Chicago's "Tour Da Lakefront" Challenge

Once again, Chicago Park District is sponsoring a "Tour Da Lakefront" biking challenge this summer, from Memorial to Labor Day. The idea is to encourage people to bike the length of the lakefront bike path (or most of it), from Rainbow Park on (3111 E. 77th) to Margate Fieldhouse (4921 N. Marine). You check-in at one end of the trail to get a time stamp, then you have to present your card at the other end of the trail within 3 hours. Though the 18-mile length may seem intimidating, 3 hours is actually more than enough time to get from one end to the other. (Depending on traffic/wind speed, I generally bike 16-18 mph.) For your efforts, you will receive a free t-shirt and the satisfaction of knowing you've seen more of Chicago's lakefront than 95% of the population.

Now, this is fine and dandy, though I am a little worried that we are encouraging newbs to bike more on Chicago's most congested bike path. This can only cause additional biker rage. Also, as a purist, I feel that people should be forced to bike to the northern terminus of the lakefront trail (at Hollywood, another mile north), or you're not biking the entire length. However, I suppose that Margate Fieldhouse is the most convenient check-in point in the area.

Moving on. Though I've biked the lakefront path many times, I never got around to formally doing the "Tour Da Lakefront" challenge last summer. So, I decided to do it today, while attempting to improve the state of my tan lines. (My back pretty much has all of Michael Jackson's skin tones. Too soon?) I called Margate Fieldhouse to make sure they were open on Sundays, and they told me that the Rainbow Beach office was actually closed for the day, so I could bike north and check-in (by 4:30 pm), but if I biked south, it'd be purely for kicks and giggles. Fair enough. I didn't really care where I checked-in because I planned to bike both legs to get home.

A little over an hour later, I presented myself at Margate Fieldhouse. (Exit at Lawrence and take your first right to get there.) There were plenty of t-shirts left, though they were mostly in large sizes. After a bit of rummaging, the lady was able to find a medium, which of course, still looks ludicrously large on me. Oh well, I no longer have a dearth of cyling t-shirts in my wardrobe!

On the Chicago Food Blogosphere

Tonight, for the first time, I went out with a bunch of Chicago-area food bloggers. I imagine this is what it feels like to discover that other people share a weird fetish of yours on the internet (cough, FA). Though we spanned a large range of ages and professions, we were all united in our love for 1) food and 2) the internet.

About eight of us gathered downtown for a promotional event (few things makes me happier than several rounds of great food and drinks on the house), armed with notepads, cameras and lots of opinions. I briefly mentioned having been in London and Paris last week, and was immediately bombarded with questions. "Where did you eat? Oh, you went to Brick Lane? Awesome, we did too! Oh oh, I know a great place for fish and chips...you went to Rock & Sole Plaice? That's my favorite place for fish and chips! But never mind London, tell us about Paris..."

Twitter follows were promised. Podcast previews were offered. The competitive sport of the night was Guess the Next Hot Food Trend (pork belly, out; ramps, in?) and What's the Last Restaurant You Ate At (my answer: TAC Quick). "Oh, I went there but I ordered the wrong thing!" someone would say. "I hate when that happens!" three other people would blurt out. We all sipped our wine and commiserated.

The highlight of the night was when someone mentioned the Chicago Fed, and I said, "Oh, I work for the research department!" "No way, really? I worked there until about a year ago! It's good to know there's another food blogger at the Fed." A discussion of all our mutual colleagues ensued, gossip on people's weddings, etc. It is indeed a small world after all.

After a heated discussion on the merits of the meat dress and the bacon bra, I heaved a satiated sigh, and headed for the door. Is the NYT still hiring to replace Frank Bruni??

Deflationary Donations

Last June, after donating $25 to Cornell (directed to the Cornell Chimes fund), I decided I could commit myself to donating $25 every year in perpetuity. Furthermore, to make sure my gift would maintain the same buying power over time, this amount would be adjusted each year to account for inflation.

Well, BLS has just released the CPI numbers for the month of May, so I did some quick math to calculate my annual contribution to Cornell:

$25 in 2008 dollars * 213.856 (May '09 CPI-U, all items) / 216.632 (May '08 CPI-U) = $24.68 in 2009 dollars

Ah, deflation. Thank you, Helicopter Ben!

