Which is your favorite cell phone with Camera, Mona?



So here I am after all the wait.  I behold - the Mona Lisa!! Of course like the hordes clicking away in the picture I too took her pictures.  But then I thought what must Ms Lisa must be thinking right now?  Whose phone is better than others! By the way I used a real camera and not a cellphone.



Van Gogh (Self Portrait)



Van Gogh self portrait (Musee d'Orsay, Paris, Feb 2009)
This was the second VG's self portrait that I have seen.  The first one I saw in the National Gallery of Art in Washington D.C.  They, err, look quite the same! I am quite an admirer of the VG paintings.  Would love to visit the VG museum in Amsterdam.  But Musee d'Orsay does have a lot of works by him and of course his close pal, Gaguin.



Paris Pictures (Feb 2009)

Beggar (s) at St. Germain
I was in Paris in early February and by every yardstick it was cold.  Found these guys huddling together.

This is how you visit Paris!!! (UPDATED Dec. 17, 2010)

June 28, 2009
Frugal Paris
By MATT GROSS
WELL before midsummer, the sun sets late over Paris. Even at 9 p.m., you can sit on the banks of the Canal St.-Martin in the 10th Arrondissement, and see in the still water the reflection of the sky, a blue mottled with thin clouds, and the low pale buildings with their amber lights just turned on, and the ruffled, fractal edge of the trees in full green bloom. Night seems as if it will never come.

By the water, there is a small pink dot of a helium balloon, bobbing in the intermittent breeze. The balloon is key. It was given to you by Pink Flamingo, a pizza parlor down the nearby Rue Bichat, whose bicycle deliveryman will use it as a beacon to locate you and present the five pies you’ve ordered (10.50 to 16 euros each). They’re not all for you, of course — you’ve got friends to help eat the pizza and drink the four bottles of red wine (40 euros) you picked up from Le Verre Volé, a wine bar across the canal.

You’ll love the pizza’s quirky toppings — the Poulidor’s goat cheese and sliced duck breast, the bacon-and-pineapple Obama — and the earthy pinot noir. But finally it will be dark and you’ll be more than tipsy and your friends will be heading home by Métro, by Vespa and by Vélib’, the city’s rental bicycle system.

And you, you’ll take off on foot, up along the canal toward Belleville, where Asian, Arab and African immigrants live alongside artists and yuppies and bobos. And you’ll climb the stairs at the Hipotel Paris Belleville and collapse into the single bed of your spartan room, not caring that the toilet is in a smelly closet down the hall, because the sheets are clean, the rate is dirt cheap and you’ve just experienced the most wonderful, traditional and frugal activity in the City of Light — the picnic.

The picnic is the great democratizing institution of summer, when Parisians spill onto riverbanks and bridges and into parks and gardens, chasing away the memories of winter and rain with baguettes and bottles, sandals and sundresses. For the wealthy, picnics are a lark, for the less wealthy an escape, and for this Frugal Traveler, who spent nine days in Paris at the end of May and early June, proof that classic Parisian indulgence doesn’t have to cost a fortune.

In fact, this idea that Paris is expensive has always struck me as odd. Of course, it can be, if your conception of Paris is built on haute couture and Michelin stars. But Paris — the physical as well as the cultural — is the creation less of the moneyed nobility than of the strivers, schemers, hustlers, freeloaders and starving artists who roam its streets, sing chansons on its subways and make tiny cups of coffee last hours at zinc counters. When I imagine Paris, I think of Émile Zola, the 19th-century novelist whose based-in-reality characters — from ambitious laundresses to real-estate speculators — are, in their own way, just as responsible as Napoleon III and Baron Haussmann for transforming it into the grand, boulevarded city we know today.

I also think of Ernest Hemingway, whose “A Moveable Feast”— a “restored” version is being published this summer by Scribner — is the ur-text of rose-tinted Parisian poverty, a collage of scenes in which the young novelist starves for his art in a cold-water apartment, yet somehow manages to enjoy ski trips to Austria, bottles of good white Mâcon and platters of oysters.

Of course, Hemingway didn’t spend the rest of his life in a dingy garret (hello, Key West!), and neither would I. In the spirit of Parisian strivers past and present, my plan was to switch hotels every few days, starting with cheapest but (I hoped) still recommendable bed I could find, and moving my way up to grander and fancier digs — while, of course, staying well under 100 euros a night. In a twisted kind of way, I wanted to develop a bit of Baudelairean “nostalgie de la boue,” or nostalgia for the gutter — a romantic vision of poverty that can only really be embraced after climbing out of privation.

My descent into Paris’s lower rungs began at the allegedly two-star Hipotel, which I found through my trusty European hotel guide, EuroCheapo.com. The photos were sharp, the location decent and the price (32 euros a night, or about $44 at $1.41 to the euro) terrific, and the poor reviews on TripAdvisor only fed my dream of finding the ideal, undiscovered hovel. Dream on. When I arrived around 11 a.m., there was no one at the front desk and the hallways were just clean enough to dissuade complaint. After lugging my suitcase up a flight of stairs (what, did I expect an elevator?), I found the corridor dark, the light switches dangling on exposed wires.

The room was, in the French description, a “simple.” I had a desk, a bed, a sink, mismatched hangers and a single window that let in some welcome daylight. The only towels were hand towels, and the shower was down the hall, in a locked, windowless closet whose key I had to request at the front desk. It was bad, but neither hilariously bad nor charmingly bad. At least I was well situated, around the corner from the Colonel Fabien Métro stop and walking distance from other neighborhoods.

