Sunbathers in the Parc des Buttes Chaumont. Photo by Tory Hoen

Text by Tory Hoen

You may have heard rumors that Paris empties out in August. As it turns out, the rumors are largely true. But before you start envisioning a Parisian ghost town—tumbleweeds rolling down the Champs-Elysées—take it from us: August is a wonderful time to be in Paris. As many locals head to the coast and many businesses close up for the month, you can feel the city’s pulse slow down. Traffic decreases, picnickers multiply, people become friendlier, they linger in parks and enjoy balmy evenings on café terraces throughout the city. In August, Paris settles and simply enjoys itself.

In the past, many tourists have avoided the month of August, deterred by the fear that many restaurants and businesses might be closed, or that Paris in August is not the “real” Paris. Nowadays, there is no need to worry about such things. While the “August atmosphere” is more relaxed and unhurried, there is plenty to do during this wonderful month; and many locals believe it’s actually the best moment to take advantage of the city.  In addition, visitors can often find special deals and lower rates at this time of the year.

Photo Erica Berman – Park in Paris in August

Restaurants & Food: Neither locals nor visitors go hungry in August. While some restaurants close for part (or all) of the month, many stay open to receive tourists and locals alike. If you have a specific restaurant in mind, it’s always best to reserve ahead. If you’re not pressed for time, stroll around and see what you stumble upon! Some of Paris’ best food can be found in restaurants that are slightly off the beaten path.

August is also a wonderful time to take advantage of fresh produce by cooking for yourself. Open-air markets (such as Place Monge and Blvd Raspail) maintain their regular schedules. And famous food streets (rue Mouffetard in the 5^th, rue Cler in the 7^th) welcome hungry visitors. Some food shops may close for select days in August, but in general, they will coordinate their closings with other shops in the neighborhood, so as not to inconvenience the locals. If you do find that your favorite boulangerie has closed for the day, chances are you won’t have to look far for another. August is a great time to discover culinary secrets that you would have otherwise missed!

Shopping and Museums: While some small, privately owned boutiques may close during August, Paris’ large department stores (BHV, Le Bon Marché, Printemps, Galeries Lafayette) remain open, as do most larger boutiques and international chains. All major museums such as the Louvre, the Musée d’Orsay, and the Rodin Museum maintain their regular hours.

Statue in the garden at the Musée Rodin. Photo by Tory Hoen (more…)

I have seen the future of the automobile - and it’s sleek, sexy and fast as hell. It’s also environmentally-friendly.

On Monday, I took part in the annual Eco-Rally from Brighton to London. It’s a showcase for the new technologies that are greening automobiles of all shapes and sizes.

On a day of wind and patchy sunshine, fifteen of us drove a convoy of state-of-the-art sedans, sports cars and vans from the south coast of England to City Hall beside Tower Bridge in London. Our vehicles were powered by everything from solar energy to electricity to vegetable oil – with petrol and diesel often playing a part, too (think hybrids). Many of the cars were built using green materials and methods.

What does all this have to do with Slow?

Quite a lot, actually. We have allowed traffic to blight our towns and cities. A central plank of the Slow revolution is to take back the streets from the automobile.

That means a lot less driving and a lot more walking, cycling, scootering, rollerblading, street football and parties, road hockey, etc. Building a strong public transport network should be a top priority for every politician. As should cutting carbon emissions.

When it comes to cars, less is more.

But let’s be honest: there will always be a need (not to mention a desire) for private automobiles that can shuttle us from A to B. The key then is to make these vehicles as green as possible. And that is were the Eco-Rally comes in.

On Monday, I drove the Lotus Eco Elise. It’s a zippy, no-nonsense roadster with an engine that growls like an irked lion. The interior is lined with hemp and eco-wool.

My passenger was the clever and rather beautiful founder of a green consultancy. So picture the scene: hot car, hot blonde, heading-for-middle-age me at the wheel.

I felt like I’d stumbled into someone’s mid-life crisis. Possibly my own.

But the highlight of the day was taking the Tesla for a spin. There is only one word for this car: Wow! It is totally electric and almost completely silent, which means zero air and noise pollution. It also looks like something James Bond would drive, neatly obliterating the old saw that eco-friendly means boring and worthy.

And did I mention that the Tesla is mind-blowingly quick? We’re talking 0-60 MPH in 3.9 seconds. I have never felt acceleration like it. This is the kind of G-force you experience in a souped-up supercar, or a jet fighter.

The Tesla is a breakthrough. Okay, it costs a small fortune. But it shows that we can build zero-emission cars without sacrificing style, performance or sex appeal. And already a cheaper four-door model is coming to market.

But what about all that speed?

As an advocate of Slow, I certainly felt a pang of guilt climbing into the Tesla. But I have to admit that the unease didn’t last long. After the first surge of acceleration, I was whooping like a teenager on a rollercoaster. It was a bit terrifying, but also hugely exhilarating.

Can drivers be trusted with that kind of power at their fingertips? Can I be trusted? I have my doubts.

Which probably means I should stop fantasizing about getting a Tesla for Christmas …

Just back from nine glorious days in a cottage in a forest by the sea in Sweden. Swimming in the Baltic, soccer on the sandy beach, eating under the stars. It was heaven.

