Pithy me

Yes, I've been absent. Yes, I have a good excuse. Not really, but I've been finding it difficult to feel adequate in making my daily life interesting reading material. I guess the routine and the diminished budget have made the exciting excursions fewer and farther between making me feel like I've got less to tell. That and the fact that I dropped my laptop and gave the screen huge black spots so that I can only use half of it. Lovely.

Anyway, my wise friend Deb asked me recently why I wasn't blogging anymore, and I answered with the explanation you just read, and being wise, Deb explained that duh, I don't have to write long posts--just a little something would do. Et voilà, the idea to be pithy instead of feeling the need to be wordy, my usual inclination, as you know.

Maybe my shorter entries will be even more interesting. I hope so because I'd hate for my reader(s) to start sounding like French people commenting to everyone who makes a positive observation about something (anything really) that in fact, "c'était mieux avant" - that is to say "it was better before." Before what? Who knows. But whatever "it" is, it was better before. You think it's lovely, charming, delicious, etc. now? Was better before. I had heard over and over how very French this saying is, but I'd never heard anyone actually say it. Until today...

...when I went to the cute village of Suresnes to coach a couple of fantastic French women executives who need to improve their professional English. What fun they were! And how cute is Suresnes!? You can see the Eiffel Tower from the train station, and there are lovely churches and an adorable square where apparently every business person in Suresnes lunches. Beginning at precisely 1:00.

I was sitting on a bench in this very square enjoying a simple but flavor-packed sandwich on a slightly salty baguette when the older gentleman at the other end of the bench decided to chat me up. He asked what kind of work I did, and I explained. He asked where I lived, and I said Paris. And at some point in our conversation, I mentioned how pretty I found the little square to be. And I kid you not, my impromptu lunch companion responded with a real life "c'était mieux avant." I responded with a smile. It's true. They actually do say that. Well, at least one does.

Where have I BEEN?

Where indeed? Oh, you know...life happens. School started, and my days started becoming less about exploring Paris and more about going to school, eating (ok, still eating fabulous things in Paris), doing homework, looking for a job, oh yeah--doing a little dating (sometimes a LOT of dating), and there was less that 1) seemed like it would be interesting enough to share and 2) that I was willing to share (see dating reference above).

But now I feel the urge to update. So...what have I been doing? Well, the first swing through La Sorbonne was quite good. Loved my professeur--she was fantastic. My friend Quynh and I met for many lunchs and dinners and wanderings through this fair city. Then in July Quynh went back to Seattle. Tears. Hugs. And technology, so luckily we still email frequently and skype occasionally.

Dated a guy for a couple of months then realized it wasn't going anywhere, but luckily we liked each other enough as people to remain friends. He is one of my best friends (maybe my best) here. I am so very thankful for him. So then I started dating a close friend of his who is adorable but not terribly available, so nothing serious there...yet. Hoping for improvement in that situation, but in the meantime, I'm also seeing other people and have met some nice guys. No chemistry with any of them so far, but nice people to know. And it seems they're mostly open to being friends when things don't work out in the romance department, so that's good too.

School has been a bit of a disappointment lately. I took an intensive course in August, and the professeur was awful. Taking another course now, and while the professeur is better, she's not even close to being as good as the first one. I am spoiled, I know. But my French is improving, and I even find myself able to have entire conversations in French. Even on the phone! I called my cell phone company today to ask about using my phone while I'm in the US for Christmas (that's right...I'm coming your way!), and I had the entire conversation with the rep in French. Even more impressive, I understood her, and she understood me! No easy feat, my friends. Especially over the phone. So I'm learning something at La Sorbonne.

Work...I got a job! Ok, it's a part-time job, but it pays decently, and it's in my field. I'm teaching at a business school here two mornings a week. I teach business communications to 3rd year university students and conflict management, negotiations, and leadership communication to 4th year (MBA 1 they call it) students. Am hoping to get more hours starting in January. Have to work more...have to earn more money. Or win the lottery, and since I have no idea how to play the French lottery, I'm thinking marry rich or earn more money working. (I vote for the 1st, but it is rather out of my hands as I am a "love" girl and could never marry for money. Although if I fell in love with a rich man...)

France won qualification to the world cup or some such thing one night this week...football (soccer in the US) and I think they partied ALL night long. I heard horns blowing, yelling, hollering, and all sorts of partying until the wee hours. The Irish (opponents) aren't in agreement with the win, and they've asked to play the game again...in Paris. I say, "no please, if you play it again, please do it in Ireland...or further away if possible. At least have the kindness to put an ocean or at least a channel between us." Doubt seriously that France is going to take them up on it.

And for all of you who like Bart Simpson's reference to the French as "cheese-eating surrender monkeys," I have a funny. My students, most of whom are French, speak English relatively well, but often there will be a few words that they do not know in a text that I've given them to read. This week two French students asked me the meaning of the word "surrender." I did not crack a smile.

French mosquito

It would seem that even moving all the way to another continent has not accomplished something that I had really hoped it would...mosquitolessness. As I type, there is a French mosquito flying around my apartment. I ALMOST had him too. Almost. You'd think that these two precious freeloaders who live with me would want to do something to, oh, I don't know, earn their keep, but no. I "sicked" Potter on the mosquito, and he just curled up next to me and started purring. Something didn't translate.

It's my fault really, but who can blame me for having both the kitchen window and balcony doors open on this beautiful 70-something degree evening? It was gorgeous here today, and none too soon because it has been chilly and rainy for the last two weeks, and I have been anxiously awaiting the return of spring. I hope it's here to stay this time. Except I may have just seen lightning...or a nuclear attack in the distance. Hard to tell which, but it's bound to become evident fairly soon.

But what else besides confirmation of French mosquitos is there to update you on? Well, not much. I have been seeing "this guy" for a couple of weeks, but it's too soon to comment on that other than to say that he's a nice guy and we'll see. School is almost out...a week and a half of class then an oral exam followed by a three-hour written exam. Yikes! I have GOT to spend some serious time studying. What else...oh...I'm going to the French Open! Cool, huh? I'm excited!

Went to a party Saturday night for a friend who turned 40, and as he was born in 1969, he decided on a Woodstock theme. I'll post pix when I get them...my friend Quynh took a few of us "decorating" ourselves in the restaurant bathroom before heading to the party. We drew peace symbols and psychedelic flowers on our arms, and I had a fab wrap-thingy around my head and a tie-die t-shirt (that I paid only 10 euro for). But unlike 1969, there was no weed being passed around, and I didn't see any 'shrooms or other hallucinogenics. We had a few jello shots though and were lousy with cupcakes. We are SO in our forties.

Otherwise, I have nothing of great interest to report. My French is improving, but I am impatient and tired of being an illiterate. I still LOVE it here, and I wake up every day excited. That's a great feeling and one that I think is rather uncommon for most people over, say 5 years old. Which is appropriate since I felt like a five year old on Tuesday when I fell in the middle of the wet, muddy street and hit body parts in this order: knees, hands, chin, nose, forehead, head, arm, leg, butt. Seriously, all that was going through my mind was, "when am I going to stop falling?!?!?" It was ridiculous. In my defense, I think my purse which, in addition to the normal purse contents, had three books and a dictionary in it, flipped over me and pulled me down further than I would have fallen without it. I walked home a good six to eight blocks with a dirt-smeared, scratched up face, muddy hands, knees, leg, head, and butt, and a pitiful look, and what do you know, but I ran into two of my neighbors in the hall. It's rare that I see any of my neighbors, but I guess it's somebody's law that you must see your neighbors when you look like you've been rolling in the street. Scabs are forming now, so pretty soon it'll just be a bad little memory.

So other than close encounters with the asphalt, things are going swimmingly. And we've just entered another three day weekend which is the second in a row. May has three, maybe four holidays. I love France. So since what I saw earlier was apparently lightning and not a nuclear attack, I'll have three days in which to do some much needed studying. I'll also spend some time walking around this gorgeous city, maybe having a dinner or two out, enjoying the gardens, monuments, churches, the Seine, and all of the beauty that this fabulous place has to offer. I wish you a lovely weekend too!

