Sydney. There is something wonderfully contradictory about the electric bicycle. It represents freedom, efficiency, exercise, reduced emissions, and a way of moving through a crowded city without sitting inside a two-tonne automobile. And yet, in some cities, the e-bike has become part of the clutter it was supposed to help eliminate. I was reminded of this recently while comparing two cities I know well: Sydney and Paris. Walk around central Sydney and you can encounter shar

There is a moment most pet owners remember. You pick up the puppy. The kitten climbs into your lap. The shelter dog looks at you through the bars of the kennel. And the decision is made. This one is coming home with me. It is an emotional decision, and perhaps it should be. Our relationships with animals are built on affection, companionship and trust. But hidden inside that moment is something considerably less romantic. A financial commitment. A recent article in the New Yo

One of the pleasures of eating in France is that choosing where to eat can be almost as interesting as choosing what to eat. On a recent trip through France, I became increasingly aware that the words café, bar, bistro, brasserie, and restaurant are not simply interchangeable French labels for somewhere that happens to serve food. Each describes - or at least once described - a somewhat different institution, with its own rhythm, expectations, menu, clientele, and place in Fr

There are hotels that could be anywhere. And then there are hotels that belong completely to their street, their neighborhood, and their city. The Hôtel Récamier is one of those. Tucked discreetly into a corner of the Place Saint-Sulpice in Paris’s sixth arrondissement, the hotel seems almost reluctant to announce itself. There is no grand entrance, no procession of taxis, no uniformed doorman standing beneath an enormous canopy. At 3 bis Place Saint-Sulpice, Hôtel Récamier o

There is something peculiar about time. A minute is always sixty seconds. An hour is always sixty minutes. A year is always 365 days, give or take the occasional adjustment demanded by astronomy. And yet almost nobody experiences time that way. Think back to childhood. Summer holidays seemed enormous. Christmas took forever to arrive. The interval between birthdays felt like an appreciable fraction of a lifetime. Because, of course, it was. At ten years old, a year represents

There is something wonderfully literal about the French word for a tip. Pourboire. For drinking. The word comes from the idea of giving someone a little extra money with which to buy a drink. A small gesture of appreciation rather than payment for services rendered. And buried within that simple expression is much of the philosophy that still distinguishes French tipping culture from that of countries such as the United States. A pourboire is not supposed to complete someone’

There is a certain irony in gathering hundreds of people together for the quintessential corporate ritual. The corporate group photograph. Only to discover that some are experiencing the moment through a screen. While the official camera records the group, dozens of smaller cameras compete to record the recording. Perhaps this is the modern group portrait. Everyone together. Everyone connected. And some looking somewhere else. I happened to walk past a corporate rally on the

When we stayed recently at Hôtel Le 10 Bis, on the Rue du Débarcadère near Porte Maillot, I thought I had found a rather charming contradiction: A thoroughly modern, discreet little Paris hotel occupying a building that clearly had a past. I had no idea how much of a past! Hôtel Le 10 Bis opened in its present form in 2016. Its earlier publicity chose its words carefully, describing the address as a haut lieu de la galanterie Parisienne - a celebrated place of Parisian gallan

We arrived at Hôtel Le 10 Bis almost by accident. Our original hotel for our final two nights in Paris was unavailable, and after a little searching we found ourselves booked into a place I had never heard of, at 10 bis Rue du Débarcadère in the 17th arrondissement, not far from Porte Maillot. It described itself as a boutique hotel. I have seen that description hundreds of times. Boutique hotel. Boutique resort. Boutique accommodation. It is one of those expressions that has

This is the fourth and final part of a four-part blog series. The first three parts are largely about the individual - identity, flow, curiosity. This fourth and final part reminds us that a good Third Act is also about other people. Five-Point Summary Retirement means leaving more than a job. We may also leave behind a community, daily conversations, shared problems and the feeling that somebody expects us to turn up. Being busy is not the same as being connected. A crowded

