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- 🇫🇷 La Belle Provenance
🇫🇷 La Belle Provenance
Beauty is in the red eye of the butthole-der
City of light /// Paris, France
Hello Adventurers,
After a psyche-crushing-for-me intermission (where I had to deal — and duel — with my arch nemesis 'Toronto the Terrible™'), I'm beyond ecstatic to be back on the road — and out in the world — for the next three months. I don't know if it was plane-as-placebo, but I think the physical pain I was feeling on three Toronto marathons this past week was psychosomatic...'cause I was most def a pain-free prowler of Paris' psycho pretty paths on my first marathon here (and that was after a red eye flight that had me feeling like asshole).
The flight wasn't hellish — and I'm not Catholic like some of the Parisians are — but I'm happy to be here now*...so exclaiming a "HALLESLUJAH!" feels like the most respectful way to split the difference, of differing beliefs.
Anyhoo, I did five marathons this week...but just two in Paris. The first one was an absolute write-off 'cause I hadn't slept (and was just white knuckling it). And the second one? Well, this issue of the newsletter is entirely based on it (LOL), and that's why I'll have another round of Paris field notes next week...because ostie, I'm ostensibly banging out more Paris marathons this weekend. Allons-y!
- Ben Pobjoy
P.S. The Marathon Earth Challenge as well as everything in this newsletter is DIY / entirely made by me. If you like what you're reading and seeing, please help spread the word! And because this whole project is DIY, things change: I announced my Q2 itinerary last week...but already made some pivots to the itinerary: I'm now hitting Israel instead of Iraq (the missus vetoed the latter), and I won't be hitting Germany anymore at the end of this 'leg' (because I didn't want to risk missing my wife's birthday... so I vetoed visiting Deutschland...to effectively veto myself getting dawg haus'd or divorced).
2023 TREK TRACKER
Where in the world...record am I?
Red is where I’ve been, yellow is where I am, and blue is where I’m going next
Countries visited: 17
Flights taken: 26
Kilometres flown: 43,254
Marathons completed: 72
Kilometres trekked by foot: 3,389.4
Total kilometres trekked since 2015: 66,481
RAPID WEEKLY RECAP
A speedy synopsis for time-crunched readers
Fountain of youths /// Paris, France
The Wildest Thing: A senior citizen giving it her all, and lifting her carry-on luggage into an overhead bin on the airplane...and her directly farting in my face in the process🤮
The Biggest Obstacle: Crossing the rubicon of jet lag. I should feel six hours behind Central European Time...but my internal clock is operating six hours ahead of it😵💫
The Lesson Learned (by observing Parisians): Life is better when you work to live rather than live to work🫡
FIELD NOTES: PARIS, FRANCE (PART UN)
I must admit, the old biddy still gotz it
Sunset view from the Basilique du Sacré Cœur de Montmartre /// Paris, France
Anyone with half a brain knows to shrug and occasionally embrace that sorta-slightly-difficult-and-definitely-purposely-kept-at-arms-length lover to 'spice up' one of those bland evenings (i.e. when you've watched everything on Netflix and/or can't even be bothered to go fuck yourself alone). And be real with me...we've all had that saucy one in our sin stable...y'know, the 'never again' one...the one you always regret 'streaming' and want no movie credits for. And like, immediately. Like, as you're sitting on the edge of the bed hurriedly smoking a fag — right after the dirty deed — as you try to clean your conscience by putting on your now half-clean clothes...at warp speed to vamoose outta there before the house lights turn on. And all happening as the saucy one tells you to slow down, stick around, and keep your garb off. And we mutter, and it doesn't matter...because we'll be back sooner or later, regardless of enthusiasm (be it ours or theirs).
*And at the risk of sounding like a total fucking asshole, that's my begrudgingly beautiful Paris, and the reason for my initial ambivalence about returning to it. You see, I lived in France as a boy, and we fucked with Paris lots...and I visited it in my teens with fam, I went a bunch for photo assignments there in my twenties, and spanked out some marathons there across a few different trips in my thirties. So Paris — now at forty-ish — doesn't penetrate me...the way it does others...'cause over a lifetime, I've hit it with more digits than I can count of both hands.
And yet I went, again. Yes, to get over to Europe to make getting to Africa easier...but I dunno, I guess because I'm also so damn predictable in the comforts of lovers known...and for whatever reason, I just couldn't resist the temptation of another romp around this old biddy city.
