Readuponit: Travel and voracious reading

From Solmaz, A Little Iranian Humor

nharts2@aol.com (Max Hartshorne) — Fri, 03 Jul 2009 13:56:00 +0000

It's great to be back to my beloved cafe and to GoNOMAD. I got a message on Facebook from another Iranian friend named Solmaz who I met while I was there. She has no qualms about posting controversial pro-revolution materials, as indicated by this cartoon she posted.

Funny, when I was there her and many others told me they never pay attention to politics and don't vote. I think things might have changed.

Shower Scene on Normandy Beach

nharts2@aol.com (Max Hartshorne) — Thu, 02 Jul 2009 12:13:00 +0000

Busted!

Cafe Life, Granville, La Manches

nharts2@aol.com (Max Hartshorne) — Wed, 01 Jul 2009 08:20:00 +0000

I wish customers could bring their little dogs into our cafe like they can do in France. Once again, it just seems more civilized here.

We are set to travel today--perhaps the busiest travel day in France, the start of the vacation season. We'll get an extra jump because my traveling mate gets nervous if we're late...Paris here we come!

Walking the Quays in Granville, Boats with No Water

nharts2@aol.com (Max Hartshorne) — Wed, 01 Jul 2009 07:21:00 +0000

We walked out onto the giant concrete barriers that provide a cushion against Atlantic Ocean storms and protect the pleasure boat harbor here in Granville. Even though it was 9:45 pm, it looked like it was about 6:30 pm, the barriers provided a long, long promenade from which to view the fishing boats, all stranded with no water at all on one side, and in the distance on a beach, people yelling and playing soccer.

We met a British couple who had come over on their BMW motorcycle on the ferry from Poole. It was their first time to Granville, and they said they agreed with us, 'it's lovely here.' We all liked our cheap ocean front hotel and liked walking on these big quays and seeing the strangeness of a harbor full of boats with no water.

Sometimes when you travel you go back to days of youth, places evoke nostalgia and warm memories of being here once before. Granville had that for me. That's why some people travel, to try and get back to that. But at age 50, traveling here to my beloved France, I have no yearning for youth, just more appreciation for being in the right place at the right time.

Driving Down the Normandy Coast, With Time to Stop

nharts2@aol.com (Max Hartshorne) — Tue, 30 Jun 2009 15:57:00 +0000

Today was the kind of day you hope to get at least once or twice during a working press trip. A day where we got up late, had a leisurely breakfast, and got on the road in this beautiful part of France with time to mosey into small villages, stop to take photos, and pop into a beachside cafe to slurp up fresh oysters washed down with beer. The pace was relaxing and we hung beside the steep cement dock at Carteret until a group of fishing boats came to disgourge their fishy contents and refuel.

The men on the boats swung a hand cranked crane with plastic crates full of sole, crabs and smaller fish. They loaded their fresh catch into waiting vans, and then another smaller boat pulled up alongside the quay. The men began loading fish into the boat, and we looked at eachother...isn't the fish supposed to go in the trucks, not back on a boat? Later an African crewman explained that these were junk fish that they'd use for bait...and that his real catch was sole and the other flatfish, plus the spindly red crabs with barnicles on their backs.

We followed D902 as it wound down the coast toward Granville, our destination for the night. We stopped to shoot some photos in a field, catching just the right angle of a tractor that was pushing hay into a row. We spent some time in a busy little village and watched traffic pass as we sipped coffee and men bet on trotters in the dark bar. In Granville, we got a chance to taste bulot, one of the specialities of the La Manche region. In our country we'd call them welks, but they looked just like giant snails and had a briny, tough seafoody kind of taste.

France and Normandy once again has left me feeling like it's the exact place I want to be in this exact moment. As we watch another evening that will lag on and not get dark until about 10:30 pm, the glow of the wine and the feeling that we've captured many fine moments gives me great satisfaction.

A Gentleman Farmer Pours Us His 44

nharts2@aol.com (Max Hartshorne) — Mon, 29 Jun 2009 16:50:00 +0000

We met Alain Travert in front of his oven. Tucked away into a non-descript shed, the oven where he bakes natural bread doesn't look like much from the street. Inside, this retired bachelor farmer baker creates baguettes and country breads every day, and refuses to sell them to anyone. He'd rather give them away to friends.