Amsterdam...splein

Bright and early Saturday morning, I caught the train to Amsterdam. Bleary-eyed, I made my way to car 18 and showed the email confirming my reservation to the agent standing by the door. Although I had signed up for ticketless travel, my train card, which isn't sent until you book a trip, had not arrived in time, so per Thalys' instructions, I printed the email confirming my purchase and took it with me. What followed was a little French bureaucratic lunacy. I showed my email to the agent standing at the door of my car, and he advised me that I would need to go back to car 12 or 13 and show the train manager my email because he couldn't let me on. The train manager was very friendly and laughed that the agent wouldn't let me on the train. Said, "it's no problem!" and initialed my email. I made my way back to car 18 and boarded the train. Ten minutes into the trip, as I walked to the bathroom, the same train manager stopped me and asked for my ticket. So I showed him the same email and said "uh, it's ticketless," and he said, "oh yes, this one." Yet he STILL stood there examining the email--the one bearing HIS initials--for a good two minutes then punched the code into his little machine and read the response (I presume saying that yes, indeed, my ticket was still valid) before returning the email to me and telling me I was free to go to the bathroom. Two more times on this trip, the French agents checked tickets. Each time they spent several minutes reading the email and reflecting on...something before saying "ok" and moving on. Interestingly enough, when we boarded in Amsterdam, they didn't even check tickets, and when they did check tickets thirty minutes into the trip, the agent simply looked at my email for fifteen seconds, smiled, thanked me, and handed it back to me.



Four hours later, I was in Amsterdam, and it was beautiful. I took the tram from Central Station to the hotel--a ten to fifteen minute journey through the city. I woke Melina who had flown all night and had not slept, and we were off. We found lunch in an Irish pub that I would not recommend, but we were both hungry, and it was nearby. We spent the afternoon walking through the streets, along the canals, through Dam Square, through the red light district, past churches, through the beautiful flower market, etc. The buildings and the canals which run all through the city are so charming. Found a cute restaurant and had a delicious dinner. Our waiter spoke English (as does about 95% of the population), and thank goodness for that because the Dutch language is not easy to figure out. To my American eyes and ears, there seem to be lots of extra letters, and everything seems to end in "splein" or "en" or some other common syllable. Melina and I had quite a few laughs speaking our version of Dutch...our mouths just can't make the sounds.

Oh, and the bikes. They really DO bike all over the place. It's a little dangerous to be a pedestrian in Amsterdam because when there's not a bike coming toward you, there's a tram coming toward you. And while traffic congestion wasn't a problem, crossing the street took a lot of concentration as you had to look every imaginable way with every step. Following is a picture of the "staff parking lot" at the Concertgebuow (Concert Hall) near our hotel.

The next morning we made our way to The Pancake Bakery for breakfast. Pancakes are huge in Amsterdam, and this place was recommended as touristy but good. Melina ordered the bacon pancake, and much to her disgust, I ordered the bacon and banana pancake. Yum. Sweet and salty...delish.

After breakfast we visited Anne Frank's hiding place. It's called the Frank House, but it was really Otto Frank's place of business. The family moved into an area in the back of the building called the annex when they went into hiding. You know how emotional I am, and it was really a challenge to keep it together, but I did in spite of the fact that it was so deeply moving to be there, to be in the place where they hid in order to simply remain alive, to hear Otto Frank, the only one of the four to survive the war, talk about his daughter, to read Anne's words in every room--her hopes, dreams, and fears--and to know her fate. She wanted to be a writer. Sad to have a dream come true and not even be alive to experience it. We cannot forget how this thing happened to so many people, but I am afraid we have short memories. It scares me because the world is a dangerous place, and making nice is not going to make it safer. Just ask Neville Chamberlain or Marshall Petain.

On to lighter things. We left the Frank House and walked around. The weather was a little chilly, but the sky was blue, the sun was shining, and all over the city flowers (yes, many, many tulips) were blooming so it was beautiful. Went to a bar in the red light district and had a drink. Our table by the window gave us a bird's eye view of two prostitute's doors, so we sat there for a while and watched the action. Craziness! The women stood in front of full-length glass doors in their undies and tried (some more than others) to entice gawkers into becoming customers. It was crazy to watch! These women were nice-looking, twenty-something girls. The bartender told us that they charge 50 Euro for 15 minutes, and they "see" two to three clients an hour. Oh. My. Gosh. He also said that the "clients" are rarely there for fifteen minutes, and sure enough, we timed two at 7 minutes each. Hilarious! The last guy that we saw go in was still there when we left about 10 minutes later, so I guess he's the exception that proves the rule. ;) Several times people--men and women--would stop and ask something of the girls. Of course, we couldn't hear the conversations, but I would have loved to. Interesting, crazy-interesting.

We left and did some shopping then headed to dinner at a Tex-Mex restaurant where our Mexican waiter kept us entertained with his flirting and his jokes. Afterward we went to another pancake place for dessert where we had poffertjes: quarter-sized pancakes covered in syrup and powdered sugar. That's right...we had pancakes twice in one day. When in Rome...

The next day we just walked around a bit and ate, of course. My train left for Paris a little after two, and as good as it was to see Melina and as beautiful as Amsterdam was, I was ready to be home. On the way back I saw one of the most amazingly beautiful views--field after field of row after row of beautiful, colorful, vibrant tulips! Oh how I wish I could have taken a picture! There were also many fields of sheep and tiny little lambs...so sweet. And somewhere in Belgium, I saw a trailer that was painted like an American flag. Fantastic!

Controverses

Today I visited the Bibliotheque Nationale de France to see an expo called Controverses which is being billed as "a legal and moral history of photography." The photos in this exhibit have been the subject of controversy--ethical, moral, and or legal, and some were not easy to look at. Several were at the center of litigation--like the one of a 13-year old nude Brooke Shields that her mother ok'd back in the day and that Brooke later decided she didn't want out there for all to see. Litigation followed, but Brooke lost. Another was of Angelina Jolie and a horse, and the horse seemed to be nuzzling at Angelina's bare breast...a little icky innuendo that apparently the Swiss decided was too much for them. There were a few others of naked children that were not pornographic to a non-perv, but if I were a parent, I wouldn't want the same pix taken of my child. And there was a Mapplethorpe self-portrait that I won't even begin to describe here. All I can say is eeewww. It got a couple of art curators sued, but they won. Art? That's debatable.

But the interesting photos were more historical, and the controversies surrounding them were more ethical in nature. For example, there were two pictures of Stalin--one with the head of his secret police and one without. Apparently, once the guy fell out of favor, he was retouched right out of the photo. There's another that was retouched to make the Soviets look good (the original showed that they had been looting), but no one who reads this blog will be surpised by a little manipulation of the facts, or photos in this case, by the leaders of the Soviet Union. There was the one of Hitler--dead in the bunker. And the one of a journalist taking a bath in Hitler's bathtub shortly thereafter. She had been to Dachau that day, and although she was criticized for the bath, she said she had to get the smell of the concentration camp off of her skin. I can't even imagine. Speaking of Dachau, there were horrible photos of emaciated bodies at Bergen-Belsen...piled high and far. There was a propoganda photo of concentration camp inmates supposedly working peacefully and happily. The concentration camp ones were, as always, difficult to look at, and the controversies around some were related to the timing of their publication--too early and other lives might be at stake. Tell the story so all can know the truth, or wait for a better time? Thought provoking. And heartbreaking.


There was one that I had never seen. Have you? It's of a human hand lying on the ground...at ground zero on 9/11. Severed from its body. You can see the arm bone. It is horrific, and apparently the NY Daily News published it, much to the horror of all who saw it. I never heard about the controversy surrounding the publication of this picture and didn't even know of its existence, but it was shocking to see and, to be honest, sickening. Sad and so real. It was the only 9/11 photo in the expo.

There was the last picture taken of Princess Diana on the night she died--not the one of her dying, so I should say the next to last picture, I suppose. You can only see the top of her head, but you can see the faces of her driver and bodyguard--the photo is taken as if the photographer is sitting on the hood of the car looking straight in. I was relieved not to see the other one, but this one was controversial because of the fact that her death was blamed on the paparazzi hounding them that night--doing things like perching on the hood of the car to get a photo.


There were so many others--about 80 photos I think, and I'd love to tell you about all of them, but sadly, I don't remember all of them. There was the one that we've probably all seen of the US soldier who was dragged through the streets of Mogadishu after his black hawk helicopter was shot down. The one of the little Vietnamese girl running naked through the street after being napalmed. Heartbreaking. There were horrific pictures from the Spanish Civil War, from Somalia, and from other far away places where people suffer.


While many showed terrible things, all of the photos weren't sad. There was the one of Buzz Aldrin standing on the moon. Very cool. There was the famous Doisneau photo of the French couple kissing in front of the Hotel de Ville after WWII. Beautiful to see. Always makes me smile.