And with spring flowers adding a burst of colour to the city like rarely worn makeup, and everyone's outerwear coming off in the nice weather, Paris disrobed before me and I gotta admit, the place still has a great pair of teeth. And the following things, they still made me smile. And, well, will probably do so again in the future.
All butter, no fat /// Paris, France
Paris is one of the most visited cities in the world, and its major attractions are basically common knowledge at this point. As such, I have no intention of wasting time — be it yours or mine — by retreading the classics, let alone hyperlinking them: the Arc de Triomphe, the Left Bank, Notre-Dame de Paris, the Eiffel Tower, the Louvre, Centre Pompidou, Les Deux Magots, Shakespeare and Company, watching stylish people strolling along Rue Saint-Honoré, poking around Le Marais, going underground in the Catacombs...add to this whatever else you like (we could fill volumes).
All you need to know is that all of it is legit, and all of it warrants a visit at some point in your life. Here in Paris, there's no fat: everything is of substance. But this week — as well as in next week's issue — my Parisian focus is on the stuff outside of all the major shit, because that's my vibe on marathons, and in my travels in general.
Ooof! Printemps /// L'Haÿ-les-Roses, France
I think my last five or so visits to Paris were done in late autumn, and I do recommend that season as an optimal time to visit (despite the grey) because there's less tourists, and everything is more breathable. However, this is my first time to Paris in spring (in well over a decade), and old biddy sure has the glow-up this time of year.
Parisians get a bed rap for being rude, but they're not. They just think you're a fucking idiot for visiting a place where you can't speak the language, and the moron memo of 'customer is always right' never reached these salty shores. Me, I dig the realness...but if you don't...at least the city 'feels' really nice in the springtime...attitude and all.
World's best reading room /// Paris, France
Like Mexico City and London and Tokyo, Paris is one of the most cultured cities in the world. And no, that's not ethnocentric...it's fact: look at the art and film and fashion and music and literature and philosophy and ideas and movements and Paris' perfection of things like the guillotine, and a zillion other things this place has birthed through its intensity (i.e. furiously intellectual debates and/or impassioned revolutions).
And, I'm not here to argue that these things are the best in — or of — the world, just that French fucks have historically gone deep on said matters (like few other earthlings have). But...if the marketplace of ideas is a real thing, then we gotta acknowledge that we've spent lots of loot at this one déppaneur.
So pay homage to this, and go read for free in one of the unbelievable reading rooms at the Bibliothèque nationale de France | Richelieu. Loafing and/or wrestling with big ideas is a sorta birthright here...so take your time like the locals do.
France has one of the oldest library systems in the world, and if you're a longtime subscriber to this newsletter, you know I approve (see this 'marathon musing').
One aside: France has one of those fucked up literary establishments that kinda defends, justifies, and/or harbours 'good art' made by bad actors. Like, some celebrated academic types even wanted to legalize pedophilia. I mention this just so I don't come across as overly romanticizing French culture as a totally positive force...because it has many, many faults. And generates bad ideas, be it then or now.
La galerie du jour agnès b. /// Paris, France
I never understood why agnès b. wasn't more popular in North America, despite knowing why. But that's neither here nor there (at least for the moment). All that matters is that this stylish designer has a dope gallery, and it has been one of my favourites to visit for decades (especially because it constantly offers free, world-class programming).
In a curatorial sense, this place is either 'ahead of the curve' on emerging artists OR has the cachet to get big-ass art stars to do small-ass intimate exhibitions. And however you cut it, visitors like us win.
Troublé's old gallery space was near-hidden and magical and a weird conversion of an old building and had weird skylights and a weird layout — and I'll forever miss it — but the 'new and improved and bigger' gallery across town continues the mission on a grander scale. I don't know if I love the latter as a space...it's sorta too clean and too perfect...but I'm nevertheless glad it exists because they're always giving out free zines there.
I've copped some crazy ones over the years...like from Robert Crumb years ago, and Jim Jarmusch on this visit. They're such rad mementos for art lovers. I've actually framed some of mine, and they can occasionally command decent resell prices (not like I sell the art I collect though).
It goes without saying, but Paris is awash in major museums and galleries, and all the big fashion houses seem to have massive foundations here...but IMO la galerie du jour agnès b. living amidst La FAB is the littlest gem with the biggest shine of 'em all.