Because of this, I spent little time in Belleville. Instead, as always seems to happen, I wound up wandering the Marais, the former Jewish quarter that straddles the Third and Fourth Arrondissements and has, in the past 15 years, become home to innumerable galleries and fashionable boutiques. It’s also one of the few neighborhoods relatively untouched by Haussmannian urban planning. The streets remain narrow and chaotic, and feel more so because of the masses of tourists bumbling about.

But though it now defines the beaten path, the Marais still holds, if not secrets, then overlooked — and inexpensive — delights. Chief among them is the Carnavalet, one of 14 free museums run by the city, this one focusing on the history of Paris itself. In a conjoined pair of opulent 16th- and 17th-century mansions, dozens of exhibitions track the city’s evolution, from prehistory (represented by fossilized canoes) to the Middle Ages to relatively modern times (a niche containing Proust’s bedchamber). I was captivated by an 1890 painting of the Canal St.-Martin, looking almost as it does today, mirroring the lights of buildings at night, but also by a 16th-century painting of an anti-Henri IV march by soldiers and priests at the Place de Grève. All around them, everyday city life thrives — men cut wood, repair boats and fight over a pig.

AS I visited museums, I even tried skipping lunch à la Hemingway, who claimed fasting helped him concentrate on the Cézannes in the Musée du Luxembourg — “to see truly how he made landscapes.” My hunger, meanwhile, let me focus not on Cézanne but on the Museum of Hunting and Nature, free the first Sunday of every month. (The Louvre, the Musée d’Orsay and others offer the same deal, which President Obama took advantage of at the Pompidou.) My stomach empty, I explored this strange collection of taxidermied animals, read arcane lore (in late medieval France, I learned, deer had to be hunted nobly, but you could catch wolves deviously) and admired works of contemporary art — like a Jeff Koons puppy — among the stuffed relics.

Two nights in the garret, however, was enough — I was ready to upgrade my Paris life. I moved into the Hôtel des Arts Bastille, a fine old seven-story building with a mansard roof, Juliet balconies, an elevator and, what I was most excited by, ensuite bathrooms. I’d found it through Kayak.com and picked it for its looks (rooms with jaunty orange highlights), location (close enough to Bastille to be accessible, but far enough from the noisy bars) and, above all, its price: 60 euros a night, if I booked for three nights. Compared with the Hipotel, it felt like a five-star.

After checking in, I cracked open the tall double windows that looked down on the quiet street and breathed deeply. The air did not smell like a toilet. There was no hammering from next door. There was absolutely nothing wrong with this place — but maybe nothing truly special, either.

Once I settled into these plusher surroundings, I felt ready to indulge in a slightly better life. The sandwiches au jambon I’d been buying for a few euros from nameless street vendors were great, as were the half-dozen fines de claire oysters I’d consumed at a stand outside the Montgallet Métro (8 euros, including bread, butter and wine), but I’d been dying for a traditional French bistro meal.

Thanks to one of my Twitter followers, @webcowgirl, I found Bistrot Victoires, about halfway between the Louvre and Opéra. The décor was classic — zinc bar, huge mirrors, wood paneling, brass trim — and so was the food. My grilled rib-eye (11 euros) came topped with burning thyme, the embers glowing red, the smoke a haunting perfume. The Côtes du Rhône (13.75 euros a bottle, shared with my three lunch mates) paired nicely, and the crème brûlée (5 euros) was, as the French say (and are than happy with), correct.

My craving sated, I worked up the courage to go shopping. The flea markets provided many bargains (which I’ll describe in detail this Wednesday on my blog), but I found other options, too.

À Chacun Son Image, for example, was a trove of anonymous found photographs (5 euros and up) of midcentury beachgoers, World War I veterans, dinner parties where half the attendees have their eyes closed — all regular people contributing to a romantic, black-and-white image of Paris past.

Paris past also turned up at Native Kingdom, a newly opened vintage children’s clothing store in the upper Marais, where I bought my daughter a striped Petit Bateau bikini bottom (only 4 euros!), and the shop’s owner, Ema Caillon, wrapped it up in pink tissue paper held together with a pretty toy bird clip.

More slightly outdated fashions were available at the A.P.C. surplus store in Montmartre. A.P.C. virtually defines a certain type of fashionable Parisian — equal parts sharp tailoring and street style — but six months after the clothes hit stores, if they haven’t sold they move up to the Montmartre outlet and go on sale at 50 percent off. Eighty euros still isn’t cheap for a hooded windbreaker, but definitely more tempting than the original price.

When evening began to fall, hunger became an issue again. I’d stave it off a bit with a drink at Le Baron Rouge, a bar in an old working-class neighborhood where most of the nearly 50 wines cost less than 3.50 euros, or at Chez Georges, the kind of ancient dive that’s been sustaining impoverished drinkers for decades. (“I used to go there when I was 18!” wrote one friend, now 39, in response to my e-mail invitation.) It’s easy to see why. Beers are 2 euros, kirs 2.50, and all are welcome, from old-timers who wander in and out, to hip kids who groove to the D.J.’s turntables under the stone arches in the basement. In my mind, I saw it as an assommoir, or gin mill, from one of Zola’s novels.

