The Bold Soul

A House + Studio 4 Sale in Paris 18th! (and it's OURS)

BIG NEWS (and no, it's not about my SSP): for various reasons too numerous (and personal) to mention, our* house in Paris is for sale! Not only that, with the house comes a HUGE atelier/studio with storage box!

I know what you're thinking: OH MY GOD! WOW! WHAT THE HELL? and HEY, I'D LOVE A HOUSE IN PARIS, WHERE CAN I GET MORE INFORMATION?

We've got a web site with a full description (French and English) and numerous photos. For obvious reasons, we don't list the actual address but it's in a nice and diverse neighborhood in the 18th with easy access to transportation, shops, schools and so on. You've seen my walking tour photos of the area so you know I'm within walking distance of the Butte and Sacre Coeur as well as Pigalle, Place de Clichy, and the Marché aux Puces. We like this area a lot.

Please help us get the word out, if you feel so inclined and happen to know someone who is looking for something unique in Paris! We do ask that SERIOUS BUYERS ONLY request more information using the email on the other website.

I'm sure that this announcement raises all sorts of questions (like "Why?"), most of which I'm not going to answer. But I'll just say this in order to quench some of the natural curiosity. We're not leaving Paris and not even leaving the neighborhood. There's no rush to sell. Sometimes, moving is just moving.

Oh, and by the way. Clachat has informed us that she has no desire to change houses, and she's not moving with us to our new place when we finally DO move. Cats can be so stubborn at times. So if you buy the house and would like a 5 euro discount, we'll be happy to throw the cat into the deal.

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* Just to be clear, I am not the owner of the house or atelier and am not personally involved in the transaction.

Picnic moments

We took another picnic to the Buttes-Chaumont today to kick off our three-day weekend (yes, another one)... despite the fact that last week, just AFTER we had been there on our other picnic, a 1.4M-long PYTHON was found hanging around in a tree in that very park. It was humanely captured alive, and it IS a very big park so it could have been anywhere, but still I'm very glad I didn't look up into a tree and see that thing leering down at me. The Garden of Eden, it ain't, or are we Adam and Eve.

This time, we took the Little Guy with us. Weather: perfect, cloudless blue skies and a nice breeze so not too hot. Still took sunblock to avoid repeat of last weekend's uneven sunburn. Also brought hats, a ball and frisbee that went unused in favor of the iPod Touch, and books to read. Lots of good things to eat and drink. A blanket and some small pillows for comfort.

Ahhhh.... what a life.

After lunch and a siesta, and watching four or five wedding parties walking around taking photos (the Mairie de 19ème is just across the way), the sun shifted onto our more shaded area, so we decided to walk around the lake and show the Little Guy the waterfalls (manmade but to a kid, rather impressive) and afterward he caught sight of a pack of other little children wading in the small (manmade) stream leading into the lake, so we let him take off his sandals and roll up his shorts (knowing he'd get wet anyway) and join in. It was so adorable seeing all those little children, some half dressed and a couple of very little ones totally sans attire, splashing and laughing and having a wonderful day. Oh, to be that young, free and unselfconscious!

As we relaxed on the banks of the stream, Georges and his son did some gymnastics (the young one balancing on his dad's knees, hands, feet, etc.) while I took little videos for posterity, and then they read a book together while I alternately read and stared up into the green foliage above me... fortunately not seeing any more snakes.

It occured to me as I looked around at all the other families and groups of friends who were walking and talking and picnicking and playing, how nice it is that the French are so family-oriented. Even on a non-holiday weekend, you'll find them out together on a picnic or going out together for Sunday lunch. Americans love their families, too, of course, but I don't think they often make it a priority to spend nearly every weekend with their families the way so many French families seem to do.

After a warm bus ride home, during which my little step-son fell asleep on my lap, we finally are home. He's had his bath, and is now sitting next to me while I write this... with Papa's iPod Touch, of course. Wearing the new pajamas I bought him last week.

Yes... oh, what a life, what a very good life.

L'Avantage

One consolation for finding out I am not pregnant (yet again) this month... is being able to enjoy the ritual of the spring apéro that took place in our courtyard this evening.

I returned home about 8pm after spending a few hours with my new tutoring student (the young daughter of a friend of Georges who needs help with her English studies) to find our neighbors collected together in front of our maison, with nibbles and wine and beer, and of course soda and juice for the kids. Said children, about 5 or 6 of them, were enjoying the fact that there is no school for them on Wednesdays, so they got to run around in their pajamas and jackets, snatching taco chips and crackers in between chasing the gardienne's dog and each other.

