There is no need to provide updates, no need to evaluate life on the basis of some shallow criteria. Just some moments spent in quite contemplation, a mind focused on larger goals in life (which I hope is free of sickness and pain) are for me happiness and joy. There will be episodes of misery, of suffering losses, seeing our loved ones unhappy but at such times I will do all I can to reach out, to help out those who I can help and that's about it. After that when I can once again retreat to my inner courtyard where a comfy chair awaits with me ,so does a good book, I will curl up to experience the joy that only a tranquil solitude can offer.
So the family gets back tomorrow and very productive period of introspection has come to an end. But no problem. I look forward to the shrieks and laughter of my children, the loving and thoughtful caresses of my wife and in the background the dim but uninterrupted humming of the rhythm of my life.
Saturday, June 5, 2010
Friday, June 4, 2010
Computers taking over everything
JUNE 4, 2010.Fast Traders' New Edge
Investment Firms Grab Stock Data First, and Use It Seconds Before Others.
By SCOTT PATTERSON
Some fast-moving computer-driven investment firms are getting an edge by trading on market data before it gets to other investors, according to market players and researchers who have studied the trading.
The firms gain that advantage by buying data from stock exchanges and feeding it into supercomputers that calculate stock prices a fraction of a second before most other investors see the numbers. That lets these traders shave pennies per share from trades, which when multiplied by thousands of trades can earn the firms big profits.
Critics call the practice the modern day equivalent of looking at share prices listed in tomorrow's newspaper stock tables today.
"It is a rigged game," Sal Arnuk, co-founder of brokerage firm Themis Trading, said Wednesday at a Securities and Exchange Commission roundtable discussion in Washington, D.C., referring to the trading activity, which some call "latency arbitrage."
While legal, the practice pushes the envelope of what is fair, critics say, and raises questions about the advantages some fast-moving traders are gaining in the market.
The SEC roundtable convened executives from trading centers and firms across Wall Street as the agency continues to probe high-frequency trading and the growth of dark pools, trading venues where trades take place away from the main exchanges.
High-frequency trading has come under greater scrutiny since the May 6 "flash crash," when some high-frequency firms along with a number of other active traders withdrew from the market, arguably exacerbating the stocks' swift downdraft that day.
High-speed trading, now estimated to account for about two-thirds of U.S. stock market volume, takes many forms, some entirely proper. Defenders say it reduces trading costs for all investors by adding volume to the market. Latency arbitrage is a type of trading that relies on ultrahigh speeds; it's not clear which firms engage in it or how pervasive it is.
Some firms pay tens of thousands of dollars a year to individual exchanges for premium access to their price feeds, industry players and exchanges say.
The SEC, in a broad review of market structure earlier this year, said information from trading-center data feeds "can reach end-users faster than the consolidated data feeds."
The latency arbitrage trade aims to game the so-called national best bid and offer price on a stock, which sets the price most investors use to trade.
The ability to estimate price moves ahead of the national best bid and offer price, which is consolidated electronically from exchanges, can give traders an advantage of about 100 to 200 milliseconds over investors who use standard market tools, according to a November 2009 report on such trading activities by Jefferies & Co.
An advanced look at exchange data and order flow can provide firms "the ability to forecast future prices" and "make adjustments to their orders in the market or send new orders which are based on this information," the report found.
Some investors are searching for ways to protect themselves. Rich Gates, co-founder of TFS Capital LLC, started becoming concerned about latency arbitrage in early 2009 after a Wall Street bank pitched the trade to his firm.
In hundreds of tests, TFS has found that some of its trades were getting picked off by firms exploiting the time-delay wrinkle. That was costing the firm money.
To learn more, TFS, which manages about $1.1 billion in mutual funds and hedge funds, devised a method to essentially bait firms into engaging in the trade. In effect, TFS proved that some traders were wise to a movement in a stock's price before it happened.
On a March afternoon, a TFS trader sent an order to a broker to buy shares of Nordson Corp., a maker of fluid dispensing equipment. The trader sent an instant message to the broker: "please route to broker pool #2," a request to send the order to a specific dark pool.
The trader told the broker not to pay a price higher than the midpoint between what buyers and sellers were offering, which at the time was $70.49.
Several seconds after the dark pool order was placed, the market price didn't change. Then the TFS trader set a trap: he sent a separate order into the broader market to sell Nordson for a price that pushed the midpoint price down to $70.47.
Almost immediately, TFS was sold Nordson for $70.49—the old, higher midpoint—in broker pool No. 2, which didn't reflect the new sell order. TFS got stuck paying two cents more than it should have, suggesting that some seller knew the higher price was a good deal to nab quickly.
Such trades are "unusually suspicious," said Mr. Gates.
Most dark pool operators say they police investors for improper activities. Liquidnet, which runs a dark pool, had suspended 125 members through 2009 for suspicious trading since its launch in April 2001, the firm says.
Investment Firms Grab Stock Data First, and Use It Seconds Before Others.
By SCOTT PATTERSON
Some fast-moving computer-driven investment firms are getting an edge by trading on market data before it gets to other investors, according to market players and researchers who have studied the trading.
The firms gain that advantage by buying data from stock exchanges and feeding it into supercomputers that calculate stock prices a fraction of a second before most other investors see the numbers. That lets these traders shave pennies per share from trades, which when multiplied by thousands of trades can earn the firms big profits.
Critics call the practice the modern day equivalent of looking at share prices listed in tomorrow's newspaper stock tables today.
"It is a rigged game," Sal Arnuk, co-founder of brokerage firm Themis Trading, said Wednesday at a Securities and Exchange Commission roundtable discussion in Washington, D.C., referring to the trading activity, which some call "latency arbitrage."
While legal, the practice pushes the envelope of what is fair, critics say, and raises questions about the advantages some fast-moving traders are gaining in the market.
The SEC roundtable convened executives from trading centers and firms across Wall Street as the agency continues to probe high-frequency trading and the growth of dark pools, trading venues where trades take place away from the main exchanges.
High-frequency trading has come under greater scrutiny since the May 6 "flash crash," when some high-frequency firms along with a number of other active traders withdrew from the market, arguably exacerbating the stocks' swift downdraft that day.
High-speed trading, now estimated to account for about two-thirds of U.S. stock market volume, takes many forms, some entirely proper. Defenders say it reduces trading costs for all investors by adding volume to the market. Latency arbitrage is a type of trading that relies on ultrahigh speeds; it's not clear which firms engage in it or how pervasive it is.
Some firms pay tens of thousands of dollars a year to individual exchanges for premium access to their price feeds, industry players and exchanges say.
The SEC, in a broad review of market structure earlier this year, said information from trading-center data feeds "can reach end-users faster than the consolidated data feeds."
The latency arbitrage trade aims to game the so-called national best bid and offer price on a stock, which sets the price most investors use to trade.
The ability to estimate price moves ahead of the national best bid and offer price, which is consolidated electronically from exchanges, can give traders an advantage of about 100 to 200 milliseconds over investors who use standard market tools, according to a November 2009 report on such trading activities by Jefferies & Co.
An advanced look at exchange data and order flow can provide firms "the ability to forecast future prices" and "make adjustments to their orders in the market or send new orders which are based on this information," the report found.
Some investors are searching for ways to protect themselves. Rich Gates, co-founder of TFS Capital LLC, started becoming concerned about latency arbitrage in early 2009 after a Wall Street bank pitched the trade to his firm.
In hundreds of tests, TFS has found that some of its trades were getting picked off by firms exploiting the time-delay wrinkle. That was costing the firm money.
To learn more, TFS, which manages about $1.1 billion in mutual funds and hedge funds, devised a method to essentially bait firms into engaging in the trade. In effect, TFS proved that some traders were wise to a movement in a stock's price before it happened.
On a March afternoon, a TFS trader sent an order to a broker to buy shares of Nordson Corp., a maker of fluid dispensing equipment. The trader sent an instant message to the broker: "please route to broker pool #2," a request to send the order to a specific dark pool.
The trader told the broker not to pay a price higher than the midpoint between what buyers and sellers were offering, which at the time was $70.49.
Several seconds after the dark pool order was placed, the market price didn't change. Then the TFS trader set a trap: he sent a separate order into the broader market to sell Nordson for a price that pushed the midpoint price down to $70.47.
Almost immediately, TFS was sold Nordson for $70.49—the old, higher midpoint—in broker pool No. 2, which didn't reflect the new sell order. TFS got stuck paying two cents more than it should have, suggesting that some seller knew the higher price was a good deal to nab quickly.
Such trades are "unusually suspicious," said Mr. Gates.
Most dark pool operators say they police investors for improper activities. Liquidnet, which runs a dark pool, had suspended 125 members through 2009 for suspicious trading since its launch in April 2001, the firm says.
Music, Brain and Language
May 31, 2010
Exploring Music’s Hold on the MindBy CLAUDIA DREIFUS
Three years ago, when Oxford University Press published “Music, Language, and the Brain,” Oliver Sacks described it as “a major synthesis that will be indispensable to neuroscientists.” The author of that volume, Aniruddh D. Patel, a 44-year-old senior fellow at the Neurosciences Institute in San Diego, was in New York City in May. We spoke over coffee for more than an hour and later by telephone. An edited and condensed version of the conversations follows.
Q. YOU DESCRIBE YOURSELF AS A NEUROSCIENTIST OF MUSIC. THIS HAS TO BE A NEW PROFESSION. HOW DID YOU COME TO IT?
A. I’ve been passionate about two things since childhood — science and music. At graduate school, Harvard, I hoped to combine the two.
But studying with E.O. Wilson, I quite naturally got caught up with ants. In 1990, I found myself in Australia doing fieldwork on ants for a Ph.D. thesis. And there, I had this epiphany: the only thing I really wanted to do was study the biology of how humans make and process music.
I wondered if the drive to make it was innate, a product of our evolution, as Darwin had speculated. Did we have a special neurobiological capacity for music, as we do for language and grammar? So from Australia, I wrote Wilson that there was no way I could continue with ants. Amazingly, he wrote: “You must follow your passion. Come back to Harvard, and we’ll give it a shot.”
Wilson and Evan Balaban, a birdsong biologist who taught me about the neurobiology of auditory communication, mentored me through my thesis, which was called “A Biological Study of the Relationship Between Language and Music.” When I defended it in 1996, this was unusual scholarship. The neurobiology of music wasn’t yet a recognized field.
Q. WHEN DID IT GO MAINSTREAM?
A. Not too long after that. By the late 1990s, all of neuroscience was being transformed by the widespread use of imaging technologies.
Because it became possible to learn how the brain was affected when people engaged in certain activities, it became acceptable to study things previously considered fringy. Today you have the neuroscience of economics, of music, of everything.
I published a paper in 1998 that really surprised people. It was the first imaging study showing what happens when the brain processes musical grammar as compared with what happens when it processes language. From what we learned, this was occurring in an overlapping way within the brain. And this was a clue that the neurobiology of music could give us a new path to access and perhaps even heal some language disabilities.
Q. HOW WOULD THAT WORK?
A. One example. There’s a neurologist in Boston, Gottfried Schlaug, who uses music therapy to return some language to stroke victims. He has them learn simple phrases by singing them. This has proved more effective than having them repeat spoken phrases, the traditional therapy. Schlaug’s work suggests that when the language part of the brain has been damaged, you can sometimes recruit the part that processes music to take over.
Music neuroscience is also helping us understand Alzheimer’s. There are Alzheimer’s patients who cannot remember their spouse. But they can remember every word of a song they learned as a kid. By studying this, we’re learning about how memory works.
Q. RECENTLY, YOU’VE BEEN WORKING WITH A SULFUR-CRESTED COCKATOO NAMED SNOWBALL. WHAT PROMPTED THE COLLABORATION?
A. Before I encountered Snowball, I wondered whether human music had been shaped for our brains by evolution — meaning, it helped us survive at some point. Well, in 2008, a colleague asked me to view a YouTube video of a cockatoo who appeared to be dancing to the beat of “Everybody” by the Backstreet Boys!
My jaw hit the floor. If you saw a video of a dog reading a newspaper out loud, you’d be pretty impressed, right? To people in the music community, a cockatoo dancing to a beat was like that. This was supposed to be, some said, a uniquely human behavior! If this was real, it meant that the bird might have circuits in its brain for processing beat similar to ours.
Q. WHAT DID YOU DO WITH THIS INSIGHT?
A. I phoned up the bird shelter in Indiana where Snowball lived and talked to the director who told me his story. A man had dropped him off with a CD and the comment, “Snowball likes to dance to this.” One day, Irena Schulz, the proprietor, played “Everybody” to amuse the abandoned creature. And Snowball began to move. Irena then made the YouTube video, which immediately went viral. Millions saw it.
“Let’s design an experiment to see if this is real,” I proposed to Irena, who had a science background herself. We took the Backstreet Boys song, sped it up and slowed it down at 11 different tempos, then videoed what Snowball did to each. For 9 out of the 11 variations, the bird moved to the beat, which meant that he’d processed the music in his brain and his muscles had responded. So now we had the first documented case of a nonhuman animal who, without training, could sense a beat out of music and move to it.
