Ice is a new Web site open to the public on Tuesday night built in HTML5 and CSS3 for touch screens. Created by the Internet Explorer 10 team, Microsoft Research, and PixelLabs, a small HTML5 creative shop, it takes you on an immersive, gigapixel-rich adventure from landing at Lukla's Hillary Tenzing Airport to panoramic, sweeping views far above Everest Base Camp:

A click to the peak

Although it was built for touch, and optimised for IE10, you can still enjoy it with a mouse and other web browsers. And here are some examples of what can be done in that digital mountain chain... As you zoom in Namche Bazar reveals a video of the market. Zoom in on Everest Base Camp and a 4 billion pixel photo materialises in front of you, in full screen mode. You can also see how this giant is vulnerable: a slider enables you to compare the Khumbu Glacier between 1952, a year before Hillary's successful ascent, and 2007. In sixty years, the glacier has significantly shrunk back...

Breashears has contributed with numerous high-resolution photos and videos to both educate and advocate. It may not be explicitly stated, but there's a clear demonstration throughout the site of how climate change has impacted the glaciers in recent years. And you can thus donate to GlacierWorks, Breashears' non-profit that works to raise awareness of how the shrinking glaciers adversely affects the water supply for much of Asia.

Massive destruction cheeses

I recently wrote about the different perspective of the US and France on the military through the prism of children toys, but we could talk at length about the ambiguous relationship to weapons of that martial nation. The recent Oregon shootings, combined to the subsequent debate on the validity of the contemporary US Constitution second amendment interpretation highlights that at least/at last there is a realisation that something is not right... Such a debate is healthy and so are the interesting partisan campaign for the different parties. Loved that one, wonder why!

The Saturday shot #26: an American Bear

This week, I wanted to share a picture shot during my recent holidays in the US, whilst visiting a Build-a-Bear outlet. I was indeed surprised by the cultural insight that this child shop could give on the American culture. After all, myths and beliefs are fostered in our early age, some say even before. So what struck me was that if, in swinging London your little ones can choose to dress up their cuddly toys in mini Mel C or a furry Sid Vicious, in the US the choice offered gravitated around Marines, Troopers and GIs gears. No wonder the belliquous mindset of the nation may be in, if childhood models are defined by military forces... Don't get me wrong I am not challenging that soldiers can be heroes, but I would always think of armed intervention as a necessary evil rather than a good thing. This beliefs again may come from my own culture and referential scheme. This reminds me indeed of this speech by former French Prime minister Dominique de Villepin back in February 2003 when addressing the UN security council on France's position with regards to initiating a war in Iraq:

This message comes to you today from an old country, France, from a continent like mine, Europe, that has known wars, occupation and barbarity. A country that does not forget and knows everything it owes to the freedom-fighters who came from America and elsewhere. And yet has never ceased to stand upright in the face of history and before mankind. Faithful to its values, it wishes resolutely to act with all the members of the international community. It believes in our ability to build together a better world.

Paris vs. New York by Tony Miotto

When the Big Apple is compared to the City of Lights, that can be enlightening... And this animation by graphic designer Tony Miotto, is clearly a nice source of light. Nice execution on the cultural differences and references of two of most famous cities in the world.

And if you like that split-screen graphic approach, you may enjoy a similar stance on Franco-American relationships with this video (shot with a Nokia phone), and which describes a transatlantic love story.

A mountain dweller in the Washington valleys

A couple years back I had the opportunity to discover Seattle on business, and have since returned quite few times in that city. But I knew there was more to the North-Western region than the SeaTac airport and taxis commuting between my hotel and the company's offices. So this summer, I decided to dwell a little longer than usual in the Washington state, and to discover the Ocean surrounding the liberal harbour of Seattle. If I had been amused by some traits of the Space Needle's home (the passion for salmon, the doubtful kindness, the SUV contradictions, etc.), the Evergreen State brought its lot of interesting cultural encounters...

Size definitely matters.

Yes, let's start with the blatantly obvious. It is so overused a cliche to describe the US as the country of superlatives. Everything is the "world best...", "world #1...", etc. That is at times laughable but one thing you cannot deny is of course that everything is big. Feet, portions, roads, people, drinks, cars... The caravans are so huge that it is not uncommon to see one of these trailers actually pulling a 4x4. You read me right, Dutch reader of these lines, on the other side of the pond, mobile homes are towing the car, and not the smallest! That is probably the so-call American Dream for you, our European summer migrators who every summer cross the French territory, looking for a sunburn...

