The Teeritz Clan's European Trip, Part 1 - Paris: "Effing Hell, All The Cliches Are True!"

Prologue

August 20th, 2016

                            Paris. The City of Lights. The city that I've visited through countless movies my entire life, from "Casablanca" (1943) to "G.I. Joe - The Rise of Cobra" (2009). 
The city with a tonne of history and a tonne of promise. And yet, I don't know what to expect.
Suppose I'll find out soon enough.

It would be a big trip for us, and it would be some time before we'd be able to travel to this extent again. Of course, if we were going to go to a country in Europe, it would make sense to visit another country as well.
You see, Paris was not the main focus of this trip, but merely the first leg.

(Warning: Some coarse language ahead)

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This trip had been on the cards for some time. A few days after my Mother's funeral in April 2012, I called one of my Aunts in Italy. "When will you come to visit me?", she asked.

In all honesty, I hadn't given much consideration to traveling to Italy back then. I had recently switched jobs and my new gig was a real drag, the kids were young and the thought of a trip to Europe was perhaps the last thing on my mind. We had outgrown the house we were living in and all thoughts (and expenses) were directed towards doing some renovations with a view to getting a larger house at some point.

It was maybe a year later that my wife said to me; "We should think about going to Italy. It's important for the kids, to give them some idea of continuity with their grandmother. It would be good for them, and you, to meet your Auntie. And God knows we could all do with a trip."

Not much more was said. We devoted our time and energy to fixing up the house and putting it on the market. Once that was done, we began looking for a new house, which we ended up buying about 18 months ago.

Towards the end of 2015, life had calmed down enough to the point where the idea of an overseas trip began to sound feasible. We checked our finances and figured that we could do a trip without punching too big a dent into our savings. So, we planned a trip.

Since we would be going to Italy, the idea was to choose one other country to visit. No point going all the way to Europe and just seeing one place. 

We chose France as the other destination to visit. My wife looked into AirBnB and spent an exhaustive amount of time checking out places to stay. We sat down and planned the trip; five nights in Paris, five in Rome, and six nights in my parent's home region of Abruzzo, over on the Southern coast of Italy, across the Adriatic Sea from Croatia.
We would stay in my Mother's home town of Pescara. This would be the "beachy, relaxing part of the holiday" after what would surely be a whirlwind trip through the cultural riches of Paris and Rome.

The trip was booked for September 2016. This would put us on the tail-end of the European summer, but from all reports, there would still be plenty of sunny days in early autumn.  

And so, 2016 rolled around soon enough. I landed a new job in March and promptly told my interviewers that I had a three-week trip booked for September.
They quickly looked over at the planner/calendar on the wall; "Yep, that's not a problem."

Fast-forward to mid-July and I reminded my manager of my upcoming trip. He didn't say anything for a few seconds. Then; "Oh yeah...I forgot."

And then he added; "Is this gonna be a regular occurrence?"

'Not on what you pay me', I thought to myself.

September 6th- My final day at work for a while and I was busy tying up a few loose ends. With regard to the day before you go on holidays, somebody once said to me; "Don't start nothing, don't finish nothing."

I understood what he meant and so I did as much as I could before I left the office that last day, but I knew I wasn't going to do it all. Everyone at the office told me not to worry. They'd handle things while I was away. 

Good enough. 

September 7th- I made sure that I had forgotten nothing as I planned and packed my suitcase. In retrospect, I had once again packed too much. Gotta learn to travel lighter.

September 8th- The flight to the Abu Dhabi stop-over would take off at 10:00pm that night. We were all packed and all set. A house-sitter would be coming over to look after the house and our cat while we were gone. She turned up at 6:45pm. Our limo driver was due to show at 7:00pm. Now, we ain't millionaires, but for twenty bucks more than a taxi cab to the airport, we got a driver with a comfortable and smooth-handling late model Mercedes-Benz, and he would help us with our bags in and out of the car, and he would be at the arrivals gate in three weeks to collect us when we land. 

We gave the house-sitter a bunch of hurried instructions and told her to make herself at home for the next few weeks; "Just lock the doors and feed Madame. And take things easy."

It was a smooth and trouble-free drive out to the airport. We checked-in our luggage and had about an hour to kill before we had to be at the departure gate for our flight. Stupidly, we went to Cafe Vue for coffees. Two years ago, we had a snack at this cafe before our flight to Thailand. My wife had a chicken breast sandwich and later felt sick in the stomach on the flight. You'd think we would have learned something from that experience, but no. 

This time around, I ordered two cafe latte and a hot chocolate. And then I got the bill. Eight bucks for a hot chocolate, $5.20 for a cafe latte that tasted like lukewarm milk with the barest hint of coffee flavouring.  
'What is this, a kid's drink?!', I thought to myself. Needless to say, I didn't finish it. Actually, yes I did. And I still didn't get my money's worth.  
"I realise it's a business, but I really feel like I'm paying their fucken' rent", I said to my wife as I took my final sip.

If you ever read this, Mr Bennett, your airport cafe is an extreme rip. 

Not much to say about the flight. I don't really fly well. Also, the difference in time zones meant that the dates in this post would be slightly askew, since I didn't re-set the time and date settings on my camera. So, as I write this post, I'm finding it tricky to remember exactly on which dates we did certain things. Both my wife and I kept journals of the trip, but the entries were fewer and fewer as the time went along. Too busy doing things rather than cataloguing them. Still, between the two of us, this post should represent a fairly accurate account of this holiday. And I'll be relying on my wife's legendary memory, too.

We landed at Charles de Gaulle Airport, grabbed our cases, then a cab to the apartment we would be staying in for the next five days,

The road from CDG Airport to the city's outskirts looked very similar to the road from our own airport in Melbourne. To me, anyway. Long stretches of highway with light industrial buildings along the way. However, as we got closer to the centre of Paris, it finally began to feel like I was in another country.

Prior to this trip, I'd said to the kids; "Just remember, everything in Paris and Rome will look different to what you see here in Melbourne. The streets, the cars, the buildings, everything."

Although, I don't think I myself was truly prepared for how different these two European cities would be to the one where I was from.

Traffic was fairly heavy, but it moved along. On various streets and intersections, I saw groups of Syrian refugees sitting on footpaths, with crude cardboard signs held out.

This was now starting to look like a different Paris to the one I was expecting to find. No striped, long-sleeved t-shirts, Gitanes, baguettes and berets, oh no.
This Paris was a reminder of the entire situation that Europe currently finds itself in, with porous borders that do little to stifle the influx of immigrants from war-ravaged corners of the Middle East.  

We soon arrived at our apartment, located in the 2nd Arrondisement. It had a security entrance and was located on the third floor of a building in a short side-street. Our host met us out on the street and let us in before telling us that he had a bad back and would not be able to help with our cases.
"No problem", we said. 

And then we lugged the cases up three flights of tight, circular stairs. By the time we got into the apartment, our host wasn't the only one with a bad back. Thankfully, we would only have to do this once more, when we checked out.

We were shown through the apartment; "It has all the staples", he said, as he opened pantry doors in the kitchen. Upon closer inspection later on, I found a near-empty bottle of olive oil, a sticky container with some sugar left in it, and half a 250gm bag of coffee. 

"Maybe by staples, he actually meant 'stationery' ", I said to my wife.
I didn't find any actual staples either, for that matter.

We then freshened up and washed away 24 hours of Economy seating, in-flight meals (I had the lamb with vermicelli rice. Pretty good, actually) and recirculated air before hitting the streets to scope out the neighbourhood and find some place to grab a quick bite. It was about six pm. 