Picture taking wasn't allowed (is that irony or something else?), and words really don't do this show justice. Below is a link, in French, and a few of the photos are included. Warning--the hand is one of the photos here. Maybe seeing a photo of the photo on a computer won't bother you, but just know that it is there. Finally, I don't know if this show will make it to the US, but if it does, please go see it. Or...come see me before the end of May, and we'll go see it together.


http://lunettesrouges.blog.lemonde.fr/2009/03/16/controverses/

Rugby!

Today another first...my first rugby match! And was it ever cool. We thought we'd start by joining some folks for a pre-match picnic outside the stadium. It sounded like a great idea. Allen brought some beers, and I brought some melt-in-your mouth Brillat Savarin cheese, some delicious chevre, & two fresh baguettes. Unfortunately, the people that "host" the picnic went to another local game earlier and had their picnic there. With no picnic to join, we just made our own--right outside gate Z. And it was de-lish.

Once inside we found our seats. Allen's friend who got us the tix is a rugby fiend (she's from Ireland), and she got us tickets in the supporters section, so we were on row 10. As in tenth row from the field. Excellent, and for only 7 euros each! Next it was time for my intro to rugby. For starters, I was wondering what all the pink was about. Turns out it's the Paris team's color! Pink! For a sports team. Ha...would never find that in the US...not for a men's team anyway. And believe it or not, for ONCE I was actually wearing the right color. I had pulled out a pink scarf for some reason, and it was even the right shade of pink. See post-match picture for proof.

(Yes, I took the picture of myself so you could see just how perfect my scarf was!)

Next were the pre-match antics. We had missed most of these as we were outside enjoying our picnic, but what we did catch was...confusing. Again, pix for illustration follow, but here's what we saw. Girls in red feathered outfits doing a little dance. Looked to me like they'd gotten lost on the way to the Moulin Rouge. People dressed in...Star Wars outfits. First were the storm troopers. Next came the jedis (I'm no Star Wars fan, so if I'm calling someone the wrong name, desolee). This parade of characters included a giant rugby ball (looked like an egg to me) standing on end and making its way to the center of the field. Once it arrived, the ball/egg opened, and who do you think was hanging out inside? That's right...Darth Vader. He looked around a bit, then the whole gang of star warriors left the field and made a lap around the outside of the field--in front of the seats. Then there was the guy on the motorbike that rode around the outside of the field a few times as smoke bombs went off all around the field. "Pow! Pow! Pow! Vroom, vroom, vroom!" Finally, right before the match began, there were gold streamers released and pink and blue blower things waving in the air. (see below.) And what does any of this have to do with rugby? Seriously, I still have no idea. It was random...and hilarious.

The fans cheered and waved giant pink flags, then the match began. The boys in pink (and blue, but mostly pink) came onto the field, and their opponents, the Clermont team, in yellow and blue came out. The match itself was really interesting. It's fun to watch and quite a bit different from either soccer or American football. It went by incredibly fast--two halves of 40 mins each and a brief half-time, and the game started at 4:30 and ended at 6:15. Amazing! I couldn't believe it when it was over! They rarely stop the clock or the match, and there's no constant coaching going on. They get out on the field, and they PLAY! Hard.

(Check out the huddle under the pink goal post. They don't have their pink shirts on b/c this was pre-match, but you can see their pink socks and the next one shows a few of the players in full uniform...no pads either!)

(I've included this one so you can see the players in their full uniforms, but you can also see the jedi people doing their walkaround as the game begins...weird.)

The fans are great, and if it weren't for all of the French that you heard--from fight songs, to chants, to random chatter and the smoking in the stands (I mean, c'mon, really?), they could be mistaken for US football fans. Except that so many were wearing pink. But one thing that struck me as funny was that they don't necessarily cheer when American fans would cheer. For example, they cheer when their team scores, but they don't cheer when the opponent fails to score. There's a little teasing among the fans, but it's very civilized. And they are VERY happy when their team wins. And very civilized when their team loses, if a little sad looking.

Paris led the game up until the last ten or fifteen minutes, then Clermont came out ahead & won. Bummer for my pink friends. After the match, there were fireworks, and they were pretty great. They were right there on the field, so I tried to take a picture but it was just smoke. Yes, THAT close. But very cool.

So we left, Paris defeated but not deflated. And as we made our way to the metro station, we realized that there was no way we were getting on a train any time soon. Apparently the few capitalists in Paris have made the most of this reality and have opened up state fair like tents selling food and beer post-match. Very cool, but we decided to walk around a little and see what we could find. We found a tea salon & had some mint tea and a little pastry, and about an hour later when we made our way back to the metro station, we had no trouble getting on a train and heading home.

It was a lot of fun, and I'll definitely go back. Enjoy the crazy pics!

Amazing, Comforting, Magical

Once again, it has been a while since I've blogged. There hasn't been much movement in my life, but there are a few things worth sharing.

First, the amazing. Yesterday I was leaving the last RER (train) station that I travel through on my way to school. This station always, always, always smells like urine. There's a homeless guy who sleeps in there from time to time, so I just figured, you know, it's his. There's no official toilet in there, you see. Apparently, though, there's an unofficial toilet as yesterday I saw a woman take her daughter to the corner & pull down her pants so she could pee. In the corner. Of the train station. On the floor. Amazing.

Next, the comforting. Remember the time that the guy on the metro was asking (a little persistently) if he could kiss me? Remember that I said the three guys sitting opposite us seemed to be watching me to gauge my reaction, & that I felt like they would intervene if they felt they needed to? Well, today I saw a group of French guys intervene exactly where they needed to. These three young adults/teenagers, two girls and one guy, were in the RER station, & they were arguing rather loudly. The guy was making somewhat threatening gestures toward one girl when he decided to go ahead & start hitting her. ALL OF A SUDDEN there were five guys running toward this scuffle, ranging in age from twenties to fifties. The guy in his fifties was at the front of the group, and he immediately grabbed the guy, pulling him away from the girls. The other four guys were right there with him, and the group of them saw to it that he immediately stopped his assault. It was comforting to see how quickly and decisively they acted. They did not hesitate to get involved. You hear stories all the time about people not wanting to get involved, but these five guys RAN to get involved. It almost brought tears to my eyes, and it made me feel really good about French men in general. I've seen them carry strollers up and down metro stairs for women they didn't know. I've seen them give up metro seats (or at least offer) to women they didn't know. I've seen them give money to the homeless people in the metro stations. And now I've seen them run to the aid of a girl who probably went right back to the jerk. But they did their part. God love 'em.

Finally, the magical. So often I think, "I wish I could upload the soundtrack of my life to my blog." In addition to the predictable city sounds, many which are fantastic, there are so many unpredictable and beautiful sounds that color my days. For instance, earlier this week I happened upon a group of musicians playing in the Place Collette near the Louvre. This "place" is just a tiny bit of cement at an intersection. I love strings, the violin in particular, so this was a special treat for me.

Happening upon muscians (or musicians happening upon you) is not a rare treat, however. I hear unexpected music almost daily. In the metro trains, in the metro stations, on street corners, in parks...almost any public place is likely to feature talented musicians from time to time. Today, as I sat on a sun-drenched terrace enjoying lunch, I started to hear music. From where though...? Ah...across the street. At a bus stop? Yep. A band...like a high school marching band! Standing there playing the theme from Austin Powers. And I had the best seat in the house. The waiter, also enjoying the music, said to me "On va dancer?" (Shall we dance?) And of course, I replied, "Ah, oui!" And of course, we didn't. For over an hour, they played random music that made me smile, and they were still playing when I left to head to phonetics class.

I also love the sounds of the vendors trying to entice me to buy their strawberries or taste their mangoes. I love the sound of my teacher saying, "O-bli-ga-toire!" and "Toujours, toujours, toujours!" I love hearing a French person speaking English. And a special treat is a Frenchperson who learned English outside of France--the French/South African/Australian accent is crazy beautiful. There are so many other sounds--gigantic doors squeaking, trains rushing by, the crazy sirens...and so many others that I can't even name them all. Which is why I wish I could just record a day & upload the soundtrack to my life here. It's worth sharing.

Speaking of sharing, I'm attaching some pictures that will serve as proof that spring is trying its best to come to Paris! All from the Jardin du Luxembourg, one of the most beautiful spots in Paris.

Possibilities

Although I didn't blog yesterday, there were so many possible things to blog about that I made a list...


I could blog about the fact that my lunchtime beverage cost more than my meal...my meal being a fantastic cheese plate and my beverage being a rather LARGE glass of vin rouge. I thought about saying that I had eaten more cheese at lunch than the average American eats in a month. And I even thought about adding that I ate more GOOD cheese than the average American eats EVER.