Q. YOU SAY THAT SNOWBALL CHANGED YOUR THINKING. HOW?
A. Before Snowball, I wondered if moving to a musical beat was uniquely human. Snowball doesn’t need to dance to survive, and yet, he did. Perhaps, this was true of humans, too?
Since working with Snowball, I’ve come to think we could learn more music neuroscience by studying the behaviors of not just parrots, but perhaps dolphins, seals, songbirds — also vocal learners.
We eventually published the Snowball research in Current Biology. A group at Harvard published a paper right alongside ours in which they surveyed thousands of YouTube videos to see if there were other animals spontaneously moving to a beat. They found about 12 or 13 parrots. No dogs. No cats. No horses.
What do humans have in common with parrots? Both species are vocal learners, with the ability to imitate sounds. We share that rare skill with parrots. In that one respect, our brains are more like those of parrots than chimpanzees. Since vocal learning creates links between the hearing and movement centers of the brain, I hypothesized that this is what you need to be able to move to beat of music.
Q. IS IT DIFFICULT TO FIND MONEY FOR THIS TYPE OF RESEARCH?
A. It easier than it used to be. One of the founders of this field, Dr. Robert Zatorre, before 2000, he never used the word music in a grant application. He knew it would get turned down automatically because people thought this was not scientific. Instead, he used terms like “complex nonlinguistic auditory processing.”
But in recent years, it’s become O.K. to say: I study music and the brain.
Exploring Music’s Hold on the MindBy CLAUDIA DREIFUS
Three years ago, when Oxford University Press published “Music, Language, and the Brain,” Oliver Sacks described it as “a major synthesis that will be indispensable to neuroscientists.” The author of that volume, Aniruddh D. Patel, a 44-year-old senior fellow at the Neurosciences Institute in San Diego, was in New York City in May. We spoke over coffee for more than an hour and later by telephone. An edited and condensed version of the conversations follows.
Q. YOU DESCRIBE YOURSELF AS A NEUROSCIENTIST OF MUSIC. THIS HAS TO BE A NEW PROFESSION. HOW DID YOU COME TO IT?
A. I’ve been passionate about two things since childhood — science and music. At graduate school, Harvard, I hoped to combine the two.
But studying with E.O. Wilson, I quite naturally got caught up with ants. In 1990, I found myself in Australia doing fieldwork on ants for a Ph.D. thesis. And there, I had this epiphany: the only thing I really wanted to do was study the biology of how humans make and process music.
I wondered if the drive to make it was innate, a product of our evolution, as Darwin had speculated. Did we have a special neurobiological capacity for music, as we do for language and grammar? So from Australia, I wrote Wilson that there was no way I could continue with ants. Amazingly, he wrote: “You must follow your passion. Come back to Harvard, and we’ll give it a shot.”
Wilson and Evan Balaban, a birdsong biologist who taught me about the neurobiology of auditory communication, mentored me through my thesis, which was called “A Biological Study of the Relationship Between Language and Music.” When I defended it in 1996, this was unusual scholarship. The neurobiology of music wasn’t yet a recognized field.
Q. WHEN DID IT GO MAINSTREAM?
A. Not too long after that. By the late 1990s, all of neuroscience was being transformed by the widespread use of imaging technologies.
Because it became possible to learn how the brain was affected when people engaged in certain activities, it became acceptable to study things previously considered fringy. Today you have the neuroscience of economics, of music, of everything.
I published a paper in 1998 that really surprised people. It was the first imaging study showing what happens when the brain processes musical grammar as compared with what happens when it processes language. From what we learned, this was occurring in an overlapping way within the brain. And this was a clue that the neurobiology of music could give us a new path to access and perhaps even heal some language disabilities.
Q. HOW WOULD THAT WORK?
A. One example. There’s a neurologist in Boston, Gottfried Schlaug, who uses music therapy to return some language to stroke victims. He has them learn simple phrases by singing them. This has proved more effective than having them repeat spoken phrases, the traditional therapy. Schlaug’s work suggests that when the language part of the brain has been damaged, you can sometimes recruit the part that processes music to take over.
Music neuroscience is also helping us understand Alzheimer’s. There are Alzheimer’s patients who cannot remember their spouse. But they can remember every word of a song they learned as a kid. By studying this, we’re learning about how memory works.
Q. RECENTLY, YOU’VE BEEN WORKING WITH A SULFUR-CRESTED COCKATOO NAMED SNOWBALL. WHAT PROMPTED THE COLLABORATION?
A. Before I encountered Snowball, I wondered whether human music had been shaped for our brains by evolution — meaning, it helped us survive at some point. Well, in 2008, a colleague asked me to view a YouTube video of a cockatoo who appeared to be dancing to the beat of “Everybody” by the Backstreet Boys!
My jaw hit the floor. If you saw a video of a dog reading a newspaper out loud, you’d be pretty impressed, right? To people in the music community, a cockatoo dancing to a beat was like that. This was supposed to be, some said, a uniquely human behavior! If this was real, it meant that the bird might have circuits in its brain for processing beat similar to ours.
Q. WHAT DID YOU DO WITH THIS INSIGHT?
A. I phoned up the bird shelter in Indiana where Snowball lived and talked to the director who told me his story. A man had dropped him off with a CD and the comment, “Snowball likes to dance to this.” One day, Irena Schulz, the proprietor, played “Everybody” to amuse the abandoned creature. And Snowball began to move. Irena then made the YouTube video, which immediately went viral. Millions saw it.
“Let’s design an experiment to see if this is real,” I proposed to Irena, who had a science background herself. We took the Backstreet Boys song, sped it up and slowed it down at 11 different tempos, then videoed what Snowball did to each. For 9 out of the 11 variations, the bird moved to the beat, which meant that he’d processed the music in his brain and his muscles had responded. So now we had the first documented case of a nonhuman animal who, without training, could sense a beat out of music and move to it.
Q. YOU SAY THAT SNOWBALL CHANGED YOUR THINKING. HOW?
A. Before Snowball, I wondered if moving to a musical beat was uniquely human. Snowball doesn’t need to dance to survive, and yet, he did. Perhaps, this was true of humans, too?
Since working with Snowball, I’ve come to think we could learn more music neuroscience by studying the behaviors of not just parrots, but perhaps dolphins, seals, songbirds — also vocal learners.
We eventually published the Snowball research in Current Biology. A group at Harvard published a paper right alongside ours in which they surveyed thousands of YouTube videos to see if there were other animals spontaneously moving to a beat. They found about 12 or 13 parrots. No dogs. No cats. No horses.
What do humans have in common with parrots? Both species are vocal learners, with the ability to imitate sounds. We share that rare skill with parrots. In that one respect, our brains are more like those of parrots than chimpanzees. Since vocal learning creates links between the hearing and movement centers of the brain, I hypothesized that this is what you need to be able to move to beat of music.
Q. IS IT DIFFICULT TO FIND MONEY FOR THIS TYPE OF RESEARCH?
A. It easier than it used to be. One of the founders of this field, Dr. Robert Zatorre, before 2000, he never used the word music in a grant application. He knew it would get turned down automatically because people thought this was not scientific. Instead, he used terms like “complex nonlinguistic auditory processing.”
But in recent years, it’s become O.K. to say: I study music and the brain.
Monday, May 31, 2010
A productive day
Well finally I did something I had been meaning to do for a long time. First lets evaluate the progress thus far of the goals we had earlier stated as follows:
1. Read the Fixed Income Analysis book: Progress is good but can be better. Target is to complete reading till ch. 8. I am currently in the middle of ch. 6.
2. Figure out forward trading in forex markets: Not done.
(Non professional goals)
1. Complete my office housekeeping issues: Not done but promise to do it tomorrow.
2. Write an article based on V S Ramachandran's "Phantoms of the Brain": Not done as I lent the book to an interested colleague who has family member suffering from some brain ailment.
3. And just for kicks call the Guitar teacher !! Well I had second thoughts about lugging a heavy guitar around.
4. Minimise eating out:-( This was tough but happy to report only two outings so far and one was really necessary. Actually there is one planned tomorrow as well but its with the office crowd.
But the feather in the cap is that I finally translated in my own words and as per my style the first chapter of Vinoba's Geeta. Loved doing it and practically did it in 2 sittings (3000+ words). I like it.
With this last accomplishment I think we can easily award more than 8/10 in terms of progress. Honestly, if I can complete Chapter 2 of Vinoba before family comes back I would be truly elated. Chapter 2 is not just great in terms of its message but pretty long too, 18 pages compared to just 4 in the first chapter.
1. Read the Fixed Income Analysis book: Progress is good but can be better. Target is to complete reading till ch. 8. I am currently in the middle of ch. 6.
2. Figure out forward trading in forex markets: Not done.
(Non professional goals)
1. Complete my office housekeeping issues: Not done but promise to do it tomorrow.
2. Write an article based on V S Ramachandran's "Phantoms of the Brain": Not done as I lent the book to an interested colleague who has family member suffering from some brain ailment.
3. And just for kicks call the Guitar teacher !! Well I had second thoughts about lugging a heavy guitar around.
4. Minimise eating out:-( This was tough but happy to report only two outings so far and one was really necessary. Actually there is one planned tomorrow as well but its with the office crowd.
But the feather in the cap is that I finally translated in my own words and as per my style the first chapter of Vinoba's Geeta. Loved doing it and practically did it in 2 sittings (3000+ words). I like it.
With this last accomplishment I think we can easily award more than 8/10 in terms of progress. Honestly, if I can complete Chapter 2 of Vinoba before family comes back I would be truly elated. Chapter 2 is not just great in terms of its message but pretty long too, 18 pages compared to just 4 in the first chapter.
Geeta Notes (Chapter One)
Introduction
This is a very rough and approximate translation of the sacred and mighty Geeta . Perhaps I could be a little less irreverent and more religious in my language. But then these notes are not an outpouring of an entranced devotee. If anything, I’ve spent quite a bit of time trying to be more religious, more devout and more like my parents, sibling, spouse and wider family when it came to matter of religion but I’ve failed miserably. But that is another story and we will revisit it some day.
Here I want to tell how Geeta entered my life (after several failed attempts earlier and which failed entirely due to my shortcomings) and that now it has a permanent place regardless of whether I behave properly or not. I think this smacks of arrogance!
So where did we meet? My place of work is located in South Mumbai and I have about 2 hours of commuting each day. From the terminal station (called Churchgate) I often walk to my office- a walk of some 15 minutes. Enroute is a landmark-Flora Fountain and in the nearby public space some two years back the Gandhi Foundation people had set up a small stall selling Gandhian literature. As is my wont, I stepped in and was casually browsing looking for something about Gandhi, his thoughts and people he knew or something that I had not already read. My eyes fell upon this petite book in Hindi- Geeta Pravachan (tr. Geeta Discourse) by Vinoba Bhave. Till that point my knowledge about Vinoba was confined to the fact that he was a prominent Gandhian and that he led some sort of land donation (Bhoodan) movement. When and how this movement started I had no idea. But the book appeared promising and I bought it for Rupees Eighteen (or less than 50 cents). Part of the promise I saw in the slim volume arose from the fact that buying Geeta was, or so I convinced myself, the right thing to do in terms of my religious doctrine. And of course, the remaining reason and perhaps more compelling one at that was it was slim and so could be read easily during my commute. Thus, I came in to possession of my Geeta which I am proceeding to translate in to English entirely for my own pleasure.
I have no delusions of rendering a faithful or a masterful translation of this ancient masterpiece. There are enough and quite impeccable ones available. What follows now is I reading and discussing Geeta with myself and for myself. I am not going to list reasons for why I feel motivated to do so. Do I see this as my calling? Do I think I have understood the divine message in the Geeta perfectly and this is an attempt to circulate it amongst the heathen? Do I believe that Geeta has transformed me and that I am now what Geeta describes a human being should be? Would I claim this translation as my intellectual copyright and use it for any commercial purpose? Do I intend to send links of this document to people I know and try to impress them? There could be many more similar questions but answer to all the questions is a very unequivocal NO.
So without further ado I start with the First Chapter.
FIRST CHAPTER (PRATHAM ADHYAYE)
ARJUNA’S LAMENTATION
Dear Brothers (as narrated by Vinoba),
My relationship with the Geeta is beyond any logic or reason. As my body has been fed and nourished on my mother’s milk so have my heart and mind been even more nourished by the essence of the Geeta. When it comes to the matters of the heart, logic is not enough. Going beyond reason and relying on the twin wings of faith and practice I seem to fly in the vast skies of the Geeta effortlessly. I live in the environment created by the Geeta and it is my life source. When I speak to people about the Geeta it is akin to going in for a swim in this vast ocean of nectar and when I am alone I plunge in this ocean’s depths and stay there.
