Tamara à Paris

The Final Word

2009-07-09T08:34:00.000-07:00

"If you are lucky enough to have lived in Paris as a young man, then wherever you go for the rest of your life it stays with you, for Paris is a moveable feast." -Ernest Hemingway

My sentiments exactly.

Paris, Best Of

2009-07-07T03:46:00.000-07:00

Living in a place, you inevitably start to carve out your niche; the places and things that become your memories, your backdrops, your landscapes. Paris has no shortage of picturesque settings, cool cafés and neighborhood hangouts. But these are some of my favorites. And just some of the many things I'll be back for...

Museum: Le musée du quai Branly

Green gardens that overflow onto the building, a unique collection of indigenous art, a great café and the best free library around. Plus AC. Say what.

Café: Les Editeurs (4, carrefour de l'Odéon)

Coffee and books in the peak of literary elegance.

Park: Jardin de Luxembourg

Bring a book, a picnic, or your ipod, lay out, spread out, and cozy up to people watch, sky gaze and just chill out. Oh yeah and skip the Museum.

Neighborhood to Wander: The Marais

Jewish deli's, window shopping, stylish men. What's not to love?

5 € Lunch: Pitzman's falafel (12 rue Pavée)

Daily Bread: Eric Kayser

Time & Place: Sunset on the Seine

Splurge: Hot Chocolate at Angélina (226 rue de Rivoli)

Au Revoir Paree

2009-07-07T03:18:00.000-07:00

Paris, it's month 11 and the end of our love affair is near. Like any couple, we had our ups and downs, our moments of fervent passion followed by those of bitter hatred, but I think overall we had a good run. So, it's time to take a step back and reflect on the hots and not-so-hots of life in the city of lights...

Hots:
- Culture (The plethora of activities (museums, parks, concerts, etc.) still gives me butterflies.)
- Student Discounts (Yay for being young in a city that believes you shouldn't have to pay for anything if you are under 26)
- Relaxin' (Lingering 2 hours over a cup of coffee, or dining with friends until the wee hours of the morning is a lifestyle pace I'm going to miss dearly)
- Public Transportation (Easy, affordable, the city at your doorstep, and the best of all no LA traffic)

Not-so-Hot:
- Parisian Superiority Complex (Would it really hurt to fake a smile every now & then?)
- Metro Stikes (Like the boy who cried wolf, striking every single week for being "agressed" kind of makes it seem like you are just being babies. Or don't want to work.)
- Dogs Pooping on Sidewalks and Men Peeing in the Streets (I just don't get it)
- No Airconditioning? (Say it with me... climatisation. Why is it so hard? Ok, at least give me ice in my drink.)

The French Haircut

2009-06-27T03:11:00.000-07:00

Any girl who has ever lived in Paris and needed to get a haircut knows what I'm talking about when I say that I was a bit apprehensive to undergo the scissors. While French women are undeniably chic and fashionable in terms of attitude and clothes, hair and make-up seem to go by the general adage of the less attention paid, the better. Despite my best efforts to defy nature and wait a year to go back to California for a cut, I finally broke down and decided it was time for une coupe de cheveux. Nearly everyone I talked to had the same reaction... Eeek. Eeew. Good luck! The most common response was "Don't tell them your hair is too thick." Followed by mullet horror stories galore. But I figured at the very least it is something that grows back and I have gotten bad cuts before and it wasn't the end of the world. Or at least the end of the world only ever lasted a few days before being rescued by a ponytail. There is a cute salon by my flat that I regularly pass on my way to the metro called Francois B on Rue des Acacias, and I thought it was a good sign that I usually liked the cuts I saw coming out of the salon. With a special price for those under 26 (only 29 Euros compared to the regular 58 for long hair), I decided to book myself an appointment and give it a go. I feel like I need to share my experience with everyone I know, because from start to finish it was painless and dare I say fun? And the best part is that I came out with exactly what I asked for... simple, not too short, nothing crazy, and please, please, please, no mullet. The man who owns the salon, Francois, who trained with Frederic Fekkai, was the one who gave me my cut after I was shampooed and conditioned by one of his assistants. He joked with me about my French and showed me the special "etoile technique" which he boasts you won't find in the states. I was in and out in about 30 minutes, no fuss, no stress, and passed a good time indeed. So if I ever find myself back in Paris with some unruly locks in need of taming, I feel much better knowing Francois has got my back. And my hair for that matter.

Remembering D-Day

2009-06-05T13:07:00.000-07:00

It's that time of year again, the anniversary of the débarquement of Normandy, and this year just happens to be the 65th. Rumor has it Obama is going to make a cameo on the beaches and the American Cemetery tomorrow, and while I will not be there to welcome him, my Dad and I did get a chance to visit a few weeks ago. We took the train from Paris up to Caen, where we rented a car and drove to various points of interest. We began with the Memorial Museum in Caen which was filled with a chronological history of the war, collected photographs, and assorted objects like letters, press announcements and soldier's uniforms. (Very informative, although a bit expensive.) We then drove to Omaha Beach, where we roamed the shores and had ourselves a picnic while we watched the waves roll in. The American Cemetery was the last stop of our trip, where there is quite an impressive museum (which is free to the public along with the cemetery) and of course the overwhelming effect of looking out at all of the white crosses, lined up one after the other as far as the eye can see. It was both an educational and moving journey, that really made me appreciate our shared history with France (and the rest of Europe of course) and the fact that I have not had to live through a war like that. So tomorrow while Obma is honoring the memory of this important historical event, I will be too, especially the fact that it has passed.

Technology Deprived

2009-06-04T13:05:00.000-07:00

So my MacBook crashed and my telephone is broke, and while I go through the jitters of technology withdrawals, I have been greedily seeking out alternate ways of "staying connected". Luckily, my luck in that department is gradually improving and I have found various internet cafes with descending hourly rates (the best being Milk (don't ask), just off of Metro Chatelet for 3.90€/hr) But, glorious bargain seeker that I am, today I discovered that the Centre Pompidou library offers free public internet access in intervals of 40 minutes! Yes, you have to line up and wait usually around 10 minutes, but that is a small price to pay for gloriously gratuit websurfing. On the upside of this mostly frustrating venture, I have discovered a whole new underbelly of Parisian culture; the glaze-eyed gamers who sit intensly at their cavernous cubicles shooting imaginary gunmen in the midst of cyber wars. Fun fun.

Awesome Museum Alert

2009-05-19T06:20:00.000-07:00

I'm back in Paris and before I delve into the magic that was Madrid and my trip with Dad, I thought it was worth mentioning that I discovered a new museum in Paris that just might be my new favorite. Musée du quai Branly is located just near the Eiffel Tower, and I hadn't heard anything about it until spotting posters for a Jazz exhibit over the past few months. I finally had the time to go and check it out and was pleased to discover that there is much more to rave about than this fabulous temporary expo, Le siècle du Jazz, that chronicles the evolution of jazz (and ends Saturday, so if you haven't seen it I would highly recommend heading over there sometime soon!). By fortuitous coincidence, my visit Sunday just happened to fall an hour before they were featuring a free jazz concert with the famous sax player Steve Potts. Of course I stayed, and the ensuing ensemble between him and contrebassist Jean-Jacques Avenel was the best jazz I have ever seen live. Even if it was tucked away in the library of the museum and I had to sit cross legged on the floor for a good view. Definitely worth it. This peaked my curiosity about the museum and I picked up their brochure which features a whole host of free public lectures, performances, dance concerts, and debates. They even host a brunch the first Saturday of every month and have tons of activities for kids. But perhaps my favorite thing about the museum was the unique permanent collection which is a nice break from all of the standard religious art and impressionist paintings, that while beautiful, I have certainly had my fill of while touring Europe. Their collection is a unique assortment of music, tapestry, clothing, carved statues, masks, and other objects all of which give insight into indigenous art, cultures and civilizations from Africa, Asia, Oceania, and the Americas. My imagination was bursting with excitement as I wandered around, feeling as though I were 10 again, exploring the Southwestern US in my family's motor home with my Native American loom. Um, maybe you have to be me to understand that reference. Anyways, also worth mentioning is the museum's architecture and gardens. Very "green" and if you go visit, you will see what I mean.

Daddy-O in Paris

2009-05-09T15:14:00.001-07:00

Dad is in town for a visit and we're out doing all of the touristy things and soaking in the best of what Paris has to offer. Every time I have someone visit, I am reminded of what a cool place Paris is and get the pride of taking them around to discover all of the things that first made me fall in love with the city. Since it is his first time here, I wanted to make sure we got in all of the major monuments, so on his first day we walked from our hotel in Saint-Germain-des-Prés over to the Louvre, through the Tuileries, past Place de la Concord, down the Champs- Élysées, up to the top of the Arc de Triumph, over to the Eiffel Tower and then rode a Batobus home along the Seine where we got out at Notre Dame and then worked our way back. I think I packed in just about every major sight there is to see, but we are still far from being finished exploring. I have a four day weekend now and after getting a baguette and some apples and heading to the Jardin de Luxembourg for a breakfast picnic, we are catching a plane to Spain where we will spend the next three days exploring Madrid and Segovia. Then it's back to Paris for Dad to soak in some more Parisian vibes before jetting back to California. Kind of sounds like a Joni Mitchell song, maybe we'll even find a party down a red dirt road.

A Run Through the Gloaming

2009-05-06T13:44:00.000-07:00

With all of this beautiful spring weather, I have been looking for any excuse to head outdoors and enjoy the city at her best. So last night, instead of heading over to Parc Monceau for a run, I decided to take a new route and cross Avenue de la Grande-Armée to journey down Avenue Foch. This wide, tree-lined boulevard makes a great running trail that you can take all the way from the Place de l'Étoile to the Bois de Boulogne. Or if you want to mix up the greenery with a little luxury, the ritzy 16th it is just a few blocks over and offers some choice window shopping to keep your imagination engaged as you breeze down the streets. The sun hasn't been going down until well past 9pm, so the days are especially long, leaving ample time for outdoor explorations and the perfect weather to really enjoy them.

In the Park After Dark

2009-05-06T07:32:00.001-07:00

Hot BBQ, Today!

2009-05-02T16:31:00.000-07:00

Mmmmm. Springtime= BBQ's. I'm loving my expat friends... this is the third official BBQ I have been to in a week! I laugh now thinking back to when my visions of life in Paris included only French speaking friends and French things. It was an earnest idea, just not very practical, and it only took a few months for the whole thing to be canned. Now just over month 8 of my life here, any excuse to get together with some fellow Expats gets me smiling. I think anyone who has lived abroad understands how nice it is to congregate with other outsiders and share their experiences, knowing they will find a sympathetic ear. We can complain about what's difficult, rave about what's great, and just have fun bonded by our exile. With a forecast for a sunny three day weekend, it was the perfect time for a BBQ. Again. We have a mixed group of French and Americans, with a few other Europeans thrown in, so we get to combine the best of all cultures- getting together for some nostalgic back home fun, at a house in the suburbs of Paris- only 30 minutes outside of the city with plenty of greenery and a real live grill. I took advantage of the beautiful spring produce at my local market and made a Morrocan inspired Quinoa Salad, with chickpeas, cranberries, pinenuts, mint, lemon juice and olive oil. Then a Greek Salad with chopped red and yellow bell peppers, cucumbers, and crumbled feta with an herbed balsalmic dressing. The salads were a hit, and a good thing to counter all of our Texas Toast and home made "freedom fries." (Not really, we still call them French fries ;) Soooo good. I thought it was funny the "brochettes" or scewers of meat that someone picked up from the grocery store come with chunks of fat for flavor. Also, our hot dogs were served in baguettes. Only in France! There was also a taco salad, homemade chili, and burgers. We followed with café and a yummy strawberry tart for dessert. After our feast, we played pictionary (in French and English) which was a great way to learn some new words, sunbathed while there was still some sun, danced to some awesome tunes, and made a real fire in the fireplace. Our night ended with a game of Presidents and A-holes. And guess who won President? Oh yeah.

Paris For Early Risers

2009-04-30T02:14:00.000-07:00

Beautiful Spring Things I Did Today

2009-04-28T07:24:00.000-07:00

1. Went running in the park.
2. Got rained on while running in the park.
3. Hid under an umbrella of wilted paper leaves, beneath the branches of an old oak tree.
4. Felt the rain drops tapping the top of my head and still more falling down my face.
5. Watched the clouds clear and the rain stop.
6. Shared a smile with the rest of the people who were hiding too.
7. Felt the sun warm on my skin as the sky turned blue overhead.
8. Continued on amongst the deep green rainbow of leaves.
9. Bought some apples on my walk home.
10. Fell in love with spring again.

Road Trip to Beauvais

2009-04-25T06:40:00.000-07:00

"Life is about the journey and not the destination. So is a trip to Beauvais." My favorite quote from yesterday when a friend stood looking around at the nondescript town which just so happens to contain one of the great Gothic cathedrals of France, Cathédrale Saint-Pierre de Beauvais. While it's true, the town itself is a pretty standard mid-sized French city, the cathedral is an impressive distinguishing characteristic. The Cathedral is still unfinished, so the exterior is covered in scaffolding, but the interior is a sight to behold with the tallest ceiling I have ever encountered in a church (including Notre Dame and Chartres). Although, on the flip side, in exchange for being declared the highest-vaulted cathedral in Europe, the structure has collapsed and been rebuilt many times since its beginning in 1255, and is still considered incomplete today. But if you don't mind some wooden support beams and scaffolding, you can check out beautiful stained glass, some nicely preserved painted ceilings, and a very cool astronomical clock. I knew of Beauvais beforehand as the alternate airport city out of which many cheap flights like Easy Jet and Ryan Air take off. Although at almost 2 hours from Paris, I'm not sure the discount you are saving on your ticket is worth the cost and hassle of making it all the way out there. But on the other hand, you could check out the cathedral and then jet-set on your way. Not too shabby. Plus, if a friend happens to have a motorcycle, the ride there is half the fun.

Parc des Buttes Chaumont

2009-04-23T02:59:00.000-07:00

Keeping good on my promise to expand my park horizons, I headed over to Parc des Buttes Chaumont yesterday in the 19th arrondissement. While it is a bit out of the way, I was keen on exploring this park for a few reasons... it is reputed to be one of the largest in Paris, it has its own lake and waterfall, and it is incredibly hilly ("Buttes" means hills). With a few books packed in my purse, I climbed the first grassy slope I saw with the intention of laying out and getting some much needed sun while at the same time indulging in some fine literature. I was not expecting the shock I came upon as I reached the peak of the hill. I felt as if I had wandered upon a nude beach or some secret nudist colony (ok, the people were not nude, but the sight of their skimpy bathing suits in the middle of a public park was just as surprising. And they were all over 60.) But my shock quickly turned to envy. I had often dreamed about laying out in a bikini but for fear of being arrested, I decided it probably wasn't such a good idea. There were bicycle police nearby, so I'm guessing that treating the parks as if they were your own private beach isn't illegal, just a bit odd. I cozied up nearby and passed the afternoon at this blissful place before strolling around to explore the grounds. The park was nice, but I didn't particularly care for the surrounding area. Also, it wasn't as large as I was expecting, although because of all the massive hills, you can get quite a workout. When I got home, I noticed a glorious thing... t-shirt tan. Well, it was really dress-tan in the form of an awkward horseshoe on my chest, but I can't complain. Ahhhh, I love spring.

Parisian Parks

2009-04-21T12:55:00.000-07:00

With everything Paris has to offer, my favorite thing about her is still the parks. The perfect place for a picnic with friends, a lazy afternoon spent with a book, or a morning run to burn off some of those croissants, you can do practically everything but spend the night. And believe me, if I could figure out some way to set up a tent or cozy up in a sleeping bag, I don't think I would ever leave. I found myself in two of my favorite parks today, the first Jardin du Luxembourg, where I spent the afternoon reading the new (used) book I picked up at nearby San Francisco Book Co. (I actually bought three because I just couldn't choose and the prices are so good!) Then later, I went for a sunset run through Parc Monceau. Ahhhh... good day. I have made a resolution to discover some new parks in Paris, and maybe I'll even come up with some new favorites. Although Luxembourg and Monceau will be hard to beat. Rumor has it Parc des Buttes Chaumont is supposed to be amazing with its own waterfall and lake, and the free jazz concerts in the Bois de Vincennes start in a few weeks. Did I mention the city also offers free WIFI at all city parks for anyone out and about with a laptop? Awesome. Sprawling lawns, sublime flower beds, what's not to love? In my opinion, Paris has the best parks around. Proving, you don't have to go far to get a break from the grind of city living. And if you are out and about it Paris, chances are you will happen upon one, according to one source, there are over 400!

Road Trip to Giverny

2009-04-20T09:40:00.000-07:00

I have been itching to get out of Paris lately, and with sunny skies and no signs of rain, it was finally the perfect day for a road trip. A friend and I hopped on his motorbike this morning and headed out to Giverny, home of the famous impressionist painter, Claude Monet. About 90 minutes outside of Paris, this is truly the perfect Spring excursion. Especially since the main attraction in this quaint village are the extensive gardens where Monet drew inspiration for his famous water lily paintings. It is apparent from both the large house and its impressive grounds, that Monet is one creator that did not fall into the "starving artist" category. I learned that he was actually quite successful in his lifetime and channeled a lot of his wealth into improving and expanding the grounds, where he did a lot of his painting en plein air. Today the flower beds and ponds are still kept vibrant and thriving, and were the perfect place to unwind from the hectic city beat of Paris. I certainly got my fill of flowers and open spaces, both at Giverny and on the highway there. We made it back to Paris late this afternoon and I headed to my local café where I upload photos from the day and ordered a Thé des Impressionists, in honor of Monet of course.

French BBQ?