The super hot temperatures of yesterday gave way overnight, after a storm, to a breezy and chilly evening tonight, but no matter. Still felt like the first "block party" of the summer, à la française. And I am feeling rather mellow after a few small glasses of wine, and making plans with my one neighbor for a taste-test, soon, of my favorite Australian Shiraz that I recently discovered in a wine shop for dirt-cheap prices (if you're in Paris, I found it in a Nicholas wine shop in the 13th, on Rue Bobillot; in the U.S. you'l have no trouble finding it anywhere).

There are definitely a few advantages to being sans bébé at the moment. I do enjoy a nice glass of wine... though I'd willingly suspend all such activities for 9 months plus (in case the Universe is listening).

A Parisian Picnic Primer

Sounds of Parisian buses and traffic drone in the distance. Children laugh and scream with delight as they chase butterflies, balls and each other. A bell clangs, from the nearby carousel. A soft breeze tempers the heat of the sun beating down from a cloudless blue May sky. I see a tall and regal crane standing in the lake at the foot of the little hill while songbirds chirp cheerfully from their tree-top perches. Such is the ambiance here at the Buttes-Chaumont.

Welcome to the first great picnic-day of the season! And how fortuitous that it should fall on the “bridge” Friday between the Thursday holiday (Ascension, this one) and the weekend. After weeks of dismal, unseasonably too-chilly May weather, it seems Mother Nature has finally gotten the memo: it's spring and time for a weekend picnic! Doing a spontaneous al fresco meal in one of Paris' parcs is by far one of my favorite parts of city life. I can't honestly say I spent much time arranging or attending picnics when I lived in the country in New Jersey, where we normally did barbecues on someone's backyard patio rather than sitting on a blanket in some local park. In fact, I don't even think there was a public park in any of the towns I've lived in there... in communities where people own homes with their own private lawns, who really needed the public outdoor space? No, they reserved that for baseball and soccer fields instead of picnic space.

In the city, it's different. The parks and gardens of Paris are where Parisians go to get back to nature in some small way. Sure, the few grassy areas where you're permitted to sit are sometimes packed solid, or if there are no grassy areas open, you end up scuttling to capture the few open park benches or chairs you can find. But no matter. What is important is to take your opportunity to get outside, take off your shirt (even if you're a woman and all you have on underneath is a lacy French bra), roll up your pants as far as they'll go, or better yet take them off altogether (and some do, sporting what I hope are bathing suit bottoms instead of their underwear, but you never know), and bask in the sunshine. Even in winter you'll find Parisians out in the parks in full force on any sunny afternoon, bundled up in their hats, coats and scarves but soaking up the few rays of a sun that may not appear again for weeks on end. In the warmer weather, it's the national pastime. And with parks as large as the Buttes-Chaumont, it's even possible to find some more secluded nooks and crannies where you won't be surrounded by other people's kids running around you in circles.

All you really need for a picnic in Paris is something to sit on (even an oversized scarf or your jacket will do), something to nibble on (a fresh baguette from the nearest boulangerie, some dry sausage, cheese and something sweet for afterward will do nicely), something to drink (usually it's wine but today we opted for a couple of Coronas with lime and a bottle of sparkling water), and a book. Don't forget the necessary implements: a corkscrew and a sharp knife may be useful. If the sun is strong, sunglasses and a hat, perhaps some sunblock, might be a wise idea. We like to pack a couple of small pillows for maximum siesta comfort. Then head to the nearest park and find a lovely grassy spot that suits your tastes. And that's all you need: the perfect recipe for a delicious day off!

This is one aspect of French living to which I've wholeheartedly adapted myself, even though I am very fair-skinned and not much of a sun-worshipper normally. In fact, in about 10 minutes I may have to move myself to a shadier area to stop the sun from baking me into an unattractive shade of lobster. But never mind; it's all part of the Parisian pique-nique experience.

There is one part of this wonderful day that I could have done without, however. Just before I pulled out my laptop to write this piece... a bird decided to shit on my lap and my hand. Disgusted to the Nth degree, I was still grateful the bird had chosen that moment rather than dumping all over my new computer a minute later. How would I explain that to the computer repair guys, that I needed my keyboard replaced because a BIRD flew overhead and dropped the bomb?

I guess nature and technology don't really mix. And with that in mind, I think I'll join my husband who is stretched out on the blanket next to me, having a nice siesta. Writing can wait. Vive la France.

Half-timbered

In the Marais, more specifically in what is known as the Saint Paul quartier, you can still find some of the old medieval half-timbered houses that were not flattened by Baron Haussmann's "new" city plans in the 19th century. This one is at the corner of Rue des Barres and Rue du Grenier sur l'Eau, if you're passing by that way and would like to see for yourself. Then, treat yourself to a leisurely stroll around that whole area... the architecture is really wonderful, with a few more of these buildings and some of the ancient carved stone ones, like this one.