I can't wait to get my letter from President David Skorton thanking me for my $24.68 donation this year.

Living Across the Pond, or "I'm never staying in a hostel again!"

Fifth and final post in a series of posts about Europe

As I stepped off the plane at Heathrow, I loudly exclaimed, "Man, I could really go for a bagel right now. Have they got those here?" Megan replied, "That sounds delish. Screw this, let's go back to New York." Two people immediately turned their heads and gaped at us agog.

In all seriousness though, for all the idolatry we accord to Europe, the U.S. and NYC have plenty to offer. Why then, should I traipse all the way across an ocean to a country where my dollars suddenly have 2/3 of their original buying power? Well, for the moment, let me wax on like one of Those People who studied abroad and say that it forever changed their lives: Visiting another country completely brought me out of my isolationist shell, and opened my eyes to the possibilities of an alternate worldview. I now understand much more clearly the hurdles facing diverse policymakers, and the gains to be won through greater international cooperation.

Eh, who are we kidding? You should go to Europe for the pretentious bragging rights, end of story. In case you are interested though, I did learn a thing or two across the pond.

1. Space is a luxury: Okay, this is also true of NY and any other US city. But overall, we are accustomed to bigger closets, bigger rooms and bigger cars, while there must not be any claustrophobic people in Europe. Our accommodations in London were at the Clink hostel, adroitly named because it was a former jail. We were assigned a "cell" and though living in a prison cell sounded cool in theory, in practice it would be uncomfortably cozy for three people with luggage. When we saw the size of the room, Megan exclaimed, "I'm never staying in a hostel again!." (To which Matt and I said, "So...tube hotel in Japan?") We immediately established a house rule that if anyone needed to do #2, they should feel free to ask the rest of us to leave the room. The only way to wash my face in the narrow sink basin was to squeeze my head under the shelf. There was nowhere you could possibly sit or stand comfortably while in the room.
   
   Actually, given the savings, I'm a little surprised that there isn't more of a market for cheap, hostel-type accommodations in the U.S. There are a handful of hostels in major cities, but for the most part, we expect and demand at minimum enough space to walk around the bed. Parking was similarly tight, and I saw cars hitting other bumpers regularly. Smart cars abounded; I am curious as to whether these will take off in the US, given that they would be perceived unsafe in accidents with SUVs on the road.
2. Biking culture is thriving: Again, no surprise here, given the constraints on parking, space and the price of petrol. Both cities had bike lanes marked on main thoroughways, and plenty of commuters using them. I was disappointed to see that many of Paris' bike lanes were actually on sidewalks though. This is much less safe than incorporating bike lanes into roads, and significantly increases the probability of accidents (albeit with pedestrians rather than cars). In contrast, London's bike lanes were clearly marked and always in traffic. Plus, we even caught the tail end of the London Naked Bike Ride. I thought about renting a bike for a spell in London, but decided it'd be too difficult to navigate on the left side of the road, since I could barely understand the flow of traffic as a pedestrian. Luckily, London marks its intersections with handy directions:
   
   
   
3. The London Tube is the greatest public transportation system. Ever: The Underground is a marvel of engineering and a thing of beauty, and if I were an objectum sexual, I would marry it. It is clean and fast, with clear signage, broad coverage and a sophisticated, low-cost pricing scheme. It is superior to any other train system I have seen, particularly compared to Paris' Metropolitan system, which was an abysmal wreck of smelly, slow trains with confusing signage. Also, you have multiple options for free newspapers near tube stops. I was a big fan of the London Lite, and was able to keep up with my Obama news that way. (Michelle, Sasha and Malia were visiting at the same time we were.)
   Just how amazing is the tube? It is so amazing that even when the tube is supposed to be on strike, they were still running several lines and we were able to take the train home. Perhaps they should take a lesson from France. Tube, 1 - Labor union, 0.
4. Rational pricing schemes for beverages: We were sort of up in arms over the price of soda (Matt paid €6 for a Fanta), but I could get a mojito for €3,50 or a glass of wine for €2-3. Upon second thought though, this makes sense because an abundance of wine is locally produced, and corn production (and high fructose corn syrup) is not heavily subsidized the way it is in the U.S. In fact, I would be strongly in favor of raising the price of soda in this country and getting rid of these corn subsidies because it would limit soda consumption and be a boon to public health.
5. Despite concerted efforts to meet locals, you will attract the attention of every other American within earshot: Over the course of the trip, we met people from diverse nationalities such as Connecticut, Virginia, Philly, Chicago. One night, we ventured to a gay bar in Marais, where there was only one table available...and the occupant was a gay man from Alabama. He helpfully gave us advice on places to shop in Paris, and raved about the French police. "Mmm, they are sooo hot!" Further, you will speak with your fellow Americans and conclude how banal and un-unique your trip is, since you've been visiting the exact same places.

