Thoughts in Random Patterns

Friday Beers

I worked hard this week, really immersing myself in French grammar and conversation.  I feel like I’m starting to fire on all cylinders in terms of the language.  About a million years ago, when I worked for a small custom database software company in Boston, we would go out for Friday beers after work, frequently to The Boathouse in Harvard Square where I would drink vodka-based drinks like Mudslides and White Russians since I don’t like beer.  I could use a celebratory moment tonight.  Toast to Amy for all of her good work this week! 

After class this afternoon I went to the little neighborhood grocery store and bought milk, yogurt, applesauce, mandarin oranges from Israel, a big box of matches to light all of my good smelling candles, a chocolate bar with orange flavoring, a brie cheese, and a 6 pack of bottled water.  Just under 20 Euros.  I brought that home, carried it up all the stairs, and put it away.  Then I went back out to the bakery on our street and bought a baguette which I then carried with me while I walked around for an hour, down rue du Bac to Le Bon Marche, turning left on rue de Sevres and following it down to Blvd St. Germain.  Lots of fun fancy stores along there (Furla, Burberry, Fresh) and lots of people out strolling about.  At La Maison du Chocolat there was a long line extending out of the store and down the sidewalk of people buying their Easter chocolates.  I had a minor victory:  a French woman approached me as we were waiting for the light to change at an intersection and asked me some long question in French before I could tell her that I only speak French a little bit.  My good scarf/watch/shoes/purse disguise is working.  The baguette is an important fashion accessory for looking French.

After being here less than two weeks, I’m settling into a good routine and think that after another month of this I might be able to answer questions from strangers at intersections.

Homonyms / Erratum

Site / sight.  J’ai fait un erreur.  I meant to say “an incredible sight,” not “an incredible site.”  For all the grammarians out there, I correct my error.  Although I do think that Paris is an incredible site.  And I guess that thunderstorm implies thunder, which necessitates lightning.  Let’s focus on the photos for today.  I’ll pick up English again tomorrow.

The Limitations of Photography

An intense thunderstorm just passed over the city, complete with lightning and thunder.  In its wake, it left a complete rainbow arcing over the city and a portion of a double rainbow.  It was an incredible site; but my photos don’t do it justice.  Or perhaps it’s actually a limitation of the photographer.  The sunset behind the Eiffel Tower was as incredible as it has been every night.  I’m loving this city.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Because it wasn't hard enough already?

Yesterday the director of L’Ecole L’Etoile told the four people in my class that we’re going to be combined into another class that’s more advanced than the one we’re in.  Yikes!  Beginning April 1st, our current teacher will start teaching a new group of complete beginners (les debutantes), and the four of us will join the advanced group.  To speed us along, the school is giving us an hour long session in the mornings at no extra charge to drill us on additional grammar, especially verb tenses.  Yikes!  Today I was in school from 11:30–12:30, had a half hour break for lunch, and then was back in class from 1–3, as usual.  I just thought my brain was tired before.  Maybe I can pay the school extra to not take the morning class?!?  Extra grammar, extra homework, extra confusion.  I’m certainly learning, or at least taking in data quickly.  I’m not certain how much I’ve assimilated.  I feel like I’m in a movie I saw in Gifted and Talented in 8th grade called Donald in Mathemagic Land where Donald Duck travels through time and learns the Pythagorean theorem and how to calculate angles for billiards and the golden mean and it has all these mathematical symbols moving around all the time.  Or was that in Little Man Tate?  See, I told you I was confused.  Now I can’t tell whether my memories of 8th grade are memories, or are a movie.  Yikes!  Did anyone else see the Donald movie?  I’m listening to Miss Billie Holliday singing and the apartment smells wonderfully of the new scented candles I bought yesterday and at sunset there were six mourning doves in the freshly leaved tree outside.  C’est la vie.

Bourgeois

I’ve been noticing that while the average Parisian woman on the street is very well-dressed, it’s a very bourgeois type of fashion:  nice shoes/purse/scarf/watch/perfume/suit.  It’s exactly my style, but it’s definitely not at the cutting edge of fashion innovation.  I think that Los Angeles and New York are much more fashion forward in terms of taking risks and doing new things.  Paris feels much less oriented toward the new and the young.  There’s something very settled feeling in this place, which I like.  I can wear my good shoes/purse/scarf/watch/perfume and feel right at home.