Optical illusion

Centre Pompidou as seen from gardens outside St. Eustache at Les Halles

This photo, which I took a long time ago, makes the Pompidou Center look like it's smack-dab in the middle of a country wheat field, instead of in the heart of Paris. It's not digital trickery, either... there are gardens next to St. Eustache and I guess I just caught this at an interesting angle looking over these tall grasses.

Some Parisians detest the look of the Pompidou because of it's inside-out architecture (all the heating ducts and so forth are on the OUTSIDE of the building), but I really like it. It's one of the more interesting structures in the city, and considering it houses a modern art collection, I think the design is very fitting.

Nuages

My favorite view of Paris, from the Pont des Arts looking towards the Pont Neuf. I think it always looks best with some clouds in the sky.

Église Saint-Germain-l'Auxerrois de Paris

I was going through some photos of Paris I've never posted (as far as I know) and came across this beautiful stained glass from the Église Saint-Germain-l'Auxerrois de Paris. (For Desperate Housewives fans, this was the church where Eva Longoria married her sweetie last year.) I had forgotten how beautiful this church is until I revisited the photos. It's just behind the Louvre, so if you're in the neighborhood, stop by and see for yourself!

What she's really thinking... NOW

Come and take a walk with me, on the Rue du Mont Cenis

It's been a while since I took you on a walking tour with me, so today is your lucky day! I decided to get up and walk Georges to his bus stop, and then continue on from there with an ambitious hike up Rue du Mont Cenis -- one of the steepest walks in Paris, if not THE steepest!

Rue du Mont Cenis is a fairly long street that begins all the way out at the edge of the city in the 18th arrondissement, but my street (Rue Marcadet) intersects with it at about the halfway point and just at the base of the Butte de Montmartre (the big hill). So we begin here:

Turn left onto Rue du Mont Cenis from here, pointing yourself up-hill. And take a very deep breath now, because you'll need it later.

Now, if you were to look at a map of the street, you'd think you could just drive on it from end to end, but au contraire! Don't even attempt it past this point, because the street becomes a series of breath-taking (and I mean that LITERALLY) staircases, like this one:

The city fathers very thoughtfully placed a banc publique at the top, in case you need it. This, by the way, is the second staircase you will have climbed, but there's one more after this.

However, I took a detour, turning right onto Rue Saint-Vincent, when I looked down the street and realized the vineyard was there:

 

Montmartre was originally a separate village from Paris and it was more rural with many vineyards. But as old Paris grew and expanded it eventually absorbed the peripheral villages such as Montmartre and Belleville, and the wine growers could no longer compete with the need for more real estate. This is now the last working vineyard in Paris.

Still, wouldn't you love to own one of the adjacent apartments? Although you'd have to put up with hoards of camera-wielding tourists (very few of them out and about at this hour, fortunately, so I had no competition!), it's still very quiet over here and view of wine grapes would be well worth it.

Turn left at the corner of the vineyard onto Rue des Saules and walk up the hill. At the next corner you'll find this adorable little maison rose, in which artist Maurice Utrillo once lived.

Utrillo's unwed mother was a former circus acrobat and artist's model who posed for the likes of Renoir and Toulouse-Lautrec; there is speculation that Renoir was the father of Utrillo, but no one knows for sure. Utrillo is buried just around the corner in the small Cimitière Saint Vincent, next to his mother; take the street to the left of the pink house if you want to visit his grave because the cemetery is just down the hill.

Heading back up the Rue des Saules, turn left onto Rue Cortot. This is your view:

 

Can't you just imagine that this is Montmartre 100 years ago, maybe more?

On this petite street, you'll find the Musée de Montmartre in a building that claims to be the oldest in Montmartre. Keep going, and you'll find yourself back on the Rue de Mont Cenis again, just at the top of the third and last long staircase (and wasn't I clever to help you avoid it by walking you around the block?)

So, you're at the top of the Butte! You've survived (and so have I)! Now it's time for the payoff for all that hard work of hiking up here, but first you have just a little farther to walk. After taking a moment to look down the staircase to your left and appreciate how far you've come in the past 40-odd minutes, take another moment and look up. Wow! Who put THAT there?

Look at this big white tower standing right in front of you! What is it? Is Rapunzel hiding up there? Or maybe some cell phone tower? I'm not positive (and no doubt a reader will write in and tell me if I'm mistaken) but I think this is a water tower; I neglected to look around for a descriptive sign.

Turn right and continue down the last (and now level) stretch of Rue du Mont Cenis. You are approaching the infamous Place du Tertre which will be on your right, but before you even get there you will be accosted (even at 9:30 am) by the roving, stalking street artists who will try to get you to stand still for a "portrait". Even when you say "Monsieur, je ne suis pas une touriste!" with as much indignation as you can muster, they will keep at it especially if you've got a camera in hand. Just bear to your left, keep walking and save your money for a restorative drink later.