Mahabharata and Ramayana are our national epics and the characters described therein have become an integral part of our lives. Rama, Sita, Dharamraja, Draupadi, Bheeshma, Hanumana and other characters in these two grand epics have enthralled us through the centuries. While Ramayana is a wonderful verse describing the path of righteousness, Mahabharata is a gigantic and comprehensive treatise on social living. In the latter, Lord Vyasa has composed hundred thousand chronicles with innumerable images, characters and characterizations all of which merge in to a saga without a parallel in human history. Just like we find perfection only in our Creator, similarly we also realize that all human beings have some trait or the other which redeem them despite their numerous failings. This message is clearly brought forth by Mahabharata. Thus while on one hand we see obvious flaws in the divine characters like Bheeshma and Yudhishtira we are also witness to some lofty and redeeming traits in clearly evil characters like Duryodhana and Karna. To me the Mahabharata is an inexhaustible goldmine which we should all loot to our heart’s content for our own spiritual enrichment.
The intriguing aspect is that Lord Vyasa wrote such a grand epic and yet it is not clear if there’s a direct message from him somewhere in it. Throughout the epic we find scores of references to fundamentals of knowledge and philosophy, numerous lectures on morality but is there any part of the Great epic which literally contains the essence of this entire saga? The secret key to the reason for the existence of Mahabharata, does it lie anywhere in the depths of the Mahabharata? Yes, it does. He has placed the essence of the entire Grand epic in the Sreemadbhagvadgeeta or (for us) the Geeta. Since ancient times, Geeta has been considered as the first among the Upnishadas. In fact, the Lord appears to have captured the essence of all the Upnishadas in the form of the Geeta and presented it to the entire world through the medium of Arjuna. Any conceivable thought that enables us to be better human beings and lead improved lives figures in the Geeta. Many a great observer has referred to the Geeta as a treasure trove of righteous living (Dharamgyana). The Geeta itself might be a small part in the vast body of sacred Hindu scripture but it enjoys a position of unchallenged supremacy.
Everybody knows that Krishna narrated the Geeta to Arjuna. It is said that listening to this Great Teacher Arjuna was completely lost in Him that he became undistinguishable from Him. Lord Vyasa while describing this celestial enthrall himself got lost in the message of the Geeta that he too came to be known as Krishna. Thus, the Teacher, the student and the scribe all of them merged in to a trinity that could only be called Krishna. All three entered the state of Samadhi. The readers and followers of the Geeta need to achieve similar concentration.
Some people mistake Arjuna’s distraction or the sudden awakening of filial love and Krishna’s attempts to shake it off as being the main reason for Krishna revealing the Geeta to him. This is too narrow a reason for the revelation of this supernova of wisdom. Arjuna was an accomplished warrior and no one including Krishna had any doubts regarding his martial capabilities or his certain victory in the battlefield. Nor was any non-violent propensity on part of Arjuna led Krishna to attempt to shake off the former’s sudden contraction of cold feet. In reality, when Arjuna led by his charioteer Krishna finds himself in the center of the battlefield surrounded by four generations of his family members, comrades in arms all willing to cut down each other, he is overcome with a great affection for all these people and in turn starts providing Krishna a critique of war itself in terms of its disastrous consequences for family and society at large.
I am reminded of an anecdote here. There was a very eminent judge who had sentenced scores of criminals to death by hanging. One day his own son was convicted for murder and stood before him for sentencing. All of a sudden the clear and straightforward justice starting citing numerous reasons against death penalty! Hanging is an inhuman form of punishment, such a punishment does not do credit to our society and by executing the convict we summarily eliminate the possibility of improving him and rehabilitating him back in the human society and similar reasons flowed in a torrent from the lips of the learned judge. Not only that, he almost started to defend the convict by suggesting that , “it was a crime of passion” and that, “hanging this man after he has expressed remorse for his deed is a blot on mankind” and so on so forth. Had his son never appeared before him the venerable judge would have continued to mete out the death penalty merrily as before but the moment his son was in the dock he did a 180 degrees turn. This was not based on any noble principles to which the judge was beholden, it was merely his affection for his child that drove him to deliver such polemic against the death penalty and stray from his swadharma.
Arjuna found himself in a similar predicament. Not that the reasons offered by him against war and killing were irrational but at the same time they were not his innermost convictions based on foundations of some core philosophy (darshana). He was merely indulging in dialectics to turn his back on the impending carnage. Krishna was more than aware of this inherent contradiction in Arjuna’s arguments and without reasoning with him point for point he started directly attacking his manifest affection for his family. Had Arjuna turned a complete non violent, he would have not fought despite the revelations but this is one of those ifs which is not answered in the Geeta. Thus we are left with the inescapable conclusion that Arjuna showed signs of irrational filial affection and had he succeeded in warding off the battle he would have only delayed it perhaps with even greater consequences. Krishna’s message and the Geeta is a direct attack on this affectation displayed by men in times of adversity and internal upheavals.
As if it was not enough, Arjuna started talking about renouncing the world and taking to the jungles. But would he have made that transition as easily as he thought? Donning the garb of a sanyasin does not make one and for all we know he would have easily taken to hunting innocent animals in the forest. As a result, Krishna pointed out to him, “Arjuna you are only fooling yourself by saying that you won’t battle. All your life you have fought and won battles without pausing to reflect on the loss of human lives so why today? You are meant to battle and you won’t be able to live without battling. It is your nature and your righteous duty (swadharma).”
In course of his lamentation Arjuna started seeing complete lack of merit in the concept of swadharma. Vinoba states that whether one sees merit in swadharma or not it is in the interest of the individual to still exercise it as it alone is the path to one’s development in a holistic sense. Would such an adherent of swadharma be termed as arrogant? Arrogance in the form of clutching on to some innate idea of swadharma. According to Vinoba, no, such a person is not arrogant. Swadharma is not a good that we may accept it if we see merit in it and discard it if we don’t. In fact, it is as per the person’s size (in terms of his character) . Everyone has their own swadharma. Not only does it change with time, what I perceived as my swadharma ten years ago is not so anymore and ten years later I will have different understanding of my swadharma. Contemplation and experience alter our attitudes and with time we tend to leave behind our older swadharma and acquire new swadharma. Holding on to what I see as my swadharma once and forever is simply being stubborn and is ultimately self defeating.
(Analogy) As a corollary, swadharma is non-transferable. In other words if I perceive someone else’s swadharma as being superior to mine and thus attempt to acquire it I would end up nowhere. Let’s say I admire the Sun. Sunlight is beautiful and empowering. I worship the Sun. Yet if I decide to leave Earth and try to reach the Sun I would soon be vapourised. On the contrary if I continue to inhabit the Earth and try to actualize my swadharma it would lead to my salvation and ennoblement. And of course ensure my survival!
There’s another corollary. If I find another’s swadharma as easier to exercise that too should not tempt me to abandon mine and long for the other. As a householder if I find the burden of raising a family too much I should not seek escape in renunciation of the world. What would happen if I did? I would run away to a forest and there I would start living in a cottage. Soon I would start adding to my comforts there, like a protective fence, a better bed and so on. Thus, I would soon recreate conditions from which I had been meaning to escape all the time. In fact, if I had exercised detachment in my mind in the first place, I would have never felt the need to run away despite all the burdens of domesticity. Ultimately what matters is the attitude, the innate vision with which I see my world around me.
This last illustration begs the question: why did Krishna not lead Arjuna towards the path of renunciation (sanyas) if this is most superior of duties? Of course, the Lord could have done that for what is impossible for Him? Yet he did not simply because such an act would have rendered Arjuna’s human efforts in seeking his kalyana (salvation / ennoblement) defeated. We need to appreciate the fact that Lord has granted us free will. And it is in the interest of each individual to exercise his / her free will and work towards the goals set in this process. Little kids enjoy drawing and painting. They do not like it if a grown up were to draw for them or improve their creations. Similarly, if the teacher were to solve all the problems for the pupils wherefrom would they learn to solve problems, how would they develop their intelligence? Parents and teachers are meant to just offer suggestions and general guidance. And Lord does the same from inside- guide us. That is all he does, nothing more. If like a potter who by heating and tapping the vessel from all sides ensures that it is fit for use, if the Lord too set out to create perfectly intelligent humans then existence would be quite drab. We humans are not earthen vessels, we are sentient beings.
From the above discourse we can safely conclude that the Geeta took birth essentially to vanquish the distractions that we all encounter in the pursuit of our swadharma. Arjuna too suffered from the same malady of refusing to see his swadharma. Thus, after Krishna has concluded his revelations, he asked Arjuna, “Arjuna, have your distractions left you?” Arjuna replies, “Yes my Lord, my affectation has left me and I can clearly see my swadharma.” Whether it is the Geeta’s prologue or its epilogue, the gist is crystal clear- destroy your affectation. And indeed this is the gist of all Mahabharata. Lord Vyasa has indicated in the beginning of the epic, “I am lighting this immortal lamp to vanquish vain distractions and affections from the public sentiment.” What a vision and what stupendous success it has achieved that thousands of years after it was written, imperfect and misguided souls like mine seek and find such clarity and direction in its words.
Arjuna’s role thus becomes very important for us to understand the Geeta. But we have to be grateful to him in more than one way. Arjuna offers us an unique launch pad from which we can seek the Lord’s guidance. Literally translated Arjuna means the possessor of humility (perhaps even naivete). Arjuna did credit to himself by honestly revealing the upheavals in his heart to Krishna. Not a shred of his dilemma (as perceived by himself) he hid from the Lord. This complete surrender actually served to lead him in to Krishna’s sanctuary. To think of it he was already under the Lord’s protection. No sooner had he offered the charioteer-ship of his chariot to the Lord he had in effect handed over the reins of his sensibilities to Him. Lets all too do the same. Let’s not bemoan that Arjuna had Krishna but what about us? Where are we going to find Him? This is not the point. In fact let’s not even debate whether someone called Krishna actually existed or not. This is an infructuous historical discussion. In reality Krishna resides in each and every heart. He is actually closer than we can imagine. He is right here and right now. So let us all stand before Him and humbly declare the filth that is in our minds and hearts and beseech Him – Lord! I am at your mercy; You are my Master and Teacher. Show me the right Path. Whatever Path you show me I shall embark on it and no other. If we were to do this, then that Lord Parthasarathy will become our charioteer too and from his Holy lips he will reveal the Geeta to us and lead us to Victory.
(Vinoba on Sunday, 21st February 1932 & sid on Sunday, 31st May 2010)
***
This is a very rough and approximate translation of the sacred and mighty Geeta . Perhaps I could be a little less irreverent and more religious in my language. But then these notes are not an outpouring of an entranced devotee. If anything, I’ve spent quite a bit of time trying to be more religious, more devout and more like my parents, sibling, spouse and wider family when it came to matter of religion but I’ve failed miserably. But that is another story and we will revisit it some day.
Here I want to tell how Geeta entered my life (after several failed attempts earlier and which failed entirely due to my shortcomings) and that now it has a permanent place regardless of whether I behave properly or not. I think this smacks of arrogance!
So where did we meet? My place of work is located in South Mumbai and I have about 2 hours of commuting each day. From the terminal station (called Churchgate) I often walk to my office- a walk of some 15 minutes. Enroute is a landmark-Flora Fountain and in the nearby public space some two years back the Gandhi Foundation people had set up a small stall selling Gandhian literature. As is my wont, I stepped in and was casually browsing looking for something about Gandhi, his thoughts and people he knew or something that I had not already read. My eyes fell upon this petite book in Hindi- Geeta Pravachan (tr. Geeta Discourse) by Vinoba Bhave. Till that point my knowledge about Vinoba was confined to the fact that he was a prominent Gandhian and that he led some sort of land donation (Bhoodan) movement. When and how this movement started I had no idea. But the book appeared promising and I bought it for Rupees Eighteen (or less than 50 cents). Part of the promise I saw in the slim volume arose from the fact that buying Geeta was, or so I convinced myself, the right thing to do in terms of my religious doctrine. And of course, the remaining reason and perhaps more compelling one at that was it was slim and so could be read easily during my commute. Thus, I came in to possession of my Geeta which I am proceeding to translate in to English entirely for my own pleasure.
I have no delusions of rendering a faithful or a masterful translation of this ancient masterpiece. There are enough and quite impeccable ones available. What follows now is I reading and discussing Geeta with myself and for myself. I am not going to list reasons for why I feel motivated to do so. Do I see this as my calling? Do I think I have understood the divine message in the Geeta perfectly and this is an attempt to circulate it amongst the heathen? Do I believe that Geeta has transformed me and that I am now what Geeta describes a human being should be? Would I claim this translation as my intellectual copyright and use it for any commercial purpose? Do I intend to send links of this document to people I know and try to impress them? There could be many more similar questions but answer to all the questions is a very unequivocal NO.
So without further ado I start with the First Chapter.
FIRST CHAPTER (PRATHAM ADHYAYE)
ARJUNA’S LAMENTATION
Dear Brothers (as narrated by Vinoba),
My relationship with the Geeta is beyond any logic or reason. As my body has been fed and nourished on my mother’s milk so have my heart and mind been even more nourished by the essence of the Geeta. When it comes to the matters of the heart, logic is not enough. Going beyond reason and relying on the twin wings of faith and practice I seem to fly in the vast skies of the Geeta effortlessly. I live in the environment created by the Geeta and it is my life source. When I speak to people about the Geeta it is akin to going in for a swim in this vast ocean of nectar and when I am alone I plunge in this ocean’s depths and stay there.
