Ca C'est Tout

Weiner Dogs. Thata way.

So anywho, holy shit. I'm leaving Paris.

The past couple of days I have been doing the inevitable, that I promise time and time again that I will save my poor self from each time I am in derangement. But, alas, it creeps upon us with all things great that are coming to an end: Glorification. The past couple days I have been doing my favorite choses a faire with my favorite friends in the city, laughing about how much the people annoyed us, and then accepting how much we have taken from them. I spent Monday with KK the Great, sipping cafes, having brunch with Alexis after an awkwardly hilarious yoga session, dining vegetarian in the city that resents this sub-culture to no end, and sitting for a good two hours exploring the secrets of the best chocolat chaud and french woman with cigarettes in tow on Ile Saint Louis. All day we kept returning to the inevitable mental list of the things we will miss most; some of my favorite being....

I'm going to miss (insert le sigh):

Loving the States

Two hours at a cafe, trying to rectify the world's problems, one espresso at a time

Perfect lighting

The cultural respect for food and what the French have taught me about it

Beauty. Everywhere. Anywhere.

Culture. Art. Museums. Monet. Orangerie. Monet. Orangerie.

Not working. Leisure at its finest.

Taking my time... and it not being weird.

Franglais Dinner Parties.

Hot bread from the Boulanger. Croissants. Macarons. Passion for doing things right. Intolerance for the mediocre when it matters most.... with breadstuffs.

Using the senses. Smelling it all.... well, maybe not on the metro.

Today, at my last brunch with the ladies.. sadly minus KK, we enjoyed the view from Sydney's amazing apartment where we could see Sacre Coure, La Tour Eiffel, and the rest of la vie francaise from up top. There wasn't anything fluffy about our goodbyes, they were more see you laters. We decided au lieu de opening our Parisian Boulangerie in the States, we would start a group food blog, incorporating our different food and life perspectives and coalescing them in the appreciation for the ways Paris has changed our views and lives to a certain extent. We sighed and realized that we are returning to the land of the 40 hr work week, no croissants au beurre in the morning, and 10 day vacations that are rarely taken. Lord help us...

Amrita and I continued on to discover le gout de Pierre Herme's crazy macarons, including: strawberry wasabi, Olive oil and vanilla (our decided fan favorite), and chocolate passion fruit.

Before:

The green is the olive oil vanilla... oh la la!

After:

We shared these suckers over about an hour of chatting, enjoying the company just as much as the tasting. I think thats one of the best things Paris has taught me. Enjoy. Slow down, and enjoy more.

Sneaking out the back Chez Mlle. Raja's

My times here have shown me yet another cultural perspective through its people, their oh la las, and their passion for complaining and cafes. Its back to the states where I will undoubtedly miss all I've experienced, but at the end of my half year stint... its finally time for a detox.

Thanks Paris... je vraiment t'aime.

Next stop: Stockton. Dodging bullets, one at a time...this time, in English.

Ca c'est magnifique

My new favorite place in Paris has become Musee de l'Orangerie, the museum that holds 8 huge Monet water lily works (Les Nympheas) in two oval rooms, that were constructed largely to Monet's specificities. It is a must see for any museum go-er visiting Paris, especially if you are a self proclaimed impressionist obsessionist, comme moi. The positioning of the Orangerie, or technically speaking an old greenhouse, is poetic to boot, housing the famous waterlilies between the Seine and the Tuilerie gardens.... a cohesion of water and garden. The diffused light and the minimalistic qualities of the room let the murals do the talkaty talk.... if you allow them to.

It is the art in Paris, in all its forms, and the high regard that the people here hold for it, that continuously befuddles me. Why this isn't safeguarded more in the States or elsewhere for that matter...given more attention in schools and given more importance and encouragement in terms of career/life pursuits. Afterall it is through art the way people can feel and experience life and its beauty... and the way we can all talk to one another about it, throughout time, with or without words.