You'll come upon a tiny little garden with one of the Wallace Fountains and a rather nice view over the city as well. Turn left onto Rue Azais, and just ahead you'll see it (because this is one sight in Paris you can't miss):

Sacre Coeur... the Sacred Heart. Not the oldest church in Paris, but surely one of the most beautiful and my second favorite in Paris after Notre Dame. Do take a moment to go inside (or I'll take you there myself in a future post) and appreciate the glorious mosaic in the large dome as well as the stained glass.

Oh, and don't forget to turn around and see where you are:

 

Even shrouded in the morning mist, Paris is just lovely to behold.

You can walk through the entire virtual walking tour here on my Flickr site. And should you decide to do this walk for real some day*, don't forget your good walking shoes, your camera, a withering look for the stalking street artists, a bottle of water, and most of all don't forget to BREATHE. A lot.

*To get to the same starting point, take Metro line 12 to Jules Joffrin. Take the exit at the end of the platform with the escalator, which brings you right onto Rue du Mont Cenis opposite the Mairie. Just turn right and begin! Or wimp out and start at Sacre Coeur and do the same thing in reverse ALL DOWN HILL, and use the metro to get back to the center of Paris again.

Marché

It is Sunday morning. We have had the luxury of waking up when we felt like it, instead of when the child/alarm clock/compulsive over-eater cat decides we ought to wake up. We have had a nice relaxing breakfast and coffee. I look at the clock and see it is nearly 11am.

I decide to take a walk to the nearest big marché because we're nearly out of edible fruit (I think the clementine season is over because these latest ones didn't last long at all), and everyone in this household (except the cat) loves fruit.

It's only a short walk to the marché. A street market is a common institution in towns and villages throughout France, and even in big cities. Most neighborhoods in Paris have a street market that comes two or even three times a week. It's wonderful because as city dwellers, we would not necessarily have access to as wide a variety of produce without these roving markets coming to us every week. (As in the U.S., the big supermarkets don't always have the best quality.) When I lived in the 15th, we also had one that came on Sundays (as well as Tuesdays and Fridays), which I really loved because it also meant that most of the regular stores on that street were open on Sundays also -- something that most stores in Paris are not, unless they're in big tourist areas like the Champs Elysées or Saint Michel.

We have the same set-up here in our part of the 18th, with a huge, long street market taking up many blocks on the Boulevard Ornano (nearest metro is Simplon on line 12) and many other shops open besides. The market is a mixture of fruit and vegetable sellers most of whom seem to have the same produce but one or two of which are also growers, and we try to buy from them when we can. There are also many clothing sellers -- you can even buy lacy lingerie and faux fur jackets -- plus shoes, cosmetics (although I sort of draw the line at buying my hair coloring kit at once of these places), and sometimes cut-rate DVDs or CDs. In markets in other parts of the city you might also find furniture, florists, and people selling speciality items like leather coats, but they often rotate where they go from week to week so it's sort of hit-or-miss when they might appear again (I've been looking for this guy who sells these soft pillows stuffed with little beads of foam in markets all over the city since I bought from him once over two years ago -- but haven't seen him since!)

When I wander through the marché, I hear the constant din of the vendors calling out their prices on carrots, grapefruit, or carving knives, inviting you to come, look and buy. The nearby butcher shops smell like delicious rotisserie chicken as I walk past (although I studiously avoid looking at the cases of raw meat... in France you are likely to see heads and feet still attached and I prefer not to be reminded of where my meat came from). I see a store selling all sorts of things for cooking Moroccan food including the clay pots (I forget the name) for couscous and I make a mental note that this might be a good place to buy someone an interesting gift someday. I see some cute baby clothes, and a stall with very ornate velvet caftans. Another stall has all sorts of kitchen utensils and home improvement gadgets. There are sellers of olives and sellers of cheeses. You can find nearly everything in a big French marché.

Today I walk the entire market, first one side of the street and then the other, end to end. Finally I find some fruit  I like the looks of, and I select some oranges and bananas. Then I spot that they are also selling citrons verts (limes) for only 1,80€ a kilo, whereas my local supermarket has been consistently price gouging charging 7,95€ a kilo! So I stock up on limes as well. Further down the row of stalls, I find some radishes and broccoli that look very nice, and buy some of those too.

As I make my way home (moving at the pace of an escargot until I get out of the marketplace zone with all the slow-moving yet very pushy shoppers and their carts), it just starts to drizzle a light rain, and I'm glad I got down there and back again before the rain started. I arrive home at just about noon.

Just another Sunday morning in France.

*Photo: Georges checking the ripeness of a melon in the market at Saint Raphael last August.