A big part of the charm was that we never once looked at a screen of any size: no email, no Internet, no phones, no TV.

Which made me wonder: is unplugging now the ultimate luxury?

Of course, being online can be wonderful. We are hardwired to be curious and to connect and communicate. The problem is that in a world of limitless information and constant access to other people, we often don’t know when to stop.

Being “always on” is exhausting and superficial. It erodes our producitivity. It locks us into what one Microsoft research called a state of “continuous partial attention.”

That’s why a backlash is gathering steam.

Consider the rise of the Slow Technology movement.

Or the response to news that more airlines are planning to allow travelers to use mobile phones and surf the Internet during flights.

You would expect a roar of applause from passengers desperate to stay connected in the air.  But the opposite is true. A recent survey of business travelers - the Crackberry demographic - found that 91.2% were against wiring up flights for phone and Internet use.

Why? Because the plane is now the final frontier, the last place on earth where you can completely disconnect, where you can forget about your inbox and voicemail. A place to doze, doodle and daydream. A place where your time is truly your own.

One frequent flyer I know puts it this way: “I hate flying but I look forward to flights now because it’s the only time when no one can bother or interrupt me. These days I do some of my best thinking on planes.”

And of course there is another compelling reason to resist the wiring up of flights: Can you imagine anything worse than being woken by someone in the next seat shouting ”I’m on an airplane!” into a handset?

For more thoughts on this, check out my piece in the current issue of Vodafone Receiver.

The sun rose over the distant, dusty hills as a chubby chap in bowtie and peaked hat ushered us on board the Chihuahua al Pacifico Train.  This was the start of our 655km journey from the deserts of Central North Mexico to the Pacific coast, one of the most beautiful and evocative train journeys in the world.

The train leaves at 7am, so the first part of the journey, leaving town, is the best time to catch a little extra kip.  When we opened our eyes an hour later, dry, rocky mountains scattered with yucca, cacti and scrub surrounded us.   A cowboy in a white laminated stetson sauntered lazily along a dirt track.  In front of him lay the skull and bones of a cow lying in the charred remains of a scrubland fire.  On the other side of the line more fortunate cattle grazed on yellow grass.  Large black vultures with red beaks sat on fence posts either with wings akimbo to soak up the morning sun or a beady eye on the passing train.  This was cowboy country.

Hanging out of the vestibule windows we drank in the cold, fresh mountain air while the sun beat down on our faces.  Aside from the rushing of the wind, the outside world was eerily quiet.  Inside it was as noisy as a pig in a tin box.  The wheels on the train screeched and clanked as we meandered uphill, dragging the four carriages from an altitude of 1,600 to 2,400 metres. 

A man with a large automatic weapon strapped across his shoulder patrolled the carriages, accompanied by a handful of private security guards.  It certainly looked like bandit country outside, so maybe they really were expecting a hold-up.  A vendor with a sports bandage across his large nose followed, taking pictures of passengers on an ancient Polaroid camera, then niftily turned them into souvenir keyrings. 

Food and drink was available in the standing only buffet car where you can surf the ride as you slurp a coffee.  At the stations, burritos, tamales and drinks were on sale through the train windows. 

We broke the sixteen hour journey with a night in Creel, a small dusty railroad town nestled in canyon country.  With its tin roofed houses, crisp, cold air and mix of cave dwelling, loin-cloth wearing Tarahumara (the indigenous population) and cowboy locals, it is worth at least an overnight stay.  After a short tour to see the best views of the Copper Canyon itself - views that rival the Grand Canyon - we waited at the next station down the line, Divisidero.  The train turned up two hours late due to pranksters having parked an upturned car on the track further up the line. 

However, Divisidero is a congenial place to spend some time with wonderful canyon views, colourful Tarahumara weaving and selling baskets, and rows of gordita stalls.  These wonderful little maize pockets stuffed with beans, cheese and a stew of your choice are cooked fresh on hot plates on top of oil-can wood stoves. 

We were overjoyed to hear the toot of our train echo through the hills and finally pull into the station, only for our bubble to be quickly burst when the carriage attendant told us the train was full.  We were allowed on, but had to sit on the floor of the buffet car amongst piles of locals, gringos, luggage and gordita remains. 

The train plodded onwards through rocky forested canyons and creeks, stopping at length to let the eastbound trains pass (for this is a single track railway) and juddering to regular halts.  The views should have been amazing as we traversed wild, canyon terrain, but due to the delays the sun set all too soon and plunged us into darkness.  The popping of our water bottles was now the only indication of the long descent down to sea-level. 

Finally ensconced in comfy reclining seats with plenty of leg room, we slept.  We woke at 2am in Los Mochis on the Pacific Coast.  The train was four and a half hours late.  Deciding there was little point in checking into a hostel for only a few hours, we jumped in a taxi and headed to the bus station to try and continue our epic journey on an overnight bus south. 

[This is an excerpt taken from Lara and Tom’s travels around the world without flying.  For more information about their adventures visit www.worldinslowmotion.com]

It is one thing to talk about slowing down. It is another to do it.

Ever since In Praise of Slow came out, readers have been urging me to hold a retreat where people can come together to explore and live the ideas in the book.

Finally, the time has come to take the plunge.

I will be running a Slow Retreat in a 17th-century farmhouse in Italy in October 2009. Click here for more details….