2009-04-18T13:42:00.000-07:00

The French BBQ? You could have fooled me, but that is exactly what I was invited to attend last night at a friend of a friend's house out in the suburbs of Paris. I thought BBQ's were a strictly Californian thing (ok and the rest of America too) but turns out I was wrong. Yes, there wasn't any sunshine or barefoot kids or beer pong, but I found that the French have their own distinct and very cool way of throwing a late night shindig, with just as much grilled meat to please even the most skeptical of Americans. Living in the city, I haven't had many chances, or any chances really, to travel to the periphery of Paris, where the city calms into neighborhoods reminiscent of Stateside suburbs. While the houses are still charmingly historic and distinctively French, walking the calm streets reminded me of being home and walking the alleys to go to different friend's houses. We arrived at the house a little past 10, to find his friends standing over the BBQ with a hair dryer to stoke the coals, sending sparks and flames flying everywhere in the moonlit garden. Awesome. Dinner was a mixture of familiar and adopted customs for me, combining steak and tater-tot-like potatoes with distinctly French elements like baguettes and tons of red wine. I can't tell you how nice it was to spend a night outdoors at a real house (not a tiny city flat) with a mixture of really cool people, and it made me realize how much I miss get-togethers like this back home with food, friends, family, and sunsets over the beach. But I got to enjoy this much loved custom in the ambiance of Paris, in the company of new friends, and discover something new about life in France, and that was cool too.

Pigalle by Night... Oh la la

2009-04-16T08:51:00.000-07:00

Pigalle is known throughout Paris as being one of those neighborhoods you might want to steer clear of, especially after dark, unless of course you are looking to get into some trouble. And by trouble, I mean that the streets are lined with cheap restaurants, strip clubs, and not so discreet shops displaying some "interesting" looking merchandise. Home of the notorious cabaret, the Moulin Rouge, this street has been made famous throughout the world by numerous artists like Toulouse-Lautrec who used local dancers and prostitutes as his models. I first heard about the area before moving to Paris, while reading Anais Nin and Henry Miller, two authors famous for the erotic and autobiographical nature of their novels that included many late-night shenanigans in seedy local clubs and cheap hotel rooms. Feeling brave, a friend and I wandered through this risqué neighborhood the other night and found, not surprisingly, that a lot has changed since the 1920's. The authentic grunge has become quite commercial, with raunchy signs and attractions all aimed at luring in tourists and curious passers by. While we decided to pass on the prostitute that cast some furtive glances our way, we did browse through the Musée de l'érotisme (the Erotic Museum) where they also give a student discount! I will spare you the details of this interesting establishment but I did find myself giggling quite a few times as we mounted the floors that take you from the ancient past (think statues and pottery from Mexico and India) to more modern displays of affection including this hilarious album cover that I had to snap a picture of. If only all Christmases could be that fun. Absinthe, Pigalle, I think Spring is really getting to me. But, not to worry, tonight I plan on attending a midnight mass at a local Russian Orthodox church, where the fun is certain to be more PG ;)

Absinthe at the Buddha Bar

2009-04-14T09:06:00.000-07:00

Like most things that are forbidden, I discovered last night during a trip to the Buddha Bar that Absinthe sounds so much better than it actually is. Granted that today's absinthe is a far cry from the mind-altering crazy juice that fueled many artists and writers in centuries past, my friend and I still thought it would be a good idea for a night of quintessentially Parisian fun. Not to mention it was one of the few drinks on the chic Buddha menu that we could actually afford. It might have been all the we imagined and more, had I managed to get down more than a few sips of the neon green liquid that looked like toxic slime from the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. And tasted about as good. I guess in my idealizing of this infamous brew, I envisioned the bohemian lifestyle attached to it and failed to anticipate the actual taste... incredibly strong anise-flavored alcohol. No sugar or citrus or any of the other dulling accompaniments that lend a pleasant taste to drinks. Not to mention, alcohol even in its milder forms has never really been "my cup of tea." So while the Buddha Bar was really cool, I think I will go back when I can put down 150 Euros for a bottle of champagne and sit back and enjoy the atmosphere- low lights, glittering candelabras, asian-inspired decor and Chateau Marmontesque clusters of seats. (Come to think of it, it is the perfect place to bring my unsuspecting Dad who will be visiting next month. Cue evil laughter muhahahaha) On the upside, I don't have to worry about any of the dangers for which this controversial spirit was once banned- that is, for being a "highly addictive and psychoactive drug." I guess that just applies if you manage to actually drink any of it.

Spring Marchés

2009-04-11T05:33:00.000-07:00

Open air markets occur all year round in Paris, but because they feature seasonal produce, Spring is an especially great time of year to discover all of the delicacies of the budding season. I recently found myself down at the Marché Bastille, a huge open air market selling everything from clothes, to kitchen items, to all of the wonderful food and flowers you would expect... fresh cheeses, homemade pasta, meat, fish, delicious bread. As I wandered through the stalls, I found myself wishing for a bigger kitchen and a gang full of friends and family to serve, as it was the perfect place to pick up everything you would need to throw a fabulous dinner party. Unfortunately, the prospect of cooking for one doesn't have quite the same thrill, but it was nonetheless fun to browse and take in all of the wonderful colors and smells that you couldn't find during winter. One thing that surprised me was how inexpensive everything was. The apples were much cheaper than even the discount supermarket near my house where I go when I need to cut down on expenses. I am used to Farmers Markets in the states, where you end up forking over much more as you are paying for the novelty of the atmosphere as much as for the quality of the products. Even in Paris, the last time I did my shopping at a marché near my flat, I ended up paying 9 Euros for three pears. A bit too pricey for my tastes. But here, maybe because of spring and the plethora of new produce that is available, prices were conveniently affordable. Plus, the carrots were covered in dirt showing they were freshly unearthed, and the ducks and chickens still had their heads and feathers attached (something while a bit repulsive to our delicate American sensibilities, does allow you to know that what you are eating is fresh). So not only do you get to pass a relaxing afternoon browsing beautiful food, you know that you are getting all of the health benefits of fresh, seasonal produce, while combining fiscal practicality. Just one more reason why I love Paris in the springtime.

Shooting in Paris?

2009-04-07T06:56:00.001-07:00

Yes, living in Paris may have its difficulties, but don't worry I haven't gone off the deep end yet. It was just a shooting range, an afternoon of recreational gun handling in a secret location known mostly to French police. Sound strange? For me too. I was a bit apprehensive, but nonetheless excited when a friend presented the idea. Guns? It is a bit ironic that it would take me coming to France (a country with very strict gun laws) for me to get the change to shoot one for the first time. Not to mention this is an activity I never would have considered in the US, despite the relative ease with which firearms can be acquired there. I am still debating the ethics of our outing. Yes, I am opposed to gratuitous violence, which includes recreational gun use and ownership. Not to mention with all the violence going on in the world today, do we really need to be using weapons for fun? But on the other hand, it was all conducted within a very highly regulated space. And I can't lie and say it wasn't exhilarating. (If a bit scary as well, especially when the guy next to us offered the use of his revolver which was much more powerful than the automatic pistole we were first using.) The whole encounter was pretty stealth... on the outskirts of the city, at the lowest level of a parking garage, through an unmarked door, past a security chamber, and even then you had to be registered in the computer. But all of the secrecy contributed to the feeling that we were doing somthing cool, something dangerous, and something that most French never get the chance to do. Kind of like living a scene in a video game or a spy film fantasy. So even though my conscience isn't fully cleared, it was a really cool and undeniably unique day in Paris... Just don't try it at home.

Kissing Oscar Wilde

2009-04-07T00:55:00.000-07:00

If you have been to Paris, odds are you have heard of the Père-Lachaise Cemetery, famous for being the largest cemetery in the city as well as for its host of famous residents including Jim Morrison and Oscar Wilde. Even despite numerous visits to Paris and living here for over 7 months now, it still remained one of those landmarks I would guiltily admit to never having seen. And you'd be surprised how many times friends would ask, So you've visited Jim Morrison right? But, quite by accident, a friend and I happened upon it as we were riding bikes through the 20th, and decided to pop in and take a stroll around. From the street it looks like a giant park, although once you get up close enough, you can see the headstones peaking up over the high outer walls. Inside, is serene and sprawling, with numerous meandering pathways to choose from, and of course maps to orient you in the direction of its notable tombs. Although I still prefer to hang out with the living, we had a lovely stroll through the calm grounds that are just beginning to come to life with spring foliage. We payed our respect to Colette, Balzac, and countless others whose names we didn't recognize. Wilde was the only one I was really keen on seeing, and luckily we passed by him on the way out, noticing the multicolored lipstick marks imprinted on the white stone before noticing the name. Apparently, it is customary to leave a kiss, which I pretended to do, although I still don't really understand why or how this tradition started. But perhaps the best part of the day was just outside when we stopped at a local bakery where I picked up a delicious pain aux cereal for only 2 Euros. We also passed several other boulangeries boasting an assortment of "bio" breads at exceptional prices. I know I will be back to sample the neighborhood's offerings, and maybe I'll even stop in again and tell Oscar hello.

Paris by Bicycle

2009-04-05T05:27:00.000-07:00

Last night was the second night in a row now I found myself biking home in the wee hours of the morning. With Vélib stations conveniently poised all over the city, they are the perfect way to traverse Paris, taking in its sights and lights and getting a bit of exercise along the way. I still maintain that this city is at its best between 1 and 5 am, when everything is silent and illuminated, the streets still, and unusually empty, but the bikes are also great during the day, as long as you keep an eye out for traffic. (Especially buses!) The Vélib stations starting popping up last summer and since then have made their way into almost every neighborhood. Abonnements are only 29 Euros for the year, with unlimited access, or you can rent them by the day for a Euro. The theory behind them is to allow people an alternate means of transportation, getting to and from work, meeting friends. You rent them for half an hour at a time, picking them up and returning them to any station around the city. It is a great way to get where you need to be, or to just cruise around until you find some place worth stopping (as is the case most days with me!). But also when the metro closes at 2am and you find yourself out and about with a very long walk ahead of you, they can be your saving grace. Believe me my feet have taken a beating on more than one occasion walking home in heels! But now that I have discovered the bicycles, I almost delight in missing the metro, and taking my time cruising through the night-lit city streets.

Lost In Translation

2009-04-02T02:01:00.000-07:00

Even with my inexplicable love for vegetables and health food, I can appreciate that "grass" is just not an appetizing ingredient most people look for in food. That's why when I picked up this tofu from my local Naturalia, I had to laugh that someone would actually print "with grass" on the label. Enticing, I know. This translation faux pas reminded me of the time I was explaining to a friend the problems with the American diet, and decided to conveniently translate preservatives into what else but préservatifs. His laughter was the first signal that perhaps something had gone wrong. He shook his head at me. I've never been to the States but I don't think they put préservatifs (condoms) into the food. Ah yes, I learned right then that conservateur was the word I should have used and this is one lesson I have not forgotten! But this is just one example of, I'm sure, countless mishaps that occur when navigating between languages. Even similar words can have very different meanings and connotations and so much of that is based on popular culture and a shared history that a location assumes. (I still have trouble saying I am "en retard" without laughing because in my mind it sounds like I am saying I am a retard, instead of I am late.) For fluidities sake, I usually wing the translation of words I don't know (which surprisingly can work out most of the time) but on those instances when it does not (like with my condom packed food), it makes me wonder how much of my point I am really getting across? Am I just assuming people understand me, because it's easier that way? This is the hazard of speaking languages other than your native tongue. How do you really know what you are saying? Oh well, I may speak French fairly well, but man, my Franglais is awesome.

Help Me, I'm Melting

2009-04-01T01:00:00.000-07:00

Why have I not been spending more time up near Montmartre? I have been asking myself this since Sunday when a friend and I decided to take an adventure outside of our usual Marais and Saint-Germain roamings to make the trek up to Montmartre, the hillside neighborhood of the 18th in the north of Paris. I guess it never occurred to me because it is kind of far (really only 10 minutes on the metro) and we just didn't have a reason to. But now with Spring here, walking aimlessly in unfamiliar areas just feels like a good idea. And now I can't wait to go back. I am continually astounded when I think I know the ins and outs of this city, and then discover something surprisingly new and wonderful, as was the case Sunday. The area to me has retained a quaint and artistic feel... kind of how I imagine all of Paris was 20 years ago. There are small boutique shops, boulangeries, thrift stores, an eclectic mix of restaurants (Vietnamese, Brazilian, Chinese, French of course) all lining the hilly streets that make you feel more like you are in San Francisco than Paris. As we were trekking up, looking for our fondue restaurant, we spied glimpses of the city below us. She was breathtaking beneath the pink sunset and made me want to tear the buildings down to get a better view. We could have kept walking up to Sacré-Cœur, but we were hungry females and decided dinner was priority number one. We finally found the place (Les Refuge des Fondues at 17 rue des Trois Frères), that my friend once visited when she was 15 and I have read about in more than one book on Paris, and found it surprisingly packed and lively for a Sunday. I guess serving wine in baby bottles will get people talking. I don't know if I'm really sold on the idea (I think male patrons might be more inclined to enjoy sucking on the wine-filled teets) but nevertheless it was fun and convivial, with the long tables packed so full guests had to step on them to get into the booth. Dinner is a set menu for 18 Euros, that includes an aperitif, appetizers (cheese, sausages, olives, etc..), red or white wine, fondue, and desert (mixed fruit straight from the can that reminded me of my childhood!). We didn't know they only take cash and had to borrow the remaining 3 Euros from our neighbors who generously offered it despite our protests that we would run to an ATM. The perks of getting cozy! I think I ate enough cheese to last me for the rest of the year, but I will definitely be back to Montmartre to discover more of what this charming quartier has to offer.

Take Me to the Museum

2009-03-31T06:20:00.000-07:00

Exciting news! Starting tomorrow, all museums in Paris (and the rest of France if I have heard correctly) will be free for anyone under 26. The Minister of Culture decided it would be a good way to increase patronage by cultivating a loyalty and habit for us youngsters to frequent someplace other than bars on a regular basis. And I must say I am all for it! I have been planning my route of which museums and exhibits I will go to first for quite a while now (just another example of my inherent coolness) and there are so many to choose from... The Rodin, Musée d'Orsay, Maison Européenne de la Photographie. I recently went and saw a Robert Frank expo at the Jeu de Paume that featured a lovely collection of his black and white photos of "Les Américains" and also a lesser-known assortment from Paris. It was also quite an exciting surprise to stretch myself out on the floor of a dark theatre and watch "Pull My Daisy" a film he made with Jack Kerouac and some of the other beat poets. I can't say that the brilliance of their writing was translated all that well into entertaining filmmaking but still, it is thrilling to think that it might be the last museum I ever pay for in France (for the next three years anyhow). And don't tell anyone but I still haven't been to the Louvre, so I guess this means no more excuses! The excursion begins tomorrow. Unless this is some intricately organized April fools day prank, in which case I would have to say France got me good. Right before the bitterness sets in.

Magical Metro Moments

2009-03-24T18:22:00.001-07:00

The pleasures of public transportation in Paris continue to amaze me. No it was not an impromptu karaoke performance or an announcement from a man with a dog explaining how he doesn't have a job and likes to play the piano, although those incidents too can be entertaining. My finds may not be beautiful in the traditional sense, but their peculiar pronouncements sure brightened my days, and I would like to share them with you. The two treasures I came across on the metro this week. 1. Steak. Self-explanatory. And, oddly satiated a vague homesickness that was beginning to brew inside of me. 2. This lovely chewing gum metaphor posted by the poets of the French public transit system, RATP. Entitled "Crazy Love" it goes a little something like this... "Chewing gums are big romantics. Their artichoke hearts attach themselves very quickly. But the poor things, rarely loved in return, search desperately for a grand love, while the promise of a lasting love is here in all the corridors; it is the garbage can!" Obviously someone on staff has spring fever, not to mention some lofty literary ambitions. But this provides a good lesson in what you can find when curiosity/boredom prompts you to read the fine print of otherwise ignored public announcements. I would be curious to know how much time/money they spent coming up with that sumptuous prose, but instead I will just say, Thank you, Paris metro. Your attention to detail is not lost on me.

Movie Time

2009-03-23T04:45:00.000-07:00

I went to a late Sunday night screening of Woody Allen's Manhattan yesterday at one of Paris's many tiny, old school theaters. Any given week, you can search the Pariscope or the Internet and find a sprinkling of old and indie films that in the US would just not be accessible in theaters. At this particular theatre, Action Ecoles, (23 rue des Ecoles), they were running a special spring promotion where admission cost just 3.5 Euros. Normally, you would put down 9 for a regular ticket, or 6 with a student discount. I didn't know this until I got there, so was extra pleased with my last minute decision to hit the cinema. The theatre cracks me up, because tickets are sold the hour the film is set to screen from a single vendor in a glass booth. You can see the line trickle in about 5 minutes till and everyone stands patiently for the church bells across the street hit the hour mark, at which time the ticket booth lady takes down her handmade sign telling you to wait and begins to let people in. There are only two screens, in intimate old fashioned rooms with red upholstered seats and old black and white posters. It's a bit grungy but that makes the experience all the more charming. They frequently show old art house films, or auteur series and next week are featuring five days of different Audrey Hepburn movies. The films are shown in their original language with French subtitles, and can be a great language lesson if you remember to pay attention, which I never do. Walking home at midnight, I remembered that my favorite time in the city was exactly then, when the streets are completely deserted, and it feels like you have the whole city to yourself. To me it is one of those experiences that could only happen in Paris- a great "foreign" film, the lovely empty city streets bathed in moonlight and glowing street lamps that lend your wanderings a dream-like quality. I guess you could say "she idolized it all out of proportion- no make that romanticized it all out of proportion. Yes. To her no matter what the season it was still a town that existed in black and white and pulsated to the great tunes of George Gershwin. Paris was her town and it always would be..."

