Research with a Kick

The lovely Clemence, my cohort in caffeine

The deadline for my second book, Moon Metro Paris, is in just two short months. Eek! (My first book, Moon Living Abroad in France, was published in 2012.) The fun part of researching a travel guidebook falls under the overarching theme of "first-hand reporting," which means if I'm writing about how good the coffee is at a specific cafe, I darn well better have tasted a steamy cup of the stuff with my own lips.

Inside Coutume Cafe

Last week, I met up with Clemence at Coutume Cafe, one of the new drinking-and-dining additions to the "Invalides" section of the book. (For those who don't know Paris well, "Invalides" relates to the neighborhood, which is named after the giant military hospital/museum complex that dominates the quartier. Napoleon is buried therein.) We came for coffee and conversation (and research), and even though I wasn't hungry, I gave the menu a good once-over. 

The daily salad looked great on paper, and even better when I saw it served to the woman sitting next to me. Colorful and almost too-fresh for mid-winter. The Toasts aux Champignons sounded mouthwatering, too: Whole-grain toast topped with sauteed shiitake (spelled incorrectly on the menu--oops!), oyster, and button mushrooms and served with a mesclun salad. Vegan, so far as I could tell. (But I'd always ask before ordering.)

I already knew Coutume Cafe offered soymilk for hot drinks, but today, when I asked, they were all out, and the manager, Nico, explained that they're in the middle of sourcing a new brand, since the one they were using had a tendency to curdle when blended into chai, cafes au lait, and other drinks that call for a milk of some sort.

This is what a €4.20 chai latte looks like up close.

I ordered a simple, rather innocuous-sounding "cafe noir," which was described as a double espresso with a bit of hot water added to it. It was tasty. What I wasn't expecting was the intoxicating buzz that followed immediately after polishing off that diminutive cupful. So intense was my coffee high that I had to cut the visit short to go burn off some of that brain-sizzling energy. It wasn't a horrible feeling--I wasn't jittery or queasy as can sometimes happen after a potent cup--but I was a little too wired, mentally, for comfortable conversation.

I can't wait to go back for another cup!

Warning: May cause extreme brain activity!

Love and Loss in the City of Light

Fanny, just about to sneeze, with Bike #2 (a steal at €40 from the Porte de Montreuil marche aux puces) in the background 

Before I fell in love with cycling, I was deeply entrenched in a torrid, head-over-heels affair with smoking.

It was a cough-all-night, borderline-emphysema kind of habit, and I loved every stinky, finger-stained minute of it. But after my 500th sore throat and one last-straw lung infection, I traded in the tobacco and rolling papers for two wheels and a bike helmet (which came in handy when I made a dramatic face-first wipeout near Montmartre a couple of years ago).

In a life loaded with questionable decision-making moments, this was definitely one of my better moves. Fifteen years in a dysfunctional relationship is far too long, and even though the breakup was protracted and sad, the heartache was worth it.

Bikes for rent in the little town of Mahabalipuram, in south India, 2011.

My real motive for taking up cycling was to avoid having to take the bus (San Francisco's public transit system is notorious for its horribleness), but it's gradually morphed into something more than a mere form of alt transport. Today, I actually enjoy riding so much that I sometimes structure vacations around it, and generally try to incorporate biking into every last travel experience. 

Besides the obvious places like Amsterdam and Copenhagen, I've rented bicycles in China, Laos, Cambodia, and India. In Vietnam, I even used my two-dollar-a-day bike as a getaway vehicle after finding--and releasing--a basket full of dogs destined for I-don't-want-to-know where.

I found this fishing basket full of dogs on a sidestreet in Mui Ne, Vietnam in 2009 while riding my bike. After about two seconds of contemplation, I lifted the lid, whispered "go!" and watched them sprint for their lives. 

A couple of years ago, I was interviewed by Bike NoPa for a "Women who bike" feature, and I've also nudged my freewheelin' hobby into the professional realm, writing for Momentum magazine, aka the world's coolest bike rag. But more than anything, I just like pedaling around town, zooming over to Marche d'Aligre, or to meet friends at a restaurant (OK--a bar), or to shuttle the dog to the forest for a good, long walk. I love the ease of it all. It's quicker (and cheaper) than the Metro, and definitely more convenient than Velib'. Which is why I'm so bummed that I've now cycled through my third bike in less than three years.

Dubbed "Moneypenny" by her  last owner, I kept the name and gave her lots of love and attention over the last year or more that we've been together. 

My first bike was stolen (not uncommon here). Not cool. The second bike, a cute little red number I bought at the Porte de Montreuil flea market for €40, snapped in half (literally) after about six months of everyday use. My third and latest bike is/was a hand-me-down Peugeot with a step-through frame and missing headlight, but she was sturdy and reliable and I really loved her. Still do, even though she's damaged goods now. It's only a guess, but it looks as if one of those Parisian side-walk cleaning contraptions backed into it, since the frame is bent beyond repair and the back tire is practically folded in half. 

Today I walked over to BicyclAide, a non-profit bike shop/atelier in the neighboring banlieue of Clichy-la-Garenne, in the hopes of finding another cheap and functional set of wheels to get me through the rest of this Living Abroad in France experience. They were closed. Until they reopen, I'll be fantasizing about my bike-to-be; I'm thinking orange, with a pair of red panniers on the side, and a obnoxiously noisy bell. I'll plaster her with stickers and park her in a safe spot, free from the hazards of thievery and municipal street cleaners.

What does your bike look like? (And does that question feel kinky to you somehow?) What are your tricks for keeping your steed safe from harm and greedy fingers?

I wouldn't mind if my next bike looked a little something like this.