As said, everything is oversized. Even roadkills are! No flatten hedgehog or mouse on the tarmac of Washington roads. The smallest animal I have seen on the side of the road was a deer... A deer! I mean how can you even run over such a beast? Probably not with a Renault Twingo. But that is probably more understandable when you put yourself in the shoes, or behind the wheels I shall say, of one of the locals... Were you driving one of these giant pick-ups that dwarfs the most ostentatious SUV in Chelsea, it would be hard for you too to see what happens below 2 meters from the ground. They cannot do things small, I tell you... So beware when you cross the road!

Into the "wild".

During our trip, we spend some time touring the stunning Olympic Peninsula. After the great British summer we had in London, we had to extend the pleasure... However the name of this region is not connected to athletic performances, but to the presence of an eponymous Mount Olympus in the middle of its national park. That Park is the host of a rainforest, several Indian reserves, magnificent lakes and equally surprisingly deserted beaches. No wonder this region is inspiring authors of all styles.

Hurricane Ridge for instance is coming straight out of a Disney movie. After a good hour drive uphill amongst enormous trees on a beautiful road, you finally arrive at a pass from which start walks and other alpine wanderings... But rapidly you are welcome by the local "wildlife", with elks crossing your way, giant black grouse singing whilst chipmunks drum the beat... You think I overdo it? Not at all. It was so surreal that we were expecting any minute to see a props man jumping out of a bush and shouting "You've been pranked!".

On the other hand, when you walk along the wild beaches of the western side of the peninsula, you feel you have landed in another type of literature. An eery one. Snow White has bitten the apple and the evil witch is enjoying her supremacy by the sea. The rugged landscapes, bathed in creepy fog and cluttered by rotting log trees were not without reminding me Tolkien's Mordor. I was once pretty sure I saw the shaddow of a troll in the woods, unless that was a pupil walking back from school... That is also possible since, as I eluded to it earlier, the locals are not the smallest beings either. Anyway the eery views of that area inspired  Stephenie Meyer for her bloody trilogy.

Stretching to greatness?

This leads me to my third literature reference... The town where vampires and werewolves supposedly fall in love with girls a lot younger than them (a few centuries younger... Is that legal or should we report this idyll?), Forks proved that the principles outlined by Philip Kotler in his marketing bible have been well assimilated. "Brand stretching" is about using an established brand name in order to introduce unrelated products. Well, the following pictures speak for themselves (click for full screen view):

Arguably that is a bit too much, but had you lived in that same tiny little village before the books' release and seen an influx of +600% in tourists, you too would have probably jumped on the bandwagon and taken these novels as a blessing. Because frankly outside the blockbuster reference, Forks really epitomises the concept of "uninterestingness". The problem, however, is that once you embrace that gorry kitsch, you cannot avoid but seeing vampires everywhere, let alone in medical notifications or native artefact's (is that me or that totem has got pretty sharp teeth???):

Depressive back country?

I seem to be a bit harsh with Forks, but do not let that anomaly derail my overall take on that beautiful region well-managed by the Quileult tribe. We loved hanging around at La Push and watch the sun set on the sacred rocks. That was even a poetic conclusion to that part of our trip, because we then headed South to Oregon and had to drove through less enthusiastic neighbourhoods. If the wild beaches were eluding to a literary devastation, further down it is a lot more literal. Aberdeen in front of all. Besides a river and the "Highland Golf Club" at its outskirt, that town has little to compare with its charming Scottish cousin. The rest is indeed pretty much despair, ruins, closed-down shops... This was home for Kurt Cobain, and frankly you may assume that it was in itself a source of inspiration for the grunge movement!

The logging industry which pulled the regional economy for decades is slowing down nowadays. Smaller towns are drained out in favour of Seattle or Portland, the two urban poles in that part of the country. Although often compared as eternal enemies, the two cities have got a lot in common. As I was saying in introduction, they are liberal harbours in the middle of what is often depicted as the western redneck America. If Canadian proudly sew their flag on their backpack, Seattleites and Portlanders state their beliefs directly on their skin. I am impressed by the amount of ink people carry on their skin around there. Could that be to ensure that people do not see the original colour of their neck?