6. There is nothing to do in Paris besides people-watch: All right, not entirely true, but since we didn't speak the language (ruling out the theater options that we'd had in London), after exhausting our list of monuments to see, we were at a bit of a loss over what to do on Friday night. Out of energy and money, we plopped down on a bench in the Latin Quarter next to a fountain and people-watched. And by that, I mean, other people snapped pictures of us (we're pretty darn multiculturally picturesque, I must say). Then, by perfect chance, Matt and Allison walked by (a couple tourists that we'd met in London). We marveled over the coincidence and then talked about spending the day at the Louvre. (See #5.)

Overall, I must say that though I liked both cities, London edges out Paris for its superior public transportation system, cleanliness and diversity. Paris bests its British counterpart with superior food, scenery and cheap alcohol, though the price of nearly everything else is exorbitant.

Food and Drink, or "I'll have the jalfrezi muffin please."

Fourth in a series about Europe

Given their stature in classical gastronomy, I had very high hopes for Parisian cuisine and figured that the Brits would, erm, come through with a good ale or two. For the most part, these assumptions were accurate, with Paris serving up consistently excellent meals with London dining being a bit spottier. At any rate, I proudly waved my tourist flag and took photos of most of my meals (who wants to see the Eiffel Tower when you can look at this gorgeous steak tartare?). Without further ado:

We begin on the Aer Lingus flight across the Atlantic, where passengers were offered the scintillating choice of chicken or beef. The beef ravioli seemed like it could be the riskier choice, but after overhearing from a stewardess that the beef was better, I decided to take a gamble. Here we have a pretty decent carton of ravioli topped with cheese, a roll, a side salad, a piece of cheesecake, and a plastic cup of water. I was so hungry by this point that everything tasted terrific, and I was only slightly bothered by the way the ravioli pieces had all stuck together. After finishing my meal, I proceeded to carefully stack and place everything on the tray into the ravioli tin. When the flight attendant came by to pick it up, she exclaimed, "This is the tidiest tray I've ever seen! I wish they were all as neat as you."

Our free breakfast at the Clink hostel consisted of toast and the worst cereal I have ever had in my life. They had combined rolled oats with some cocoa crispies and other stuff, which resulted in a not quite granola, not quite oatmeal amalgamation. Plus, the milk was warm and tasted like 10%. At least they had a nice, tart blackcurrant jelly.

London definitely wins over Paris for greater diversity of food offerings. Though the restaurant scene is dominated by pubs serving pies and chips, Asian and Middle Eastern restaurants abounded on every street corner. Pictured above is the commonly seen genre of Sushi Deli Cafe. If I had more time, I would have definitely tried eating at Wok in a Box, purely for the ingenuity of the name.

Haché Burger in Camden Market bills itself as London's favorite burger (as awarded by TimeOut London) and offers a menu of upscale burgers. The name comes from bœuf haché, or ground beef in French. I tried the Steak Catalan burger, topped with chorizo, chili and tomato jam. Not surprisingly, ketchup was not provided though we had three kinds of mustard. Matt was upset.

Aside from the usual clothing and trinkets stalls, Camden Market has a few fresh fruit and produce vendors. Since the prices are in £/kg, I couldn't gauge how expensive items were in comparison to the U.S. Having eaten mostly carbs nonstop for the trip, Megan and I decided to indulge in something healthy for a change, and grabbed peaches for 20p each.

Camden Market has dozens of food stalls, each one wafting lip-smacking aromas and often passing out free samples. Within five yards, you could pick up all manner of Indian, Thai and Moroccan food for dirt cheap. Even the faux (Britishized?) Chinese food looked delicious.