Went to dinner last night with some friends who are in Paris for a week.  Jeff Behrens and Lori Rutter live in Boston, but I didn’t know them when we lived there.  I met them only last summer when they came to our place in Alaska.  Jeff was an exchange student here in college, so he knows his way around.  We met for early evening drinks at Cafe Marly which is in the Palais Royal directly across from the pyramid entrance to the Louvre.  Lori had taken a bad spill within hours of arriving here on Monday, and sprained her ankle; but is carrying on like a trouper.  I’m completely impressed with her good spirits and stamina — or maybe it’s the good pain killing drugs?  After watching the sunset and drinking mint tea, we took the Metro to a bistro in the Marais and had a more typical French meal than I’ve had here so far.  I had a pumpkin soup appetizer that was delicious.  Butter!  Yum!  Lori had smoked salmon and Jeff had a salad with crispy duck bits on top.  For our entrees Jeff had duck breast and Lori had veal and I had a white fish.  We had dessert of shared bites of pear tart, deeply rich dark chocolate tart, and flottant, which is a classic French dessert of meringue in a bath of creme anglaise with toasted almond slivers.  Delicious.  I don’t remember the name of the place off the top of my head.  I’ll have to ask Jeff.  We’re going to try to connect at least once more while they’re here.  I feel so relieved to speak English that I’m happy to babble away endlessly with them.

When we were here last April, we explored different neighborhoods with an eye to their potential for longer term visiting this spring.  My impression of the Marais was that it was maybe too edgy for me.  The New York analogy is that I’m an upper east side, or maybe upper west side, kind of babe.  I like to visit the galleries in Chelsea and the Meatpacking District, but I don’t want to live upstairs from a nightclub.  Last night after dinner we walked around a bit in the Marais and there were many more people carousing about, drinking from wine bottles and having noisy arguments in the street than there are in my neighborhood.  I made a good decision to stay in the 7th arrondissement.  Bourgeois Amy.

Vernal Equinox

This morning I awoke to the sound of rain on the metal roof and the very first green leaves of spring.  It’s really spring in Paris now.

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

  

 

 

 

Just another day

Brad met me after class yesterday and we tried to go the Maillol Museum which is having an exhibit of Gustav Klimt etchings.  There was an enormous line waiting to get in, which we don’t really do, so we walked across the Seine, through the Tuilieres and to the Librairie Galignani which is a bookstore that sells both French and English books.  I picked up a copy of the scintillating best seller Conjugations of 12,000 French Verbs by Bescherelle.  Yippee.  I also bought some trashy detective thriller books, which I love; but in French.  Juste un Regard by Harlan Coben and Celui qui a peur de loup (Who’s afraid of the wolf?) by Karin Fossum.  I also bought a French copy of The Memory of Running by Ron McLarty (J’ai reve de courir longtemps (I dreamt of running a long time)) which should keep me busy for the next year or so.

We then had late lunch/tea at the Park Hyatt Paris where we stayed for a week last April before our massage appointments which Brad had very kindly made as a surprise.  Tea was perfect little salmon roulades covered in fresh herbs, La Maison du The Earl Grey, a side of green beans, and a side of mashed potatoes that must have had a pound of butter mashed in.  For dessert we chose from a beautiful dessert cart with several chocolate options.  We shared an orange infused chocolate mousse that was dense and creamy and wonderful, with a candied orange peel slice as an accent.  The public areas of the Park Hyatt are serene and beautifully lit and have an Asian feel instead of the French gold brocade fabrics and tassels everywhere.  It’s one of my favorite hotels.

We both loved our much needed massages, followed by another sushi dinner at Lo Sushi, followed by another long stroll home down the Champs Elysee, through the Place de la Concorde and across the Seine to our neighborhood.  We woke up relatively early (8:30) this morning and had breakfast of baguette and black cherry jam and French press coffee, then went back to bed until 2:00.  We’re both pretty tired.  Two hours of French class with only two other students in basically like taking an oral exam every day.  No possibility of hiding in the back row and hoping the teacher doesn’t call on you.  I’m learning a lot, but it’s very demanding.  This afternoon we explored our neighborhood for a couple of hours, and then did some major grocery shopping at Le Bon Marche.  As long as I have Brad here to be my sherpa, I’m buying heavy things like humous and cheese and eggs and olive oil and things that come in glass bottles.  I can’t get over the incredible range of foodstuffs available at Le Bon Marche.  Everything is beautiful there.  We had fresh olive foccacia and humous for dinner. 

I took a couple of pictures from the balcony of the apartment, and then had my usual temper tantrum when the technology to transfer the digital images from my camera to my laptop didn’t work on the first try.  I hate it when I choose an option called “transfer pictures dated today” after I just took several photos and the computer says that no images fit that description.  ARGH!  ARGH!  Brad eventually had to resort to transferring all 217 images off my camera just to get the ones that you see below.  I think it was worth his efforts.  I really am fortunate to have Brad here to be my grocery delivery boy, computer/camera technician, and moral support.