Mahabharata and Ramayana are our national epics and the characters described therein have become an integral part of our lives. Rama, Sita, Dharamraja, Draupadi, Bheeshma, Hanumana and other characters in these two grand epics have enthralled us through the centuries. While Ramayana is a wonderful verse describing the path of righteousness, Mahabharata is a gigantic and comprehensive treatise on social living. In the latter, Lord Vyasa has composed hundred thousand chronicles with innumerable images, characters and characterizations all of which merge in to a saga without a parallel in human history. Just like we find perfection only in our Creator, similarly we also realize that all human beings have some trait or the other which redeem them despite their numerous failings. This message is clearly brought forth by Mahabharata. Thus while on one hand we see obvious flaws in the divine characters like Bheeshma and Yudhishtira we are also witness to some lofty and redeeming traits in clearly evil characters like Duryodhana and Karna. To me the Mahabharata is an inexhaustible goldmine which we should all loot to our heart’s content for our own spiritual enrichment.
The intriguing aspect is that Lord Vyasa wrote such a grand epic and yet it is not clear if there’s a direct message from him somewhere in it. Throughout the epic we find scores of references to fundamentals of knowledge and philosophy, numerous lectures on morality but is there any part of the Great epic which literally contains the essence of this entire saga? The secret key to the reason for the existence of Mahabharata, does it lie anywhere in the depths of the Mahabharata? Yes, it does. He has placed the essence of the entire Grand epic in the Sreemadbhagvadgeeta or (for us) the Geeta. Since ancient times, Geeta has been considered as the first among the Upnishadas. In fact, the Lord appears to have captured the essence of all the Upnishadas in the form of the Geeta and presented it to the entire world through the medium of Arjuna. Any conceivable thought that enables us to be better human beings and lead improved lives figures in the Geeta. Many a great observer has referred to the Geeta as a treasure trove of righteous living (Dharamgyana). The Geeta itself might be a small part in the vast body of sacred Hindu scripture but it enjoys a position of unchallenged supremacy.
Everybody knows that Krishna narrated the Geeta to Arjuna. It is said that listening to this Great Teacher Arjuna was completely lost in Him that he became undistinguishable from Him. Lord Vyasa while describing this celestial enthrall himself got lost in the message of the Geeta that he too came to be known as Krishna. Thus, the Teacher, the student and the scribe all of them merged in to a trinity that could only be called Krishna. All three entered the state of Samadhi. The readers and followers of the Geeta need to achieve similar concentration.
Some people mistake Arjuna’s distraction or the sudden awakening of filial love and Krishna’s attempts to shake it off as being the main reason for Krishna revealing the Geeta to him. This is too narrow a reason for the revelation of this supernova of wisdom. Arjuna was an accomplished warrior and no one including Krishna had any doubts regarding his martial capabilities or his certain victory in the battlefield. Nor was any non-violent propensity on part of Arjuna led Krishna to attempt to shake off the former’s sudden contraction of cold feet. In reality, when Arjuna led by his charioteer Krishna finds himself in the center of the battlefield surrounded by four generations of his family members, comrades in arms all willing to cut down each other, he is overcome with a great affection for all these people and in turn starts providing Krishna a critique of war itself in terms of its disastrous consequences for family and society at large.
I am reminded of an anecdote here. There was a very eminent judge who had sentenced scores of criminals to death by hanging. One day his own son was convicted for murder and stood before him for sentencing. All of a sudden the clear and straightforward justice starting citing numerous reasons against death penalty! Hanging is an inhuman form of punishment, such a punishment does not do credit to our society and by executing the convict we summarily eliminate the possibility of improving him and rehabilitating him back in the human society and similar reasons flowed in a torrent from the lips of the learned judge. Not only that, he almost started to defend the convict by suggesting that , “it was a crime of passion” and that, “hanging this man after he has expressed remorse for his deed is a blot on mankind” and so on so forth. Had his son never appeared before him the venerable judge would have continued to mete out the death penalty merrily as before but the moment his son was in the dock he did a 180 degrees turn. This was not based on any noble principles to which the judge was beholden, it was merely his affection for his child that drove him to deliver such polemic against the death penalty and stray from his swadharma.
Arjuna found himself in a similar predicament. Not that the reasons offered by him against war and killing were irrational but at the same time they were not his innermost convictions based on foundations of some core philosophy (darshana). He was merely indulging in dialectics to turn his back on the impending carnage. Krishna was more than aware of this inherent contradiction in Arjuna’s arguments and without reasoning with him point for point he started directly attacking his manifest affection for his family. Had Arjuna turned a complete non violent, he would have not fought despite the revelations but this is one of those ifs which is not answered in the Geeta. Thus we are left with the inescapable conclusion that Arjuna showed signs of irrational filial affection and had he succeeded in warding off the battle he would have only delayed it perhaps with even greater consequences. Krishna’s message and the Geeta is a direct attack on this affectation displayed by men in times of adversity and internal upheavals.
As if it was not enough, Arjuna started talking about renouncing the world and taking to the jungles. But would he have made that transition as easily as he thought? Donning the garb of a sanyasin does not make one and for all we know he would have easily taken to hunting innocent animals in the forest. As a result, Krishna pointed out to him, “Arjuna you are only fooling yourself by saying that you won’t battle. All your life you have fought and won battles without pausing to reflect on the loss of human lives so why today? You are meant to battle and you won’t be able to live without battling. It is your nature and your righteous duty (swadharma).”
In course of his lamentation Arjuna started seeing complete lack of merit in the concept of swadharma. Vinoba states that whether one sees merit in swadharma or not it is in the interest of the individual to still exercise it as it alone is the path to one’s development in a holistic sense. Would such an adherent of swadharma be termed as arrogant? Arrogance in the form of clutching on to some innate idea of swadharma. According to Vinoba, no, such a person is not arrogant. Swadharma is not a good that we may accept it if we see merit in it and discard it if we don’t. In fact, it is as per the person’s size (in terms of his character) . Everyone has their own swadharma. Not only does it change with time, what I perceived as my swadharma ten years ago is not so anymore and ten years later I will have different understanding of my swadharma. Contemplation and experience alter our attitudes and with time we tend to leave behind our older swadharma and acquire new swadharma. Holding on to what I see as my swadharma once and forever is simply being stubborn and is ultimately self defeating.
(Analogy) As a corollary, swadharma is non-transferable. In other words if I perceive someone else’s swadharma as being superior to mine and thus attempt to acquire it I would end up nowhere. Let’s say I admire the Sun. Sunlight is beautiful and empowering. I worship the Sun. Yet if I decide to leave Earth and try to reach the Sun I would soon be vapourised. On the contrary if I continue to inhabit the Earth and try to actualize my swadharma it would lead to my salvation and ennoblement. And of course ensure my survival!
There’s another corollary. If I find another’s swadharma as easier to exercise that too should not tempt me to abandon mine and long for the other. As a householder if I find the burden of raising a family too much I should not seek escape in renunciation of the world. What would happen if I did? I would run away to a forest and there I would start living in a cottage. Soon I would start adding to my comforts there, like a protective fence, a better bed and so on. Thus, I would soon recreate conditions from which I had been meaning to escape all the time. In fact, if I had exercised detachment in my mind in the first place, I would have never felt the need to run away despite all the burdens of domesticity. Ultimately what matters is the attitude, the innate vision with which I see my world around me.
This last illustration begs the question: why did Krishna not lead Arjuna towards the path of renunciation (sanyas) if this is most superior of duties? Of course, the Lord could have done that for what is impossible for Him? Yet he did not simply because such an act would have rendered Arjuna’s human efforts in seeking his kalyana (salvation / ennoblement) defeated. We need to appreciate the fact that Lord has granted us free will. And it is in the interest of each individual to exercise his / her free will and work towards the goals set in this process. Little kids enjoy drawing and painting. They do not like it if a grown up were to draw for them or improve their creations. Similarly, if the teacher were to solve all the problems for the pupils wherefrom would they learn to solve problems, how would they develop their intelligence? Parents and teachers are meant to just offer suggestions and general guidance. And Lord does the same from inside- guide us. That is all he does, nothing more. If like a potter who by heating and tapping the vessel from all sides ensures that it is fit for use, if the Lord too set out to create perfectly intelligent humans then existence would be quite drab. We humans are not earthen vessels, we are sentient beings.
From the above discourse we can safely conclude that the Geeta took birth essentially to vanquish the distractions that we all encounter in the pursuit of our swadharma. Arjuna too suffered from the same malady of refusing to see his swadharma. Thus, after Krishna has concluded his revelations, he asked Arjuna, “Arjuna, have your distractions left you?” Arjuna replies, “Yes my Lord, my affectation has left me and I can clearly see my swadharma.” Whether it is the Geeta’s prologue or its epilogue, the gist is crystal clear- destroy your affectation. And indeed this is the gist of all Mahabharata. Lord Vyasa has indicated in the beginning of the epic, “I am lighting this immortal lamp to vanquish vain distractions and affections from the public sentiment.” What a vision and what stupendous success it has achieved that thousands of years after it was written, imperfect and misguided souls like mine seek and find such clarity and direction in its words.
Arjuna’s role thus becomes very important for us to understand the Geeta. But we have to be grateful to him in more than one way. Arjuna offers us an unique launch pad from which we can seek the Lord’s guidance. Literally translated Arjuna means the possessor of humility (perhaps even naivete). Arjuna did credit to himself by honestly revealing the upheavals in his heart to Krishna. Not a shred of his dilemma (as perceived by himself) he hid from the Lord. This complete surrender actually served to lead him in to Krishna’s sanctuary. To think of it he was already under the Lord’s protection. No sooner had he offered the charioteer-ship of his chariot to the Lord he had in effect handed over the reins of his sensibilities to Him. Lets all too do the same. Let’s not bemoan that Arjuna had Krishna but what about us? Where are we going to find Him? This is not the point. In fact let’s not even debate whether someone called Krishna actually existed or not. This is an infructuous historical discussion. In reality Krishna resides in each and every heart. He is actually closer than we can imagine. He is right here and right now. So let us all stand before Him and humbly declare the filth that is in our minds and hearts and beseech Him – Lord! I am at your mercy; You are my Master and Teacher. Show me the right Path. Whatever Path you show me I shall embark on it and no other. If we were to do this, then that Lord Parthasarathy will become our charioteer too and from his Holy lips he will reveal the Geeta to us and lead us to Victory.
(Vinoba on Sunday, 21st February 1932 & sid on Sunday, 31st May 2010)
***
Saturday, May 29, 2010
The Colosseum, Rome
A Wonder From Any Angle
By JAMES GARDNER
What does it take to rank as one of the seven wonders of the world? As a species, we delight in making lists, which is what drove Herodotus in the fifth century B.C. and Callimachus of Cyrene a century later to enumerate the seven wonders in the first place. With the single exception of the Great Pyramid at Giza, all of their marvels have been felled by time. But what seems to have united these monuments was a combination of staggering massiveness, inspired engineering and an iconic simplicity that rendered them instantly legible and rich in symbolic resonance.
For many centuries, the Colosseum in Rome has been on everyone's list of seven wonders, and it effortlessly meets the three requirements mentioned above. No matter how big you expect the Colosseum to be, in reality it proves to be even bigger. Shaped like a nearly perfect cylindrical drum, it is one of the very first things to amaze the newcomer to Rome, and it richly supplies one of the greatest delights of modern tourism: physical, touchable propinquity to what, before that instant, we had known our entire lives but only through the mediation of images and words. Seen from some distance along the Via dei Fori Imperiali—which Mussolini created in the 1930s to open up such a vista—it stands before you like an incarnated postcard.
That is how most visitors first experience the Colosseum in person. And usually it is the only way they see it, before they actually enter the site. But there is another way, as I learned by accident last summer. I had roused myself at the crack of dawn to visit a noble and undeservedly neglected ruin at the summit of the Esquiline hill, known as the Nymphaeum or Temple of Minerva Medica. It stands on Via Giolitti, next to the squalid railyards of Stazione Termini, Rome's answer to Penn Station. Today most of the Esquiline is off the tourist track, but it holds sundry charms. From the Nymphaeum, on the ancient site of the Gardens of Licinius, you pass through the Piazza Vittorio into the Gardens of Maecenas on the lower Esquiline, where you see the ruins of the Baths of Titus.
It was at this point, as I began to descend the Esquiline's steep southern spur, the Oppian Hill, that I saw in the distance a flash of marble or, more precisely, travertine. I thought nothing of it at first, since Rome abounds in marble-clad piles, mostly from the 19th and early 20th centuries. But as I continued, this length of bright stone, coming into focus as a catenary of composite pilasters, began to expand laterally, until it assumed an awesome, even monstrous size. For a moment it looked to be scarcely more than one story tall. It was only as I continued my descent in the hazy morning light that the structure gradually acquired additional stories beneath those composite pilasters, until my dawning intuition was triumphantly confirmed: I was standing over the Colosseum, looking down at it from an Olympian height nearly parallel to its summit. I was now seeing the Colosseum in an entirely new way.
Terrible things, surely, once happened here, from gladiatorial slaughter to the persecution of early Christians. But that must not obscure the fact that the Colosseum stands for much of what was best in the Roman state.