Anyway... I really enjoyed discovering that region which surprised me in many ways. I was promised rainfall and greeneries. If we indeed saw as much emeralds as last year, not a single drop of rain came to refresh the scenery, which clearly contrasts with our drenched Irish holidays. I liked the possibility to sneak away from the urban jungle and to dive into the rainforest. In light of my origins, I also loved hikking in Mount Rainier, its reflective lakes and its blossoming meadows. I am pretty sure at this stage that with such a description of these alpine surroundings you are expecting blonde Maria coming out of the evergreen woods and complement my list of highlights with a "...Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens; Bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens; Brown paper packages tied up with strings; These are a few of my favorite things...", but I don't care. No matter how unlikely Seattle may sound as a summer holiday destination, it is now in my list of recommendations... As long as you can walk around on 2-meter stilt, of course!


To read further:

• A mountain dweller on the Copacabana Beach
• A mountain dweller in the Great Lake valley
• A mountain dweller in the Washington Lake valley
• A mountain dweller in the Þingvellir valley
• A mountain dweller in the valley of Kerry

And some more pictures of that trip:

Marseillaise

Anniversary.

This summer marked my sixth year on the British soil. An anniversary which also means that I have now lived longer in the British capital than in Paris for instance. During that time I got accustomed to the local rhythm, the indigenous habits, the cultural disparities... I have blended in. This is quite an ambivalent feeling as Brits and French are traditionally referred to as what one could call frenemies, i.e. the worst friends and the best enemies. I wrote quite a few articles about this Entente Cordiale that unites both nations, but being right in the middle of it is an awkward situation.

Although I am not British, I feel sometimes so and this city is like home. So no wonder that during the Olympics I waved and cheered at team GB, that I carried a Union Jack in my backpack... I got lucky and could attend quite a few events in the end. The lottery granted us only some tickets for a men volleyball semi-final, but perseverance and tenacity (let alone networking and generous friends) opened a few more doors. At these events, we were there as French nationals, as Londoners, as sport supporters.

Moment of truth.

But at a time when nations drop their weapons and random quarrels to support their Olympian troops, you are supposed to choose sides. I felt like a child in the middle of a divorce case. I love both mummy and daddy. I value Churchill and De Gaulle. I want the goldfish and its bowl. I want weekdays and weekends... I wanted to support blue, white and red, no mater whether these colours are laid out in crosses or in tiers.

And I thought so. I thought that almost like a bi-national I had today both nations ingrained in my soul on parity. But it was not the case... It took me a minute to realise it. Well, two half-times of 30 minutes each and 1 minute to raise a flag an that was it. Goose bump, spinal shivers, a tear in the eye... But who would not when hearing this:

France retains its Olympic title by beating Sweden in handball final

La Marseillaise

France national anthem, La Marseillaise, was written and composed by Claude Joseph Rouget de Lisle in 1792. The French National Convention adopted it as the Republic's anthem in 1795. The name of the song is due to first being sung on the streets by volunteers from Marseille but was soon adopted by the revolutionary armies which put an end to the French monarchy and dropped the seed of the Republic.

This song is a war song, a march that galvanise soldiers and unite them behind a cause... During the 1992 winter Olympic games in Albertville, a young, pure, white-dressed girl sung a capella this anthem in front of millions during the opening ceremony, and many only then realised how violent the lyrics could sound...

La Marseillaise (most commonly sung extract. Source: Wikipedia)
French lyrics	English translation
Allons enfants de la Patrie,	Arise, children of the Fatherland,
Le jour de gloire est arrivé !	The day of glory has arrived!
Contre nous de la tyrannie,	Against us tyranny
L'étendard sanglant est levé, (bis)	Raises its bloody banner (repeat)
Entendez-vous dans les campagnes	Do you hear, in the countryside,
Mugir ces féroces soldats ?	The roar of those ferocious soldiers?
Ils viennent jusque dans vos bras	They're coming right into your arms
Égorger vos fils, vos compagnes !	To cut the throats of your sons and women!
Aux armes, citoyens,	To arms, citizens,
Formez vos bataillons,	Form your battalions,
Marchons, marchons !	Let's march, let's march!
Qu'un sang impur	Let an impure blood
Abreuve nos sillons !	Water our furrows!