I'm still not sure to what extent I embrace some of modern art's belief in the idea of everyday,real world art, but here is an implementation of curvature elsewhere nevertheless..... as interpreted this time by Ikea:

Yes, this is the metro. And yes, those are Ikea couches. Complete with their own personal bookshelf poster to back, back, back it up. I must say, I like your style.... and so do the Parisian bums.

Other thoughts?

Use more whole grain flour. Especially when baking scones. They are delicious.

First spring sun= happiness, which in fact means that I will now pry myself from my radiator and allow the imprints in my back to disappear from resting there for the last 4 months.

Colin Farrell= not so shabby singer. And dare I say Crazy Heart Soundtrack= practical genius.

A la prochaine.

et plus en plus

I had to include this photo from Mlle. Gardikas' photo collection from our party. I just love it.

A interesting side note... a friend Margo had brought a nice French lady along to the dinner party festivities. This Frenchie noted later that she felt a bit inferior in terms of attire because all the Americans were, apparently, looking rather stylish. Too bad half of our outfits were jokes, complete with onsies and bright pink fufi-wear.

Supposedly we're chic even when we're a joke. Vive les americain(e!)s.

Schmoopies et plus. 2010.

The past two weeks have been go go a-go-go and have left me a bit strapped for energy, veggies, and sanity. But I wouldn't have had it any other way. Last week I was visited by some of my favorite people dans la monde... my New York life meeting my Paris one. Yes, I'm sorry New York I'm not quite as fast as Ive been in the past...but hey, I still love tequila.

Day One: Natasha aka Schmoopie Boysaw flies in and arrives about 9 hours en retard after experiencing the inconvenience of the striking French at the airport. Fitting really. But, we were finally reunited, jumping up and down like kindergarten bffs after not seeing one another for an entire Christmas Holiday. We chatted well into the morning, and its always so wonderful when you can feel as though nothing has changed... across continents, across time zones, and more importantly across new haircuts and hats.

Our first day took us to cafes, then a brief introduction to the Falafel man, (who after many inquiries I will answer yes, is sort of still around) and chatting in french history museums about art and life more than actually paying attention to the paintings on the wall.

Lovey, Martha.... You're too cute for the Brits.

Best storyteller around. Especially with those specs.

Enters Mlle. Kimmer Novak. Enter Mlles. Martha Gardikas et Devin O'Fallon. The loud laughing American girls taking photos on the subway, causing trouble at Brunch where forks were thrown at us and then right back (metaphorically on the return i suppose), drinking cafes and champagne trying to pretend like we fit in, but in our own quirky way forever standing out. These girls brought a little of New York back to me, reminiscing over our volleyball memories and nightmares and catching each other up on how we all changed, but more so, how we're exactly la meme.

Schmoopie always seemed to take pictures of Kim with a baguette in her mouth. I'm sure I would get some Kimmer hate mail if I posted the others.... Love you Kimmmer!

We had a dinner party with Americans and Frenchies... over pizza and NY cheesecake. Some of us got really drunk and started touching the hostess' face. Others were male Parisians named Eud (pronounced OOOOOD) who called themselves Phillipe. Others decided they didn't like their seats and began their rendition of musical chairs. And all the Americans were messy leaving their marks forever on the french tableclothes while the French looked from their side of the table in horror. God help us.

The next day, we climbed up to Sacre Coeur with soups and smoothies from Kim's find “Smooth and the City” (with a name like that, easily mistakable for a waxing joint), found photo ops around lovely Parisian sights, ate a mushroom apple strudel, had fortunes told at a bar by an 80 year old drunk Frenchman/ tarot card reader , boarded the wrong train that took us out of the city, fell down a couple stairs..... did a lot without doing too much.

When just the 3 originals remained, we brunched and check out my favorite, Musee D'Orsay, pointing out our individuals loves and leaves in this manageable magnificence.