Reader Mail #1 - Dressing for the Temps d'Hiver

Sometimes I get emails or comments from readers with general questions about visiting (or living in) Paris or France, and I decided to make a new blog category to address these. (So, if you find that your original comment was deleted and "upgraded" to a Reader Mail post, you'll know why!)

Today, it's all about the cold weather and how to prepare for it. C.J. writes:

"I am heading to Paris Saturday until Monday with my sister---am getting nervous with all this snow! What is it really like at the moment? Any helpful packing hints, please?"

It's true, we had snow again yesterday, but nothing like we had last month where it stayed cold and frozen for a week afterward. Yesterday's morning snow was nearly rained out by noon. It HAS been colder again the past few days, but remember it's February and that's normal for northern Europe.

Still, I haven't noticed the winter weather dampening the resolve of tourists to come to Paris... they're everywhere, comme d'habitude. So don't be nervous... just make sure to bring a warm coat and dress in layers. I've been wearing a tank top or T-shirt (sometimes long-sleeved) underneath my normal shirts or sweaters, and of course since French fashion dictates wearing scarves, you can dress up your look with your favorite scarf and keep it on even when you're indoors with your coat off, for a little extra warmth. Do have gloves and something to cover your head; Paris can get quite windy at times.

If it's extra cold, just use that as an excuse to duck into any café and have a cup of coffee or a chocolat chaud to defrost yourself before heading out to your next tourist destination! And remember, even if it's cold, it's still PARIS so just enjoy yourself anyway.

Me? I'll be spending the upcoming weekend in the SOUTH of France, visiting some French family members with Georges. It's not exactly T-shirt weather there, yet, but it will be nice to get a break from the cold. Jealous?

How to get a 7-year old to enjoy the Louvre

Well, we had all sorts of big plans for our Sunday. After a miserable week where both Georges and I were sick with who knows what sort of cold/flu/virus thing, by yesterday we were both feeling sufficiently energetic to do normal things, and so decided we'd plan an outing for Sunday with the Little Guy. Last night while checking my email, I had a message from the French movie-search web site announcing the launch of the new cartoon feature, "Volt" (that's "Bolt" for you Americans and why they felt the need to change THAT name for the French audience, I have no idea) this week. Turns out there was a special avant-première at ONE theatre in Paris and for ONE show only, on Sunday at 11:15. I reserved three tickets online and we were good to go.

We got there early, and I waited to pick up the tickets while Georges took the Little Guy to practice with his roller blades (he's doing quite well, actually). I got the tickets, paid 6€ extra for three pairs of 3D glasses -- excited about seeing my first-ever movie in 3D, if you can believe it. Picked up The International Tribune to read the Sunday news in English, and sat down at the top of the stairs to the salle for the film -- the first one in line! A few others started to line up behind us. Georges and the Little Guy arrived and settled in to wait with me.

And that's when it happened: the manager came over and informed us that the film was cancelled due to a technical problem with the special 3D projection equipment! Quelle horreur! Our money was refunded and we were disappointed, and then had to figure out what to do next.

Ah! Wait! It's the first Sunday of the month and that means FREE admission to some of Paris's best museums -- including the Louvre. It was way too cold to spend the rest of the day in the park, so we hopped the metro to the Louvre, figuring it was best to enter via the metro station instead of standing in line with the throngs waiting to enter via the big pyramid... plus the underground shopping mall and food court are open there, even on Sundays.

When we arrived, we asked the Little Guy what he wanted to see: Egyptians, the sculpture gardens, or paintings, and he voted for paintings. We decided to start with La Jaconde, mainly to show him how many people were clamouring to see her. In the same salle is the largest painting in the entire Louvre collection, Les Noces de Cana, and we made a small game of seeing what we could find in the immense picture, sort of a like "Where's Waldo?" (which is Ou est Charlie? in France).

Then we headed into the Grande Gallerie. Fans of The DaVinci Code will know this space from the book and film, and it's filled mainly with religious-themed art and loads of cherubs, naked babies and adultes in various states of undress.

 That's when the Little Guy devised his own game: counting the zizis in the paintings. Yes, we really did travel up one side of the Grande Gallerie and down the other, looking for uncovered penises in the artwork. He counted precisely 100 zizis in the gallery, and we figure his count could be off by plus or minus 10% given his short stature and inability to see the high-up paintings.

He also made what we thought was a very profound observation: that there were more bare behinds in that room (in the paintings and statues) than zizis. How do you argue with that? We were just happy he was enjoying himself.

On our way past the Mona Lisa for the second time, I decided to ask a female guard if it would be possible for the Little Guy to walk right up to the close-up protective railing to see the painting since he was so small and the crowd was simply too big for him to get a good look. I got the idea from seeing some other children do it once, and thought what a nice thing it was if they allowed the little ones to see better. I figured the worst that would happen is she'd say no.

