tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16158356695120859652024-03-05T06:07:36.447+01:00Paris Déjà VuLife in Paris, the Second Time AroundPaigehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05777428548325449024noreply@blogger.comBlogger58125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1615835669512085965.post-68438292311918362412014-05-27T17:35:00.001+02:002014-05-27T17:35:54.072+02:00ParisDejaVu Has Moved!<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">The blog has a new home...finally! </span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://www.parisdejavu.wordpress.com/">www.ParisDejaVu.wordpress.com</a> </span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Come check it out (it's better over there.)</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>A bientot, j'espere,</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
xx <span style="font-size: large;">Paige</span></div>
Paigehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05777428548325449024noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1615835669512085965.post-22652495589831544052014-05-25T10:23:00.001+02:002014-05-25T10:23:22.950+02:00Paris Blooms on rue ClerDespite a rainy week in Paris, the city is in bloom. And since no one can resist a peonie, I thought I'd share a few shots that capture the Spring-like mood here, rain or shine. These were snapped on rue Cler, a pedestrian market street frequented by expats, visitors and locals in the 7th arrondissement not far from the Eiffel Tower. Go on a Sunday morning, grab a seat at one of the many cafes and watch the world go by...<br />
<br />
<i>Bon dimanche</i>!<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt1TDrGwyJ0l1eX3EezzDL-3-R7aEjQwZuApAviSOFobI6TPErLCrBYmogWOg5SOs42elGwtLyMcUweB3J12qTbuqF0Tuq_1RChBVk_V1OVYyTpdsWN7D6ItJ_5yDKVND5CcBjOlCiv0Q/s1600/IMG_3791.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt1TDrGwyJ0l1eX3EezzDL-3-R7aEjQwZuApAviSOFobI6TPErLCrBYmogWOg5SOs42elGwtLyMcUweB3J12qTbuqF0Tuq_1RChBVk_V1OVYyTpdsWN7D6ItJ_5yDKVND5CcBjOlCiv0Q/s1600/IMG_3791.jpg" height="640" width="480" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwJ3virRe7tFhFDGKGZ3qM_fsMufGXM3jUVy9FlLdAI63f3lxj0Syhra6zDt4nXB4dBUxPTD6N_uc6khDLaIAtP2lz3fef0YngJp_8DMGAvswASwIN3s73MsCfgnc_PP9QDFtIDp3uowU/s1600/IMG_3790.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwJ3virRe7tFhFDGKGZ3qM_fsMufGXM3jUVy9FlLdAI63f3lxj0Syhra6zDt4nXB4dBUxPTD6N_uc6khDLaIAtP2lz3fef0YngJp_8DMGAvswASwIN3s73MsCfgnc_PP9QDFtIDp3uowU/s1600/IMG_3790.jpg" height="640" width="480" /></a></div>
Paigehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05777428548325449024noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1615835669512085965.post-47696077906827041292014-05-23T13:13:00.000+02:002014-05-23T13:13:31.422+02:00How to Avoid a Bad Meal in Paris It's easy to find a great meal in Paris. It's also easy to eat a bad one. Surprised? So was I. But after one too many soggy<i> croque monsieurs</i> and stomach turning plates of <i>confit de canard</i> (a personal favorite when it's done right), I started to get suspicious. What was going on in those well-hidden kitchens? Was French cuisine not all I had imagined it to be?<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0scAqm-UUcUrPI_zm8IdJQGqxqhVTP6Q3qMAyFtkpdSwm4XFPW_ZHBStT_ZxH8-52P9XAkLPjINHOJG7X8RhgDLs66pzWhekWWnyAY_QNrA2PV9lPYlFWLaIPnhfPlVaNTp_bVOF16OY/s1600/IMG_3386.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0scAqm-UUcUrPI_zm8IdJQGqxqhVTP6Q3qMAyFtkpdSwm4XFPW_ZHBStT_ZxH8-52P9XAkLPjINHOJG7X8RhgDLs66pzWhekWWnyAY_QNrA2PV9lPYlFWLaIPnhfPlVaNTp_bVOF16OY/s1600/IMG_3386.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: x-small;"> What's going on back in the kitchen?</span><br />
<br />
You see, I'd long nursed a fantasy about French food. The ingredients
were always fresh and seasonal, the chefs well-trained and meticulous in
their methods. Alas, <i>non</i>. There's a dirty little secret hiding in many Paris <i>cuisines</i>:
the food often isn't prepared fresh by a trained chef at all. It can be
pre-made en masse then frozen and delivered in bags to restaurants and
cafes all over the city. That tough-as-cardboard<i> blanquette de veau</i>? Most likely defrosted and slid onto your plate. How about that dry <i>pave de saumon au beurre blanc</i>?
Boiled in a bag, I can almost guarantee it. Concerns about restaurant
quality have even sparked a movement to publicly identify restaurants
where meals are indeed prepared on site. But until that leads to a
foodie revolution (or at least some helpful signs in restaurant
windows), here are a few tips to help you avoid a bad meal in Paris.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisP4FrqgNIpNPn7R7RE-WX1ZcrTJPduKfHtl_3C7IWO2AmjtKIR9gpncK16bUTOSQG97Umn1gYbtPOxVd3TZJDXf8lEJ3UTI8j3wmEZfyd32U9HOEG0CGmScUgCcRZTvvI1qekX5lyvpg/s1600/IMG_3440.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisP4FrqgNIpNPn7R7RE-WX1ZcrTJPduKfHtl_3C7IWO2AmjtKIR9gpncK16bUTOSQG97Umn1gYbtPOxVd3TZJDXf8lEJ3UTI8j3wmEZfyd32U9HOEG0CGmScUgCcRZTvvI1qekX5lyvpg/s1600/IMG_3440.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: x-small;"> Keeping it simple: scrambled eggs & salad.</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<b>Check the menu</b>. A restaurant's menu offers your best clue whether your meal was cooked by an actual live chef. If it's long (like multiple laminated pages) and looks like it's been around since the Mitterrand era, be wary. If it looks like the same menu you saw at the cafe down the street, it probably is (and that <i>supreme de volaille</i> has been supplied by the very same mass vendor.) Yuck.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQKR2wRPbkDwLCR0ItJgSQ5ds73l5QUVe62iBEnExUT44wvtCqETchL6udEBJBgl_08kJbxjy63gZEcoTwP2VOm7-qu9L25IV1lXq_4fCKtBNUj4eDMzWEla2VPLWixdD-Xb3WbQqWSls/s1600/IMG_3490.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQKR2wRPbkDwLCR0ItJgSQ5ds73l5QUVe62iBEnExUT44wvtCqETchL6udEBJBgl_08kJbxjy63gZEcoTwP2VOm7-qu9L25IV1lXq_4fCKtBNUj4eDMzWEla2VPLWixdD-Xb3WbQqWSls/s1600/IMG_3490.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: x-small;"> </span></b><span style="font-size: x-small;"> Crispy <i>confit</i>, done just right. </span><br />
<b><span style="font-size: x-small;"> </span></b><br />
<b>English spoken here</b>. Or German. Or Dutch. You get the idea. Any resto that offers pre-printed menus in multiple languages is to be viewed with suspicion. Ditto, international flags out front (or on the menu or stickered on the windows). Worse yet, a friendly "greeter" who stands outside and invites you in to dine. You know this, right? Of course you do. But still, it bears repeating. These places can be tempting after a day of sightseeing. (Oh, he seems so friendly! And he's smiling!) But just don't do it. These restaurants may look "charming" or even seem authentically French. They're not. They're just tourist traps and the food will be awful. Trust me, you can do better.<br />
<br />
<b>Service continue</b>. This is a tough one. Visitors are often surprised (and deeply frustrated) by the limited dining hours in French restaurants. Lunch is usually served from 12 noon until about three o'clock at the latest. After that, there can be precious little to be found (if you're looking for a real meal) until restaurants begin dinner service at 7:30pm. Hence, the popularity of the <i>boulangerie</i> sandwich or sidewalk crepe. Increasingly, however, you will find restaurants that offer "<i>service continue</i>." Unfortunately, the food is often lacking. The reasons are obvious. If there's a trained chef working the kitchen, he or she needs a break after lunch to eat, rest and prepare for dinner. If it just needs to be thawed and plated, why anyone can do that! Opt for a crepe to tide you over and eat like the locals do at 8:30 or 9 o'clock.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWsekIt0ffppd7-C5ul5N_zjbAmoS1G08K-dnIQZmb2JrfNhJzczTyOKszDFCv_mPEFc3Zx_-5IkqaAEH6sYU6fihHKFjERGFT7TIi_YkNxlVa_JP9lEYQ9JZ9Jq_XdX9A1hHvkjFoZ4Y/s1600/IMG_0701.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWsekIt0ffppd7-C5ul5N_zjbAmoS1G08K-dnIQZmb2JrfNhJzczTyOKszDFCv_mPEFc3Zx_-5IkqaAEH6sYU6fihHKFjERGFT7TIi_YkNxlVa_JP9lEYQ9JZ9Jq_XdX9A1hHvkjFoZ4Y/s1600/IMG_0701.JPG" height="239" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Salad with <i>foie gras</i> and artichoke hearts. Yum.</span><br />
<br />
<b>Look for a chalkboard</b>. A chalkboard menu says two things: 1) The menu changes often and seasonally, reflecting what was fresh at the market that day, and 2) Someone took the time to develop the offerings and will likely present them to you with care. Now, not all chalkboard menus are created equal. I'm not talking here about the enormous printed chalkboards you find tented on sidewalks outside cafes. I'm referring to the little ones (that are often barely legible) propped up on your table by a server who knows their stuff. Brevity is your friend here. I always trust a menu with just a few items. Maybe three <i>entree</i>, <i>plat</i> and <i>dessert</i> selections each. The longer the menu, the more suspicious I get. A chalkboard menu won't guarantee you a great meal, but it does increase your chances. <br />
<br />
<b>Famous sights and excellent food don't mix.</b> If there's one thing you should almost never, ever do, it's eat in a restaurant adjacent to a world-famous monument. I'm sure there are exceptions to this rule (Le Jules Verne in the Eiffel Tower being the most obvious) but generally speaking, it's a bad idea. Seek out your dining experiences in the lesser known parts of the city. Young, exciting chefs in Paris are opening restaurants away from the sky-high rents in the most visited areas. Get off the beaten path and try a little neighborhood gem. And if you must eat as you gaze at Notre Dame Cathedral, opt for dessert. After all, even mediocre <i>mousse au chocolat</i> is still pretty delicious.<i><br /></i><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPu2PMDukI-YOvYdci5JyIp-ky68xNt7gQqtZLxB00HXFOkfu0dE0HZgv6l7lGCKwbgLzdEpOSL6lhybyzQdV8BFsVZT491DMGtzDIMuTOBu8o_EWoqSEU5QCNdALYoOcXznGW_s5yCNY/s1600/DSC02138.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPu2PMDukI-YOvYdci5JyIp-ky68xNt7gQqtZLxB00HXFOkfu0dE0HZgv6l7lGCKwbgLzdEpOSL6lhybyzQdV8BFsVZT491DMGtzDIMuTOBu8o_EWoqSEU5QCNdALYoOcXznGW_s5yCNY/s1600/DSC02138.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i> Fondant au chocolat</i>...with warm, oozing center. Divine!</span>Paigehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05777428548325449024noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1615835669512085965.post-10282409817951450992013-02-22T11:51:00.000+01:002013-02-22T11:51:09.315+01:00My "Best Of" Paris: Ten Fab French BistrosI recently asked Greg what he loves most about living in Paris. "The food," he replied, without hesitation. No big surprise there. Because he also lived here as a child, he's especially fond of places that recall the Paris of his youth -- aging bistros, the ancient cobbler's shop with a wall of French celeb photos from the 70's, the knife sharpener who still plies his trade from an old cart he wheels through the streets. (He rings a bell to bring neighbors out bearing their dull knives).<br />
<br />
Most of our favorite Paris bistros have also been around for a while. (Or at least feel like they have.) These are frequented more by locals than Michelin star-seekers (of course we love those, too), and won't let you down next time you're seeking classic French food in Paris. <span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;">So, i</span></span>n no particular order, here goes...<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b><a href="http://www.paris.com/paris_landmarks/restaurants/french_cuisine_restaurants/le_taxi_jaune" target="_blank">Le Taxi Jaune</a></b>, 3<span>è</span>me: When Greg and I lived in the Marais, Le Taxi Jaune was our neighborhood go-to. With its vintage bar and cracked tile floors, it still feels slightly under the radar despite its location in the ever popular 3<span>è</span>me. The food is authentic French with a twist that keeps it fresh; the vibe is Paris bourgeois-boheme. Reserve ahead. </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b><a href="http://www.francetoday.com/articles/2010/08/19/great-pair-1.html" target="_blank">La Laiterie Saint Clotilde</a></b>, </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">7<span>è</span>me<span style="font-size: small;">: T<span style="font-size: small;">h</span>is is our new neighborhood favorite (new to us, that is). Run by a mother and son duo, the menu is happily limited and everything is delicious. At a recent dinner with friends, I had a memorable curried veg soup and way-better-than-average <i>magret de canard</i>. (Can you tell I like duck?) Greg devoured his meal so fast, I didn<span style="font-size: small;">'t even get to sample it. Always a good sign. </span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span> </span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b><a href="http://www.aupieddefouet.fr/" target="_blank">Au Pied de Fouet</a></b>, </span></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">7<span>è</span>me</span></span></span>: The perfect neighborhood spot
for lunch where the welcome is convivial (the owner treats everyone like
his personal guest) and the food has a home-cooked appeal. It's not
refined cuisine but a great, budget-friendly choice between visits to
bigger name restos. The <i>confit de canard</i> is solid and there's
usually a nice fresh fish option. Take your post-meal coffee (or
digestif) at the bar and enjoy the bustle of this lively spot. Sitting
cheek to jowl with neighboring diners keeps things toasty. Go for fun,
not romance. </span></span><br /><br />
<b><a href="http://www.le-cassenoix.fr/" target="_blank">Le Casse Noix </a></b>(15<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span>è</span></span></span>me): When a foodie friend came to town for a night, he delivered strict instructions for our meal: "Think great food and <i>he's</i> paying."(I replied that this is<span style="font-size: small;"> </span>always how I think... ;). After remembering it was fashion week and discovering all the "it" tables were impossible (Le Frenchie, Septime, Chateaubriand), we decided on Le Casse Noix for a meal that put food way ahead of fashion. Greg swears it's the best <i>boudin noir</i> he's ever had (On principle alone, I can't eat the stuff but my fresh <i>c<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span>è</span></span></span>pes</i> in butter thing-y was to die). Fans of the creamy, whipped egg white dessert, <i>ile flottante</i>, will also be rewarded. A good choice for lunch if you're visiting the Eiffel Tower. Book ahead. <br />
<br />
<b><a href="http://hipparis.com/2011/07/06/lourcine-paris-bistrot-dining-in-the-13th-is-worth-the-trip/" target="_blank">L'Ourcine</a></b> (13<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span>è</span></span></span>me): You can read my full review of this <a href="http://hipparis.com/2011/07/06/lourcine-paris-bistrot-dining-in-the-13th-is-worth-the-trip/" target="_blank">terrific bistro</a> on the HiP Paris blog. It's off the beaten path in the 13eme and well worth the trip for a fab meal and to wander the village-like streets of les Buttes aux Ca<span style="font-size: small;">i</span>lles neighborhood.<br />
<br />
<b><a href="http://parisbymouth.com/cafe-des-musees/" target="_blank">Cafe des Musees</a> </b>(3<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span>è</span></span></span>me): Always well-reviewed and popular for its reliably good food and great Marais location. I love this one for an unhurried lunch when visiting the boutiques and museums in the neighborhood. It's open daily and filled with locals and a smattering of visitors. Fun and yummy, a good combination. <br />
<br />
<b><a href="http://www.lechemise.fr/" target="_blank">Le Chemise </a></b>(11<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span>è</span></span></span>me): I loved this bistro because it brings together two favorite things: updated classic French cooking in a sleekly designed but cozy space. The service was attentive and cool crowd was what you'd expect for the location between Oberkampf and Republique. Helmed by a young chef who trained at La Tour d'Argent, this is a fun find that's on my "must return" list. (And yes, it's Le Chemise, not "La...", my French grammarian friends.)<br />
<br />
<b><a href="http://www.guardian.co.uk/travel/2011/may/06/top-10-bistros-in-paris" target="_blank">Josephine "Chez Dumonet"</a></b> (6<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span>è</span></span></span>me): A favorite haunt of French icon Gerard Depardieu, this classic Parisian bistro offers superb service and an excellent meal in a timelessly lovely, art-nouveau setting. I went recently to celebrate a friend's birthday and we were treated to complimentary glasses of wine and a gateau (to share) large enough for a group twice our size. We ate like queens (and were treated like them, too). All this loveliness comes at a price so plan to splurge. Located on one of my favorite Left Bank shopping streets, rue Cherche-Midi. <br />
<br />
<b><a href="http://travel.nytimes.com/travel/guides/europe/france/paris/62087/le-bistro-paul-bert/restaurant-detail.html" target="_blank">Le Bistro Paul Bert</a> </b>(11<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span>è</span></span></span>me): Everyone knows that the Paris food scene is focused in the 11<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span>è</span></span></span>me. Drawn by affordable rents, a central location and hip vibe, young chefs are opening new restos here seemingly daily. Bistro Paul Bert isn't new (the new Le 6 Paul Bert is just down the street) but it's truly a classic (and not in a stuffy, un-fun way). We had a late dinner there recently and were pleased to find it bustling with a cool clientele of all ages. The food was delicious and the service attentive but unhurried. Go, you'll be happy you did. <br />