This anthem sung in the handball arena, the box that rocks as the British journalists nicknamed it, swept any doubt that no matter happens and how long I will stay away from my homeland, at core I will remain French. An interesting realisation amidst athletic performances which contrasts a lot with some conversations I have had with US immigrants who had decided to embrace the US Constitution and rejected their origins by doing so. Unfathomable for me. Now.

Enjoy a selection of pictures from my Olympics:

The Saturday Shot #24: common sense

This is picture I took as I was wandering another valley on the other side of the pond. It struck me and made me smile. I thought it was an interesting political statement made by the architect: in a time of presidential elections, the "pensee unique", this concept whereby mainstream conformism is the only way out, may just be good to go to the drain, irrespective of the circumvallated nonsense that you want to lose your audience in. 

Anyway, since we are talking nonsense and striking power, who better than the philosopher of the rings, Mike Tyson, could illustrate this week picture with a smart quote? After all he had his very own style to make a lasting impression...

"I don't try to intimidate anybody before a fight. That's nonsense. I intimidate people by hitting them.
Mike Tyson (1966-)

Learn to hear English

You hear me, but do you listen?

School teachers focus on making us learn to speak English... But it is only with a bit more experience and immersion in the local culture that you actually manage to hear English.

Bear with me here, as I am not talking about what is verbally articulated, I in fact mean of what is actually said. There is a significant nuance for a nation that masters the art of understatement and self-deprecation.

The following table for instance has been recently circulated around in my company, probably to help our dearest colleagues in the US translate what really happens in meetings. After all, America and England are two nations divided by a common language...

Enjoy your next meetings with the Brits... Cup of tea anyone?


To read further:

• Language on a life line, David Mitchell's rant about endangered local languages
• The Italian job, a classical on accents and misunderstandings
• A, B, C, Ki , Wi or how to understand the folks from New Zealand

A mountain dweller in the valley of Kerry

Just back from a week of holiday in the beautiful Ireland, and thought that I would jot down my thoughts from my encounter with the backcountry. I have indeed been a few times in Dublin, but that was the first time I was really going into the deeper countryside, namely the Ring of Kerry. But I am very conscious that this part of Ireland is not Ireland as a whole, and that the following comments refered to as "Irish" facts may not be as representative as I may want to imply. So I hope that the Irish readers of these lines will excuse my cliches... (They are said to be feisty, so I have no intention to get into trouble!)

The drenched Emerald

One of the first things that struck me when I looked back at my 200+ pictures was the green-dominated hue of the portfolio. Nicknamed the Emerald Isle, Ireland has certainly not usurped its reputation. Green fields, green mountains, green signs... Pretty much everything blends in that tint. In fact probably the only thing that denote is the sky... Blue, sometimes, but most of the time loaded with threatening clouds. And like the Irish fighting reputation, these clouds do not pretend, they hold to their promise. When it starts raining, well, it certainly rains like crazy.

These pictures were taken on the same location, within two days. And to put things into perspective what you are seeing here is the Gap of Dunloe's wishing bridge. We are over 200m over sea level, very close to the top of the surrounding mountains and in the middle of July. So the flooding cannot be attributed to the convergence of numerous rivers, boosted by melting snows, as you may encounter in the Alps at Spring. No, here you have tiny improvised streams, pouring down rocks bathed by continuous rain showers, that simply flood the equally tiny gap.

I must say that the Brisith Isles have a reputation for being often drenched, but that was the very first time that I could really see that cliche materialised in front of my eyes.

The fast and furious leprechauns

The Ring of Kerry is renown for its scenery roads. Yet what people often forget to mention is that it really takes skills to get your car in one piece on the other side of the circumference. And to the seasoned drivers who may think that they would be safe, I can assure you that they would not have only to worry about surprising encounters such as leprechauns or wild ponies (these dangers are duly highlighted).


The primary danger consists in navigating through a network of single-laned "roads" which are used in both directions by cars, buses, trucks tractors and other engine-powered vehicles of your choice. The narrow width of the tarmac and the immediate proximity of gaping cliffs are a challenge in themselves, but in addition you have to drive one-handed as your other limb is in constant use for waving thanks at other sweating drivers who kindly gave way and now have to figure out how to get their fourth wheel back on the ground rather than spinning loose over a 50m-high void...