Mmmm Sandwiches

2009-03-22T06:17:00.001-07:00

Spring means picnics, and that means a search for the best sandwiches in town. I have found my new favorite place, Cosi, over on the left bank at 54 rue de Seine. This dig has become my new must-stop for a quick lunch or dinner, and reminds me a lot of some of my favorite hangouts back home. The ambiance is artsy and informal, upstairs they have rotating local art on the walls, and the food is simple and delicious... sandwiches, salads, homemade fruit crumbles. Although I usually eat in, the sandwiches are the perfect thing to take to go. You choose your filling... roasted veggies, salmon, tuna, turkey, chicken curry, roast beef, to name a few, that you can pair with various cheeses, spreads, or vegetables. The bread is a homemade foccacia that comes warm out of their wood oven. (Maybe this is real reason I am hooked!) They also have great soups made from a daily fresh vegetable, and salads like The Rockin' (roquette, parmesean, and dates with olive oil). It is a great place to bring a book and linger, and I have encountered quite a few late night, rowdy crowds, operating in a mixture of French and English. I have found myself making the trip across town on more than one occasion. Now all I need is a picnic.

Motorcycle Diaries

2009-03-20T08:14:00.000-07:00

Get on your motorcycles. Let me take you for a spin. Bribe your friends. Befriend a motorist. Steal a vespa if you must. However you can swing it, hop on and get yourself to Paris. Or any local highway will do, with a good sprinkling of imagination and some sun. It's time to celebrate spring. And that means- hiking up your pants, feeling the wind flow through your hair, watching the winter scene pass you by as you close your eyes and speed ahead to the first glimpses of summertime bursting from their dormant spell within you. Smell the budding flowers, soak the budding sunshine, smile. Hang on. Enjoy the ride. Spring is here, and adventures await you.

Let the Picnics Begin

2009-03-18T04:50:00.000-07:00

I keep waiting for the glorious sunshine to regress into something winter-like. It seems like the seasons usually change in this way, small glimpses of what is to come before the icy hands of winter grab you back and remind you of all you are leaving behind. But, so far, it has been one continuous blooming into nicer and nicer weather, and hey, I can't complain. Some friends and I met up for a picnic, the first of many to come I hope, at Jardin de Luxembourg, which I haven't seen since it was covered in snow. I think we got the only spot left on the grass that was designated "sitting ok" and we spread out our picnic blanket and draped ourselves out amongst sandwiches and apples and spent the next two hours soaking in the sun and talking about how happy we are that winter is finally over. I'm pretty sure everyone around us was in high school, although it can be hard to tell when they are smoking cigarettes and drinking beer (which the park police made them throw away) and it made me realize how lucky we were to be able to waste away our afternoon outdoors while the rest of the city was indoors in offices. Both of my friends are professional hockey players for the French team, even though they are American and Swedish, and their practices aren't until the evenings, and of course my work doesn't start until 4:30, so we all have the perfect spring schedules. Gradually the kids left, back to class I assume, and we were left with the sprawling lawn dotted in coke cans and pastry wrappers. Eventually it was our time too, and we reluctantly folded our things back into our bags and headed out onto the streets of our sun-soaked city. I love saying that.

Good Morning Sunshine

2009-03-16T00:56:00.001-07:00

I have decided that life in Paris is so much better when you approach it as a tourist. This means taking advantage of gawking at the national monuments, spending absurd amounts of time laying on the grass and watching people walk by, and of course, always having a camera handy. I have given up trying to become a real Parisienne and have decided instead to embrace what I am- a displaced Californian who still has romantic fantasies of life in Paris despite all the efforts reality has made to take them from me. I'm done trying to embrace Frenchness, yes they have style, delicious bread and a beautiful city, but what ever happened to embracing outsiders, to starting conversations with strangers just for the fun of it, of making mistakes and having fun along the way? It is unfortunate, Paris clings to its perfection so much sometimes I feel like it has forgotten what was most charming about it. The life, the vibrancy, the artistry that is so quintessentially embodied in old black and white photographs. But was that all it ever was, just some pretty pictures and well written novels about the adventurous journeys of fellow expats that lured me here? I am beginning to wonder if my fantasy of life here was really just nostalgia for a moment in history that is better viewed through the distance of memory. A romanticism for something that never even existed. But in the meantime, I'm here and I'm claiming Paris as my own. You can find me with the rest of the outcasts of French society, walking along the Seine, lounging in the Jardin des Tuileries, and having a marvelous time.

What a Difference a Day Makes

2009-03-15T11:07:00.000-07:00

It's Official. The Parisians are out of hibernation. Leave it to our first sunny Sunday to draw, what seemed like the entire city, out of their heated flats onto the sun-soaked pathways and sprawling lawns of the local parks. I came upon this thawing crowd while on my afternoon run. Normally, I can expect a few other runners and some old ladies with newspapers sitting on the green benches, but today, as I made my way through the curving iron gates, I had to slow down as a crowd made its way towards the lawns in zombie like fashion. Inside looked like a festival or some great party. Every single bench was taken, parents and kids kicked soccer balls around on the grass, groups of teenagers sat with guitars and cigarettes. There was noise, laughter, conversation. It was exactly the scene I have been waiting all winter for. I hurriedly made my loops and got home to shower and pick up my book and an apple. I quickly made my way back, where I spent the rest of this blissful day stretched out on the grass, alternating between naps and reading, in some kind of hazy dreamlike bliss. While Paris covered in snow was truly spectacular, it only took one full winter here to make me miss the temperate California weather, to which I had always been indifferent. If we had to put up with winter, now is time to reap our reward and apparently I am not the only one keen on celebrating. Goodbye winter! You will not be missed.

The First Signs of Spring

2009-03-11T13:00:00.000-07:00

Oh the delight in spying the first ripening buds of spring! I was leisurely enjoying the novelty of sunshine while jogging beneath the still stickly trees of Parc Monceau and overwhelmed by the pleasure of the moment (sun on my skin, air in my lungs, music flowing into my ears) I happened to glance up at the branches overhead and what I saw stopped me completely. There, where just days before the branches had tapered off into the nothingness of winter chill, there now sits ripe pods filled with the colorful promises of foliage that will soon sprout into spring's pink, green and yellow perfection. My local cynics assure me that we are still a month away from anything resembling spring, but this discovery has given me hope that perhaps the season is closer than they think. I look up at the trees now and I think any day they could burst, unleashing upon us all of the much deserved beauty that this harsh winter has denied. Picnics, afternoon strolls, skirts, I am beginning to dream and already, I love Paris in the springtime... and it's not even here yet.

Splendid Cairo, Au Revoir

2009-03-06T17:04:00.000-08:00

Our last days in Cairo did not contain much sight-seeing, as we were staying at a resort 20 minutes outside of the city that constituted an entire sight in itself. But, we did make it to the Citadel, where we enjoyed beautiful architecture, and breathtaking views of the city. It wasn't until we were actually looking out at Cairo with a panoramic view did we get some hint at the enormity of it. It takes the sprawl of Los Angeles to a whole new level... it literally just keeps going as far as the eye can see. Except you can also spy the pyramids, so you know that it is actually desert which surrounds you. This is definitely a must see, just for the view, but the mosque was beautiful as well and there is a military museum that we didn't go into that is supposed to be intersting. As with the Fort in Alexandria, we had numerous photo requests from people outside the mosque who made us feel as though we were quite hot commodities. We never got to the bottom of the attraction, but smiled for the photos anyway.

It is quite ironic that this was supposed to be my first trip officially "roughing it." Normally, I travel with family, so the accommodations are not too shabby ;) but this was traveling with friends in a third world country and I thought at last I would earn some travel street cred. But, you can't exactly call a hotel that claims seven stars, or a room with a marble foyer roughing it. J and I spent the next two days leisurely exploring the hotel's amenities and trying to milk as much pleasure from our blissful surroundings to last us the rest of our stays in Europe. That is, when we could force ourselves out of the complementary robes and slippers.

Our last day, we got a late check out at 3 in the afternoon, but our flight didn't leave until 4am. Luckily, there were a plethora of activities to keep us occupied. We napped in hammocks on the faux beach, followed by naps on lounge chairs near the indoor pool, J smoked sheesha, and I drank a guava juice at the Lebanese restaurant, I bought and sent postcards from the indoor shopping area, and we strolled through the Italian plaza with a faux night sky. When dinner time finally rolled around, we killed a few hous at the American sports bar, where we dined on amazing fajitas and a fish burger that is one of the best I've ever had. After that we played pool, went to the lounge for a mini concert, and spent the rest of the night in the lobby, half-passed out and sharing my ipod.

We made it back to Rome, safe and sound, and thus concluded a wonderful Egyptian adventure. Now, I'm back in Paris where winter is slowly but surely thawing into spring, and I will continue my more localized exploration of the City of Lights. But Cairo will be forever engrained in my heart, until the day I return... au revoir Cairo, we had a good run.

Alexandria

2009-03-06T12:25:00.001-08:00

After the wonder of the pyramids, T headed back to London, and J and I headed to the train station to hitch a ride to Alexandria, the glittering coastal town with the reputation of being the "pearl of the Mediterranean." Living in Europe, I should have more experience riding trains, but with such cheap flights and the surprisingly high cost of a Eurail pass, this was actually only my second time (the first was a sleeper car in China- an interesting story for another time!).

I love taking the train for a number of reasons... 1. It's inexpensive (a first class ticket cost around $8), 2. It's quick (about 2.5 hours), 3. It drops you off in the center of town, and 4. You get a lovely view of the passing countryside. While waiting for our train in Cairo, J and I sat down at a café and ordered a coffee and tea respectively. We were a bit surprised/suspicious when along with our drinks the waiter brought two plates of cake, which he told us were free. Free cake? Something wasn't quite right. All I could think of was the famous quote by Marie Antoinette, "Let them eat cake..." and we all know what happened to her. But, the free cake turned out to be actually free, and was just the first in a number of bizarre occurrences that would accompany our voyage.

Alexandria could have been a coastal town anywhere... Nice, Santa Monica, Redondo Beach. It had a never-ending promenade, lovely ocean, and high rises that come right up to the coast. It is smaller than Cairo, and in my opinion less charming, but maybe the cold and windy weather which prevented us from actually setting foot on the sand had something to do with that.

We did all of the sights in 2 days... Biblioteca Alexandria, an impressive library that is one of the oldest in the world, which after burning down has recently been rebuilt, Fort Qaitbey, where we enjoyed a stint as local celebrities to hoards of school children and their teachers who politely took turns requesting handshakes and pictures, and it was in catching a cab from the Fort to the catacombs, that our next bizarre encounter would begin, with our now infamous taxi driver. After learning that we were American, he excitedly pulled out his tapes and inserted his "American CD." For the next 40 minutes cruising the crowded streets, we bumped 50 cent's "In Da Club." On repeat. Complete with subwoofers.

When we arrived at the catacombs, we payed him and said our thanks. "No, I wait for you. I good driver." We assured him he was, but politely explained that from here we would walk the 5 minutes to Pompey's Pillar and explore a bit after that. "I good driver", he told us. "Ok then, goodbye." We explored the Catacombs, which are slowly filling with water, and emerged to find our driver waiting outside the gates. "Get in," he tried to usher us. "No, we want to walk," we said. "I good driver." We started walking, and he snail crawled behind us, keeping about 10 paces away. After our quick tour around the pillar, we came out and surprise surprise, he was still waiting. We were torn between a mix of emotions; confusion, anger, resentment, admiration. We had to hand it to him, he was persistent. "We just want to walk!" we told him for the umpteenth time. "Ok, ok." We headed off down the street, and he followed. By now it had become a kind of joke. We would see an interesting side street and he would stop the cab and jump out, "No that street not so safe." We were pretty sure he meant his taxi wasn't big enough to follow us down that street, but we came back anyways and eventually got into the cab and let him drive us to the hotel.

J made the mistake of asking if the man knew of a local restaurant near our hotel that had good food. "Oh yes! I'll take you there." "Nooo!" we both cried, but it was too late. We passed the hotel, and 15 minutes later the three of us climbed out to eat dinner. The food was actually really good, and by this point we had given in. He finally dropped us at the hotel, 5 hours after our initial ride. "You can pay me tomorrow." No, I don't think so. We gave him our money for the ride and agreed to let him to pick us up the next morning to take us to Montazah Palace and then the train station.

The next morning he was there, bright and early, and we headed up to the Palace, which had beautiful grounds overlooking the water. Especially memorable was the sputter of the taxi that kept 5 paces behind us, and later our driver who parked and followed us on foot. Leaving the palace, we just had to swing by the hotel to get our luggage, then off to the train station. "Hurry," he tells us. "Ok." Less than five minutes later we emerge and our driver was nowhere to be found. "He left," the valet told us. "But we didn't pay him!" we insisted. He shrugged his shoulders. It actually seemed a fitting end that after this man had stalked us for 2 days, in the end, he would desert us. We caught another taxi, headed to the train station, and back to Cairo still a bit confused, but nonetheless grateful for our interesting encounter that will forever accompany my memory of Alexandria.

The Pyramids of Giza

2009-03-02T07:24:00.000-08:00

In all of my travels, I have never encountered an experience quite like the awe of riding up to the great pyramids on the back of a camel. Our driver, as promised, met us at the hotel a bit past nine, and we piled into his car like a bunch of starry-eyed kids on Christmas morning. While the rest of the trip was sure to be a blast and had already been mind-opening, this was the reason we were all here, to make the infamous pilgrimage up to the three Pyramids of Giza, like so many travelers before us. And of course, to get pictures of it from the back of a camel.

We first spotted the pyramids from the highway, about 20 minutes outside of Cairo, and as we neared we could see them growing larger and larger beside us. The environs around the desert where the great pyramids lie reminded me a bit like going to see the Great Wall of China, where the poverty of the region comes into direct contact with the affluence of the globetrotting visitors. Everything is set up as an opportunity to assuage some of the disparity, to tip our pocketbooks into theirs. There was a bazaar, numerous shops, and people selling tea, food, postcards, knickknacks and anything else that might tempt us to dish over some of our guiltily earned Egyptian Pounds that were an exchange of 7 to 1 with the Euro.

We managed to steer clear of nearly all of it, save for the camel ride, which for the sheer kitsch of it is something you simply must do. A large man in flowing robes and aviator sunglasses, who introduced himself as our guide and new personal friend orchestrated our tour. After serving us tea inside his perfume shop, he led us to the awaiting camels where he presented us each with an ill-fitting and fashionably disastrous hat (ok it was a piece of white cloth secured with a halo of rope) and knighted each of us in order. J, was crowned King Tut, T, Nefertiti and, I, Cleopatra. We then scrambled onto our kneeling camels, while he instructed, Lean back! All of the sudden the great camels swayed forward and then backwards, and one by one, we were up. With all of us in place, we set out, the three camel caravan and our two guides on horseback beside us.

We had to use our imaginations a bit at the beginning, for we started out in a concrete parking lot and had to first make our way through the small town before actually reaching any sand. But once we were allowed through the gates by the guards who keep watch over the walled-in desert, we might as well have traveled back thousands of years. There is a serene beauty about the desert, the way that it mutes all sound with its great sweeping winds, the way you can loose yourself in the swell of sand the way you might in looking out over the ocean. The sky was a clear blue and dotted with clouds, and all around us the white sands stretched to the far reaches of our imagination. And then at the tip of the horizon, there is the thrill of viewing the three peaks, so strangely out of place yet seemingly natural, and the way they grow before you, rising up as though they were being constructed right then and there.

After a long round about ride, that was much appreciated, we dismounted our camels and were led down into the tombs. The first was a bit disappointing, rather small, with a few remaining hieroglyphics, and empty spaces where all of the relics had been previously pillaged. Call me naive, but I was kind of expecting to walk into the set of Indiana Jones. But, we got to explore the innards of three more and each one was more surreal than the last. While all of them were pretty petite compared to what they show in the movies, to see the statues and hieroglyphics up close and know that they were made by people who existed over 5000 years ago is pretty spectacular.

After that, we just kind of kicked around, enjoying wandering next to one of the seven wonders of the world. There were other tourists of course, but most of them were just being shuttled up to the bases for a picture. We had crossed the desert on the backs of camels, and we felt somehow as if we had earned our place amongst them. On the way out, we passed by the Sphinx, another infamous sight to behold, and after profuse thank yous to our new friends, waddled back to the car. Although we were already exhausted, we had our guide with us for the rest of the day, and so decided on a quick trip to the open air bazaar Khal el-Khalili. Once again, I will compare it to the indoor marts in China, where you can bargain for anything and everything Egyptian, usually at 1/3 of the price they first quote you. After some good haggling and an equally inexpensive lunch of falafels, hummus and pita bread at a local spot, we retired back to the hotel and bid our driver farewell. Sore, wind-swept and sand-covered we passed out for the rest of the night, marvelously exhausted.

Cairo, Day 1

2009-03-01T00:01:00.000-08:00

We awoke to the city, alive and pulsing. The surreal, darkened dream we had driven into, was in daylight a modern, sprawling metropolis, flooded with afternoon sun. We slid open the patio door and the sound of distant traffic mixed with prayer chants whirred around us. The Nile lay just below, and beyond it, Cairo spread out, beckoning us to her.

Aside from googling Egypt, and ordering a travel guide from Amazon that had never arrived, none of us had done any actual planning. Get to Egypt had been the main goal, but now that we were here, our plans were less certain. We each agreed on the big landmarks; The Pyramids of Giza of course, where we would also find the Sphinx and camels should we be so inclined, the Citadel, that I had read was a must see even though I still wasn’t quite sure what it was, and the Egyptian Museum, where all of the artifacts pillaged from the tombs are stored. The rest of the sights were a blur of forgotten names, landmarks I had followed on a search link and promptly forgotten. But we had all done enough traveling to know that the best trips are the ones where you just kind of wing it, letting the city and chance dictate your itinerary, and that was exactly what we planned on doing.