He showed us his perfectly manicured gardens, a long tidy collection of every vegetable imaginable beside a well-trimmed hedge. He grows the hedges himself in little pots. We saw a few stumps of apple trees upon which he had grafted new shoots, it turned out he decided to improve a poor growing variety with a better one, attatching the new shoots to the stumps.

He grows all of this food for just himself, having retired a few years ago after a heart operation. Just about all he needs comes from this little patch and his baking shed. He asked us if we'd heard of 44, and explained that it's a drink that's made here in La Manches. You take a liter of Calvados and poke 44 holes in an orange, filling them with sugar cubes and 44 coffee beans. Three months later you have this sweet strong elixir known as 44.

Of course, primed by our lunch of sausages, salad bread and wine, we had to sample the stuff. I prepared myself for a gasoline sort of taste, asking for just half a dram. But damned if it wasn't as sweet and easy to drink as a fine liqueur. So I refilled my glass, much to Alain's delight.

Now That's a Cheese: The Market at Bricquebec

nharts2@aol.com (Max Hartshorne) — Mon, 29 Jun 2009 11:05:00 +0000

At the market in the medieval town of Bricquebec, all of the vendors ended our transactions with 'have a good holiday!' That's because the country is practically all on vacation...people's luxurious six weeks off begin about now. How civilized!

At the market we saw crates of small chickens being loaded into cardboard boxes, I hoped they were for backyard farmers but a Parisien told me that they're for dinner. Another vendor sold blue lobsters and giant crabs, driven up from Granville. The market stretched on and on, first the usual cheesy clothing dealers and then wound down into a side street with a glorious array of goat cheese, cider makers, bountiful produce, and men who made pizzas with ovens in the backs of trucks. I watched a young pizzamaker slowly cut sausage and gently put veggies on top, only to have the proprietor shoo him away, showing him to quickly dump the veggies on and wisk it into the oven. Then he opened the oven to find a burned pie, and dumped it with scowl.

Life here is simply more delicious...tasting the saucisse handed out with a smile from a stall, stopping in for a coffee next to a couple cuddling their tiny miniature doberman, the sunny skies pouring forth sun and the bountiful produce. I think heaven looks a lot like Normandy France.

Biking into Bricquebec, Crashing a Party

nharts2@aol.com (Max Hartshorne) — Sun, 28 Jun 2009 16:18:00 +0000

We made it to the tiny town of Brix, in Normandy's La Manche, a peninsula that makes up the western side of the province. Our trip from the seaside village of Barneville-Carteret took us past many tall hedgerows, behind which were rows of corn and wheat. At the end of a long downhill driveway, we saw the 13th century Chateau that Karin and Fran Tiljssen rent out to guests. We are staying in a castle! Our bedrooms are regal, the staircase is worn like an old castle's.

The couple bought the property 13 years ago, now most of their guests sleeping in the 25 beds are from Holland, the UK, or Germany. She speaks four languages, making it easy for people to find them directly and book their stay.

Traveling for a week with even the best of friends, you need a break now and again. So Paul set off in the car and I took off on a borrowed bike with two nearly flat tires. I was bound for the nearest town, Bricquebec, to find both air and sustenance.

Riding a bike is the best way to get to know a place, what with the smells, the sounds, and the closeness to the people beside the road that all add to your experience. I pedaled down a long hill and through some smaller villages until I finally made it the 7 kilometers to town. I heard music. I pedaled around the corner and saw a big band playing, with men in striped shirts in a big chorus behind them.

Table upon table was full of people feasting; there were almost 200 people there. I set down the bike and listened to the jaunty French folk songs, and a particularly sweet number featuring a woman on a picolo. I snuck over and helped myself to a giant bottle of water from a large iced tub. An old woman glanced at me, nudging her husband.

Before I could get in trouble I walked back to listen to the band--the servers were coming out with plates full of big slices of local cheese. On my way out I grabbed a slice and pedaled into the town, which has a medieval castle spared any damage during the war.

The way back was easier since I had found an airpump, and was fortified with my loaf of bread with lardons, (filled with bacon and topped with cheese). It's good to be out on a bike again, something about a 14 km ride makes you feel cleansed and tired. Tired in a good way.