But eventually, I had to eat, and though I loved the picnics — say, on the Pont des Arts, a pedestrian bridge that crosses the Seine west of the Pont Neuf — occasionally I wanted to sit down in an actual chair. Well, Churrsaqueira Galo, a Portuguese restaurant on a forlorn stretch of the Ninth Arrondissement, recommended by the Paris-based American cookbook author David Lebovitz, had chairs. And tables. And that was about it: there was no décor to speak of, just white walls and, in one room, a steel rotisserie. But it also had beyond-hearty helpings of roast chicken, pork ribs, steaks, lamb, rice, fries, salad and an herb-flecked hot sauce, most for 10 euros or less. It was the kind of place where, if I lived in the neighborhood, I’d feel guilty for going there so often. (Maybe.)

The décor at Spring, one of the hottest tables in the city, was pared down as well, but in a far fancier and more expensive way. Opened two and a half years ago by Daniel Rose, a 32-year-old American chef who has already become a Paris legend, it featured a 48-euro menu (gray-shrimp marmalade, sole beignets), just 16 seats and a monthlong waiting list for reservations. How did the Frugal Traveler get in? On a no-reservations Saturday, when Mr. Rose serves a discount menu of lobster rolls (23 to 28 euros, depending on the market price) and duck-fat French fries (5 euros).

Champagne, wine and macvin (a wine fortified with grappa from the Jura) flowed long after Spring should have closed, but Mr. Rose’s friends and customers kept strolling in, including one stunning woman in evening dress who clutched her nonexistent potbelly and declared, mixing French and English, “Je suis full!” So was I. (Spring is in flux right now as Mr. Rose is shifting it to a new location in January.)

And so it went most nights. A good, inexpensive meal with friends, maybe a visit afterward to a wine bar like Le Garde Robe, where the bartender suggested one of my all-time favorite bottles, the rough and punchy 2001 Domaine Maria Fita (24 euros), and plunked down a baguette and a slab of gnarly terrine. And then I’d walk through the empty streets — watching the occasional Vélib’ rider cruise past, or dodging the raindrops that dripped through the trees — to whichever hotel I was staying in that night.

That stroll was, my last two nights, particularly joyful, as I was heading for the 40-room, family-owned Les Chansonniers. After holding my nose at the Hipotel, and feeling simply satisfied at the Hôtel des Arts, I was ready for a dose of Parisian luxury (okay, affordable luxury). I’d found Les Chansonniers — off in far-flung but Métro-accessible Ménilmontant, between Belleville and the Père-Lachaise Cemetery — through EuroCheapo, and I’d fallen for its beauty, its affordability (my room, one of the hotel’s best, cost 82 euros a night) and its theme: the great French singers of old, almost all of whom were, at one point or another, starving artists.

I dragged my old rolling duffel there from the Hôtel des Arts as a light rain beginning to fall. I checked in (the clerk even complimented my French!) and climbed the stairs to my room, the Mistinguett, named for the singer who started out selling flowers on the street and a couple decades later was insuring her legs for 500,000 francs.

When I walked in the door, I felt suddenly, weirdly out of place. The bed was big and soft, covered in a thick, tastefully pink duvet. Rose-patterned toile de Jouy wallpaper added to the romance, and in the huge bathroom I spied a whirlpool tub. (Towels, too!) After a week of striving, I’d hit the big time, and I wasn’t sure I was ready for it. I almost felt as if I couldn’t simply relax there — as if this was someone else’s room and I didn’t want to mess it up. One afternoon, I brought home a merguez sandwich (4.50 euros) and ate it carefully, afraid of what the housekeepers might think if they found crumbs in the sheets.

It wasn’t until my last morning in Paris that I put that whirlpool bathtub to its proper use. There, with the hot water whooshing around me, I examined the intricate details of the tiled wall and felt what I imagine Hemingway, Piaf and every other striver who made it felt — that despite the challenges of poverty, self-imposed or circumstantial, the days of denial had made this final indulgence that much sweeter (especially, in my case, since I still wasn’t spending much). Life in Paris on a low budget could be tough, could be frustrating, could involve long walks, bad meals, rudeness and discomfort. It was certainly no picnic — except, of course, when it was.

IF YOU GO

HOW TO GET THERE

Many airlines fly nonstop between New York City and Paris. A recent Web search found Air France flights from Kennedy Airport into Charles de Gaulle from $900 in July.

HOW TO GET AROUND

The Vélib’ bicycle-rental system has become exceedingly popular. Rental stations are located all around the city, and a one-hour rental costs only 1 euro.

The Métro is the best alternative (besides walking). Tickets are 1.60 euros each, but can be bought in packets of 10 (un carnet) for 11.40 euros, about $16 at $1.41 to the euro. If you’re going to be in Paris from Monday through Sunday, or plan to ride the Métro frequently, invest in a swipable Navigo card. The card itself costs 5 euros, and a weeklong unlimited credit is 16.80 euros. Hold on to the card when the week is up — you can use it on your next visit.

WHERE TO STAY

Hipotel Paris Belleville, 21, rue Vicq d’Azir, (33-1) 4208-0670; singles from 32 euros.

Hôtel des Arts Bastille, 2, rue Godefroy Cavaignac; (33-1) 4379-7257, www.paris-hotel-desarts.com; doubles from 59 euros.

Les Chansonniers, 113, boulevard de Ménilmontant; (33-1) 4357-0058, doubles with shared bathroom from 46 euros, with ensuite bathroom from 59 euros.

WHAT TO SEE

Musée Carnavalet, 23, rue de Sévigné;(33-1) 4459-5858; www.carnavalet.paris.fr, free admission.

Musée Cognacq-Jay, 8, rue Elzévir; (33-1) 4027-0721; www.cognacq-jay.paris.fr., free admission.

Musée de la Chasse et de la Nature, 62, rue des Archives; (33-1) 5301-9240, www.chassenature.org; admission 6 euros, free the first Sunday of every month.