This is the third of a four-part blog series. The first two parts are as follows: Part 1 - Identity: The Third Act and the Third Turn: When the Career Ends but the Story Doesn't. https://www.ricklecouteur.com/post/the-third-act-and-the-third-turn-when-the-career-ends-but-the-story-doesn-t-690 Part 2 - Flow: The Flow State: When You Forget to Look at the Clock. https://www.ricklecouteur.com/post/the-flow-state-when-you-forget-to-look-at-the-clock-691 Five-Point Summary We may

I don't know her name. I don't know where she lives. I don't know whether she has children or grandchildren, whether someone was waiting for her at home that evening, or how many mornings she has carried her fruit to this same place. I know only where I photographed her. She was a fruit vendor near the Mukki Gate of Kanha National Park in central India. And I took her photograph. She was holding her tray of fruit close to her chest. Mangoes and dates, bright splashes of yello

This essay follows a previous blog titled: This Little Girl No Longer Exists: Who Owns a Moment? Two weeks ago, I was traveling along the Canal du Midi aboard the Saraphina. Our guide was Rex, and on one particular day he was introducing us not simply to southern France, but to the history, architecture, streets, and people of Narbonne. I was doing what I always do when I travel. Watching. Learning. And taking photographs. Outside one of Narbonne’s great old buildings stood a

Two years ago, in a public park in Sydney, Australia, I took a photograph of a little girl eating lunch. I did not know her. I did not know her parents. I did not ask their permission. She did not pose for me. I simply saw a moment, raised my camera, and pressed the shutter. There were other people around her, but it was her expression that caught my attention. She was holding a piece of bread in one hand and looking sideways at another child who was eating. Her mouth was exp

Two major veterinary neurology books have appeared within a relatively short period: Canine Neurology, edited by Luisa De Risio and Gualtiero Gandini, and the fifth edition of the BSAVA Manual of Canine and Feline Neurology, edited by Simon Platt, Natasha Olby and Elsa Beltran. At first glance, they appear to occupy much the same territory. Both are contemporary. Both are written by respected veterinary neurologists. Both emphasize clinical application. Both make extensive us

There is something wonderfully democratic about the Canal du Midi. You do not need to own a yacht. You do not need years of boating experience. You do not even need, in the conventional sense, to know very much about boats. You can simply rent one. Companies such as Le Boat and other operators rent self-drive pleasure craft from bases along the Canal du Midi. After a relatively brief introduction to the boat - how to start it, steer it, stop it, operate the ropes and negotiat

Image adapted from Season 7, Episode 5 of the French television series Murder In There is an unexpected pleasure in watching a television program set somewhere you have recently traveled. Suddenly the murder matters a little less. Instead, you find yourself looking beyond the actors. You recognize the locks. You study the towpath. You watch the péniches moving slowly through the water. You notice the villages, the bridges and, above everything else, the trees. That was my exp

There are moments on the Canal du Midi when the trees seem almost more important than the canal itself. Traveling slowly along the water, one enters long green corridors where branches reach toward one another from opposite banks. Sunlight filters through the leaves. Reflections of trunks stretch into the water. The towpath disappears beneath shade. In places the trees meet overhead so completely that the boat seems to pass through a living cathedral. And then, quite suddenly

Gordon (Goggs) McManus of Off The Boat singing on the deck of Saraphina, Canal du Midi There are surprises that are carefully advertised as surprises and consequently surprise nobody. And then there are the real ones. One evening aboard Saraphina, our barge on the Canal du Midi, Captain Finn casually announced that there would be a surprise before dinner. That was all he said. We were moored against the bank of the canal, somewhere in that wonderfully indeterminate world that

There are places where you go looking for something, and places where something seems to be waiting to find you. Le Somail, on the Canal du Midi, turned out to be one of the latter. We had arrived there aboard the barge boat Saraphina, traveling slowly along the canal through southern France. Le Somail is the sort of place that seems entirely comfortable with the passage of time. There is the old stone bridge arching over the water, boats tied quietly to the banks, enormous p