It was still light, the late afternoon sky was still blue, and, after landing in this city a couple of hours earlier, I was beginning to settle in to my surroundings and I came to a sudden realisation;

I absolutely friggin' loved Paris!

This is a city that was rebuilt back in the mid 1800s, following a directive from Emperor Napoleon III to his Prefect of the Seine, Georges-Eugene Haussmann.

Here's a more detailed account, courtesy of wikipedia;

Wikipedia | Haussmann's Renovation of Paris

Much was done to the city in order to create more housing for her citizens. For me, the most striking feature of these streets is that many buildings don't tend to exceed five or six stories. What this does is it gives the streets a lot more sunlight. It gives us all a lot more sky to see. And it means that you get some wonderful views of Paris.

Georges-Eugene Haussmann's visionary undertaking created a city that took the health, well-being, safety and quality of life of its citizens into consideration. I saw no skyscrapers and, from what I'm told, they are all pushed out of the city centre and are to be found on its outskirts. 

I have to say that I never got sick of looking at these beautiful buildings. From apartment houses to museums, this city contains some breathtaking architecture.

We found a cafe at a busy intersection and had a bite to eat. Thankfully, our waiter's English was better than our French, although my wife knows enough of the language to get by reasonably well in conversation. As we sat there eating, I watched the after-work traffic zip by. My God, so many Vespas on the streets of Paris. And most of the cars that I saw were either black or silver.  Yes, trust the French to coordinate the colours of their cars to match their wardrobe. Lots of traffic on the roads, but no shriek of car tyres or blare of car horns. Everybody drove politely. Made a refreshing change from where I'm from.

Oh, I should mention that the overall mood at the airport when we landed seemed a little sombre. No doubt the recent terror attacks on the city have had an effect. However, security is very tight here, and France appears serious about putting an end to these threats.
After dinner, we had a little more of a walk around before returning to our digs to grab an early-ish night. We were still a little frazzled from the flight and we wanted to start this holiday properly the next day.

Saturday, September 10th
                                          Today, we headed out to the Musee Militaire at Les Invalides. It was my wife's idea to try and fit one major activity into each day of this trip. Lord knows that there is much to see in Paris and only being here for five days meant that we would miss out on some things.
Upon entering the gates of Les Invalides, I saw two heavily-armed guards as I headed to a trestle table to show the contents of my bag to another guard. The guards cradled Famas assault rifles in their arms.
Nous prenons ces questions très au sérieux.

The Musee Militaire is a permanent exhibition which houses items and artifacts associated with France's military history throughout the centuries. Bear in mind that this is a country that honours its history, and this is something that you see on every corner of every street. 
To say that this exhibition was impressive would be an understatement. 
France has kept everything.

The collections of armour were vast. Absolutely amazing. There was an array on display in store-rooms behind glass windows, and to the side, one could see wooden shelves stocked with helmets, chest plates and gauntlets. You could be forgiven for thinking that France was preparing to invade England. Again.

The firearms collection alone could supply an army, and to see these weapons up close and in such well cared-for condition was truly breathtaking. The intricacy of their design and decorative embellishments were astounding. It would have almost been a shame to fire one of these things in battle.

And the attention to detail was staggering. Would have been a hell of a job making these suits of armour. Can you imagine the thought processes that would have gone into the design of these things? Having to make subtle changes to the shapes and joints in order to allow the widest range of movement during the heat of battle? While still providing protection for the wearer, making sure that no vulnerable part of the body remained exposed.

It's one thing to create something that has a specific use. It doesn't have to have any decoration because it is not used for ornamental purposes. It's designed to perform a particular function. Which is why I found it all the more incredible to see just how much decorative work had gone into these suits. Sure, they were probably made for members of royalty who were going into battle, but I still found the level of detail absolutely amazing, considering the cruder production methods that would have existed back then.

And when I got to the end of the first part of this exhibition and made my way to the exit, this was waiting outside;

I took the photo at an angle because I wanted to get the jousting pole in the frame. We continued on through Les Invalides and stopped at the cafe located on the premises. We ordered some ice cream for the kids and two espressi for ourselves, and I was disappointed to see the waitress walk over to a Nespresso machine to prepare our coffees.
We drank up and paid the bill because we wanted to get to the second half of this exhibit, the area where the wars of the 20th Century were represented.
It was another incredible display. Super-cool seeing a German Enigma machine.

 For some reason, I thought the Allied Forces had only ever captured three of these during the War.

A quick check on Wikipedia shows that quite a few of these were acquired throughout that conflict. Still a buzz seeing this classic symbol of wartime espionage up close.

And, of course, no military museum is complete without some sort of armoured vehicle;

And, given that this corner of the exhibition  concerned itself with 20th Century conflicts, there just had to be a typewriter on display somewhere. (Thought I'd try a larger font size to compensate for all the white space.) 

It was an amazing display and if/when I return to Paris, I'll go through it all again, at a more leisurely pace. Unfortunately, I would be long out of Paris by the time this next exhibition began:

Merde! That would have been grand.

Oh, I forgot the order in which we saw these!  My wife reminded me that we saw the first part of the military exhibition, then we stopped for the crappy coffee and then we visited another section of Les Invalides where the former church is located. This next pic is courtesy of wikipedia;

  
(pic taken by Daniel Vorndran/DXR)

It is here where Napoleon Bonaparte was entombed;

This is his coffin. Nowhere on it does it have his name. The scale of it was truly extraordinary. And directly above this sarcophagus is the domed ceiling;

My God, only day one! Okay, moving on. This was an amazing place to see. If you ever get to France, go to this museum. It is, in many ways, a truly humbling experience.

                     

On the way back to our digs, we crossed one of the love-lock bridges that cross the River Seine. Despite my film noir/hardboiled exterior, I'm a sentimental old fool (is 50 considered old, you young punks?), so I naturally found this practice to be delightfully whimsical. Some of these bridge sections are covered in padlocks, attached by people in love from all around the world. The custom is to throw the key into the river after attaching the lock.
In 2015, city officials ordered the removal of these locks, as the sheer weight of them could lead to structural weakness, but this has not deterred some people, who have found ways to get around the new measures put in place to prevent any further locks being put on the city's bridges.

Pics or it didn't happen.

And this was the typewriter. I don't know the brand. May have been a Japy, but this could just be me inventing a memory of something that never happened. That happens sometimes.

Here's the note that I typed out. Ain't gonna win any awards for originality. And did I say that I used a page out of my Moleskine notepad?  
Memory is sketchy. 
I wonder if this note is still stuck on the ceiling of that tiny alcove? Maybe next time, I should bring some drawing pins. And a little more imagination.

We had dinner in the early evening and then headed back towards the Seine for a river cruise. It would be an hour-long trip that would take us along the river right past the Eiffel Tower. However, I didn't want to see this famous landmark in this way.

Naturally, it was always part of this trip to go and see the tower, but I wanted my first close-up view of it to be from the ground. I wanted to experience the grandeur of it, and I felt that this could only be done as you approach it on foot and the sheer scale of it reveals itself to you as you get closer.
And so, I resisted the urge to look up at it as the boat skimmed past. I put on my sunglasses and busied myself writing these passages that you are now reading (yes, I wrote it all in past tense, including mention of the fact that you are now reading it) into my Moleskine.