Brick Lane is the hot spot for London's Indian and South Asian restaurants, or as they call it, the place to go for "currying." Each restaurant is manned outside by a host of sorts, who will try to twist your arm and convince you to come to his restaurant. They are incredibly persistent, almost to the point of being intimidating. In speech after speech, we were regaled with the awards that each restaurant had won, the luminaries who had dined there previously, the specials for the day (only £7.95 for 3 courses!), and oh yes, we would even get a free round of drinks.

Earlier, we'd stopped to ask someone for directions, and the guy recommended that we eat at Cafe Bangla. Unfortunately, as we approached the restaurant and patiently waited for their doorman to give us a spiel, he turned away and walked inside. Poppycock, we refuse to dine at a restaurant that isn't throwing specials at us! So, we went two doors down to the restaurant billing itself as Prince Charles' favorite. Upon being seated, we learned that the round of free drinks did not include alcoholic drinks, and that rice/naan counted as one of our three courses. Ah well.

Matt had been making a fuss over not liking Indian food (some lame story about food poisoning), but we decided to ignore his grumblings and drag him along, reasoning that he could go for something tame on the menu, like mango chicken. After Megan and I carefully negotiated what we were jointly ordering and splitting (tandoori chicken, vegetable curry, lamb naan, a curry with lychee, coconut rice), we asked Matt what he planned to get. "I think I'll order the jalfrezi," he responded. "Wait, what? The jalfrezi?" said Megan. "Not to doubt you, but that is one of the spiciest dishes on the menu! Are you sure??" Matt sniffed and said hotly, "I can handle spicy foods! Look, this one's listed as very hot, so it's not even as bad as this dish which is listed as extremely hot." Our server approached and as I ordered the (mild) fruity curry and coconut rice, he definitely gave me an "aww, coconut rice, that's cute" kind of smirk. On the other hand, as Matt ordered the jalfrezi, the server gave him an "Ooh, badass!" kind of wink. Harumph.

The food turned out to be not very spicy at all, and even the jalfrezi was probably only a 3 on the Taste of Thai scale. Overall, a bit disappointing and not one of the best Indian meals I've had. Perhaps Cafe Bangla doesn't need to exhort customers to come inside for a reason?

As we walked down the street after dinner, we continued to be accosted by Indian men demanding that we try their restaurant. "No thanks, we've already had dinner," we said. "Come have another!" they would reply.

Further down the street was an Indian confectionary shop, the first one I've ever been inside. The proprietor helpfully gave us suggestions on what to try. Unfortunately, I can't remember the names of the items he pointed out.

For the most part, everything we tried tasted like a variant on halvah, a dense, chalky sweet with origins in the Middle East, made with a semolina or tahini base.

In Paris, I ordered a croque-monsieur for my first meal. Essentially, this is a hot ham and cheese sandwich with a strong Emmental on top. It was a heart attack on a plate, and the cheesiest thing I've eaten since Hot Truck. In the background, you can see the bottle of Perrier that I ordered by accident. Later, I would be sure to insist upon un carafe de l'eau non-gazeuse.

I gamely ordered the steak tartare at the Café de la Musique (where we thought there would be live jazz, but Fodor's once again proved to be wrong). Yes, that is raw beef. And it was delicious, especially when spread upon toast like a paté. I tried to argue that eating raw beef was no different than eating sushi, but somehow this wasn't logical to the rest of the group. To the naysayers who said I would come down with mad cow disease, I am still quite hale and hearty, and intend to live long enough to try fugu in Japan. Besides, in the spectrum of wacky foods, I still think the maggot-infested casu marzu cheese is far worse.

We ventured to Le Refuges des Fondues for dinner in Montmartre, where they had no qualms about handing us lots of wine while seated next to cauldrons of bubbling oil and cheese. Megan had inordinate amounts of difficulty getting the meat to stay on her fondue fork (it kept sticking to the bottom of the pot), and eventually gave up and stuck to the bread and cheese.

Megan feeding Matt a piece of bread since they were in a "relationship" at this point

One of Matt's earliest discoveries was the café chocolat viennois, or Insanely Decadent coffee with chocolate shavings and a ginormous pile of whipped cream. After ordering this, he attracted a number of stares from neighboring tables.