The last night Schmoopie et moi recovered ourselves from almost dying several time on bikes and then in the below freezing crypts of the Pantheon, with a veggie meal discussing what we always like to discuss.... hats, Florida in old age , future life excursion and trouble in the making, and how bad we feel for whichever young men would ever attempt to manage either of us. These two ladies are just a little too happy on their own and a bit too difficult to please. But Paris, you've done one hell of a job.

Sometimes it takes some friends from a different time/ place to remind you of parts of yourself. They know you so well, and even if you think you've changed so much...they assure you that you haven't. You remind one another that Mariah Carey still has the best Christmas music around, Martha-isms are still the best -isms around, Butternut Squash said with no teeth is a way to make time and bus rides pass, the inside jokes about waterboys and London hostels will forever and always make you laugh, and that Schmoopies will forever and always be Schmoops...

The great things about friendships spanning over years is that they let you feel as you did when you first met, with less worries, less knowledge, and more importantly more mischief. Whoever said Americans don't keep their friends for life? Ca n'est pas vrai! ...the 4 of us living in 3 diff cities, is just another warranted excuse to travel. A bientot les filles!

Courtesy of Mlle Schmoopie Boysaw for all Black and White Photography. Quotes upon request.

Le Bonheur dans L'Anglataire

Skipping out of order a bit, whilst the image of mon week-end sans les franciase dans l'anglatiare is still clear, and making sure all the wonderfulness did happen...even the ticket for no ticket on the metro.

Having little in terms of specific expectations for visiting Scott last weekend in Newscastle, England, I stopped my imagination from skipping ahead too far as it generally ruins what is to be. Planning little, and taking each moment as it came, gave me some of the best times Ive had in a while... and that's saying a lot, since I'm pretty much always having a good time.

1. After having a nice catch-up session with Scottay, we spent the night amongst his friends from his graduate program, eating bikinis (a grilled cheese like substance cut on the diagonal and borrowing its name from the tiny "triangulitas" that are reminiscent of bikini bottoms) dancing around some Barcelonians' apartment, and drinking this strange cider called "Gay-mers." Of course the boys couldn't stop enjoying the fact they were drinking something that started with "gay." I guess it was this idea that spurred them to continue on a hunt for the gay club later that night just screaming out the word "gay?" as we roamed the streets for this place we had no idea where to find. Zoot Alors.... boys will always be boys.

Durham, UK

2. We explored the nearby town of Durham, apparently housing a popular university for the rejects of Cambridge or Oxford (not so bad if you ask me) visiting centuries old churches, streets, and spending more time getting to know Scott's friends. I was blown away by their eagerness and openness to new people, new ideas, and their acceptance.... something that is a little less common on the streets of Paris and New York. Americans are often given a bad time over here for making quick friends and lacking in life long relationships. I have been thinking about this for a while, and have since come to a semi-conclusion (because alas, there hardly ever concrete conclusions in life) that, it is such a beautiful and accepting way of life to realize today is today and to be open to many possibilities of new friendships... whether they are for a weekend or for life. You just never know. But, to experience them all, for what they are, to keep your expectations low and to be surprised and slapped with smiles when you find that you have connections all around the world, with wonderful people, is truly magical.

Wondrous Indian Meal... Thanks Arun!

3. Possibly because we didn't do much planning for Saturday night, it ended being my favorite night so far. We joined Scott's roommates Arun and Phil for a great dinner, that we pretended to start cooking, and Arun graciously took over with his cupboard filled with Indian spices and family history of ideas. He showed us a new way to cook sauteed spinach with coconut and a variety of Indian spices and we munched on spicy fried potatoes and a scrambled egg-ish concoction. It was so delicious, but even better was Arun's ability to share with us his culture and tid bits about his family and life in India, through his cooking. Its so great when someone can share something seemingly so simple to them and it just floors others.... me in particular. It was great to watch and listen to someone else share their adventures in cooking and all the memories/culture that are tied to it. We sat around, drank, shared music, drank some more, and when the boys drug me downstairs for their second go around with the cigars, we decided to have a quick run around the block at about 4am. It just felt right.... so we did it. I must say, I think I won since my other 3 masculine counterparts either stopped at some point or cheated by taking a detour. Slow and steady fellows... wrapped up in a blanket practicing a variety on Lamaze breathing, I declare myself the winner.