But she didn't. She personally took him over -- we adults weren't allowed -- right in the very middle, close up to the painting, and talked to him for a moment to just encourage him to look at her. They even let us take a photo of him looking at the painting (but not of the painting itself -- despite the fact there were at least 100 people in there using cameras WITH flash and NO GUARDS WERE PROTESTING WHATSOEVER).

So not only did the Little Guy make the monumental discovery that there are a whole lotta zizis in the Louvre... but he got a face-to-face audience with the most famous painting in the world. Then we went and had lunch before buying some new books in the Virgin Megastore.

We think it was our most successful family museum day ever... if also our most bizarre.

Painting: Raffaello SANTI, dit RAPHAËL (Urbino, 1483 - Rome, 1520)
La Vierge à l'Enfant avec le petit saint Jean-Baptiste 1507-1508; Musée du Louvre

Star-gazing

I have never in my life met anyone famous and cool on a public street in Paris (or really, anywhere else, come to think of it). Okay, so I did meet Olympic gold medal figure skater Kristy Yamaguchi once but that was actually business related and I got to say all of five words to her I think.

But SHE did, this friend of mine -- SHE met someone famous and cool, oh so cool. And I am SO jealous because this is the second time she's met someone I've always wanted to meet -- the other time was when she got to meet author Peter Mayle at a cocktail party; he's one of my favorite travel authors who wrote "A Year in Provence" among others.

And this accidental meet-up she had this time? SOOOOO much better and WAYYYY cooler than Peter Mayle! Read it for yourself and see if you don't agree. (Linda, if I didn't already like you so much I'd totally hate you right now. But I'd get over it. Eventually.)

Sunday in the snowy Parc Montsouris

After we had our tea and strolled through a city of flowers, we continued our Sunday stroll to another place I'd never been before in Paris: the Parc Montsouris. And yes, if you are thinking the literal translation of "Montsouris" is "mountain of mice" you're (nearly) right; Wikipedia says that the area used to be known as moque souris or "mock mice" because the area's primary inhabitants were rodents, and the name eventually evolved to Montsouris instead. (Although there is no true "mountain" in that part of Paris, it is a bit hilly with the Butte-aux-Cailles nearby.)

The park seemed very spacious and nicely designed for strolling. There's a good-sized lake, which was almost entirely frozen over, much to the consternation of the ducks and geese who live there:

We couldn't believe how much snow was still on the ground in the park. In our part of town you barely see any of it left. We had fun watching these children "sledding" down this little hill on whatever plastic shopping bags they could find:

There was a "cascade" which I thought might be more impressive than it actually was judging by how many people were clustered around taking photos of it... and of course this is all man-made:

The parc looked very peaceful with its winter cloak of snow:

Hopefully we'll come back sometime in the warmer weather... might be a good place for a picnic if they allow you to picnic on the grass as they do in the Parc Monceau. There's also a Theatre Guignol with regular shows... even on snowy January Sundays!

P.S. It rained overnight and the temperatures have risen to a "balmy" 4 degrees Celsius so I suspect most of this picturesque snow has been washed away.

HOW TO GET THERE:

The park is in the 14th arrondissment, accessible by RER B, stop at Cité Universitaire.

A stroll through the Butte-aux-Cailles

On Sunday, it was still cold but not as viciously cold as it has been for the past few weeks, so Georges and I decided to head down to the 13ème for a walk through the Butte-aux-Cailles quartier and a restorative cup of hot tea at my friend Aimee's place, L'Oisive Thé. (Okay, I'll admit I was lured there in part by Aimee's morning Twitter post that she had just baked a raspberry coffee cake. Her baking totally rocks!)

We got there ("there" being the metro stop at Place d'Italie) too late in the day to enjoy the local Sunday marché so instead we just wandered around some of the side streets adjacent to Rue Bobillot on our way to the tea shop.

This row of buildings with their pink and blue window shutters and matching streetlamps caught my eye.

At the salon de thé, Georges and I decided to try the raspberry coffee cake and two different kinds of tea. I'm terrible at remembering which teas I've ordered, and each time I go there I get something different, but I've always enjoyed whatever I've had. And the coffee cake did NOT disappoint us, either.

Aimee is also a wonderful knitter, and once a week she has a knitting group which meets at the shop. Here are a few of her creations for very tiny people.

After our tea-break, Georges said he wanted to show me something having to do with fleurs. I didn't quite catch what he was talking about but of course if he wants to take me somewhere new in the city, I'm eager to go there. I thought it was going to be a flower market or something like that, but instead it was this totally adorable little labyrinth of small streets, all with the names of flowers.