And this is not enough thrill for the locals... First they are so used to the narrow roads that they could drive through whilst dancing the hooley and maintaining a steady 100km/h which is the authorised speed limit (and a pure joke for any sane driver). Second they are locals and as the traffic regulation code clearly states it THEY have the priority - no matter left, right, downhill, uphill or the size of the engine... "Out of MY way" should be printed on road signs in lieu of Yield. Finally, Vin Diesel must have his greatest fan clubs in that province. The roads bear the indelebile marks of Fast and Furious afficionados who tour the roads at dusk, leaving behind melted rubber trails that zig-zag between markings and then draw perfect circles at t-junctions. And I am not talking about isolated cases. Seriously we have seen so many spurs of these joyrides that Michelin is probably a profitable global corporation thanks only to the Irish market.

51st state?

Whilst we are talking about globalisation, I would like to dwell a bit on Americans. If after the great famine, over 2 millions Irish inhabitants had emigrated to the US (about a quarter of the total 1850's population), it seems that their great, great grand children have finally seen the light. I am refering to the lantern at the Áras an Uachtaráin, the official residence of the Irish president where it is left on all year long to guide the Irish back home...
We happened to be in Ireland on July 4th, and stars and stripes were floating in the sky everywhere. I must say that it puzzled me, a bit like when German tourists flame bratwurst in Ibiza considering they are home due to the excessive presence of their fellow-citizens. I appreciate the historical connection between the two nations, but what I was witnessing was more a take-over rather than pilgrimage. I am certainly not hostile to cross-fertilisations, when it is for the greater good. And I must say that a Floridian pink house with its alignment of pseudo Roman columns has nothing to do in such a part of the world (and don't try to pretend it is a legitimate local architectural execution, you could smell the cinamon chewing gums from the road). It is clearly a cultural faux-pas and there were a bit too many to my taste. If your intentions is to return to fatherland, then at least respect the local habits and traditions... You came up with the concept of the melting pot after all.

Space-efficiency, Sport-efficiency.

But let's not get too hung up on this colonial polemic... There is so much to say about the true Irish that it is not worth for me to digress. The Irish are said feisty, maybe, but they are more certainly friendly and welcoming that I can testify. At some point I thought they were also really pragmatic...

That was when I walked past a stadium and peeped over the edge to discover what was a brilliant utilisation of a limited space. In a country that has been badly hit by the recession sport remains most certainly the opium of the people, yet it is certainly costly to build stadiums that can host either football or rugby. There on each side of the pitch were proudly standing posts which, I was convinced, were the solution to the inflation. The woodwork was looking as if football goals had copulated with their rugby cousins to give birth to an hybrid: the offspring looked either like a rugby H with a netted skirt or a football goal with two long antenas (depending on which sport dominates your referential scheme).

Anyway what I thought to be a modular response to the football and rugby cohabitation was in fact a locally brewed sport, Gaelic football, which in essence is indeed the mongrel of rugby and football. A pragmatic mutt though, as manages to finally unite the fans of both sports, and shares his pitch with another inbred sport, hurling (a combination of lacrosse, hockey, handball, rugby and football.... Yep, just that). Ireland may just well be the Ikea of sport!


More seriously, I love Ireland and this little taste gave me tons of reasons to go back. I loved the people (in particular my Irish friends and colleagues who are about to read these lines and wait for me in a dark side of a parking lot), their accent, their welcoming kindness, their sense of humour. I enjoyed the scenery and no matter people think the weather. This stay has made me stronger (in the left arm, the one holding the stirring wheel) and more avid to discover new regions of what is certainly a European gem... Hey, that may well be why they call it the Emerald Isle after all. Here some more pictures about that lovely country. And please note that I did my best to limit the amount of greenery in this selection:





To read further:

• A mountain dweller in the Great Lake valley


• A mountain dweller in the Washington Lake valley


• A mountain dweller in the Þingvellir valley

Splitscreen: A Love Story

One ocean, two countries...

At a time when French politicians trust the front page of tabloids with their kinky habits, it is good to remind that French lovers are not (only) about S&M, role plays and threesomes... Call me a sentimental, but there is also that weird thing called "romance".

...One love story.

Shot entirely on the Nokia N8 mobile phone, the following video won the Nokia Shorts competition 2011:

Splitscreen: A Love Story by JW Griffiths tells the story of an American and a French who live parallel lives on each side of the pond until they one day collide... Interestingly enough in London.

Beyond the performance of shooting a split screen video (a technique brought back to fashion with the TV series 24) with a phone, there is the refreshing story telling. It may well be the hot summer, but it feels good to see that love is the air.