Casual Dalí, no biggie /// Paris, France
I feel like few people know this...but there's an original Salvador Dalí sculpture here that he hand-finished on a seemingly random wall almost 60 years ago. And I think it says a lot about this place.
This surrealist, signature-bearing sundial is bottom left in the picture above. And it does not work. Like, the time it communicates is always wrong...and Dalí allegedly installed it from a lift while holding his ocelot as a brass band played from the street below...which just feels so right.
Time is a measure of control. And this non-working clock — in a place that kinda birthed farting around and leisure and aimless strolling — speaks to me, because I believe the timeless act of the ramble to be a radical act, if not a revolutionary one (especially in today's be on time, slave-to-the-grind ad/age).
Including this sundial in the newsletter may seem silly and trivial, but it does demonstrate that historically significant art is everywhere in Paris. And most importantly, outdoors...as in way beyond the white cube.
But, look, art can be found anywhere and everywhere...if you choose to disregard time and make time to wander. And it's totally fine to be late for work and wander in there at whatever hour (that's a slacker's duty)...but one should never be late for plans with friends and/or family (that's just rude). And that's where I personally differ with the Parisians on punctuality.
I wish you could smell this /// Paris, France
I'm trying to hit two birds with one stone here: lure with the fragrant, floral beauty of the Marché aux Fleurs Reine Elizabeth II to inspire you to wander Île de la Cité and Île Saint-Louis, two little islands right in the middle of the Seine. They're nothing major, just some small fun. And it's funny...that a peoples famous for regicide named this market after a queen, now dead.
Hell yeah /// Paris, France
If you've been following the news the last little while, you know the French have been protesting a French pension reform law. And it's the best...because the French really know how to put the grève in grievance.
Cue riots, chaos, and destruction. And not surprising...since there's still present day remnants of the guillotine here.
To brainwashed 'live to work' North Americans, the reform probably doesn't seem like a big deal. But the French are a different breed: they work to live, and this New York Times piece does a great job at communicating the nuances of their ire.
Anyhoo, it's been amazing to marathon the city and marvel at some of the really intellectual, witty, and punny anti-reform graffiti. I would've included photos of this...but it sorta felt pompous (since I have no clue how many of you know French).
In closing, I'm in infinite solidarity with anyone who hates work. I'm old school. Like, if the means of production ain't fairsies-sharsies...then hell yeah; hate your job, hate your boss, and hate on any damn law that wants to work you more!
Less work, more wander!
BEST LOCAL THING-Y
L'As du Fallafel /// Paris, France
It is criminal that my friend Serena is near-quiet on social media...because she's one of the most worldly and well-travelled people I know...and you'd never know this from her social feed. But I'm like 97% certain it was her that first took me to L'As du Fallafel in Le Marais close to a decade ago.
The Middle Eastern food at this joint is pretty good...but it's the overall experience when it's busy that's the most fun. Late at night, there's usually a huge line out front of the restaurant where its staff are either barking at people to be more efficient at the take-out window and/or using walkie-talkies to communicate with the staff inside to coordinate seating for eat-in diners. So, like, if you're a group of three at a four-person table, they're forcing a guest on you. And if you're slow to order, they'll let you know...same goes for if you linger too long.
I know much of this doesn't sound fun in my recounting, but I promise that this loud and frenetic and rushed experience...just somehow works? Said another way, it's entertaining Soup Nazi vibes, but with falafels.
Anyway, I hit L'As on this trip, and it was special since I did so alongside two friends from Turonno; Kat and Andrea The former is/was the office manager at my old job, and the latter would be family...if The Big Dawg liked wedding rings as much as he liked onion rings. Bro, I kid...but let's go, and get on this!
Look, I'm old and recognize that life ends at 40. But Kat and Andrea are old souls for a pair of thirty somethings...because we met for dinner at 7PM...which in Paris is like eating dinner at 2PM anywhere else.
Due to the early hour, we didn't get the full circus experience at L'As...but the food was way better than I remembered...maybe because things were less rushed this time? Anyway, we ate huge falafel sandwiches packed with lots of different toppings, shared some good fries, and I also had a fried mushroom-topped hummus plate drizzled in olive oil that I crushed with three pitas...eating 'til I was stuffed, and 'cause I'm comfortable with shitting my pants in Paris. WAIT, WHAT? Kidding!
But...