The location of the Colosseum, built by the Flavian emperor Vespasian and his sons and successors Titus and Domitian between A.D. 70 and 80, was as polemically important as its size and shape. For it rose over an artificial lake that the unbalanced Nero, their imperial predecessor, had ordered to be built in his private residence, the infamous Domus Aurea. To build it, Nero had seized, in the very center of the city, a parcel of land roughly two-thirds the size of Central Park. And beside the lake he erected an enormous statue of himself, a colossus, from which the new stadium would subsequently take its name. Thus in building the Colosseum, also known as the Flavian Amphitheater, Vespasian gave back to the people of Rome what Nero had taken from them. In the process, a symbol of high-handed autocratic excess under the last of the Julio-Claudians became a monument to Rome itself, built by the new dynasty.
In size, beauty of architectural detail and state of preservation, none of the empire's 250 other amphitheaters, whatever their present or former state, can compare with the Colosseum. Even though, for centuries, it had been plundered and stripped for raw materials; even though it has done duty as a fortress and a church; even though half of it was nearly sheered off by a sequence of earthquakes (largely restored by Raffaele Stern and then Giuseppe Valadier early in the 1800s)—the Colosseum still presents itself to contemporary viewers much as it did to their ancient predecessors.
In addition to much else, the Colosseum is the tallest structure to survive from classical antiquity. At 157 feet, it is roughly the height of an early skyscraper, a fact concealed by its great elliptical girth, ranging between 510 and 615 feet. Despite the fact that the Colosseum served a function as pedestrian as Madison Square Garden's, its external ornamentation is so refined, and yet so restrained, as to reflect credit upon the civilization and the dynasty that created it. The three stacked arcades—which rise from Doric to Ionic and Corinthian before concluding in a walled summit with composite pilasters—unfurl with the greatest delicacy and tact. The Colosseum could have been overbearing, but it is not. It could have been fussy and maladroit, but it is not. It is so perfectly balanced, so definitive, that one risks taking it for granted.
That sense of equipoise, so Roman in its restrained practicality, presages the rationalism and functionalism of modern architecture. But, in the U.S. at least, architectural vision is all too rarely expended on sports arenas. And as for the Colosseum's closest structural parallel in New York, Madison Square Garden, the less said the better.
—Mr. Gardner is a critic based in New York.
By JAMES GARDNER
What does it take to rank as one of the seven wonders of the world? As a species, we delight in making lists, which is what drove Herodotus in the fifth century B.C. and Callimachus of Cyrene a century later to enumerate the seven wonders in the first place. With the single exception of the Great Pyramid at Giza, all of their marvels have been felled by time. But what seems to have united these monuments was a combination of staggering massiveness, inspired engineering and an iconic simplicity that rendered them instantly legible and rich in symbolic resonance.
For many centuries, the Colosseum in Rome has been on everyone's list of seven wonders, and it effortlessly meets the three requirements mentioned above. No matter how big you expect the Colosseum to be, in reality it proves to be even bigger. Shaped like a nearly perfect cylindrical drum, it is one of the very first things to amaze the newcomer to Rome, and it richly supplies one of the greatest delights of modern tourism: physical, touchable propinquity to what, before that instant, we had known our entire lives but only through the mediation of images and words. Seen from some distance along the Via dei Fori Imperiali—which Mussolini created in the 1930s to open up such a vista—it stands before you like an incarnated postcard.
That is how most visitors first experience the Colosseum in person. And usually it is the only way they see it, before they actually enter the site. But there is another way, as I learned by accident last summer. I had roused myself at the crack of dawn to visit a noble and undeservedly neglected ruin at the summit of the Esquiline hill, known as the Nymphaeum or Temple of Minerva Medica. It stands on Via Giolitti, next to the squalid railyards of Stazione Termini, Rome's answer to Penn Station. Today most of the Esquiline is off the tourist track, but it holds sundry charms. From the Nymphaeum, on the ancient site of the Gardens of Licinius, you pass through the Piazza Vittorio into the Gardens of Maecenas on the lower Esquiline, where you see the ruins of the Baths of Titus.
It was at this point, as I began to descend the Esquiline's steep southern spur, the Oppian Hill, that I saw in the distance a flash of marble or, more precisely, travertine. I thought nothing of it at first, since Rome abounds in marble-clad piles, mostly from the 19th and early 20th centuries. But as I continued, this length of bright stone, coming into focus as a catenary of composite pilasters, began to expand laterally, until it assumed an awesome, even monstrous size. For a moment it looked to be scarcely more than one story tall. It was only as I continued my descent in the hazy morning light that the structure gradually acquired additional stories beneath those composite pilasters, until my dawning intuition was triumphantly confirmed: I was standing over the Colosseum, looking down at it from an Olympian height nearly parallel to its summit. I was now seeing the Colosseum in an entirely new way.
Terrible things, surely, once happened here, from gladiatorial slaughter to the persecution of early Christians. But that must not obscure the fact that the Colosseum stands for much of what was best in the Roman state.
The location of the Colosseum, built by the Flavian emperor Vespasian and his sons and successors Titus and Domitian between A.D. 70 and 80, was as polemically important as its size and shape. For it rose over an artificial lake that the unbalanced Nero, their imperial predecessor, had ordered to be built in his private residence, the infamous Domus Aurea. To build it, Nero had seized, in the very center of the city, a parcel of land roughly two-thirds the size of Central Park. And beside the lake he erected an enormous statue of himself, a colossus, from which the new stadium would subsequently take its name. Thus in building the Colosseum, also known as the Flavian Amphitheater, Vespasian gave back to the people of Rome what Nero had taken from them. In the process, a symbol of high-handed autocratic excess under the last of the Julio-Claudians became a monument to Rome itself, built by the new dynasty.
In size, beauty of architectural detail and state of preservation, none of the empire's 250 other amphitheaters, whatever their present or former state, can compare with the Colosseum. Even though, for centuries, it had been plundered and stripped for raw materials; even though it has done duty as a fortress and a church; even though half of it was nearly sheered off by a sequence of earthquakes (largely restored by Raffaele Stern and then Giuseppe Valadier early in the 1800s)—the Colosseum still presents itself to contemporary viewers much as it did to their ancient predecessors.
In addition to much else, the Colosseum is the tallest structure to survive from classical antiquity. At 157 feet, it is roughly the height of an early skyscraper, a fact concealed by its great elliptical girth, ranging between 510 and 615 feet. Despite the fact that the Colosseum served a function as pedestrian as Madison Square Garden's, its external ornamentation is so refined, and yet so restrained, as to reflect credit upon the civilization and the dynasty that created it. The three stacked arcades—which rise from Doric to Ionic and Corinthian before concluding in a walled summit with composite pilasters—unfurl with the greatest delicacy and tact. The Colosseum could have been overbearing, but it is not. It could have been fussy and maladroit, but it is not. It is so perfectly balanced, so definitive, that one risks taking it for granted.
That sense of equipoise, so Roman in its restrained practicality, presages the rationalism and functionalism of modern architecture. But, in the U.S. at least, architectural vision is all too rarely expended on sports arenas. And as for the Colosseum's closest structural parallel in New York, Madison Square Garden, the less said the better.
—Mr. Gardner is a critic based in New York.
Thursday, May 27, 2010
Day (?)
Why does it always happen that I promise something on the blog (and eleswhere) and then fail to follow it up. Unpardonable. I mean I had stated that I will report daily progress but I havent. Before I proceed to describe the events since the last week (nothing much) lets look at the progress made so far.
1. Doing some professional reading though the pace can be much better.
2. So far have eaten out only twice and tonight almost ordered pizza but then ate some home cooked food. However, as the quantity was not enough at the moment I am trying my best to not think of food (while I can write about it!)
3. Visited a new bookstore near Lower Parel station. Its called Landmark, I think its the same chain which runs the eponymous bookstore in Madras. Well it was quite well stocked and there was a fair crowd. I liked the collection too though once again the latest releases (books already released in NY and London) were not available. By the way I stumbled upon something which was authored by a neighbour in Delhi. After having gone through some pages it left me a little confused about the ideas of the author, though honestly I was a bit jealous that this guy who I thought was good for nothing should be turning author and all that. Later that night I mentioned the book to my father over phone and next day, lo and behold, the author in question calls me up in office to inquire where I had found the book and raving about the circulation numbers. The funny thing- he probably spoke to me after a gap of 20 years. Before he hung up he asked if I had bought the book to which I had to reply with a no and he got a bit upset. I like that.
4. Nothing else to report. Still wondering when I should change jobs. I will but after having lived in Mumbai for almost 4 years I am not sure if I want to get back to Delhi. I mean one thing is the heat. Will visit this bit again.
5. I just have to mention this- read a few James Herriot stories today, maybe for the 35th time. Boy are they good or what. My safe, simple and 100% guaranteed antidote to feeling sad and lonely.
1. Doing some professional reading though the pace can be much better.
2. So far have eaten out only twice and tonight almost ordered pizza but then ate some home cooked food. However, as the quantity was not enough at the moment I am trying my best to not think of food (while I can write about it!)
3. Visited a new bookstore near Lower Parel station. Its called Landmark, I think its the same chain which runs the eponymous bookstore in Madras. Well it was quite well stocked and there was a fair crowd. I liked the collection too though once again the latest releases (books already released in NY and London) were not available. By the way I stumbled upon something which was authored by a neighbour in Delhi. After having gone through some pages it left me a little confused about the ideas of the author, though honestly I was a bit jealous that this guy who I thought was good for nothing should be turning author and all that. Later that night I mentioned the book to my father over phone and next day, lo and behold, the author in question calls me up in office to inquire where I had found the book and raving about the circulation numbers. The funny thing- he probably spoke to me after a gap of 20 years. Before he hung up he asked if I had bought the book to which I had to reply with a no and he got a bit upset. I like that.
4. Nothing else to report. Still wondering when I should change jobs. I will but after having lived in Mumbai for almost 4 years I am not sure if I want to get back to Delhi. I mean one thing is the heat. Will visit this bit again.
5. I just have to mention this- read a few James Herriot stories today, maybe for the 35th time. Boy are they good or what. My safe, simple and 100% guaranteed antidote to feeling sad and lonely.
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Day 3 (Day 2 sorry)
Apologies for not reporting yesterday. Excuse being that was quite busy throughout the day and finally when I returned by 10 pm was just too tired to work on the computer.
Actually I was at the Brand Equity Quiz , Mumbai round held in Bandra. The subdued tone should be eloquently suggesting to you , dear reader that we (with my team mate from the Bank) didnt make it even to the final round. Hindustan Lever won. I knew the very first question in the final which came to the audience but another guy shouted me down in catching Derek o'Brien's (the quiz master) attention and yours truly just watched the rest of show silently seething with anger.
As for the tasks progress, not much but Day 3 appears promising. Have a busy day ahead at the office where I have to prepare a report on the performance of the US economy for the last 6 months for a meeting of our highest decision making committee. The stock markets continue to trek downhill with the sovereign debt crisis still causing aftershocks post the Greek sovereign debt earthquake. Not that it will interest you but the US 10 year was at 3.39 which is a warning sign. Lets see.
Missing family especially the younger one and from the phone calls it appears that he too is missing me. He is just 2 year but displays a lot of boy kind of qualities and I being the only other male in the household (yes we both have checked each other out) he sort of knows that we are on the same side. Delighted at the thought of raising him (and of course his sister too):-) I have to stop now but will certainly attempt to post something later tonight.
Actually I was at the Brand Equity Quiz , Mumbai round held in Bandra. The subdued tone should be eloquently suggesting to you , dear reader that we (with my team mate from the Bank) didnt make it even to the final round. Hindustan Lever won. I knew the very first question in the final which came to the audience but another guy shouted me down in catching Derek o'Brien's (the quiz master) attention and yours truly just watched the rest of show silently seething with anger.
As for the tasks progress, not much but Day 3 appears promising. Have a busy day ahead at the office where I have to prepare a report on the performance of the US economy for the last 6 months for a meeting of our highest decision making committee. The stock markets continue to trek downhill with the sovereign debt crisis still causing aftershocks post the Greek sovereign debt earthquake. Not that it will interest you but the US 10 year was at 3.39 which is a warning sign. Lets see.
Missing family especially the younger one and from the phone calls it appears that he too is missing me. He is just 2 year but displays a lot of boy kind of qualities and I being the only other male in the household (yes we both have checked each other out) he sort of knows that we are on the same side. Delighted at the thought of raising him (and of course his sister too):-) I have to stop now but will certainly attempt to post something later tonight.
Monday, May 17, 2010
Family's away
Day 1 (May 16, 2010)
Dipti and the babies have gone to her parents' place for 3 weeks. So is this a great opportunity to learn something new (say playing the guitar) or learn professionally useful skills or reading some books that I have been planning to read for a long time. Time will tell. The track record is actually quite sad. On such occasions in the past I have ended up watching movies at all hours almost 99% of the time. The first day this time too was no different even though I did some damage control late in the evening by spending an hour at Bandra's Crossword bookstore just browsing. On return (after downing two gulab jamuns at Brijwasi's on Linking Road) flopped down on the couch to watch Goodfellas for about an hour before my conscience yanked the remote from my grip and switched off the T.V. To avoid this catastrophe from occuring again these notes here are intended to monitor my progress regarding the following goals:
1. Read the Fixed Income Analysis book
2. Figure out forward trading in forex markets
(Non professional goals)
1. Complete my office housekeeping issues
2. Write an article based on V S Ramachandran's "Phantoms of the Brain"
3. And just for kicks call the Guitar teacher !!
4. Minimise eating out:-(
Most Important
Post your progress or the lack of it here everyday!