I could have mentioned that I had a buzz at 3:00 in the afternoon (thank you LARGE vin rouge) and that I had phonetics lab at 4:30. (Thank goodness the test was the day before!) Thought about mentioning how I walked into the Jardin du Luxembourg (one of the most beautiful spots in Paris) and did a very French thing by taking two chairs (one for my bum, one for my feet) then spent an hour just soaking up the sun, also very French, and enjoying the view of this statue's cute little butt...not bad for stone! And yes, that's the Eiffel Tower in the distance.



Could mention that I just experienced the shortest relationship in my history (so far)...two weeks from start to finish. And if you're wondering, "what the...?" you are not alone. S'ok though. Really.

Thought about mentioning how much I enjoyed wearing my new red coat yesterday...made in Italy, purchased in Paris, & worn with great joy and more than a little flair. Considered mentioning the world class chocolate I picked up after leaving the Jardin du Luxembourg and snacked on as I walked to class through the beautiful streets of Paris.

Even considered mentioning how much more I love this place by the day.

But since I didn't blog yesterday, I'll just tell you about today...today I finally got it..."the card that keeps me from getting deported." Yes! I got my carte de sejour, so I'm not only legal, I'm legal to work!

Ah yes...work. And the inevitable end to days spent lunching on cheese and wine, lingering in the gardens of Paris while luxuriating in the warmth of the Paris sun, and taking leisurely walks to class while enjoying dark chocolate with a caramel center.

Wait a minute...

Found things

This week I found a restaurant that you must try when you're in Paris. If you're coming to see me, we will definitely make a reservation for A La Biche Au Bois at 45, Av Ledru Rollin, tel: 01 43 43 34 38, (M: Gare de Lyon). The food is delicious, and the staff is delightful! They have a fabulous 4 course prix fixe menu that includes a cheese course to knock your socks off. I started with a delicious salade nicoise that would have been enough for me, but I moved on to one of their beautiful steaks which was good but not as good as the rich, mushroomy, winey coq au vin my friend Peter ordered. YUM! The aforementioned cheese course followed, and we ended the meal with a round of heavenly desserts. I had read about the Ile Flottant (floating island), so that's what I chose. It was a perfect meringue, topped with a light but divine sauce (caramel sauce?) and set afloat in a sea of creme anglaise. It was so delicious but so light that as full as I was, I managed to polish off at least half of it. Like I said, this restaurant should definitely go on your to-do list. My friend Quynh took this picture of the awesome cheese plate.



Earlier in the week I had dinner at Chez Michel. The food was good and the staff was nice. Their cheese course was much smaller than the one at A La Biche, but it included this salted butter that we all fell head over heels in love with--so much so that we left with four containers of it. It's the Yves Bordier butter that I had read about, and it did not disappoint. Needless to say, all week long I've started my days with toasted baguette, divine butter, and apricot jam. Except for the risk of heart disease, what's not to love about THAT breakfast? I also had a dessert of pears and sorbet that was quite tasty.

On another topic, I found this little gem on my new favorite blog, http://joannagoddard.blogspot.com/.

"I must learn to love the fool in me--the one who feels too much, talks too much, takes too many chances, wins sometimes and loses often, lacks self-control, loves and hates, hurts and gets hurt, promises and breaks promises, laughs and cries. It alone protects me against that utterly self-controlled, masterful tyrant whom I also harbor and who would rob me of human aliveness, humility, and dignity but for my fool." -- Theodore I. Rubin, MD

I think I already love the fool in me plenty, but I liked this nonetheless. And if you are looking for a delightful blog to add to your list, check out the link. It's really for the girls, so fellas you'll have to wait until I run across a more appropriately masculine blog for you.

And one more thing I found this week...just how easy it is to skip those Friday afternoon conferences. So very easy indeed.

Soiree chez Michel

Last night I went to a meetup that I hadn't been to before. It's called "dinner time is talk time," and it's a big dinner party with one house rule: half the time we speak only French, and half the time anything but French. Rebel that I am, I didn't follow the rule completely although that was due in large part to the fact that my new friend Arnaud was dying to practice his English. Arnaud is a law student who spent some time in the US and wants to live in New York. We decided that there should be a foreign exchange program for adults--he takes my place in the states, and I take his place here. Sounds fair, doesn't it? With Arnaud was Caroline who spoke such American sounding English that at first I mistook her for a fellow American. But no, she's French too and also a law student wishing to live and practice law in NY.

They were both so much fun...friendly, cute, funny, and so positive about the US. Caroline and I were talking about my prospects for working in France, and I was telling her about working in the US in adult education and, in particular, in sales education, and I was saying that the sales culture is different (perhaps non-existent) here. When I mentioned the different approaches to sales and my concern that perhaps no companies in France care to hire someone to train people in sales skills, her response was, "yes, but your system works!" Amazing...a French person who thinks the US system works. She added that maybe "some stupid French people" won't want to hear from me because they want to keep doing things their way, but she said there are companies that would appreciate my skills. I really enjoyed Caroline and Arnaud and spent much of the evening with the two of them.

I also saw my old friend Claude. Claude and I met at Jim Haynes' home several weeks ago. Claude is an old Frenchman (pretty darned old), and he is adorable. Speaks great English, lucky for me, although I spoke French with him more than with anyone else. He's very funny too. And I saw Antonio--I believe he's from Mexico--whom I had also met at another event although not the Jim Haynes event. Michael, the host, was awesome. In fact, I enjoyed this dinner party much more than the one at Jim Hayne's house, and here's the reason why: people were friendlier. And here's the reason for THAT: fewer Americans. Seriously, there were a bunch of Americans at Jim Haynes' house, and they were mostly younger. They were doing that American high school thing--get your little clicque early then don't let anyone else in. The Americans I did speak with at Jim's were all older, and there were a few French and a few English, but the group was mostly made up of younger Americans. On the contrary, the people at Michael's were all ages and from all over...and they were so much more interested in talking with everyone, regardless of anyone else's age or nationality. I talked with a ton of people--Russians, Swedes, French, Germans, and yes, even a couple of older Amerians who were great. It was just a more fun, friendly crowd, and when I mentioned, in response to someone's question about how I liked the event at Jim Haynes' home, that there were mostly younger Americans there, someone overheard and told us that only since the NPR story has that been the case. So maybe once the story has died down, I'll try Jim's party again.

As I was saying, Michael, the host, was awesome. When I found him at 10pm to say merci and au revoir, he whispered in my ear that a friend had brought a nice bottle of wine, and that there's a crowd that stays after everyone else leaves and that I should stay and enjoy the wine with them. I got invited to the "after-party"! I said ok and stayed for about another hour, but even then very few people had left, and I was exhausted. So again I said merci and au revoir and that I'd be back. It was a very fun evening.

I should have known that it would be a good evening. I had just left my apartment and was on my way to the metro station to head to Michael's house when I passed this older gentleman walking down the street. He looked right at me and said, "Quelle belle! Bonne soiree!" By the time I processed what he had said, we were past each other, so I turned around and he was looking at me smiling, so I said, "Merci! Bonne soiree!" and he smiled and said, "Ahhh" as if to say, "ah, she acknowledged and appreciated my compliment." Sweet. I love Paris.

Please Dress Up!

Not much to update you on today. Went to the Carnaval parade on Sunday, a parade which has been going on for over 500 years. I couldn't seem to get a good picture of any part of the parade even though I saw a great looking dragon and a couple of beautiful giant puppets. I do, however, have a cool triptych of sorts to show you. We were on our way to the parade when we came upon this great painting urging people to "PLEASE dress up." As you've no doubt heard, many of Paris' tourists are less than fashionable, and it really hurts the eyes of the locals to see so many sweatshirts, sweatsuits, and tennis shoes, not to mention, fanny packs. Ha! I love this painting, and my friend Allen suggested that I get the stoplight in the shot as well. He stood guard and made sure that no motorists took me out, while I stood in the middle of the narrow street to take the pix, and I actually got shots with green, yellow, and red lights. Very cool. Enjoy!

A fun Sunday followed by school, school, and more school

Wow...it has been a long time since I've posted anything. Although this week was filled with school this and school that, and I really had no social life at all until Friday, the week started off with a bang.