Our hotel in Paris did not include breakfast, so every morning we went around the corner to this boulangerie, where I would pick up my pain au fromage. Luckily, our bakers were quite patient as we stumbled over our orders with badly pronounced French. As soon as I got home, I went to the store and bought a baguette, but it wasn't nearly as good.

I didn't get a chance to try any of the pastries, but they looked quite tasty.

Matt will attest that the chocolate croissants are awesome as well.

Outside of Versailles, we had lunch at a crêperie. The menu was divided into sections for crêpes and galettes, and I was under the impression that a galette was more of a tart, the way that a fruit galette is a tart using pâte brisée. Megan wanted a savory crêpe, but since the crêpe section only listed sweet toppings, she ended up ordering a crêpe topped with nuts and ice cream. As it turns out, galette can also refer to a savory crêpe made with buckwheat batter. Oops. Pictured above is my ratatouille galette, filled with a tomato-based vegetable stew. For the rest of the afternoon, we teased Megan about ordering an ice cream sundae for lunch.

Marais is both the gay district and the Jewish quarter in Paris. We'd heard that L'As du Falafel makes a mean falafel pita, and it was indeed delicious, a colorful sandwich of falafel, red cabbage, cucumber and tahini sauce. Their hand-pressed (and pricey) lemonade is also supposed to be excellent. Too bad they brought the lemonade at the very end of the meal without so much as a word of apology, which infuriated Megan to no end. She spent the next hour fuming about how she would've given our server a piece of her mind if she spoke French. Parisian restaurants, 2 - Megan, 0.

Back in London, we went to Costa's Cafe for lunch. The first time we tried to eat there, we were starving and barged in without noticing that workmen were laying tiles on the ground. "Can't you see that we're closed??" they barked. This second attempt was a bit more successful, I daresay. Megan ordered an avocado club sandwich, which looked more like a party tray. Sadly, she was unable to finish it.

My vegetable omelet sandwich was also pretty expansive, and at £3.50, great bang for the pound. If I lived in the neighborhood, I'd come here every day.

Passing through a street market with food stalls immediately after lunch, I felt pangs of regret that we hadn't come here instead. They had a 4-foot pan of seafood paella! And tons of local cheeses, jams and pastries! I held back and unnecessarily bought only one item, arancini (fried risotto balls) served with chili sauce. The sauce was actually one of the best chili sauces I've ever had, sort of a mixture of basil pasta sauce and Sriracha.


Our last supper was at the Rock and Sole Plaice, one of Erik's recommendations. (The punny name is an added bonus.) This outfit specializes in fish & chips, and you can choose from half a dozen types of fish, including cod, halibut, rock and skate. A piping hot styrofoam carton filled with a large battered fish fillet and potato wedges was handed to me. Mmm, I began to understand the British obsession with fish and chips. Doused with a generous sprinkling of salt and vinegar, there was no need to add tartar sauce or any other condiments. Is this where the salt & vinegar chip flavor originated from?

French Museums, or "We're Racking Up Life Points!"

Third entry in a series of posts about vacay in Europe

Continuing on from London, we took the Eurostar across the Channel to explore Paris. When we arrived, it was drizzling and gloomy, so we decided to make the best of the situation and headed to the Louvre.

The Louvre is an enormous building, and definitely the largest art museum I have ever stepped foot in. Here, you can see one side of the Louvre, photographed from the other side, with the landscaped glass atrium in the center.

We immediately set off for the Mona Lisa, but en route, a museum security guard suddenly waved us back. "S'il vous plaît, nous avons cherché un objet suspicieux." They had found a suspicious object and we weren't allowed to proceed any further. I checked to make sure that I hadn't dropped my bag somewhere unattended.

Foiled, we next set off to find the Venus de Milo. I am still unsure as to the artistic significance of this statue (she looks like pretty much any other classical Greek statue I've seen), but I'm not about to question.

The Code of Hammurabi is a large stone tablet inscribed with one of the world's first legal codes. One of the more frustrating aspects about the Louvre was that the majority of the information was given in French (naturally), which meant that non-speakers were out of luck if they wanted to know more about the work on display. The Code of Hammurabi was written out in French, and I did my best to translate its contents for Megan and Matt. Almost every rule went something along the lines of "If ____, then he shall be put to death."