Even if I had to shit my pants here, I wouldn't have to...BECAUSE THIS FUCKING CIVILIZED PLACE HAS FREE, SINGLE STALL, PUBLIC TOILETS ALL OVER THE CITY... THAT ARE GENERALLY PRETTY CLEAN, AUTOMATICALLY CLEANED IN BETWEEN EACH USE VIA AUTOMATION, AND THEY'RE LARGELY OPEN 24/7!
Look, I nearly piss myself ten times a day on my marathons (in most parts of the world), and it drives me insane that dogs can piss and shit on the streets, cop horses can drop huge dumps on the streets...but should I piss on the streets like either of them, then I get fined? Cool planet.
And to avoid this penis penalization, I have to go into a store to buy a drink in order to use the toilet, and then have to repeat this dumb dance in like 30-40 minutes... because I just drank another damn drink and return to the same piss-y predicament. Basically, urban planning under capitalism really fucking sucks, and rarely has concern for human needs...biological or logical.
Anyhoo, I got a few conspiracy-loving friends who get a boner at just the slightest whiff of some chat room inkling of some alleged deep state cabal. And sure, there are some nefarious actors out there that are into some dark pursuits and cahoots...but we're generally governed by shitheads who can't even give us public places to, well, shit ...and that's why I don't think there's a new world order...because our dumb-ass species can't unite to resolve an old world disorder: too few places to do the most fundamental of human businesses (i.e. pee pee poo poo).
This is what a fucking civilized society looks like /// Paris, France
POBJOY'S GLOBAL PRICE INDEX
Berets /// Paris, France
This is an on-going documentation of how much things cost in different places around the world. Here are some of the things I bought in Villejuif, Bagneux, and Paris (all prices converted to USD):
Two bananas from a little fruit stand in Villejuif: 95¢
Two lil packs of Oreos (15 cookies each) from a little grocery store in Bagneux: $4.38
A medium soy latte from Café Kitsuné in Paris: $6.60
MARATHON MUSINGS
The virtues of some stylish vices and/or cigarette draw me like one of your French girls
On how to live /// Paris, France
There's a difference between fashion and style. One is something that anyone can buy, and the other is something few have. Take North American adults for example, we tend to dress like adolescents and often go to work and/or semi-formal dinners in stretchy gym clothes...because being a comfy-cozy slob on that continent is cool, trendy, and socially permissible. And deranged. Like, funeral directors at funeral homes there have to tell people not to wear sneakers or athletic wear to funerals. And that's just straight proof of how deadly fashion can be...when untethered from style.
It's all so cringe. And not chic in the least...which has nothing to do with aesthetics or expensive clothes, but everything to do with comportment.
And that's precisely why cigarettes and alcohol consumption are on the decline in North America...as sales of athleisure wear are on the rise. And what that 'point of intersection' on the gaffe graph reveals, is that North Americans just don't have the style to pull off darts and drinks and dapperness as an integrated and/or totally compelling lewk. And really, we never have.
The Parisians? Mais non.
They're well put together (regardless of class or disposable income or arrondissement)...and they're doing so while lighting up darts in the doorways of Tabacs amidst heated convos...and letting cooler heads prevail while sipping chilled booze on brasserie terraces...and binging on bread-y baguettes bought from boulangeries.
And they look stylishly 'mwah' doing all of it. Like, chef's fucking kiss perfection.
Here, there's no local men in shorts at the bar. No dirty flip flop feet. No frumpy Humpty Dumpty having a big fall from too much alcohol. And no gluten free fuckery. Left bank or right bank, all that shit's too gauche.
What the French really 'get' is good living and looking good. And they have a great take on indulgence. And like fashion and style, indulgence is a nuanced thing too. The French seem to know to do it from a place of celebratory joie de vivre...while dressed to the nines, never done as an antidote for hatred of life vis-à-vis joylessness...while dressed in joggers after one's nine-to-five.
Me? I like my health with a little dose of hell. Why? Because no one really likes a goody two shoes any way...especially when said nerd is a sloppy, style-stunted slouch in a pair of sneakers. Plus, living in the middle of the puritanical spectrum keeps one in the purgatory of the party in the doldrums that is life. And I fuck with that.
So I fancy style and class and a lil carelessness, and a shorter life that's well-lived.
I don't fancy leggings or longevity.
God knows I've spent too much time on this fucking planet looking for toilets...so smoke 'em if you got 'em, and make sure to do it looking cool, bb.
When I die, I'd rather be in hell with all my stylish friends /// Paris, France
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