4. So we didn't pay for our subway tickets. And then we got a ticket.... but that cost a lot more than 2 pounds. But the metro police were the nicest flipping people. We joked around and I laughed even though I didn't understand a word they were saying. Damn accent up there...

Our personal concert privee.

5. We toured the city, ate another beautiful meal of Indian cuisine at Vidya and her roommate's apartment, walked and danced the city, got lost, found ourselves accidentally on the correct bus, sat in on an orchestra's practice session at the local concert hall, drank tea, got mooned at a pub (something you practically see everyday in Paris), and quoted Madagascar 2 all the way home. Another Indian meal?? BRING IT ON. Ass wooping in Monopoly? Sure, why not.... I have other skills I'm proud of, ok?

There were too many favorites from the weekend to possibly recount them all... and even if I could I wouldn't. The past few days served as a reminder that as wonderful as language can be it is often inefficient in describing our situations and emotions. Sometimes, our thoughts and feelings from previous events need to be left as so, as private matter, that stays with you in ways that language cannot articulate, whether in English, French, or whatever slang/dialect/accent they speak with in Newcastle. But I can tell you, I'm smiling and thanks for a great weekend guys, c'etait MAN-NI-FIQUE.

The Week in Review

Salut Tout Le Monde....

So, Ive fallen behind, as the activities of the past week have been piling up and up, in the best way possible. Hence my week in review, which en fait, is more like 3 weeks ago in review... but still....what happened, what made me laugh, sniffle, smile, and just go, "Quoiiii?!"

Rundown:

I rode the Velib! For those of you who are unfamiliar with Paris' supreme answer to alternative means of transit, meet the velib. The velib system consists of about 1,450 bicycle stations, with a station about every 300 meters... or at least according to Wiki. (And who am I to argue?) You can either buy a year, week, or day subscription and check out a beautiful bike and ride it to your hearts content across beautiful, and right now, freezing Paris. So after enjoying a crepe on a sunny day with my friend Margo, she helped me set up my first day rental. We rode, our faces confronting the sun whenever possible, around town and then to the coop. So fun! And at just one euro for the day, I'm still stunned whenever Paris surprises me with a bonne marche ou good deal.

So, we had a party. It was a theme party. And I must say.... the French are strange, and I wouldn't have it any other way. We had about 100 people crammed into our apartment, with every single piece of furniture, tapestry, and writing utensil carefully piled in my room to make way for people to mostly eat and dance. It was quite the scene and I was rather impressed that they, for the most part, dressed up. My favorite costume of the night? Gilligan from Gilligan's Island. Did he know what his character was? Absolutely not. Did he put on Gilligan's floppy hat and sweatpants because he just wanted to be comfortable? O yes he did. I wish I had a photo of the mec at the party, but the resemblance was so dead on that I think a picture of Gilligan will suffice....

Chez Georges. My dear bro Alexis, as he likes to call himself ever since I explained that "bro" can sub for "dude". ....although his usage still needs some work, but that's another story, for another time. Well anywho I joined Bro and a couple friends to the most fabulous dive/bar/cave-like mania where we drank wine, danced, and just planned starred at all those little repressed Frenchies really let themselves loose. It was a great night, with seemingly little space to flail, although somehow we made due. I sense a repeat customer!

Le Pain Quotidien. Yes, I know its a chain. And yes, I know I can eat there in New York AND LA. But, the ones in Paris just have an extra little special place in my heart. Plus...I can actually order a decaf soy au lait, which in my book is a perfect way to spend an afternoon. So, I visited a new outpost at St. Honore Square by the Tuileries, justifying to myself that I deserve a nice coffee after spending two hours babysitting that little angel Maeyls. A coffee, my journal, and a couple hours just to relax and re-center so I could enjoy a beautiful Parisian night, just me my soy and I.