Pouring a Bell in Villedieu-les-Poeles

nharts2@aol.com (Max Hartshorne) — Sun, 28 Jun 2009 08:25:00 +0000

The town of Villedieu-les-Poeles has been famous as metalworking mecca for 900 years. It began because in this part of town, the land was not owned by the king, and thus not subject to taxes. So artisans like bellmakers and copper forges thrived.

The Fonderie de Cloches Cornille Havard is where teenagers begin apprenticeships and end up as seasoned bellmakers. Our timing was perfect--we arrived just before they would be doing their weekly casting.

Here we watched as molten bronze and tin is poured to form bells. Behind us a throng of French tourists moaned as Shoul and I got in their way, closer to the hot action, owing to our status as visiting American journalists.

We asked our guide Geraldine Lorin how the bell business is faring these days. "There are only three bell makers left in France," she said, "and 30 across Europe. So that keeps us very busy." What is the largest bell you've ever made?

"We are working on a bell for the church at Mulhouse, it will be six tons," she said. We looked down at the 10-foot wide bell, encased in a mold of goathair, horse manure and mud. They would create another layer above this and then it would be used to hold the molten bronze, copper and tin alloy. "We don't make the clangers," Geraldine said, "Those are stainless steel and are make in a different factory."

A French Market: Where Bizarre Shellfish Can be Found

nharts2@aol.com (Max Hartshorne) — Sat, 27 Jun 2009 17:48:00 +0000

We learned when we first arrived in Granville that this coast is famous for shellfish, and that the lively city where we were staying was the de facto capital of the area, since it is the largest town on the coast. This morning we got a chance to see the spoils that are brought up from the Atlantic in the downtown market, that starts in the main square and winds its way up and around nearby streets.

I found out what the Bulot looks like--they're giant snails. We also saw white squidlike creatures about five inches around and eight inches long, with eyes the size of nickels, cuttlefish, I think. The people all over the market were friendly and eager to share samples of the delicious local andouille sausage and then I tried a cheese made from both cow and goat milk from a farmer.

The most popular stall was the one selling long sausages cooked over a charcoal grill. They pile on french fries wrapped right in with the french bread with the sausage, and slather it with mustard. I held off on the fries as I watched Shoul devour his. Enough calories to kill a horse, was how he described it.

Later we got in the car and drove through fields and past tall hedgerows to Barneville-Carteret, a sleepy beach town with not a lot going on, but the ocean front and center. Our hotel here affords us elegant views of the sea, and tomorrow morning we'll watch the tide come up a thousand yards to just in front of us. Here is a view from the top of the casino of Granville's Atlantic coast.

The Shooter Meets the Painter in Granville

nharts2@aol.com (Max Hartshorne) — Sat, 27 Jun 2009 08:23:00 +0000

"You should leave the shooting to me, and just concentrate on the writing," said my traveling buddy Paul Shoul. Well, he has a point, he has much better equipment and is willing to lug it everywhere also always willing to go the extra mile for a good shot. Here is Paul doing what he does best, meeting people, smiling, joking, and managing to eke out the best shots of the day.

This painter was by his window shirtless, a friendly man who was happy to be photographed, part of Granville's active artists community.

One thing I have learned from Shoul is that the moment you leave your camera behind a fantastic shot will come up and you'll swear you should have brought the camera. That's why he's almost never, ever without at least one Canon on his shoulder. Click to see his photo of Philippe Marlette.

Coming Back to Gritty, Salty Granville

nharts2@aol.com (Max Hartshorne) — Sat, 27 Jun 2009 08:00:00 +0000

We arrived in Granville, on a spit of land jutting out just above the famous Mt. St. Michel on France's coast. I came here when I was 16, traveling Europe in a group trip with other kids, and I stood on a corner and recognized a gauzy, hazy memory...a movie theater once stood in a building that is now a casino overlooking the vast lowtide that stretched out for a thousand yards. I told my guides and they laughed, 'you're right, it was a theater,' and I marveled at how long ago it was that I came here and retained memories of this gritty old seafarer's town of about 15,000.

Our accommodations here are first rate--a modern Ibis hotel beside a bustling marina, surrounded by a wall that shows the remarkable tides, which rise qnd fall about 20 feet. "It's dangerous, because people can get caught off guard," said our guides, "everyone plans their beach trips depending on the tides, and so do the boaters." The yachts can't get out during low tide, and the soccer player's field and the wide open expanse where people gallop horses is gone as well.