On Sunday I met my friends Quynh and Allen for lunch at the Paris Mosque. Very good food, very beautiful mosque. Afterward we walked around a bit and tried to go to an exhibit at the Jeu de Paume, but the line was ridiculous. Quynh was meeting some friends who were visiting from the US for dinner, so Allen and I decided to go to the Palais de Tokyo to see what was going on there. We were richly rewarded because the exhibits were fabulous...in a hilarious sort of way. There were four exhibits based on the HAARP scientific research program, a program that is apparently shrouded in mystery and is based in Gakona, Alaska. HAARP stands for High-frequency Active Auroral Research Program, and the program is funded by the military, adding to the air of mystery, bien sur. The works were interesting to say the least. There was one "piece" that consisted of a taped off square of floor; inside the square sat 15 metal chairs and an automatic lawnmower (like the vacuum cleaners that run themselves). The mower would stop at the tape & turn around (apparently there was wiring under the tape), but it didn't recognize the chairs, so it moved them around. Hmmh. It was sort of funny to watch, and we made some rather irreverant jokes about it, of course. Anyway, there was another piece which I'll include a picture of that we thought was hilarious. At the bottom was something (a generator? I don't know...you decide), and at the top were two umbrellas with their tips facing each other. Every ten minutes or so a loud horn would sound, and a blue electric current would run through the two tips of the umbrellas. Unfortunately, I didn't catch a picture with the blue streak of current, but you can use your imagination.

Anyway, laughter ensued, jokes were made, and we decided it was time to have a glass of wine or two in the bar that's part of the Palais. Afterward we popped down to the nearby Trocadero for the view of the Eiffel Tower. Talk about being richly rewarded...see for yourself.


Beautiful...

By the time we had dinner and headed home, it was 1:00 a.m.! So I got my social life in for the week a little early, I guess, knowing that the school week would be too busy for too much fun because...this was week two of school, and it was the first week of phonetics lab and conferences. I really did nothing all week except go to class, go to phonetics lab, rush to get to my conference while eating a sandwich on the run, spend lots of time on the metro, do some homework, and finally, take a test on Friday. Nothing social at all until dinner with Quynh on Friday, but we were both pretty exhausted, so even though there was a party starting at 11:30, we had both turned into pumpkins by then. Now, I know what you're thinking, and as I said, I'm not here to NOT do things, but don't worry...there'll be other (many other) parties to attend, so missing one is nothing to sweat over. Besides, yawning isn't my best look.

I'd have to say that the highlight of the school week was studying on Thursday while sitting in front of Notre Dame. I mean, if a girl's gotta study, she might as well have a spectacular view! It was cold but bearable in the sun, the sky was blue, the tourists (and gypsies trying to con them) were everywhere, and there I sat, studying French in front of this beautiful cathedral by the Seine. Life is good indeed.

The Graffiti Tour of Paris

Sometimes I feel like I'm on "the graffiti tour of Paris." It's everywhere, but the thing is, some of it is so good! Take, for instance, Jerome Mesnager. You already know how much I appreciate his art--well, on the way to class this week I ran across another graffiti artist whose work is worth sharing. His name is Jef Aerosol, and I found this painting behind the building where my classes are held. If you can see the picture, you'll recognize the folks in it. In case you can't, I'll tell you. Elvis Presley, Jimi Hendrix, and Marilyn Monroe...and some ants. I have no idea about the ants, but the painting was just too cool not to share.

So after a little street art, I went to my first class on Tuesday, and YAY, I really like my teacher. I am in just the right class for me, and the professeur is great. Being an education professional, it's difficult not to critique your teachers, but no problem--mine rocks. On Tuesday, the first day of class, these two girls were just chatting away, oblivious to the rest of us, totally unconcerned. I, (dork that I am) sitting in my front row seat, was annoyed by them and was thinking, "if this were MY class, I'd call them out." Not two seconds later Madame Henaut asked them if there was a question then told them to pay attention. What can I say, she's good.

Madame Henaut told us that we needed to buy two books, so I left class & headed to the bookstore. As I approached the Blvd. St. Michel, I noticed the drumming of drums & blaring of bull horns...a student protest was underway, and I was about to get caught right in the middle of it. Let me just say that every student enrolled in every university in Paris must have participated because there were mobs and gobs of people for blocks and blocks and blocks! I don't know what they were protesting, but they were a pain to get through. The police (gendarmerie) were all over the place, and I got a couple of pics that show both police and students. You won't get the full effect, but take my word for it. There were tons of 'em.

I eventually made it to the bookstore and later home and back to class on Wednesday. After class I shot home for a much needed grocery store run and a bite to eat then headed back out to meet some friends for a photography exhibit at Maison Europeenne de la Photographie. The first artist's work was not to my liking (or to the liking of any of my friends), but there were others whose work was great. If you're interested, google Minot-Gormezano and Giorgia Fiorio and see what you think. Those two were my favorites. (They're two separate artists, so google them separately.)

Afterward, my friend Allen and I decided to go to the international meetup where we met just last week. We met this group of Germans who were funny and so sweet. One works in marketing for Dole (yes, as in pineapple), and I told him I needed a job. He gave me his business card but said with the economy (and my current lack of a work permit), he couldn't say... Of course, I hope to get a work permit eventually, so who knows...it's all about connections though, and I'm making those.

It's great to meet so many people from all over the world. The Australians are so laid back and friendly. The Germans were so fun and sweet. The folks from India seem so gentle and kind. The Italians are heaven to listen to, and the Brits are a little zany. The Americans, well, you know about Americans. And the French, well, they're great one-on-one. We decided last night, us expats, that in groups, the French tend to be closed off and exclusive, but one-on-one they're really friendly, funny, and overall great. It's their country though, so in the US, Americans may very well seem closed off and exclusive to non-Americans. It makes sense, no?

Anyway, no matter where we're from, we all have at least one thing in common--we all want to stay here. One way or another, we've all got to figure it out. And with our love of Paris and the approaching Valentine's day holiday in mind, I have a lovely picture of a boulangerie window to share with you...à tout à l'heure!

The return of brrrr...and school is starting!

It is COLD here again. Two days last week of nice, low 50s, and I got spoiled. Today isn't just cold; it's rainy. And I got caught in it without an umbrella. I'm feeling--and looking--like a cold, wet rat.

Yesterday, Quynh and I went to Chinatown, and thank God she was with me because I don't know Chinese food from Vietnamese from Korean. Still don't, by the way, but I did learn about some beautiful (and Quynh says tasty) new fruits. Also learned about gelatinous green things that some say are tasty but that I passed on trying. Did, however, have a delicious meal at what is rumored to be the best Vietnamese restaurant this side of Saigon or Hanoi. It was PACKED too, and we ended up sharing a table with a cute, recently married couple--he is from Canada, and she's from Romania. They met while working for the same company here in Paris. Very sweet. Anyway, they frequent this restaurant (Le Bambou, in the 13th if you get here) and said it's always busy. I had noodles with pork, other stuff, and sauce, and I had a dessert which I can't seem to figure out how to describe except that the outside was kind of like a sweet dumpling, the inside was mushed up mung beans (they could have left that out), and it was in a sweet milk with sesame seeds. It was warm and quite tasty. I'd order it again...if I could figure out how.

Then last night I went to a dinner party at Jim Hayne's atelier. He has been hosting Sunday night dinner parties for between 50 and 100ish people for 30 years. Every week. Whew! It was also packed but fun. Met mostly Americans, a few French, and one Brit. Dinner was lamb curry. Those of you that know my tastes are probably going..."oooh...did she eat it?" Yes, I did eat it, and it wasn't bad once I got past the idea of EATING lamb (Mary had a little lamb...so sad). And the curry didn't have whatever curry spice I dislike; it was more of a brown than a yellow sauce. Served alongside were taziki, lentils, stewed apples, and rice. Cinnamon raisin cake with cream cheese frosting followed, my favorite part of the meal as you might imagine. Again, it was fun, but it was so packed that it was difficult to get around and impossible to meet everyone there. But everyone that I met was super nice, and on my way out, Jim even let me get a picture with him.

Today I got my class schedule: 12:00 - 2:00 daily. I'm going to have to have a late breakfast b/c you know me--I'm used to eating lunch around that time, although my lunches have gotten later since I've been here. Classes start tomorrow, so I left the spot where I got my schedule and headed out to find the spot where my actual classes will be held. I had brought my rain hat along as it was barely sprinkling when I left home, but by the time I got where I was going, the rain had become steady, and I was well drenched. About that time Quynh and I connected, and I headed BACK up the street to meet her for lunch. Along the way, I passed another Jerome Mesnager painting, this one on rue Saint Jacques. What's funny about this one is that the red sign you see the figure leaping to grab is basically saying that this is a car's exit and not to park in front of it, and they're on doors all over Paris. I thought it was funny that the artist decided to create art around something so mundane as a "no parking" sign. And although you may be beginning to think that these paintings are literally everywhere, they are not, but because I love them, I think they jump out at me when I pass one. I'm usually the only one taking a picture, but I guess beauty is in the eye of the beholder.