Valentines Day 2010. KK and I decided to celebrate this glorious hallmark holiday by eating veggies, drinking cafes, and doing what we always do as of late...talk about how flippin wonderful our lives are here. I think the closer it comes to la dernier minute en France, the heavier my soles become, and the more attached my heart is to this wonderful life here. It didn't hurt that we ate the best veggie burger I've ever had... and in Paris nonetheless. I love a good case of irony. Of course the French could marry two things they know nothing about (vegetarian, burgers) and make the best one Ive ever had. Arghhh... it really will be hard to leave. Anywho, if you are ever in Paris, starved for a good fill of food minus raw meat and overflowing avec plein des legumes... visit Potager du Marais. Its delightful.

Puppets on the subway. I thought I have seen it all, at least in the world of metro entertainment. New York has a strong stance with tap dance, and moving golden man statues, and dancers slash acrobats using the car poles to topsy turvy all over the place. Paris has accordions and singers with portable speakers. But, I have to give it to this man. His determined face steps on the metro, sets up a screen between two poles, starts his recording, and goes to town with this two muppets that were performing some sort of nonsense in a language I couldn't even pinpoint. One lady got up and moved trains. I laughed uncontrollably.

Movie. Valentines Day. Cheesy? Yes! Hilarious? You know it. I found myself laughing so hard I was almost rolling..... maybe because I have missed these o so dear brainless one-liners that think they are clever and high class celebrities basically making fun of themselves, but good god, I enjoyed every second of it.

1. Yoga....yes, je part toute suite...

Upcoming...

Vacation! Again?? I thought I just got back from that. Oh wait.... I did.

Schmoopie. Kimmmmm. Martha. Devin. Birthdays. Parties. Paris. Yay.

Paris Mosquee. Hamman. Double Yay.

Moi? Oui, Je suis une princess...

1st weekend, Fevrier 2010.

Destination: Brittany, France

Pilot: Carole

Co-Pilots: Diego, KK, Charles, et myself

1 tiny French car

2 French rifles

3 days of nobles

Away we go.....

I knew when I was told I couldn't wear my normal attire of leggings and a sweater that I was in for some upper crest action. So, I slid on my bright blue skinny jeans.

We arrived at the DeLegge Chateau, adequately dubbed "Bel-Air", late on Friday night, with a packed tiny car of Frenchies and 2 Americans not knowing the slightest of what to expect from a Breton chateau, and not knowing what to make of the hunting gear in the back. Of course, since from this point onward we skipped back to the 18th century, where the only lights to take a peek at the place once we reached our destination were from the moon. We stumbled into the a building that I could have guessed was Walt Disney's vision for the haunted mansion attraction. But this is bigger. and better. And way more on target when scaring the shit out of Americans. Oh yeah.....and this one is real...and someone's home.

The next morning KK et moi awoke around 11, feeling a bit disoriented as we looked out of our castle-like windows down onto the grounds where we could see the countryside of Brittany for miles and miles, fountains, a front courtyard that was shaped with grasses cut into perfect geographical mazes, and a gravel driveway looking as though it were awaiting armed knights on horseback leading some sort of royalty back home for teatime and biscuits. Well, holy shit, call me Marie Antoinette.... I'm just praying this place doesn't come complete with a guillotine, since vegetarians aren't the most popular in the country of steak tartare and horse meats. Eeek...mommy... help!