This is your Captain speaking

On the road again.

I am about to go back to Seattle for work, and I am quite adamant that I won't let myself get stranded this time again. It seems that 2010 was jinxed, but that 2011 is having greater, more positive omens. So far I have traveled to Iceland, France, Sweden, Germany... and have not been delayed or stuck once. Nevertheless my colleagues are now taking bets on what would prevent me from coming back on time, and I must say that the odds are odd: volcanic eruption 10:1, snow storm 11:2, grasshopper invasion 5:2... We will see.

Beautiful sky.

In any case I must say that I will do my best to enjoy that flight. Over ten hours without email or phone calls, that is nowadays a luxurious parenthesis. However in the same time, some prefer to take that opportunity to be busy with their photography. Click, click, click... Photographer and entrepreneur Nate Bolt has played around with his camera during a San Francisco to Paris flight, shooting almost 2500 pictures to create a 2-minute stop motion video of the trip. Nicely edited:
SF to Paris in Two Minutes from Beep Show.

To read further:

• Still moving, or how still images with a bit of creativity can be very impactful.


• Bunn-invasion, an article featuring a stop-motion advert for Sony Bravia which hides a bit more than just a unique selling proposition...

Shadow casting

Let me walk in your shadow

Larry Kagan, a NY-based artist, plays with steel and light to shade a different perspective on things... Well, in this case and to be more precise, he shades a different perspective on a wall. This video is a great induction to his work. It is surprising how a metallic mayhem can suddenly make sense when illuminated in a specific angle... Would that be a metaphor of life maybe?

Objects/Shadows from Larry Kagan on Vimeo.

Anthology of a teenager sex life

Warning: this blog post should be rated PG18... Look away if you are underage!
OK, now that I have your attention, you dirty little minds, I wanted to confess something. Having been caught in some aerial mayhem in the recent months (in fact I realised that in 2010 I have been stranded 13 days due to flight cancellations, snow storms and other volcanic ashes!), I have also been forced to deal with the in-flight entertainment and its depleting content quality. But, hey, when you are stuck in a plane for way too long, you have an alibi to catch up on the latest romantic comedies and other so-called blockbusters: there is not much else to do... especially if you have been graciously flanked with some over-weighted fellow travelers who block your escape route.

Teenagers' underbelly

Having rapidly exhausted the movies I really wanted to watch, and not being a great fan of the Turkish film scene in original version and without subtitles, I had to make a concession: watching one (or two) of the latest features for teenagers. I am not talking about sanitised movies like Anna Montana or the High School Musical series, no, I am referencing to the underbelly catalogue, films a la American Pie for instance.



The revelation of these screening was a bit weird... and you will certainly concur that I must be a crooked mind myself to watch such a movie and draw cultural/societal conclusions. These films however remain in my eyes a magnifying glass of cultural trends happening on the other side of the pond. And one thing that struck me was the vulgarisation of some sexual practices.

"voulez-vous coucher avec moi?"

I will not enter in the discussion around pre-marriage lust, you can make your own decisions. What I would like to call out are cultural discrepancies between Western societies around oral sex.

It seems that girls (and boys) on the west side of the Atlantic are more likely to perform such stunts rather than having regular intercourse. It seems less committal. I let you digest that first fact and reflect on the fact that for some societies ingurgitating something is absorbing its essence, its soul, its power... Think a moment of Toreros and the post corrida feast of bull ears and tail, or even cannibals.

Putting something in your mouth does not seem to be that trivial a practice for some. And so, let's put this into the perspective of a European culture. Let's say the French (as I can make generalisation about my own culture, without being taxed of racism). If you agree on today's legend about French girls, it would seem that they are quite easy to get laid.

Let me first demystify that cliche largely echoed in the above-mentioned films... Twenty years or so struggling with female gender allow me to clearly confirm: this IS a legend. Nevertheless, assuming that this myth was somehow based on some statistical truth (and that I must have been exposed to the placebo group when I was young), it appears that girls in France would be more prone to open their legs than their mouth.

Taste the difference.

The dichotomy between both countries seems to be articulated around, on the one hand, fear of pregnancy/lack of understanding or rejection of contraception, and on the other hand, a different conception of intimacy.