<br />
<b><a href="http://www.tripadvisor.com/Restaurant_Review-g187147-d719090-Reviews-Le_Comptoir_du_Relais-Paris_Ile_de_France.html" target="_blank">Le Comptoir du Relais</a> </b>(6<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span>è</span></span></span>me): And last but not least, my still-reigning favorite. The beloved outpost of star chef Yves Camdeborde has never failed me. We go (early) for dinner with the kids, bring visiting friends, and enjoy lunches <i>a deux</i>. The key is to go right as they open (12 noon for lunch or before 7pm for dinner) to avoid the inevitable queue out front. The people watching and the food are both consistently superb. <br />
<br />
As I wrap up this list, I realize I could go on and on. Any favorites you'd care to share? Stay tuned for more recommendations to come. A bientot! Paigehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05777428548325449024noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1615835669512085965.post-78133366805085509932013-02-15T10:45:00.001+01:002013-02-15T11:15:26.597+01:00Getting Schooled in France: Part DeuxIn my <a href="http://parisdejavu.blogspot.fr/2013/02/looking-back-on-paris-looking-ahead-at.html" target="_blank">last post</a>, I wrote about proposed changes to French education. What I didn't say is that we've also been considering some changes for our kids, including the possibility of a private bilingual school for next year. So earlier this week, at the time appointed for the incoming first graders' <strike>evaluation</strike> "group play date," we went and visited one. Here's how it went...<br />
- - -<br />
"<i>Adele Frost</i>?" calls a friendly looking teacher. Adele shuffles behind my leg and chews on the sleeve of her blouse. "<i>Est-ce qu'il y a une petite Adele</i>?"<br />
<br />
"<i>Oui</i>! Here she is!" I call out cheerfully, hoping my upbeat tone will ease Adele's sudden attack of nerves. I nudge Adele gently forward as all eyes turn in our direction. A line of mostly-smiling five-year-olds has formed in front of the teacher, sporting sweet French dresses, Jacadi sweaters and polished leather shoes. <br />
<br />
"<i>Viens ici, Adele</i>," the teacher says encouragingly, giving her a patient and indulgent smile. Adele's face crumples into a frown and thick tears well in her eyes.<br />
<br />
"Noooooooo!" she howls, employing much of the power of her well-developed lungs. "She looks <i>mechante</i>, Mommy! You said they would be nice." Other mothers avert their eyes, silently grateful that at that moment, they're not me.<br />
<br />
I kneel down and pull Adele onto my lap, cooing softly but firmly in her ear while trying (under watchful eyes) to deploy the right parenting approach. "But the teachers <i>are </i>nice, sweetie. And look how happy all the kids look. You're just going to go play for a little while and <i>see if you like it</i>. Mommy will be waiting here when you come out," I say, straining for a calm, nonchalant tone.<br />
<br />
"But I <i>don't</i> like it! I <i>don't</i> want to go to this school! None of my friends are heeeeere," Adele replies, as juicy tears streak down her reddened cheeks and tiny pools puddle beneath her nose.<br />
<br />
I quickly assess my options:<br />
<br />
a. Respect Adele's discomfort and honor her stated desire not to attend this admittedly intimidating play session, thereby tanking her shot at admission and the possibility of bilingual schooling for another year. In short, we bail. <br />
<br />
b. Acknowledge her feelings but insist that she'll be fine and once she actually gets in the room, she will enjoy herself. (This, I know, <i>is</i> what will happen, and is therefore what I believe to be the right course. This assumes, however, that I stay in full control of my own emotions and handle this with great skill. Ahem. If I push too hard, she'll balk. She's a kid who needs to think things are <i>her</i> idea.)<br />
<br />
And then there's option c. where I head straight to last-resort parenting: bribing, threatening and generally losing my cool. I hear myself say things like,"Okay Adele, if you don't go in, that's your choice, but we're going straight home and <i>we're not going to do anything fun</i>." And, gathering myself a bit, "Now honey, I know this feels a little scary, but has Mommy ever left you someplace bad?"<br />
<br />
Adele considers this. "Yes! You have, Mommy! Remember that time you took me to the Centre de Loisirs and the teachers were so meeeean." <br />
<br />
Mmm. Okay, she had me there. (Guilt, guilt...think, Paige, think!) By now, the group is shuffling toward the classroom, ready to draw pictures of <i>les bonnehommes</i>, show off their pre-reading skills and generally dazzle their future teachers.<br />
<br />
Adele doesn't budge.<br />
<br />
Precious minutes tick away. I feel my throat constrict as I pull the last trick out of my (desperate parenting) hat. "Adele," I whisper in her ear, "If you go in, Mommy will let you have chocolate after." She pauses, considering my offer, no doubt sensing my desperation. Finally, she shakes her head and begins pulling me toward the door. <br />
<br />
Okay, forget it, I think. This isn't the end of the world. We're happy with the kids' school and love our neighborhood. No need to improve on an already good thing, right?<br />
<br />
And then, out of the blue, appears a sweet smiling woman who kneels in front of Adele and recites (in flawless English) all the fun they're going to have. "We'll listen to a story! And draw pictures and sing a song! Won't you come with me Adele?" she asks, her hand outstretched.<br />
<br />
And then, as if by magic, Adele's face shifts and she offers the teacher one of her most-winning smiles. "Okay!" she says brightly, releasing me from her grasp. She takes the teacher's hand and heads happily toward the classroom. The teacher turns and gives me a reassuring nod. As I watch them saunter away down the hall, Adele turns back to wave, "Bye, Mommy!" she calls as they disappear into the room. <br />
<br />
I take a deep breath and try to gather myself, scanning the now empty room for any witnesses to this surprising turn of events. With an hour to kill before pick-up time, Cole (who has played the role of star big brother in this little drama) and I head to a nearby cafe and treat ourselves to two steaming mugs of <i>chocolate chaud</i>. As we review the events that have just transpired, we both just shake our heads. When it comes to five-year-olds, you just never know.<br />
<br />
An hour later, we return to pick up Adele and find her smiling broadly in the arms of one of the teachers. She bounds toward me, with all her characteristic vigor. "It was SO FUN, MOMMY! I loooove it here!" she says.<br />
<br />
And despite it all, I know she means every word.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgju03IczqIAm_2AmvoCfpAV4fAfMCd5kLKULh1l-H1ODMZXkAc9nlhfksiuJUFpNF_aMHxib8ptQUmARJkTEEJcIo_PvLBzGo_ikg86wowwGnEO3B5Wc3J2ajtH2V-HL3L_AM7lIJzz6Q/s1600/IMG_2851.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgju03IczqIAm_2AmvoCfpAV4fAfMCd5kLKULh1l-H1ODMZXkAc9nlhfksiuJUFpNF_aMHxib8ptQUmARJkTEEJcIo_PvLBzGo_ikg86wowwGnEO3B5Wc3J2ajtH2V-HL3L_AM7lIJzz6Q/s640/IMG_2851.jpg" width="480" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Paigehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05777428548325449024noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1615835669512085965.post-2588813919361960102013-02-13T13:42:00.003+01:002013-02-13T13:42:40.403+01:00Looking Back on Paris; Looking Ahead at French EducationIt's hard to believe we've just celebrated two years of living in Paris. We've all really grown and changed -- both as a family and individuals -- especially the kids, who were just three and five when we landed and began our adventure. Here they are at the airport when we left Boston. Little did they know about the new world they were about to discover.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6H_PEWSdbHSjK0axTJpk11ZrMd0EKTnxuIErPfFKjlRlhi3uaVRVWkhaWbs4qerrod7dM4xlGfi3jHO1aaRRu18z13-AvHKnq_5weTr84FamaJn-B6TeW5tDQimLbjgok136IY6nlcRI/s1600/IMG_1190.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6H_PEWSdbHSjK0axTJpk11ZrMd0EKTnxuIErPfFKjlRlhi3uaVRVWkhaWbs4qerrod7dM4xlGfi3jHO1aaRRu18z13-AvHKnq_5weTr84FamaJn-B6TeW5tDQimLbjgok136IY6nlcRI/s640/IMG_1190.jpg" width="480" /></a></div>
As I've watched them adapt to life in Paris, I've been struck many times by the resilience of children and how much we adults could learn from their example. As I've written about before, neither Cole or Adele spoke French when we arrived so learning the language was perhaps their first and greatest challenge. And yet they managed to make it look easy. Unlike adults, they seemed to learn French almost by osmosis, absorbing the new words and sounds alongside new words in English. They never had a moment of explicit instruction, just loads of play and total immersion. In fact, learning to speak was almost a Darwinian matter of survival. Unless they adapted to this foreign tongue, they would remain outside the experiences of their peers and unable to partake of the joys they saw around them. It wasn't always easy, but I have never regretted the choice to put them directly into French school.<br />
<br />
Now, as you may have heard, there are changes on the horizon in the French schools. For more than a century, French schools have followed an unusual four-day week with no classes held on Wednesdays. Initially, this was structured as a compromise with the Catholic church (that had, until then, directed French education) and was designed to allow for religious studies on Wednesday. Needless to say, this model has become outmoded and the new government of President Francois Hollande is committed to making some (and in my view, much-needed) reforms.<br />
<br />
But like any sweeping (or even sometimes modest) proposed social changes in France, these have met with strong resistance. There have been two teachers' strikes that have shut down the schools and manifestations that have drawn thousands of teachers and parents. Petitions have been circulated; meetings have been held.<br />
<br />
The International Herald Tribune did <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2013/02/12/world/europe/12iht-france12.html?ref=internationaleducation&_r=0" target="_blank">a great story</a> that spells out all the details. As for how I feel, I'm mixed. I agree that kids should attend school five days a week. It's better for their rhythm of learning and I'd prefer five shorter days to the current four really long days. But there's something pretty great about having a day "off" with the kids in the middle of the week. Their day is busy with classes and activities and it gives me some quality time with them like what we used to have when they were toddlers. I am aware, however, that this system is quite burdensome for many parents and is simply not sustainable. What do you think? If your kids are in French schools, do you support the proposed changes?<br />
<br />
And so we'll see what the future holds. As I'm often reminded, in life there is only one constant: change. And speaking of changes, they're still in the works for my blog. In the meantime, thanks for sticking with me and for visiting my little corner of Paris. <i>A bientot.</i>Paigehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05777428548325449024noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1615835669512085965.post-37263379396866588592013-02-03T17:45:00.000+01:002013-02-03T21:08:07.192+01:00Changes in the Works!I know, I know. It looks different around here (and not necessarily in a good way...) But it's going to look better, I promise.<br />
<br />
A redesign of this humble blog is under way. I'll be making some final tweaks over the next couple of days before I unveil a new site. I have big plans for my little corner of Paris here and I hope you'll stick with me as I work out the kinks.<br />
<br />
In the meantime, here's fun picture of some street art I spotted on the rue Babylone. (Just in time for Valentine's Day.) <i>A bientot!</i><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGcsD8aWETM1KKQIm-cgDWGH1gAEG3jOD0_BtFipbwbNpmE-Jv664oXPIZFaygwIXUZ-wpt3sDXJVm3TuUHuARppfprqlKDMdnederW88nyOy9z6jgWhe86dbh7m88jOqGbNAlkU50ldY/s1600/IMG_2630.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGcsD8aWETM1KKQIm-cgDWGH1gAEG3jOD0_BtFipbwbNpmE-Jv664oXPIZFaygwIXUZ-wpt3sDXJVm3TuUHuARppfprqlKDMdnederW88nyOy9z6jgWhe86dbh7m88jOqGbNAlkU50ldY/s640/IMG_2630.jpg" width="480" /></a></div>
<br />Paigehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05777428548325449024noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1615835669512085965.post-47179829220715488972013-01-28T16:02:00.001+01:002013-01-28T16:02:06.052+01:00A Little Corner of the Left BankMaybe it's because of the name (rue Monsieur le Prince...how sweet!) but I wanted to tell you about a little corner of the city that I love. It's in St Germain between Saint Sulpice and the Luxembourg Gardens, not far from metro Odeon. I was in the area last week for an appointment and took a little detour to stop by one of my favorite English language book shops, the <a href="http://www.sanfranciscobooksparis.com/shop/sfbparis/index.html" target="_blank">San Francisco Book Co</a>. It's one of only a handful of similar shops in the city and I always find something wonderful (usually on the shelves out front before I even walk through the door.)<br />
<br />
I don't know about you but I much prefer second-hand books (and the shops that sell them) to the piles of shiny new releases at the big chains. Something about finding that perfect book among slightly dusty stacks and feeling like it was meant for you...love that. It's also great knowing that someone else has relished it before you. Books aren't meant to be new, they should be dog-eared, loved and ideally, shared. It's as if you're contributing to the life of the book by discovering it, savoring it, then passing it along to another reader.<br />
<br />
In fact, several streets in that area are dotted with specialty or rare booksellers, especially along the rue des Medicis near the Palais du Luxembourg. Their dusty windows filled with gorgeous antique leather-bound books feel right out of another time. The fact that they (still) exist here is yet another reason to love this city. <br />
<br />
Anyway, I picked up <i>Run</i> by Anne Patchett at the SF Book Co. (a relative bargain at 12E for a hard cover) and continued on toward metro Odeon when I made a happy discovery of a different sort: an <a href="http://kyrieeleison.fr/" target="_blank">adorable boutique</a> called Kyrie Eleison. Do you know this little shop? The selection of slightly retro dresses, candy colored denim and carefully-selected accessories is as chic and feminine as the shop's owner who greets (and helps style) her customers with a warm smile. She's the kind of salesperson you hope for (but don't often find) in Paris. I spotted some fun sale items and what's more, it's an independent boutique -- something that seems harder to find these days on the Left Bank. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3lS2j9521Dcr-7Kb0XUTCCIS1tO2I-7448IAa7yNOGB8R5XJh74PTs1YORNpqIz7OmDD1d7EfZ0VD3IquGEHAQ3Jr49dO-cROjmv54eFIHnmrKThW4YjNQMyxWDPqEg0jG8E_4RHbsyo/s1600/IMG_3380.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3lS2j9521Dcr-7Kb0XUTCCIS1tO2I-7448IAa7yNOGB8R5XJh74PTs1YORNpqIz7OmDD1d7EfZ0VD3IquGEHAQ3Jr49dO-cROjmv54eFIHnmrKThW4YjNQMyxWDPqEg0jG8E_4RHbsyo/s400/IMG_3380.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3kSLMoFOkSTmROXHufsTTu2sVHMI0OboeCQkMcC_yhnzLuBAR6CpO9rMRoBBnrKlKnKqau6axnLfwOSnyuAyZuAoi6jl5soUVbaw7Shk1HipBbqjzt6E-alh95z1MTLmh89EdG1cd5cE/s1600/IMG_3381.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3kSLMoFOkSTmROXHufsTTu2sVHMI0OboeCQkMcC_yhnzLuBAR6CpO9rMRoBBnrKlKnKqau6axnLfwOSnyuAyZuAoi6jl5soUVbaw7Shk1HipBbqjzt6E-alh95z1MTLmh89EdG1cd5cE/s400/IMG_3381.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJeQO1HMHtbie0KFYtIBSd_KXJtHR7hoXbLSOKFDWKm034Um8cteHGianLK5uyQJpVqKrE0c0BTMT5PFwGA4sOQfMzks6VIS1CwJnj9rgqHysiSHDbZ-WLOZ8MgIZLj3PWbXMAlgD9BAY/s1600/IMG_3382.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJeQO1HMHtbie0KFYtIBSd_KXJtHR7hoXbLSOKFDWKm034Um8cteHGianLK5uyQJpVqKrE0c0BTMT5PFwGA4sOQfMzks6VIS1CwJnj9rgqHysiSHDbZ-WLOZ8MgIZLj3PWbXMAlgD9BAY/s400/IMG_3382.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
I'm surprised I haven't stumbled upon her shop before because it's just a couple doors away from my favorite restaurant in the area, <a href="http://travel.nytimes.com/travel/guides/europe/france/paris/60280/comptoir-du-relais/restaurant-detail.html" target="_blank">Le Comptoir du Relais</a>. This gem, helmed by beloved chef Yves Camdeborde, is hardly undiscovered but always worth the wait for its fresh, inventive takes on French classics and great people-watching. They don't take reservations so go a bit early to avoid the dinner queue or arrive before noon to nab a table for lunch (service starts at 12noon). <br />
<br />
I then wandered down toward <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Saint-Sulpice,_Paris" target="_blank">Saint Sulpice</a> and did a bit of window shopping before hopping on the 87 bus and heading home. A fun way to pass a couple of hours on a chilly Paris afternoon.