A stained glass window in the medieval section, it is here that Megan and Matt said their wedding vows. Unfortunately, this "relationship" would end about 48 hours after that.

The throne of Napoleon III, I was surprised at how small it was, especially when paired with the showy carpet before it.

Another meta photo of us taking photos in front of a mirror

At the end of the afternoon, we went back to look for the Mona Lisa once more, et voilà. After fighting the crowd, I managed to reach the front and snapped a picture of my favorite eyebrow-less girl in the world.

The famed glass pyramid outside of the Louvre

The Place de la Concorde, a gold-capped obelisk gifted to France by the Egyptian government. Though the name suggests otherwise, this was actually the site of many executions, where the guillotine was located during the Reign of Terror.

Paris is filled with dozens of monuments, museums and palaces that are "must-sees," at least once in your life. With that in mind, I felt a keen pressure to check off all the major sights in Paris like some sort of scavenger hunt, as though my trip would be cheapened if I returned without seeing X. In an ambitious itinerary, we declared the next day to be "Monument Day," and traversed much of central Paris, trying to score as many Life Points as possible.

We started out at the Arc de Triomphe, located in the center of the craziest rotary I have ever seen (topping the 9-entrance rotary in E. Longmeadow). With several unmarked lanes of traffic zipping by at high speeds, I am not sure how accidents do not happen every hour here. To reach the center and view the underside of the Arc de Triomphe, there are tunnels underground that traverse the square. Unfortunately you have to pay €7 or so to surface, and we weren't in the mood for that. You can see the Eiffel Tower in the background on the right.

The Eiffel Tower is an elegant, iron structure constructed for Paris' 1889 World's Fair. It is repainted on average every 7 years to prevent rusting.

To reach the top, you could take the lift or the stairs. After pondering the relative lengths of the lines, we opted to take the significantly faster and cheaper stairs (a mere €3,50 for students). This allows you access to the first two étages of the tower, which was plenty high for me to view Paris. The stairs were also a much-needed chance to get some exercise. Though there were many of them, we all agreed that taking the stairs wasn't terribly draining, so I would definitely recommend it unless you're elderly. And, on the way down, the lift is free.

The Musée Rodin comprises a large collection of Rodin's works, including his infamous "Le Penseur," or the Thinker. For only €1, we were granted admission to the garden, which features a dozen or so of his sculptures on display amidst roses and fountains. The Thinker statue was teeming with tourists vying to take photos in the Thinker-pose; I was evidently not above this. Elsewhere in the garden is Rodin's "La Porte de l'Enfer," or the Gates of Hell.

A shot of a sculpture centered in a pond, with Megan taking a photo of the same. You can see the gold-capped dome of the Palace des Invalides in the background, where Napoleon's Tomb is located.

Outside of the Musée Rodin, we were greeted with our first French protest! Now, I know that I have truly experienced the cultural flavor of France. The police had blockaded the street, so we weren't able to approach the protestors to find out what they were fired up about. I did some googling afterwards, which revealed that they may have been upset about the price of milk.

We made our way to the Île de la Cité to view the Gothic splendor that is Notre Dame.

A closer look at the detailed masonry in the center. Here, as with all of Paris' other tourist attractions, we were accosted by people begging for money.

Afterward, we decided to take a break at Shakespeare & Co, a famous English-language bookstore in Paris. This was a very cute shop, the only store I've seen which tops Hyde Park's Seminary bookstore for books crammed/square foot. Their top floor features hundreds of old books available for browsing, not for sale, and seating for you to lounge and take in the musty scents as the sun sets outside over the Seine.

The sign outside of Shakespeare & Co. is appropriately poetic.

The Sacré-Cœur basilica, another area teeming with vendors selling chintzy items and panhandling beggars, juxtaposed with a beautiful building. The basilica is located at the summit of the butte of Montmartre, the highest point in the City (unless you count the top of the Eiffel Tower). To reach the top of the summit, you can take the funicular (free with our Mobilis train passes) or the stairs (according to Matt, who lost his train pass, this was no worse than hiking up Libe Slope). We were able to tour the inside of the basilica for free, and a service (in French!) was taking place simultaneously.