As we washed and dressed, we agreed on a rough outline for the day; Explore the hotel a bit, head to the concierge for a map, and take it from there. We headed downstairs, T and I each modestly clad in shorts that came down past our knees and high-necked T-shirts. Very prudish by California standards, but we figured good enough to assimilate us into Islamic society. J, being a guy didn’t have to bother with dress code, a fact we openly lamented. After capturing nearly every photo-ready spot at the hotel, in part because we were still awed and in part so that when we returned we would have proof that this had actually happened, we headed to the concierge. She dotted our map with her recommendations and we decided to walk to the Egyptian Museum since it would give us a nice stroll across the Nile. After that we would take it easy for the rest of the day, so we could get up early the following day and do the pyramids. J had a friend with family in Cairo, and they had gotten us in touch with a guide and personal driver who would pick us up at 9am.

We strolled out, past the security check with muzzled Dobermans that sniffed each entering car, and off into the Cairo that lay beyond our palace gates. The first thing we noticed was there didn’t appear to be any traffic signals. Cars zoomed past us, and except for the occasional taxi that slowed to check for interest, they didn’t appear to be stopping. “Ok, I guess we go for it,” J decided. “I am not running across the street,” said T, but we looked both ahead and behind us, and with no crosswalks or slow in the rush of cars, it became clear we had no other choice. We ran quickly across the street, as we had seen some of the locals do, and climbed the stairs of the freeway overpass.

Right away, T and I noticed that we stood out. We tried to continue on, taking in the sights, but it felt as though there were a thousand eyes from every crack in the city following us. We looked from the women in full burqas and headscarves down to our exposed calves and wrists and we might as well have been traipsing around in our underwear. It was bad enough that we were both fairly blond, but the outfits that had seemed modest in the hotel room now seemed like attire fit for streetwalkers or prostitutes. I pulled down my scarf and wrapped it around me to cover my arms, and T pulled down her leggings so that all but her ankles were covered, but still, there was no pretending that we weren’t getting stares. And were we being paranoid or were they honking at us?

“Where is this Egyptian Museum anyway?” T asked. After doing a few circles, down some not so touristy looking streets, we finally arrived at the huge iron gates and the pink façade of our destination. Immediately, it was as if we had just walked into another country, the tourist busses lined up out front, offloading short and tank top clad groups that now seemed incredibly scandalous.

We bought our tickets and headed inside completely unprepared for the awe that was about to commence. I have done my fair share of museum hopping, but this museum is by far the best I have ever encountered. We wandered around for over four hours, from room to room where the sheer number of artifacts was mind boggling. Tombs gilt in real gold, jewelry, mummies, it housed all the things you dream about when you think of Egypt. It was the splendor of the country’s history, all lined up before us in glass cases and high-ceilinged rooms.

Around five, our stomachs reminded us that we had not eaten all day and we forced ourselves out of the museum back onto the street, where we decided to take a cab home. No more wandering the streets until we were a little more covered up, T and I decided.

Back at the hotel, we spent the rest of the evening lounging at the pool and munching pita bread and salads from the hotel menu. Not exactly the most authentically Egyptian way to end our first day, but we figured assimilation is a gradual process and besides, tomorrow, the big event awaited us- The Pyramids.

Our Arrival in Cairo

2009-02-27T02:00:00.000-08:00

We landed in Cairo at 3 am. The city was dark, and sprawling. J, T and I emerged from various states of sleep, gathered our bags and ipods, and shuffled through the small airport. J and I were a little worried about getting in, as both of our European visas were expired, but we paid our 15 dollars and were ushered through customs with smiles and promises from one customs official to send flowers. “Do you prefer red or white roses?” he asked me. I learned early that charm is not a trait lost on the Egyptian men.

We passed various guys all offering us “Taxi” and headed to the Marriot counter. J gave his information to the eager attendant who shook all of our hands and offered us seats in the office. After confirming our reservation, he told us they didn’t have shuttles at this hour, but assured us that the large man who had offered us “good price, good price” was a reliable driver. With no other options, we negotiated a price and followed two guys out to their cab, across the roadway and down into a parking lot. We exchanged glances as we trekked across the pavement, trying not to notice that this was the way bad stories begin, but it was 3am after all, and we just wanted to get to the hotel.

We loaded our bags, and the other small man who had accompanied us, asked for a tip. J explained that he had already paid the first man in advance, and had included a tip. Yes, but I need one too, was the gist of his broken English. We already paid, we insisted. When it was clear we weren’t shoveling out an additional tip just because he followed us, he yelled something in Arabic to our driver and stomped off. We sat in the cab, looking back and forth between each other wishing one of us spoke the language. What did he say? Where were we going? Our driver sped ahead into the darkness.

“If the shit hits the fan, tuck and roll”, J mumbled to us. Not the kind of thing you want to hear in a foreign country in the wee hours of the morning, but T and I nodded. “You from Cairo?” one of us asked. It is always amusing the forms your own language can take in an effort to be understood. But, we were also hoping that striking up a conversation would improve our chances of making it to the hotel alive. He couldn’t leave us in the middle of the desert if he knew what nice people we were, right?

“Yes, Cairo.” He smiled. We weren’t sure if he was answering or just repeating back the familiar word, but the smile was a good sign. While J kept the conversation going, T and I were busy looking out the windows of the back seat, trying to get some hint of the shape of Cairo. The streets were broad and clean, it seemed spacious, not at all what I was expecting. Once we merged off the highway, we began passing what looked like large palaces, only even in the darkness you could tell they were fading, like the forgotten empires of long ago, left slowly to rot. It was a bit like driving into the past, a ghost town of former glory, hollow and empty and dust colored. Beautiful ruins. “President of Egypt,” the driver pointed to a large ornate gate we could not see behind, but gathered a good sense of the enormity of it. As we continued on, things got a little more real. Billboards in beautiful, meaningless Arabic, small storefronts all closed up tight, freeways rising and falling over each other. It was modern, but with something distinctly Egyptian about it, even though I'm still not quite sure what that is.

“Nile, Nile,” our driver said and we looked out with a collective Oooh. We were driving over a bridge, the lights of the city glittering against the water. Everything was doubled, and shinning, the sky and city reflected in the river that has seen the changes of so many civilizations. The past meets modernity, meets us. The driver pulled the cab over while we snapped pictures, and we hopped out eager to snap some more. While he smoked his cigarette, we stood, laughing with each other in the warm night air, spreading out our arms and trying to take in the night. We are in Egypt! Are we really here? Only hours ago we had all been living our separate lives scattered across Europe, and now here we were, a continent and what seemed like a lifetime away, ready for anything and no idea what to expect.

We piled back into the car, the jitters of excitement now alive within us, and for the rest of the ride we forgot out fatigue. This was the beginning of the adventure. As soon as we reached the hotel, all remaining doubts dissolved. We had pulled up to a palace shimmering in gold. Even in the darkness of early morning, its opulence was not lost on us. We had fallen asleep as our young, searching selves and woken up as royalty. We stepped out into the dreamy mirage, laughing to each other as we rolled our luggage across the marble entrance, past the cascading fountains, and beneath the ornately carved arched pillars. After going through security check, the inside was even more impressive. Clusters of upholstered chairs and benches sat on a raised lobby, metal light fixtures threw yellow light in decorative patterns across the walls. Where are we?

We almost forgot that our room reservations didn’t start until that night. Wanting to save money, we had figured a 3am arrival would allow us to keep our bags in the hotel storage and wander the city until we could check in around noon. The only way we were affording this place anyway, with it’s five stars, 24 hour pool, and private casino, was because J had worked for the Ritz Carlton in LA and was pulling his employee discount which came out to $30 each. Even on my student budget, I could afford that.

We walked up to the desk. “Welcome to Cairo,” the young attendant said. “Thank you,” we beamed. With all of his usual charm, J began chatting with the man while T and I wandered off, laughing at how ridiculous it was that we were here. Just across from the Japanese restaurant and Parisian bakery, we spied the glowing blue of a pool and the lights of an illuminated patio. “We are definitely checking that out,” T declared.

“Good news,” J came up behind us, offering out room keys. “They are giving us a room for the rest of the night, and the guy says it’s got one of the best views in the whole place.” We rode the elevator up to the 6th floor, and walked into a huge double-bedded room that looked like paradise. We all three immediately headed for the balcony, where we emerged to a view of the dazzling city we had just traversed. The night air was warm, and the Nile stretched before us. Dizzy with our good fortune, we threw ourselves on the beds and slept well, dreaming of the things that lay ahead. This was going to be a good trip.

Morning view of Cairo from our room.

Roma

2009-02-25T09:43:00.001-08:00

Before I delve into the wonders of Egypt, I thought I should dedicate a post to Rome, where I spent 2 days on the front and end of my trip. My travel companion, who I know from University days in California, is living in Rome and since we were going to Egypt together, I decided to take advantage of the travel opportunity and explore the sights before we headed off to Cairo.

I was expecting to enjoy Rome, but had no idea just how much of an impression it would make on me. I instantly fell in love with the city and vowed to come back one day. I even tossed a coin into the Trevi Fountain so I have no doubts I will find my way back! After all, “All Roads Lead to Rome...”

Exploring the city reminded me of the first times I traveled to Paris, where everything was beautiful and magical and I could feel my heart strewing itself over every sun-drenched cobblestone. I was astounded by how colorful it is. The buildings are pink and yellow and orange, all aesthetically faded by the sunshine. Everything is haphazardly cobbled together, the enormous plazas with their trilogy of church, obelisk, fountain, the winding cobblestone alleys with no shortage of graffiti, the huge marble statues that you can find around every corner. Before coming here, I didn’t think I would be a fan of the art. Usually, religious scenes of blood and guts battles just aren’t my thing, but the Vatican Museum goes down as one of my new favorites. Not only was the art brilliantly colorful, it also surprised me by featuring many women as scholars and thinkers right alongside the men.

Even after landing at 7am from Cairo with exactly 3 hours of sleep under my belt, I spent my entire last day roaming around and actually managed to fit in all the sights on my list… the Spanish Steps, the Colosseum, the Forum, the Trevi Fountain, the Vatican City, & St. Peter’s. I grabbed a pannini sandwich for lunch and some gelato aferwards, yummm… and while wandering around old Rome, was approached by two different locals who ended up giving me tours and sharing with me the history of the city and the different monuments. I was wondering if it was somehow a scam, but they just shook my hand at the end of walking around with me for about 40 minutes each and wished me a good stay in Rome! Definitely the friendliest place I have ever been.

I also met an American from San Diego while standing in line to get into the Vatican (which happened to be free as it was the last Sunday of the month). I looked over and saw his ipod and moleskin notebook and knew we were kindred spirits. We ended up touring the church together, another fortuitous occurrence for me since he is studying Italian art and was able to tell me all about what we were seeing. We met up later for pizza at a local spot near his school (also yum) and tossed our coins into the Trevi Fountain together.

I finally got to sleep around 11pm, and was up at 6 to catch my flight back to Paris. Although I was running on fumes, the adventures were definitely worth it and after 14 hours of sleep, I am feeling rested and ready for some more! Viva Roma.

Egyptian Adventure

2009-02-24T10:11:00.000-08:00

I'm back in Paris after 10 days of exploring Egypt and my mind is still trying to digest everything I saw and did. From the dusty streets of Cairo with the pyramids and Sphinx and Egyptian museum to the coastal beauty of Alexandria, it was by far the most amazing trip I have ever taken. Partly because it was such a new experience from exploring Europe and partly because the history of the country is something I am still trying to wrap my mind around, this adventure is one that will excite my imagination for years to come and I know has changed me in some inexplicable way. I will be spending the next week trying to get down all of my stories into some comprehensible anecdotes but in the meantime... some photos from the trip.

Mon Diplôme

2009-02-13T04:49:00.000-08:00

Exciting news... I got the results back from my finals, and I passed! This means that I will receive a fancy piece of paper with, I imagine, a Sorbonne stamp and a few signatures from people I don't know. Also, this advances me from level intermédiare to avancé. Scary thought. It is kind of strange that a piece of paper is supposed to give us validation, and I think I would have felt the same whether or not I passed, but still it is comforting to know that I kept up with the curriculum and I think it is a good sign that my language learning is on the right track. The graduation ceremony is tomorrow in one of the old, fancy buildings and students wear full caps and gowns, but I will be on a plane headed to Rome, and probably sleeping through the whole thing. Yay French. Italy, and Egypt, here I come!

Dinner Invitations

2009-02-11T11:50:00.000-08:00

It is a dangerous thing when men tell you they are good in the kitchen, because it means one of two things: their perception of the world and their abilities is seriously deluded, or on the off chance that they actually know what to do with a knife, you are now under pressure to match their culinary prowess. But despite my reservations, I was excited when a friend invited me to dinner, knowing that however the meal turned out, I would at least come away with an interesting story.

I arrived at his flat a little past seven, an enormous place by Parisian standards (i.e. not a chambre de bonne). He told me it used to be two apartments that got combined into one, complete with a drooping ceiling, slanted wood floors, and an ecclectic mix of furnishings, it was the fantasy dwelling of every modern day bohemian. Very bobo chic as they say. All around us hung large canvases, reds, blacks, and greens smeared in passionate strokes of color and some more delicate scribblings on the far wall. Did you paint these? I asked. Non. He explained that they were painted by the wife of the man he rents the apartment from. She is an artist and left behind all of her pieces that didn't sell at gallery openings. Ah. He laughed.

While giving me the tour, I spotted a carrot, half a bell pepper, and two mushrooms lying lifeless on a cutting board. What is this guys going to feed me? I thought. We began talking, about everything but dinner (this is my friend who speaks no English by the way!) and I sat at the large kitchen table anticipating a disaster story that at least I could carry around as a badge of my adventurous nature and ability to get myself in bizarre situations. But then, he picked up his paring knife and began detailing our menu to me. Do you like fish? Oui, bien sûr. I was impressed, in America I was used to guys offering a choice between Pringles or Lays.

I was thinking we would start with some fresh mozarella and tomatoes with a bit of basil and olive oil and then follow with fish and steamed vegetables. Does that sound ok? I wanted to tell him it sounded fabulous, it was a dream meal. Oui, c'est bien. Ok, he smiled and turned back to his cutting board.

The rest of the night, I felt as though I were on a Food Network show, sitting in front of Jamie Oliver or Bobby Flay. My nerves slowly quieted into awe as I watched him chop each veggie into uniform cubes and toss them into the steaming tray he had set up over the burner. He baked the fish in a mixture of onions and white wine and finished it with a touch of créme fraiche. When everything was ready, he set the table and we sat down to each course expertly plated and presented. We even had the baguette on the table to tear from, and white wine in tiny glasses. My father is a chef he explained, so I grew up watching him.

I began to think about the culinary traditions of back home compared to those in France, and I couldn't help but notice that this would have been such a rare situation to encounter in the good old US of A. Why don't we spend more time eating and enjoying the company of our friends and family? A meal is such a great way to pass an evening, and it doesn't need to be fancy or complicated, just simple ingredients prepared with care for people to share and enjoy together. As he said it, cooking is an art. I couldn't agree more and decided this is one tradition I am definitely going to adopt as my own. Needless to say our dinner was fabulous and we finished how else but in true Parisian fashion, with yogurt. I guess this means I better brush up on my culinary skills!

Books, the Perfect Winter Remedy

2009-02-02T14:58:00.000-08:00

Happy February! A few sunny days in Paris and I began to dream of spring. Still bundled up, I headed to the park where I spent two afternoons draped in cold sunshine, but sunshine nonetheless and it felt gooood. In my mind I began planning picnics, morning walks, afternoons roaming the cobblestone streets, basically exporting my California routine to the picturesque setting of Paris. And then I woke up this morning to another flurry of snow and a steady drizzle of rain that lasted all day. So, looks like spring is still pretty far off, but that's ok, 'cuz I've got my books. Being the proud bookworm that I am, I think I have probably staked out every English bookshop in Paris and they are the perfect place to find adventures to help you contentedly pass the remaining months of winter. So maybe I won't be lounging outdoors just yet, but my mind will be roaming through time and space and characters. Shakespeare & Co. will of course always hold a special place in my heart (once you are an angel or a tumbleweed you stay one for life) but I also found some other cool shops...

Used books...my favorite place to spend my lunch money. I once walked out of here with 7 books because I just couldn't choose.

A chic, quaint space with an awesome list of book readings.

Jazz Baby

2009-01-29T03:04:00.000-08:00

Jazz, Jazz, oh how I have needed some Jazz! When most people think of this sultry music, you probably think Chicago, New Orleans, but in my mind Paris too is inextricably linked with the cool, laid-back sound of Jazz. Probably because of the intimate, dark, smokey venues (that are not so smokey anymore since the new cigarette laws passed, yay!) but there is no denying that the sexy ambiance of Paris makes it the perfect place to get lost in some rhythm and blues. I was so bummed when I first arrived to discover my old favorite Jazz haunt over in Saint Germain had been closed down, but super excited when my new French friend invited me to go see Michel Portal at Le Duc Des Lombards, a cool, and small (as it should be) jazz club just near Beaubourg. Tickets were a bit pricey, especially for Paris at 30 Euros, plus you had to buy your own drinks, but the show was fantastic and I've never regretted a night of jazz. The venue is two stories, with small round tables crowded close to the stage below, and stools up above overlooking the action. Last night, there were four musicians in total, playing many more instruments... sax, guitar, drums, clarinet, keyboard, bass, percussion, and they even busted out an accordion. My friend knows the man who photographs the bands, so after the show we got to hang around and hobnob with the musicians, and I got to expand my French vocab to include music lingo. His highlight was when he was asked to help to carry Michel Portal's instruments after the show, which he gladly did. Mine was watching the guitarist, who alternated between his drums and banging on an overturned water jug, a piece of wood, shaking various homemade bean sacks, and just using his hands to make noise. The whole show was improvised, alternating between the highs and lows, fast and slow, solos and ensembles that is jazz at its finest. You dig?