Dipti and the babies have gone to her parents' place for 3 weeks. So is this a great opportunity to learn something new (say playing the guitar) or learn professionally useful skills or reading some books that I have been planning to read for a long time. Time will tell. The track record is actually quite sad. On such occasions in the past I have ended up watching movies at all hours almost 99% of the time. The first day this time too was no different even though I did some damage control late in the evening by spending an hour at Bandra's Crossword bookstore just browsing. On return (after downing two gulab jamuns at Brijwasi's on Linking Road) flopped down on the couch to watch Goodfellas for about an hour before my conscience yanked the remote from my grip and switched off the T.V. To avoid this catastrophe from occuring again these notes here are intended to monitor my progress regarding the following goals:
1. Read the Fixed Income Analysis book
2. Figure out forward trading in forex markets
(Non professional goals)
1. Complete my office housekeeping issues
2. Write an article based on V S Ramachandran's "Phantoms of the Brain"
3. And just for kicks call the Guitar teacher !!
4. Minimise eating out:-(
Most Important
Post your progress or the lack of it here everyday!
Monday, April 12, 2010
Delhi's Food Delights
Stumbled upon this bit about New Delhi's regional cuisines. Here is a list of the more prominent outlets with latest addresses and phone numbers:
Andhra Pradesh Bhavan (1 Ashoka Road, near India Gate; 91-11-2338-7499; aponline.gov.in/apportal/apbhavandotcom/Location.htm) is among the most popular spots. Open daily 7:30 to 10 a.m.; noon to 3 p.m.; 7:30 to 10 p.m. Dinner for two, about 160 rupees, or about $3.65.
Assam Bhavan (1 Sardar Patel Marg, Chanakyapuri; 91-11-2687-7111), in a small basement, serves fish and unusual vegetarian dishes like custard apple curry. Daily 1 to 2:30 p.m.; 8:30 to 10 p.m. Meal for two, about 120 rupees.
Jammu and Kashmir House (9 Kautilya Marg, Chanakyapuri; 91-11-2611-2021) is known for its lamb kebabs. Not to be confused with Jammu and Kashmir Bhavan. Daily 7 to 9 a.m.; noon to 2 p.m.; 7 to 10 p.m. Meal for two, about 180 rupees.
Kerala House (3 Jantar Mantar Road, near Jantar Mantar; 91-11-3041-1411) serves coconut-infused dishes in a peaceful setting. Though it is not officially open to the public, walk-ins are welcome. Daily 8 to 9:30 a.m.; 1 to 2:30 p.m.; 8 to 9:30 p.m. Meal for two, 80 rupees.
Nagaland House (29 Aurangzeb Road, near Delhi Race Course; 91-11-2301-5638) serves unusual pork dishes favored in this remote northeast state. Daily 8:30 to 11 a.m.; noon to 2 p.m.; 7 to 10 p.m. Meal for two, 220 rupees.
Sikkim House (14 Panchsheel Marg; Chanakyapuri; 91-11-2611-5171), across from the United States Embassy, draws the diplomat set. Daily 8:30 to 10:30 a.m.; 12:30 to 11 p.m. Meal for two, about 250 rupees.
Tamil Nadu House (Off Africa Avenue; Chanakyapuri; 91-11-2419-3100) serves South Indian fare in a basic canteen. Daily 8 a.m. to 10:45 p.m. Meal for two, about 150 rupees.
Andhra Pradesh Bhavan (1 Ashoka Road, near India Gate; 91-11-2338-7499; aponline.gov.in/apportal/apbhavandotcom/Location.htm) is among the most popular spots. Open daily 7:30 to 10 a.m.; noon to 3 p.m.; 7:30 to 10 p.m. Dinner for two, about 160 rupees, or about $3.65.
Assam Bhavan (1 Sardar Patel Marg, Chanakyapuri; 91-11-2687-7111), in a small basement, serves fish and unusual vegetarian dishes like custard apple curry. Daily 1 to 2:30 p.m.; 8:30 to 10 p.m. Meal for two, about 120 rupees.
Jammu and Kashmir House (9 Kautilya Marg, Chanakyapuri; 91-11-2611-2021) is known for its lamb kebabs. Not to be confused with Jammu and Kashmir Bhavan. Daily 7 to 9 a.m.; noon to 2 p.m.; 7 to 10 p.m. Meal for two, about 180 rupees.
Kerala House (3 Jantar Mantar Road, near Jantar Mantar; 91-11-3041-1411) serves coconut-infused dishes in a peaceful setting. Though it is not officially open to the public, walk-ins are welcome. Daily 8 to 9:30 a.m.; 1 to 2:30 p.m.; 8 to 9:30 p.m. Meal for two, 80 rupees.
Nagaland House (29 Aurangzeb Road, near Delhi Race Course; 91-11-2301-5638) serves unusual pork dishes favored in this remote northeast state. Daily 8:30 to 11 a.m.; noon to 2 p.m.; 7 to 10 p.m. Meal for two, 220 rupees.
Sikkim House (14 Panchsheel Marg; Chanakyapuri; 91-11-2611-5171), across from the United States Embassy, draws the diplomat set. Daily 8:30 to 10:30 a.m.; 12:30 to 11 p.m. Meal for two, about 250 rupees.
Tamil Nadu House (Off Africa Avenue; Chanakyapuri; 91-11-2419-3100) serves South Indian fare in a basic canteen. Daily 8 a.m. to 10:45 p.m. Meal for two, about 150 rupees.
Sunday, April 4, 2010
WWII Books
Here is again a wishlist of books I want to read. Time will tell. Taken from WSJ, April 2010.
Five Best
Lynne Olson admires these vivid portraits of wartime Britain
1. London War Notes, 1939-1945
By Mollie Panter-Downes
Farrar, Straus & Giroux, 1971
In 1939, New Yorker editor Harold Ross recruited Mollie Panter-Downes, an English novelist and short-story writer, to contribute a regular feature for the magazine called "Letter From London." Panter-Downes's War II letters, collected in "London War Notes," are gem-like accounts of the everyday life of Britons as they coped with everything from blackouts and German bombing raids to shortages of gin and hot-water bottles. Blessed with a lively wit and an eye for the telling human detail, Panter-Downes brought wartime Britain alive for her American readers. When U.S. troops and supplies flooded into the country shortly before D-Day, she remarked that living in Britain was like taking up residence "on a vast combination of an aircraft carrier, a floating dock jammed with men, and a warehouse stacked to the ceiling with material labeled 'Europe.' "
2. The War Years
By Harold Nicolson
Atheneum, 1967
Harold Nicolson was a member of Parliament, novelist, biographer, journalist, former diplomat, noted gardener—and the husband of writer Vita Sackville-West. But he is best known now for his richly detailed wartime diaries and letters. ("The War Years" is the second volume in a three-volume collection of his wartime papers.) Nicolson composed masterly word portraits of leading political and government figures during the period, including Winston Churchill, Neville Chamberlain and exiled French leader Charles de Gaulle. Equally compelling are his eyewitness accounts of crucial parliamentary debates. For those who want a front-row seat from which to view history in the making, Nicolson's diaries are required reading.
3. The London Journal of General Raymond E. Lee, 1940-1941
Edited by James Leutze
Little, Brown, 1971
As military attaché and head of intelligence in the American embassy in London, Gen. Raymond E. Lee was supposedly a neutral observer of events in Britain in the critical years of 1940 and 1941. The U.S. had not yet entered the war and showed little sign of being eager to do so, despite Lee's urging—much to his consternation, as his brilliantly written journal makes clear. A cultured man who wore Savile Row suits (as a neutral military officer, he could not appear in uniform) and loved good food, wine and conversation, Lee endured the nightly Luftwaffe bombing raids on London with grace and good humor. "If ever there was a time when one should wear life like a loose garment," he noted, "this is it."
4. Here We Are Together
By Robert S. Arbib Jr.
Longmans, Green, 1946
In 1942, hordes of American GIs descended on East Anglia, a sleepy rural area in eastern England, to build a network of Eighth Air Force bases from which to bomb Germany. The resulting clash of cultures between the brash young Americans and the area's residents, most of whom had never met a foreigner before, is marvelously recounted in this delightful little memoir by Robert S. Arbib Jr., a former New York advertising executive who was one of the GIs. "I thought these people were supposed to speak English," complained one U.S. soldier after his first exposure to the East Anglians' impenetrable rural dialect. "Someone should teach them how to speak their own language." Arbib, who grew to love the British, ends his book with one of the most moving and eloquent tributes to wartime Britain and its people that I have ever read.
5. The Siren Years
By Charles Ritchie
Macmillan, 1974
Although low on the diplomatic ladder, Canada's Charles Ritchie was welcomed into the leading social and cultural circles of wartime London. He shared tea with the queen, lunched with writer Nancy Mitford, spent Christmas with the Duchess of Westminster and had a long, intense affair with the Anglo-Irish novelist Elizabeth Bowen. His diaries, compiled in "The Siren Years," are filled with sharp, insightful observations of these experiences, among many others. Just as interesting is his sardonic perspective as a Canadian—and thus an outsider—on the U.S.-British partnership. "How the English hate being rescued by the Americans," he observed. "They know they must swallow it, but, God, how it sticks in their throats."
—Ms. Olson is the author of "Citizens of London: The Americans Who Stood With Britain in Its Darkest, Finest Hour," recently published by Random House.
Five Best
Lynne Olson admires these vivid portraits of wartime Britain
1. London War Notes, 1939-1945
By Mollie Panter-Downes
Farrar, Straus & Giroux, 1971
In 1939, New Yorker editor Harold Ross recruited Mollie Panter-Downes, an English novelist and short-story writer, to contribute a regular feature for the magazine called "Letter From London." Panter-Downes's War II letters, collected in "London War Notes," are gem-like accounts of the everyday life of Britons as they coped with everything from blackouts and German bombing raids to shortages of gin and hot-water bottles. Blessed with a lively wit and an eye for the telling human detail, Panter-Downes brought wartime Britain alive for her American readers. When U.S. troops and supplies flooded into the country shortly before D-Day, she remarked that living in Britain was like taking up residence "on a vast combination of an aircraft carrier, a floating dock jammed with men, and a warehouse stacked to the ceiling with material labeled 'Europe.' "
2. The War Years
By Harold Nicolson
Atheneum, 1967
Harold Nicolson was a member of Parliament, novelist, biographer, journalist, former diplomat, noted gardener—and the husband of writer Vita Sackville-West. But he is best known now for his richly detailed wartime diaries and letters. ("The War Years" is the second volume in a three-volume collection of his wartime papers.) Nicolson composed masterly word portraits of leading political and government figures during the period, including Winston Churchill, Neville Chamberlain and exiled French leader Charles de Gaulle. Equally compelling are his eyewitness accounts of crucial parliamentary debates. For those who want a front-row seat from which to view history in the making, Nicolson's diaries are required reading.
3. The London Journal of General Raymond E. Lee, 1940-1941
Edited by James Leutze
Little, Brown, 1971
As military attaché and head of intelligence in the American embassy in London, Gen. Raymond E. Lee was supposedly a neutral observer of events in Britain in the critical years of 1940 and 1941. The U.S. had not yet entered the war and showed little sign of being eager to do so, despite Lee's urging—much to his consternation, as his brilliantly written journal makes clear. A cultured man who wore Savile Row suits (as a neutral military officer, he could not appear in uniform) and loved good food, wine and conversation, Lee endured the nightly Luftwaffe bombing raids on London with grace and good humor. "If ever there was a time when one should wear life like a loose garment," he noted, "this is it."
4. Here We Are Together
By Robert S. Arbib Jr.
Longmans, Green, 1946
In 1942, hordes of American GIs descended on East Anglia, a sleepy rural area in eastern England, to build a network of Eighth Air Force bases from which to bomb Germany. The resulting clash of cultures between the brash young Americans and the area's residents, most of whom had never met a foreigner before, is marvelously recounted in this delightful little memoir by Robert S. Arbib Jr., a former New York advertising executive who was one of the GIs. "I thought these people were supposed to speak English," complained one U.S. soldier after his first exposure to the East Anglians' impenetrable rural dialect. "Someone should teach them how to speak their own language." Arbib, who grew to love the British, ends his book with one of the most moving and eloquent tributes to wartime Britain and its people that I have ever read.