Do you have any favorite spots on the Left Bank? Do tell...<style>
<!--
/* Font Definitions */
@font-face
{font-family:"MS 明朝";
panose-1:0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0;
mso-font-charset:128;
mso-generic-font-family:roman;
mso-font-format:other;
mso-font-pitch:fixed;
mso-font-signature:1 134676480 16 0 131072 0;}
@font-face
{font-family:"MS 明朝";
panose-1:0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0;
mso-font-charset:128;
mso-generic-font-family:roman;
mso-font-format:other;
mso-font-pitch:fixed;
mso-font-signature:1 134676480 16 0 131072 0;}
@font-face
{font-family:Cambria;
panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4;
mso-font-charset:0;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:-536870145 1073743103 0 0 415 0;}
/* Style Definitions */
p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal
{mso-style-unhide:no;
mso-style-qformat:yes;
mso-style-parent:"";
margin:0in;
margin-bottom:.0001pt;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:12.0pt;
font-family:Cambria;
mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria;
mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria;
mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;}
.MsoChpDefault
{mso-style-type:export-only;
mso-default-props:yes;
font-family:Cambria;
mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria;
mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria;
mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;}
@page WordSection1
{size:8.5in 11.0in;
margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in;
mso-header-margin:.5in;
mso-footer-margin:.5in;
mso-paper-source:0;}
div.WordSection1
{page:WordSection1;}
-->
</style>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ3D-QVwDRry7LD5iYnLXkFFhAm_rTOZHwUR1Qnysp0byYZwlyUh2VvWzJ4ddHqOESm28BEcYDteoMU-RyImZQBSW9XNQFFAb6jjvx1HK_UNPRuC1dYDFLUUtPaMmmBGqn4X7N0TFj-Ys/s1600/IMG_3384.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ3D-QVwDRry7LD5iYnLXkFFhAm_rTOZHwUR1Qnysp0byYZwlyUh2VvWzJ4ddHqOESm28BEcYDteoMU-RyImZQBSW9XNQFFAb6jjvx1HK_UNPRuC1dYDFLUUtPaMmmBGqn4X7N0TFj-Ys/s640/IMG_3384.jpg" width="480" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;">À</span> bient<span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;">ô</span>t!</i></div>
<br />Paigehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05777428548325449024noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1615835669512085965.post-66875793348614117912013-01-21T17:50:00.001+01:002013-01-21T17:50:33.814+01:00Paris in the SnowNew Englanders are nothing if not hardy in the snow. There are seemingly born with an instinctive sense of how to dress for it, commute in it and -- above all -- shovel it. Most get a secretive thrill out of the act of shoveling snowy sidewalks (I know my husband did), scraping ice-covered windshields and sprinkling salt over the pavement.<br />
<br />
Despite living in the Boston area for eight years, I'm no New Englander. I never quite adjusted to the harsh reality of winter: seeing mountains of snow piled atop my car, wrangling squirmy toddlers in and out of snowsuits, wearing clothing that always seemed better suited to a warming hut on a ski slope than life in a busy city. Alas, I could never shake my inner Californian.<br />
<br />
Which brings to Paris and more specifically, to Parisians, in the snow. In case you haven't heard, we've seen quite a lot of snow here in the last few days. And from what I can tell, Parisians bear a stronger resemblance to Californians than to Bostonians when it comes to managing it. It began on Friday like a winter dream: a veil of white descending upon the city, making it glow in a shimmery softness. We enjoyed a morning of snowballs fights and built a mini <i>bonhomme de neige</i> before our feet froze and we heard the siren song of a mug of <i>chocolate chaud</i>. <br />
<br />
That was the weekend. Today, Monday, was a different story, as Parisians trudged grumpily through what New Englanders know as a "wintry mix" of snow, rain and ice that clogged gutters and piled in slushy mounds along every sidewalk. No one shovels here, you see. No one owns snow shovels (and they probably wouldn't do it anyway). So the scene on the streets was one of ill-outfitted Parisians (I spotted more than one woman teetering on stiletto <i>bottines</i>) trying to navigate the unfamiliar terrain and grumbling all the way. <br />
<br />
Nonetheless, the city looks pretty magical. If the forecast proves correct (always a serious <i>if</i> in Paris, we're likely to see more of the white stuff as the week continues.) As for me, I'll be busting out my inner Bostonian, feeling oddly at ease as snow blankets the City of Light. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHNUnyWQ7GqcM7azsWK11dE17fGl7MHafWJ2_poI-H33ON5cgDtWQce4cfx7GE48KGRae_6N30Gcy6a4vbjXmQTKRuaFOhQkFhyphenhyphenPuq5VoBSwiefgEuQR4c_hDM_RsI84Wa5IpSdbcxbJs/s1600/DSC02093.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHNUnyWQ7GqcM7azsWK11dE17fGl7MHafWJ2_poI-H33ON5cgDtWQce4cfx7GE48KGRae_6N30Gcy6a4vbjXmQTKRuaFOhQkFhyphenhyphenPuq5VoBSwiefgEuQR4c_hDM_RsI84Wa5IpSdbcxbJs/s400/DSC02093.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTXsTBPijSiRRbYaGDqvZ6hroyk0Gjj5rjZh5VMR34ib_J3Hf2vuNA0NKVTFIr4FEdXT_GhFNjkb08E_9Uwr8MofIriGFbcAztcmtv24XA_gLod420E6kp7sS01B0JVWy5jDzVmZknYlg/s1600/DSC02094.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTXsTBPijSiRRbYaGDqvZ6hroyk0Gjj5rjZh5VMR34ib_J3Hf2vuNA0NKVTFIr4FEdXT_GhFNjkb08E_9Uwr8MofIriGFbcAztcmtv24XA_gLod420E6kp7sS01B0JVWy5jDzVmZknYlg/s640/DSC02094.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9Y5QjdlQuo3STfxm2y4XBayvtBh_TnQsPa_oyq6biV4bOIPhkR183fDmg0_0I82WyshH2Dj7W8M45bkg2_Z9iqtj3IeTq2CM15v3QPonBbnk2bEqHLxfoHpK9Hv3l4fq0RO_0iFDeqYs/s1600/DSC02098.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9Y5QjdlQuo3STfxm2y4XBayvtBh_TnQsPa_oyq6biV4bOIPhkR183fDmg0_0I82WyshH2Dj7W8M45bkg2_Z9iqtj3IeTq2CM15v3QPonBbnk2bEqHLxfoHpK9Hv3l4fq0RO_0iFDeqYs/s640/DSC02098.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguBjpAmxtpy8jebRN46U8H8uiLCwVnskigbU7kyZMi6zFhdJbln2d0eOdcwEUlMCd2DRUlk5lqbciry0f5KvD7WY8uB_WTBvA06SwUY6rH_GPwU3HuL6d9JK7q_Dzxxufk151Ab-S4Tko/s1600/DSC02096.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguBjpAmxtpy8jebRN46U8H8uiLCwVnskigbU7kyZMi6zFhdJbln2d0eOdcwEUlMCd2DRUlk5lqbciry0f5KvD7WY8uB_WTBvA06SwUY6rH_GPwU3HuL6d9JK7q_Dzxxufk151Ab-S4Tko/s640/DSC02096.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKqzrd-3Doo74Nu3loUJxQAYu2vTh7TAhUS5vmaVHuuaoUJrTlFm9M4xICdpAwOD2Moi-0vM8V62zlz2zCsR484BEmFVwpO35OZ11sMVuHg4abEx7bT33KoZs3IQGjWpu28isLSV1ek6E/s1600/DSC02099.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKqzrd-3Doo74Nu3loUJxQAYu2vTh7TAhUS5vmaVHuuaoUJrTlFm9M4xICdpAwOD2Moi-0vM8V62zlz2zCsR484BEmFVwpO35OZ11sMVuHg4abEx7bT33KoZs3IQGjWpu28isLSV1ek6E/s640/DSC02099.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
<br />Paigehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05777428548325449024noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1615835669512085965.post-89384067688553348742013-01-11T10:24:00.004+01:002013-01-11T10:24:53.875+01:00New Year, New MoiIt started with a question. If I acted more like a real <i>Parisienne</i> (you know, confident, cool, assertive, unflappable), would I actually begin to feel more like one? <br />
<br />
Why, you ask, would such a thing concern me? After all, I live in Paris. I've integrated well into our local community, I'm ridiculously blessed with a great family and good friends and even get to do work I love. But this has nothing to do with all that. It has to do with me. On the inside. I'm ready to make some changes that aren't about geography or fitness or getting organized (although I have some of those on my resolutions list, too). These changes are of the inner variety; the idea that it's high time to embrace my own power, to stop waiting for the world to give me what I seek and to simply go out and get it. No apologies. <br />
<br />
And so in the spirit of the motto, "fake it 'til you make it," I turned my question into a challenge: What would happen if I acted out (on the outside), the changes I seek on the inside? If I act stronger, would I feel stronger? If I speak up, forcefully and clearly, albeit in my perfectly imperfect French, will the grouchy boulangere give me fresher <i>baguettes</i>? If I take to the streets like I'm worth a million bucks, will I feel like a star inside (no matter what I'm wearing?) If I venture a conversation with that mom at school, can I blow it off as nothing if she does the same? Basically, can I bring a new level of confidence and resilience to all (or most) of my life's interactions?<br />
<br />
If I do, I believe more of what I seek will come: deeper connections to my loved ones and friends; greater joy in my daily life in Paris; the courage to write (and speak) what's true, even if it's hard or uncomfortable. These are things I resolve to do.<br />
<br />
There are lots of great reasons for me to make these changes: to be a better role model for my daughter, to be a better partner, friend and even writer. But mostly I want to do it for me. And isn't that what getting older is all about?<br />
<br />
And so in this spirit, I tackled yesterday. I strode the <i>rues</i> as if I owned them, greeted strangers with a shoulders back, my-French-may-not-be-perfect-but-it's-just-fine confidence, finished a piece I was writing and didn't apologize for a thing. And you know what? It worked. Nothing revolutionary actually happened, but I <i>felt </i>better, stronger -- more the me I want to be. And maybe even the tiniest bit <i>Parisienne.</i> :)<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7DjDj-sS5ZxspCZ1uTZY30P3mgspxehTKJOzcevctgJdMsNW9J029i5z02aq7MLkuNHCeEJm2m6PU2mIw2ainV4vuiTojHUIi-KB1mNhfbKVqLWaSj9tXfjy8ZdhNlWuZlI0Z1HNAc7o/s1600/DSC01462.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7DjDj-sS5ZxspCZ1uTZY30P3mgspxehTKJOzcevctgJdMsNW9J029i5z02aq7MLkuNHCeEJm2m6PU2mIw2ainV4vuiTojHUIi-KB1mNhfbKVqLWaSj9tXfjy8ZdhNlWuZlI0Z1HNAc7o/s400/DSC01462.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
How about you? Any resolutions you care to share? Happy and healthy new year to you!Paigehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05777428548325449024noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1615835669512085965.post-89716054937597474672012-12-23T08:57:00.001+01:002012-12-23T08:57:39.922+01:00Paris When it Sparkles: A Guide to Holiday Family Fun<div class="MsoNormal">
<style>
<!--
/* Font Definitions */
@font-face
{font-family:"MS 明朝";
panose-1:0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0;
mso-font-charset:128;
mso-generic-font-family:roman;
mso-font-format:other;
mso-font-pitch:fixed;
mso-font-signature:1 134676480 16 0 131072 0;}
@font-face
{font-family:"MS 明朝";
panose-1:0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0;
mso-font-charset:128;
mso-generic-font-family:roman;
mso-font-format:other;
mso-font-pitch:fixed;
mso-font-signature:1 134676480 16 0 131072 0;}
@font-face
{font-family:Cambria;
panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4;
mso-font-charset:0;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:3 0 0 0 1 0;}
/* Style Definitions */
p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal
{mso-style-unhide:no;
mso-style-qformat:yes;
mso-style-parent:"";
margin:0in;
margin-bottom:.0001pt;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:12.0pt;
font-family:Cambria;
mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria;
mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria;
mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;}
a:link, span.MsoHyperlink
{mso-style-priority:99;
color:blue;
mso-themecolor:hyperlink;
text-decoration:underline;
text-underline:single;}
a:visited, span.MsoHyperlinkFollowed
{mso-style-noshow:yes;
mso-style-priority:99;
color:purple;
mso-themecolor:followedhyperlink;
text-decoration:underline;
text-underline:single;}
.MsoChpDefault
{mso-style-type:export-only;
mso-default-props:yes;
font-family:Cambria;
mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria;
mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria;
mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;}
@page WordSection1
{size:8.5in 11.0in;
margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in;
mso-header-margin:.5in;
mso-footer-margin:.5in;
mso-paper-source:0;}
div.WordSection1
{page:WordSection1;}
--></style>Ahh, Christmas in Paris. The twinkling lights, fabulous
holiday shopping, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">vin chaud</i> and cozy
nights by the fire. Isn’t it romantic? Sure, unless you have kids, in which
case, copious lists for Santa, too many unscheduled hours and sugar overload can
lead to a merry meltdown, turning even the cheeriest <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">maman</i> into the Grinch. That’s why I’m filling our family calendar
with lots of happy holiday diversions. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Here’s
what we’ll be up to this most wonderful time of the year.
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Festive holiday windows</b>.
Parisians are accustomed to lust-worthy window shopping; <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">faire du l</i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;">è</span>che-vitrine</i>
(literally “window licking”) is a time-honored activity here. But the Christmas
season takes this pastime to a whole new level. A trek up to <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">les grands magasins</i> on Boulevard
Haussman is a holiday must with kids. The windows of Galeries Lafayette and
Printemps come to life with music and animation, all at eye-level for your
little elves’ entertainment. The windows of Le Bon Marche and BHV are also
worth a visit. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF0RtsoMeK23c9lrdKprX3t1LkZWYKTu7HsLVS-WCuN5yOS8qVMA8dCZSGKr7kX0_Osiw_Bm-UcRRk94VUWFcsyJs9wDMmCZTCR5dbAHh2TJAS0WP0IhWhr3aDDSk9J6qfgZY05Dgw7Xg/s1600/DSC01914.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF0RtsoMeK23c9lrdKprX3t1LkZWYKTu7HsLVS-WCuN5yOS8qVMA8dCZSGKr7kX0_Osiw_Bm-UcRRk94VUWFcsyJs9wDMmCZTCR5dbAHh2TJAS0WP0IhWhr3aDDSk9J6qfgZY05Dgw7Xg/s400/DSC01914.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> <i><span style="font-size: x-small;">My little elves.</span></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;"> </span></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Another day, another
carousel</b>. Pint-sized Parisians love them a carousel. Just look around: There
are dozens dotted around the city and easy to find near most major monuments. Between
Christmas and the New Year, the Marie de Paris offers its own <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">cadeau</i> to the city: Free rides on the carousels!
Our favorites (we’ve tried them all, I swear) include the two-story
merry-go-round at the base of Sacr<span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;">é</span>-Coeur in Montmartre and the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">man</i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;">è</span>ge</i>
at the Luxembourg Gardens. (It’s more than one hundred years old and kids spear
little tin rings with mini wooden “baguettes.”) </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">A view from on top of
the world</b>. If your brood is feeling brave, take a ride on the Grand Roue de
la Concorde, the city’s towering ferris wheel at the foot of the Champs
Elysees. Its glittering views over the Tuileries, atop the Louvre and beyond
give new meaning to City of Light. It’s only up until January 13 so don’t
delay. Tickets are 10<span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;">€</span> for adults, 5<span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;">€</span> for kids under ten. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">The circus is coming
to town</b>. A highlight for us last year, Le Cirque d’Hiver Bouglione (<a href="http://www.cirquedhiver.com/">http://www.cirquedhiver.com/</a>) is poised
to become an annual family favorite. It offers all the timeless magic of a
bygone era circus (think traditional clowns, awe-inspiring acrobats and trapeze
artists, jugglers and even a tiger-tamer) set to a live orchestra under an
authentic “big top” in the Marais. This year’s production, Eclat, runs until
March 2013. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">A giant of an exhibit</b>.
Know any kids who aren’t fascinated by dinosaurs? Me neither. We love the Jardin
des Plantes any time of year but the dinosaur exhibit at the Museum of Natural
History (through May 2013) requires a special trip. Although not a specifically
“holiday” outing, pair this with a hop across the Seine to Notre Dame Cathedral.
Like the museum’s massive meat-eaters, the cathedral’s towering <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Sapin de No</i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;">ë</span>l</i>
is sure to leave the little ones wide-eyed in wonder. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Christmas with a
conscience</b>. In this season of consuming, er, giving, it can be a challenge
to teach kids about the real meaning of the holidays. The Musee Quai Branly is making
it easier. From Dec 26 to 31, kids who bring a toy to donate can participate in
a special free atelier where they’ll make a new toy out of recycled materials.