My New Favorite Place in Paris

2009-01-21T13:26:00.001-08:00

...at least until winter has passed! So the French regime of no exercise and daily croissants may work for French women, but unfortunately, it ain’t working for me. And believe me, I have tried! Chalk it up to portions, but I never did get the hang of just eating half of a croissant. So, with winter still in full swing, I have been looking for a way to stay in shape without freezing or breaking the bank. Gym memberships, even with a student discount were 700 Euros for the year and I desperately searched for a nearby yoga studio, but with classes running from 20 – 30 Euros for a single session, I unfortunately couldn’t swing either. So, insert the Public Pools, my new favorite place to spend an afternoon.

Swimming was one of my favorite activities in college, where there was a gorgeous outdoor swimming pool that was free for students. Now, that was in Santa Barbara, where even on gray January mornings, it wasn’t crazy to be outside in your bathing suit. Luckily, the pools here are indoors and the water is heated to a comfortable temperature. An abonnement, or three month membership gives you unlimited access to any of the public pools around the city (there are 37!), and the best part, it is only 16.50 Euros. My dad would be proud.

The trick is finding a time when the rest of Paris hasn’t also come seeking a winter escape. Sometimes I have had to share a lane with up to six people! That’s a little much, especially when everyone is going at a different speed. It is a bit like driving a car, with some people out for a Sunday stroll on their mopeds and others racing their Ferraris down the Autobahn. I am somewhere in between the two, and getting behind a snail-paced dog paddler is just as frustrating as being elbowed by the speedo clad rocket going in for a world record. Luckily, I am getting the hang of when not to go (afternoons around lunch time). Usually, just before closing or early in the mornings, you can have a lane all to yourself or with just a few other people which is really enjoyable.

There are showers to wash off before and after your swim, and the locker rooms, even though they are co-ed have separate cabins to change in and hair dryers. I was drying off the other day and the man in the cabin next to me informed me I have forgotten my pièce. Huh? He showed me that the 1 Euro coin you put in the locker to store your stuff, you get back when you are finished! I don’t know how long it would have taken me to figure this out on my own, but thanks to the kindness of strangers, the pools even cooler. My first visit, I struck up a conversation with a guy in the lane next to me and we agreed to meet up for a swim on Saturday morning. I was thinking how nice the French are, but found out later that he is Bulgarian. Go figure. But their pools are still cool and I have a new swimming buddy! Winter is looking up.

http://www.paris.fr/portail/Sport/Portal.lut?page_id=8409

Peu à Peu

2009-01-19T01:09:00.000-08:00

I just finished my last final exam and I am officiellement fini! With four months of language courses and living in Paris behind me, I find myself reflecting on what I have learned and trying to assess my up and down relationship with la langue française.

Saturday morning, I rose early and was on the metro by 7:30 am to take my written final. I was anticipating an hour long train ride, so when I arrived at La Maison des Examens at 8, I had half an hour to kill. Good thing, I always have a book in my bag :) When it was time to go into the actual test, I was actually a bit excited. It was very official and the security was amazing! We had to leave all of our bags and belongings by the windows and were even instructed to take off our jackets. There were over 100 students in the room, all lined up in neat rows of white desks with teachers walking up and down the isles trying to spot any sneaky activity. After three hours, I left feeling pretty good about the test. There was a whole section dedicated to the topic of the French passion for chocolate! And then our final essay was discussing whether or not we would consider ourselves "Gourmands." Both topics were pretty fun and very place pertinent :) Then, this morning I had my oral final, which I was a bit more nervous for, as actually coming across as articulate and eloquent is a bit more difficult. Plus it was in front of a commitee, and we weren't allowed to know which text we were going to analyze until we got into the room. Luckily, I chose "Les Amis Innconus" which was a story I was familiar with, and all in all it went pretty well.

As much as class has helped my French and forced me to progress, I think the real test of any language is if you are able to use it in conversations with people and how well you can get on in your daily life. So, it was a fitting end to the semester when I met up last night with a French guy I met when Grandma was in town. He thinks I speak French and I was extremely frightened to receive his text messages and voice messages all in French! At first I wanted to explain that I don't understand and can we just talk in English?, but then I realized I could understand everything and it was just habit to excuse my flailing language ability. I made up my mind to give it a try, so I called back and left a voice message in French!

I think the "fake it till you make it" philosophy is a pretty good one for learning a language... just pretend that you can speak and get yourself in situations where you are forced to. I actually ended up surprising myself. We met last night for un verre at a cafe just across from Notre Dame and from start to finish, it was French, French, French. As I made it back to my apartment, I actually jumped when I got inside because I was so excited I had passed an entire night just speaking French. Since he doesn't speak English, or at least not well, I was forced to wrack my brain for the French verbs and sayings, and it actually went ok. I was replaying our conversation later in my head and I think I might have told him I love him (when I was talking about my family and meant to say them!) but other than that, I think no major damage done. When you are just hitting the books and doing conjugation exercises, it's not always easy to tell what you have learned, or if in fact you are learning anything at all. But four months ago, I wouldn't have been ale to do that, and it is a pretty cool thing to be a witness to your own development. It sounds silly, but I felt very proud of myself, and I know that there would have been no other way than actually living here to have gotten to this stage in French. So now with the rest of my stay ahead of me, and my development in my own hands, I am coming up with a program a bit more Tamara friendly. So far it consists of 1. watching French films, 2. Hanging out with French friends (or at least friends that I can speak French with) and 3. reading French novels. Who says learning can't be fun too?

Au Revoir Morning Metro

2009-01-12T11:30:00.000-08:00

Today, I celebrated my last day of 8am phonetics lab. Au revoir! As fun as it was to rise in the pitch black of Parisian mornings and be on the metro by 7:45am, the prospect of having my mornings back is a beautiful thing. To kick off the end of things and assess what early rising has taught us, we had a test. Our teacher, being the french minx that she is, decided one of the exercises would consist of her saying a sentence out loud and then us writing it down. Simple enough right? Ok, here's what I hear: 1. C'est un verre. (Got it.) 2. C'est un verre. (Ugh, did she just say the same thing?) 3. C'est un verre. (Shit.) 4. C'est un verre. (Holy shit.) 5. C'est un verre. (I have learned nothing.) I'm not kidding, every sentence sounded the exact same! By the third one, the whole class burst out laughing because it was so rediculous. Everyone began scrambling to find variations on a theme... C'est en vert. C'est enverse. C'est un verre. C'est blah blah blah. Turns out the first one was C'est en verre. Then, C'est un verre. Then for kicks, she decided to repeat the second phrase again for the third one! Mean, right? And the fourth and the fifth were also the same sentences. I don't know what this was supposed to teach us except that the French are mean, mean people ;) and we don't know beans about the enigma that is the French language. Lesson learned. So, now just one examen écrit and one examen oral to go and I am free, free, free! Relatively speaking anyways. In my other class, we were given a yellow paper with details for our Saturday 8am final. (They sure know how to time these things! And it's only an hour train ride away!) Instructions included directions to a building that they describe as "kind of ugly." The other instructions: Wear pants. Check. Bring a snack, preferably a bottle of water and chocolate. Gotta love France.

Although on second thought, maybe I will get up early just to ride... Boom box + Karaoke = My kind of morning.

My Magical Trip to Cart de Séjour Land!

2009-01-09T05:56:00.000-08:00

Dear Diary,

Today, I got to go to Cart de Séjour Land! It was so much fun! First, I got to ride three different metro lines :) Then, I got to wait outside the Mairie while the people inside finished eating their lunch. It was fun to watch them eat, while we stood outside in the cold. We all pretended that we were cows and let the people herd us inside. I got to sit in a blue chair made out of metal. Then, I got to take off my shirt in a tiny chamber. It was just like being at a party! It was fun to walk around naked, especially in front of the other nurses and the doctor. They gave me a blue paper hat to wear on my head, but made me give it back when they detached me from the x-ray machine. But it was ok, because I got to sit on the metal slab again. Just when I thought the fun was over, another doctor called me into another room, and I got to take off my clothes again! Then we looked at my x-ray. He asked me if I wanted to keep it. I taped it to my wall and now every night I get to dream about my lungs! They are beautiful. After my medical visit, they let me buy a stamp for 55 Euros. I think it was made out of gold. But they don't keep them there. They hide these stamps at Tabacs for safe keeping. I got to run down the street to buy the magic stamp that they hide beneath the cigarettes so that bad people don't steal them. As I was walking back to Carte de Séjour Land, I was having so much fun, I wished it would never end! I think the Séjour fairies must have heard my wish, because when I got back, the woman couldn't find my Carte de Séjour. She told me I should probably come back later. I asked her when? She growled at me and yelled something I didn't understand. It was funny. Pardon? I asked. Three weeks she told me. I think my Carte de Séjour will be expired by then, but she didn't seem to care. It looks like my wish will come true! Maybe I will just bring my sleeping bag next time and camp out. That would be cool! I think this fun will last forever. I can't think of any better way to pass a Friday afternoon than at this fun and magical place. I heart it.

Love,

Tamara

Magical Stamp xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

Sweet dreams, beautiful lungs xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

Pyramids on the Horizon

2009-01-07T11:04:00.000-08:00

Bonne année, bonne chance! The year is off to a great start. First snow in Paris (in an amount that has not been seen here in over 10 years!) and now it looks like another magnificent landscape is waiting on the horizon. I'm talking Egypt, pyramids, and sun, sun, sun! Which, despite winter's beauty is sounding pretty good right about now. One of the great things about living in Paris is affordable travel to other exotic locals. You can hop back and forth between countries like you would cross state lines back home, and with lots of websites offering discounted flights, you can do it pretty inexpensively. I knew I had vacation dates coming up in February, so with almost two weeks of unfilled travel time, a trip was on my mind. I started talking to a friend who is living in Italy that I knew from college (thank you, facebook) and being like-minded wanderlusters, we started plotting... why not plan a trip to Egypt? And voilà ! Just like most of my impulsive adventures, the voyage is in the works. I only have two weeks left of school, and my notebooks are now filled not with French vocabulary and verb conjugations, but with doodles of pyramids, and palm trees, and Nile River cruises. I am such a sucker for the wanderings of my imagination, and with the promise of such an historic and unfamiliar place, I have no shortage of fantastic things to indulge my rêves. The Pyramids, the Sphinx, riding a boat down the Nile, the library at Alexandria, the Red Sea, mint tea. I think for me the best part is, it is still all unknown. Behind the dreamy images of desert-crossing camels, and bustling streets, there exits the real thing, Egypt. And that is completely foreign. There is nothing that thrills me quite like the prospect of exploring a new place, of taking in a new culture, of witnessing another way of life. I have already started to learn Arabic, just the basics I’m afraid, and to read up on this fascinating country. I am currently reading “The Theif and the Dogs” by Naguib Mahfouz, a Nobel Prize winning author from Cairo. And I plan on hitting the bookstores this week to pick up a Lonelyplanet guide and some other literature. This will be a whole new experience, a whole new continent, a whole new perspective. And isn't that what it's all about? I didn't even feel bad about passing up all of the sales going on around town. I'm saving up. Egypt, get ready.

Actual doodle.

Le Plombier... almost as efficient as French bureaucracy.

2009-01-06T12:29:00.000-08:00

Today officially marks the 7th (8am) visit from le plombier. What began as a leak under my sink has turned into an ongoing event reminiscent of trying to apply for my Carte de Séjour (The long stay visa that allows foreigners to stay in France. Which took me 6 trips of about 4 hours each... and I still have not been approved! My health clearance appointment is this Friday and if all goes well (fingers crossed) then I will get my very own Carte de Séjour. Which is good for exactly one month. Yes, that's right, one month, and then I get to go through the process all over again. Joy.) But, back to my plumber whose first visit was at the beginning of December to investigate my sink that began, to my great fortune, leaking into the downstairs neighbor's bathroom. If this fortuitous event had not occurred, I don't think the landlady ever would have called the plumber, as I had been telling her about the leak for 2 months and it was always, oh yes I'll call him tomorrow... It is amazing how quickly tomorrow comes when an angry neighbor is involved! So, in comes the plumber, and somehow he decided my shower needed to be retiled too. Although the leak was my kitchen sink, not the shower at all. I still don't understand the relation, but hey I'm not calling the shots here. My sink was fixed in one day, and that left my shower. The plan was for him to come the 21st of December while I was in Spain for the holiday so that by the time I returned... voilà! Problem solved. Fast forward to today, the 6th of January and they haven't even finished tiling or done the grout yet. Mind you, this isn't a large shower by any means. In fact, it is quite tiny. He has come with another plumber everyday this week at 8am and they are still in my apartment when I leave for work at 4:30. If I didn't have class or a short attention span for watching plumbers at work, I would love to sit and watch what they are actually doing. My guess is not much. Or maybe they just take an enormous sense of artistic pride in laying each cheap, white, uniform tile. Probably not. Are they having tea parties in my dissarrayed bathroom? I wouldn't mind so much if it wasn't for the fact that my shower is out of commission. And apparently until a week from Friday at least. Which leaves me two options... shower at the house of the people I work for (awkward) or don't shower at all (even more awkward). Although, on the upside this left me to search out a third option... head to the public pool, which I have been meaning to do for quite sometime, and just shower after my swim. So far, so good. The moral of the story, tonight when you take a nice hot shower, enjoy it. I'll be sitting here in my own filth awaiting my next date with le plombier.

La Neige, je t'aime.

2009-01-05T05:27:00.000-08:00

We hurried on our way through slush. Wrapped up and bundled, cocooning beneath our layers but careful to keep our eyes exposed. We wanted to see, to witness the winter scene- our city dressed in white. She was glorious. Her snow-covered benches, her white-washed trees, piling, piling as the day wore on, a banquette of blanc, of powdered sweetness, a day so delicious it melted into our mouths as we stretched out our tongues to devour her, and melted underfoot as we trudged, as we skipped, as we sang. Paris! You are beautiful!

We paused at her fountains, we strode up her streets, we stopped to scribble our happiness upon the canvas that she laid.

Je t'aime. Je t'aime. Everything was Je t'aime.

An Ode to Granny's Visit

2009-01-04T08:49:00.001-08:00

It has been almost a week since Grandma left Paris, and I am still going through Nancy withdrawals. What better way to commemorate her visit than hole up in my room and make a video tribute? Yeah, it sounded good to me too. Plus on the last day of her trip, we discovered my camera also takes video. Naughty Nancy, you are the best. Here's to our next adventure...

Real Snow Wawa Wewa!

2009-01-02T10:40:00.001-08:00

Those of you who have read my blog in the past know how excited I get when it "snows" in Paris. But so far, after an hour, the falling flakes had turned to rain and melted into a muddy winter scene. But not today! I woke up this morning to un vraiment Winter Wonderland. Although it did take me quite a while to realize it had snowed. I was sitting at my computer checking email (at 8am mind you, thanks to le plombier) and happened to spot some white fluff swirling through the air outside. Hmmmm.... Enticed, I got up to sit on my desk (my favorite spot to get a good look outdoors) and sure enough, the rooftops were white! Real white. Like actual snow. Sticking to things! After the novelty of winter window watching wore off, I headed out to snap some photos of beautiful Paree covered in snow. It only took me one block to realize I was not the only snow lover filled with excitement this time. Cars seem to be quite the popular canvas. I was so excited that later, I went running in Parc Monceau to soak in the winter air (bundled up of course) and everything is just deliciously beautiful. The year is off to a good start. And as my anonymous snow-writing friends show, abundant in love and happiness.

And just in case you weren't sure, yes I am still keeping count...

Happy Bonne Année à Tout le Monde

2009-01-01T06:17:00.000-08:00

It's New Years in Paris and there is no shortage of fêtes from which to choose. There are a plethora of parties, private clubs and supposedly thousands turn out on the Champs-Élysées to watch the firework display. However, despite the promises of glitz and glamour, I opted to head over to a friend of a friend's house to ring in 2009 with some foreigners (and a few French). Funny how that seems to happen a lot when you are living abroad. Desiree and I met at the metro in the Marais and headed up to our international party. Each person was supposed to bring a dish from their country so that we could all try food from around the globe. I think there was a bit of cultural swapping going on... Desiree (German) brought Tequila, one of the Moroccans brought Chinese food, and I'm not sure the chips and pretzels set out by our French host were authentically French. Although, I suppose this is the era of globalization afterall. I was quite perplexed trying to come up with an authentic American dish. I was thinking apple pie until a friend informed me that it is really English not American. Hot Dogs? Unfortunately you can't even find them in the stores here. I was seriously tempted just to go to McDonalds or Starbucks but wasn't sure my ode to American capitalism would go over too well! I guess that is the pleasure and the curse of being American... you don't have a unique cultural heritage but get to borrow from all different cultures and countries. The melting pot right? Well our party was certainly a melting pot. After feasting on a smorgasbord of Moroccan appetizers, shrimp dumplings, and Greek salad we had chicken and apricots over rice, tater tots, and a chicken made in a special Moroccan sauce (delicious!). Then, the tables were pulled aside and the real party commenced. Looking out into the darkened room filled with music and dancing bodies, we could have been anywhere... Morocco, LA, and yes even Paris. I think it is a good omen to have gotten to share the night with such a global community. Who cares about your differences when you get to enjoy them together? With all the craziness going on, I think the world could take a lesson from our little fête. Happy New Years everyone. May we all find a little peace and love.