WHERE TO EAT & DRINK

Pink Flamingo, 67, rue Bichat; (33-1) 4202-3170; www.pinkflamingopizza.com

Le Verre Volé, 67, rue de Lancry; (33-1) 4803-1734; www.leverrevole.fr.

Bistrot Victoires, 6, rue de la Vrillière; (33-1) 4261-4378.

Chez Georges, 11, rue des Canettes; (33-1) 4326-7915.

Le Baron Rouge, 1, rue Théophile-Roussel, (33-1) 4343-1432.

Churrasqueira Galo, 69, rue de Dunkerque, (33-1) 4874-4940

Le Garde Robe, 41, rue de l’Arbre Sec, (33-1) 4926-9060.

Le Cul de Poule, 53, rue des Martyrs, (33-1) 5316-1307, is super-playful from its name (literally, chicken butt; figuratively, double-boiler) to its décor (orange chairs, bed-like banquette). But the cooking is serious, precise, creative and affordable, with two courses 23 euros, and three for 26.

Le Bar à Soupes, 33, rue de Charonne; (33-1) 4357-5379; www.lebarasoupes.com, offers an excellent lunch deal: a fresh market soup, two types of cheese, bread and a glass of wine for 9.90 euros.

WHERE TO SHOP

À Chacun Son Image, 35-37, rue Charlot, (33-665) 2395-0300; achacunsonimage.wordpress.com.

Native Kingdom, 24, rue de Poitou

A.P.C. Surplus, 20, rue Andre del Sarte; (33-1) 4262-1088; www.apc.fr.

MATT GROSS writes the Frugal Traveler blog at nytimes.com/travel.

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December 16, 2010


36 Hours in ParisBy GISELA WILLIAMS

HAS Paris lost its edge? Mais non! The city’s bohemians are just harder to find. The artsy denizens and creative tastemakers, always on the hunt for cheaper rents, have migrated to the city’s fringes, like Belleville and the former red-light district of Pigalle. There are even fashion-forward hangouts in the postcard-perfect center — a pop-up restaurant here, a taxidermy-stuffed speakeasy there. And, of course, a modern take on the classic Parisian bistro or boulangerie will never go out of style.

Friday

4 p.m.

1) GALLERY GHETTO
The ghosts of Paris’s master artists are everywhere, but if you want to dive into the city’s contemporary art scene, head to Belleville, where the steep hilltop streets are dotted with upstart galleries and cozy wine bars. Among the earliest galleries was Bugada & Cargnel (7-9, rue de l’Équerre; 33-1-42-71-72-73; bugadacargnel.com), which specializes in both French and international emerging artists. Newer arrivals include Gaudel de Stampa (3, rue de Vaucouleurs; 33-1-40-21-37-38; gaudeldestampa.fr) and Marcelle Alix (4, rue Jouye-Rouve; 33-9-50-04-16-80; marcellealix.com). For a mix of art and fashion, swing by Andrea Crews (25, rue de Vaucouleurs; 33-1-45-26-36-68; andreacrews.com), where vintage duds are transformed into fast fashion.

6 p.m.

2) LA BOHèME WINE BAR

Perched above the Belleville park, Le Baratin (3, rue Jouye-Rouve; 33-1-43-49-39-70 ) is an unpretentious and intimate wine bar with antique tile floors and worn wood tables. Despite the local buzz, it has managed to stay low-key, so it’s still possible to walk in at an odd hour, sans reservations, and join the bohemian crowd as they sample the dozen or so small-production wines, scratched on the chalkboard.


8:30 p.m.

3) CHIC BISTRONOMIQUE

Here’s the trick to getting a table at always-packed Le Chateaubriand (129, avenue Parmentier; 33-1-43-57-45-95). Park yourself at the bar around 8:30 p.m. the day of, and fortify yourself with wine and snacks — and people watching — while you wait for a table. It’s first come first served for the 9:30 seating. (Otherwise, you have to make reservations at least two weeks in advance for the 7:30 seating.) The young Basque chef, Iñaki Aizpitarte, serves a five-course menu that changes daily. Recent meals included a foie gras served in miso soup, and a sea bass served with red chicory and lemon crème fraîche. Prix fixe: only 50 euros, or $65 at $1.31 to the euro.

Midnight

4) RED LIGHT SPECIAL

In recent years, the area around Pigalle has drawn Parisian tastemakers looking for a good time — with their clothes on. Start with a drink at Hôtel Amour (8, rue de Navarin; 33-1-48-78-31-80; hotelamourparis.fr), an artsy hotel decorated with disco balls and Terry Richardson photographs that is partly owned by the reigning king of Paris night life, André Saraiva. Then continue to Chez Moune (54, rue Jean Baptiste Pigalle; 33-1-45-26-64-64; chezmoune.fr), a former lesbian cabaret that is now a popular hangout for the city’s polysexual fashionistas.

Saturday
11 a.m.

5) WHERE LADY GAGA SHOPS

By now, you can pretty much find those Lanvin flats and Céline bags back home. But Bambi-shaped shoes? Or a Kermit the Frog jacket? The aristocrat fashion designer Jean-Charles de Castelbajac has a new boutique in St.-Germain (61, rue des St.-Pères; 33-9-64-48-48-54; jc-de-castelbajac.com) where fashion inspiration comes from unexpected places, like “Paradise Lost” and Donald Duck.


