Day 9: Rooftop

Not a tree, per se, but today I discovered that I could get out on my roof. I want to emphasize: not that it was allowed or safe or easy, but that I could do it.

Like I mentioned, getting up here isn't easy. I can't remember who it was but a very famous person once said that after a lifetime of traveling around the globe the one thing that stuck with them was the number of different kinds of light switches in the world. I think the same could probably be said of windows. I'd never seen one like this before but apparently it's fairly common here, where the glass is mounted on a swivel at the center. Instead of opening outward the glass simply rotates in the frame; this way you can open the window by pulling down from below. Very easy and convenient to open, very hard to crawl ones ass out of. More harrowing still, though, are the roof tiles.

That might give you some idea of the challenge I'm facing. It might be hard to tell from the photo but the basic idea is this: You have to crawl out onto the downward sloping roof through that little window, then turn around on your stomach and crawl up over these red clay tiles. I just want to make it clear that no, these tiles are not firmly attached to the roof and yes, that little metal lip on the end there is the only thing between me and falling five stories onto a crowd of tourists. Which actually might not be as unpleasant for me as it would the tourists. Anyway the point is it was a harrowing moment requiring absolutely every nerve and synapse to be in total coordination, which is why I stopped to take a picture.

Once out on the roof itself the views are pretty extraordinary, although the pictures didn't all come out that well. Apparently overseas travel turned my iPhone not only into a camera with a shitty interface but more precisely a shitty camera with a shitty interface. So you'll just have to take my word for it that there's quite a sight to see up here.

Hard to see but that little grey spire in the distance is the Eiffel Tower.

Each little red cylinder is a little tiny chimney.

Tourists going apeshit for mediocre falafel

Turns out my neighbor has a sweet rooftop garden. Not that I'm jealous.

As you can see, each roof is framed by these big slabs of concrete, sort of the rooftop equivalent of those inter-urinal privacy plates. As imposing as these look it's actually quite easy to get from rooftop to rooftop--the only drawback is that each rooftop you try to visit triples your likelihood of breaking a shingle and triggering a Ben Hur moment. I haven't yet endured any embarrassing faux pas, but I wouldn't like to start by setting off a clay avalanche. Offending your waiter with the wrong wine choice is one thing. Crushing François Hollande to death with ten pounds of sun baked clay is quite another.

One final note, in Paris gasoline doesn't necessarily come from gas stations. You can also just find random gas in the street. Street gas, if you will.

I don't know, man. In my mind premium > regular >> street gas. If a car could get an STD, this would be the way to get it.