Donated toys will be given to children living in refugee camps. Stay and
explore the intriguingly curated exhibits housed in this Jean Nouvel-designed
jewel. A win-win for the whole family. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And if your holidays just wouldn’t be complete without a
traditional March<span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;">é</span> de No<span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;">ë</span>l, head to the Champs Elysees for the obligatory stands hawking
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">tartiflette</i>, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">marrons grill</i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;">é</span>s</i>,
knit woolies and carved wooden ornaments. You’ll also find some rides for kids
and an indoor skating rink at the nearby Grand Palais where little ones can
take to the ice. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Courage</i>, parents, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">courage!</i></div>
Paigehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05777428548325449024noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1615835669512085965.post-11148225021347560992012-12-17T12:44:00.000+01:002012-12-17T12:44:51.279+01:00Are My Children Safer in France?Before we moved to France, we lived in a town called Arlington, just a few miles from downtown Boston. It's a sweet, middle-class community populated by a mix of life-long residents, many now living in the homes where they grew up, and young families drawn by good schools, quality housing and proximity to urban life. There are lots of parks, a wooded bike path, decent restaurants and kids everywhere. In many ways, it's an idyllic place to raise a family.<br />
<br />
When we lived there, my son started kindergarten at our local elementary school. It was, again, almost idyllic. The school was just a few blocks from our home. Groups of kids walked together through the leaf-strewn streets that fanned out around the school, crossing guards manned nearby intersections and parents were welcome to get involved. It felt safe. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRaHMFBK68hLk57R16WKkKfwIHFTATzq-zovEf4yWTdpc0kBDFn8O9ndZA-4nD3Uw7UqkUV1xYIm1FW5-aVBEumAvqHoQgYA-uaJoUWCE-fatebDGH8Mb0EXX8Uz4j5k-Arh9UThcELwk/s1600/IMG_0942_2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRaHMFBK68hLk57R16WKkKfwIHFTATzq-zovEf4yWTdpc0kBDFn8O9ndZA-4nD3Uw7UqkUV1xYIm1FW5-aVBEumAvqHoQgYA-uaJoUWCE-fatebDGH8Mb0EXX8Uz4j5k-Arh9UThcELwk/s640/IMG_0942_2.jpg" width="480" /></a></div>
<i><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"></span>Walking to school in our old neighborhood. </span></i><br />
<br />
And yet, in the days since the atrocities in Connecticut, I've been haunted by thoughts of Arlington. Just a few hundred miles from Sandy Hook, I imagine my friends gathered in clusters on Arlington's playgrounds, sending their kids to school and volunteering in classrooms. I know they are scared. In the wake of news like this, what parent isn't?<br />
<br />
I cannot help but wonder, somewhat guiltily: Are my kids actually safer in France? <br />
<br />
Like so many mothers, I believe that my very first job as a parent is to keep my kids safe. Even on days when I'm least proud of my parenting -- when I've been tired, less attentive or less patient than I'd like to be -- I always console myself with one basic fact as I tuck my children in each night: They are safe. No matter what else I did that day, they are alive and well. And that is something.<br />
<br />
And yet I know rationally that threats are everywhere, that the relative safety I feel here in Paris has little to do with geography and is, simply, a state of mind. Harm could come to them just as easily here as anywhere. We are, after all, in the heart of a big city, buzzing with dangers and joys in equal measure. Threats abound everyday -- in the streets we must
cross, in the strangers we must trust, in the lives we must lead as
fully functioning human beings.<br />
<br />
I do, however, know this: They will not be killed by gunfire in their school. <br />
<br />
So are they safer in France? Probably not. But are they safer from guns? No doubt about it. <br />
<br />
The loss of young life in Connecticut is beyond rational comprehension. Unlike loved ones in the U.S., I have the luxury of shielding myself and my children from much of this crushing news. I simply cannot bear it and the reasons are obvious. It brings to the fore all that we fear most: That out of the blue, through no fault of our own, something evil and horrendous will take from us that which we treasure above all else. That this should happen to ones so young is the realization of our darkest imaginings. That they should be harmed in their havens of learning, growth, social connection and joy is truly inconceivable. A realm of innocence has become a place of fear, for parents as well as children.<br />
<br />
It is just so wrong.<br />
<br />
Consider this: Great Britain had exactly 42 gun-related deaths in 2008. The U.S.? 30,364. Britain has some of the toughest gun-control laws in the world. In fact, most police personnel in the U.K. do not even carry firearms. <br />
<br />
Would stricter gun laws have prevented this tragedy? In all likelihood,
yes. Of course, this can be debated, foolishly and incomprehensibly. But how bad does a tragedy have to be before we tighten the laws and find out? <br />
<br />
As the web fills with guidance ("How to Talk to Your Children About ...") and schools fortify security, re-examine emergency plans and reassure nervous parents, I feel grateful to be so many miles away from it all. I'm not going to have "that talk" with my kids. I'm not going to explain to them that a deranged man did something terrifying at a school, something that -- mercifully, for now -- is far beyond what their young, innocent minds can fathom. For this, I am lucky.<br />
<br />
I know my friends at home are fearful today as they send their babies off to school. What will they hear on the playground? Will they be afraid? Will they still want to go to school? Most of all, will they all be safe? God, I hope so. I really, truly hope so. Paigehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05777428548325449024noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1615835669512085965.post-4228138006086242252012-11-26T12:15:00.000+01:002012-11-26T12:15:02.563+01:00Just Another Day in ParisHi there. <i>Oui</i>, it's been awhile. I hope you had a wonderful Thanksgiving and are feeling as grateful as I am for life's gifts big and small. I know that I have more than my fair share. Living in Paris is part of it, but really that's just the geography. Life's greatest treasures have nothing to do with an address and everything to do with gratitude and perspective. Not always easy to remember but so important. Don't you agree?<br />
<br />
On that note, I have a little story to share. It reminded me again why living in Paris is indeed special, not because I can skip over to the Louvre in minutes (which admittedly is pretty great) or because fresh croissants are within my grasp each morning. It was a couple of encounters that for me sum up what's special about France.<br />
<br />
So I've been on the hunt for a new couch, one that we can sink into to watch movies or read but still look chic without taking over our living room. I found what looked like the perfect <i>canape</i> for sale on <a href="http://www.leboncoin.fr/" target="_blank">LeBonCoin</a>, France's expanded answer to Craigslist. (But more like an online <i>brocante</i>.) I called the seller and made a <i>rendezvous</i> to come take a look.<br />
<br />
I arrived at the seller's address in an ancient part of the 5th arrondissement, not far from the market street rue Mouffetard and tucked behind the Pantheon. His apartment was warm and fabulously decorated in that very Parisian way -- a combination of contemporary pieces, time worn objects, art and family heirlooms. It had a lived-in yet modern feel; the kind of space where you want to linger and wrap your hands around a warm mug of something or enjoy a glass of red wine. Turns out, the seller, a man in his 60s, was a writer and photographer who specialized in art and design. There was a melancholy air about him as he described his career (now mostly behind him) and expressed a longing for the days when his children were young. With impeccable manners and in typically French style, he inquired discreetly about me, my work and family. I loved the couch and committed to buying it, saying I would find someone to move it and be in touch very soon.<br />
<br />
I met the movers there the next day and was again welcomed warmly by the seller. He had found some of my writing online and was anxious to hear more about my impressions of life in France and my plans for our future here. With my new couch now loaded into the moving truck, I had little time to linger so I bid him a grateful farewell. He kindly offered me a new copy of his most recent work, a hard cover book of photos for the "Biennale 2012" at Galerie Vallois on rue de Seine. It sits on my coffee table and reminds me of the unexpected generosity I sometimes encounter here in Paris.<br />
<br />
Then it was time to get my new couch home. The movers offered me a ride in the front seat of their van and so I traversed the city from a new perspective, above ground and seated high in a <i>camion</i>, sandwiched between two large movers. Having been in the moving business for more than a dozen years, the driver avoided the mid-day traffic on the city's busy boulevards in favor of little back streets and crooked alleyways. We chatted away about the city, its history and its beauty, his love for Paris becoming more apparent as we drove. As we got closer to my neighborhood, he brought up the Musee Rodin and asked if I had been. He was pleased to hear that it's one of my favorite spots and he went on to regale me with facts about Rodin, his life, his loves and of course his work.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi67KtbmHaap6RDRSgL9PoZ_X-VSHkQlLSWK2XkeDxtF3Vd_lu-NR25d9VBhztA3HmqarbLpk_WIboJtzHEpemMctms2yv1Bh8fHq9jlzjdFXz5sXWHroT6TCyig1hwt4vdv39IaukwCtw/s1600/DSC01758.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi67KtbmHaap6RDRSgL9PoZ_X-VSHkQlLSWK2XkeDxtF3Vd_lu-NR25d9VBhztA3HmqarbLpk_WIboJtzHEpemMctms2yv1Bh8fHq9jlzjdFXz5sXWHroT6TCyig1hwt4vdv39IaukwCtw/s640/DSC01758.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
As we bumped through the streets in the well-used van, stopping and starting with the whims of traffic, darting pedestrians and fearless scooters, I couldn't help but feel touched by this second very Parisian encounter and my incredible good fortune at being able to experience it. An aging writer and photographer tucked away in the shadow of the Pantheon, an art-loving moving man with the soul of a poet. It was one of those only-in-Paris kinds of afternoons. <br />
<br />
Ever have days like this you'd care to share? I'd love to hear about it. Also, if you haven't been over on HipParis lately, <a href="http://hipparis.com/2012/11/16/becoming-french-101-how-to-live-and-work-in-france/" target="_blank">here's a post I wrote recently</a> about living and working in France. <i><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Bonne journée et à bientôt!</span></span></i><br />
<style>
<!--
/* Font Definitions */
@font-face
{font-family:Arial;
panose-1:2 11 6 4 2 2 2 2 2 4;
mso-font-charset:0;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:-536859905 -1073711037 9 0 511 0;}
@font-face
{font-family:Arial;
panose-1:2 11 6 4 2 2 2 2 2 4;
mso-font-charset:0;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:-536859905 -1073711037 9 0 511 0;}
/* Style Definitions */
p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal
{mso-style-unhide:no;
mso-style-qformat:yes;
mso-style-parent:"";
margin:0in;
margin-bottom:.0001pt;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:12.0pt;
font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-ansi-language:FR;
mso-fareast-language:FR;}
.MsoChpDefault
{mso-style-type:export-only;
mso-default-props:yes;
font-size:10.0pt;
mso-ansi-font-size:10.0pt;
mso-bidi-font-size:10.0pt;}
@page WordSection1
{size:8.5in 11.0in;
margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in;
mso-header-margin:.5in;
mso-footer-margin:.5in;
mso-paper-source:0;}
div.WordSection1
{page:WordSection1;}
--> </style>
Paigehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05777428548325449024noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1615835669512085965.post-41243589179771406472012-10-25T11:09:00.000+02:002012-10-25T11:09:55.517+02:00What's With All These Old People?Ever have that moment at a party or playground when you think, "Everyone here looks really old. What's with all these middle-aged people?" And then you realize, "Oh right, these people <i>are</i> <i>my age</i>. They don't just look middle-aged. They are middle-aged."<br />
<br />
And guess what, Paige. So are you. <br />
<br />
Yes, I do talk to myself this way. (People would be horrified by how not nice I am to myself.) Anyway, it's true. Whenever I use the term "middle-aged" with friends, they get annoyed or roll their eyes. "Paige, <i>we're not middle-aged</i>.." We're not? Really? How long do you think we're going to hang around here? I'm staring down the proverbial barrel at my 43rd birthday and if I'm very lucky, rounding the middle of my life's bend. That's not bad news. It's simply the truth. <br />
<br />
There are so many ways in which getting older is fabulous. The hard-fought wisdom. The I-simply-can't-be-bothered-to-give-a-toss-about-that anymore attitude (over things that would have crippled me a decade ago). But that's not what this post is about. This is about what sucks about it. Sorry. But some of it does.<br />
<br />
First, in France, the "<i>madame</i>" thing. I am obviously well within the age territory where being called "<i>madame</i>" (instead of the coveted "<i>mademoiselle</i>") should be entirely expected. And it is. But here's the truth: Hearing it still stings the teeniest, tiniest bit.<br />
<br />
And on the increasingly rare occasions when someone slips me a "<i>mademoiselle</i>," <i>oh la la, la joie!</i> It's absurd. I fall instantly, madly in love with whomever has said it and leave that encounter evaluating exactly what caused the error. Did I dab on extra eye cream last night? Does my leather jacket say "fun and youthful"? Is that poor fool near-sighted? <br />
<br />
It's ridiculous. Particularly when you consider that the moniker "<i>mademoiselle</i>" actually has nothing directly to do with age. It's intended use is for unmarried women. (Think what you will). Any woman, once married -- be she 19 or 39 -- becomes a "<i>madame</i>" <i>apres le mariage</i> and technically remains a "<i>mademoiselle</i>" until that day comes. And if it never does? She's a "girl" for life. (There's practically <a href="http://www.france24.com/en/20120222-france-strikes-out-mademoiselle-coup-feminism" target="_blank">a whole movement here devoted to abolishing the word</a>. But I digress.)<br />
<br />
I still remember my early days in Paris, newly married and ready to shout from the rooftops about my happily wedded status. I was 30 and heard the very occasional "<i>madame.</i>" Back then, I thought it was great. Silly, silly girl.<br />
<br />
Of course all this pales compared to the real stuff. The skin that doesn't fit quite like it used to. The achy lower back that won't go away. The realization that I might be too old for some trends, like city shorts worn over opaque tights or those Isabel Marant high-heeled tennis shoe things. (Okay, so maybe those are bad ideas anyway). <br />
<br />
I take heart in the idea that French women age pretty well. (Yes, I know I'm not French. Details, details.) I'm often awed by the elegant older women I see in Paris, dressed impeccably, hair just so. Rarely dowdy or worse, desperately clinging to looks that are far below their years. They seem confident, lovely and still very much engaged in the French game of life-as-seduction.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixH5sY6jljJrNz481h4QqLSIHLiEbmBW73qVU2Niw-K25rqVOBkeb8csV77ksGLkD0lBEbGaKTXW9Mv1TnobLhI6GftzvrTkNfbN3fucl8asaLGjryjgSAQ12n6q_UOqndTAtlNlW3g3I/s1600/JP-FRENCH-WOMEN-articleLarge.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="246" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixH5sY6jljJrNz481h4QqLSIHLiEbmBW73qVU2Niw-K25rqVOBkeb8csV77ksGLkD0lBEbGaKTXW9Mv1TnobLhI6GftzvrTkNfbN3fucl8asaLGjryjgSAQ12n6q_UOqndTAtlNlW3g3I/s400/JP-FRENCH-WOMEN-articleLarge.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> <i> From left: A. Devlin/Press Association; R. Duvignau/Reuters; Kamel Lahamadi. (NYTimes.com)</i></span> <br />
<br />
Not bad role models for a middle-aged girl like me, eh?<br />
- - -<br />
Want to read more about the French game of <i>la seduction</i>? <a href="http://hipparis.com/2011/09/19/le-flirting-in-france-the-art-of-seduction/" target="_blank">Here's a post I wrote a while back</a> for the HipParis blog. Hope you like it. Paigehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05777428548325449024noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1615835669512085965.post-5214460547833455702012-10-16T12:50:00.001+02:002012-10-16T12:50:59.589+02:00The Apple Store in Paris: If at First You Don't Succeed...I'm going to let you in on a little secret. When in Paris, never, ever, accept "<i>non</i>" for an answer. Or at least not the first "<i>non</i>" you hear. Why? Because despite what we were taught in high school, a "<i>non</i>" in Paris doesn't really mean "no" at all.<br />
<br />
What it actually means is, "<i>how bad do you want it</i>?" <br />
<br />
Here's what I mean. Yesterday, I spent my afternoon at the Apple Store near the Opera Garnier. Thanks to my seven-year-old, my Macbook started its day in a bath of hot, milky coffee and subsequently refused to cooperate. After a quick Google search ("coffee on Macbook") revealed a dizzying number of DIY fixes and photos of laptop innards, I opted for professional assistance.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPCptu563QYpMYIRq2VqOLe73_PiXazRqCSvnAP-a8ttgmra2zko6SdtECpoR7rmNwL-H9upzEN-9JUUTP8pR8Smu1qSxz_l2MbyiQTLwvGLS_tvIyN2UeSnOZWjI_IUoS0clN3qjI6fA/s1600/IMG_2898.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPCptu563QYpMYIRq2VqOLe73_PiXazRqCSvnAP-a8ttgmra2zko6SdtECpoR7rmNwL-H9upzEN-9JUUTP8pR8Smu1qSxz_l2MbyiQTLwvGLS_tvIyN2UeSnOZWjI_IUoS0clN3qjI6fA/s400/IMG_2898.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN_XMhSoDlp_W23tRPsGdyT1NQgiXgouw4v5q9K1_CiOxNK_AqelbjGTallFCZX34L4mhcPTPBspwiIuHNT7HTA79yQc5guQBhnHgY2G2HyrunEs0HFummPuaT0PxtDAX5R1uKla2Z6F4/s1600/IMG_2899.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN_XMhSoDlp_W23tRPsGdyT1NQgiXgouw4v5q9K1_CiOxNK_AqelbjGTallFCZX34L4mhcPTPBspwiIuHNT7HTA79yQc5guQBhnHgY2G2HyrunEs0HFummPuaT0PxtDAX5R1uKla2Z6F4/s320/IMG_2899.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
So there I stood, on Apple's old-Paris-meets-new-millenium threshold, my caffeinated computer in hand. I headed for the "Genius Bar," having read that this was the place for service and repairs. Dozens of blue T-shirted techies hovered about, toting iPads and chatting with one another. I approached a pair of customer service reps. Could I speak to someone about possible computer repair? Blank stare. <i>Repairs? Here? Non, non, non</i>. <i>You must make a rendezvous online, madame, to speak to someone about computer repair.</i> Oh, I see. So even though I'm here now, talking to you, with my computer <i>in my bag</i>, I have to go online and make a rendezvous to come back to talk to you? <i>Oui!</i> He motioned to a bank of iPads on sleek blond wood tables and suggested I email him for my rendezvous. Oh, and there was a two week wait for repair appointments. <i>Desole</i>. <br />
<br />
I felt dazed. Had I fallen into a parallel universe? Why was he forcing me to go online (not five yards from where we stood) to do something we could easily achieve in four seconds face-to-face? I tensed up and turned for the door, picturing my poor Mac in the tobacco-stained hands of the non-licensed repair guy I was sure I could find on CraigsList.<br />
<br />
But no! <i>This is Paris</i>, I reminded myself. If at first you don't succeed, try, try again.<br />
<br />
I would regroup, apply fresh lip gloss and deploy my feminine charms (admittedly faded though they may be for twenty-something computer guys). I scanned the blue T-shirted techies anew and identified my target. And this time, I brought a fresh, <i>French</i> approach.<br />
<br />
<i>Bonjour! Ca va?</i> I know it's a lot to ask but I was hoping you could help me? I'm sure this happens all the time but I was at a cafe and spilled coffee on my computer...you must see that all the time, <i>non</i>? I thought so...Oh, me? I'm from <i>la Californie </i>originally. I know, I love it there, too. The beach! And the people are so nice! Really, you think so? That's so nice of you to say. I'm still working on my accent but I'm glad you like it... <br />
<br />
I was shameless. I even grazed his arm as he led me to the Genius Bar.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0jg6HcfP8tOnY5MuZ31R8IKGww6PdN8WtGVgE4Kbdw9k2fo0Q_ZpwVRPkdwMcKu3JD6W1vHpnER1x6BzJueMvu6B4pJfYkbmH6aEq7kAtKPgvFUKCHW3HNWadE3bbUylNgJl1yjczUJw/s1600/IMG_2902.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0jg6HcfP8tOnY5MuZ31R8IKGww6PdN8WtGVgE4Kbdw9k2fo0Q_ZpwVRPkdwMcKu3JD6W1vHpnER1x6BzJueMvu6B4pJfYkbmH6aEq7kAtKPgvFUKCHW3HNWadE3bbUylNgJl1yjczUJw/s400/IMG_2902.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