Noon

6) POP-UP BISTRO
Even jaded Parisians have waited weeks for one of the 12 seats at the pop-up restaurant Nomiya (13, avenue du Président Wilson; online reservations at art-home-electrolux.com), a glass box that floats on the rooftop of the Palais de Tokyo. Instead of dinner, come for lunch, when seatings are easier to come by, and the views are more spectacular. The five-course meal cooked up by Gilles Stassart might include foie gras with eggplant confit and scorpion fish served with a vegetable medley (80 euros for lunch and 100 euros for dinner). Nomiya’s run has been extended until spring 2011.

2 p.m.

7) SHOP THE CANAL
On sunny weekends, stylish young families and boho-chic couples stroll the gentrified Canal St.-Martin — fast becoming a charming little shopping hood of indie boutiques. Dupleks (83, quai de Valmy; 33-1-42-06-15-08; dupleks.fr) sells eco-friendly fashions, Espace Beaurepaire (28, rue Beaurepaire; 33-1-42-45-59-64; espacebeaurepaire.com) carries street-art prints, and La Piñata (25, rue des Vinaigriers; 33-1-40-35-01-45; lapinata.fr) has wooden children’s toys. Style hounds especially like Sweat Shop (13, rue Lucien Sampaix; 33-9-52-85-47-41; sweatshopparis.com) , a funky D.I.Y. collective and cafe with sewing machines to rent by the hour.

4 p.m.

8) SAVORY AND SWEET
One bite, and you’ll understand why there’s a long line outside Du Pain et Des Idées (34, rue Yves Toudic; 33-1-42-40-44-52; dupainetdesidees.com), a cultish boulangerie in the Canal St.-Martin neighborhood. The escargot chocolat-pistache, a snail-shaped pastry filled with chocolate and pistachio, will shatter the will of any dieter. So will the mini-pavés, savory knots stuffed with spinach and goat cheese.

8 p.m.

9) AMERICAN TRANSPLANTS

Paris-obsessed food bloggers will roll their eyes, but Spring (6 Rue Bailleul; 33-1-45-96-05-72; springparis.blogspot.com), an intimate restaurant that moved this summer to the First Arrondissement, deserves the hype. The French-trained American chef Daniel Rose takes something as simple as eggplant and prepares it four eye-opening ways. Dinner prix-fixe menu: 64 euros. If you can’t make reservations months ahead of time, head to the newly revamped Minipalais (Grand Palais, Avenue Winston Churchill; 33-1-42-56-42-42; minipalais.com), a loft-like brasserie with an American-friendly menu that includes a terrific duck burger with foie gras. Or try the new Ralph’s (173, boulevard St.-Germain; 33-1-44-77-76-00; ralphlaurenstgermain.com), owned by Ralph Lauren in St.-Germain, which, believe it or not, is fashionable with a young Parisian crowd.

Midnight

10) LE CHIC ET LE GEEK

Ever since the legendary Le Montana reopened during last spring’s fashion week, le party hasn’t stopped. Resurrected by André Saraiva (yes, him again) and Olivier Zahm, Le Montana (28, rue St.-Benoît) draws an A-list crowd of models and actors. But be warned: getting past the bouncer is harder than squeezing into jeggings. Fortunately, a 20-minute walk away is the geeky hot spot Curio Parlor (16, rue des Bernardins; 33-1-44-07-12-47; curioparlor.com), a speakeasy-style lounge popular with a chic Parisian crowd that sips single malt whiskey.


Sunday

11 a.m.

11) GRASS IS GREENER

Since the historic dance hall and watering hole Rosa Bonheur reopened in 2008 (2, allée de la Cascade, in the Parc des Buttes-Chaumont; 33-1-42-00-00-45; rosabonheur.fr), it has brought the city’s party crowd to the great outdoors. By day, middle-aged hippies strum guitars alongside hungover clubkids. By night, it turns into a full-fledged party complete with velvet rope and D.J. This winter the party continues inside with the restaurant Mimi Cantine overseen by the Michelin-starred chef Armand Arnal.

1 p.m.

12) FANTASTIC MR. FOX

Blame it on Wes Anderson movies or an obsession with the cult taxidermy shop Deyrolle, but nothing gets a Parisian bohemian more excited than a room filled with stuffed animals. Get your fix at the Musée de la Maison de la Chasse et de la Nature (62, rue des Archives; 33-1-53-01-92-40), a quirky museum with an eccentric collection of taxidermy and antique weaponry. There is also a room dedicated to unicorns, which adds just the right amount of je ne sais quoi to the intentionally musty space.

IF YOU GO

Give Philippe Starck two years, a jaw-dropping budget and a grand Parisian shell, and you get the new Raffles Royal Monceau (37, avenue Hoche; 33-1-42-99-88-00; leroyalmonceau.com). Steps from the Arc de Triomphe, the 85-room hotel leaves no detail too small to escape the designer’s touch, with rates from 780 euros, or $1,000.


For a taste of the seedy-cool district of Pigalle, book a room at the Hôtel Amour (8, rue Navarin; 33-1-48-78-31-80; hotelamourparis.fr), the brainchild of the graffiti artist turned nightclub entrepreneur André Saraiva and Thierry Costes of the Costes family. Rooms start at 100 euros.

The year-old Hotel Banke (20, rue La Fayette; 33-1-55-33-22-22; derbyhotels.com/banke-hotel-paris), near the Place Vendôme, combines Belle Époque-style architecture with not overly trendy touches, with 94 rooms starting at 260 euros in December.

Why College Towns Are Looking Smart

MARCH 24, 2009, 2:32 P.M. ET Why College Towns Are Looking Smart Article

By KELLY EVANS
Looking for a job? Try a college town.