So now that I'm home and dry, I'm thinking about tonight. There's another meetup tonight that I'm supposed to go to, and as much as I want to go, it's just so tempting right now to stay inside, away from the cold, wet rain. Maybe I'll rally & go. Think I'll take my umbrella this time.

Just call me Reckless

Wednesday was a big day. Not for any one, big reason, but for several small ones.

First, snow again. BIG, beautiful flakes of snow! But only for about half an hour and nothing stuck. Nonetheless, it was beautiful.

Next, I walked into the cleaner's to drop some things off, and what did I hear over the speakers but the Connell's singing 74/75, my favorite Connell's song. Not that hearing American pop music is shocking--it's everywhere here, played over the speakers while you enjoy your lunch or do a little shopping. It's the fact that it was the Connell's...it was just kinda cool.

OH, and before this there was the monthly siren test. Apparently, and no one tells you this when you move here, every month, on the first Wednesday of the month at noon, the city of Paris tests all emergency sirens. I was having flashbacks to WWII. Movies, of course, WWII movies. My imagination was saying, "Air raid! Take cover!" and my mind was saying, "Wait...it's 2009...but what IS that?" I checked the neighbors' windows, but no one seemed panicked. I turned on the tv, but there was just an interview with someone about another scandal. So I turned to google, and what do you know, they had the scoop. And by the way, if you happen to be in San Francisco the first Tuesday of the month and start hearing sirens, no worries. They're just a day ahead of Paris with their tests.

Later I met Quynh for dinner and afterward we went to an "international" meetup. It was packed, and getting a drink was no easy task. Just like everything else that involves someone providing service, patience is called for. Eventually we were rewarded with tasty glasses of wine and it was on to people meeting. The great thing was that the hosts for this event would actually seek out new people, introduce themselves, then introduce a couple of other people to you. We met several interesting people from Australia, Italy, the UK, and who knows where else. Allen who was from Australia said something that I just loved although I'm afraid I may not remember it verbatim. It was something to the effect of, "I'm glad my life has not been limited to my dreams." Wow...powerful stuff.

Then there was the photographer from the UK...I think his name was Peter. He was hilarious. Of course, it wouldn't translate if I tried to tell you all the funny things he said, so you'll just have to take my word for it. I will, however, tell you that he's the one who gave me my new nickname...Reckless. We were sharing "how'd you get to Paris" stories, and when I had told him mine he said, "You're the first person I've ever met who sold their house, sold their car, quit their job and just moved to another country because they wanted to. You are BRAVE!" I replied with my standard, "either brave or stupid...the jury's still out," and that's when he said, "reckless...that's what you are. I'm gonna call you Reckless!" So there you have it. My first real nickname--Reckless. My friends Janet and Jake have always called me Marie, but that's my middle name, so I don't think it counts as a nickname.

It was a fun night filled with comedians, philosophers, and one Italian guy who just had to speak to keep me hanging on every word. The best sound in the world is children laughing, but coming in a really close second is the sound of an Italian man or a Frenchman speaking English...like music, I tell ya. And before you ask, he was waaay too young for me. But I can listen, can't I?

Oh-fficial

Woke up to snow on Monday! It was beautiful but didn't last. By mid-day the rain had washed most of it away, and by evening it was just a happy little memory. They say it rarely snows in Paris. So far I've seen it happen twice in three weeks. What can I say, I have good timing!

Saturday evening I met Quynh (I've been spelling her name wrong) at Galeries Lafayette to tag along as she shopped for a coat. Neither one of us thought about the fact that venturing to the giant department stores on a Saturday during soldes season might not be the best plan. And boy, was it crazy! We literally had to wait to get on escalators. Both of us being more boutique shoppers, we left. I said to her, "What were we thinking? We don't have jobs! We can come here on a Monday or a Tuesday...any day but a Saturday!" Live & learn.

Since we were close, we headed up to my neck of the woods and wandered around Montmartre a little. Once hunger hit, we found a little restaurant on rue des Abbesses and had another yummy dinner with wine. We both skipped dessert this time, and I was proud of my restraint, a trait which rarely shows itself. After more wandering in the cold, cold, COLD night, we ducked into a bar where there was a guy playing guitar & singing, and where we had...dessert. I didn't even really want it, but it seemed like the thing to do. Next time, I'm skipping it. Really, I am.


The next couple of days were pretty uneventful, so on Tuesday, Quynh and I decided to meet at Shakespeare & Co. and wander around a little. On our way to find lunch, I found something else. The cutest red coat! It was, of course, on sale, so I bought it. Now Quynh is the one shopping for a coat, and I am the one buying it. Isn't that always the case? Anyway, we had lunch at a cute little Vietnamese restaurant then wandered more, coat shopped more, and shoe shopped some while we were at it. Then Quynh revealed that she had never had a Laduree macaron, and following that, she had an epiphany. Why not do a taste test between Pierre Herme macarons and Laduree macarons. Well, why not? When it comes to macaron tasting, I'm all in. So we walked to the Laduree in Saint-Germain where she, being the scientist that she is, ordered one caramel du sel macaron and one cafe macaron. For testing purposes. I, on the other hand, ordered three caramel du sel macarons. I mean, I already know what I like, and it's Laduree caramel du sel macarons!

We dutifully put our beautiful green Laduree bags away & headed for Pierre Herme where Quynh, once again, purchased one caramel du sel macaron and one cafe macaron. And I, once again, purchased three caramel du sel macarons. I mean, if you're buying macarons (and I always buy the minis, by the way), what sense does it make to just buy one? I never claimed to be a scientist.

After much wandering and a little picture taking, we ended up in a cafe where we decided the time had come to execute the test. Quynh started with the comparison of the cafe macarons, and, well, you all know where I started. I had a taste of the cafe macarons, but only a little taste, so although I preferred the Laduree, Quynh much preferred the Pierre Herme. However, when it came to caramel du sel, we agreed that the Laduree was by far the best, most tasty, and with the best texture to boot. So it's official, or, more appropriately, oh-fficial. Laduree caramel du sel macarons...get more than one today!

More wandering, then hunger, and since we were both craving Italian food, we looked for an Italian restaurant. It was, once again, very, very cold, so after an unsuccessful search, we decided to ask the person that I think is the most knowledgable in all of Paris--the Parisian pharmacist. Two very nice pharmacists sent us to a very nice looking, not unexpensive restaurant which we decided was a little pricey for our unemployed student budgets. More walking, more teeth chattering, and we decided to ask another very knowledgable Parisian--the hotel front desk person. Score! This time we were sent to a restaurant more fitting our budgets, and dinner was yummy. Of course, on the way there, wouldn't you know that we passed another equally inviting Italian restaurant. That one is on our list to try later.

Tonight we're both going to an "international" meetup, so I'll let you know how that goes.

One more pic that I have to post here...Jerome Mesnager is a painter whose paintings appear as little surprises from time to time on Paris walls, doors, and apparently awnings. I took a picture of the first painting of his I ever saw and had it framed. It is of a magician pulling a rabbit from a hat, and as soon as I saw it, I loved it. People looked at me like I was odd when they saw me taking the picture. Recently, I walked by the wall it used to be painted on, and it had been done away with. Ha! Glad I have the picture. Anyway, walking through Les Halles on Friday afternoon, I came across another one of his paintings...this time of a figure reading a book. It's on an awning over, appropriately enough, a book shop. You may not be able to see it very well, but I hope you can...I just love it!

Stee-rike!

So apparently, when the French aren't happy about something (like being forced to work more than 35 hours a week...horrifying, right?), they strike. They don't go to work, and they protest in the streets. And since they're not going to work, the rest of us may as well hang low too. Metros don't run, big trains don't run, mail doesn't run, etc. They march, they dress up, they hold up signs, they sometimes (but not always) do ugly things and get arrested. After considering the implications of the strike, I decided that Thursday would be a good day to stay home & study my French. I did leave to get some food. This girl is NOT going to miss a meal because of some disgruntled French strikers.

Anyway, that was Thursday, and for me, the strike was totally uneventful. Wednesday, however, was a little more interesting. I met Quinn for lunch in Montparnasse which has a great market on Wednesdays and Saturdays (see pics of olives and cheeses below). We dined on delicious crepes and shared a small carafe of wine. In the middle of the day. On a Wednesday. We felt decadent. And a little buzzed.

