This spring, the city of Paris will start work on the second phase of a project to complete 100 kilometers of bicycle paths that project supporters say will make every arrondissement biker-friendly.

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With his trademark hat and cigarette, Mike Zwerin is a recognizable figure in any Paris jazz club. In fact Zwerin wears two hats, as a trombonist and as a columnist for the International Herald Tribune. We met recently in his comfortable home in the 11th arrondissement to discuss both “chapeaux.” Is it tough living a double life? “It’s not quite a double life because both jobs involve music. But it is very hard to mix the two. If I go to play at a festival, it never crosses my mind to do any interviews on the side. I’m there strictly as a musician.”

Continue reading “Mike Zwerin’s Two Hats”

Instead of sitting in front of a teacher, more and more foreign language students are opting to sit in front of a computer. In tough economic times, it makes sense. Students are finding that high technology is a low-cost alternative to language schools. Continue reading “Language Teaching Enters Cyber Age”

The evening of the Fête de la Musique, pianist Eric Watson was surveying the crowds from the balcony of his Marais apartment when he had an epiphany. “I suddenly flashbacked to the ’60s and ’70s. I felt something was coming; things were finally changing … ” He’s talking about music and the way it’s offered to the public. And he’s talking about the conservatism of the ’90s. “In the ’70s you could deal with Cecil Taylor because of the dope.” He shrugs. “People don’t have that anymore … ” Ergo, they don’t deal with Cecil anymore. Instead they have to deal with being told “by people like Wynton what jazz is. What I want to see more of is truly crazy musicians.” And he’s ready to be one of them? “Absolutely.”

Continue reading “Eric Watson’s Jazz Flashbacks”

Okay, fellas, it’s time to think about making an impression on Valentine’s Day. You can do like every other guy in town and take the love of your life flowers. Or, you can score lots of brownie points by offering her a gift of the gods that’s 18 karat gold. Continue reading “A Valentine with the Midas Touch”

We knew he could play the clarinet, write and direct like nobody’s business, act a mean nebbish, ignite misguided controversy and woo quirky and/or much younger women.  But what most people – including the nation’s professional film critics and his Paris publicist – never suspected about Woody Allen is: He speaks French.

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The French government took drastic steps in January to protect the beleaguered baguette from cut-price rivals that sometimes sell for as little as 1.50F at supermarkets compared with about 4F at traditional bakeries. A new law aimed at safeguarding baker-artisans now restricts the name “bakery” to the establishments of bakers who bake their bread on the premises. The new law will require an estimated 5,000 shops selling bread made from factory frozen dough to take down their “bakery” signs. Continue reading “Let Them Eat Bread”

The shortest month of the year can be downright inspiring. It was February to be exact when I first knew I wanted to be a writer. Mrs. Richland’s second grade class at Mount Pleasant Elementary School. And the first oeuvre committed to pencil remained unpublished until now: Continue reading “Paris Valentines”

Peter Beard’s singular exhibition at the National Photography Center is “Out of Africa” and out of this world.  Both disturbing and hauntingly beautiful, the photographer’s assemblage works, personal journals, documentary films and magnificent blown-up images create a total environment that transports the visitor on an intense African safari. Continue reading “Peter Beard’s African Journals”

Chers readers – yes, you – as we converse, I look out into the near future, and see you there sitting pretty somewhere in the heart of a gleeful Paris December, the holiday season unfolding around you with its annual engorgement of foie gras, saumon fumé, huîtres d’Oléron, Veuve Cliquot and Christmas lights. But many of us time-warped journalists are still hovering over our monthly deadlines back here in ol’ forgotten November, the most joyless month in Paris. “It’s a Wonderful Life” flashes in the background of the imagination as this last column of the year falls into place. Continue reading ““Bonne Fin d’année, Monsieur.””