Granville is a seafarer's town with a fleet of boats and the local specialties are bulot, snails, scallops, dorade and skate. It was settled in the 1400s by English who wanted to use the city to plan an attack on the fortified Mt. St. Michel, which was still held by the French. They didn't succeed. Way off in the distance, dark patches on the beach were mussell farms. A local specialty is oysters with camenbert, which doesn't sound very appealing.

Both Normandy and Brittany fight over who actually owns Mt St. Michel, the number one tourist spot in France after Paris. A river that separates the two provinces is being diverted, to avoid the erosion and build up of sand. So soon, the river will flow equally around it, so it will be even more difficult to decide whether it's in Brittany or Normandy.

Normandy's Thriving D-Day Tourism Sites

nharts2@aol.com (Max Hartshorne) — Fri, 26 Jun 2009 06:24:00 +0000

Here in Longue-sur-Mer, a Sherman tank rests next to one of the thousands of metal barricades put up by the Nazis to stop the invasion. The business of showing tourists these D-day attractions comes in third for popularity in Normandy, after Mt. St. Michel and Honfleur.

At Arromanches, we joined a herd of bus passengers and saw the remains of the artificial harbor created by dragging hundreds of cement caissons over and sinking liberty ships. Just enough remain out in the distance to show the shape and size of that man-made harbor, where long bridges were set up to drive tanks, trucks and guns onto the shore.

We scampered inside the former pillboxes and saw four cement batteries, two with the rusted 155 mm guns still inside. All of this elaborate machinery and construction to defend what was ultimately not defendable. We learned that most of the French farmers here between 1940-44 were forced to work in labor camps, so they couldn't trim the roadside hedges, so they were overgrown. The soldiers relied on their clickers to determine whether friend or foe lay on the other side. Cows played an important role since many of the fields were mined, and the animal's natural curiosity would draw them toward a hiding sniper.

It is remarkable to me that so much of this place is still just open farmland, as far as the eye can see. Despite this influx of millions of tourists on buses, the simple agricultural economy continues, though I'm sure it pales in comparison with what is generated from tourists who pay 59 euros apiece to get a four-hour tour of these sites.

Here is a shot of Omaha Beach, where the highest number of casualties occurred, it's one of the widest and longest stretches of open sandy beach I've ever seen.

Haunting Face at Caen's Memorial Museum

nharts2@aol.com (Max Hartshorne) — Thu, 25 Jun 2009 22:13:00 +0000

This haunting image fades to black every 10 seconds, signifying the horrific number of deaths in the Nazi-run concentration camps of World War II. The museum takes you on a journey beginning in the 1918, and lays out a time-line that began with World War I's Treaty of Versailles, through the worldwide depression, and ending with the final days of the war in Europe in May, 1945. An attempt is made to show how one begat another and how people in such desperate straights as pre-war Germans would ever vote in such a monster as Hitler.

I came away with many thoughts after this startling collection of video, memorabilia, photographs, audio of speeches and even two young actors speaking in costume the roles of Jewish citizens.

Much is made here of the fact that France was so quick to sign a peace treaty and become one the occupied territories of the Axis; we hear a speech by General De Gaulle pleading with his countrymen not to sign, and to resist. The French today or at least the people who created this impressive huge trove of historical relics seem to feel that the government of France did a great disservice by being so easy to conquer.

Another display showed the V1 rockets that Germany used to bomb England, which in the early 1940s had already started the use of missiles to kill people. A map provided chilling details about the vast galaxy of extermination and detention camps all over Poland and Germany, and showed how officers and political prisoners were sent to different camps than Jews, gypsys and other people that Hitler wanted to extinguish from the world. Letters written by GIs gave a glimpse of what they went through, and a chart at the very beginning showed that Germany and Russia lost the most lives in the long, terrible war in Europe.

A visit to the D-Day beaches and the many memorials there brought the museum's vast collection into a sharper focus. Trees at the US-maintained American cemetary are trimmed like giant hedges, and row upon row of crosses intermingled with stars of David each show the name, rank and state where the dead serviceman came from. Many just say 'here rests a comrade in arms known but to God.'