Note for the male teenagers who discarded my introductory warning and read all the way to this sentence: if you were planning a trip to France to "enlarge your horizon" and practice my mother tongue, it seems that you may have to get into a serious relationship before you can get a taste of home from a local. Yet I could understand your misunderstandings, after all, the inventors of French Kiss should be skilled at this tongue twisting oral drill. To boot aren't the German referring to oral sex as "Franzosisch" (i.e. French sex).

Too bad, guys, France is also the country of romance and seduction... You will still learn a lot from that trip. Unless you end up in the placebo group.


To read further:

• The end of a myth, or how the Little English girls lost their European sex appeal;


• The cost of loving, an article on the hidden truth behind weddings;


• Watch you moves, or what your gesture can tell in a different culture

I Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest

Seriously some trips can make you crazy. Here is a short summary for those who have not followed my adventures on Twitter of how I managed to fly back to Europe just in time for Christmas.

Houston, we have a problem... too.

I was traveling to U.S. for work, I have again been stranded on the other side of the Atlantic. No Icelandic ash cloud this time, but a so-called snow storm that would have hit Western Europe instead... Seriously, how can we still be surprised by snowfalls in December? My departure was initially planned from Seattle on Friday 17th in the evening. I got hot by a treatorous SMS in mid-afternoon informing me that my British Airways flight would be canceled due to possible flight restrictions over Europe. And indeed a couple hours later Heathrow closed its doors.

I then spent the afternoon on the phone with my travel agency emergency hotline, since the main line was long closed due to the time difference and the promising weekend. Well, when I say spend the afternoon on the phone you will have corrected by yourself: I meant "spent the afternoon listening to a pre-recorded message reassuring me of my importance and the immediacy of the hotline response"...

Three hours later, someone finally picked up the phone... to confirm that my flight was canceled - thank you for the news, miss, but that I knew first hand otherwise I'd be in the air rather than over the phone with you! The real new news was that a Continental flight may be leaving the next night from Houston to London. I was thus rerouted to Texas the next morning to make sure I catch my connecting flight. In parallel I learned that fellow Londoners were trying their luck via NY or Dallas... If all roads lead to Rome, it seems that they also make stop-overs in London.

Saturday morning, at dawn, I was leaving Washington State, in the Northwestern part of the U.S., for Houston, Texas in the Southern part of the U.S.. At least I was migrates eastwards, and it was looking promising... My flight to London may be over than 5 hour late it was still scheduled. In fact we even boarded. My eyes soon closed under the weigh of accumulated fatigue, the time differences, flight foods served at any time... "Crrrrr ..." The microphone crackled and woke me up. A glance by the window tells me it is still dark outside and we're still airborn, however my ears were to capture some bad news. "Crrrr... back to terminal 3... crrrr door 15."

What? Did I hear that correctly, we were returning to Houston? After two hours, our plane made a U-turn, having been denied access to European airspace. So it was three o'clock in the morning when we got back on the ground, in the baggage room, waiting for our suitcases. 5 by 5 we made our wayto a suburban hotel, presumably to rest. But for me no time to sleep: I needed to use the Wi-Fi in the lobby to join either the airline or my travel agent to my being placed on the first flight to London. The perspective of spending Christmas amongst Long Horns rather than stuffed turkeys did little to charm me.
Back to square 2.

Since the pre-recorded messages started to make me sick, I never went to bed, and rather jumped in the first shuttle to the airport and do what French people do best: snake my way through the queue to get a precious pass to home. Luckily a ground hostess opened up a patch of blue sky in my so far gloomy horizon. She was French (Yeah!), in her late fifties... and more importantly had access to a terminal which informed her that a flight would leave that same Sunday evening from New York City. And off I go to NYC. Good fortune seemed to be with me that Sunday: a shortcut through the Personel lane, a breathless race through the airport corridors I had extensively visited the day before and here I was boarding a plane to... Newark. "Sorry, what did the hostess say? New York or Newark... that sounds a bit similar to my tired French ears... but I cannot cope with such a misunderstanding at this point!"

Newark was indeed the final destination of the aircraft in which I was buckled up, but Newark was also printed on my ticket and the passenger next to me informed me that it was the third airport in NY (actually it is in New Jersey but it broadly speaking it sounds better to pretend it is "New York" for most tour operators).
Do I really want to be a part of it?