The boat soon made a slow U-turn and we were headed back to the jetty where we first boarded. On the return journey, my wife and I noticed all the people that were scattered along the banks of the Seine. There were little clusters of people sitting cross-legged, engaged in conversation. Or debate, as I saw some of them waving their hands in the air while they spoke. Couples sat close together,  dark wine bottles clearly visible between some of them. Others blew out plumes of cigarette smoke.
Further along, we heard tango music as a man in denim swung a girl around a make-shift dance floor. She wore a skirt and sweater. There were trestle tables near them and many people watched as they danced.
My wife said to me, sotto-voce; "Fucking hell, all the cliches are true!" It was uttered with admiration. I knew exactly what she meant. I had already seen numerous couples embracing and kissing, framed in the shadows of Art Nouveau apartment doorways. I had seen various French men and women walking the streets in  late afternoon,  dressed in sharp casual corporate-wear, some with a cigarette dangling insouciantly from their lips. And they all seemed to exude an air of nonchalance that we don't see much of back home in Australia.                                                                        

For quite a while now, I've been thinking that stress can be a real killer, and I've resolved to try dealing with it a little more effectively. So far, so good (to an extent), but it seemed to me that the people of France have a better outlook on it. I'm sure they worry about their jobs, mortgages, health, relationships, etc, as much as the rest of us. It just appears to me that they don't let it show so obviously.
More power to them, and I resolved to try taking a leaf out of their livre. 
It was a warm evening. The sun was setting, the weekend was winding down for the people of Paris and they were just taking things easy for the last few hours of their Sunday.
It was nice to see. La vie est belle.

Monday, September 12th
                                          The plan this morning was to head over to the catacombs;

The Catacombs of Paris (French: Catacombes de Paris,   (help·info)) are underground ossuaries in Paris, France, which hold the remains of more than six million people^[1] in a small part of the ancient Mines of Paris tunnel network.

(Thanks again, wikipedia!)

We hit the street and started walking, with a view to hailing a cab as soon as we saw one for hire. We never saw one, and so ended up walking for ninety minutes till we got to the Catacombs entrance. On the way, though, we stopped at a typically French cafe to get a caffeine recharge and a glass of water.

We got to the building where the catacombs were meant to be, and then spent a few minutes circling the building until we found a very discreet entrance. Which was closed. The catacombs aren't open on Mondays.
Okay, Plan B. Always have a Plan B, folks. We didn't have a Plan B.
No matter. Lady Teeritz and I huddled and discussed our next move.
The Pantheon?  Too far away.
Notre Dame? No, madame. We'd already passed it earlier and the line to get in was way too long. Our plan with Quasimodo's workplace was to get there early in the morning and avoid the queues of selfie-sticks with iPhones on one end and idiots on the other.
Besides, we had pencilled in Notre Dame for another day.
"What about Galeries Lafayette?", suggested my wife.
"Okay, cool, done", I replied.

Galeries Lafayette is a shopping centre. We caught a cab (yeah, finally. Thanks!) and the driver was a cool-looking guy in jeans and white t-shirt. He had wavy grey hair and wore glasses. He basically looked like a film star in his third decade of stardom, Richard Gere-style. He spoke a small smattering of English and, between this and my wife's basic French, a conversation ensued. It was all very friendly.
He dropped us off near the entrance to the centre.We walked in and had our bags checked by security. Once inside, it looked like any other large, upmarket shopping precinct, with cosmetics kiosks for Chanel, Mac, Yves Saint-Laurent, etc, all scrambling to separate ladies from their hard-earned Euros.
But then, you look up towards the ceiling and;

It all begins to look like the balcony seating of a 17th Century theatre. Now, we weren't really there to shop, so we took the escalators up and up until we arrived at the cafeteria. It was getting on for 1:15pm and we were starving.
The cafeteria here offered everything from a sandwich to a steak. I had fish, nicely grilled while I waited.
I ordered an espresso afterwards and quickly downed it before we headed up the the rooftop. Here's the sort of views that we had from up there. From the rooftop of a department store. 
I'll say that again- A DEPARTMENT STORE;

We slowly made our way back to our apartment, making a few stops along the way. We stopped off at a nearby Monoprix store to grab some cheeses and stuff so that we could have a relaxed and early dinner. Monoprix is great. Anyplace where you can buy a Rhodia notepad and a bottle of Bombay Sapphire Gin is a-OK in my book. Downstairs, it's like a Target store. Alongside this, there's a bakery, and upstairs, a supermarket for groceries and alcohol.
I once read that the French don't tend to do big grocery shopping, but rather, they prefer to do 'top-up' shopping throughout the week, buying only what they may need for a particular meal. Anyone who's lived there, please correct me if this is not the case.
Anyway, we got back to the apartment and had a quick and informal dinner before making a twilight visit to the Eiffel Tower.
Yes, thrill-seekers, it was time.

We got down to the street after our meal and hailed a cab. No ordinary cab, by the way. Nope, this was a black, late-model Mercedes-Benz, driven by a small man who may have been Ethiopian. He looked around sixty, with a thin moustache and dark eyes, and he wore a dark suit and tie with a crisp white shirt. He looked perfect.
The trip took about 20 minutes. We drove through a tunnel that felt familiar to me. Strange, since I'd never been to Paris. Well, not in this life, anyway. It looked like the one where Princess Diana and Dodi Al Fayed perished back in 1997, along with their driver, Henri Paul.
Moments later, we passed through another one and the familiar feeling felt stronger. The cab driver then said; "Lady Diana accident here."
Of course. I recall the endless news footage of the tunnel.
And I felt the hair on my arms stand on end.
With my fraction of French, I replied; "In une Mercedes noire."
The driver tilted his head slightly and raised an eyebrow, as we continued along.
In a black Mercedes- Benz.

As we approached the Tower, our driver opened up the sunroof to draw our attention to this landmark and Lady T said to the kids; "He hasn't looked at it yet. He keeps averting his eyes." 
Avert my eyes I did. I didn't want to see the tower from a boat the day before and I didn't want to see it from a cab tonight, even if it was a Merc. It was actually quite difficult not to look at it. I could sense the Tower in the periphery of my vision. It was compelling me to turn and look at it. A 300 metre, wrought-iron visual siren-song.
Like I said, I wanted to see the Tower for the first time from a certain perspective.

The driver pulled up at the entrance gates. The place was jammed with people. Hawkers selling bottles of warm water, selfie-sticks (how I learned to absolutely hate those things!), and ,bizarrely, these little sling-shot contraptions that fired a ball up into the air that would reach the apex of its ascent, then split open and gently float back down to earth on fluttering propellers. How very French...not!
I paid the driver (and tipped) as I carefully avoided looking up to my left. I took a few steps before my resolve weakened. So, I turned to look at the Eiffel Tower and it looked breathtaking!

I stood there staring up at it, reaching for my camera as a flood of movie scenes overlapped through my mind. Roger Moore's Bond chased Grace Jones up its staircase in A View To A Kill, aliens vaporised it in Independence Day, a climate catastrophe covered it in ice in The Day After Tomorrow, it converted into a steampunk's dream in Tomorrowland, and even Russian terrorists toppled it in Call of Duty- Modern Warfare 3 on the Playstation 3.

However, make no mistake. Once you've seen this thing up close, nothing will ever destroy it.
The spell was broken by my son saying; "Dad, come on, Mum and ***** are waiting!"
Of course, I couldn't stand there all night. We had come to get to the top of this tower, not to stare at it from below. I took another look at the throngs of people everywhere. The cynic in me hoped that I wouldn't see the worst of human nature tonight. People can get selfish and rude in situations like these. Happily, there was nothing to concern myself with.

We queued up to get checked by security before getting into a longer queue for tickets to enter the tower. It was a warm night and, above the railings that herded us towards the ticket booths, there were  long metal tubes with what looked like steam emanating from them. It was only as you got closer to them that you felt a soft spray of water mist over you. These things were designed to keep everybody cool while they waited in line. I thought it a polite gesture on the part of the French. Merci.