 

The Eiffel Tower at sunset from the apartment balcony

 

 

 

 

The view across our courtyard

Truffles and Grammar

Ah, yes, the $60 bowl of soup.  Last night we had dinner at Gaya, which is a wonderful seafood restaurant located downstairs at the front of our apartment building.  Extra convenient.  I managed to successfully call in advance and make a reservation (in French), which was a minor triumph for me.  Brad’s starter was a bowl of creamy artichoke soup covered in a thick layer of black truffles.  I’ve never seen such a generous portion of truffles, except once at Biba in Boston when Lydia Shire, the chef there, brought an entire fist-sized white truffle to our table for inspection before grating it over some risotto.  Staggeringly rich food last night.  The soup was worth the 45 euro price tag.  I had wild sea bass carpaccio and risotto with grilled shrimp and a parmesan crisp.  Brad was full after his soup, but had already ordered curried monkfish with white beans and ginger.  We shared a peach melba dessert with whipped cream that had almost too much (crunchy) vanilla bean in it.  After dinner we walked to the Seine and along the river to let our food settle before the aerobic exercise required to get home.

I think we’re on French time now.  We went to bed around midnight and I woke up shortly after nine.  Brad slept until noon while I did my homework, so he’s definitely in happy vacation mode.  I went to class and stuffed my brain full of all the complicated various ways to talk about time and duration in the past and the future (depuis, combien de temps, il y a, pendant, en, dans, etc.).  It’s a different form when the question is about an event that was a single moment in time in the past versus an event with duration in the past, and something else entirely for the future.  And of course all of the instruction is in French.  A new word, chomage, is defined by the teacher as seeking work and not being able to find it, distinct from voluntarily removing yourself from the workplace, for example to stay home and care for children.  My dictionary defines chomage as “unemployment.”  My brain is tired.  I’m amazed both by how much I’ve forgotten since college, and how much I’m remembering.  I did my homework tonight and read the newspaper out loud for 30 minutes.  Good Amy.  I’m in the phase where my English is deteriorating rapidly; but I still can’t speak French.  Soon I shall be mute.

Brad met me at school after class, voluntarily wearing his gorgeous new Armani sport coat (thank you, Raj and Stef for the Andriesen Morton store referral) and Paul Smith shoes.  He had shaved and was even wearing a tiny bit of Hermes cologne which I brought from him in my toiletry kit.  I think he’s entering into the spirit of the Parisian way.  I shall reward him (in)appropriately.

We had Asian food for lunch and then went to Le Bon Marche to find Q-tips and dishwasher soap.  It’s a beautiful place to shop.  We came home with Marriage Freres Earl Grey tea sachets, Swiss muesli cereal, black and white striped squid ink pasta, and Q-tips and dishwasher soap.  We’re figuring out how much we can carry up to our place.  The rue de Bac, which is where our apartment is located, stretches through some of the most interesting shops I’ve ever seen all the way to Le Bon Marche.  We walked past an espresso store that was like a Zen garden, and a couple of stationery stores, and fancy linen places.  Lots of exploring to do.

A quiet night at home tonight.  Brad is reading his second book of the day.  We’re listening to Melissa Etheridge on the iPod, drinking tea, relaxing.  We stood out on the terrace and watched the incredible flashing lights covering the Eiffel Tower for awhile after the sunset.  It really is Paris here. 

A l'ecole / at school

Today I took my placement test at L’Etoile (the star) School in the morning and attended my first class for 2 hours this afternoon.  There were 3 other students in my class:  a young man from Korea, a young woman from Taiwan, and a woman older than I am (shocking) from India.  The woman from Russia had called in sick.  I thought I had small class sizes in college, but this is excellent for getting lots of time to speak in class.  I’m definitely rusty on the gender of countries and never knew that La Suede is Sweden.  I always thought suede was a just great fabric for jackets and pillows.  There’s nothing like stumbling around in another language to make me appreciate my English skills.  It’s tiring to have to think before I speak.  Or maybe I should practice that while speaking English also.  My teacher is named Veronique and has a beautiful accent and is very patient.  I’m surprised and pleased how quickly I’ve gotten rolling.  It has been nice to have Brad here to encourage me to go and do new scary things. 

Walked the ten minutes from school back to the apartment and up the 743 stairs to find Brad napping, which seemed like an excellent idea.  We slept well last night after our sushi dinner and walk home down the Champs Elysee and across the river; at least from about 9:30 until 2:18 this morning.  Then I was awake for a couple of hours listening to Brad snore before falling back asleep.  I earned my nap today.