5. The Siren Years
By Charles Ritchie
Macmillan, 1974
Although low on the diplomatic ladder, Canada's Charles Ritchie was welcomed into the leading social and cultural circles of wartime London. He shared tea with the queen, lunched with writer Nancy Mitford, spent Christmas with the Duchess of Westminster and had a long, intense affair with the Anglo-Irish novelist Elizabeth Bowen. His diaries, compiled in "The Siren Years," are filled with sharp, insightful observations of these experiences, among many others. Just as interesting is his sardonic perspective as a Canadian—and thus an outsider—on the U.S.-British partnership. "How the English hate being rescued by the Americans," he observed. "They know they must swallow it, but, God, how it sticks in their throats."
—Ms. Olson is the author of "Citizens of London: The Americans Who Stood With Britain in Its Darkest, Finest Hour," recently published by Random House.
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
2010 Reads (mostly Crisis stuff)
1. Financial Shock by Mark Zandi in 2009(found very useful for understanding the origins of the housing crisis)
2. When Markets Collide by M El Erian in 2009
3. The Course of my Life by C D Deshmukh (RBI's first Indian Governor)
4. Do they Walk on Water by Leo Santow (Really incisive critique of the last 4 including Bernanke, Fed Governors and Fed moves)
5. Lords of Finance by Liaquat Ahamed (I wish I had written something like this)
6. Madame Bovaury by Gustave Flaubert (this is just to keep my sanity intact)
Well what is the idea behind listing all the names here. First, to brag about my reading habit.
Two, really to document what I have read as (this is the dawn of middle age) often I find something that I might have read sometime but am not sure; and
Three, I have started taking audio notes of stuff I read by dictating to my cellphone. I intend to put the notes here sometime. I attempted this sometime back with a Soros book but I dont think I updated the notes when I finished the book. So hoping to revisit the idea here.
2. When Markets Collide by M El Erian in 2009
3. The Course of my Life by C D Deshmukh (RBI's first Indian Governor)
4. Do they Walk on Water by Leo Santow (Really incisive critique of the last 4 including Bernanke, Fed Governors and Fed moves)
5. Lords of Finance by Liaquat Ahamed (I wish I had written something like this)
6. Madame Bovaury by Gustave Flaubert (this is just to keep my sanity intact)
Well what is the idea behind listing all the names here. First, to brag about my reading habit.
Two, really to document what I have read as (this is the dawn of middle age) often I find something that I might have read sometime but am not sure; and
Three, I have started taking audio notes of stuff I read by dictating to my cellphone. I intend to put the notes here sometime. I attempted this sometime back with a Soros book but I dont think I updated the notes when I finished the book. So hoping to revisit the idea here.
Sunday, February 21, 2010
This is really about BONDS
* FEBRUARY 21, 2010
Bond Bubble? What You Can Do About It.
By BRETT ARENDS
Are bonds in a bubble? And, if so, what can you do to protect yourself?
This is a key question for millions of investors -- especially after the Federal Reserve's surprise move last week to raise one of its interest rates. That's often considered a signal the Fed is about to raise rates more broadly, a move that would be ominous for bonds.
[Lede] Chris Gash
Bonds are IOUs issued by governments and corporations. They are generally deemed more stable than stocks. Today the public has more than $2.2 trillion invested in bonds through mutual funds.
Bond sales have boomed in the past year, as investors have sought more stability in the wake of the stock-market crash.
According to the Investment Company Institute, a trade body for the mutual-fund industry, investors have poured nearly $400 billion into bond funds since the start of 2009.
But booming sales have driven up prices. Corporate bonds have become more and more expensive. And U.S. Treasury bonds look even more so.
These days a seven-to-10 year bond from a top-rated company will pay you only about 4.3%. Even a year ago that was above 6%, and not long ago it was higher still. Meanwhile, a 10-year Treasury bond will pay a paltry 3.8%. During the financial crisis it briefly went lower, but by the standards of recent decades it is near the floor.
Why does this matter? Bondholders may not know it, but they are taking risks. The biggest is from inflation. When consumer prices rise, the fixed interest you get from your bonds is worth less and less in real, purchasing-power terms.
If the bonds' yields are high enough to compensate, this may not matter. But if yields are low, like now, and inflation takes off you can get into trouble. Those who invested in long-term Treasury bonds in the mid-1960s, just before inflation surged, actually lost money in real terms over the following 20 years. (Those who bought bonds in the early 1980s, when yields went as high as 15%, made out like bandits as inflation collapsed.)
When inflation rises the government usually raises short-term interest rates. And that's an additional problem for bondholders. When short-term savings accounts are paying about 1% a year, a piece of paper from a company promising 3.8% a year for 10 years can look quite valuable. But it'll be worth a lot less if short-term rates were to rise to, say, 5%, or even more.
Are we definitely in a bond bubble? Even though prices seem high, it's not certain. Some people argue that they are a reasonable value, and inflation will stay subdued. Indeed one or two bearish strategists argue bonds could go even higher, and yields lower. Only time will tell.
There are very few certainties in the financial markets. For private investors, the key is to make sure you're getting paid for the risks you're taking. In the case of anyone holding long-term bonds, you're probably not.
What can you do about it? Here are three practical steps to take if you are worried:
1 Limit your exposure to very long-term bonds. These are the ones most at risk from rising inflation and interest rates. Most people invest in bonds through mutual funds that have a mix of short-, medium- and long-term bonds.
How does your fund stack up? Just check the duration. That's a technical term that's the best measure of a bond's inflation and interest-rate risk. Longer-term bonds have longer durations. The fund company will post this number, usually on the monthly fact sheet on its Web site.
A short-term fund will usually have a duration of a few years. You will earn less money in short-term bonds, but you will face fewer risks. A fund with a duration beyond about six to seven years is taking on more risk.
2 Move some bond money into TIPS. Treasury Inflation-Protected Securities are bonds with built-in inflation protection. Right now, the 20-year TIPS bond promises to pay about 2% a year on top of inflation. By historic standards it's not steal -- but it's OK.
It offers a much better tradeoff between risk and reward than the regular long-term bonds. And it lets you sleep easy at night. With TIPS, you no longer have to worry about inflation. Bond prices can still move, but rarely by much -- and if you hold the bond for 20 years, it doesn't matter at all.
3 Consider some dividend stocks as well. Too many investors think in simplistic silos -- stocks are risky, bonds are safe, and so on. Yet stocks of many solid, blue-chip companies may prove very safe investments, especially if you buy a basket of them, and you buy them when they are cheap. (Meanwhile, bonds may prove very risky, especially if you buy them when they are expensive.)
Over time, stocks also have typically offered better protection against inflation than bonds.
You can find plenty of decent yields without going near the high-risk financials. Take these exchange-traded funds: The Vanguard Consumer Staples ETF, which invests in such companies as Procter & Gamble, Wal-Mart Stores, Philip Morris International and Kraft, has a dividend yield of 2.6%. The Vanguard Telecommunications Services ETF is yielding 3.8%, and the Vanguard Utilities ETF, 4%.
Do your homework and understand what you're owning, but many blue-chip stocks with good yields can be a good addition to an income portfolio.
Bond Bubble? What You Can Do About It.
By BRETT ARENDS
Are bonds in a bubble? And, if so, what can you do to protect yourself?
This is a key question for millions of investors -- especially after the Federal Reserve's surprise move last week to raise one of its interest rates. That's often considered a signal the Fed is about to raise rates more broadly, a move that would be ominous for bonds.
[Lede] Chris Gash
Bonds are IOUs issued by governments and corporations. They are generally deemed more stable than stocks. Today the public has more than $2.2 trillion invested in bonds through mutual funds.
Bond sales have boomed in the past year, as investors have sought more stability in the wake of the stock-market crash.
According to the Investment Company Institute, a trade body for the mutual-fund industry, investors have poured nearly $400 billion into bond funds since the start of 2009.
But booming sales have driven up prices. Corporate bonds have become more and more expensive. And U.S. Treasury bonds look even more so.
These days a seven-to-10 year bond from a top-rated company will pay you only about 4.3%. Even a year ago that was above 6%, and not long ago it was higher still. Meanwhile, a 10-year Treasury bond will pay a paltry 3.8%. During the financial crisis it briefly went lower, but by the standards of recent decades it is near the floor.
Why does this matter? Bondholders may not know it, but they are taking risks. The biggest is from inflation. When consumer prices rise, the fixed interest you get from your bonds is worth less and less in real, purchasing-power terms.
If the bonds' yields are high enough to compensate, this may not matter. But if yields are low, like now, and inflation takes off you can get into trouble. Those who invested in long-term Treasury bonds in the mid-1960s, just before inflation surged, actually lost money in real terms over the following 20 years. (Those who bought bonds in the early 1980s, when yields went as high as 15%, made out like bandits as inflation collapsed.)
When inflation rises the government usually raises short-term interest rates. And that's an additional problem for bondholders. When short-term savings accounts are paying about 1% a year, a piece of paper from a company promising 3.8% a year for 10 years can look quite valuable. But it'll be worth a lot less if short-term rates were to rise to, say, 5%, or even more.
Are we definitely in a bond bubble? Even though prices seem high, it's not certain. Some people argue that they are a reasonable value, and inflation will stay subdued. Indeed one or two bearish strategists argue bonds could go even higher, and yields lower. Only time will tell.
There are very few certainties in the financial markets. For private investors, the key is to make sure you're getting paid for the risks you're taking. In the case of anyone holding long-term bonds, you're probably not.
What can you do about it? Here are three practical steps to take if you are worried:
1 Limit your exposure to very long-term bonds. These are the ones most at risk from rising inflation and interest rates. Most people invest in bonds through mutual funds that have a mix of short-, medium- and long-term bonds.
How does your fund stack up? Just check the duration. That's a technical term that's the best measure of a bond's inflation and interest-rate risk. Longer-term bonds have longer durations. The fund company will post this number, usually on the monthly fact sheet on its Web site.
A short-term fund will usually have a duration of a few years. You will earn less money in short-term bonds, but you will face fewer risks. A fund with a duration beyond about six to seven years is taking on more risk.
2 Move some bond money into TIPS. Treasury Inflation-Protected Securities are bonds with built-in inflation protection. Right now, the 20-year TIPS bond promises to pay about 2% a year on top of inflation. By historic standards it's not steal -- but it's OK.
It offers a much better tradeoff between risk and reward than the regular long-term bonds. And it lets you sleep easy at night. With TIPS, you no longer have to worry about inflation. Bond prices can still move, but rarely by much -- and if you hold the bond for 20 years, it doesn't matter at all.
3 Consider some dividend stocks as well. Too many investors think in simplistic silos -- stocks are risky, bonds are safe, and so on. Yet stocks of many solid, blue-chip companies may prove very safe investments, especially if you buy a basket of them, and you buy them when they are cheap. (Meanwhile, bonds may prove very risky, especially if you buy them when they are expensive.)
Over time, stocks also have typically offered better protection against inflation than bonds.
You can find plenty of decent yields without going near the high-risk financials. Take these exchange-traded funds: The Vanguard Consumer Staples ETF, which invests in such companies as Procter & Gamble, Wal-Mart Stores, Philip Morris International and Kraft, has a dividend yield of 2.6%. The Vanguard Telecommunications Services ETF is yielding 3.8%, and the Vanguard Utilities ETF, 4%.
Do your homework and understand what you're owning, but many blue-chip stocks with good yields can be a good addition to an income portfolio.
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Secret of Successful Marriage
I found this story under the BONDS section of the WSJ!! (while I was looking for Treasury Bonds)
* FEBRUARY 8, 2010
Happy Couples Kiss and Tell
For Ozzy and Sharon Osbourne, it's perseverance. For Jimmy and Rosalynn Carter, it's maintaining separate work lives. For Doyle and Louise Brunson, having separate bank accounts helps.
A former first lady, a rock star who's been in and out of rehab, and a professional poker player can all offer considerable insight into the mysterious workings of marriage. After all, their wisdom is gleaned from decades of conjugal bliss.
OK, maybe it wasn't always bliss. But each of them has stayed married—to the same person—for a very long time. And each considers his or her marriage to be happy, strong and mutually supportive.
In other words, they beat the odds.
It is often possible to understand why a marriage fails, as so many do. It is much more difficult, though, to elucidate why one succeeds. Why do some couples thrive, while others fizzle or flame out, despite their best intentions?
When I recently met former first lady Rosalynn Carter, who has been married to former president Jimmy Carter for 63 years, I couldn't resist asking how they made such a perfect union.
Mrs. Carter replied that she and her husband had gone through two periods in their marriage that were tough. "First, well, let me just say: Don't ever write a book with your husband," she said.
She went on to explain that the period after she and Mr. Carter left the White House and returned to their hometown of Plains, Ga., also put a strain on their relationship. Her husband felt adrift after failing to win re-election, she said. He would often interrupt her while she was at work in her home office, asking her to have a cup of coffee with him and chat.
"We learned that it was important to our marriage for each of us to always have our own work, our own projects," said Mrs. Carter, 82.
I asked my parents, who just celebrated their 46th wedding anniversary, why their marriage lasted so long. My dad said he had no idea. "Your mother did all the hard work," he admitted. Mom agreed, and divulged her marital secret: "forgiveness."
Happily married people believe they married their soul mates, and for good reason. Even marrying the right person gets you only part way. Ask the couples themselves, and they'll likely credit some combination of hard work and sheer blind luck.