Goodbye Barcelona

2008-12-26T07:22:00.000-08:00

Tomorrow is our last day in Barcelona and then it's back to Paris. Our lovely sunny weather gave way to a steady rain, but even so Barcelona is a such cool city. I'm already trying to figure out how to come back! Here are some final photos from the trip... Also I just added a list for followers so if you enjoy francophone adventures, feel free to become a Paris groupie ; ) ---->

Singing for My Supper

2008-12-25T08:06:00.001-08:00

Grandma made me do it. For Christmas dinner, we headed over to Hotel Majestic for a special Christmas buffe-T (yes, you mispronounce the T here) and for some great reason I got it into my head that it would be a good idea to do some silent karaoke into my fork. Blame it on heredity or the cheesy Christmas music, but I'm still not sure what possessed the impromptu performance. It was probably the festively geriatric atmosphere and the fact that most of the guests looked like this might be their last Christmas, but at least the waiters were entertained. When Grandma took out the camera to snap a picture, I was suddenly overcome with performance anxiety, but fortunately she happened to snap this gem of a shot ;) But even my performance was topped but the stunt that Fancy Nancy would pull at the end of the meal. After being warned by several people that Barcelona is a haven for thieves, she very carefully stashed all of her loot into the underwear-looking white cotton money belt that was then hidden beneath her clothes. I was unaware that she was wearing this stylish piece of cloth, so when she pulled up her shirt and started digging into her pants, I thought it was just one too many glasses of cava that was possessing her to go searching through her underwear. If you have ever met my Grandmother, you would know that something like this isn't out of character. Whether it is singing opera on the streets of Shanghai, or crying in the airport to practice her acting skills, Fance Nancy is a fan of stunts like this. I think she lives to make her grandchildren embarrassed. She finally dislodged her credit card from its secret hiding place, and good thing... the white haired guests going by on their walkers looked like the kind that would want to rip you off.

Feliz Navidad!

2008-12-25T00:34:00.000-08:00

Joyeux Noel and Merry Christmas morning! This photo of Grandma was actually taken in Paris the night before we left when we went over to my host family's house for a Christmas dinner. The Christmas tree is in the lobby of my apartment building, which Grandma thinks looks a bit sad, but you've got to appreciate the sheer amount of decorations my gardienne managed to fit on so few branches! It reminds me of the tiny, half dead little trees that my mom always wanted to rescue at the Christmas tree lots because she thought that no one else would buy them. And I think it's cute! My photo was taken outside of a strip club in the sleezy part of the Latin Quarter of Paris. I had an incident with a stripper here a few years ago (Jack, Becka and Lily know what I am talking about!) We were sitting at one of the tiny round tables and all of the sudden, a siren sounded and a policeman marched down stairs. At first I was alarmed. Why were the police here? Were we in trouble? But when he pulled off his belt in the middle of the dance floor and started to unbutton his shirt to the rhythm of the music, it dawned on me what kind of policeman he really was. Needing to show my siblings and cousin a good time, I took it upon myself to let him pull me into the middle of the dance floor, where he continued to do his job as a stripper... ok, you can use your imagination. I just hope the photos from that night were destroyed. ANYWAYS, Merry Christmas everyone!! We are off to the Magestic Hotel for a special Spanish Christmas dinner. Although, outside is so beautiful and sunny today, it is going to be very hard to stay indoors.

Tamara, Grandma, Barcelona

2008-12-24T04:03:00.000-08:00

This city just keeps getting better. I woke up early to watch the sunrise from the rooftop of our hotel which has panoramic views of the city, and an infinity pool. Spoiled? Yes. Yes, I am! This is both the pleasure and the curse of traveling with Grandma. I know that returning on my own budget will not be quite the same, but hey I am going to enjoy the splurge while it lasts! After breakfast, we walked up the main boulevard of Via Laietana to Placa Catalunya where we caught a tour bus that drove all around the city. It is really amazing that the energy of a place can be so palpable, but the friendliness just jumps out at you in the colorful buildings and smiling people and artfully arranged cobblestone streets. I think the architecture of Gaudi is the perfect embodiment of the local spirit... curving, playful lines, colorful mosaic tiles, beautiful but in a whimsical way. We spent the entire day exploring and I have to say that from the food to the architecture to the people and the spirit, we have happened upon a real gem.

Barcelona, My Love

2008-12-24T01:40:00.000-08:00

What a difference a day makes. And a border. Grandma and I arrived in Barcelona at sunset to a city colored in pink. As the plane descended, I could feel all of my frustrations with Paris melting away, no more prefectures, no more French, the sea and the mountains rose up to embrace me. And already it felt like home, probably because the skyline of Barcelona is very similar to Los Angeles. The city is bordered by both the sea and mountains (only a lot less sprawling concrete, which I don't miss at all!) Our taxi driver immediately started speaking to us in Spanish and coached us through our stuttering sentences. (I use to speak Spanish very well but it seems that French has supplanted all of my knowledge of the language!) Don't worry, he said, just try and speak the best you can and the people will be happy to help. What? Are you serious? This is not Paris, he told me smiling, and immediately I understood. One of the most difficult things about Paris, I realized, is its perfectionism. You are expected to act and speak perfectly, which is impossible and just ends in a lot of frustration. Grandma and I checked into Grand Hotel Central, a very posh hotel located in the Gothic quarter of the city. Since it was only six o'clock and things in this city don't get going until at least 10 I have been told, we decided to go out and do what we do best... wander. I have no idea where we went but we found some very cool rambling streets lined with shops and patisseries (yes, I was surprised but right at home!) and bars, all glittering beneath the Christmas lights that are strung up across the boulevards. Eventually we found ourselves on La Rambla and at the entrance to La Boqueria, an open air market that has the best looking food I have ever seen. There are stands with chocolates and dried fruit and nuts that look right out of Willie Wonka and the chocolate factory, and then piles of every type of fruit and vegetable imaginable that all look like they have been hand crafted to resemble actual food but are too good to be true (and in fact they are real!) and then cheese shops and butchers and fish stands. It was really amazing. Resisting the temptation to just sample the offerings of the market, we headed back to a restaurant called Schillings, where I had a delicious Vegetale et Queso panini and a glass of Cava, a special Spanish champagne. And maybe it is just because of the comparison, but the easygoing spirit and lively attitude feel so nice. The city is the perfect combination of great old European architecture, but with a very modern attitude. Everything seems to be thrown together, colorful, artistic, and free form. We will see what tomorrow brings, but so far Barcelona has made a stunning first impression. I feel like telling Paris to lighten up.

Goodbye Paris, Hello Barcelona

2008-12-23T16:18:00.000-08:00

Grandma and I are officially on our way to Barcelona for Christmas! Like birds in the winter, we are heading south for a more temperate climate and if the forecast is correct... SUN! I am very excited about the prospect of some warm(er) weather and the pleasures of discovering a new city. This will be my first time in Spain, and my first time leaving Paris in 4 months, so I have quite a few things to celebrate. Hopefully, the city is as great as everyone has been telling me it is! In any case, the change will be nice, and is sure to be an adventure...

Lee Miller at the Jeu de Paume

2008-12-22T09:58:00.001-08:00

In between restaurants, (since we can't spend all of our time eating out, although we try!) Grandma and I headed over to the Jeu de Paume, the contemporary art museum located at the end of the Tuileries. There is an exposition going on until January 4th featuring photography both of and by Lee Miller. I didn't know much about Lee Miller or the exhibit, other than the beautiful black and white photo that kept catching my eye in the metro stations, and I decided I had better go check it out. It turns out, Lee Miller was a woman of many talents and lead a very interesting life. Born in Poughkeepsie, NY in 1907, she began her career as a fashion model for Vogue and in the 1920's moved to Paris where she became the muse and assistant to Man Ray. Following in the passions of her surrealist friends, that included Pablo Picasso and Jean Cocteau, she became a photographer herself. As a glutton for black and white photography, this exhibit was just my style, combining the early sensual fashion portraits of Miller with later landscapes and portraits taken by her. There are some great shots of the desert in Egypt where she lived for a time, and then of Britain during WWII. Miller was the only woman in combat photojournalism in Europe at this time, and her photographs were incredible. There were great juxtapositions of the destruction and Nazi brutality alongside idyllic smiling families in Germany. After the war, she continued writing and some of her lighter articles were on display as well, showing off her humorous side. At the entrance to the exhibit there is a quote by Miller in which she describes her life as a water soaked puzzle, where all the pieces are seemingly unrelated and don't quite fit. But it seems like she was able to combine all of her various interests into a fascinating life full of adventure. Not a bad way to live!

The Three Month Slump

2008-12-22T02:42:00.000-08:00

Or hump or bump, call it what you will, but there is no denying that living abroad has it's ups and downs. There is the initial euphoria that paints everything about your new city in glowing rainbow colors and you can't get over how beautiful and magical and wonderful your new environment is! Why didn't you come here sooner?! And then there is the low, where you suddenly realize how far away from home you are, and the familiarities of your previous life and language are long gone, and you are back at ground zero with the daunting task of building a completely new life from scratch. This is when all of the things that seemed so exotic (like the language and the people and the culture) just start to look weird and unfriendly and all of your idealized fantasies of how it would be sink into the reality of how it is. (Which somehow is never quite how it was supposed to be.) And then somewhere in between the two, the high and the low, your life starts to even out, and you come to see both the good and the bad, and you take your new place for what it is. There is no denying that Paris is a fantastic city. It is unparalleled in terms of museums and great dining and beautiful architecture. I love strolling along the Seine, people watching at outdoor bistro tables, and running in the Park near my house. But, to borrow a phrase from Joni Mitchel, "it's old and cold and settled in its ways here." Parisian society is very fermée, which means its really hard to make friends with the locals. Not to mention, learning another language is difficult! I tend to live very impulsively and always figure things will work themselves out, but even my optimism has given way to a bit of frustration. With only six months of French under my belt before I came, I sort of figured I would just waltz into Paris and start speaking fluently. Osmosis right? I forgot about the studying and the school and the time it takes for all of that effortless conversation to manifest itself in your brain! It also didn't help that all of my previous vacations here had been staying in beautiful hotels, dining at the best restaurants, and shopping in cute little boutiques. Yes, Grandma spoiled me. Living on a meager salary and paying for school affords quite a different lifestyle. But this is where the leveling kicks in, when you give up everything you had expected and make the most of what you've got. And like anywhere, you take what's good, leave what's bad and slowly begin to make it your own. So, in honor of making it over the three month slump I have compiled my top five undeniably cool things about Paris...

1. The Seine (City compass, portrait backdrop, and just plain stunning river that runs through the center of Paris. No matter what time of day it is, the lighting seems always to be perfect, and I can't imagine the views of Paris without it.)

2. The Marais (Somehow, whenever I meet up with friends, we always end up in the Marais, which is both the Jewish and Gay district of the city. Artsy, hip, and down to earth, there is no shortage of cool shops, great restaurants, and wandering streets that always make for a fun afternoon.)

3. Parc Monceau (Whether it is to picnic on the green grass or go for a morning run beneath ever changing foliage, this beautiful park is my haven when I need a little break from big city living. And just a five minute walk from my apartment, I find myself here quite often.)

4. The Louvre Courtyard (Whether it is walking over to the fifth, coming home after class, or just strolling through Paris, I often find myself walking past the Louvre. For me, this place never fails to take me back in time, through history to romance of France. There is the pyramid of course, but come on, we're using our imagination here.)

5. The Parisian Sky (Whether it is viewed from a rooftop or just from down below, there is something about the sky and the lighting in Paris that is simply beautiful. And especially in a big city, to be reminded of nature and the ephemeral side of life goes a long ways towards keeping you sane.)

Fête de Noël à la Sorbonne

2008-12-21T02:01:00.000-08:00

Friday was our last day of class before vacation, which even in France means... Holiday Party! Since class is at 10am, everyone brought something for breakfast. We had juice, coffee, tea, bagels, croissants, brioche, homemade apple bread and chocolate cake! Essentially, way too many yummy treats for that early in the day. After grazing the table, we played Telephone in five different languages. It was hilarious because every language (especially the Korean and Turkish) somehow managed to morph into French gibberish by the time it made its way to the end of the circle. I think "Feliz Navidad" was the only phrase that managed to stay intact all the way around. Afterwards, we divided into rotating groups and played Taboo. It was really funny to try and give clues for the other team to guess, and it's crazy but I think it actually helped my French! This is how learning should be, a fun game in which you can practice getting to know other people. For what is the point of knowing another language after all but to communicate with people who otherwise you couldn't have? It's too bad that the semester is almost over because I feel like I really got to know everyone in class and I think we will return in January to a very convivial atmosphere. We also make such a multicultural group. There are students from China, Japan, Russia, Venezuela, Mexico, the US, Turkey and Korea. It's really cool that everyone could bond together in a common language (although most speak English too) and have a little holiday fun. Now that is something that transcends any culture.

Lunch at Chez George

2008-12-19T09:23:00.000-08:00

Grandma and I headed to Chez George the other day for a very authentic Parisian dining experience. Apparently, I have been to this charming bistro before although I have no recollection of it! (But the cool mural that adorns the wall in the fist room did look very familiar...) Despite the fact that it was lunch time, I ordered the Sole George, a fillet of sole covered in a sauce of butter, white wine, shallots and herbs. Oh my goodness... so good. Grandma ordered the fillet with a great Bearnaise sauce and frites that she was very pleased with as well. Entrées (in English that would mean appetizers) are served family style. In an attempt to counterbalance the richness of our main courses, we shared a green salad dressed in a very traditional (and delicious) mustard vinaigrette. We were tucked right next to the other diners, who were mostly locals in for business lunches, and the waitresses were very charming older ladies, that I swear all looked like they could have been sisters. The friendly service and great comfort food made me feel like we were dining in someone's home rather than at a restaurant. Not to mention, the barely-legible handwritten menu was definitely authentic! We finished lunch with two cafés, and then wandered through a nearby enclosed street of antique and art shops that takes you right back in time to the vintage, art deco Paris that never fails to excite my imagination.

Mmmmm... Le Reminet

2008-12-17T14:25:00.001-08:00

As a student on a budget, I had forgotten that one of the best things about Paris is all of its fabulous restaurants with their charming interiors and delicious cuisine. But now that Grandma is in town, I am in no lack of great food. Tonight we headed to one of our favorite restaurants, Le Reminet, on the left bank just across from Notre Dame. I remembered the charm and the fabulous food from our past evenings here and tonight was no exception. The food was fabulous, the service great, and the atmosphere exceptionally charming with their holiday decor. The only strange thing was we were the only ones in the whole restaurant, save for one other couple who came in half way through. This is thoroughly perplexing, because the prices are reasonable and everything about the restaurant is outstanding. On our past visits, the place has always been packed and I was surprised we even got a table on such short notice. It is the perfect place to go for a romantic evening out, with softly muted lights and no shortage of candles, but it is also just a relaxed neighborhood bistro to enjoy some inventive and delicious cuisine. They brought us an amuse bouche of warm cauliflower soup that was sooo good. After, I had seared bass served over a wild mushroom quinoa. Grandma had the chicken du jour with an amazing red wine sauce served with home made gnocchi. For dessert, I had to try the Sablé à la Vanille, a shortbread cookie with vanilla cream and fresh figues garnished with strawberries, a red wine and cinnamon sauce and a sprig of mint. Grandma got the financier and poached pear tourte topped with a scoop of chocolate glace. I feel the need to spread the word, because this place is too good to be empty!

Fancy Nancy has Arrived!

2008-12-15T15:29:00.000-08:00

Grandma has arrived! Bringing with her some very frosty weather. I am so excited that since I couldn't make it home for Christmas, a bit of home has come to visit. This is the same Grandmother of course to whom I owe my love for France. And books and cheese and bread and crazy adventures... all hereditary I can only assume. It was so funny meeting up with her today, because I immediately reverted back into the fourteen year old girl who's in Paris for the first time, letting her take the reins and show me around. We had to begin the day with lunch at Paul, where my brothers and I first discovered the pleasures of French sandwiches on entire baguettes with chunks of butter. Even living here, it is still one of my favorite places to grab a picnic lunch to go (when the weather is warmer of course). For dinner we headed to Alkazar, a posh local restaurant in the 5th that we have frequented on many past occasions. As luck would have it, every Monday night they have Opera singers who come and perform. So while dining on a lovely Salmon Tataki, followed by Sea Bass and local vegetables, beneath a projection of La Dolce Vita, various performers strode up the piano to take the floor, and begin belting out into the candlelit restaurant. The highlight was definitely when one of the male singers came out riding a broomstick like a horse and galloped around the tables while singing. Somehow a very fitting beginning to the shenanigans that I can only imagine Grandma has brought with her.

Wednesday night Chorale

2008-12-14T09:46:00.000-08:00

Ah, the perks of being a student. My teacher made an announcement in class a few weeks ago. There is a choir at the Sorbonne that students can participate in (for free!) as part of the Course de Civilization. Was anyone interested? Music. Singing. Free. My hand shot up. Everyone else in class looked bored. She wrote the information on the black board. Practices Wednesday night, come one, come all. My lucky day, I thought. I showed up that Wednesday night, to a room of ten other students (I was an hour late I realized later, since my prof had written the time wrong) But still, the teacher handed me the sheet music and I took a seat. Ever since, La Chorale has become my preferred Wednesday night activity, and something that I look forward to all week. The songs are beautiful, one with lyrics from a poem by Victor Hugo, and my first time singing classical and in French. The teacher doesn't speak any English, but it is surprising how well music transcends language barriers, and we get along just fine. Not to mention he is an amazing musician and singer too. Last week, due to what fortune I still don't know, I was the only student to show up, and I got a private 2 hour lesson, with the cute teacher at the piano, and me on the side! One of the best nights in Paris to date :) I would be quite content to spend all day singing. Although, I think my neighbors might be a bit sick of my constant humming and singing, "J'ouvris les yeux, je vis l'etoile du matin..." There are rumors that we are going to perform at the graduation ceremony in February. The picture above is of last year's choir entertaining the graduates. Hopefully, I won't be the only one who shows!

The Passion at Shakespeare & Co.