The Beach at Etretat, Where Monet Was Inspired

nharts2@aol.com (Max Hartshorne) — Thu, 25 Jun 2009 05:34:00 +0000

A Visit to the Palace of B&B in Fecamp

nharts2@aol.com (Max Hartshorne) — Thu, 25 Jun 2009 05:13:00 +0000

We went to a palace yesterday devoted to a certain spirit. That would be B&B, Benedictine liqueur, which is actually manufactured in a 1900s gothic/romanesque palace in the oceanside town of Fecamp.

"Everything here is about the drink," our guide Danielle told us as we glided from room to room, eyeing priceless works of art, a collection of ancient keys and locks from the 14th century, and other treasures that the inventor of this drink assembled in this grand palace to get people in the door.

Even the stained glass angels are pictured holding a bottle, gazing down from heaven with regal bearing. After magnificent rooms full of treasures, we made our way to the cellar where displays show the 27 spices and aromatics that are blended to make the strong elixir. And of course, it ended with a taste, but at 11 am, I had to do no more than sniff the potent stuff. Shoul of course dove in to sip all three.

One display was a pyramid of bottles from around the world, all copyright infringements on the B&B and Benedictine name. Who knew that in Poland they made their own version of this stuff and tried to pawn it off as real B&B?

'A Good Drink' and the Norman Hole

nharts2@aol.com (Max Hartshorne) — Wed, 24 Jun 2009 21:32:00 +0000

Have you ever heard of the Norman Hole? It has to do with the cherished apple digestif Calvados, which has been made in towns here in Normandy for centuries. Our guide Jean-Paul Herbert educated us about this tradition while we ate fish at a beachside restaurant in Le Havre this afternoon. The Norman Hole is what you have between meals, a shot of the fiery apple brandy in between courses to cleanse your palette. He said that some women now prefer to have a little bowl of Calvados sorbet, or even a few drops on a sugar cube. But the burly fishermen and farmers swear by the shot. Tonight we sipped our Calvados after the meal, not in between.

Herbert also talked of having 'a good drink.' We paused at that, and he explained that he meant a drink with friends, a collegial sort of belt, a social time. That's a good drink. We walked for what felt like miles across the shore and docklands of this bustling port city, and watched two oil tankers and then two container ships make their way to the huge cranes of the port. While Marseille claims the title of shipping the most freight, Le Havre has big plans to expand, adding ten cranes and dredging their port to accommodate the biggest container ships, which dwarf today's models. The city also has plans to build a tram, like they have in Caen, to wean people off of having to bring cars into the city. We saw a model of this big plan when we went to the Hotel de Ville (city hall) to view the city from the 17th floor.

Le Havre's harbor area was nearly completely flattened by allied bombers, and the rebuilding was led the great architect Auguste Perret. His work was so lauded by people around the world that the redevelopment area has been proclaimed a UNESCO World Heritage site, rare for an urban area, but a designation that made everyone here very proud.

Up on Top of the Cliffs at Etretat, Thinking of Jumpers

nharts2@aol.com (Max Hartshorne) — Tue, 23 Jun 2009 21:20:00 +0000

Up and down the coast of Normandy there are high chalk cliffs that sometimes go as high at 200 meters. We got a chance to see these impressive natural barriers up close today as we had lunch in front of the large-pebbled beach at Fecamps.

This town of about 10,000 was once the capital of Normandy (well, in the 10th and 11th century anyway) and today it's a tourist mecca where people come to sit by the sea and munch on big bowls of mussels. The Norman preparation of these delicate little sea creatures is in a broth of cream and cider. The mussels were much smaller and more tender than the ones we have in the US. To the right and to the left as we sat at the seaside Le Reidroc restaurant, the cliffs loomed, and out at sea we watched local schoolchildren learn to sail boats in a stiff wind.

Later we drove up the coast on a lovely winding road that took us by farms and houses with million-dollar views of the sea. We stopped at the village of Yport where we saw another dramatic cliff formation but found just down the road at Etretat an even more spectacular formation. Jean the local tourism board rep told me that every year about 10 or 12 people plunge to their deaths in suicides off of these high cliffs. The shape of the cliff looks like an elephant's trunk, and behind the elephant is a tall high formation they call the needle.

It's natural drama, and everywhere we looked there was more of it. This part of the world is certainly blessed with beauty. We spent the night in Le Havre, where across the street from our hotel is a manmade jaw-dropper. It's an arts center and cinema that looks like a massive yogurt container with its top off. Kids were running up the steep sides seeing who could go up the farthest.