Journal Community
Discuss: What are your secrets for an enduring marriage?
James Cordova, a psychologist at Clark University, advises couples not to leave it to chance. You should assess your marriage at least once a year, he says. "Imagine going to the dentist only if your tooth actually hurt. At that point something has gone terribly wrong, and the odds of saving it go way down," says Dr. Cordova, author of "The Marriage Checkup." "Marriage is the same."
Of course, no one ever said that every day, or even every year, was going to be rosy. And there are plenty of long marriages that are unhappy. But there are some strategies that happily married couples say work:
• Find the middle ground. "It's all give and take," says Marlene Critch, a retired hospital director in Tucson. She met her husband Bill on a blind date in 1959. He took her on a picnic with a thermos of gin and tonics; they married two months later.
Flash ahead 50 years. The Critches have raised two daughters in Seattle and weathered his severe heart condition. They swim together each morning, and he reads her children's books when she has trouble falling asleep at night.
Compromise, they say, got them through the good and bad times. Mr. Critch, 75, says he compromised by quitting the Air Force early in their marriage, because it bothered her that he was away from home so much. (Press him for more concessions, and he says, "Miso soup.")
Ms. Critch, 74, says she made her own compromise by agreeing to retire to Arizona, where her husband preferred the climate. (She wanted to stay in Seattle to be close to their daughters.)
"If each person can give 75 percent, you've got 150 percent," says Ms. Critch. Her husband agrees. "Many men would call that wussy," he says. "But I don't because I value her more than anything else in the world."
Similarly, Jan and Len Konkel, who have been married for 62 years, long ago made a pact to never argue over anything that wasn't very important, saving their battles for things like how to raise their three children. "Everything else is minor and can be settled in a discussion," says Ms. Konkel, 84.
Her husband agrees. "I say 'Yes ma'am' and 'No ma'am' a lot," says Mr. Konkel, 88.
• Be funny. On the night in 1967 that Jackie and Ken Egan met at a dance club in Boston, he asked her for a kiss. She declined: "I don't know you," she told him. "And my kisses are like Lay's potato chips—you wouldn't be happy with just one."
The Egans, who live in Marshfield, Mass., and have four children, just celebrated their 40th wedding anniversary on Monday. Ms. Egan says laughter helps them deal with issues that would otherwise drive them nuts—such as Mr. Egan's fussy eating habits and forgetfulness about putting the toilet seat down. Or Ms. Egan's inability to let her husband finish a story without interrupting him, or her many knickknacks.
"You need to learn to find the humor in each other's annoying habits. It helps you keep the affection," says Ms. Egan, 69.
• Keep (some) secrets. When poker legend Doyle Brunson met his wife Louise at a country-and-western club in Texas in 1961, he told her he gambled for a living. And she accepted him for who he is. "Love is the most important thing," says Louise Brunson, 78. "You have to love your spouse more than life itself."
The Brunsons, who live in Las Vegas, have stood by each other through some serious trials in their 47 years of marriage, including the death of a daughter and an armed robbery of their home, during which they were tied up at gunpoint.
"You have to go forward, you can't go back," says Mr. Brunson, 76. Even so, the Brunsons don't share everything. He doesn't discuss his business with her. "I have won and lost millions of dollars without her knowing," he says. Ms. Brunson says that's just fine with her. "I have my own bank account," she says.
• Never, ever give up. This tip is really important, so pay attention. Sharon Osbourne says it is how she stayed with husband Ozzy for 28 years and counting.
And she's married to the Prince of Darkness. He bit the head off of a live bat, for God's sake. (Ditto a dove.)
He also spent years strung out on drugs and alcohol. Never mind the groupies and the near-fatal overdoses. This man set fire to his house, passed out on a freeway median, and once tried to strangle his wife.
Ms. Osbourne, for her part, tried to run him over with a car, smashing his gold records with a hammer and taking out a restraining order. "We became like a soap opera," says Ms. Osbourne, 57, who is her husband's manager.
And yet she stuck by her man. Why? Because she felt he was a good person when sober and that he would kick his addictions one day. And she still believes he is her soul mate. ("Twice recently we've had the same dream on the same night," she says.)
"I went into marriage thinking it was forever. So I was stubborn," says Ms. Osbourne who has three children with her husband.
Mr. Osbourne, who was married once before, finally did sober up "six or seven years" ago, he says, and is very glad his wife stuck it out. "You don't throw in the towel at the first sign of trouble," he says.
And so Mr. Osbourne has made a point of telling his wife he loved her every single day—no matter where he was in the world, no matter how drunk or high. "She sometimes said 'Drop dead' or 'F— off,'" he says. "But at least if you are arguing, you are talking. If you stop talking, it's time to call it a day."
• Stay alive. My sister, a doctor, told me about one of her patients, a 92-year-old woman who showed up for her appointment with her husband, who is 94. They said they have been married for almost 70 years.
My sister, highly impressed, asked the couple the secret to their union's longevity. And they looked at each other for a long moment. Then the wife spoke: "Eh, neither of us died." (Wasn't this funny)
* FEBRUARY 8, 2010
Happy Couples Kiss and Tell
For Ozzy and Sharon Osbourne, it's perseverance. For Jimmy and Rosalynn Carter, it's maintaining separate work lives. For Doyle and Louise Brunson, having separate bank accounts helps.
A former first lady, a rock star who's been in and out of rehab, and a professional poker player can all offer considerable insight into the mysterious workings of marriage. After all, their wisdom is gleaned from decades of conjugal bliss.
OK, maybe it wasn't always bliss. But each of them has stayed married—to the same person—for a very long time. And each considers his or her marriage to be happy, strong and mutually supportive.
In other words, they beat the odds.
It is often possible to understand why a marriage fails, as so many do. It is much more difficult, though, to elucidate why one succeeds. Why do some couples thrive, while others fizzle or flame out, despite their best intentions?
When I recently met former first lady Rosalynn Carter, who has been married to former president Jimmy Carter for 63 years, I couldn't resist asking how they made such a perfect union.
Mrs. Carter replied that she and her husband had gone through two periods in their marriage that were tough. "First, well, let me just say: Don't ever write a book with your husband," she said.
She went on to explain that the period after she and Mr. Carter left the White House and returned to their hometown of Plains, Ga., also put a strain on their relationship. Her husband felt adrift after failing to win re-election, she said. He would often interrupt her while she was at work in her home office, asking her to have a cup of coffee with him and chat.
"We learned that it was important to our marriage for each of us to always have our own work, our own projects," said Mrs. Carter, 82.
I asked my parents, who just celebrated their 46th wedding anniversary, why their marriage lasted so long. My dad said he had no idea. "Your mother did all the hard work," he admitted. Mom agreed, and divulged her marital secret: "forgiveness."
Happily married people believe they married their soul mates, and for good reason. Even marrying the right person gets you only part way. Ask the couples themselves, and they'll likely credit some combination of hard work and sheer blind luck.
Journal Community
Discuss: What are your secrets for an enduring marriage?
James Cordova, a psychologist at Clark University, advises couples not to leave it to chance. You should assess your marriage at least once a year, he says. "Imagine going to the dentist only if your tooth actually hurt. At that point something has gone terribly wrong, and the odds of saving it go way down," says Dr. Cordova, author of "The Marriage Checkup." "Marriage is the same."
Of course, no one ever said that every day, or even every year, was going to be rosy. And there are plenty of long marriages that are unhappy. But there are some strategies that happily married couples say work:
• Find the middle ground. "It's all give and take," says Marlene Critch, a retired hospital director in Tucson. She met her husband Bill on a blind date in 1959. He took her on a picnic with a thermos of gin and tonics; they married two months later.
Flash ahead 50 years. The Critches have raised two daughters in Seattle and weathered his severe heart condition. They swim together each morning, and he reads her children's books when she has trouble falling asleep at night.
Compromise, they say, got them through the good and bad times. Mr. Critch, 75, says he compromised by quitting the Air Force early in their marriage, because it bothered her that he was away from home so much. (Press him for more concessions, and he says, "Miso soup.")
Ms. Critch, 74, says she made her own compromise by agreeing to retire to Arizona, where her husband preferred the climate. (She wanted to stay in Seattle to be close to their daughters.)
"If each person can give 75 percent, you've got 150 percent," says Ms. Critch. Her husband agrees. "Many men would call that wussy," he says. "But I don't because I value her more than anything else in the world."
Similarly, Jan and Len Konkel, who have been married for 62 years, long ago made a pact to never argue over anything that wasn't very important, saving their battles for things like how to raise their three children. "Everything else is minor and can be settled in a discussion," says Ms. Konkel, 84.
Her husband agrees. "I say 'Yes ma'am' and 'No ma'am' a lot," says Mr. Konkel, 88.
• Be funny. On the night in 1967 that Jackie and Ken Egan met at a dance club in Boston, he asked her for a kiss. She declined: "I don't know you," she told him. "And my kisses are like Lay's potato chips—you wouldn't be happy with just one."
The Egans, who live in Marshfield, Mass., and have four children, just celebrated their 40th wedding anniversary on Monday. Ms. Egan says laughter helps them deal with issues that would otherwise drive them nuts—such as Mr. Egan's fussy eating habits and forgetfulness about putting the toilet seat down. Or Ms. Egan's inability to let her husband finish a story without interrupting him, or her many knickknacks.
"You need to learn to find the humor in each other's annoying habits. It helps you keep the affection," says Ms. Egan, 69.
• Keep (some) secrets. When poker legend Doyle Brunson met his wife Louise at a country-and-western club in Texas in 1961, he told her he gambled for a living. And she accepted him for who he is. "Love is the most important thing," says Louise Brunson, 78. "You have to love your spouse more than life itself."
The Brunsons, who live in Las Vegas, have stood by each other through some serious trials in their 47 years of marriage, including the death of a daughter and an armed robbery of their home, during which they were tied up at gunpoint.
"You have to go forward, you can't go back," says Mr. Brunson, 76. Even so, the Brunsons don't share everything. He doesn't discuss his business with her. "I have won and lost millions of dollars without her knowing," he says. Ms. Brunson says that's just fine with her. "I have my own bank account," she says.
• Never, ever give up. This tip is really important, so pay attention. Sharon Osbourne says it is how she stayed with husband Ozzy for 28 years and counting.
And she's married to the Prince of Darkness. He bit the head off of a live bat, for God's sake. (Ditto a dove.)
He also spent years strung out on drugs and alcohol. Never mind the groupies and the near-fatal overdoses. This man set fire to his house, passed out on a freeway median, and once tried to strangle his wife.
Ms. Osbourne, for her part, tried to run him over with a car, smashing his gold records with a hammer and taking out a restraining order. "We became like a soap opera," says Ms. Osbourne, 57, who is her husband's manager.
And yet she stuck by her man. Why? Because she felt he was a good person when sober and that he would kick his addictions one day. And she still believes he is her soul mate. ("Twice recently we've had the same dream on the same night," she says.)
"I went into marriage thinking it was forever. So I was stubborn," says Ms. Osbourne who has three children with her husband.
Mr. Osbourne, who was married once before, finally did sober up "six or seven years" ago, he says, and is very glad his wife stuck it out. "You don't throw in the towel at the first sign of trouble," he says.
And so Mr. Osbourne has made a point of telling his wife he loved her every single day—no matter where he was in the world, no matter how drunk or high. "She sometimes said 'Drop dead' or 'F— off,'" he says. "But at least if you are arguing, you are talking. If you stop talking, it's time to call it a day."
• Stay alive. My sister, a doctor, told me about one of her patients, a 92-year-old woman who showed up for her appointment with her husband, who is 94. They said they have been married for almost 70 years.
My sister, highly impressed, asked the couple the secret to their union's longevity. And they looked at each other for a long moment. Then the wife spoke: "Eh, neither of us died." (Wasn't this funny)
Sunday, January 10, 2010
Welcome 2010!
I just realized that my last entry was almost a year back. So 'Welcome 2010'. While there is no genuine explanation for not updating the blog all I will submit is that 2009 for me (and more so for Dipti) was the Year of Children. More precisely, their birthday parties. Saumitra (who now has at least a dozen nick names-mickey, mickoo, chicki, chickloo, gobu, betoo and so on) turned One on May 6 last year and this had to be preceded (as per our family customs) by his first tonsuring ceremony at the family shrine for this purpose in Vidhyanchal- a small temple town on the banks of Ganga in UP. And yesterday we celebrated Priya's 7th birthday in Mumbai (or Bombay, cant decide!) in a McDonald's restaurant. The contrast couldn't have been more stark between two locations. But first some pictures form each event.
A Very Happy New Year. Properly translated it means I hope this year is free of the following:
1. Terror attacks
2. Water scarcity
3. Rain affected commuting
4. Sick children
Etcetra
Till next time and hopefully in 2010 itself!
A Very Happy New Year. Properly translated it means I hope this year is free of the following:
1. Terror attacks
2. Water scarcity
3. Rain affected commuting
4. Sick children
Etcetra
Till next time and hopefully in 2010 itself!
Monday, July 6, 2009
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. |
Sunday, July 5, 2009
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. |
Monday, June 29, 2009
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.
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.
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
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.
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.
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