So beside from my astonishment from the grandeur of the house...ughh..chateau....ummm...castle... where I was staying, it was great to spend the weekend in my roomies shoes, as they spend many of their weekends in this beautiful place. Their mom was kind enough to make a four course Breton lunch for us, complete with Brittany's famous galettes (savoury crepes), an entree with plenty of veggies, and the regional tarte tatine. KK et moi sat at the table with Carole's mom and dad (not to mention a Senator) bundled in plenty of layers, topped off with a coat and scarf at the dining table. They, as many French do, leisurely walk around their freezing stone chateau in pants and a measly sweater, it seemingly not bothering them in the slightest. Must be all that iron in the horse meat. Just as I thought I was losing all my French, the four of us got on quite easily, discussing the region, the states, and the different varieties of plants that surround this little place they call home.

After lunch, we were given a tour of chateau, and Im sorry, but I lost count of the number of bedrooms, but can tell you that the entire basement floor was at one time solely for the personnel to eat, wash, and cook for the rest of the place. Oh, and at one point during the tour, Madame DeLegge pushed aside a floor to ceiling mirror to bring us to their very own chapel. And yes they hold masses there. Just thinking about it makes my head spin, and it was just enough to give me my first nightmare in about 10 years. I think the last one was after I stepped in a church as well... they scare me. Sorry Shaina.

We toured a nearby town and then met up with the rest of the younger clan who had just finished their hunting festivities. They killed some things, but I didn't really understand what until we returned home Sunday night and Carole pulled two HUGE beefy legs out of a sac. Huh, hello! Anywho...back to the present past. I thought we were going to a simple dinner just the 5 of us, at the local "dive bar" as Carole called it, but soon found that we were at another's house, teaming with young hunters. Charles promised us that we were simply stopping by a friend's and quote: "modest" house, for an aperitif. Huh. Yeah, so if you call the white house modest, then yes, I guess it was. We stood around the fire, drinking vin chaud and I was mostly starring at the hunting outfits of the room full of french men. Most of them donned blazers, knee highs with capri length trousers, and don't forget the ties! KK so rightly pointed out they all were sporting the same golden ring on their fingers. My first thoughts raced back to some type of movie reminiscent of blood brothers but I inquired about this at the dinner in the "dive bar" when one of the guys answered rather nonchalantly that it is a sign of "nobles". Hmmm...don't hear that one everyday in the states.

So we ate dinner with nobles, but you know what, they were in general some of the nicest people Ive met so far in France. They might be prestigious, but they were a really great time. I mean they ARE nobles eating in a dive bar (at least to their standards). I have to give them credit for that. But what I really want to do is take them to Doc Holiday's for drink your face off, $5 Tuesdays.

The next day Carole surprised us with a visit to Mt St. Michel, a famous landmark situated on the border of Brittany and Normandy.

We climbed enough stairs to work off about a ton of pork fat and toured the gigantic church at the top while the rest of the group prayed their hearts content at mass. But really, the place is gorgeous. The streets were old and tiny, and circled up and up, as far as the mountain went. The island of sorts is surrounded by a beautiful overcast bay, complete with quicksand and monks. I was a bit afraid to see the monks pull the bells in their hooded garb, but that's just me, and church creeps me out....especially this kind. But Give me a break.... this was a weekend of derangement. I feel like I don't even know what century I'm actually in anymore.

I think my favorite part of the whole weekend was seeing how excited Carole and her family was to show me around their life, their country and to share it with me. I don't think I would ever be comfortable in a noble's shoes, attending church and hunting, but its who they are, and I was so happy to experience it. I feel,after the weekend, I know my roomies better, even without Ombeline being there, as visiting ones home is reaching a bit deeper into who they really are. They are so proud, and I couldn't have been more flattered to be allowed a little more into their lives. Just thinking about how different my life in leggings on a cherry orchard is from their skyscraping stone walls covered with ancient painting of relatives, it reassures me every time I see something new, that however grand our differences are, we can get along just fine.... and yes I cant help but say it once again, in french.

PS Any guesses how they would react to my family... full of we don't give a "fuck" and dinners that not only don't have courses but last under 15 minutes? Yeah, I thought so, about as scared as I was when I saw a hooded monk and a room full of crosses.