Oh, but wait...on the way there I had a metro encounter.

So there I was...sitting on the metro, minding my own business. We were approaching a stop, and a man who was leaving the train glanced at me then stopped in his tracks. Instead of exiting the train, he came & sat by me. He was dressed in a business suit and carrying a briefcase, and other than the fact that he was smiling at me, nothing seemed unusual. He started speaking to me in French, and I didn't understand a word he said. I told him that I only speak a little French, and he switched to English which he spoke very well. Unfortunately, I understood everything he said from that point on. He said I was beautiful. (ok, I can take that.) He asked if I had a boyfriend. I said yes (because he wasn't cute; ok, if he had been, I would have said no). He said he liked my mouth. (hmmm...a little personal.) He asked if my boyfriend was French. I said yes. He asked if he could kiss me. I said no. He asked when I was coming back to Paris. I said I live here. He said, "are you trying to break my heart?" I laughed. He asked if we should keep in touch. I said no. He asked again if he could kiss me. Again, I said no. FINALLY we reached the next stop, and he asked if this was my stop. I said no, and he said it was his and asked once more if he could kiss me "just once." Again, I said no. He said, "ok, bye bye!" And left. Thank God. So while it's a little flattering, it's also a little creepy. Granted, if he were cute, it would have been a lot more flattering and a lot less creepy. And I never felt threatened. There were a couple of guys sitting across from us, and they kept watching me. I think they were watching for my reaction, and I sincerely believe that they would have come to my defense if they had felt I needed defending. They're rude walking down the street and getting on and off the metro, but generally speaking, French men are gentlemen and will come to your aid if they need to. Anyway...whew. My friend Anne-Marie once had a guy on the metro tell her she was beautiful and kiss her on the cheek, but that was it. A little less creepy than my experience.

And I went to my first meet-up Wednesday night. It was fine. Met a few nice French people who were working on their English. Their English is much better than my French. One woman, Marie, is a professor at one of the most prestigious universities in Paris. She was very nice, and when I asked if she was working the next day she said, "Oh no. There's a strike. I told my students not to come to class." See. When the transportation workers strike, everyone else might as well too.

The day that started with a smackdown & ended with public snoring

Of course, I was only a spectator.

Today was try number 6 or 7 for the Carte de Sejour. I was at the prefecture by 8:25, and the line was not too bad. We were out the building & down the street a bit, but not by much. Everyone was just shuffling along quietly until the smackdown, which happened about 8:45. I was barely in the building when this woman "excuse-moi'd" past me and was trying to get by this older man who was two people in front of me. Unfortunately for her, he was not having it. He argued with her (in French, of course) about the fact that we were all waiting in line & she could darn well take herself to the back of the line. She argued that for some reason, she belonged up in the front of the line. I don't know what her reason was, but both were convinced of their opinions, so she just tried to walk around him. That's when he tried bodily to stop her and started yelling for the police. Now this man was elderly. He had no business tussling with what appeared to be a healthy (not small) young woman. The mean little man in the glasses (you'll remember him from my last visit) came out & asked what all the fuss was about, and they stopped wrestling long enough to present their arguments. She must have made her point because the angry bureaucrat let her move forward, and the elderly defender of the line got quiet. The rest of us were speechless. Now you know me...I'm as mad as the next person when someone tries to jump in line, but I draw the line at wrasslin'.

So, after that little diverson, the line moved relatively quickly, and by 9:15 I was speaking with one of the behind-the-counter-bureaucrats who determined that my paperwork was in good order. Yay! Progress! By 9:30 I was upstairs waiting for the NAB--next available bureaucrat. Excellent. Or so I thought. Apparently there are at least two groups of numbers given. R numbers are apparently for people renewing their Carte de Sejours. D numbers are for people getting theirs for the first time. Apparently the D stands for, "you'll be spending the day here." There were at least six people waiting on R numbers. There was one PAINFULLY slow chick waiting on Ds. Lucky me. When I got there she was on #3. When she left for lunch (and they all left for about an hour and a half while we sat, starving & waiting), she was on #8. If not for a guy who started seeing D people after lunch, I would have had to sleep there tonight.

On average, the chick waited on two people an hour. She'd call someone up, spend 10 minutes talking to them, send them to sit back down, then shuffle papers, walk behind the counter, and chat with other bureaucrats for about 45 minutes before she'd call someone else. I was sending "pick up the pace" vibes to her, but they didn't take.

So after six hours of just sitting there, waiting, watching numbers come & go, watching R people come and go, wondering if I would ever be waited on, my number appeared on the magic screen, and I got to see the nice, speedy guy at guichet 18! He was the nicest of all the bureaucrats so far, and after 7.5 hours there, I left. At 4:00 this afternoon, I left with my temporary card and an appointment for my medical exam in about four weeks. After that, I should get my real life plastic Carte de Sejour! Who knows how long it'll be good for--and therefore how soon I'll have to renew it, but we'll think about that later. Wish me luck!

So, there I was: temporary card in hand and medical appointment scheduled. I even lucked out and got a seat on the metro ride home. In the seat next to me sat a woman who was apparently very tired. I glanced over at her & thought, "is she sleeping?" A minute later her snoring gave her away. The woman across from me heard her and started giggling which, of course, made me giggle. I wondered if we should wake her. I mean, who wants to go to sleep in Paris and wake up in the Paris suburbs? (Take my word for it, it's not American suburbia; you don't want to wake up there.) We left her alone, and who knows where she's sleeping now. There are people who sleep in the metro stations, but I don't think they'll let you spend the night in the cars. And yes, I did think that a picture of her sleeping on the metro would be great here, but I thought that would be rude. And the flash would probably wake her.

So no pictures today. Just envision masses of hungry, irritated people playing musical chairs and wondering when they're going to get to eat again. Then picture me buying a whole baguette and eating 2/3 of it immediately. And if you want you can imagine the smackdown. Now THAT would have made a good blog picture!

Ahhh...Saturdays.

Even when you're unemployed and living in Paris, Saturdays are good. For one thing, the prefecture isn't even open, so there's no pressure to make any effort toward getting my carte de sejour. For another thing,...actually, the prefecture thing is the only thing that differentiates weekends from weekdays for me, for two more weeks anyway.

A great Saturday starts with a good Friday night, and last night I had dinner with my new friend Quinn whom I met when we were in line to take our placement tests at the Sorbonne. She's from Seattle, very nice, seems very normal & totally un-crazy, and is close to my age and single, so we have lots in common and plenty to talk about. We found a great restaurant in Les Halles last night called Les Petites Carreaux where I had steak (unusual for me) and potatoes followed by creme brulee. Quinn had coq au vin, and we split a carafe of wine. The food was hearty & delicious, the service was great, and I loved the restaurant in general. It's nice to have a new friend and a new restaurant!

As for the placement test, I'm pretty sure I won't end up in the strictly beginner class. I think I'm going to be in the "elementary" class. Which is one step up from beginner and feels right. I had to take the test over at the Raspail location, so afterward I walked a bit and noticed La Coupole, a famous Paris cafe. I ducked in for a cup of coffee and decided that since it was 3:00, Friday, and I had just taken a test, I would have a champagne cocktail instead. So I sat in the window, sipped my very strong cocktail, snacked on the dried fruit & nuts they brought me, and watched the world go by. It's a cool place, and it's huge! It seems to attract a mostly geriatric crowd, but it's beautiful, and the people watching is interesting. It actually felt more like a New York restaurant to me. It's certainly not my boho Montmartre village, but if you're here you should pop in for a drink. Here's a pic of the dome (coupole) in the middle of the restaurant and the sculpture that sits under it. After that cocktail, I needed a good, hearty dinner.

This morning my little energizer bunnies actually let me sleep in, bless their hearts. It felt great. After a leisurely morning of cereal & coffee, email, and list making, I ran errands & picked up some essentials including more bread, more wine, and more cheese. For my friends who are in the know with this sort of thing, I picked up some Brillat Savarin...mmmmm. And since you're not here to help me, I'll be forced to eat all of it. 'Tis a shame, I know.

After errands and a stop at home for lunch, I walked over to the Musee de Montmartre for a little Dali and Picasso. It's a small museum, but it has some great pieces. The Picasso pieces have a friendlier feel than a lot of his work--shiny, happy pieces, and the Dali pieces include some beautiful paintings and great sculptures. I would post pix, but they didn't allow picture taking. I saw two famous Dali clocks, but there's so much more to Dali than I've ever bothered to learn. Consider me a new fan.