<br />
Twenty minutes later, I sauntered out into the Paris afternoon, my computer in the able hands of my Apple technician, his (modest) repair estimate tucked inside my bag. I wasn't sure whether to feel proud of myself or the tiniest bit dirty. Mostly I felt grateful for that Balenciaga fragrance I'd spritzed at Sephora before I hit the Apple store. Everyone knows the French are suckers for a little seductive scent.<br />
Paigehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05777428548325449024noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1615835669512085965.post-43416209544853466022012-09-27T10:15:00.001+02:002012-09-27T10:15:02.709+02:00The Error of my (Parisian) WaysAt the risk of beating a dead <i>cheval</i>, I had an experience this morning I had to share. It sums up so much about what it's really like to live here: to educate our kids in French schools, to eat in their restaurants, shop in their stores, partake of their services. So here goes.<br />
<br />
Every year, the schools offer after-school enrichment courses in activities like chess, theater and ping pong. (The array of choices is perhaps a subject for another time. Ahem.) Called <i>les ateliers bleus</i>, enrollment is limited, closely regulated and happens only once a year. Miss that one day to submit your application and sorry, you're s.o.l. After being convinced that what they call "<i>mime</i>" (think Marcel Marceau) is actually what we think of as theater or drama for six and seven-year-olds, I convinced Cole to give it a try. Some of his pals had enrolled and the additional hit of French vocabulary and grammar couldn't hurt.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZxay5fUwjV6KAs9T4achnyGoJ0iGl257ZbbzOlTLV6Eum7RwQg02TLdyzyq9mZyzLbH_MObpmgeyvet6eVFqAOC44N_FShCkmrPFghAEWy4Dx8NVsIOBIlb1GokqcH9ML43j-EamOjNI/s1600/marceau.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZxay5fUwjV6KAs9T4achnyGoJ0iGl257ZbbzOlTLV6Eum7RwQg02TLdyzyq9mZyzLbH_MObpmgeyvet6eVFqAOC44N_FShCkmrPFghAEWy4Dx8NVsIOBIlb1GokqcH9ML43j-EamOjNI/s400/marceau.jpg" width="301" /></a></div>
<br />
So I dutifully completed the registration form, submitted it as instructed to the school director personally and assumed all was well for Cole's future on the French stage. <i>Mais non, madame</i>. Not so fast.<br />
<br />
A morning check of the updated enrollment list revealed no "Cole Frost" among the participants. And yet there were clearly slots remaining. <i>Merde</i>. So I steadied myself, threw my shoulders back and approached the school director. <br />
<br />
"Good morning, <i>monsieur</i>. Excuse me for disturbing you but I wondered if there were still places available for <i>mime</i> on Thursdays?" (I knew there were, of course.)<br />
<br />
"<i>Ah, non</i>. I don't think so madame. And it is much too late to enroll. Did you submit your form?"<br />
<br />
"Well, yes, in fact, I gave it to you personally on Tuesday and from the list it appears that there are still a few spots available...<i>non</i>?"<br />
<br />
Hmmm, paper shuffle, paper shuffle. Having <i>not</i> found my enrollment form, he leveled me with a look. "You wrote the wrong day on your form. That must be it. Is that possible, <i>madame</i>?"<br />
<br />
So here I had a critical choice to make: Insist I had written the correct date, thereby implying that the error was his or, fall on my sword, agree that the mistake was entirely my own and probably score a spot for Cole in the class.<br />
<br />
I did the latter. Why? Because there's no use in arguing with a Parisian. A Parisian is always right. And unless you're game for a serious verbal joust (which they adore), it's easier just to admit defeat, claim errors you didn't make and leave it at that.<br />
<br />
"Well, yes, <i>monsieur</i>, it's quite possible that I wrote the wrong date. Forgive me for my mistake."<br />
<br />
"<i>Bon! Pas de probleme, madame!</i>"<br />
<br />
Cole starts mime next week. Paigehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05777428548325449024noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1615835669512085965.post-70301295563246028372012-09-20T10:10:00.002+02:002012-09-20T10:26:22.476+02:00Le Malade Imaginaire: Is France Making Me a Hypochondriac?If you've ever been to Paris, you probably recognize this.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJyiAy0yura_cRTrKU1x1ymqlyWlA0KXCTNvgj9MGVAm5jERhd3TlvXfEUQvI1ykVuLy_5aTtOzg3ZswHOrdDs_WQZ5vygJBk4G8CONvbTUEIxE4Qwrb0nwxkq7t6J4G4jF9KXjIWxRRU/s1600/paris_pharmacie" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJyiAy0yura_cRTrKU1x1ymqlyWlA0KXCTNvgj9MGVAm5jERhd3TlvXfEUQvI1ykVuLy_5aTtOzg3ZswHOrdDs_WQZ5vygJBk4G8CONvbTUEIxE4Qwrb0nwxkq7t6J4G4jF9KXjIWxRRU/s400/paris_pharmacie" width="400" /></a></div>
The ubiquitous French <i>pharmacie</i>. Like fresh baguettes, <i>crottes de chien</i> and striped
<style>
<!--
/* Font Definitions */
@font-face
{font-family:"MS 明朝";
panose-1:0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0;
mso-font-charset:128;
mso-generic-font-family:roman;
mso-font-format:other;
mso-font-pitch:fixed;
mso-font-signature:1 134676480 16 0 131072 0;}
@font-face
{font-family:"MS 明朝";
panose-1:0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0;
mso-font-charset:128;
mso-generic-font-family:roman;
mso-font-format:other;
mso-font-pitch:fixed;
mso-font-signature:1 134676480 16 0 131072 0;}
@font-face
{font-family:Cambria;
panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4;
mso-font-charset:0;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:3 0 0 0 1 0;}
/* Style Definitions */
p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal
{mso-style-unhide:no;
mso-style-qformat:yes;
mso-style-parent:"";
margin:0in;
margin-bottom:.0001pt;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:12.0pt;
font-family:Cambria;
mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria;
mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria;
mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;}
.MsoChpDefault
{mso-style-type:export-only;
mso-default-props:yes;
font-family:Cambria;
mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria;
mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria;
mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;}
@page WordSection1
{size:8.5in 11.0in;
margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in;
mso-header-margin:.5in;
mso-footer-margin:.5in;
mso-paper-source:0;}
div.WordSection1
{page:WordSection1;}
--</style><i><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: "MS 明朝"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-fareast; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">marinière</span></i>
tops, they are literally everywhere in Paris. In fact, the website pharmacien.fr says there are 1,059 pharmacies in the city alone. That's about 50 pharmacies for <i>each</i> arrondissement. That's a lot of pharmacies.<br />
<br />
Why, you ask, do the French need so many pharmacies, most of which peddle the same products by the same manufacturers for the same price? To answer this question, one need only visit a doctor in France for an ailment as mild as dry skin. Or the common cold. Because for these -- and for almost any other affliction you can imagine -- you will receive a prescription for medication. In fact, you will receive multiple prescriptions for multiple medications often for ailments you hadn't even considered when you hopped up on that examining table. <br />
<br />
The French love them some pills -- for everything from dry coughs to seasonal depression brought on by low clouds and <i>la pluie</i>. In fact, the French are the world's preeminent mood-altering pill-takers, consuming between two- and four-times as many tranquilizers and anti-depressants as their British, German and Italian counterparts. And yet the French are not any sicker than the rest of us. <br />
<br />
They do, however, suffer regularly from a range of debilitating maladies (of dubious medical veracity) that any French man or woman will insist are absolutely, 100% genuine. Look no further than the national malady, <i>la crise de foie</i>, or "crisis of the liver." French medical journals (and increasingly doctors) are attempting to educate the public about the truth of this ailment (better known as bad gas complemented by a hangover). But any (ailing) Frenchman will insist that it is absolutely real and requires medication. (Never mind that the lead ingredient in said Pepto Bismol-esque "medication" is alcohol...) Ahhh, the French.<br />
<br />
They have a deeply ingrained fear of germs (<i>les microbes</i>) and cite them as the cause of all manner of sickness, from headaches to cancer. (See <a href="http://www.lepoint.fr/chroniqueurs-du-point/anne-jeanblanc/les-microbes-responsables-de-nombreux-cancers-14-05-2012-1461285_57.php" target="_blank">LePoint article</a> linking germs to malignant tumors). When my kids came home from school extolling <i>le danger</i> of <i>les microbes</i>, I knew we were headed for trouble and an ever expanding medicine cabinet. A recent attempt to organize ours offered stark proof of our increasingly French ways. Herbal suppositories for the kids' coughs? (yes, really). Prescription body lotion for dry skin? Vogalib, Fluvermal, Humex, Prednisolone, Smecta...Where had all this stuff come from? And what was any of it for, anyway? Hmm. <br />
<br />
For a foreigner accustomed to month-long waits for doctor visits and skilled in the art of self-diagnosis courtesy of WebMD, this can be confusing -- as well as entertaining. My trips to the doctor in the U.S. were always precipitated by something serious like say burning strep throat. Or pregnancy. But here? Not so. I now find myself on a first name basis with our doctor's staff and have started to feel a bit sheepish when I make what now feel like regular office calls. Granted, most of these are for the kids (we see a family practitioner here) but truth be told, not all. Ailments I would have previously ignored now find me sitting in the doc's now-familiar waiting room, catching up on the latest issue of People and Us Weekly. (She imports them.) Seasonal allergies? Maybe I'll just pop into the doc. The low back pain that's been dogging me for a while? Maybe the doctor will have a useful suggestion..or perhaps a prescription? <br />
<br />
So what gives? One obvious explanation is France's superior (and super cheap) health care system. I can go to any doctor I like and virtually anytime, without the need for a referral. Appointments can usually be had within a week (if not that day) and it's almost completely covered by our health insurance. Of course all this great health care appears to have a dark side -- the fact that the French consume too many meds and seem to believe they're sicker than they actually are. <br />
<br />
In an 2003 article from The Guardian, one French doctor put it this way. "Has the French approach to illness and the body brought about a health system that panders to <i>le malade imaginaire</i>, or has the efficiency and popularity of the system itself bred a whole nation of hypochondriacs? Either way, it's something we should worry about urgently."<br />
<br />
But about those <i>microbes</i>...<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Paigehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05777428548325449024noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1615835669512085965.post-55724643211985049972012-09-04T21:37:00.000+02:002012-09-04T21:37:27.383+02:00Vive la Rentrée! Paris Comes Back to LifeBonjour, my Francophile friends! After a lovely summer holiday, we're back in Paris and ready once again to embrace <i>la vie en rose</i>. La rentree -- the post-vacation period in early September when the French go back to school, back to work, and back to normal life -- is in full swing and the energy on the streets is palpable.<br />
<br />
How to know when<style><!--
/* Font Definitions */
@font-face
{font-family:"MS 明朝";
panose-1:0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0;
mso-font-charset:128;
mso-generic-font-family:roman;
mso-font-format:other;
mso-font-pitch:fixed;
mso-font-signature:1 134676480 16 0 131072 0;}
@font-face
{font-family:"Cambria Math";
panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4;
mso-font-charset:1;
mso-generic-font-family:roman;
mso-font-format:other;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:0 0 0 0 0 0;}
@font-face
{font-family:Cambria;
panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4;
mso-font-charset:0;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:3 0 0 0 1 0;}
/* Style Definitions */
p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal
{mso-style-unhide:no;
mso-style-qformat:yes;
mso-style-parent:"";
margin:0in;
margin-bottom:.0001pt;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:12.0pt;
font-family:Cambria;
mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria;
mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria;
mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;}
.MsoChpDefault
{mso-style-type:export-only;
mso-default-props:yes;
font-family:Cambria;
mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria;
mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria;
mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;}
@page WordSection1
{size:8.5in 11.0in;
margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in;
mso-header-margin:.5in;
mso-footer-margin:.5in;
mso-paper-source:0;}
div.WordSection1
{page:WordSection1;}
-->
</style> <span style="font-size: small;"><i> <span style="font-family: Cambria;">la rentrée</span></i></span> <style>
<!--
/* Font Definitions */
@font-face
{font-family:Times;
panose-1:2 0 5 0 0 0 0 0 0 0;
mso-font-charset:0;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:3 0 0 0 1 0;}
@font-face
{font-family:"MS 明朝";
panose-1:0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0;
mso-font-charset:128;
mso-generic-font-family:roman;
mso-font-format:other;
mso-font-pitch:fixed;
mso-font-signature:1 134676480 16 0 131072 0;}
@font-face
{font-family:"MS 明朝";
panose-1:0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0;
mso-font-charset:128;
mso-generic-font-family:roman;
mso-font-format:other;
mso-font-pitch:fixed;
mso-font-signature:1 134676480 16 0 131072 0;}
@font-face
{font-family:Cambria;
panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4;
mso-font-charset:0;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:3 0 0 0 1 0;}
/* Style Definitions */
p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal
{mso-style-unhide:no;
mso-style-qformat:yes;
mso-style-parent:"";
margin:0in;
margin-bottom:.0001pt;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:12.0pt;
font-family:Cambria;
mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria;
mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria;
mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;}
p
{mso-style-priority:99;
mso-margin-top-alt:auto;
margin-right:0in;
mso-margin-bottom-alt:auto;
margin-left:0in;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:10.0pt;
font-family:Times;
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";}
.MsoChpDefault
{mso-style-type:export-only;
mso-default-props:yes;
font-family:Cambria;
mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria;
mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria;
mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;}
@page WordSection1
{size:8.5in 11.0in;
margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in;
mso-header-margin:.5in;
mso-footer-margin:.5in;
mso-paper-source:0;}
div.WordSection1
{page:WordSection1;} </style>has arrived? (Aside from the date on the calendar, of course.) Overly tanned and smiling Parisians fill the streets, cafes and shops; streets that were eerily quiet just days ago now buzz with scooters and the bleating horns of French drivers. Tourists are no longer quite so ubiquitous and those that remain are a tad older and wiser. (September may be the very best month to visit.)
Our little ones went back to school this morning, full of excitement to see the pals they've missed since July. As I walked Adele into <i>la maternelle</i> (<i>grande section</i>, her final year of preschool), I couldn't help remembering their first days of French school and how nervous we all were. (Perhaps <i>moi</i>, more than anyone else). Speaking not a word of French, Cole and Adele braved those early days more easily than I ever could have imagined and taught me a thing or two about resilience in the process. Of course, we had our share of tears and plenty of cultural adjustment (no daily preschool "sharing sheets?" No quarterly "parent-teacher conferences?"). But within a matter of weeks, my two Boston babies were quickly becoming a little bit French. What a difference a year and a half makes! Here they were this morning on our way to <i>l'ecole</i>.
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeWxRhHRMu_cNkrZXNvEevGnjw9UVHbcPdgh_px0AcrUYEG6kk1PD8mcVzVBRwBnoNxidhI9r0zkwhcT3w_O-0_2Wxy9QqTtzhUPCvR9d7_qFp0aJ61Tu1I5jpOKJdY47lyt0730O44y4/s1600/IMG_2741.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeWxRhHRMu_cNkrZXNvEevGnjw9UVHbcPdgh_px0AcrUYEG6kk1PD8mcVzVBRwBnoNxidhI9r0zkwhcT3w_O-0_2Wxy9QqTtzhUPCvR9d7_qFp0aJ61Tu1I5jpOKJdY47lyt0730O44y4/s320/IMG_2741.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEh1v9TyMleAXmeVkGj5-319Q2C_WBkQDffiWMk2ZUGS3jkNN_O89m3HDmQAaqbLM9LBFvMCC_vi0anW6MCfa_LqPHjRx8HESyNy1U8xsraNvNu7ceFmwsPZ2ThQt7NOJICC-WVSgqRjg/s1600/IMG_2748.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEh1v9TyMleAXmeVkGj5-319Q2C_WBkQDffiWMk2ZUGS3jkNN_O89m3HDmQAaqbLM9LBFvMCC_vi0anW6MCfa_LqPHjRx8HESyNy1U8xsraNvNu7ceFmwsPZ2ThQt7NOJICC-WVSgqRjg/s320/IMG_2748.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRX_I3_6RZPzwKV6TaABpIVTNTs_fai5soMaRs8TuOiIEKaGfeFSXo3CcMwV3TEZfs2M23idGXcJZaio1XPTrSgK1UkXtN5EL-xIcWn_avHe4nxBAoD3cqSfROzMaG3BIpdIkxSylTA_Q/s1600/IMG_2754.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRX_I3_6RZPzwKV6TaABpIVTNTs_fai5soMaRs8TuOiIEKaGfeFSXo3CcMwV3TEZfs2M23idGXcJZaio1XPTrSgK1UkXtN5EL-xIcWn_avHe4nxBAoD3cqSfROzMaG3BIpdIkxSylTA_Q/s320/IMG_2754.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI8DY-cqRCpuKGyO3YdR0RgcC1ExJQieqpm-jwO7XuCKCEJ47O70azOzwi3j0cTcMl2O1aJtpugnoDppPx7qi7RcYh69Gkqg1FlM8PE6M5-3P-Pwd275JDPqPqZxtB6EemOqCDud60dVo/s1600/IMG_2755.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI8DY-cqRCpuKGyO3YdR0RgcC1ExJQieqpm-jwO7XuCKCEJ47O70azOzwi3j0cTcMl2O1aJtpugnoDppPx7qi7RcYh69Gkqg1FlM8PE6M5-3P-Pwd275JDPqPqZxtB6EemOqCDud60dVo/s320/IMG_2755.jpg" width="240" /></a></div> And fun with friends in the neighborhood...
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlHDkKhAj4xYZRHmCa_xcY_Ow16UOLQZ0qi1cHy80TPmooMXxFW8H4ZhaP6lcacDDwgs7fux_F57ICPYbhu5RBnryYWlothAXXDH1Siprb_EYBO8p70T_hUi4m1aG4cMpQce7wir6fplU/s1600/IMG_2764.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlHDkKhAj4xYZRHmCa_xcY_Ow16UOLQZ0qi1cHy80TPmooMXxFW8H4ZhaP6lcacDDwgs7fux_F57ICPYbhu5RBnryYWlothAXXDH1Siprb_EYBO8p70T_hUi4m1aG4cMpQce7wir6fplU/s320/IMG_2764.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>It's been a family adventure in the truest sense, forcing each of us to reach well outside our comfort zones. The steely stares in the preschool halls that greeted me those early weeks (and months...) were replaced this morning by warm embraces from friends and fellow parents. I was quickly reminded that I really live here -- that we're part of a community and not just foreign visitors.
With the kids safely tucked away at school, Greg and I stole away for lunch at a favorite neighborhood restaurant, <a href="http://www.aupieddefouet.com/" target="_blank">Au Pied de Fouet</a>, where we celebrated <i>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;">la rentrée</span></span></i><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><i><span style="font-size: small;">
<span style="font-family: Cambria;">à</span>
deux</span> </i><style>
<!--
/* Font Definitions */
@font-face
{font-family:"MS 明朝";
panose-1:0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0;
mso-font-charset:128;
mso-generic-font-family:roman;
mso-font-format:other;
mso-font-pitch:fixed;
mso-font-signature:1 134676480 16 0 131072 0;}
@font-face
{font-family:"Cambria Math";
panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4;
mso-font-charset:0;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:3 0 0 0 1 0;}
@font-face
{font-family:Cambria;
panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4;
mso-font-charset:0;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:3 0 0 0 1 0;}
/* Style Definitions */
p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal
{mso-style-unhide:no;
mso-style-qformat:yes;
mso-style-parent:"";
margin:0in;
margin-bottom:.0001pt;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:12.0pt;
font-family:Cambria;
mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria;
mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria;
mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;}
.MsoChpDefault
{mso-style-type:export-only;
mso-default-props:yes;
font-family:Cambria;
mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria;
mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria;
mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;}
@page WordSection1
{size:8.5in 11.0in;
margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in;
mso-header-margin:.5in;
mso-footer-margin:.5in;
mso-paper-source:0;}
div.WordSection1
{page:WordSection1;}
--> </style>over roast chicken and <i>tarte aux fraises</i>. Yum.