We’re now lounging about.  Brad is reading a book called Jack Fish and he just read me a section about the Toto Washlet toilet, which we’re both huge fans of.  Our apartment does not have a bidet, which is kind of disappointing since I think of the bidet as being one of those quintessentially French experiences. 

I guess we had a quintessentially French experience yesterday morning at Charles de Gaulle airport.  We’re standing at baggage claim, barely functional after our red-eye, and a woman is surreptitously smoking a cigarette right next to us, standing directly in front of several “defense de fumer” (no smoking!) signs.  So far we’ve managed to avoid stepping in the ubiquitous dog doo-doo on the sidewalks left by all the tiny French dogs that Denali and Kenai would crush if they stepped on them.  Not all things French are perfect.

The chocolates at La Maison du Chocolat are pretty damn close.  After lunch at a cafe, we bought a small assortment of chocolates as a gift for Anthony, the sales clerk at the Paul Smith store who pointed us to L’Ecole L’Etoile yesterday.  And I had a raspberry-flavored piece and Brad had a coffee-flavored piece.  Really amazing.  Intense and smooth.  The Richart chocolate store is in our neighborhood, too.  We’ll obviously have to do extensive comparison tasting, since Richart is one of my favorite chocolatiers.  They make especially wonderful spicy flavors and unusual combinations.  New York has outposts of both stores, and San Francisco has a Richart, too.  But there is definitely something special about eating French chocolate in Paris.  We’re having a grand time — Brad even braved the flower shop in our block to buy me a beautiful arrangement of colorful roses and some kind of berries while I was in school.  His French is strictly at the “point and grunt” level, but it works.  Thanks for the flowers, duderino.

Le premier jour

I'm living a fantasy that I've had probably since I first came to Paris when I was fifteen years old.  I'm renting an apartment on the Left Bank for the next six weeks, taking language class to learn (finally) to be fluent in French, and absorb as much of this culture as possible.  Brad and I flew over together overnight, landing on what is the first "real" spring day according to our taxi driver.  The apartment is utterly magnificent; a far cry from the youth hostel days.  I have an outside terrace with a view of the Eiffel Tower, the Musee d'Orsay, and all of the gray slate mansard roofs of Paris.  The unfortunate part of the view means that we're 110 steps up a narrow, twisting several flights of stairs.  I've been up and down 5 times so far today, and we haven't gone out for dinner yet.  I've been told tales of an elevator that goes to the third floor but then necessitates a long walk around 3 sides of the building to get to our front door.  I'll adapt to the stairs.  It's good for me.  It's good for me.  We're struggling mightily to stay awake until local bedtime so that we quickly conquer jet lag.  After our apartment orientation we went out and strolled along Blvd. St. Germain in search of food before returning to a known site:  the Hotel Montelambert where we stayed 2 years ago with the Feld family for a September birthday celebration for Brad's mom, located basically across the street from the apartment.  Today we both had artichoke terrine as a starter and Brad had a small portion of an incredibly rich pasta dish and I had a composed red snapper with mirepoix (diced vegetables) on a puff pastry.  Espresso and cafe au laits all around.  Caffeine is your friend after a red-eye flight.  Great food.  French cuisine is not all about the sauces anymore, but is incorporating the vintner's concept of terroir, or locally grown and seasonal offerings.  After lunch we returned to the apartment and did our usual make ourselves at home routine, which for Brad means putting everything away in a tidy fashion and for me means letting my suitcases explode all over every possible surface until I figure out the best home for everything.  I think it's a way of marking territory.  We found our local grocery store (tiny, but great fresh produce), bought electrical outlet adapters, managed not to go into several chocolate stores selling beautiful Easter eggs, and bought a pair of shoes.  No, not for me -- for Brad.  There is a Paul Smith store nearby which sells very edgy Converse-type sneakers.  Brad had bought a pair of low tops while we were in L.A. about a month ago and this store had high tops with very cool patterns.  Shoe purchase score:  Brad 1, Amy 0.  We'll see how long that lasts..  The clerk at Paul Smith was a Brit who recommended a language school down the block where he had taken classes, so we walked down and met the director of the school and I'm scheduled to take a placement test tomorrow morning at 11.  It feels great to take things as they come.  We went to the Seine for our afternoon exercise (anything to stay away from the siren song of the bed) and rediscovered the great paths along the river at water level, below the streets full of cars and people.  The views of the architecture from the river are everything a Parisian scene could be.  We're heading to another known destination for dinner:  Yo Sushi at 8, rue de Berri.  So happy to be here, and grateful to have the opportunity to fulfill a dream I've had for a long time.