We got our tickets and boarded the elevator that would take us the the first floor, at a diagonal angle alongside one of the tower's legs, before boarding a second elevator that would take us up to the observation deck at the top. Because, let's face it, there was no way I planned to walk up the 1,700 steps to get there.

It was, naturally, crowded on the top deck once we got there, but all you have to do is wait a few minutes and a gap opens up on the grille-enclosed edge of the deck as people move along. By now, it had gotten dark and the view was unforgettable;

And that's why they call it The City of Lights, folks. I took a bunch of photos, but the limits of my photographic skills were plain to see. I probably should bone up on photography one of these days.

We stayed up there for about an hour. I took snaps of the wife and kids, and the kids took snaps of my wife and I.
A lady from Mexico offered to take a family photo of us, which was nice of her. Annie Leibovitz was nowhere to be found, so I handed this lady the camera. I checked the photos later to find two extremely blurry shots of the Teeritz family at the Eiffel Tower. Ah well, I'm sure she meant well.

My daughter pointed to a young couple in a tight embrace. The girl had a small, black velvet-covered box in her hand.
She must have said 'yes'.

Afterwards, I asked the family if they would like to join me for a drink or coffee, so we stopped off at the small corner cafe near our apartment. It was a still warm, so I opted for a gin & tonic. The kids had Oranginas (like Fanta, but with a slight bitter aftertaste) and my wife had an espresso. 
Must say that I could see the appeal of these cafes that are dotted all over Paris.

Tuesday, September 13th
                                          I briefly toyed with the idea of heading back to the Eiffel Tower, but as time wore on, I thought about the queues and decided that it might not be such a great idea after all. My wife would try taking the kids back to the catacombs, since we missed out on them the day before, but I'll admit that I had no real desire to see them.
So, off they went, while I took a stroll to see where I ended up. I stopped at a Tabac and had a coffee. The Tabacs are everywhere. They all sell cigarettes and lottery tickets and they all have coffee machines and seating areas. I walked around a little more before heading back to the apartment.

We headed out later in the evening to grab dinner someplace. No firm plans, so we just walked until we found some place that looked interesting. We ended up at a small Turkish restaurant. Nothing fancy, it looked more like a take-away place, but the staff were friendly and the food was wonderful. They were deceptively small portions, but surprisingly filling.

Wednesday, September 14th

                                              Today was the day we would pay a visit to the Ile de la Cite,  for it is here that the Cathedral of Notre Dame is located. On a tiny sliver of island in the middle of the River Seine. We got there reasonably early and the crowd wasn't too bad. Although, once inside, I found it a little too crowded for my liking. Not only that, but seeing a whole lot of people in there snapping away with point-and-shoots and iPhones, actually began to put me off a little, but I couldn't pinpoint exactly why. I found this to be an impressive church, to say the least.

One thing about these church visits; while I'm in no way overly religious, I do have a respect for the extraordinary levels of engineering and building skill that would have gone into the construction of these houses of worship. My wife, who is a greater lapsed catholic than I, has an interest in old churches, from an historical point-of-view, so this is why we visited so many of them on this trip.

AND THEN SHE SAID...

Whoa there! Yes, Mr T, I am lapsed, but it's not all history-based (my forays into churches). I still revere the process of worship and faith and there's a church on every corner in Paris (and Rome too, for that matter) and they ALL have amazing pieces of art, beautiful marble floors and some quiet. 

It felt like a mini museum (less the crowds, hassle, charges and tourists) you could go in and out of at your leisure. That's amazing in such a big city and these buildings were loved and used. (Just didn't want to seem like some freaky history nerd there, I'm a bunch of fun!)

Yes, ma'am. Yes you are.


I looked around inside the church for a few minutes. My wife came up to me moments later and said; "I just lit a candle for your Mum and Dad, Tee." 
Bless her. One thing I did in every church that I visited on this trip was light a candle for my departed parents.
Because they would have liked that.

To say that Notre Dame was impressive would be an understatement. I'm certain that experienced travel writers have said it better than I ever will. I marveled at the sheer size of this church and the attention to detail and the level of craft that went into this house of worship. I took a few photos;

Throughout this entire trip, I saw places that had been built three, four, five hundred years ago, or more. And here I am, from a country that was officially founded in 1788.
Not to sound too trippy, but that kept blowing my mind.
It's not that I was surprised by it all, but seeing it up close really brought it home for me and it was astonishing to see such perfectly realised and preserved architecture still standing strong.
                           Below is a detail of some of the extraordinary stained glass of Notre Dame.

I didn't take a lot of photos here. I can recall looking around and seeing people inside Notre Dame with selfie-sticked iPhones and tiny point-and-shoot cameras and I instantly felt like I was desecrating this particular church by being so 'touristy'. I capped the lens of my Olympus.
There would be other churches to take pictures of before this trip was over.

Later, we headed outside and debated whether or not to go up to the observation deck of this historic church. By this stage of the trip, I was experiencing cultural overload and was beginning to get locations mixed up. So much history in this city!
My wife and daughter were feeling a little fatigued and my son wasn't sure if he wanted to go up a bunch of stairs to get to the deck.
So, we passed, figuring that we'd do it the next time we visit Paris, whenever that will be. Although, maybe we should have gone up there because the view would have been worth it;


Photo courtesy of and downloaded from www.wikimediacommons.org.
Attribution listed below;

Yep. Would have been cool. Who doesn't love a gargoyle, after all?

Outside Notre Dame, 25% of the Teeritz family took turns taking photos of the remaining 75% of the Teeritz family until a young blonde gal from the United States offered to take a pic of all four of us. Very nice of her, so we reciprocated by taking a few pictures of her outside the church. She was from the MidWest and was traveling alone. Very polite young lady.

We decided to take a rest-stop at a cafe across the road from the church. Military presence was extremely high at this Paris landmark;

I had a coffee and sat there watching people go by. Not all of them were carrying Famas assualt rifles. 
We took our time, figuring that we had all day, even though this was our last full day in Paris. We would be taking a flight to Rome later the next day.

We  decided to check out the BHV Department store.

As we made our way in the store's general direction, we saw this --->
It was a recharging station for hybrid cars. I had to marvel at the fact that this country was taking steps to assist owners of these kinds of cars. Not sure how one of these would go here in Melbourne. One day, perhaps.


We got to the BHV Department store and I had a quick look at sunglasses, but didn't see any worth pursuing. I was on a passive hunt for a pair of Persol 714 or 649 frames, like the ones Steve McQueen wore.  I'd seen a pair at an optometrist in another part of the city, so it looked like I'd be going back there at some point.

After this, we passed the St Gervais church, so in we went. Again, I was staggered by the artwork and statues found within;

That evening, we went out to a traditional French brasserie to have a traditional French meal. That was the plan, anyway. My daughter ordered pasta, I had a steak, can't recall what my wife and son ate. Actually, she tells me that they both had roast chicken. It was a great meal and the service was excellent.
                                                               

Walking back to our apartment, I saw this.

"All men die, but only some live." 

Existentialism on a street corner. Man, even the graffiti in this city is profound.

In the side street near our apartment, we saw a couple of  working girls plying their trade. One of them looked to be in her 60s. We had passed by her before. My wife commented that her skin was beautiful, and her perfume was fantastic.