It was 11am when we landed in Newark, my connecting flight to heaven was scheduled on time, but 8 hours later. Fair enough, I was not going to complain, even if the airport was indeed much, much smaller than JFK or La Guardia, I had never been that much East and therefore close to my final destination. I just had to to kill some time: I toured the few shops clockwise, and then anti-clockwise. I stopped in front of the electronic displays in order to assess the situation: some delayed flights from Europe, nothing alarming. A few pages of reading, a little surfing on my Windows Phone 7, and I resumed my walk. A small burger, one for the road as they say.

Soon enough it is 4pm, and even if the displays remain positive, I am less and less. My wife hqd just pinged me a weather report from London and a notice regarding further airspace restrictions which reminded me of many bad memories. Customer Service was as usual not aware of any cancelation, or at least they did not receive any official guidance to confirm or deny the rumors which had begun to spread amongst some seasoned travelers like me. The signs were unmistakable, so were the sidelong glances of ground staff. And for good reasons, few minutes later the two evening flights to London were canceled.

Taking advantage of my earlier wanderings, I headed up straight to the customer service and booked myself on the first flight to... Paris. As a matter of fact, due to the backlog and new weather predictions, the first seats for the Old Europe were not before Wednesday. Yet on the Tuesday I was due to fly to our holiday destination with wife and son. I would never get that plane, but a detour by the French capital and a possible connection by train or car should enable me to spend the Holidays with my family. The Holy Grail at this stage.

Some will say that I'm lucky in my misfortune because NYC is still a nice destination. Except that the constant time difference between the UK, the West Coast and East Coast, uncertainty, a remnant of bronchitis and the stress of the last few days have got rid of my last strengths. I was exhasuted and had no taste for tourism. I wanted to see only one thing: the light at the end of the tunnel. And I was not alone since my colleague who had gone directly to NYC from Seattle there was still stranded there too. There will be no blog post entitled A Mountain Dweller in the Hudson Valley this time, it will take a more favorable opportunity to report on the inspiring cultural disparities to be experienced in the Big Apple.
Home Run.

Wednesday came. The plane was scheduled to depart at 6:30pm but I was already on site at 1pm. I must have missed Newark Airport... In any case, I was not to miss this opportunity to go home. My first three attempts had failed... The fourth should not. And the overweighted couple who would travels with me, will not indent my anticipation. The seat was too small for the woman who was spreading over her husbands who in turn was crushing me against the cold window of the aircraft. I did not care, I was flying home and no smelly armpit would make me lose my smile.

Because this time it was true, the plane took off and did not turn around. It was en route to France, home sweet home. I peeped over and over again through the window to see if a change of scenery would announce a change of course. To no avail. Despite the fatigue, I did not close my eyes, the experience in Houston left marks. Besides, my neighbor's elbows tucked in my rib cage helped me stay awake.

Land, I see land.

What a joy to see the Irish coast at dawn! Not to mention the frosted English back country... But what a joke to see the Parisian airport Roissy Charles de Gaulle. I expected to see six-feet-high snow drifts, employees shoveling snow with flamethrowers... Think again. Only a few inches of snow were scattered around. You could still see here and there some patches of grass. Seriously if there was a snowstorm a few days before, it must have been followed by a tropical one that melted down the evidence!

But again I did not care, I was in France, only a few hours from my family and day ahead of Christmas Eve. I did not care either about the announcement on the loudspeaker letting passengers from Orlando know that they would have to wait for their luggage another two hours due to a "sudden strike from the ground staff"... It had to be France. A Warm Welcome Home!

The Saturday shot #8: stranded

Since I am stranded (yet again) in the US I hesitated with the right picture to illustrate my weekend.

I thought of these tshirts stating 'Houston we have a problem' which are sold all around me, but I settled on this one. instead. It may be the hope to get these reluctant flights under my boot, or the unspoken yet unsuppressible desire to crush the airlines which are preventing me to see my son and wife.

Anyway...

The Saturday Shot #7: looking back

It is this time of the year again. Journalists, politics, random people reflect on their annual achievements as we get close to the end of December. That is why I felt this picture would be a great analogy for my weekly "Saturday Shot" blog post.

"I love mirrors. They let one pass through the surface of things." Claude Chabrol (1930-2010)

And whilst I am at it, here is a short selection of the too many pictures I took this year. Another way to look back, beyond a mirror, is to look at it through the prism of a camera roll. Enjoy.