At Rouen's La Couronne, They've Served Since 1345

nharts2@aol.com (Max Hartshorne) — Tue, 23 Jun 2009 06:23:00 +0000

Last night for dinner we choose the oldest Inn in France. It was opened in 1345 and through the centuries the owners at La Couronne have compiled the ultimate walk of fame up and down their staircase and in the upstairs dining room.

A panoply of French stars and old Hollywood royalty shine smiling in signed photographs on the wall. Here is Ernest Hemingway, there's Salvador Dali, there is the bright and beautiful Princess Grace. We even have the Queen of England, who signed for the folks too. Oh, and the last emperor of Ethiopia, he ate here too.

It was a bit chilly in the still light night air as we sat outside and enjoyed veal, some Norman chicken, and especially savored the Normandy cheese selection that our Peruvian waiter deftly dished up using two knives. A throng of Belgian tourists walked by, identified by nametags, and young cool French cats defied the chilliness in short sleeves, puffing on their Gauloises.

It's always a pleasure to settle up after a night of fine service with a bill that's straight up. No taxes no tips, just 60 euros, split down the middle. Oh, that's the other nice thing about dining with a colleague, I don't have to pick up the check.

Rouen, Where Young Joan Went Up in Flames

nharts2@aol.com (Max Hartshorne) — Mon, 22 Jun 2009 18:05:00 +0000

I'm in my hotel room in Rouen France and the sunlight is streaming in the window. Outside the sun feels like it's about 5:30 pm, but shockingly, it's just after 8. Here we are so far north and it's just one day past the longest day of the year. I asked Isabella our tourism guide here what time it got dark and she said around 11 pm.

Rouen is a city of about 100,000 with a rich history, much of which centers around the famous girl Saint Joan of Arc. In 1979 a long tall building was built at the site of the place where she was so famously burned at the cross. There are remnants here of an ancient church that was carted away to make room for an outdoor food market. The building sweeps up and looks like the hat I've seen her wearing in paintings, inside it looks like a giant ship. Sixteenth century stained glass windows tell stories of Jesus and at night these colorful windows are lit from the inside to show off to those outside.

In the distance just a few blocks away is the famous 150 meter high spire of the main Cathedral at Rouen. It had four shorter spires around this immense one but in 1999, a tornado blew one of them down and it crashed into the nave.

The city is full of young people and many open squares, built after the bombing of WWII reduced much of the old buildings to rubble. One square is called April 19, 1944 square, a date that both the priceless cathedral and the city were bombed by the allies fighting the occupied land.

Today thousands of students hang around cafes and there are many pedestrian areas..and sometimes smooch in the cathedral! These are the kinds of open pedestrian places I've always thought Northampton MA needed!

Celebrating at Milestone at Camp Keewanee

nharts2@aol.com (Max Hartshorne) — Sun, 21 Jun 2009 12:30:00 +0000

Last night we joined a throng of more than 100 men, women and children at the Camp Keewanee in the sticks north of Greenfield to celebrate a milestone in the Valley. Joe O'Rourke turned 50, with a full stage of musicians, dozens of family members in special green tee shirts, and a rollicking celebration he planned all by himself.

I remember in November when we asked Joe what he wanted for this special day. I could see his mind whirring, thinking of how he'd want to celebrate. Then just a month ago I got the evite, which was cool because it told me just who was coming and who would not be there. As you'd expect, it involved his legions of musician friends and included renditions of songs he's written over the years.

The pavilion make the threat of rain no problem, and there was plenty of room to dance, and to catch up with many folks I hadn't seen in a long time. David and Janis Sokol were both looking radiant and I got a chance to meet friendly WRSI Morning Man Monte Bellemonte and his wife and child.

I didn't want to miss my chance to toast my old friend, who I've known since 1975, so when the musicians were in between sets I grabbed the mike. I told him the crowd that Joe's the guy you want on your team, because he plays really hard and always wants to win. And that he's not only a great friend, but he's a great radio rep. And all of these people were there because of the legacy he's built and the relationships he's nurtured over these wonderful first 50 years.

The Orange Store of Tomorrow

nharts2@aol.com (Max Hartshorne) — Sun, 21 Jun 2009 12:19:00 +0000

On the eve of my departure for France, I decided that I can't resist the lure of the iPhone. So I popped into this AT&T Store and plunked down $200 on the new 3GS phone, in white.