Our host had told us a few days earlier that these ladies are very sharp-eyed and will often notice if there are suspicious characters in the area, especially if school children are nearby. He also mentioned that this older lady had once nursed his son when he was a baby. He added that these ladies don't like having their picture taken, not that we were planning to do so, anyway. I can understand why this would piss them off.
Truth be told, I actually have more respect for a prostitute than I do for a real estate agent. My wife just read that line and said I was doing prostitutes a disservice by mentioning them in the same sentence as real estate agents. With a prostitute, what you see is what you get, she said, whereas real estate agents are so full of bs.

Anyway, this was our last night in Paris. Walking back to our apartment, I asked if anyone would care to join me for a final drink in the City of Lights. My wife and son were tired, so they headed back to the apartment. My daughter and I took an outside table at the cafe 20 metres from the door to our lodgings. She had an Orangina and I had a gin & tonic, along with a Lucky Strike. When in Paris...

We sat there on this warm night and talked about the trip. She had had a wonderful time on this holiday so far, and I must say that she didn't complain once about all the walking that we did. I would imagine that there were times when her feet must have ached due to her having to take more steps than the rest of us, but I never heard a peep out of her. She was good company as we sat there chatting about the things we'd seen over the past week and the things we were yet to see on the remainder of this trip. It was a nice way to spend the last evening in Paris.

Thursday, September 15th
                                           Our departure flight for Rome's Fiumicino Airport was at 4:05pm. We got up reasonably early that morning and my wife and I made a quick pit-stop at the Monoprix to buy some bits and pieces for the apartment. Things like tissues, toilet paper, sugar, etc. We cleaned up the place, which was easy, since we didn't make a noticeable mess to begin with, emptied all the perishable food out of the refrigerator and put it all in a plastic bag. The plan was to give it to the first homeless person that we saw out on the streets.

"The Pompidou Centre!", exclaimed my wife. "We can leave our bags here for a couple of hours and take a quick look at it.", she added. 
I was a little tired, and the cultural overload of this city had worn me down a little, I must say. However, we were here in Paris, and the Pompidou was a five-minute walk from the apartment.
We'd make a quick trip to it and take a look.

It was an impressive building, to say the least. It's funny, but I'd always thought it would be some old 18th century structure. How wrong I was, as we entered this futuristic-looking facade.

We hadn't gone to many galleries. I wanted to get to The Louvre, if only just to stand next to the pyramid structure on the outside. I blame The Da Vinci Code (the book, not the movie). Dan Brown painted a very vivid picture in my mind of how this glass pyramid looked, and I wanted to get a first-hand view of it. It would have been interesting to have seen the Mona Lisa, without a doubt, but I had heard that trying to get a look at this painting would involve moving past it among a throng of other tourists just to catch a glimpse of it.
Either way, there's always next time, I suppose. We'd only scratched the surface of this astounding city.
There were some impressive artworks on display at the Pompidou. Paintings by Dali and Mondrian, for example. Although, I was only looking at them half-heartedly by this stage because I had one eye on the time and I kept thinking about our flight. We made our way up to the observation deck to get some wonderful views of the city. It was a cloudy day, but it all still looked impressive;

We headed back to the apartment afterwards to get our suitcases and say goodbye to our host. He informed us that the pedestal fan (which sat in the corner of our bedroom) had been broken. This was odd considering the fact that we didn't use it at all during our stay, and we told him so. I got the impression that he didn't believe us. I was tempted to let him know that I had left a fresh full bag of coffee in the kitchen, which was more than what he had left me, but that would have put a dampener on the trip.
We left positive feedback about our host on AirBnB. Yes, we were a little too generous.
He didn't end up leaving any feedback for us, l'idiot. My wife e-mailed him when we got back to Australia and asked him if he'd left us feedback and he gave us some line about how he'd missed the deadline for leaving comments. Not only that, but he actually replaced the packet of premium-quality toilet paper that we had bought for the apartment's next guests with a cheap-assed pack of single-ply recycled paper. Something I noticed when I used the bathroom of this apartment one last time before we struggled down the stairs with our suitcases. Our host has a bad back, remember?
"Hey, can we change the feedback", I asked my wife later.
"No. What's done is done."

Anyhow, we'd had a wonderful travel experience here in Paris and I wasn't going to let this little hiccup spoil it. And, as centrally located as his apartment was, we had already decided that we would stay elsewhere when we came back to Paris.

We quickly found a cab and made our way to Charles de Gaulle Airport. One the way, we passed by the Gare Du Nord train station. Man, I would have loved to have taken a closer look at that!
Next time. There will be a next time.

OBSERVATIONS

The French
                   Forget whatever you've ever heard or read about the French people being rude or arrogant. I did not experience one instance of this whatsoever. Everyone we encountered or dealt with was polite and friendly, and those who spoke a little English were very helpful to us.
Of course, as with anywhere that we've ever traveled to, it has always helped to know simple phrases such as "Hello", "please" and "thank-you". A little bit of manners goes a long way. We've always started off polite and we've never had a problem.

Obviously, I'm no expert on the people of France after having visited this city for only a week, but they gave off an air of a calm and relaxed attitude. I noticed the cafes doing a brisk trade at around six or six-thirty pm most evenings, as people mingled at curb-side tables over an espresso. Some folks stood at chest-height round tables nursing a coffee and small biscuit, with a burning cigarette waving in the air like a miniature baton as they engaged in conversation.
People walked briskly down the streets after work, but nobody looked like they were in a mad hurry to get home.
'I could get used to this', I thought to myself on more than one occasion.

The Beggars and the Homeless
                                                    There were a lot of them in Paris. I saw a Syrian family camped out on the footpath on our first day in the city. While we were out walking the next day, they were nowhere in sight.
While hurrying back to the apartment one day to get ready for dinner, I saw a very thin old lady lying on the footpath of a side street. She was eating some grapes from a plastic container. Her skin was very tanned, her grey hair matted, and her clothing was dirty and torn in places.
Some young jerk walked past her and said; 'Bon apetit.'
Maybe not all Parisians were charming. 
Out late one night, I was stopped by an old beggar who put his arm around my shoulder and then pointed down to his bare feet. "Look, look", he said.
I looked down. He had six toes on his right foot.
I gave him a couple of Euro coins, resisting the urge to say; "Pfft, that all you got? I have bunions on both feet that would make you shriek in horror."
I was stopped by a couple later that night. The man said something to me in French. I gave him the old "Excuse-moi, mais je ne parle pas francais", as taught to me by my wife at the beginning of the trip.
I offered him and his female companion a cigarette. They were now both standing at right angles to me. I didn't like their placement, since I couldn't keep a sharp eye on the both of them. He declined the smoke, but asked me for my lighter instead. Playing it safe, I handed over the green plastic BIC disposable. He thanked me and they went on their way.

Many of the side streets smelled of urine, I have to say. Perhaps the beggars were working overtime. Well, as long as they're keeping their fluids up. But even this didn't diminish this experience for us.
I'd go back to Paris in a heartbeat.

We made our flight to Rome on time. The plane took off and we settled in for the five-hour flight to the next stage of this trip.
So far, it had been a wonderful experience.

And I did manage to snag a pair of Persol 649S sunnies, too.






Thanks for reading!

TO BE CONTINUED...

Friday 10/3/2017 -This Week's Wristwatches.

Short one this week, gang. Had a couple of very rude and very unreasonable customers to deal with by phone and e-mail this week.

However, it's Friday and they are fast becoming a distant memory.

Okay, last Saturday's watch was the recently-arrived Enicar Ultrasonic.

Sunday, I switched over to the Omega Seamaster 300. Here it is, in a nice, grainy surveillance-style photo. I will have to get that West German chess clock fixed one of these days. 

I should probably learn to play chess first.  

Tuesday rolled around, and I still had the Seamaster 300 clamped to my wrist. As far as dive watches go, it's a perfect design. Clear and legible, sparse and no-nonsense.