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyNDe0mfW9sQPdg4AgCjOARt6Tpn_KUJ-AHil0xgnB5f0BjHFnKUTwd7E8RSGlut7DpubPo4Fhyphenhyphen_vgLpIK70epDKJPdFF8FcDcqMltK0aYMiUPbWpq-5rdb_ndBvw9yuuEr9qCi7cau_I/s1600/IMG_2753.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyNDe0mfW9sQPdg4AgCjOARt6Tpn_KUJ-AHil0xgnB5f0BjHFnKUTwd7E8RSGlut7DpubPo4Fhyphenhyphen_vgLpIK70epDKJPdFF8FcDcqMltK0aYMiUPbWpq-5rdb_ndBvw9yuuEr9qCi7cau_I/s320/IMG_2753.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>In another hour, it will be pick-up time when I'll hear the full report of the day. Which friends are in their classes, what are the new teachers like? Just like parents everywhere, I'll await the sight of their little faces as they come barreling out the school door. Smiles? Tears? What new adventures will this school year bring? Only time will tell. Paigehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05777428548325449024noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1615835669512085965.post-68260689451152672532012-07-18T10:38:00.001+02:002012-07-18T12:30:13.711+02:00Les Grands Vacances, French Style<div class="MsoNormal">It's mid-July and the Parisians have fled. Our neighborhood in the 7th arrondissement feels downright empty -- the <style>
<!--
/* Font Definitions */
@font-face
{font-family:Times;
panose-1:2 0 5 0 0 0 0 0 0 0;
mso-font-charset:0;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:3 0 0 0 1 0;}
@font-face
{font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-font-charset:78;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:-536870145 1791491579 18 0 131231 0;}
@font-face
{font-family:"Cambria Math";
panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4;
mso-font-charset:0;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:-536870145 1107305727 0 0 415 0;}
/* Style Definitions */
p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal
{mso-style-update:auto;
mso-style-unhide:no;
mso-style-qformat:yes;
mso-style-parent:"";
mso-margin-top-alt:auto;
margin-right:0in;
mso-margin-bottom-alt:auto;
margin-left:0in;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:12.0pt;
font-family:Times;
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";}
.MsoChpDefault
{mso-style-type:export-only;
mso-default-props:yes;
font-family:Cambria;
mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria;
mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria;
mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;}
@page WordSection1
{size:8.5in 11.0in;
margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in;
mso-header-margin:.5in;
mso-footer-margin:.5in;
mso-paper-source:0;}
div.WordSection1
{page:WordSection1;}
-->
</style> Marché Saxe-Breteuil has only half its usual vendors, parking is easy to find, playgrounds are eerily quiet. Even some shops and restos have shuttered for their annual vacation. In fact, as much as a week before the last day of school, parents began packing their little ones off to <i>la campagne</i> to spend several weeks with <i>grandmère</i> and <i>grandpère</i> before they'll head out to join them in August. </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-YhIWzuLokN2Jtovs2sm4TD_m8PYbgb_ByqxTGsw_RGq4wJM9ePLGu5OSLfU1uQ4-8IISf4wEfmcCSwEwPA3uhsFo_JLK3zNKC3s685bTI9LMa13JH_BhtbMxBZfqw9_muStQich1pJ0/s1600/DSC00965.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-YhIWzuLokN2Jtovs2sm4TD_m8PYbgb_ByqxTGsw_RGq4wJM9ePLGu5OSLfU1uQ4-8IISf4wEfmcCSwEwPA3uhsFo_JLK3zNKC3s685bTI9LMa13JH_BhtbMxBZfqw9_muStQich1pJ0/s400/DSC00965.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cafes are emptying out...</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq0YVt3A5AxRKIwq6ybxPwNOmtmqc47X2ie_CFvRp02drRUNZ7DhNjYarPIaVlAsl7DmvwVYNQYrPUouQFIyel70dzEvs5LAkFnAYH1YBsL1ZCLT_Y9hJSfcUlozy2oM-3oEWnDsWmP4Y/s1600/DSC00515.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq0YVt3A5AxRKIwq6ybxPwNOmtmqc47X2ie_CFvRp02drRUNZ7DhNjYarPIaVlAsl7DmvwVYNQYrPUouQFIyel70dzEvs5LAkFnAYH1YBsL1ZCLT_Y9hJSfcUlozy2oM-3oEWnDsWmP4Y/s400/DSC00515.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
It seems the extended summer vacation, for which Parisians are well-known, is alive and well. And although most cannot take off the six to eight weeks they once did, many do take at least three weeks in August. (Of course, I'm speaking here about a lucky segment of Parisians -- those with family country houses to which they've been escaping for generations.)<br />
<br />
Although I knew about French summer vacations, it still surprised me to hear wishes of "<i>bonnes vacances</i>" and "<i><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: "Lucida Grande";">à</span> </span>Septembre</i><style>
<!--
/* Font Definitions */
@font-face
{font-family:Times;
panose-1:2 0 5 0 0 0 0 0 0 0;
mso-font-charset:0;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:3 0 0 0 1 0;}
@font-face
{font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-font-charset:78;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:-536870145 1791491579 18 0 131231 0;}
@font-face
{font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-font-charset:78;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:-536870145 1791491579 18 0 131231 0;}
@font-face
{font-family:"Lucida Grande";
panose-1:2 11 6 0 4 5 2 2 2 4;
mso-font-charset:0;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:-520090897 1342218751 0 0 447 0;}
/* Style Definitions */
p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal
{mso-style-update:auto;
mso-style-unhide:no;
mso-style-qformat:yes;
mso-style-parent:"";
mso-margin-top-alt:auto;
margin-right:0in;
mso-margin-bottom-alt:auto;
margin-left:0in;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:12.0pt;
font-family:Times;
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";}
.MsoChpDefault
{mso-style-type:export-only;
mso-default-props:yes;
font-family:Cambria;
mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria;
mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria;
mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;}
@page WordSection1
{size:8.5in 11.0in;
margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in;
mso-header-margin:.5in;
mso-footer-margin:.5in;
mso-paper-source:0;}
div.WordSection1
{page:WordSection1;}
</style>" on the last day of school. See you in September? Really? It was hard to believe that people would really be away for two whole months. But away they are indeed.
At a recent party hosted by French friends, I heard some grumbling about the extended French vacation and its impact on the French economy. There is a growing sense that this time-honored tradition may not mesh well in the 24/7 global economy. Yet even as this awareness grows (especially among entrepreneurs, consultants and the self-employed), the French mind-set remains deeply devoted to their time off as not so much as privilege as a vital necessity.
Unlike how I think of the typical American vacation packed with lots of things to do, sights to see and places to discover, the French use their vacations just to relax. Most stay in France and upon returning to Paris in September (for what they call <i>la rentrée</i>), reports will be shared not about exotic sights and travel adventures but about the quality of their relaxation. They return tanned (a sure sign of a successful vacation) and smiling (for a brief while anyway...) and ready to take on another year. (It seems the French calendar actually runs September to June -- and not just for families.)
As for my little clan, were headed back to the States for a happily extended "home leave," -- first to Cape Cod, then on to California for quality time with both sides of our family. Greg actually gets to take four weeks off (in a row!) and we're looking forward to getting our feet on some American soil (and in the sand...).
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoGda76iZd4IexhP7zEEIFQ0MUO7LliFoXEfQrqtrIJh5Tb7nGxq_y33rxJYIWaCqPvaRu4-gwta9nQfDNWTSruTTdcjioIkX6-YYHQ2gGggSnvqopzOs02MF5BJb-nhaJo9Rsu0N589o/s1600/DSC00756.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoGda76iZd4IexhP7zEEIFQ0MUO7LliFoXEfQrqtrIJh5Tb7nGxq_y33rxJYIWaCqPvaRu4-gwta9nQfDNWTSruTTdcjioIkX6-YYHQ2gGggSnvqopzOs02MF5BJb-nhaJo9Rsu0N589o/s320/DSC00756.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cape Cod, here we come!</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3w5DEVPEHOQ8B-O4X5ilDZYGYixO5tIGetZQMBoQOew2vD2Zbczuwu87g2HRhkqqdhjswFsDy-oPSFo7yn7iHMagQikd9AzWaw-l50syC5KmkV1JtZDSKnVqZFR742ElOZnLlerhHYlk/s1600/DSC00777.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3w5DEVPEHOQ8B-O4X5ilDZYGYixO5tIGetZQMBoQOew2vD2Zbczuwu87g2HRhkqqdhjswFsDy-oPSFo7yn7iHMagQikd9AzWaw-l50syC5KmkV1JtZDSKnVqZFR742ElOZnLlerhHYlk/s320/DSC00777.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Paris Plage</i>, the "beach" on the Seine starts tomorrow and runs until late August. If you're coming to Paris this summer (especially with kids), you gotta go!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>It's been almost a year since our last visit to the States during which time the kids have become little Frenchies. It will be fascinating to see how they readjust to hearing and speaking English, seeing old friends and visiting old locales. Should be interesting. I'll keep you posted.
What about you? Are you taking a summer vacation and if so, where are you headed? If plans will bring you to Paris, check back with me by the end of the week when I'll share my favorite Paris picks for visitors. Until then, <i>bonnes vacances</i>!Paigehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05777428548325449024noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1615835669512085965.post-91386661344873895872012-07-03T10:58:00.000+02:002012-07-03T10:58:07.968+02:00Where Are the Kids?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCXvvKKf129qghdEeNHmmk6N8rVVMfJP_60maXZQKKJt48bwhlMTOlQr97QDmO2C0zycbZMbG4Fq0ZSf-xr9S-Uoo2rVwA-bnAW9gHUnCUKZeBVRG4VlQNguhrfWgoir3H7yctE9a4KgM/s1600/IMG_2392.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCXvvKKf129qghdEeNHmmk6N8rVVMfJP_60maXZQKKJt48bwhlMTOlQr97QDmO2C0zycbZMbG4Fq0ZSf-xr9S-Uoo2rVwA-bnAW9gHUnCUKZeBVRG4VlQNguhrfWgoir3H7yctE9a4KgM/s640/IMG_2392.jpg" width="480" /></a></div>Bonjour! Finally coming up for air after two weeks of sick kids at home. Adele had what was originally diagnosed was chicken pox (but turned out to be a skin infection. Thanks, doc). Cole had strep throat. Then I got strep, too. All better now, just in time for school to close on Thursday. (Yes, they're still in school. Can you believe it?)<br />
<br />
During the week that Adele was home, she felt perfectly well. We weren't house-bound, I just needed to keep her away from other kids. This meant that we were out and about in Paris a fair amount, doing daily errands like going to the post office, market and making occasional stops at cafes. During our afternoons in the city, I was reminded of something that struck me immediately when we first arrived but I have since kinda stopped noticing.<br />
<br />
On weekdays, you don't see kids out in Paris. Like anywhere. They're just not around.<br />
<br />
When we first moved to Paris, this struck me as completely odd. 'Where were all the kids?' I kept wondering. I couldn't figure it out. Not only were they not out on the streets (in strollers, with parents, on bikes or scooters) but they weren't at the playgrounds either. I'd see the occasional stroller being pushed but even that was pretty rare.<br />
<br />
It didn't take long to realize what was up: The kids -- including babies and toddlers -- were all in "school." <br />
<br />
I recall taking my two up to <a href="http://www.villette.com/fr/" target="_blank">Parc de la Villette</a> (an entertainment complex in the 19e with a kids' museum, movie theaters and massive park) one weekday soon after we arrived. Cole and Adele had not yet started school and wouldn't for a couple of weeks. I had intended to use the time to help them (and me) get acclimated, adjust to the city and generally prepare to enter a new school, a new neighborhood -- a new life. A trek to the city's best kids' museum seemed like the perfect thing.<br />
<br />
Except when we got there, it was almost completely deserted. <br />
<br />
We had the vast, interactive play areas pretty much to ourselves. Again, I was dumbfounded. Having spent my kids' preschool years in Boston (a super kid-friendly town), we were regulars at places like the Science Museum and Boston Children's Museum and just about every other tumble-gym and playground within the greater Boston area. These places were almost always packed with parents just like me. Our kids attended preschool only a few hours a day; we needed things to do or we'd all go nuts. <br />
<br />
Not so in Paris. From a very early age, most French kids are put in high quality, super affordable, state-subsidized daycare. (Or parents hire nannies.) Then, after an extended period of paid maternity leave, moms (and dads) go back to work, to their same jobs that have been legally safeguarded during their absence. <br />
<br />
And here's more. Upon return to her full-time job after the birth of a child, a mother has a legal right to reduce her work hours to part-time. The employer cannot legally deny this request. Can you imagine?? Think of all the hand-wringing and suffering so many of us go through over the question of whether to "work or stay home." It's such a fraught catch-22 with too few options for real part-time work that creates such a financial squeeze even if we do try to pull it off. <br />
<br />
Again, not so in Paris. The rules here are simple enough: Kids go to daycare or school, parents go to work. Weekends are spent together. Hmm, pretty good.<br />
<br />
Of course, there are downsides (like much less time with your kids when they're little) and no system is perfect. And there is obviously much to be said on this topic. I do intend to get into it. But not today.<br />
<br />
For now, I'll close with this idea: Paris truly is a wonderful playground -- for adults. Perhaps the best there is. In fact, Greg and I have long-referred to it as "Adult Disneyland." The one for kids is an hour train ride away.<br />
<br />
- - -<br />
<br />
I occasionally blog for The Huffington Post. <a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/paige-bradley-frost/death-of-a-parent_b_1585813.html" target="_blank">Here's a post I did recently </a>about a very tragic event at Adele's preschool.<br />
<br />
Thanks for stopping by <style>
<!--
/* Font Definitions */
@font-face
{font-family:Times;
panose-1:2 0 5 0 0 0 0 0 0 0;
mso-font-charset:0;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:3 0 0 0 1 0;}
@font-face
{font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-font-charset:78;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:-536870145 1791491579 18 0 131231 0;}
@font-face
{font-family:"Cambria Math";
panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4;
mso-font-charset:0;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:-536870145 1107305727 0 0 415 0;}
/* Style Definitions */
p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal
{mso-style-update:auto;
mso-style-unhide:no;
mso-style-qformat:yes;
mso-style-parent:"";
mso-margin-top-alt:auto;
margin-right:0in;
mso-margin-bottom-alt:auto;
margin-left:0in;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:12.0pt;
font-family:Times;
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";}
.MsoChpDefault
{mso-style-type:export-only;
mso-default-props:yes;
font-family:Cambria;
mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria;
mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria;
mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;}
@page WordSection1
{size:8.5in 11.0in;
margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in;
mso-header-margin:.5in;
mso-footer-margin:.5in;
mso-paper-source:0;}
div.WordSection1
{page:WordSection1;}
-->
</style> Paris Déjà Vu. If you've enjoyed what you read, sign up to follow me. <i>Merci et à bientôt!</i>Paigehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05777428548325449024noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1615835669512085965.post-2576947828468451622012-06-19T11:16:00.000+02:002012-06-19T11:16:50.044+02:00Pancakes in ParisSometimes you just can't beat pancakes with maple syrup. Not with <i>croissants</i>, <i>pains au chocolat</i> or even <i>macarons</i>. When the urge for classic American diner food hits in Paris, we've discovered our go-to spot: Breakfast in America. With two locations (one in the Latin Quarter, one in the Marais), BIA serves up 100% authentic diner fare in a setting that feels like you've been magically transported to the States. From the smell of frying bacon and shiny red seats to the neon signs and 50's style counter, BIA feels so middle America, it's almost eerie. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAUdc1IeBcPs2Oh04SOYU50Zb4cNNF_smlabIUL1cml6pBZwIAOau_YWr-m6-ZqFGv5ciCrX6Mpt_sJArTyT-yRKUZDKJsJdmN9AG6Rw2IE5D-uuQ9C4_CTIcufy9OKCOrcqqttFapSqU/s1600/IMG_2381.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAUdc1IeBcPs2Oh04SOYU50Zb4cNNF_smlabIUL1cml6pBZwIAOau_YWr-m6-ZqFGv5ciCrX6Mpt_sJArTyT-yRKUZDKJsJdmN9AG6Rw2IE5D-uuQ9C4_CTIcufy9OKCOrcqqttFapSqU/s400/IMG_2381.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjZIgVOy1W3tw2z-8P55ufujzIyiyK5axqrZos5gM9-V9PgFuk5bB43x8Wzsz9ku5-etI_vZsTuwIsiUvNxA9arULoW-CLd2jkvwsb1OzdSvCa2g67SFJdUJ6b4iJzWqZ9mrJQQZ9Ob9g/s1600/IMG_2374.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjZIgVOy1W3tw2z-8P55ufujzIyiyK5axqrZos5gM9-V9PgFuk5bB43x8Wzsz9ku5-etI_vZsTuwIsiUvNxA9arULoW-CLd2jkvwsb1OzdSvCa2g67SFJdUJ6b4iJzWqZ9mrJQQZ9Ob9g/s400/IMG_2374.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>We headed to the Left Bank BIA outpost on Sunday to celebrate <i>La Fete des Papas</i> (Father's Day). We were greeted with smiles by the all-American waitresses and within minutes of ordering, were wolfing down giant forkfuls of pancakes, mushroom and cheese omelets and in my case, a tortilla-wrapped breakfast burrito. (You can take the girl out of California but not her devotion to Mexican-<i>ish</i> food.)<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxIuBjqmfXxWgWcGEqCfG1tr-_Xwb2iDmyxw8qnyhzXfJrjpBFuEOJ7u5rXbzmtzFkCyM0XO4NrvvMVSxZlM3ECO9glzNhbSkkdTJmguD-UoRIfxFj0N9WHIKtlPFTE_qSWvBbuu2t0aU/s1600/IMG_2380.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxIuBjqmfXxWgWcGEqCfG1tr-_Xwb2iDmyxw8qnyhzXfJrjpBFuEOJ7u5rXbzmtzFkCyM0XO4NrvvMVSxZlM3ECO9glzNhbSkkdTJmguD-UoRIfxFj0N9WHIKtlPFTE_qSWvBbuu2t0aU/s320/IMG_2380.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>The kids really loved it. Of the various things they miss about the U.S., pancakes are pretty high on the list (after their Boston pals, beloved grandparents, aunties & uncles and sweet cousin, Laine, of course. And snow. They miss that, too.)<br />
<br />