Doesn't look like your typical Parisian street with your typical Parisian homes. It's like a small world apart. The buildings only have 3 floors and all seem to have the iron fences in front. With the brick and stucco, they are the opposite of the more grand Haussmanian stone buildings you see in much of the city.

One home had these birdcages hanging outside (no birds in them at the moment, not in this cold weather!) The one on the right looked purely functional but I loved the antique one on the left. Many of the homes still had their original Art Nouveau glass "roof" over the doorways.

We turned one corner and THIS charming little place greeted us. I totally want to live here now. It's so quiet even with a few tourists like us wandering around with cameras. You don't even feel like you're in a city, let alone Paris!

One of many charming doorways. No matter how long I live here, there is something about these blue and white street signs and house number signs that I just love.

Close-up on the iron door decoration -- also in a beautiful floral theme.

HOW TO GET THERE:

To L'Oisive Thé:

• Metro stop Place d'Italie (many bus lines also go there), take sortie #1. Then walk down Rue Bobillot until you see a small park. Make a right onto Rue de la Butte aux Cailles and go one block to the tea shop on the corner.
• Metro stop Corvisart. Walk down Rue Eugene Atget (or Rue des Cinq Diamants) to Rue Jonas. Turn right from Rue Jonas onto Rue Samson, then a quick left to Rue Jean Marie Jégo. The tea shop is at the end of the street on the right.

To the cute "flower street" quartier, called the Cité Florale:

• Take RER B to Cité Universitaire which is at the edge of Parc Montsouris (we walked there also, photos of that tomorrow). Walk along Boulevard Jourdan with the parc on your left, then make a left onto Rue de la Cité Universitaire along the parc. Make a right onto Rue Liard. At an intersection, follow Rue Auguste Lançon. Then go right at Rue Brillat-Savarin, and all the little "fleur" streets will be on your left. Just wander around and enjoy!
• Alternately, take Metro 7 to Maison Blanche, then take Rue de Tage until it becomes Rue Brillat-Savarin and follow directions (above) from there.
• If you are checking Maps.Google.fr or RATP.fr to map your way there, use Rue des Orchidées in postal code 75013 as your reference point.

Making a liar out of me

I just spent part of the holidays back in NJ shoveling snow (and bitching about it) and telling my family how it almost NEVER snows in Paris, at least not so's you'd really notice it.

So naturally... it's been snowing, REALLY snowing, all morning. No major accumulation per se (nothing like we typically get in the Northeastern U.S.), but enough that our gardienne scattered some salt on the cobblestones in our courtyard, and I had to sweep the step before the boys came home for lunch so it wouldn't be so slippery.

I've been waiting for it to stop so I could go out to the bank and do a little food shopping and laundry; now I'm thinking I may get stuck doing those things while it snows, as it shows no signs of stopping right now.

Of course the kids are totally wired up from the snow... they came home screeching with delight as they pelted each other, and their nou-nou, with little snowballs. Oh, to be young and delighted by snow again! While I do appreciate that the snow makes everything prettier in Paris, and I won't have to shovel here... I've spent too many cold winters freezing my keister off while digging my car out of knee-deep snowdrifts to get a thrill out of snow now when I see it.

Photo, above left: Courtyard covered in powdered "sugar"

Photo, just above: Snow on bamboo

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Three hours later: still snowing. I can't believe it, but it is.

Off with their heads

On the eve of Halloween, what could be more fitting than a virtual visit to a cemetery and some creepy TRUE stories about its "inhabitants"?

As most people know, the French invented la Guillotine as a way of making executions more "humane"; it was put it into official practice in 1792, and they made regular use of it over the centuries. In fact, it was still being used for capital punishment in France until the last beheading in 1977 (the death penalty was not abolished in France, however, until 1981). No period was perhaps more prolific than during "the Terror" in the early years of the French Revolution.

The Terror lasted from June 1793 until July 1794. The young democracy in France could not withstand the insanity that followed the initial overthrow of the monarchy, newly established democratic rules of law were cast aside and large scale public beheadings began as a means of "saving" the Revolution's cause. Of course, Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette were the most famous casualties of the Terror. Robespierre took power in the government, and a Tribunal sentenced thousands to death by guillotine for little or no reason, and what's more the beheadings were not limited to the nobility. It is estimated that as many as 40,000 people lost their heads and their lives at the guillotine during the Terror.

Most of these were executed at what is now Place de la Concorde, but another guillotine was set up at Place du Trone near Place de la Nation in what is now the 12th arrondissement of Paris. In a six-week period in June-July 1794, about 55 people a day were killed there, with their bodies (and severed heads) thrown into mass graves at the Picpus Cemetery. The sister and mother of General Lafayette's wife were among those beheaded and tossed into the mass graves; his wife requested that when she died, she be buried at Picpus to be near her family, and Lafayette is buried there alongside his wife, an American flag flying over his grave at Lafayette's own request.