I am so enamored with my itouch that I know I am going to love this new phone. But I'll have to wait til I get back, and am glad that I won't be tempted to use it in France, where data rates make the phone's ubiquitous email too expensive.

The phones were all sold out, so they placed my order and when I get back, I'm plugging into 'Net everywhere and email whether I've got Wi-Fi or not.

Venus & the Cellar Bar: Making Easthampton Even Cooler

nharts2@aol.com (Max Hartshorne) — Sat, 20 Jun 2009 01:58:00 +0000

I was excited when I asked Shoul where he was going tonight, Friday, my usual going out night. He said he was going to the 'soft opening' of a new wine bar and upscale restaurant in Easthampton, called Venus & the Cellar Bar. I hopped into the truck and made it there around 7.

If I were opening a new restaurant or bar, I'd follow Michael Vito's lead and do it in Easthampton. Rents are lower, permits are a breeze, and there's a nice buzz about the city. It feels like Easthampton is raring to take over Northampton as the coolest place to be in the Valley.

I descended the steps to the lower wine bar, a cellar that Michael said they had to dig 18"down in dirt, and there were my two friends, smiling, waiting to say hello. Michael I remember from my days at the Daily Hampshire Gazette, I was an ad salesman back then in the '80s, and Vito covered City Hall. He went on to spend eight years with Senator John Kerry, and now he lobbies for energy companies and has his hand in this new venture.

Vito loves to harken back to his days as a reporter, and his time as a staffer to a big Washington Senator. He still has his hands all over politics, judged by how many times he said what he was about to tell me was off the record. But for the record, this new place Venus, is very cool and I predict they will be tremendously successful...in fact they might even herald in a new era of Easthampton coolness. He gave me his card, and I will use it in the future to grab a table and sample the menu, which was heavy on French dishes, and skewed to the higher end.

I can't wait to try the Salade Nicoise, and the halibut, which he recommended, and I'm sure with Casey Douglas of Apollo Grill in the kitchen, it will be delicious. Good luck Mike and partners!

Email from Iran: No Photo

nharts2@aol.com (Max Hartshorne) — Fri, 19 Jun 2009 20:35:00 +0000

I asked Parin if I could publish her photo, that I took in the desert. She replied today, as I expected, and said no. This is a photo on the bus as we drove back dancing in the aisles. This is not Parin!

hi
nowadays we have a real bad condition in our country so i prefer that you just publish my idea without any picture or with some green rectangle with this : Where IS MY VOTE?!
thank you very much

I read a piece on Time Magazine's website about Mousavi. His credentials from his 20 years in government include helping form Hezbollah, which was born in Iran. The story also said that the candidate was among those in Iran who didn't want to give the hostages back to the US, a hardliner's hardliner. So to me, this election and this struggle in Iran isn't just about the president. It's about the validity of the election, and the rights of women and the government's propensity to force women to follow laws like headscarves.

It's not black and white for sure, and though Iran is polarized, they don't have our country's easily defined left and right. I bet many of the people who marched didn't vote at all, but are now caught up in a fight about an election that's about so much more. Wow, exciting...I want the best for the forces of liberation, freedom and right to be.

Buried in the Fine Print: Money for Bike Commuting

nharts2@aol.com (Max Hartshorne) — Fri, 19 Jun 2009 14:51:00 +0000

I got a press release from Brian Mullis, he runs Sustainable Travel International, and he had a good point that somehow got by me. There's a new Bicycle Commuter Act.

Buried in the fine print of the massive bail out bill is a provision to reward employers who make lives easier for bicycle commuters. If they provide showers, bike racks, bike tune-ups, and other support for bike commuting they can knock $20 per month per employee off their taxable income.

I can just see radio commentator Howie Carr screaming crazy mad over this. He hates bicyclists and bike lanes, and he'll brand this a 'beautiful people' provision. But this is the kind of thing you have to do to make an entire country start to come around, and stop treating cars as their only transportation option.

A New York Times blog says that the same sort of incentive for mass transit cha chings out at $115 per person, and that there are other subsidies for people who drive cars to work. I think these types of things, small little additions to massive spending bills, are how incrementally, we'll someday change our car-obsessed society. More bikes would be a good thing!