Got home from work on Wednesday and popped open a cold one before getting changed out of my work wardrobe and into more casual duds. 

And got home a little later than usual this evening because I had to make a pit-stop to grab some cheese, salami and pizza bases. My usual market was out of these bases, so I had to kick into Plan B and head out to another supermarket where I found the last two packets on the shelves. 

I tell ya, it's some kind of conspiracy. All I wanted to do was make a pizza, but it seemed to be a trickier proposition than I thought it would be.  

Not the end of the world, though. I got there in the end. 

Anyway, another week down and a three-day long weekend coming up. All's well. 

Thanks for reading and have a good weekend! 

Friday 3/3/17 - RIP Hudson, Oh, Warren, Warren, Warren!, Happy Birthday, Mr Craig, Oh My Friggin' Tooth & This Week's Wristwatches

The week began with a reminder that 2016 was not some bad dream that we had all awakened from on January 1st.

Another great talent was taken away from us way too soon when actor Bill Paxton died at the age of 61 last Sunday, after suffering a stroke while undergoing heart surgery in L.A. 

He appeared in a string of films throughout the '80s and '90s and had achieved a much-loved position in Pop Culture. This is perhaps mainly due to his memorable role as the supremely-cocky-then-rapidly-pessimistic Private Hudson in Aliens (Dir: James Cameron, 1986). As his Marine unit, sent to a remote mining outpost on some distant planet, begins to engage with the hostile alien hordes, we see Hudson begin to lose it as he realises how outnumbered his platoon is. 

Paxton's withering delivery of the lines "No way, man" or "Game over, man!" have become modern catchphrases. He had a small role in an early scene in The Terminator (Dir: James Cameron, 1984), but I first recall seeing him give a very funny performance in Weird Science (Dir: John Hughes, 1985) as a sleazy jock with no redeeming features whatsoever. 

Paxton showed some credible dramatic acting chops in the TV series Big Love (2006-2011) and we had already seem him play it straight in such diverse films as Apollo 13, Haywire and Million Dollar Arm. He had well and truly established himself as a solid character actor.

Any way you cut it, it's a sad loss. 

Sunday, I had the Oris Diver Sixty-Five on my wrist;

 But I soon began to get the itch for a watch I hadn't worn for some time.

I hadn't worn the Omega Railmaster for quite some time. Being a warm day, it did feel a tad snug on my wrist. Maybe that's why I hadn't worn it in so long? 

Anyway, it was an easy fix for me to sit down and add another link to the bracelet. Yep, that was better. 

Monday. It was Oscar night. We all sat down to watch the telecast. I have to say I thought Jimmy Kimmel did a great job of hosting the show. I hope he's back next year. 

It was tough to nominate the awards this year. I did pick Miss Emma Stone for Best Actress, and I had high hopes for La La Land scoring the Best Picture Oscar. 

Ahh, yes, the Best Picture Oscar, or 'Envelopegate', as it's been known as this past week.

If you didn't watch it, this is sorta what happened;

- Warren Beatty and Faye Dunaway came onstage to present the final award for the night for Best Picture. 

- Beatty announced; "And the Oscar goes to..."

- Beatty opens the envelope, pulls out the card and then spends a few seconds looking it it with a quizzical expression on his face.

- A few more moments pass before he shows the card to Miss Dunaway. She look at it for a millisecond and then announces; "La La Land." 

- The audience cheers as the film's producers make their way to the stage. Producer Jordan Horowitz begins his acceptance speech. 

- About 30 seconds later, some guy in a tux, with an ear-piece jammed in his ear, enters from stage left (or was it right?) and begins consulting with some of the production team. While Horowitz continues his speech, we can see a flurry of faces looking down at various envelopes. 

- Soon, Horowitz is told of the error. He then turns to the camera and announces that a mistake has been made and the Best Picture winner is in fact Moonlight. Horowitz explains that he's not joking, Moonlight has won the Oscar. He takes (snatches, but in the heat of this moment, somebody  has to take charge) the card out of Beatty's hand and holds it up. The screen switches to camera 2 (or whatever) and we see a close-up of the card, which now reads Moonlight. Someone finally gave Beatty the correct envelope.

Despite the title of this week's post, I can't totally blame Warren Beatty. 

Yes, he should have called somebody to step out from behind the wings and check the card he was holding. 

No, he shouldn't have just held it up in front of Dunaway because she just saw the title "La La Land" in large letters on the middle of the card, but didn't read the finer print which read "Best Actress In A Leading Role - Emma Stone", but if there's anybody to blame, it's the star-struck idiot from the accounting firm of PricewaterhouseCoopers who first handed the incorrect envelope to Beatty to begin with. 

The stupid effing dummy. Accountants. F*ck!

My daughter turned to me; "Has this ever happened before?"

"Nope. Never", I replied. 

I was still wearing the Omega Railmaster;

 Wednesday, this arrived from eBay. It's a 1950s (I think) Enicar Ultrasonic hand-wound. I bought it with the intention of attempting a dial clean-up using a mixture of lemon juice and distilled water.  As you can see, there's a slight darkening on the dial between each of the hour markers. Something tells me this cleaning method would work quite well, but I'm not sure now if I want to attempt it. 

There's always the risk that the hands may distort while being removed or that they may snap when being refitted. Yes, I could take it to a watchmaker for this step of the process, but I'm trying to do this on the cheap. 

I may take it over to my buddy Mike for the crown and hands removal. We could then try the dial clean and see how well, or not, it works. 

Worth a shot. One day. For now, I'll just enjoy wearing it as is.

 Thursday

                Happy Birthday, Mr Craig! I think he's been a great Bond. But regular readers would know that. 

I had an eleven forty-five appointment at the dentist's. I bit down on some lettuce last weekend and there was a stone in it. That smarted!

He drilled out an old filling and then put a temporary crown on it. We'll know in a few weeks if I'll just need a crown or a root canal AND a crown. 'Cos, you know, I'm made of money.

I'm friggin' never gonna get this Rolex Submariner of mine serviced. The wristwatch gods are against me. 

I was still wearing the Railmaster, but somebody couldn't care less;

A few nights ago, she was in some mad state and urgently wanted to get into my daughter's room...at four am. My daughter heard some scratching at her door in the wee small hours. 

The next morning, we saw that a section of carpet had been shredded at the foot of the door. The new carpet (like the one she's lying on in the photo) that had been laid about 18 months ago. 

One of these days, Alice...

Today

           Still had the Railmaster on my wrist, but switched back to the newly-landed Enicar when I got home, before mixing up a pre-dinner Gin & Tonic. 

It was a busy day at work as I plowed through fifteen completed repairs. Twelve more to get through on Monday, before I write up eight or ten quotes and then book in ten new repairs. 

The fun never ends.

And that's this week sorted. 

I hope you all have yourselves a pleasant weekend and thanks for reading!

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Friday 24/2/17 - A Pencast & This Week's Wristwatches.

Wore the WatchCo Seamaster 300 briefly last weekend. Since adding a half-link to the bracelet, I've gotten a better fit out of it on warm days when my wrist swells up a little. 

I wore the Oris Diver Sixty-Five early in the week, before switching over to something a little dressier, the Longines Expeditions Polaires. I was thinking of getting a lizard-skin strap off eBay for this watch, but the watchmaker I work with said that, because it's an exotic skin, it could get stuck in customs for months. 

I may try looking around for a local seller. The hunt begins.

Dear God, that handwriting! I plan to do a little more of it, in an effort to sharpen it up a little. 

My writing was noticeably better when I was studying a couple of years ago and writing down notes by hand. 