Morgantown, W.Va., home to West Virginia University, has one of the lowest unemployment rates in the U.S. -- just 3.9% -- and the university itself has about 260 job openings, from nurses to professors to programmers.

"We're hurting for people, especially to fill our computer and technical positions," says Margaret Phillips, vice president for human relations at WVU.

Of the six metropolitan areas with unemployment below 4% as of January, three of them are considered college towns. One is Morgantown. The other two are Logan, Utah, home of Utah State University, and Ames, Iowa, home of Iowa State University. Both have just 3.8% unemployment, based on Labor Department figures that are not seasonally adjusted.

The pattern holds true for many other big college towns, such as Gainesville, Fla., Ann Arbor, Mich., Manhattan, Kan., and Boulder, Colo. In stark contrast, the unadjusted national unemployment rate is 8.5%.

While college towns have long been considered recession-resistant, their ability to avoid the depths of the financial crisis shaking the rest of the nation is noteworthy. The ones faring the best right now are not only major education centers; they also are regional health-care hubs that draw people into the city and benefit from a stable, educated, highly skilled work force.

The big question hanging over these communities is whether their formula for success can outlast the nation's nastiest recession in at least a quarter-century. Amid investment losses and state budget woes, many college cities are starting to see their unemployment rates rise, even though they're still lower than the national average. The longer the recession drags on, the more likely college towns are to catch up with their harder-hit peers.

They already have felt the impact of the recession. WVU saw its endowment fall by nearly a quarter in the second half of 2008, and its hospitals are reducing 401(k) matching contributions and delaying $20 million in capital spending, though its state funding has remained intact.

State Funding Cuts
Utah State University has seen nearly 10% of its state funding cut in the past six months, and in response has laid off about 20 employees and imposed a mandatory weeklong furlough for its employees during spring break to save costs. Iowa State, facing a 9% reduction in state appropriations, just received approval to begin an early-retirement program.

But for now, at least, job seekers who act quickly -- and are willing to relocate -- could well fare better in places like Morgantown, which is about 70 miles south of Pittsburgh near the Pennsylvania border. College towns like Morgantown have a distinct advantage over many other cities: They enjoy a constant stream of graduates, some who stay put and others who return years later -- and each year brings a new crop of students and potential residents to the area.

"I could go almost anywhere and get a job right now," says Shane Cruse, a senior in the WVU school of nursing who graduates in May, citing the shortage of nurses nationwide. But come June 1, he'll be starting as a registered nurse at WVU's Ruby Memorial Hospital.

"I love it here," Mr. Cruse says. "It's a large-enough city that there's plenty to do. But you still leave your house and feel like it's your hometown."

WVU has a current enrollment of nearly 29,000, about the same size as the city of Morgantown, though the metro population is now about 115,000 and draws thousands more daily from the surrounding region for health care, shopping and WVU athletic events.

Today, the university and its hospital system together employ nearly 12,500 people -- the largest employer in the whole state. Job growth in the Morgantown metropolitan area averaged 3.2% a year from 2002-07, according to the university's Bureau of Business and Economic Research, compared to growth of just 1.1% nationally and 0.7% in West Virginia. The university system in total has an estimated annual economic impact of about $3.9 billion statewide.

Highly Skilled Work Force
Economists credit a highly skilled work force for the resilience of college towns. Edward Glaeser, an economics professor at Harvard University, has demonstrated that as the share of the adult population with college degrees in a city increases by 10%, wages correspondingly rise by about 7.8%.

"Apart from weather, human capital has been the best long-run predictor of urban success in the last century," Mr. Glaeser says.

Nikki Bowman, a 1992 graduate of WVU, is the kind of person economists have in mind when they speak of "human capital." She spent years in the magazine industry in places like Chicago and Washington, D.C., before returning last year to start her own magazine, WV Living, which was launched in November.

"It was my dream to come back, and I knew I could make it work," says Ms. Bowman, 37. "Part of why I wanted to be here was to pull from the journalism school and I have a lot of great interns as a result," which helps keep her payroll costs down.

WVU graduate Lindsay Williams, 29, started work as a real-estate broker with Howard Hanna's Morgantown office shortly after leaving WVU while waiting for her then-boyfriend -- now her husband -- to finish his degree. She now serves as president of the Morgantown Board of Realtors.

Another factor helping college towns: "communiversity," the current term for partnerships between universities and their home cities, such as joint economic development projects. The trend also reflects a shift in education to increasingly emphasize out-of-classroom learning, such as internships and volunteer work, that by definition engages the community, according to Sal Rinella, president of the Society for College and University Planning in Los Angeles.

"We could actually call these town-gown partnerships a kind of new movement in American higher education," he says. "In the last 20 years or so, the boundaries between the cities and the universities have really begun to crumble."

Planning experts point to the successful relationships between the University of Pennsylvania and downtown Philadelphia, and Johns Hopkins University's multimillion-dollar partnership with the East Baltimore Development Corp. But the college-town effect has its greatest impact in places like Morgantown.

The close relationship between Morgantown and WVU was partly borne out of desperation. In 1991, a young, reform-minded group including Ron Justice, who is now the mayor, was elected to the city council at a pivotal moment; the decades-long decline of railroad and heavy industry in Morgantown meant the city urgently needed to find a new engine of growth.

The council hired a city manager to oversee municipal finances, and began working more closely with the WVU administration in a joint effort to turn the town around. They started out small, with road-paving projects and public safety. In 2001, the university relocated a major new administration building in the city's blighted Wharf District instead of its downtown campus.