The place gave me a great feeling of "home," something I hadn't fully realized I was missing. Maybe because almost a year has passed since our last visit to the States, maybe Father's Day had me feeling nostalgic. Mostly I just need to see my sisters really<i> really</i> soon. Sniff. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfJztDQ0O-2K6UJKmdXO-B32TceUtCzux9_51G7yCON5D7UXTK6PAdHuIcm9nCP7wRgUmcrc75yt4ppuZZujpD1oXw_whj-wa5ic7OnD31yUSeHNkoBUjOGhO-NG5FdPOBOJg20cWDK00/s1600/IMG_2377.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfJztDQ0O-2K6UJKmdXO-B32TceUtCzux9_51G7yCON5D7UXTK6PAdHuIcm9nCP7wRgUmcrc75yt4ppuZZujpD1oXw_whj-wa5ic7OnD31yUSeHNkoBUjOGhO-NG5FdPOBOJg20cWDK00/s320/IMG_2377.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqcSH4N_i42_3-iqov6QwZAkUUik2W3Q4wxW1W073Mnt3jRB4Y3B2QVXycbl76Q8xl8lg8zYVerlkhnschYqig1KkxTru6WVCwqVLC6-if9LGzAjPK_JrgcGYkCqcHg6A7A21EsMIUjwI/s1600/IMG_2375.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqcSH4N_i42_3-iqov6QwZAkUUik2W3Q4wxW1W073Mnt3jRB4Y3B2QVXycbl76Q8xl8lg8zYVerlkhnschYqig1KkxTru6WVCwqVLC6-if9LGzAjPK_JrgcGYkCqcHg6A7A21EsMIUjwI/s320/IMG_2375.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>At the diner, everything felt easy and familiar. No need to practice ordering in my head before saying it aloud (I do this less and less, but still). No wondering whether the kids would like their food, no worries about them drawing on their placemats (crayons are provided.) It was great to feel like nothing was a struggle, everything was just easy.<br />
<br />
And that's the thing about living abroad: Very little about expat life is easy.<br />
<br />
Interesting? Absolutely, but simple, no. Everyday errands and routine tasks -- from signing the kids up for activities to scheduling doctor's appointments -- require extra effort. And the language difference is only part of it. The challenges come in more subtle -- and often unexpected -- guises, like realizing I have to pay the shoe repair guy (and the dry cleaner) when I drop off my items, not when I pick them up. Or that my new checkbook has arrived at the bank but they won't just drop it in the mail; I have to physically go in and sign for it.<br />
<br />
They're small things for sure, but can add up to big differences. And while these challenges can be annoying at times, they're also part of what makes living here rewarding. Even the smallest successes (like a happy exchange with the cranky <i>boulangere </i>or a familiar <style>
<!--
/* Font Definitions */
@font-face
{font-family:Times;
panose-1:2 0 5 0 0 0 0 0 0 0;
mso-font-charset:0;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:3 0 0 0 1 0;}
@font-face
{font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-font-charset:78;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:1 134676480 16 0 131072 0;}
@font-face
{font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-font-charset:78;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:1 134676480 16 0 131072 0;}
@font-face
{font-family:Cambria;
panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4;
mso-font-charset:0;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:-536870145 1073743103 0 0 415 0;}
/* Style Definitions */
p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal
{mso-style-unhide:no;
mso-style-qformat:yes;
mso-style-parent:"";
margin:0in;
margin-bottom:.0001pt;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:12.0pt;
font-family:Cambria;
mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria;
mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria;
mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;}
p
{mso-style-noshow:yes;
mso-style-priority:99;
mso-margin-top-alt:auto;
margin-right:0in;
mso-margin-bottom-alt:auto;
margin-left:0in;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:10.0pt;
font-family:Times;
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";}
.MsoChpDefault
{mso-style-type:export-only;
mso-default-props:yes;
font-family:Cambria;
mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria;
mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria;
mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;}
@page WordSection1
{size:8.5in 11.0in;
margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in;
mso-header-margin:.5in;
mso-footer-margin:.5in;
mso-paper-source:0;}
div.WordSection1
{page:WordSection1;}
--
</style><i>à bientôt </i>from the corner grocer) can feel like big victories. And then there are the bigger moments, like having a great conversation with a French friend without once worrying if I flubbed my verb tenses.<br />
<br />
Maybe it's because I've always liked a good challenge. Or because I get bored pretty easily. Probably both. But living here -- even when it's tough -- reminds me everyday that life can be magical. Kinda like a stack of pancakes with extra maple syrup.Paigehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05777428548325449024noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1615835669512085965.post-44945377304866061782012-06-11T10:09:00.000+02:002012-06-11T10:09:00.205+02:00Monday à la Mode: Liberty of LondonI started seeing Liberty print fabrics around Paris about a year ago. A friend who lives in our building is an accessories designer and she's been obsessed with it for a while. She uses the delicate florals on everything from hand sewn leather bracelets to tote bags for kids. So when Liberty prints started turning up everywhere this spring, my friend suddenly seemed ahead of the curve.<br />
<br />
The fabric has been popular for a <i>long</i> time of course (the original London shop opened in 1875!), and various designers and retailers from Yves Saint Laurent to Target have collaborated with the historic British shop. But for summer 2012, Liberty is definitely having a moment. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAB6c4TlpypWOOZNgvBnUAIPa5enemlPkmtSpWo1AIJ6YowquvI1a0z6clnIzDy2v4XLc25o7k31giBwsKh9_iKdUwjTu0WoGe5oDBPNn0lllVSZQucYNvJIi56Aqkc-Yjj5k2D9P92jk/s1600/liberty+print+stack" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAB6c4TlpypWOOZNgvBnUAIPa5enemlPkmtSpWo1AIJ6YowquvI1a0z6clnIzDy2v4XLc25o7k31giBwsKh9_iKdUwjTu0WoGe5oDBPNn0lllVSZQucYNvJIi56Aqkc-Yjj5k2D9P92jk/s640/liberty+print+stack" width="478" /></a></div><br />
The French store, <a href="http://www.cyrillus.fr/" target="_blank">Cyrillus</a>, has built their summer 2012 collection around these fabrics using it on women's and kids's wear, home accessories and even some items for men. (Not so sure about Liberty prints for men. Maybe French guys can pull this off??) I think it's best suited to sweet frocks for kids. How adorable are these?<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_P3bDz63sMegJfarwKduyvCUVi-CvoLMlnzWOzr_SFXzvjkVftr7-GyxQBDRX2mn_nhroR9W608ocwvkn_oEGt4zKwt7epLByUbSXt0T0rrtImco1Nve5QtuMD2MgbkY-uPSi0yoT6RI/s1600/kids+liberty+top" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_P3bDz63sMegJfarwKduyvCUVi-CvoLMlnzWOzr_SFXzvjkVftr7-GyxQBDRX2mn_nhroR9W608ocwvkn_oEGt4zKwt7epLByUbSXt0T0rrtImco1Nve5QtuMD2MgbkY-uPSi0yoT6RI/s400/kids+liberty+top" width="300" /></a></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrvjyGXsv7VITIurOk-YEeH7AxmQUe_GpTqzFR9fCJc4v5Fj43FgRfVyuG9W4b716UwzHVKtYoOX6lC9zbVXI6kgtFirifEzybIBZiYnCzrVtlTa1LKf5ifM8ShAZVRxpuhmf3TcUcvcs/s1600/kids+liberty+shoes" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrvjyGXsv7VITIurOk-YEeH7AxmQUe_GpTqzFR9fCJc4v5Fj43FgRfVyuG9W4b716UwzHVKtYoOX6lC9zbVXI6kgtFirifEzybIBZiYnCzrVtlTa1LKf5ifM8ShAZVRxpuhmf3TcUcvcs/s400/kids+liberty+shoes" width="300" /></a> <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
As is the case with all things fashion in Paris, the trend immediately start showing up on the streets (and in this case, playgrounds). This one has been hard to miss. Are Liberty prints big where you are? Are you wearing it? Buying it for your kids? <br />
<br />
I know Target did a Liberty print collection in 2010 that sold out pretty quickly. Could Paris be on the late end of this particular trend? Here are some oh-so-sweet ways to wear the Liberty look. (Including a pic of Sarah Jessica Parker's twins...like mother, like daughter(s). Enjoy!<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKnt5MGdCpGVQcvkuGCq5BYRIfhMFFzNDvFLORPiqmBAgzW1I0T9mBcpUL4nRa_tHXcjn7AGbosjtmXVS1eHB5_MWOjrr6URVp2WmftsHnAF0pxurj1-ih4kyB96BvsUPJLAwhVpA9QIU/s1600/woman+in+liberty+top" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKnt5MGdCpGVQcvkuGCq5BYRIfhMFFzNDvFLORPiqmBAgzW1I0T9mBcpUL4nRa_tHXcjn7AGbosjtmXVS1eHB5_MWOjrr6URVp2WmftsHnAF0pxurj1-ih4kyB96BvsUPJLAwhVpA9QIU/s1600/woman+in+liberty+top" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2MXOoH9WkS2dnhWYiw2cGP3xu4o67eL7WU1S5E6CLqelgETV3fYX_xM_CDUpphqLiziXGsJboPP5FYT1G-3qMG3I-tqC0vaXppCXIYJ795AemUPQsajmmlBh4DrRbKvpa-PiahjhLlmM/s1600/lasso+the+moon+dress" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="251" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2MXOoH9WkS2dnhWYiw2cGP3xu4o67eL7WU1S5E6CLqelgETV3fYX_xM_CDUpphqLiziXGsJboPP5FYT1G-3qMG3I-tqC0vaXppCXIYJ795AemUPQsajmmlBh4DrRbKvpa-PiahjhLlmM/s320/lasso+the+moon+dress" width="320" /></a></div> <span style="font-size: x-small;">photo by <a href="http://www.lassothemoon.co.uk/Pages/Collections/Womens-fashion-EBB47DBB.html?StartPos=1&ShowAll=Y" target="_blank">lasso the moon</a></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4Nyebn-0MsB8XLV-obIBE6UewdxwblTVwPG3QLOHachCE6KbhJhUl1vIlVjDAdMDY4-RGzFwIz0ta23gJyonQF2VJa8Vrf4CdTgQ3OQhAOkIMoxk068tsi7y3pw09LdJJMtSGy0DSOwc/s1600/sjp+twins+liberty" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4Nyebn-0MsB8XLV-obIBE6UewdxwblTVwPG3QLOHachCE6KbhJhUl1vIlVjDAdMDY4-RGzFwIz0ta23gJyonQF2VJa8Vrf4CdTgQ3OQhAOkIMoxk068tsi7y3pw09LdJJMtSGy0DSOwc/s320/sjp+twins+liberty" width="320" /></a></div> <span style="font-size: x-small;"> And a couple more, just for fun!</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRxg_PiRDPR3jiqJQmKKMZWrfHjVe5m89XruIygkYdiiYkv1oufmgX0GCrQBOSCYT6YV2dzDq9MI21J5bPPBgtj54Dk49NAVWbf0zfZCOsvT4pv4umt5L0GNsUBdJf4EOWVM1_fTJZ4cs/s1600/liberty+of+london" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRxg_PiRDPR3jiqJQmKKMZWrfHjVe5m89XruIygkYdiiYkv1oufmgX0GCrQBOSCYT6YV2dzDq9MI21J5bPPBgtj54Dk49NAVWbf0zfZCOsvT4pv4umt5L0GNsUBdJf4EOWVM1_fTJZ4cs/s400/liberty+of+london" width="370" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzH95TjxSjKDy0v8KvW81Pf6HTx2FpYPKLsDgQwo8QOSav8V0Cr0f980_cCj_v9gUvLixhP67sgli6s83Y6gvPoD6ycfNo1rxp63u0rLHdA5-b7AVDJsMUGHz6bCHkEKVdtLPIOzPJWzM/s1600/liberty+of+london+II" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="398" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzH95TjxSjKDy0v8KvW81Pf6HTx2FpYPKLsDgQwo8QOSav8V0Cr0f980_cCj_v9gUvLixhP67sgli6s83Y6gvPoD6ycfNo1rxp63u0rLHdA5-b7AVDJsMUGHz6bCHkEKVdtLPIOzPJWzM/s400/liberty+of+london+II" width="400" /></a></div>Paigehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05777428548325449024noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1615835669512085965.post-65258361331630163322012-06-05T14:16:00.001+02:002012-06-05T21:54:04.616+02:00Saturday at the Paris Flea MarketOne of my favorite ways to spend a few hours in Paris is by visiting the flea markets (<i>marche aux puces</i> or <i>brocantes</i>). There's the famous market (actually hundreds of vendors located together) at Clignacourt (<a href="http://marchesauxpuces.fr/index.php?menu=plan" target="_blank">Marche aux Puces de St-Ouen</a>) as well as smaller traveling brocantes of independent vendors who set up around Paris on most spring weekends. Here's a <a href="http://vide-greniers.org/agendaRegion.php?region=22" target="_blank">schedule</a> for brocantes and <i>vide-greniers</i> (yard or garage sales) around France.<br />
<br />
I especially like <a href="http://pucesdevanves.typepad.com/" target="_blank">Le Marche aux Puces de Vanves</a> that runs on weekend mornings until about lunch time. (Those antique sellers love them some <i>dejeuner</i> and no potential buyer is going to keep them from it so get there early.) It's much more manageable for an hour or two than Clignacourt and still has some great finds. I ventured out on a recent Saturday, kids in tow. (This I do not recommend. Ahem.) <br />
<br />
I'm a bargain hunter at heart and love finding unique pieces that can really bring a room to life. (Those chairs and the vintage globe? Love.) <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW8428uHfqtj8Tp-XaK0fHmUxI_66HA7phzVMsVJyNKOR7j9rHLptI_N_gg69_-VU32c_Ua-ibFDauK0Za049BKPaEMd4crkwVE3pUHJiVJhQl3fxsip4I7U52vD0WGXtW1DOSLppmhQg/s1600/DSC01773.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW8428uHfqtj8Tp-XaK0fHmUxI_66HA7phzVMsVJyNKOR7j9rHLptI_N_gg69_-VU32c_Ua-ibFDauK0Za049BKPaEMd4crkwVE3pUHJiVJhQl3fxsip4I7U52vD0WGXtW1DOSLppmhQg/s400/DSC01773.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMgW6_8dWHCg5PN9dNv9YOrKEB9pRilaIDiFoOcPNex09nGbJJG55ts97EEg1kBh3a3UEk8ndQbWvBVVQiQDF7utKUTZ9qXTqoSe_rFLXZOmQ47m3gI5z3ydj63WI_gJuSqzjGfKBppb8/s1600/DSC01515.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMgW6_8dWHCg5PN9dNv9YOrKEB9pRilaIDiFoOcPNex09nGbJJG55ts97EEg1kBh3a3UEk8ndQbWvBVVQiQDF7utKUTZ9qXTqoSe_rFLXZOmQ47m3gI5z3ydj63WI_gJuSqzjGfKBppb8/s400/DSC01515.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOWfyxdtbg_pcfTk6Rthrq3apykcvQZ7oU9R73WK-dql0PGrp9kr0s7ONDfE_fiSCEJT_MFBA5Jr_MBX_2_y6ltkPNpHNI_ax95WaeWRNvGzr1qctIFKEX0wYghWURPwo74ZuURFasYX4/s1600/DSC01514.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOWfyxdtbg_pcfTk6Rthrq3apykcvQZ7oU9R73WK-dql0PGrp9kr0s7ONDfE_fiSCEJT_MFBA5Jr_MBX_2_y6ltkPNpHNI_ax95WaeWRNvGzr1qctIFKEX0wYghWURPwo74ZuURFasYX4/s400/DSC01514.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>From fun mid-century furniture to gilded candlesticks and vintage linens, there's something here for everyone. I have a small collection of mismatched vintage teaspoons (mostly silver plate) and can usually manage to score a new piece for a euro or two. Stirring my morning coffee is always better with a vintage hotel silver or engraved antique teaspoon!<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE_5fUdUhBTvaMdqZoacPrCV0O_Po5SH5KlQfAfTqdSjCaarLs88d5hwD0xOuQLho0kX6qO-JFVE5k7dNf0ug-0dGocwPpx9O4MnSJUCN4xJXqxgevwCoEppZgcVNbmm42ax-XLPHP82U/s1600/DSC01772.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE_5fUdUhBTvaMdqZoacPrCV0O_Po5SH5KlQfAfTqdSjCaarLs88d5hwD0xOuQLho0kX6qO-JFVE5k7dNf0ug-0dGocwPpx9O4MnSJUCN4xJXqxgevwCoEppZgcVNbmm42ax-XLPHP82U/s320/DSC01772.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp__Vb7AeeOIO03pjW6g-vpuwJLiv9-YhnSxoODYbd_A6n656bBXp1podC8vD_TWAT-JRIYlfDS5tHfOwNWu-zKoN5pQOQ1QNXYTH5Spc8Laen7So0wtGvDY9zUwppbn0yM9cay_95X_w/s1600/DSC01774.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp__Vb7AeeOIO03pjW6g-vpuwJLiv9-YhnSxoODYbd_A6n656bBXp1podC8vD_TWAT-JRIYlfDS5tHfOwNWu-zKoN5pQOQ1QNXYTH5Spc8Laen7So0wtGvDY9zUwppbn0yM9cay_95X_w/s320/DSC01774.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjng_ywXZUSGW6P1-I0F8DLO-VuA5MQY_dpaon1u_AaByrGAUoN7zSGO01feto-Z09cOX6_N7IwqMEJAv4PNqKA6bIGxdhLp_dPdTkPV0LgF3xbn0fBp8aqDMR61wSXPsYQ6uPsLnAfkrk/s1600/DSC01775.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjng_ywXZUSGW6P1-I0F8DLO-VuA5MQY_dpaon1u_AaByrGAUoN7zSGO01feto-Z09cOX6_N7IwqMEJAv4PNqKA6bIGxdhLp_dPdTkPV0LgF3xbn0fBp8aqDMR61wSXPsYQ6uPsLnAfkrk/s320/DSC01775.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSjIjbEUkZ0G02wWzjojETyBXEhxHq7987h8fil3WwLOponbfqJYPIeksQSz0R3milfYrgDYA9fpzUpjRwbGnbOgc9szk0ezcmEA2MPgjcLdOev6CeTdX7fPuNaiQxGmLwlb9tRJrE6ac/s1600/DSC01776.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSjIjbEUkZ0G02wWzjojETyBXEhxHq7987h8fil3WwLOponbfqJYPIeksQSz0R3milfYrgDYA9fpzUpjRwbGnbOgc9szk0ezcmEA2MPgjcLdOev6CeTdX7fPuNaiQxGmLwlb9tRJrE6ac/s320/DSC01776.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2cxA5Uz0_eZJzqAG_mqPtMaZG-rmDof9s9LaRaDuOWVEASaoH44ZQjr6-16namQ2dAIq5VM4f_9HfVozZ-yVTx6W5zVEpCy4fqoIYRJq-d7YGpns2HOqTLGTXAArdViyKsdPNEMeOfEI/s1600/DSC01777.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2cxA5Uz0_eZJzqAG_mqPtMaZG-rmDof9s9LaRaDuOWVEASaoH44ZQjr6-16namQ2dAIq5VM4f_9HfVozZ-yVTx6W5zVEpCy4fqoIYRJq-d7YGpns2HOqTLGTXAArdViyKsdPNEMeOfEI/s320/DSC01777.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>The first time we lived in Paris, I spent many happy hours at various neighborhood brocantes and discovered it was a great way to improve my French. The vendors are friendly (except with preschoolers with wandering hands...) and speak passionately about their wares. I learned a lot about French history, too. Tracing the monarchy through the styles of the various Louis made me anxious to learn more about France's past (which in turn makes living in Paris that much more fascinating.)<br />
<br />
I've made a few small brocante purchases since we moved in (not having a car keeps me from the reckless, oversized splurge). I spotted these paintings and couldn't resist. These two are by the same artist and for 30 <style>
<!--
/* Font Definitions */
@font-face
{font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-font-charset:78;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:-536870145 1791491579 18 0 131231 0;}
@font-face
{font-family:"Cambria Math";
panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4;
mso-font-charset:0;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:-536870145 1107305727 0 0 415 0;}
@font-face
{font-family:Cambria;
panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4;
mso-font-charset:0;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:-536870145 1073743103 0 0 415 0;}
/* Style Definitions */
p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal
{mso-style-unhide:no;
mso-style-qformat:yes;
mso-style-parent:"";
margin:0in;
margin-bottom:.0001pt;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:12.0pt;
font-family:Cambria;
mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria;
mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria;
mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;}
.MsoChpDefault
{mso-style-type:export-only;
mso-default-props:yes;
font-family:Cambria;
mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria;
mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria;
mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;}
@page WordSection1
{size:8.5in 11.0in;
margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in;
mso-header-margin:.5in;
mso-footer-margin:.5in;
mso-paper-source:0;}
div.WordSection1
{page:WordSection1;}
--
</style>€ for the pair, how could I say "<i>non</i>"? Modigliani's they're not but they make me happy. (Isn't that the point?) I nabbed the abstract for just 15
<style>
<!--
/* Font Definitions */
@font-face
{font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-font-charset:78;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:-536870145 1791491579 18 0 131231 0;}
@font-face
{font-family:"Cambria Math";
panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4;
mso-font-charset:0;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:-536870145 1107305727 0 0 415 0;}
@font-face
{font-family:Cambria;
panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4;
mso-font-charset:0;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:-536870145 1073743103 0 0 415 0;}
/* Style Definitions */
p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal
{mso-style-unhide:no;
mso-style-qformat:yes;
mso-style-parent:"";
margin:0in;
margin-bottom:.0001pt;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:12.0pt;
font-family:Cambria;
mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria;
mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria;
mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;}
.MsoChpDefault
{mso-style-type:export-only;
mso-default-props:yes;
font-family:Cambria;
mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria;
mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria;
mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;}
@page WordSection1
{size:8.5in 11.0in;
margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in;
mso-header-margin:.5in;
mso-footer-margin:.5in;
mso-paper-source:0;}
div.WordSection1
{page:WordSection1;}
--
</style>€ at a neighborhood brocante. Like it?