2008-12-11T08:29:00.000-08:00

One of the perks of living in a big city, is the plethora of cultural and musical events that are going on around town. Concerts, theatre, and my personal favorite... book readings! (Try to control your excitement) Over the weekend I went to my old stomping grounds at Shakespeare & Co., a magical little bookstore tucked on the left bank right across from Notre Dame, to hear author Jeanette Winterson read from her book, The Passion. This was a real treat considering the book was published in 1987 and my personal favorite of her works. The reading was to honor the death of her friend and agent Pat Kavanagh (who inspired much of the novel.) I got there 30 minutes beforehand to a long line of bookies crowding the door. There was even a moment when I thought I might not make it inside! But as fate would have it, there were two extra seats in the front row, and Desiree and I quickly worked out way to the heart of the packed store to claim the tiny folding chairs just in front of the stage. After waiting to the beat of some cool live jazz that seemed to be floating out from the walls of books, and a lovely introduction by both Sylvia (the owner's daughter who now mostly runs the shop) and the fiction editor of the Times flown all the way from London, Jeanette Winterson emerged to take the stage. She read some selected passages and afterwards talked about writing and answered questions from inquiring minds. One of the great things about the space is its intimacy and afterwards I timidly made the walk up (all two steps of it) to ask her to sign my book, which she graciously did. The jazz began again, the red wine and champagne were uncorked, and tumbleweeds circled around with plates of hors d'oeuvres. Everyone munched and gushed about all things artistic and worth living for and I was reminded of the magic of Shakespeare and Company that has been a haven for artists and writers since the 1950's. I'm telling you stories. Trust me.

Paris Snow Day #3

2008-12-09T03:26:00.000-08:00

It is 2 degrees today, and I was lamenting the fact that I have yet to invest in a pair of gloves. I am still looking for a pair without fingers, not to mention that all the prices on gloves doubled with the first drop in temperature, which in the meantime is leaving my hands a frosty red-blue every time I step outdoors. So, I bundled up after class (hands in pockets), to briskly make the short walk from school to the metro. Emerging on the other side of RER B, I walked up the steps to Avenue Carnot to nothing other than SNOW! Which makes this officially DAY 3 of Snow in Paris. Yes, I am keeping count. Yes, I am still excited. Who cares about the cold when it is snowing? I folded up my umbrella and decided to brave the weather, letting the white flakes gather on my hair and face and the tongue I stuck out to catch them. I can't tell you how incredibly fun it is to eat snowflakes, even though I also received a few strange glances from people passing on the street. Although I think they were secretly envious. Or just scared. I made a beautiful vegetable and herb frittata for lunch and plopped down before my window where I am still watching the falling white flakes. Which are huge, I must add! It looks like Paris still knows how to make me happy.

Christmas at Galeries Lafayette

2008-12-07T08:08:00.000-08:00

There is no shortage of holiday cheer floating around Paris. Streets are lined with hanging star lights, trees sparkle with blue and green bulbs. Almost every brasserie has some holly and red ornaments affixed to their facade. But the christmas decorations at Galeries Lafayette take holiday window displays to a whole new level. While the floors are packed full of any and every gift you could imagine and even those you could not, the center of the department store is where the real action is. A towering tree illuminated with lights and bulbs stands in a theme of pink beneath an already spectacular blue and green glass ceiling where floating ornaments hang like some oversized dream scene out of the Nutcracker. Desiree and I first spied the spectacle when drifting down the elevator from the rooftop where we had gone to take in the view of the city after our lunch of pretty good Chinese food. (Which we also found in Galeries Lafayette.) OOooo! We both rushed over to where there was no shortage of other people goggling at the holiday display and I was flooded with memories of being thirteen or fourteen and standing in the very same spot with my Grandmother looking out. It is always a strange sensation to catch yourself in the same places at different times in your life, and it felt familiar and homey and good. It felt like Christmas. We escaped from the department store without spending a penny, save for our lunch, and that was good too. I think half the fun is looking anyhow and that is free for everyone to enjoy.

My December Horoscope

2008-12-04T03:13:00.000-08:00

I thought it was pretty funny that right after I posted the below post fittingly titled "A Lazy Winter" in which I compare myself to a sloth, I came across my December horoscope. I think the first line pretty much sums up the irony of it all.

"Rarely have you felt more energetic and more in control of your life. Mars, the energy planet, is now in Sagittarius and making you feel like you can leap tall buildings in a single bound. Mars only comes around to visit your sign every two years, and when it does, Mars gives you plenty of get-up-and-go, as well as courage and determination. You'll be capable of developing a razor-sharp plan for success and you'll accomplish much."

The planetary alignment of the universe is apparently mocking me.

A Lazy Winter

2008-12-02T12:13:00.000-08:00

Ok, is it just me or does winter make you lazy? I have been comparing my daily routine here with what I would normally be doing in Los Angeles and have discovered some unsettling differences. First of all, in LA it was not uncommon for me to wake up at 6:30 or 7am to go for a run in the morning or do yoga (disgusting, I know). Here, even with an alarm set it is a struggle to roll out of bed at 9. Even with the extra hours of sleep, I often find myself napping in between work and class, sometimes for up to 2 hours. And it's not like I am going to bed that late. I am usually in bed between 11 and 12. There is a myth that every city has it's own energy that affects the people that live there. I don't know if it is Paris, or the winter, of if I am just mutating into a sloth, but I do know that I have been exhausted lately! And in a city where you walk EVERYWHERE, fatigue does not fare well with getting things done. On the weekends I can sleep until 11 or (gasp!) 12, which I am very embarrassed to admit, just to play a bit of catch up. I could never stay in bed that late in LA, guilt aside, my body wouldn't let me. I am thinking the light in winter might have something to do with it. Looking out the window, the light sort of looks the same all day long, a pale diffused winter grey. Or it could be the exhaustion of trying to learn French, and going to school, and working, which all require a substantial amount of energy. Not that the tasks themselves are extremely difficult, but there is an effort that operating in another language requires. You can't just sporadically zone out and coast through life for a bit until you feel like checking back in. Life requires attention and that demands effort and energy. I am hoping that as the winter passes, and my French improves (fingers crossed!) that things will begin to lessen up. But for now at least, it is looking like a lazy winter ahead.

Snow Snow Snow!

2008-11-29T17:07:00.000-08:00

It's 2am and I should be in bed. Actually I was, until a friend texted me with a tantalizing message... Snow! I am now glued to my window watching the fluffy flakes pour down. And they are actually sticking. It's not heaps or mounds (yet!) but the rooftop across the way is sufficiently white, and it is still coming. I really can't wait to see what morning looks like. This winter is turning out to be one to remember!

Marchés de Noël on the Champs-Élysées

2008-11-29T14:27:00.001-08:00

It is beginning to look a lot like Christmas. If the weather wasn't enough to convince us that winter is really here, there are now lights up all around the city, draping the main boulevards and shopping centers with a very charming holiday sparkle. Just off the Champs-Élysées there is a special Marchés de Noël going on with little huts selling gifts and yummy food like crepes, waffles, hot chocolate, hot wine, nougat, chocolates... basically everything you could ever want for the holidays. There is a train, a carousel, Santa on a sleigh, real snowmen, and Christmas trees. In short, Paris is even more irresistible than usual.

Parisian Thanksgiving (American Style)

2008-11-27T15:57:00.000-08:00

Before I moved to Paris, if you would have asked me what I would be doing three months into my stay here, I would have said that I would be speaking ONLY in French, hanging out with ONLY French friends, and well on my way to being "une vraiment Parisienne". But, here I am and I'm not gonna pretend that I don't just want to speak some English. Sometimes, I just want to talk without worrying if I am conjugating my verbs in the correct tense, or if I am pursing my lips into the right O shape to get my "euu" sound right. On holidays especially, you just need a break. Which is why, this was probably the best night out EVER. I am so thankful (because that's what we are supposed to acknowledge on this holiday!) that my friend Sarah, who I sit next to in class, invited me to celebrate Thanksgiving at her house with some fellow expats. The smell of turkey and stuffing was drifting down the stairwell as I climbed up to her apartment with my offering of salad and champagne. Inside... hugs hello, English introductions. Ahh... this was beginning to feel like home. Sitting with my plate of turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, broccoli casserole, and homemade roll, it was a strange thing... I could actually understand the conversations going on around me! I could interject without sounding stupid or having people snicker and say "oh, you Americans with your accent!" And as we talked, I realized that almost everyone is in the same situation as I am (or very close). We all love Paris, we all miss home, we are all toughing it out and coming to find that life abroad has its ups and its downs. But being able to talk about it, to communicate with people who can listen and understand, was such a comforting feeling. And it was probably this paired with the turkey and the wine and the pumpkin pie and homemade cheesecake (!) that made this a truly lovely night... I had my fill of America and I left satisfied. And for that I am very thankful.

It's Snowing!

2008-11-23T08:40:00.001-08:00

Hopefully this picture can convey my excitement... It's snowing! I know that you can't really see the flakes in the photo, but you'll just have to take my word for it. They were baby flakes. After debating with some of my friends here who are locals, the verdict was still out as to whether or not it would actually snow. Apparently, some years it does, some years it doesn't. I was waiting for Desiree at the metro in the Marais, when white flakes began to fall. My first instinct was to think rain. And then I though some kind of trash was falling from the sky. It wasn't until some woman cried out, It's snowing! did I realize that it was in fact snow that was drifting down. And to think it's only November! The flakes very quickly turned to rain, but hey, I'll take what I can get. I guess this means it's winter.

Jacques Villeglé at the Centre Pompidou

2008-11-20T14:48:00.000-08:00

This exhibit has been on my list for almost two months now, and I'm so glad the gloomy weather finally forced me indoors to check out the cool urban art of Jacques Villeglé. Entitled La Comédie Urbaine, the collection of art that Villeglé began producing in the late 1940's is nothing more than posters he collected from the streets and metro stations and mounted on canvas. Now I know this sounds like a sorry excuse for art, but the pieces are amazingly well composed with layers of color and texture, combining pop images like musicians and models and products with advertising text and brilliant colors. That Villeglé claims to do little more than simply mount his findings makes the work even more astounding in my mind! To borrow a line from the catalogue... the work reveals how much our way of seeing is conditioned by the everyday visual environment. To me, the art is such a cool combination of culture, bridging the consumerism of society with its desire for art and beauty. It makes you think that amongst the urban chaos of the modern day city, gems of beautiful art are waiting to be discovered, composed by accidental or anonymous hands. It is also worth mentioning that the Centre Pompidou is such a cool museum! The glass-encased escalator that has been affixed to the side of the building has some of the best views of Paris I have seen (rivaling both the Eiffel Tower and top of Gallery Lafayette). Also the concrete floors, white walls and exposed ceiling make it very industrial chic, the perfect setting to take in the best the modern art world has to offer. I have to say that riding the metro home, the posters that line the walls seemed a bit more whimsical as if the exhibit extends beyond the walls of the Pompidou... and that is a cool thing.

The Butcher, the Baker, the Candlestick Maker

2008-11-18T05:23:00.001-08:00

I was walking home from class today, exhausted after a week of encounters with the infamous Bureaux de Travail and decided to grab a baguette from the Boulangerie on the corner near my metro stop, instead of taking the extra 5 minutes to go to "my baker" around the opposite corner. A tiny voice in my head warned of the dangers of unfamiliar bread and the light, chewy perfection of my normal Baguette aux Cereal popped into my mind. But my legs were tired, so I decided to risk it. How bad could it be? I could tell right away from the thin, pale thing they handed me, that I had just committed a grand error. Yes, the thing was in baguette form, but that was where the similarities stopped. I broke off a piece. What is this? It tasted like cardboard. The outside was slick and crispy (in a plastic kind of way) and the inside was like dead, compressed paper. Ok, I admit I may sound like a bit of a bread snob, (just one of the traits I inherited from my grandmother), but really, I think that living in Paris spoils you. You come to expect great food to be a part of daily life. Going from specialty shop to specialty shop to pick up your groceries is not an activity reserved for crazed foodies, but just a part of the everyday routine. You get your cheese from the Fromagerie, your meat from the Bucherie, your fish from the Poisonnerrie. Farmers markets, or marchés, can be found in every neighborhood, stacked with seasonal produce and tantalizing treats. I tried to think of the equivalent in the states, but all I could come up with were the signs that separate supermarket isles. And this got me thinking... how am I ever going to eat when I return to the states? Isles of plastic wrapped "bread" filled my mind. And I got scared, very scared. Yes, perhaps one day I will have to surrender to the culinary disasters of home but luckily, that day is still far enough away. I tossed the cardboard baguette into the green trash bag on the corner and B-lined it to my Boulanger. Relief and pleasure filled me as I looked upon the beautiful rows of tarts and cakes and macaroons and at last, in the back near the cash register, the baguettes. As I left, I snapped a photo for this post, noticing for the first time the name of my beloved Boulangerie... "Passion Forest." Yes, that's about right.

Versailles

2008-11-14T14:43:00.000-08:00

Tuesday was un jour férié to commemorate the signing of the armistice for WWI, which for me meant a day off from work and school and finally time to make the inevitable trip to Versailles. The weather has been getting very wintery lately which was why when I arrived at Gare Saint-Lazare at 9am to clear, sunny skies, I knew it was destined to be a great trip. About a 30 minute train ride from Paris, Versailles was home to Louis XIV in 1682 when unsatisfied with the accomodations at the Tuileries Palace (to me this seems unimaginable, but to each his own...) he moved his royal family here. Walking through the grand iron gates, I immediately got the impression I had wandered into the countryside. I wasn't expecting Versailles to be quite so pastoral, but apparently Marie-Antoinette was a great lover of animals, as the rolling green hills and free-roaming cows clearly show! Damien and I wandered about the tree lined pathways complete with mud and fallen leaves alongside the daily joggers in for their morning run, until eventually we discovered the lake and fountains and rest of the splendors of the place. We stopped for un café et un chocolate chaud at a small café right on the lake where rowers were gliding past in their boats and old men walking their little dogs stopped to enjoy the morning. Up at the palace, a Jeff Koonz exhibit was taking place, complete with large statues of balloon animals, a hanging inflatable lobster, and a replica of Michael Jackson and his monkey Bubbles forever immortalized in plastic. The modern art struck quite an absurd contrast between the ornate, overly-embellished gold siding, painted ceilings and tapesries of the palace. Although the garish comparison almost made the trip inside worth the 13.5 Euros and smothering crowds! The grounds alone are worth the trip, although next time, I think I'll skip the inside...

Expat Street Cred Hits an All-Time High

2008-11-05T09:27:00.000-08:00

Expat street cred just went up. Way up. It is funny as an American to see how interested foreigners are in our politics, but it is easy to take for granted the way our domestic policies and behavior really do affect the rest of the world. Never has this influence been more apparent that now, with the war in Iraq and the financial crisis, and I have to admit that with all the disasters going on at home, it was a bit embarrassing to call myself an American. But with the results of the election today, everything has changed. Where before we were a country run by an increasingly ridiculous leader, we are now respected for embracing the change that the rest of the world has known was long needed. As someone who has shared in the political cynicism that has become mainstream, it is a funny thing to feel pride in my country, but that is exactly what I feel. Very proud. Not only because of our divided racial history, but because Obama's win is symbolic of the shift in our country's mentality towards an identity that is more inclusive and tolerant, both at home and abroad. It is a reaffirmation of the American Ideals and Dreams that were beginning to look like paper tigers. And I think this is what overseas is most celebrated. Everyone here is relieved, as if we are now somehow closer to them, as if we are no longer the "other" but now an "us". The grocer on the corner cheered for me as I walked home today. The man I bought my paper from gave me a thumbs up. Strangers have come up to me asking, Are you American? just so they can talk about the election. And for the first time on my many travels abroad, I answer them proudly, Oui, je suis américaine.

US Election Night. In Paris.

2008-11-04T16:41:00.000-08:00

After an uneventful Halloween, I debated going out to celebrate election night in Paris. First off, I pictured French elections in the US and a phrase came to mind... There was an election? I decided to stay in. But then Desiree called, she was meeting a few friends at a bar that promised election coverage and cocktails. Ok, I roused myself for a mellow evening. Not until I made it to the street of the bar did I believe what I saw. The intimate evening of political expats was in fact an entire street packed with foreigners and French alike. We giggled looking down at the swarming crowd that wandered in and out of the bars, packing the streets. Holy Cow. We began to make our way through the mass, our excitement rising with the tide of red, white and blue. People with cameras swarmed for interviews, others snapped photographs of the campaign clad supporters. We never actually made it into a bar. It was too much fun to listen to the interviews and occasional chanting, Yes We Can, not to mention quite a few dashing Kennedy look alikes. It is hard to describe the atmosphere other than comparing it to the feeling you get on Christmas Eve before your presents are unwrapped, the excitement of beautiful possibilities ahead. The election results don't actually hit here until around 8am, and excited as we were, we also needed sleep. So we bid farewell to the boy climbing up the scaffolding to wave his Obama sign above the crowd, and the black man in his 'Change We Can Believe In' shirt who was excitedly ranting about the possibilities of an African American president and what that would mean for the rest of the world, and it was hard not to get carried away.

Dining With Diplomats

2008-10-29T10:30:00.000-07:00

The story began the night after the Comédie-Française when Damien and I were dining at a nearby Brasserie, and showing off a bit, I threw out some phrases of my impeccable Mandarin ;) (insert sarcasm). The waiter came over and offered us a bottle of wine. Noticing our confusion, he gestured to the next table over where two men explained that they had heard my Chinese and were so impressed, they thought we deserved some wine. As chance would have it one of the men was born in Beijing and now works as a diplomat out of Washington DC. Fast forward to last night, when I met the Diplomat and his friend (the Ambassador, oh ho ho) for dinner at Bofinger, an Alsatian Brasserie that is the epitome of traditional French gastronomy. (Which it should be, it's been open since 1860!) The invitation couldn't have come at a better time, as my groceries were dwindling to some molding carrots and boxes of tea. At the restaurant, we were tucked at a table on the second floor, up the winding wood and iron staircase that looks down on a beautiful booth-lined dining room, centered around an enormous cascading arrangement of lavender flowers. Luckily, their friend, also quintessentially Parisian, with short dark hair and pouty red lips, took charge and ordered our aperitifs, appetizers and wine. We began with a Fruits de Mer platter stacked with oysters, shrimp and other crustaceans freshly packed on ice. I am proud to say I slurped down my first ever oysters (not bad, especially when accompanied with a lovely glass of champagne!) Afterwards I had the Belle Sole, translation: beautiful sole, and oh how beautiful it was, sauteed whole with butter and lemon and then filleted. Two bottles of Saint-Denis later, I ended the evening with a decadent chocolate mousse and a café. I think I could get use to this...