Use it or lose it, kids. 

Use it or lose it.

And today, I took a quick slacker break to get a picture of the Oris Diver Sixty-Five, back on my wrist. I decided to wear a tie in to work, in an effort to launch a one-man crusade against Casual Fridays. 

The world is dumbing down and getting lazy. I sit on the train in the morning and look around me to see 90% of my fellow travellers looking down at their precious mobile phones. 

Granted, I check my e-mails and battery saver settings (now THAT'S a pain in the neck!), but you will never find me playing some silly game  or watching an episode of Family Guy on my freakin' phone. 

For somebody who first went to the movies to see What's Up Doc? (Dir: Peter Bogdanovich, 1972), I can think of nothing worse than watching something on a 9cm screen. 

That's how it's dumbing down. 

As for lazy, this is happening because too many men just don't take the trouble to look sharp anymore. I see young guys catching the train and they're wearing trousers and an ill-fitting business shirt. And that's all. No jacket, no tie. 

No style. 

My wife read out a quote to me by actor Michael Wincott. You may know him from Alien: Resurrection and he's done a couple of episodes of Westworld and will soon be seen in the next Scarlett Johansson film Ghost In The Shell, due out later this year. 

Anyway, he once said;

"It's good to dress well. Elegance expresses greater expectations of life. The current culture of slovenliness conveys a spiritual and intellectual surrender." 

How did I manage to remember this quote? I typed it up on a little piece of paper and stuck it on the fridge door. It's faded a little since I typed it. 

Wincott's right. To me, it's not about having to look super-sharp every day. It's just about making an effort, however small. Which is why you'll never see me wearing track pants unless I'm going to the gym. 

Although, on the days when I just can't be bothered, I can be seen going to buy milk or fuel wearing knee-ripped chinos and a t-shirt. That's as low as I'll go. 

So yeah, the world ain't gonna end with a whimper or a bang. It's gonna end slowly, through apathy, bad manners, lousy service and poor grammar, for starters. 

Which is why I wore a crisp shirt and a nice tie to work today. Somebody's gotta fly the flag.

Especially when it's made of cotton and silk. 

Okay, 10:02pm. Thanks for reading, and have a great weekend!

Friday 17/2/17 - Question For UK-based Typewriter Collectors, & This Week's (Dive) Wristwatches.

Ooh, but I'm starting this one late this week. Okay, I'll be brief. There's a fellow watch collector I know who's interested in getting himself a typewriter. I'll call him Horatio. It's as good a name as any. 

I offered Horatio a few suggestions and he seems to have taken a shine on 1950s Smith-Coronas and Olympia SM models. Both of these are rock-solid typers, in my view. 

Now, one thing I couldn't help Horatio with was a) where to perhaps buy one of these in the UK, and b) where to get a typewriter serviced in the UK later on down the track. 

So, I'm asking those of you out there who live in Blighty (or who may not live in Blighty, but may still have an answer) if you know the answers to these questions. 

Any help would be greatly appreciated, thanks in advance!

Meanwhile, Horatio, here are the links to my write-ups on my own stable of these machines;

Olympia SM9 - 1966

Smith-Corona Silent Super - 1956

Olympia SM2 - 1951 & Olympia SM3 - 1954 

Smith-Corona Sterling - 1945

That should keep you busy for a while, heh, heh.

Wristwatch-wise, I wore the circa 1993, heavily modified Seiko 7002 last weekend while doing some (really bad) wood-work;

Monday, I switched over to the Oris Diver Sixty-Five as I commenced my second week as a full-timer in my job. I must say I'm still getting to bed too late in the evenings and then paying for it the next morning. 

Still, it's early days, and my aim is to settle in to a smoother night-time routine so that I can wake up a little sharper in the mornings. I have to say that my internal alarm clock works very well, as I find myself waking up without an alarm clock at either 6:45 or 7:00am. As a former night-owl who used to work in hospitality, I'm pretty impressed by this. 

At one of the last cafes that I worked at back in the early 1990s- finally got out of the industry in 2001-  a customer told me that she could tell I worked mainly in the evenings because I was so pale and had dark shadows under my eyes. 

It was an interesting time of my life, but I don't miss the hours. 

On Wednesday, I switched over to the recently serviced Omega Seamaster 300m. The timekeeping has been pretty good since I had the work done on this watch. It can feel a little snug on the wrist on warm days, but this is nothing that can't be solved by adding a half-link to the bracelet. 

If I can be bothered doing so. 

The design of this watch has dated somewhat, to be sure, but I admire this watch because it's been in production since 1993. Which is no mean feat. 

Yesterday, I felt like switching to another Omega dive watch, the Seamaster 300. Checking this watch right now.....I find that it has gained about 20 seconds over the last two days, which isn't bad. 

I may look into getting this one serviced sometime this year, but I think I'll have to suss out (check out) a few of the watch repairers that I've met over the years to see who's most likely to do good work without charging me an arm and a leg. 

I realise that watch servicing ain't cheap, but I don't want to pay through the nose.  

Okay, so that's this week done. Man, I'm tired!

Thanks for reading, gang, and have a great weekend!

 

Friday 10/2/17 - This Week's Wristwatches (Short Post...Hopefully)

I started full-time hours at my job on Monday, which is great. Of course, this means that I'm now getting home around seven pm, so my free time has shrunk considerably. Welcome back to The Rat Race, Tee. Been a while.

This is no drama. It just means that I'll have to make better use of my time when I'm not at work. So, this blog may take a back-seat for a while, or I may write shorter posts, or I may skip the odd Friday post here and there (tonight was touch & go). 

Anywhere, while I'm here, I best get started. It's already 9:05 pm. 

Started the week wearing the Omega Speedmaster Professional. I've noticed that I tend to wear my sports watches more during the summer months of the year. Usually on a bracelet, since this is the most water-resistant option. Mind you, this Speedmaster is only rated to 50 metres which is considered splash-proof, as far as I'm concerned. Sure, sure, I spoke to plenty of customers over the years who wore their 30 or fifty metre water-resistant watches in all manner of aquatic conditions, but, given what these things cost, I tend to err on the side of caution. I have rinsed this watch under a tap (faucet) on two occasions in the (my God!) ten years that I have had it. 

I was still wearing it on Wednesday. Here it is on a Folio Society edition of Graham Greene's The Quiet American, which I snagged for four bucks from an Op Shop. Somehow, I've managed to pick up five paperback copies of this book over the years, and I haven't read it yet! Now that I have it in hardback, I'll get rid of a couple of the paperbacks.
Also in this picture is an old Rolex catalogue that I got back in 1981 when I seriously began daydreaming about getting a Submariner. 

But that's another story.

Thursday morning, I switched over to the Oris Diver Sixty-Five. Later in the evening, I went along to my optometrist to pick up a pair of old frames that I had fitted with reading lenses. I keep a pair in my bag at work, just in case I need to do some up-close task, but I've recently found that a pair of reading glasses would be handy for when I read in bed. 

So, I dusted off a set of Silhouette frames that I got back around 1990 and had the long-distance lenses swapped out for near-vision ones. 

Now that my hairline is non-existent, compared to how I looked 26 years ago, I wouldn't wear these frames out and about, but they'll be just right for keeping on my bed-side table, ready for use.

I once tried to clean the lenses by using the steam wand of a coffee machine at a cafe where I worked the lunch shift back in '97. I held the frames a little too close to the wand and ended up discolouring them in spots. They've had a whitish tinge in sections now for the last twenty years, but I'm thinking of using a Cape Cod cloth gently on these areas to see if I can bring them back to their black lustre. I really hope I don't mess them up. Considering I just paid to have new lenses fitted. 