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF9K1RkZeBXuuQuPEERWJ5mj-heK0yDUCXXU4uacxpvNGLmLey8D0jqS4qhvqu49AObaU192Q2oRSe2DheGWihHOygncM7ChlVWlGz5cXznhHlJGfPrfihYxAUUSaQ22MVJVHOCF2oz_U/s1600/DSC01535.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF9K1RkZeBXuuQuPEERWJ5mj-heK0yDUCXXU4uacxpvNGLmLey8D0jqS4qhvqu49AObaU192Q2oRSe2DheGWihHOygncM7ChlVWlGz5cXznhHlJGfPrfihYxAUUSaQ22MVJVHOCF2oz_U/s320/DSC01535.JPG" width="320" /></a>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ1z37_8E02RfYD7PkRrrfPg0qSHr6EEwOhLAj4BKzNwKZT7_tAtvFO_D_NddsmVUzQioXIOz_ELBPX8RUrUz1xgVXzhWe-eXhjsHspZOXMmSyg3TUbul6rpGmIZdROYCzspClDLdOl50/s1600/DSC01572.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ1z37_8E02RfYD7PkRrrfPg0qSHr6EEwOhLAj4BKzNwKZT7_tAtvFO_D_NddsmVUzQioXIOz_ELBPX8RUrUz1xgVXzhWe-eXhjsHspZOXMmSyg3TUbul6rpGmIZdROYCzspClDLdOl50/s320/DSC01572.JPG" width="240" /></a>
In fact, every brocante item I've bought tells a little story and means so much more to me than things I find at larger chain shops. So next time you're in Paris, think about adding a brocante visit to your itinerary. It's shopping, history and French conversation all in one. What could be better?Paigehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05777428548325449024noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1615835669512085965.post-56787269367620817082012-05-31T14:23:00.001+02:002012-05-31T14:31:38.694+02:00A Brave Woman in ParisI met a woman for coffee at <a href="http://www.cafedeflore.fr/" target="_blank">Cafe de Flore</a> today whose "moving to Paris" story inspired me; I thought you might like to hear it, too.<br />
<br />
She's a friend of a friend whose name was passed along with a request that I might help acquaint her with life in Paris. This is one of the many benefits of living here -- I get to hear from so many people (friends and distant connections alike) who are coming to Paris and want the "inside scoop." I don't fool myself that this is due to my personal charm -- let's just say we had noticeably <i>fewer</i> visitors in Boston -- but to this beguiling city that I am lucky to call home. (For now, that is. No familial panicking, please.)<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXS73vHAUKKT2H0PZ0YPAVZn9ibR3aJ9dG5EKF7DmmQux7GdedVGEesnW-WrZypK_rDxWS3tDR9o34L1sPHjDTf6iyoyo_acuqilX3Fr69XWEelHAoMSLMLAsgmZuswUGXbWVfXvh7KY8/s1600/cafe+de+flore" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="253" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXS73vHAUKKT2H0PZ0YPAVZn9ibR3aJ9dG5EKF7DmmQux7GdedVGEesnW-WrZypK_rDxWS3tDR9o34L1sPHjDTf6iyoyo_acuqilX3Fr69XWEelHAoMSLMLAsgmZuswUGXbWVfXvh7KY8/s320/cafe+de+flore" width="320" /></a></div>So we met at Flore, one of the city's most famous cafes, where <a href="http://www.guardian.co.uk/world/2005/jun/10/gender.politicsphilosophyandsociety" target="_blank">Sartre and de Beauvoir </a>carried on their infamous love affair. I recognized my coffee date right away (as she did me), marking one another by our unmistakable American-ness. There's something about the open expression, eager smile and informal air that makes it instantly easy to spot fellow countrymen.<br />
<br />
And so she shared her tale of living the Paris dream so many have, but only a brave few actually attempt. She leased out her house, bid adieu to her beloved job, rented a storage unit and filled it with her worldly possessions. No longer a kid but a woman in her prime, she's lived long enough to know that life is short. Single and independent, it was time to explore the possibility of actually living in Paris. Her plan? To write, explore and expand her horizons -- generally live life, and all its small pleasures -- while figuring out what the next step will be. Pretty great, eh?<br />
<br />
She's staying in a Latin Quarter flat owned by some relatives, filling her days discovering museums, parks, restaurants and hidden treasures. (She also bravely joined a French gym, perhaps a post for another time...) There was talk of a memoir project and architectural research -- both perfectly suited to the passions of this fair city. As we talked on about language programs, the many groups to join, classes to take and places to visit (not to mention shops to discover), I began to think her adventure may extend beyond her planned three-month stay. But as is always the case in life, we have to take that first bold step before we can see (or even imagine) the rewards that might follow. Bravo to her for having the guts. <br />
<br />
Who knows? She may come to the end of her Paris stay and decide she's ready to return to the full life she left behind. Then again, Paris has a way of changing people's plans. I have a feeling she might be one of them. <br />
<br />
What about you? Do you dream about living in Paris or somewhere abroad? If you live in Paris, was it tough to make the move? I'd love to hear from you...Paigehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05777428548325449024noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1615835669512085965.post-47573462844983444012012-05-29T12:08:00.000+02:002012-05-29T12:08:45.943+02:00London Calling: Our Weekend Across the Pond<style>
<!--
/* Font Definitions */
@font-face
{font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-font-charset:78;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:-536870145 1791491579 18 0 131231 0;}
@font-face
{font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-font-charset:78;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:-536870145 1791491579 18 0 131231 0;}
@font-face
{font-family:Cambria;
panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4;
mso-font-charset:0;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:-536870145 1073743103 0 0 415 0;}
/* Style Definitions */
p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal
{mso-style-unhide:no;
mso-style-qformat:yes;
mso-style-parent:"";
margin:0in;
margin-bottom:.0001pt;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:12.0pt;
font-family:Cambria;
mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria;
mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria;
mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;}
.MsoChpDefault
{mso-style-type:export-only;
mso-default-props:yes;
font-family:Cambria;
mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria;
mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria;
mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;}
@page WordSection1
{size:8.5in 11.0in;
margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in;
mso-header-margin:.5in;
mso-footer-margin:.5in;
mso-paper-source:0;}
div.WordSection1
{page:WordSection1;}
-->
</style><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">The first thing I noticed was the noise. Then the toothy smiles. And the collegial laughter. For an American living in Paris, traveling to London can feel like a homecoming of sorts, where much is familiar and yet nothing is quite the same. The fact that it’s worlds away from Paris – despite a deceptively brief Eurostar ride of just over two hours – is obvious from the moment of setting foot on British soil. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVIq41N7_Fx-oSSn1y-OqRP6FilYZTp3NYW4cfTP77Gaq7L47xQXaOl-_wzGVYzT-FT3_iNNm2bBljw2fuEmXK-BCy677iMtdZ4hKmHyjrxmEiIJhsIzwNc-GxQ29z8BtVEGaJL9z8NWY/s1600/IMG_2212.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVIq41N7_Fx-oSSn1y-OqRP6FilYZTp3NYW4cfTP77Gaq7L47xQXaOl-_wzGVYzT-FT3_iNNm2bBljw2fuEmXK-BCy677iMtdZ4hKmHyjrxmEiIJhsIzwNc-GxQ29z8BtVEGaJL9z8NWY/s400/IMG_2212.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh00z6O7PzzS0JWTl_i18SG80758MfO2MYY5m0cu2afS4BrhOloaXIfQwlIYhXp2Sd753_Iwomv7qFMiUkE0mHz0YBqAs3CPyNh1IsnDZCKHhiW2jrFZa7pYM3dD-ZWe2jiIB5FOYDFO_Y/s1600/IMG_2210.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh00z6O7PzzS0JWTl_i18SG80758MfO2MYY5m0cu2afS4BrhOloaXIfQwlIYhXp2Sd753_Iwomv7qFMiUkE0mHz0YBqAs3CPyNh1IsnDZCKHhiW2jrFZa7pYM3dD-ZWe2jiIB5FOYDFO_Y/s400/IMG_2210.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal">After living in Paris for more than a year, our kid-free weekend visit to London (to celebrate our 12<sup>th</sup> wedding anniversary) proved just how accustomed I’ve become to the ways of the French -- their discretion, rigid politesse, hushed voices and trim, chic ways. As much as I love Paris, a little British cheer felt like just what was needed. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">After checking in to our hotel, our first stop was <a href="http://www.geronimo-inns.co.uk/thephoenixinvictoria/" target="_blank">ThePhoenix</a>, a <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gastropub" target="_blank">gastropub</a> in Westminster where we enjoyed a simple lunch. Both Greg and I ordered Eggs Benedict with sides of creamed spinach and fries. Mmm, good. And not a baguette in sight.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifmq6dPvEjBufXyzZLzLwYdP72q23BTAVCsKFrR6EfvBbX49pSsR9MDFzrkxoObSN26kZFUVv95NxWTUB55wm-Hb21hwBowD1GLZjDS1BN6T0wnelWoWSNUkbSnGXm56mJOM1dly0HzFk/s1600/IMG_2215.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifmq6dPvEjBufXyzZLzLwYdP72q23BTAVCsKFrR6EfvBbX49pSsR9MDFzrkxoObSN26kZFUVv95NxWTUB55wm-Hb21hwBowD1GLZjDS1BN6T0wnelWoWSNUkbSnGXm56mJOM1dly0HzFk/s320/IMG_2215.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhESu7NbVzhwCAKDYmRoDBBngv5gsRZ3S35R4r0RaRFjKRwmo-kpsft7Scbh_oLNaM0o0hTzlpDrjjvvXeAFHEfxhSCcKlU3K6HZU2B58xH48IZrt15lTiZRrFadnVGTFdhe8t8J-rde94/s1600/IMG_2219.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhESu7NbVzhwCAKDYmRoDBBngv5gsRZ3S35R4r0RaRFjKRwmo-kpsft7Scbh_oLNaM0o0hTzlpDrjjvvXeAFHEfxhSCcKlU3K6HZU2B58xH48IZrt15lTiZRrFadnVGTFdhe8t8J-rde94/s320/IMG_2219.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal">I couldn’t stop noticing how un-French everything felt. Influenced, no doubt, by the summer-like weather, many Londoners (already much less formal than their Gallic neighbors), had adopted a clothing-optional policy, with men walking shirtless around the city and people strolling barefoot through the streets and parks. I couldn’t help but stare at a woman in a breezy floral sundress who walked in to the pub, took a seat at the bar and ordered a pint, her strappy sandals slung casually over her wrist. Not something you’re likely to see in Paris. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpMevoFvyIvorZ4c18hsdyXQKZ1R8XclDcR2E2-5zhqUXOul-IZPwaCy8zTpJkOTcIS-wenTue7beD6wQpF7ac1NfDvwMiIXDP4ydhJh83MFqyu8QDS8L_cCRhcU7uMmuH18LoWjI_FmY/s1600/IMG_2214.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpMevoFvyIvorZ4c18hsdyXQKZ1R8XclDcR2E2-5zhqUXOul-IZPwaCy8zTpJkOTcIS-wenTue7beD6wQpF7ac1NfDvwMiIXDP4ydhJh83MFqyu8QDS8L_cCRhcU7uMmuH18LoWjI_FmY/s400/IMG_2214.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal">And the noise! Filled with music, sports on TV and raucous, lager-fueled laughter, the pubs spilled over with happy revelers for whom a long-awaited sunny day proved reason enough to celebrate. It’s hard not to love London’s festive air and the unpretentious banter that animates its streets.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">London’s overall vibe is indeed celebratory these days as the city ramps up for two big events. First, the Queen’s Jubilee, the celebration of her 60 years on the British throne, is only a week away. In her honor, the city is festooned with Union Jacks of all sizes and the Queen’s royal visage is more ubiquitous than ever. Then, this summer, they’ll welcome the Olympics, a weeks-long affair for which some Londoners seemed ill prepared. Several people we spoke with moaned abut the events and announced their intentions to “clear off” during the games. Preparations were evident in round-the-clock roadwork and widespread construction. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCh95C4vaWpFMAskEO2KfWIoaDEJ7gAcGhDiyZlkS2jt0lnMkLFbM9iY_O6LGN82s4y-JK8PdBhgyJ_JcO_JZ81n6SoO275-yYcH-D4_dnJ4-RPBhIYreuNSwTMNfea5OENju9Mw8axQ8/s1600/IMG_2218.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCh95C4vaWpFMAskEO2KfWIoaDEJ7gAcGhDiyZlkS2jt0lnMkLFbM9iY_O6LGN82s4y-JK8PdBhgyJ_JcO_JZ81n6SoO275-yYcH-D4_dnJ4-RPBhIYreuNSwTMNfea5OENju9Mw8axQ8/s320/IMG_2218.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"> We spent our day strolling the city with no particular agenda in mind. A stop at the S<a href="http://www.saatchi-gallery.co.uk/" target="_blank">aatchi Gallery</a> for the <a href="http://www.saatchi-gallery.co.uk/artists/photography/" target="_blank">Out of Focus</a> photography show is a must for any London visit. (Show closes July 22.) <a href="http://www.saatchi-gallery.co.uk/artists/katy_grannan.htm?section_name=photography" target="_blank">Katy Grannan's haunting series of portraits</a> taken in L.A. and San Francisco were my favorites and are not easily forgotten. I was blown away to read that she was born in Arlington, MA, our former Boston suburb. A quick stop at Boot's, the English pharmacy chain, was also a must to stock up on essentials, plus a couple items Ms. Paltrow <a href="http://goop.com/newsletter/172/" target="_blank">recommended on goop</a>. (Embarrassing, I know. But it <i>is</i> good stuff.)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH1LpR6wt6ZO6AWWF2KHu87eOHR_MTZzo9xl_koLOuFBgdFSDgxCQarLjEcMQeECqOjiLhcidFf6uw3c3_uCUocRJIkVa9g4sB_vg4mn59jrcfPMWCEgpFqbLY1YCkqJ1FpHMziH5nzOY/s1600/IMG_2221.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH1LpR6wt6ZO6AWWF2KHu87eOHR_MTZzo9xl_koLOuFBgdFSDgxCQarLjEcMQeECqOjiLhcidFf6uw3c3_uCUocRJIkVa9g4sB_vg4mn59jrcfPMWCEgpFqbLY1YCkqJ1FpHMziH5nzOY/s400/IMG_2221.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal">For dinner, Greg had booked us a table at <a href="http://www.the-ivy.co.uk/" target="_blank">The Ivy</a>, an institution in the dynamic London food scene, where we enjoyed a classic meal and toasted our twelve married years with a bottle of Saint-Veran (French wine, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">bien sur</i>). With the kids back in Paris in our sitter's capable hands, we were free to wander the city and get a little lost. From the West End through Soho and Chinatown, along the Mall and through St. James Park, our one night in London was magical and memorable indeed. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIgUuIWpmrYg7sI8IKlOpfitiN3JC7EL7yQzPbNp83Vh0AuGh9Cg1jrysnEOEN4skf1gpESHvNt4_vc-uLq8zgmbK1t4aiH4nDUwDU9NwNo_fAwDLC7z674QD1QvTsjIXUgzapbIeVdR0/s1600/IMG_2242.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIgUuIWpmrYg7sI8IKlOpfitiN3JC7EL7yQzPbNp83Vh0AuGh9Cg1jrysnEOEN4skf1gpESHvNt4_vc-uLq8zgmbK1t4aiH4nDUwDU9NwNo_fAwDLC7z674QD1QvTsjIXUgzapbIeVdR0/s320/IMG_2242.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal">Now here I sit, aboard the Eurostar, bound once-again for “real life” in Paris. The seat next to me sits empty, with Greg staying on in London for business this coming week. A final surprise awaited as I boarded the train – an unexpected first class seat with magazines (in English!), a gourmet meal, coffee and dessert. Thank you, G. I miss you already. </div>Paigehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05777428548325449024noreply@blogger.com2