Cultural Highlight: Dog Races

Tonight was the last Tuesday there would be dog races here as next week the stadium is being torn down and there will be no more races. It's sad because Walthamstow is the largest stadium of its kind in all of Europe. The turnout of betters and spectators really reflected this momentous occasion. The entrance fee was £6, and because we were a group of six, we got a group special that included two free drinks and two free bets. Not much of a gambler, I played only the two free bets I was given and nothing more. There were 14 races and I saw one of my bets the second I opened to the last page. The second bet was found later - both were nostalgic bets based on the names of the dogs; I cared little for their track record and winning streaks.

The dog races were so quick. Each race only lasted about two minutes as the dog ran about one lap (475m) around the track. I fed off the energy of the crowd when the lights dimmed and the bell sounded for the signal of the race. Six trap doors opened and six dogs sped out of their pen to follow a mechanical bunny around the perimeter of the track. The crowd shouted fervently, "Come on #2!" "Go FOUR!!" "Come on #6!!!" It was so thrilling to see them run and our standing position in the crowd was right at the finish line, which made seeing the winners that much more exciting.

The dogs race by so fast!  The blur on the right is the dog.

My first bet was placed at Race 12. The dog was "Droopys Giamatti" (#6). He was chosen because I once described an expression that I gave my best friend as the cartoon character Droopy. Since then, it has been my occasional nickname for him. Droopys Giamatti did not win. Race 14, and the last race of the night, was 640m instead of the standard distance. At 22:30, the bell sounded and the crowd roared in excitement over their dogs. The majority of my friends bet on the same dog as I and it was fun to hear us all root for him. "Wishyouwerehere" (#2) took up the rear by the finish of the first lap, but as he rounded the third bend that would bring in the final leg of the race, Wishyouwerehere gained momentum and sped past his opponents and took the lead. My friends and I chanted "Go TWO! Go TWO! GO!! GO!!" Wishyouwerehere maintained his lead and crossed the finish line in FIRST PLACE! We pumped our fists in the air and cheered as we realized we bet on the winning dog. I had won my first bet at a dog race. On a free (£1) bet, I had won a grand total of £1.80. Wicked.

Wishyouwerehere finishes FIRST!

My winning bet!

Cultural Hightlight: The Rude French

Here’s the thing: I do not believe that the French are rude at all.  They greet each other everywhere they go, not just to me, but also to each other.  They always start by saying, “Bonjour” or “Bon soir” (depending on the time of day) and they make sure to always say “Au revoir” and/or “Bonjournai” in closing. 

On my first visit to Paris, my friend and I were hunting down our lodging in the Latin Quarters.  I had a map in my hand, but I wasn't looking at it and I was pretty sure I knew where we were going.  Suddenly, an older lady stopped and spoke to me in French.  I couldn't understand her, but seeing as she was pointing at my map, I guessed she was asking if I needed directions.  I pointed at the map and said, "Rue St-Germain?"  She reeled off a few more French words, pointing in the direction I was walking towards.  I smiled and said, "Merci!"  

On my second visit, I was picnicking at Jardin de la Fontaine in Nimes, quietly minding my own business and enjoying the sunshine when an elderly man, dressed in the stereotypical old French way with the tweed driving cap and strolling with his dog, tipped his head at me and with a sweet smile he said, "Bon appetit."  

Does any of this sound rude to you?

Nice, France

I’m in love with Nice. The French don’t call the French Riviera “Blue Coast” for nothing. The Mediterranean Sea is so many shades of blue here and the weather is much warmer than in Provence. I planned Nice at this time because I learned that Carnival in Nice takes place for three weeks starting in mid-February. Since I had just returned from Carnival in Venice, I thought it was fitting to continue my Carnival celebrations. It’s unfortunate that I won’t be able to do Carnival in Brazil too, but maybe I will another year.

Vieux Nice

Vieux Nice

Opera Plage is a rocky beach. Even in February, the day was beautiful as the sun shone brightly without a single cloud in sight. The blue of the sky fought with the blue of the sea. There were people swimming in the water, getting showered off, laying out (fully clothed) on the beach, napping, talking with friends.

Every day is Market Day in Nice. The market in Vieux Nice is impressive, perhaps even rivaling my favorite market at the Rialto in Venice. The market in Nice sells fresh flowers, potted plants, marzipan candies shaped to look like fruits, vegetables and animals, rock candies, gummy candies, farmers’ vegetables with red peppers the color of crimson and the size of a small eggplant, fresh baguettes and desserts. Artists set up their easels and paint images of Nice and the Cote d’Azur, for sale to all. With the exception of these paintings, there are no tourist souvenirs sold here. Everything is just as a market should be. Vegetables and fruits never look more appetizing than they do in open markets. Yesterday, I bought a head of butter lettuce for 1EUR from the woman who spoke no English. “Une piece, s’il vous plait,” I said. When I went to wash it, there were still earth and tiny green buys crawling on the leaves. Fresh off the farm! I tore the leaves off for lunch and filled them with couscous to make wraps. 

After filling myself with eye candy at the market, I hiked up the steps to the top of the hill, where the old castle is located in Nice. This is where the best views of Nice and the Cote d’Azur are. The weather was cold today so it wasn’t the most natural thing to hang around as much as I wanted to. I walked down back to sea level by the opposite side towards the port. 

After my midday hike, I sought refuge in the Musuem of Modern and Contemporary Art. My guide book mentioned there were Lichtenstein(s) and Warhol(s) here, but I saw no Lichtensteins and maybe two Warhols. Luckily, the visit wasn’t a complete disappointment as I discovered Yves Klein, an artist I had never heard of before, but held a prominent permanent exhibit at this museum. I was very impressed with the work I saw here today.
 

And finally, Nice at night...

Vieux Nice

Opera Plage

Sunset over Opera Plage

Eze Village, France

I saw Eze Village in the France train timetable book that was given to me by the ticket agent in Arles. There was an aerial picture of Eze, showcasing it as a village sitting atop a mountain with the sea surrounding it on at least one side. I thought it looked stunning and thought I would pay a visit. I also learned that it was an easy bus trip from Nice for only 1EUR.

Eze Village is just as picturesque as St. Paul de Vence, while maintaining its own charm. The walls and streets are just as stony and just as medieval feeling. There are few tourist shops in Eze Village and its biggest attraction is the Exotic Garden which cost 5EUR for entering. 

 

While St. Paul boasts a view of a countryside below its walls, the Mediterranean Sea slaps at the base of Eze. The view from the top of Eze was stunning, even with the overcast sky that stayed throughout most of my visit. This is the first time I have seen sky and sea blend into one with no clear indication of the horizon line. 

The church at Eze is the most alluring church I have seen in all my travels through Europe. The exterior makes the church look more imposing than it actually is. The interior was as small as a chapel in the Medici family, but with the painted woodwork peeling away at the moldings and pews that were worn in all the right places, there was something very unpretentious and genuinely holy about this church.