I try the old 'test in an inconspicuous area' method first. 

Didn't get as much done at work today as I would have liked. Too many interruptions to my workflow. No matter. Monday will be here before I know it. Still had the Diver Sixty Five on my wrist. 

Gotta make the most of this weekend. I have a few tasks I'd like to tackle. 

Anyway, gang, I hope you all have a safe and pleasant weekend. 

Thanks for reading!

Hmm, 9:35pm. Not bad.

Friday 3/2/17 & Saturday 4/2/17 - A Million Page-Views, My Job Goes Full-Time & This Week's Wristwatches.

Okay, it's getting late into Friday night and I don't know how long I'll last so here we go.

Saturday morning- Hmm, looks like I didn't last very long at all.  Right, so this blog of mine clocked up a million page-views earlier this week. 

 

However, I can't say I feel like it's a milestone because much of the traffic on this blog seems to come from Easter Bloc countries. The Teeritz Agenda is HUGE in Moldova, if the monthly stats are to be believed;

The traffic sources tend to come from obscure Russian sites that are to do with roof repairs (I think. My Russian's gotten rusty since The Cold War ended. JK) and there was a period about a year or so ago when I was getting a lot of traffic coming from some sleazy porn sites, which was odd, to say the least. 

Some of the traffic was coming through from some toxic, spam/virus-laden websites which seemed suspicious to me and I didn't click on the links to see what they were, just to be on the safe side. 

So, I have to say that it doesn't feel like I clocked up this milestone number of views based on the quality of my blog posts. In fact, there was a time where my post about the Dry Martini was getting four or five hundred hits a day. Were there really that many people out there wanting to know how I mixed a Martini? I think not. 

And for a long time now, my post for Ken Coghlan, about how to look for a decent wristwatch, has been the second-highest viewed post on this blog;

My true wristwatch-related posts, such as the Tissot and Railmaster reviews, seem to have gotten more genuine hits over the years. I say this because these two watches still generate a lot of interest on the internet and I think people are still chasing info on these particular watches. The How To Buy A Wristwatch posts scored high, probably due to the bland and generic titles of the posts. I would imagine that anybody who Googles the term 'how to buy a wristwatch' will land on my posts. 

Other posts have such obscure titles that it makes me wonder why they get so many hits, but I have to assume that these posts are the one being skated through by folks on their way to Russian roofing companies or porn sites. I don't know how all this internet stuff works, so I just assume that my site is a piggy-back location for nefarious web traffic. From memory, I think a few of you with your own blogs have experienced similar issues. 

My daily page-views usually number anywhere between five hundred to seven hundred, but they've been averaging around 1,200 to 1,500 hits for the past two or three weeks. 

And this is why I didn't pop the champagne when this blog reached a million hits. 

Basically, I think these numbers have been padded out artificially by crap. 

Shame, really, but nothing to sweat over. It's just a little ole' blog after all.

I briefly wore the circa 1969 Omega Seamaster Chronometer earlier this week. The dial on this watch has some slight discolouration on it. This is something that I may try to correct at some point this year.It will be a fiddly and nerve-wracking process involving distilled water and lemon juice, but I've seen the results on the web and I figure it might be worth the risk. Worst-case scenario, I remove some of the lettering from the dial in the process. If that happens, I'll have to let Omega give the watch a full service and replace the dial. I'll let you all know how it goes.

A friend of mine got himself a 2008 model Porsche 911* recently. I caught up with him this week and he took me for a spin in it. 

"Don't try and impress me", I said as I strapped the seat-belt on, mentally scanning the car's interior to see where the airbags were located (the dashboard, the door). 

We took off sedately enough, but when my buddy got the car into a quiet residential street, he shifted

gears and put his foot down ever-so-slightly. 

I didn't glance at the speedo as I felt my body push noticeably back into my seat, but it felt like we went from 40kph to 80kph in the blink of an eye. 

My head spun slightly and the pressure in my eyeballs lifted a little as I felt the blood drain from my face. Is this what G force acceleration feels like to astronauts, I wondered?

The car slowed down seconds later, but I still felt dizzy for a few moments. As far as European high-performance sports cars go, I have always loved the 911. They look to me like a Volkswagen Beetle that's gone on a crash-diet. The DNA is clearly visible, especially considering that German designer Ferdinand Porsche designed the Beetle (in 1934) and his grandson, Ferdinand Alexander 'Butzi" Porsche designed the 911 in 1959 (as the successor to the gorgeous 356), although the car didn't go into production until 1963;

 <----picture courtesy of www.motortrend.com

A classic 1952 model Beetle, beautifully restored. There was a time when I was seriously considering one of these. Used to see plenty of them on the road back in the 1980s. Nowadays, they are a rare sight indeed.

picture courtesy of Kastner's garage.com--->

A 1971 Porsche 911. If I could ever justify spending more than fifteen grand on a car, I'd get something like this. But it would cost me around four times that much. At least.

Wore the freshly-serviced Omega Seamaster 300 Professional later in the week. It seems to be running nicely, although I haven't checked the timekeeping yet. The crown winds as smoothly as butter, making it feel like a new watch again. I'll have to give it a little more time on the wrist, to really put it through its paces.

Finished off the week with the Oris Diver Sixty-Five. I sat down with the General Manager on Friday morning. He has offered me a full-time role. I was doing thirty hours per week, but the workload has increased in recent months. I really like the job, but I was getting irked by the fact that some duties were not getting finished in time. For my liking, anyway. I normally plan a rough outline of my day while I'm on the train heading to work in the mornings, but these plans can often be thrown out of whack by some convoluted e-mail or phone call from a customer. This invariably ends up with my having to chase up a repair that was not part of my day's agenda. No big deal, because it usually just takes up five or ten minutes, but some customers can be a little pedantic, wanting daily updates as to the progress of their repairs, etc, and I just don't work that way. I tell them that their watch is being repaired as per schedule and is well within its repair turn-around time (four to eight weeks). If they begin to get unreasonable, I inform them that it is impossible for me to give them weekly updates due to the volume of repairs that we receive Australia-wide, and that their watch will be attended to in the order in which it was received. First in, first served. 

Because there is such a thing as being fair to everybody. 

Anyway, it's these little changes in plans that can tend to bug me a little, but I'm learning to deal with it better than I used to, having accepted the fact that plans can change in a heartbeat regardless of how carefully arranged the day might be.

The GM has always told me not to worry too much about these things, since all watches will be repaired in due course and that's the nature of the game. 

So, I spoke to the GM and I'll be commencing full-time hours next week. This may mean that these weekly updates may not be as regular as they have been. This blog has always been updated on a weekly basis (most of the time, anyway) and this was mainly due to the free time that I had while I was studying, out of work, or working part-time. 

A great deal of my day is spent in front of a computer and I've found in recent months that I'm less inclined to park myself in front of the laptop when I get home. Hence the reasons why these weekly posts have gotten shorter at times. 

Still, I'll see how I go. Also, I've thought more and more about the content of this blog in recent months and I feel that, if I don't have anything to interesting to report, it's better not to write anything at all some weeks. 

I'll be getting home later in the evenings than I have up till now, so I think I'll be spending some time thinking of how to best utilise my free time. I'd still like to give my writing a serious crack and I definitely need to make time for exercise. More importantly, family time is crucial.

We'll just see how it all goes. We live in interesting times, as the saying goes. 

Thanks for reading and I hope you're having a great weekend!

*Silver Porsche 911 picture courtesy of carfolio.com

Thanks again to wikipedia for the info on Ferdinand Porsche.