Catalyst for Redevelopment
The new building became a catalyst for redevelopment of the whole waterfront. A new hotel, restaurants and a $28 million event center have since been built, and the old railroad tracks are now miles of jogging and biking trails.

The university has continued to upgrade its downtown campus and added new facilities like a $34 million student recreation center with two pools, a climbing wall and a café to its campus a few miles north of town. Construction is now under way on an 88-acre research park near the hospital and a $50 million commercial development featuring a Hilton Garden Inn.

At the same time, WVU president David Hardesty's aggressive expansion of the university's student body -- which has grown 50% since 1995 -- and program offerings in the 1990s, including a world-renowned forensics and biometrics program, helped raise the caliber of the city's work force.

Jason Donahue graduated from WVU in 1993 and followed a career in commercial real-estate development to a job with ECDC Realty in Charleston, S.C., whose primary business is site selection and development for Wal-Mart Stores Inc. He moved back to Morgantown in 2007 to handle development in the Pennsylvania region. "My wife would tell you I picked our house so we could be within walking distance to the football games," he said with a chuckle. They are now season-ticket holders.

His wife, a registered nurse, quickly found work at one of the city's senior centers. Their 7-year-old daughter was in a community play last weekend sponsored by WVU -- a production of "Alice in Wonderland." "She was Gardener No. 7 with two speaking lines, and she did great," Mr. Donahue says.

Holi Celebrations! (2009)

Priya and her bunch of Holi revellers in full form. A festival tailormade for kids!!

As Indian Growth Soars, Child Hunger Persists (New York Times)

March 13, 2009

By SOMINI SENGUPTA
NEW DELHI — Small, sick, listless children have long been India’s scourge — “a national shame,” in the words of its prime minister, Manmohan Singh. But even after a decade of galloping economic growth, child malnutrition rates are worse here than in many sub-Saharan African countries, and they stand out as a paradox in a proud democracy.
China, that other Asian economic powerhouse, sharply reduced child malnutrition, and now just 7 percent of its children under 5 are underweight, a critical gauge of malnutrition. In India, by contrast, despite robust growth and good government intentions, the comparable number is 42.5 percent. Malnutrition makes children more prone to illness and stunts physical and intellectual growth for a lifetime.
There are no simple explanations. Economists and public health experts say stubborn malnutrition rates point to a central failing in this democracy of the poor. Amartya Sen, the Nobel prize-winning economist, lamented that hunger was not enough of a political priority here. India’s public expenditure on health remains low, and in some places, financing for child nutrition programs remains unspent.
Yet several democracies have all but eradicated hunger. And ignoring the needs of the poor altogether does spell political peril in India, helping to topple parties in the last elections.
Others point to the efficiency of an authoritarian state like China. India’s sluggish and sometimes corrupt bureaucracy has only haltingly put in place relatively simple solutions — iodizing salt, for instance, or making sure all children are immunized against preventable diseases — to say nothing of its progress on the harder tasks, like changing what and how parents feed their children.
But as China itself has grown more prosperous, it has had its own struggles with health care, as the government safety net has shredded with its adoption of a more market-driven economy.
While India runs the largest child feeding program in the world, experts agree it is inadequately designed, and has made barely a dent in the ranks of sick children in the past 10 years.
The $1.3 billion Integrated Child Development Services program, India’s primary effort to combat malnutrition, finances a network of soup kitchens in urban slums and villages.
But most experts agree that providing adequate nutrition to pregnant women and children under 2 years old is crucial — and the Indian program has not homed in on them adequately. Nor has it succeeded in sufficiently changing child feeding and hygiene practices. Many women here remain in ill health and are ill fed; they are prone to giving birth to low-weight babies and tend not to be aware of how best to feed them.
A tour of Jahangirpuri, a slum in this richest of Indian cities, put the challenge on stark display. Shortly after daybreak, in a rented room along a narrow alley, an all-female crew prepared giant vats of savory rice and lentil porridge.
Purnima Menon, a public health researcher with the International Food Policy Research Institute, was relieved to see it was not just starch; there were even flecks of carrots thrown in. The porridge was loaded onto bicycle carts and ferried to nurseries that vet and help at-risk children and their mothers throughout the neighborhood.
So far, so good. Except that at one nursery — known in Hindi as an anganwadi — the teacher was a no-show. At another, there were no children; instead, a few adults sauntered up with their lunch pails. At a third, the nursery worker, Brij Bala, said that 13 children and 13 lactating mothers had already come to claim their servings, and that now she would have to fill the bowls of whoever came along, neighborhood aunties and all. “They say, ‘Give us some more,’ so we have to,” Ms. Bala confessed. “Otherwise, they will curse us.”
None of the centers had a working scale to weigh children and to identify the vulnerable ones, a crucial part of the nutrition program.
Most important from Ms. Menon’s point of view, the nurseries were largely missing the needs of those most at risk: children under 2, for whom the feeding centers offered a dry ration of flour and ground lentils, containing none of the micronutrients a vulnerable infant needs.
In a memorandum prepared in February, the Ministry of Women and Child Development acknowledged that while the program had yielded some gains in the past 30 years, “its impact on physical growth and development has been rather slow.” The report recommended fortifying food with micronutrients and educating parents on how to better feed their babies.
A World Food Program report last month noted that India remained home to more than a fourth of the world’s hungry, 230 million people in all. It also found anemia to be on the rise among rural women of childbearing age in eight states across India. Indian women are often the last to eat in their homes and often unlikely to eat well or rest during pregnancy. Ms. Menon’s institute, based in Washington, recently ranked India below two dozen sub-Saharan countries on its Global Hunger Index.
Childhood anemia, a barometer of poor nutrition in a lactating mother’s breast milk, is three times higher in India than in China, according to a 2007 research paper from the institute.
The latest Global Hunger Index described hunger in Madhya Pradesh, a destitute state in central India, as “extremely alarming,” ranking the state somewhere between Chad and Ethiopia.
More surprising, though, it found that “serious” rates of hunger persisted across Indian states that had posted enviable rates of economic growth in recent years, including Maharashtra and Gujarat.
Here in the capital, which has the highest per-capita income in the country, 42.2 percent of children under 5 are stunted, or too short for their age, and 26 percent are underweight. A few blocks from the Indian Parliament, tiny, ill-fed children turn somersaults for spare change at traffic signals.
Back in Jahangirpuri, a dead rat lay in the courtyard in front of Ms. Bala’s nursery. The narrow lanes were lined with scum from the drains. Malaria and respiratory illness, which can be crippling for weak, undernourished children, were rampant. Neighborhood shops carried small bags of potato chips and soda, evidence that its residents were far from destitute.
In another alley, Ms. Menon met a young mother named Jannu, a migrant from the northern town of Lucknow. Jannu said she found it difficult to produce enough milk for the baby in her arms, around 6 months old. His green, watery waste dripped down his mother’s arms. He often has diarrhea, Jannu said, casually rinsing her arm with a tumbler of water.
Ms. Menon could not help but notice how small Jannu was, like so many of Jahangirpuri’s mothers. At 5 feet 2 inches tall, Ms. Menon towered over them. Children who were roughly the same age as her own daughter were easily a foot shorter. Stunted children are so prevalent here, she observed, it makes malnutrition invisible.
“I see a system failing,” Ms. Menon said. “It is doing something, but it is not solving the problem.”