Photos From the Road

2008-10-25T11:13:00.003-07:00

Today, Chris and I took a road trip to the house of General Charles de Gaulle. By motorbike it takes about 3 1/2 hours each way from Paris to his residence in Colombey-les-deux-Eglises. Aside from some questionable weather, the trip was absolutely beautiful. We first stopped at the memorial that is in fact an entire mini museum and boasts the largest cross in France, made of granite and visible from miles away on the highway. (Which seems a bit odd given De Gaulle's request for no ostentatious tributes, but anyway...) Afterwards, we zipped into the nearby town for a tour of the home and estate that was De Gaulle's residence and refuge later in life. Some photos from the road...

Pollock Defends his Medium...

2008-10-24T03:30:00.000-07:00

As if in response to the unfair dissertation by which I characterized modern art in my previous post, chance invited me to the Pollock exhibit at the Pinacothèque de Paris, an intimate museum just near the Madeleine. I followed behind Jacques reluctantly, thinking that what awaited were a few oversized canvases of "drippings" and "splotches" that I would come, see, and conquer. The experience ended up being something else entirely. We descended down a narrow staircase into a deep red lair, where the first round of paintings were displayed alongside their mythical counterparts, Native American art and sculpture from which Pollock borrowed the mysticism and spirituality that his own work attempts to capture. Pollock was the champion of the Abstract Expressionism movement, an artistic endeavor which sought not just to replicate life by traditional means (paint and brush) but to emphasize the feelings and energy of sensual experience (through movement and texture and color). At what first glance seems to be very chaotic, gradually orders itself within you, leaving the remnant impression of having experienced or known something vastly deep (like beauty or love perhaps?). Like the experience of life in which the world exists as a mess, and we are left with the task of sorting it out, Pollock's art left me with a feeling and visceral reaction that was independent of intellectual understanding, and perhaps in contradiction to it. As opposed to installations of broken light bulbs or plastic representations of pop culture, the emotion that emanates from Pollock's work is overwhelming. I spent long whiles in front of some of his pieces, trying to absorb all of the passion and energy and fervor which seems to have gone into their creation. If art is not just about replication, but about capturing a feeling, emitting an expression of the divine, then I can think of no greater works than his. Pollock, my hat goes off to you. Wow.

Fake Barf, Plastic Poop. A Lesson in Modern Art.

2008-10-17T12:00:00.000-07:00

I was feeling the effects of globalization at work... Japanese museum, French city, American girl, when Jacques and I recently met up at Palais de Tokyo, a museum featuring "art contemporarian." The current exposition is grandly titled "From One Revolution to Another" and beneath banners with bold and futile proclamations like "People Against War" or "Stop Hate", was a collection about as mixed as our combo. I had the same reaction as I do to most modern art- essentially, that it is all great explanations for an otherwise bizarre and pedestrian collection of [mostly repulsive] objects. Exhibit A: The fake barf and plastic poop displayed in a ruby red coffin. Ehxibit B: The genitals of a costume made out of briars, worn by a man in an obscure Scottish folk festival. (The rest of the suit was on display in replicated form, but apparently it was necessary to remove the genitalia and place it prominently on the wall.) My favorite pieces were actually the "inmate art", drawings collected from various prisons around the world, done simply in colored pencils and graphite, but surprisingly good. Now what is the connection between all of these things you may ask? And that, right there, is what modern art is all about. The head-scratching bewilderment that leads to the contemplation of painfully quotidian objects. (For certainly they can't be taken at aesthetic value.) Now for me, this intellectual contemplation doesn't really compare to the visceral awe of standing before a beautiful painting or sculpture and surrendering to your inadequacies. But, to sum up the day; good intentions, bizarre realizations, and an incomprehensible assortment. Is this what our revolution has become?

Sacré-Coeur by Night

2008-10-16T08:17:00.000-07:00

As the highest point in Paris, it is not surprising that Sacré-Coeur has amazing views of the city. Located at the summit of the Montmartre district, this dome shaped church was completed in 1914, making it relatively modern. At least by European standards. Damien and I decided to brave our way up, taking the scenic route which meant lots of stairs! The surrounding area winds its way up in concentric streets lined with bistros and little shops, and at the top, not surprisingly, many vendors selling the neon colored Eiffel Tower replicas that can be found at nearly every 'must-see' destination. Passing the tourist kitsch, we made our way inside the church, which is still one of my favorites, although the architecture is aesthetically debatable among locals who call it the "gâteau blanc" (White cake). I must admit it does sort of resemble a delicious pastry! But inside, the seamless craftsmanship of white stone is brightly lit by tiled mosaic art; angels, cherubs, Jesus and Mary, the usual crowd that haunts these religious dwellings. An impromptu concert was taking place on the steps outside, a bohemian looking youngster singing Hallelujah (the Leonard Cohen version of course) as teens sat in groups drinking wine from paper bags and smoking cigarettes. Before us, Paris lay in all her splendor. Ah yes, the stairs were worth it.

Picnic in the Park

2008-10-15T00:53:00.000-07:00

It seems that no matter where you go in France, there is some special exhibition (or I should say ex-po-sition as “exhibition” in French has a rather sexual connotation, or so I have been told on more than one occasion when I have unknowingly confused the two!) Anyways, such was the case on Sunday when I accompanied Damien and some new friends to Parc Sceaux, an immensely large park on the outskirts of Paris. We brought along our picnic lunches and hopped on the RER train for a short ride. The parc was enormous! It seemed more like a forest, alternating between meticulously manicured gardens and thickets of dense pine trees. The lovely browning foliage fell upon the walkways like snowflakes, and lent a very autumnal charm to our outing. After dining on the lawn just in front of the fountain, which is more like a lake, and even has fish if you should care to bring your fishing poles, we toured the entire property… which I realized later when I passed out at home was very, very long. Near the onsite Chateau, which also serves as museum, there was a special photography exhibit (oops expo) highlighting architecture around the world. There were some beautiful photographs although I was a bit disappointed that the US was represented by two very unflattering photos… an arial shot of a new development in Las Vegas which was a quintessential cookie-cutter community (scary!) and one of the damn in Colorado ie. bare concrete. But, cultural pride aside the park and the picnic were absolutely lovely, and a very Parisian way to pass a Sunday afternoon, which turned into an entire Sunday day.

Let the Games Begin... or Something Like That

2008-10-09T11:47:00.000-07:00

Today, I began my first official day as an "etudiante Francaise". Much to my pleasure, I was assigned the 10am -12pm class. I was praying not to get assigned 8am which meant I would have to wake up at 6 everyday of the week to get there on time. But, it seems that the French gods are apparently not a malevolent bunch... that and my garbled French essay managed to fool the Sorbonne placement committee into thinking that I actually know French at an intermediate level. I was placed at level 3 "Intermediare" just above the elementaire and debutant students, which because we get a beige book of French literature that they do not, makes us feel oh-so-advanced and able to walk down the hallways with our heads held high. (Advanced is the next level up and then superior, so here's hoping that by the end of the year that's where I'll be!) I didn't sleep much the night before, plagued by the same mixture of anticipation and excitement that fills all students on the eve of their first day back to school. I had my FDO (first day outfit) all picked out and was out of the house at 9am, right on schedule. I hopped on the metro, which is about a thirty minute ride across town, which may seem long, but watching the work crowd, listening to my ipod, or reading a book beats driving any day! Parading up the streets, past the Pantheon, I made it to my building with 10 minutes to spare. Once the previous class filed out, my group and I filed in to arrange ourselves at the white tables that line the small room, facing a very traditional green chalk board. The professor came in and we plunged ahead, everything in French from the get go, with lessons like getting to know your neighbor and reading out loud in class. Most of my fellow students are some variation of Asian... Chinese, Thai, Mongolian, there is a boy from Mexico, and one other American girl. All together, about fifteen, we make quite the grab-bag of nationalities. After class, I went to the bookstore to pick up the three books I will need, and the three notebooks, and the pens, and the folder and... you get the idea. I have a few hours of homework to do tonight, so I guess this means summer is officially over and school has begun. I say, bring it on.

La Comédie-Française

2008-10-07T12:06:00.000-07:00

The other night a friend invited me to the Comédie-Française, a traditional Parisian theatre that features various spectacles throughout the year. The first Monday of every month is free if you are under 25, so we had to take advantage of it while we could! The theatre was built in 1680. We were seated in the plush red velvet seats on the third level where you can imagine the not-so-well-off patrons of yesterday leaning over the guilted gold balcony to get a better look. The production of "Fantasio" was a comedy (all in French of course) with great costumes and a set that rotated with billowing white curtains and flickering candlelight... quite the ambiance especially with the chandeliers inside the theatre that dripped pockets of crystal light on to the dark walls. The actors were very expressive so even if I didn't understand all of the jokes intellectually I could appreciate the humor! Afterwards, we went to a nearby bistro for dinner where a diplomat at the next table overheard me speaking Chinese and sent us a bottle of wine! It was nearly 2am by the time we finished, but a truly perfect Parisian night out.

Winter already?

2008-10-04T08:34:00.000-07:00

With all the splendor that Paris has to offer, there's not a lot it leaves you wanting. But recently, the fading autumn trees have been overshadowed by brooding skies that erupt in torrents of rain and lend a characteristic gloom to life in the city. I know LA has never been famous for its winters, but weather already? It's only October! I was hoping to evade reality for at least another month. While my wishful thinking has me hoping the descending degrees are a temporary phenomenon and Autumn will resume its brisk but cloudless progression, the daily forecast has me pining for LA sunshine. Although on the upside, it is beautiful after the rain...

Chartres by Motorbike

2008-09-28T05:34:00.000-07:00

My friend Chris and I took a day trip to Chartres, a town centered around the oldest Medieval Castle in France that was first built in the 1st Century! It is considered one of the most important examples of Gothic architecture in the country and has a long and varied past, being burned and destroyed five times, before it became the form it is today (the 6th) although it is still built on the original foundation. From Paris, it is about an hour and a half ride, which on the back of a motorcycle is a beautiful trip. Once there, we took a tour given by a guide who has been giving tours of the cathedral for 50 years (!) and is the foremost authority on Chartres. I learned a lot of interesting facts like, the stained glass windows can actually be read like a book left to right, top to bottom and illustrate biblical stories. Also, the stone, which we think of as being white and bare, was originally painted, making the interior and exterior extremely colorful. Imagine that!

Musée Rodin

2008-09-24T12:02:00.001-07:00

My new favorite museum... Musée Rodin. Just behind the Invalides, this beautiful space is a private castle that has been converted into a museum. It houses a large collection of statues and paintings by Rodin who also inhabited the house for some years of his life. The collection is extremely impressive, large stone statues that seem like actual people frozen in moments of passion and contemplation and artfully placed in sun drenched rooms. But equally stunning is the architecture of the actual house... tall ceilings, white walls, wood floors, antique glass windows... all very understated compared with the ornate baroque interiors of most of these houses. And finally, the garden where my friend Jacques and I sat for an espresso, and meandered around on our way out. For only 1 Euro you can go back and spend the day in the gardens where there are also sculptures prominently placed, or hidden benches where you can pocket yourself away from the other admirers and simply enjoy the beauty of nature.

A Break for Fiction

2008-09-24T04:15:00.000-07:00

All at once the lights come on, bursting like newly born stars that float in the night around me. I look up, the sun has faded, sinking down beneath crooked rooftops and pointed spires, and across the sky, night has crept in to take its place. A blanket of darkness enwraps the city and the Eiffel Tower stands illuminated in blue before us all.

I sit on a park bench, painted green like all public benches in Paris, and am filled with a familiar contentment, the kind only found on foreign soil. It is hard to put a name to this feeling of fullness, but it is the one that comes when you sit in the lap of all you had sought out, only just discovering what it was at all.

Oh yes, this is what my heart had needed you think and you soak it in until there is simply no more room inside yourself to fill.

It is nights like these when the air is cool and I am bundled in thick layers, watching the autumn progress around me in falling leaves of orange and ochre, that I know I have been here all along. That ever since my first visit, Paris has held a part of my heart, and only now, that I have surrendered, is it once again mine to claim.

I don't know the adventures that await me, yet I can feel their pulse already inside. The light way my heart flutters when I look out at the city. It is their promise, their memory which lends to me this ripeness, the same that brought me here, in anticipation of beautiful things- the experiences we collect inside that become out lives.

My journey is just beginning and yet already I have slipped into its rhythm with the ease of something I have known all along, one of the rare moments when I have caught up with the eager wanderings of my soul. I take a breath, savoring it while it lasts, watching the sky darken into night around me and the city come alive in lights, knowing that, together, we are illuminated.

Journées Européennes du Patrimoine

2008-09-20T10:56:00.000-07:00

Each year for 2 days only, the Patrimoine of Paris, in other words properites of the state like Museums and special buildings, are open to the public. It is a nation wide fete going on this weekend with special programs dedicated to showcasing art, architecture, literature and music. And admission is free to most of them. Laura was nice enough to let me tag along with her and the boys to Tour Saintes-Jaques, a large stone tower built by a rich butcher and his family in the middle ages. We followed it with Notre Dame Cathedral, which in Paris you really can't miss as it is huge and always draws a crowd, especially last week when the Pope was in town. Then on to the Conciergerie, a cavernous stone palace and prison, where Marie Antoinette was imprisoned just before her death. Laura is studying art history so she is like being with a personal tour guide. Quelle bonne chance! To go home we rode one of the many boats or "Batobuses" down the Seine. It is great to see Paris from the eyes of a Parisian and to see the boys absorbed in the history of their city, which never fails to impress, even if you are a local.

Morning Promenade

2008-09-19T04:35:00.000-07:00

My morning promenade feels more like a run through history than an actual workout... an ipod orchestrated jaunt past the Arc de Triomphe, down the Champs Élysées, through the Tuilerries, turn right at the Louvre, over to the 5th arrondesmont and back by Musée d'Orsay to brave the Seine. There could be a whole tourist route just following me in the morning! And it is the only time I break my rule of not wearing sneakers, which I gave up in the same manner that people attempt to swear off smoking or red meat. If you're going to be out and about, this is a route you really can't beat, not to mention the fact that Paris in the mornings (while cold) is wonderfully desolate and serene, enough to make you forget that everything was not built for you alone... although I'm still not convinced.

Lovers in the Park

2008-09-18T06:18:00.000-07:00

I am sitting at my favorite afternoon spot, Parc Monceau, surrounded by screaming French school children in frenzied groups of white and blue. Thankfully, the school bell just rang and they are scampering back into their classrooms, the plump park pigeons waddling in to take their places. As I ate my lunch earlier, I couldn't help but notice exactly three pairs of couples making out on surrounding park benches. Young men and women in mismatched scarves and hats, holding hands and draping themselves onto each other, before finishing their last bits of packed lunches and heading back to work. They say that Paris is a city for lovers, and I guess it is true. But, in my case, is also a city for those relegated to eat their lunch on park benches alone, watching and dreaming... C'est la vie!

La Sorbonne and a Party on a Boat

2008-09-17T07:29:00.000-07:00

The building pictured, a massive, statuesque pantheon is straight out of ancient Rome. It could have been the library of philosophizing Greeks, or a tribute in stone to our founding fathers at our nation's capital, but no, it is my school! Or at least part of the Sorbonne's campus that I walk by to get to my building, which is just as well. I went yesterday to register for classes. I had my hand drawn map, which turned out not to be very good, and a general idea of where I was headed, even worse, and hit the streets in that way I have of figuring I will eventually find what I am looking for, which is true enough.
After only a few circles, I found my desired center and headed inside to inquire about classes. I was handed a number from the man at the front desk, and went downstairs into a large lecture hall where other students were waiting to be called to one of the four desks set up on stage. I figured I might as well utilize my wait by scanning the crowd for some potential friends or cute classmates, and found myself surrounded by two classifications of student... 1. Female (darn, just like school in the states) 2. Japanese (cool given my recent fascination with Murakami, not so cool given that, again, they were mostly girls) Oh well, I'm keeping my fingers crossed for class!
After 35 minutes I was finally called... number 152 (only in French of course)... yes that's me!... Bonjour Madame... what was I here for? Classes? There is a test to take, yes?... The professor was very polite and responded to my broken French in beautiful, slowly articulated French, correcting my verb conjugations along the way. After the end of the conversation, I realized she had mistaken me for a returning student (hopefully a good sign) and after apologies, she had to give me a whole new speech. I was handed a card of necessary paperwork, all of which I had left behind in the States, oops, and a convocation date to take my placement test... outcome to be determined.
Later that night, I met up with Desiree, the friend I met for coffee and falafel in Le Marais, who promised an International Student party for her school, Sciences Po, which is one of the best Universities in France. (Along with my Sorbonne of course!) I had high hopes of waltzing into a swanky shindig, chatting it up with cute foreigners and leaving with a long list of new friends. On our way, we got lost, which seems to be a general theme of my trip, but eventually were directed to a boat on the Seine with signs announcing "Private Party". Cool. We ducked into the dark ship, and instantly I could tell there was trouble ahead. I will spare the long, drawn out disaster and skip to the general factors that make for an uneventful party... 1. Being cornered by a skinny Arab student who wants only to talk politics and religion 2. Meeting no one who speaks English 3. Free strawberry cocktails plus the rocking of the boat... at least I assume it was the back and forth swaying that made me nauseous. Oh well, you win some, you lose some. I just hope my school knows how to throw a better party!

Toutrist Time Out

2008-09-16T02:25:00.001-07:00

What would Paris be without its tourists?

(Myself included!)