For dinner, we went to Le Refuge des Fondues (per Katherine's recommendation). This is admittedly a bit of a tourist trap (when we arrived, all the guests were speaking American English), but heck, we are tourists after all. The restaurant offers an €18 prix-fixe menu of apéritif, a cheese, salami & olive appetizer tray, cheese or meat fondue (Megan couldn't handle dealing with the bubbling oil to save her life), and wine served in a baby bottle. Yes, a baby bottle. Apparently, there is some sort of additional tax if you serve wine in glasses, so the owner has taken to serving it out of baby bottles instead. This is probably for the best anyway, because spacing in the restaurant is extremely tight (to be seated against the wall, you must step over the table), and the baby bottles are adept at preventing further spills. On the wall behind Matt, you can see a myriad of colorful currencies, signed by visitors all over the world.

Elsewhere in Montmartre, the area is known for being "bohemian" and also for its plethora of sex shops. Walking down the Boulevard de Clichy, we saw store after store with titillating offerings, something that would certainly offend American zoning proprieties. The famed Moulin Rouge cabaret is located here; unfortunately the entry prices are somewhere in the triple-digits, so we definitely passed.

Continuing down the street, we stumbled across the Musée de l'Érotisme. After Megan posed outside of the fat Bhudda statue, we decided to hop on the low-brow museum train and go inside.

This chair is prominently on display in the window, and does pretty much what you would expect it to. The rest of the museum's collection contains mostly artwork with accentuated body parts, from a variety of cultures and time periods. Not that I fancy myself a connoiseur of sex museums, but I would recommend NYC's Museum of Sex over this one.

Megan and Matt plop down for a break in a pair of leopard print heel chairs.

The next day, we decided to trek to Versailles, an over-the-top, extravagantly ostentatious homage to the power of Louis XIV. To get here, you must take a commuter train on line C about 20 minutes outside of Paris. Simple enough, non? It turns out that the C train has a number of branches, and after querying some other passengers, we realized that we were on a train headed somewhere other than Versailles. After we noticed our mistake, several other passengers who had overheard the conversation leapt up to ask, "Wait, did you say this was not the train to Versailles? Can we follow you?" All of the sudden, we were responsible for leading an Indonesian family and some other passengers to Versailles.

Once we boarded another train, the Indonesian family proceeded to plop down next to us, and strike up a conversation. Correction: it was mostly the dad who was interested in talking to us, with Mom making occasional comments and Angsty Teen Daughter sullenly sitting in a corner with her iPod on, hating life and making no effort to engage with us. After we said that we were recent college graduates, Dad whispered to his daughter, "These kids graduated from college, you should talk to them!" Daughter's response was to blatantly ignore him and turn up her music. Afterward, we discussed how all of us would have killed to have parents who took us on paid international vacations, and how the daughter would later regret how unappreciative she was as a youth. Though, Megan admitted that when she was 15 her parents took her to see the Grand Canyon, and all she wanted to do was go home and hang out with her friends. Ah well, c'est la vie.

After successfully arriving in Versailles, we approached the palace. Though it was an overcast day, the golden gates still shimmered in the distance. Engraved above the columns is the message: "À toutes les gloires de la France."

The Château de Versailles is filled with hundreds of paintings, mostly commemorating royal family members and other nobles. I didn't take a single picture of a monarch, but I did snap this all-important photo of Blaise Pascal. I also made sure to photograph the statue of L'Hôpital. Go mathematicians!

This painting covers the entirety of the ceiling in the Hercules Drawing Room, a work of breathtaking proportions.

This is the king's bedchamber, where King Louis XIV died in 1715. Each day, elaborate ceremonies would accompany his waking ("Lever du Roi") and going to bed ("Coucher du Roi"), with a formal procedure and order outlined for the people designated to see him.

Here we are inside the famed Hall of Mirrors, a long passageway outfitted with arched mirrors and chandeliers.

A formal garden viewed from the inside of Versailles. We didn't have the time or energy to explore beyond the palace, but the grounds cover an additional 800 hectacres, much of it perfectly landscaped in French Garden style.