I left the museum & walked home, but not before a stop at Arnaud Delmontel for a few caramel du sel macarons. I came home & made a delicious salad for dinner (lettuce, prosciutto, goat cheese, and potatoes) and had macarons for dessert. After tonight, I'm going to have to institute a "once a week" rule for macarons of any stripe. My budget and my waistline demand it.

Off to pour another glass of wine and enjoy some French tv. Bonne nuit!

Sammich Smugglin'

Today was a good day. First of all, I think Potter is over his illness, thank God. Also, I had a successful day on the school front. And a really good sandwich.

Woke up to rain and high winds but couldn't stay in because today was the first day of registration for my classes at the Sorbonne, and I was kinda excited about it. I showed up to the first event half-soaked but was met by a very nice instructor who talked me through what I would do today. We spoke in French, and although she had to repeat a couple of things for me, when she had explained it all, I repeated it to her in French, and her enthusiastic reply was, "parfait!" (Perfect, if you hadn't already guessed.) I was to leave there and go back to the main Sorbonne building to pay & get my student ID & schedule of other appointments. She gave me a card that said to be there between 12:30 and 1:00. Since it was 10:30, I had two hours free, and since it was raining, I needed somewhere dry to hang out. I found a cute little tabac, sat down, ordered a cup of coffee, and started going over all of the paperwork she had given me. I headed to the Sorbonne a little after 12 and was pleased to see that the line I had to wait in was pretty short.

After about 15 minutes of uneventful waiting, I saw her. The girl in the condom. She was wearing a head-to-toe clear poncho, and my first thought on seeing her was "Oh my God. She's wearing a giant condom." I knew she was going to be trouble just based on the way she walked. Well, that and the fact that she wasn't the least bit embarrassed to be wearing that thing. She marched right in the door, totally ignoring the line that the rest of us were dutifully standing in. I have to admit that my second thought about her was, "I hope they send her back out here & make her get in line." I can't stand those special people who think the rules don't apply to them. Anyway, shortly thereafter, I got my wish. I was close enough to the door to hear her reaction upon being told that she had to get in line which was, "even when I have an appointment?!" The reply she got was, "all of those people have the same appointment." haha! (btw, all in French, and I understood it all.) So she marched out, waving her ticket (the pre-printed one that she couldn't have thought meant she was the only one due between 12:30 and 1:00) and ranting about having an appointment. Watch it--she'll be in MY class.

Once it was my turn, I met with another very nice lady who gave me an appointment to take a placement test, an appointment to take a phonetics test (?), and told me when and where to pick up my schedule. She could not have been nicer. Beat the heck out any experience at the prefecture, which I get to have another go at tomorrow. Ugh. Wish me luck.

So, after a successful morning, I was hungry. I metroed (new verb) back to my arrondissement and decided to get a sandwich. One of my favorites is a jambon du pays--their version of a country ham sandwich, country ham being prosciutto. Yum. So, I went to my favorite sandwich shop and ordered one. This one also had lettuce, mozzarella, and roasted tomatoes on it. It was warm, and I could only take a couple of bites as I was on the run, running errands and heading home. I started walking and realized that by the time I got home, my sandwich would be cold! So, I unbuttoned the middle button on my coat & stuck my (wrapped) sandwich in to keep it warm.

As I walked home, I remembered that the water in my apartment had been cut off this morning. I didn't know why, and I didn't know when it might be functioning again. (Luckily, I had already taken my shower, made my coffee, and given my babies fresh water.) I decided that I'd better pick up a bottle of water, so I ducked into a store & grabbed a bottle. When I moved my purse to get my money out, the paper from my smuggled sandwich peeped out of my coat, and the man at the cash register caught a glimpse of it and started laughing. Hey, you do what you gotta do, man! It worked too...I came home and enjoyed that nice warm sandwich with not one regret!

So all in all a good, if rainy, day. I also joined a couple of meetups to meet people. They do everything from going to movies to having dinner to speaking English and French to just having drinks. It seems to be a great way to meet people, so I'm hoping to go to my first event soon. I'll let you know how it goes!

A bientot!

Glee induced nausea

Ok, I know one of my three blog followers is going to disagree with me on this, but I'm invoking blog-ownership freedom of speech here and just saying it: I am OVER Obama and Obamamania. All of the glee, all of the "thank GODs," all of the "here comes the sun!" What the hell are people thinking? This man is an empty suit. There. I've said it. Maybe he'll prove me wrong, but I'm on record right now as saying, I don't buy it. He smiles well, he speaks well, and he raises campaign money well. And he voted "present" a hundred or so times. That means, "I want to be counted as here, but I don't want to take a stand." Yeah, that's the kind of leader we need. Lord, help us. Ok, stepping off of the soapbox now.


So back on this side of the pond, there are other things happening. Or not happening, as it happens. Like my carte de sejour which my friend Amanda calls "the card that keeps you from getting deported." Yeah...about that. Went to the prefecture this morning for the fourth or fifth time (losing count is a bad sign). Anyway, the nastiest little man "helped" me up to the point where he learned that I didn't have my original pre-inscription letter from La Sorbonne. I explained that the FRENCH embassy kept it when I applied for my Visa. The way I look at it, the French have it; it's up to them to fight over possession. Unfortunately they don't see it that way. Soooo, I went to La Sorbonne and asked a very nice lady for an original. She explained to me that she would give it to me but that it would not suffice. "But it's what he asked for," I sorta whined. She said that he would not want the pre-inscription letter; he'd want the inscription letter which I couldn't get until Thursday because that was the first day of registration. She promised me that he'd turn me away again and suggested that I just wait until Friday when I will have the inscription letter and student ID. All of THAT, she said, would appease the nasty little man.


So. Once again, I must wait for more paperwork, copy it, and go back for more fun at the prefecture. You should know, my friends, that once I FINALLY get everything together at the right place at the right time, I will only then get what amounts to a receipt and an appointment to come back yet again to take the next step in applying for the carte de sejour. There is much involved. Like I said, they don't make it easy.


Afterward, I walked around & went by the Pantheon, which is behind La Sorbonne & took a picture of it and the row of Christmas trees still standing in front of it. It's a beautiful part of the city.






Oh, and I woke up at 5am with Potter throwing up...in my shoes. The clogs were easy to clean; the boots were less so. He hasn't thrown up all afternoon or night though, so I hope he's over it. I told him that we were going to go see the cute vet if he kept it up. Trust me, cute as the vet was, it's not a trip I want to make.


So every day isn't macarons, champagne, and delicious fromage, but hey...that's life. And Paris sure makes a lovely backdrop.

Random Report

The census taker came yesterday, totally ignoring the fact that I had taken the weekend off from French paperwork. He spoke not a lick of English, and while I know that I am to fill out the form and do something with it by Wednesday, I don't know if I am supposed to take it somewhere or if he's coming back to get it.

With a little help from an online translator and a tiny French phrase book, I got it done. Don't ask me if it's right. For all I know, it could look something like this:

Q: When did you move here? A: American.
Q: How long have you lived here? A: English
Q: How many people live here? A: Bachelor of Arts

I think I did a little better than that, but there has to be at least one question that I interpreted in a new and interesting way.

The other, more delicious, highlight of the day was the Nutella Crepe I got in the Place du Tertre. That's the square near Sacre Coeur where the artists, including portrait artists, sell their paintings to loads and loads of tourists. Not caring if looked like a total dork, I took a picture of it--the crepe, that is. I had taken a few bites, but that just shows off the choco-nutty deliciousness of the Nutella inside.

On another random note, we've had clouds, rain, and very high winds here for about 24 hours now. When I came home from my errand-running and crepe-eating yesterday, Potter was hiding under the bathroom sink. I coaxed him out, but he'd take one look at the kitchen window & dart back under. I finally noticed the shade (which is hung OUTSIDE of the window in France) occasionally banging against the window. Didn't seem like a lot of noise to me, and Gracie was totally unphased, but I ended up closing the curtain, and Potter eventually came out.

Last night we had crazy winds, and after spending half of the night in the bathroom (and hours of calling me to come see him), he finally settled on the bed for a few hours of sleep. This morning, the wind picked up again and threw my table to the other side of my balcony. The shutters started banging against the doors, & I finally had to close them. Potter is still freaked out, and the noise of the washing machine running isn't helping. What's a cat to do?

No big plans today. Guess I'll just go visit Potter in the bathroom.

A bientot! (see you soon!)