stop complaining

• MARCH 4, 2009

From Attitude to Gratitude: This Is No Time for Complaining

By JEFFREY ZASLOW

David Hirsch hasn't forgotten the unhappy phone calls he used to get from clients back in 1998 and 1999. A director at Credit Suisse Private Banking USA in Chicago, he was carefully investing clients' money in blue-chip stocks, earning them 15% to 20% in annual returns.

But that was a time when some investors were earning 50% or even 100% returns in tech portfolios. Some of Mr. Hirsch's clients pulled their money, grousing that he wasn't serving them well.

John Segal

Today, though his clients' portfolios are down 35% or more, "I'm not getting complaints," Mr. Hirsch says. "People aren't asking, 'What did you do to my portfolio?' They're asking, 'What do we do from here?' "

There may be a positive byproduct of our troubled times: a decrease in the urge to complain. People who still have jobs are finding reasons to be appreciative. (It feels unseemly to complain about not getting a raise when your neighbor is unemployed.) Homeowners are unhappy that home values have fallen, but it's a relief to avoid foreclosure. And yes, our portfolios have plummeted, but most of us can say that at least we didn't invest with Bernie Madoff.

Even if grumbling is only on hiatus, it's clear that in many quarters, we're seeing a return to Depression-era stoicism and an appreciation of simpler things.

Job satisfaction is actually up, according to a December 2008 survey by Yahoo! HotJobs. Almost 38% of respondents said they were "very satisfied" with their jobs, compared with 28% in 2007, a likely sign that people are grateful they're still employed. And every week now, we hear reports of workers accepting pay cuts or furloughs without complaint -- some of them acts of solidarity to protect jobs elsewhere in their companies.

There is also a growing "noncomplaining" movement that touts the belief that whining doesn't work as a strategy, and that happiness can be found through rituals such as writing in "gratitude journals."

Will Bowen, a minister in Kansas City, Mo., is on a mission. His nonprofit organization, A Complaint Free World Inc., has distributed almost six million purple bracelets emblazoned with the group's name. When wearers find themselves complaining, they're asked to switch bracelets to their other wrists. The goal is to go 21 days without having to switch.

Granted, it's not easy for many of us to fully shake the all-American inclination to complain. Stereotypes are rooted in truth. A lot of young people grumble due to a sense of entitlement. A lot of older people are crotchety because they've been complaining all their lives. (Down in Florida, my mother describes condo-association bickering as "nitpicking in paradise.")

But Rev. Bowen believes the bad economy may be the antidote we need to re-evaluate our lives. "In good times, people often take for granted what they have, and whine about what they don't have," he says. "Bad times make people more grateful."

Rev. Bowen is sponsoring a complaint-free cruise in April, and is also taking 30 congregants to Tanzania this summer to help rebuild a birthing center. "We'll be meeting people who are so happy with so little," he says. "It can't help but reframe our perspective."

Jon Gordon, a leadership trainer and author of "The No Complaining Rule," has collected research showing that gratitude reduces stress and improves health. Every morning, he takes a gratitude walk and thinks positive thoughts. He offers seminars to help people "change a complaining voice to an appreciative heart."

Some people today may be smartly cutting back on complaining because they recognize it can be detrimental to their careers, says Sherene McHenry, a professor of counseling at Central Michigan University. "It isn't safe or wise to complain at work these days. When determining who to let go, nonunionized companies first get rid of complainers and those who are difficult to be around."

Ultimately, you can't control the economy or whether you're laid off. And it's easy for the experts to rhapsodize about gratitude. But there are merits to tempering your complaints.

Dr. McHenry encourages us to write down three things we're grateful for every day -- no matter how simple they might seem. "Some days," she says, "the list might be as basic as oxygen, food and shelter."