Among those executed were 16 Carmelite nuns and over 180 other women, as well over 1100 men from all walks of life; 1,306 in total. The nobles were in the minority in this group, most of whom were men and women "of the people" as described on a plaque in the cemetery. In the chapel, there are two walls covered with stone inscriptions of the names and professions of all the victims.

In what can only be called poetic justice, Robespierre was kicked out of his job in an upheaval at the Convention and then executed without trial by the guillotine on July 27, 1794, thus ending the Reign of Terror at last. However, Robespierre himself was not guillotined at Picpus nor buried in the cemetery there; he was placed in a cemetery at what is now the Place de Goubeaux and later his bones were accidentally moved to the Paris Catacombs with so many others.

The cemetery at Picpus was later purchased in secret by a noblewoman in 1797, whose brother was buried in the mass graves. In 1803 more family members bought up the rest of the adjoining land and it was turned into a small private cemetery where some noble families still bury their dead today.

Address: 35 rue de Picpus, 75012 Paris. Admission: 3 euros and you get a small flyer in the language of your choice with the history on one side and a map on the other.

A very deep well as you enter the courtyard at Picpus:

A rather violent garden angel, attacking an imp of Satan:

One wall with the names of the 1,306 inscribed (there is a another on the opposite wall):

If you look more closely you'll see that people from all walks of life were executed here, from nobles, soldiers and policeman to poets, domestics, priests, farmers and porcelain painters, all sentenced to the guillotine without trial and probably without evidence of their "crimes" against the State:

The body count, broken down by male/female and categories:

The mass gravesites:

Family tomb of a noblewoman from the mid-1800s; a woman with a lot of titles! Clearly, not all the nobles were wiped out by the Terror:

On the same tomb, some very pretty ironwork in the form of a cross on a door:

And the oddest thing of all, something I don't think I have ever seen in any French cemetery -- an old wooden cross as a grave marker, the writing that was once painted on now faded and peeled beyond recognition:

Like something you'd find in an old rural cemetery in the U.S. rather than where I spotted it, surrounded by the usual French above-ground tombs. Is there someone actually buried here beneath this cross? Who knows?

Should come with a warning label

I've been in an "Angelina Coma" all afternoon. I had a lovely lunch with a classmate from my old French class back home; she is in town with her husband and two adorable little girls, celebrating a milestone birthday (I won't say how old as a lady never reveals her friend's age!)

She suggested we meet at Angelina for lunch and of course, the ever-famous chocolat chaud which in my opinion is the only reason to go there as the service is mediocre, the decor is aging, and the rest of the food is overpriced and rather average. However, once again the hot chocolate did not disappoint, and it's still as scrumptious and worth the calories as ever.

Except about an hour after I got home, I was here at my desk working and suddenly I could NOT keep my eyes open! It's like the sugar high dropped right out from under me, leaving me with a brain-numbing fatigue.

I did the only sensible thing possible; I took a nap. That stuff is nearly lethal and they ought to warn you about the after effects: "May cause sudden urge to curl up on a bed next to a schizophrenic cat".

Beauty school dropout

Oh, one other tale from my morning at social security. As we stepped off the bus on our way to the social security office, I noticed a girl who nearly flew off the bus in her efforts to get wherever she was going, and quickly. I noticed her because she was pulling a small suitcase on wheels behind her, and I thought, "There's no train station near here, so what's her rush?" As we moved down the street closer to the building we were looking for, I saw more girls with wheeled suitcases, all hurrying like mad down the street in the same direction. Curiouser and curiouser. As we got closer to the building's entrance, Georges and I both saw this big crowd outside the doors and said to ourselves, Merde, it looks like we'll be waiting in line a very long time this morning, which we had kind of expected might happen especially after my 4+ hour wait to apply for my carte de séjour back in August.

There seemed an abnormally high number of young girls hanging out in packs in front of social security, many of them with suitcases or other big bags. Strange -- who brings LUGGAGE to social security? Should I have packed an overnight bag, I wondered out loud to Georges. Nearly all of them were wearing some variation of skinny black jeans, black sweaters or jackets, boots and the requisite scarf. Lots of big jewelry. A fair number were smoking. Even more seemed to have elaborately frosted or colored hair and too much makeup. Think Madonna in Desperately Seeking Susan with a hint of Melanie Griffith and Joan Cusack in Working Girl (only a tad less 80s banker-style) and you can picture the kind of girls I'm talking about, only French... young, mostly pretty, but just this side of trailer trash.

I couldn't understand what was up with all these young girls -- and about three young boys -- all hanging out with their baggage waiting to get into the social security office of all things.

Then we saw the sign over the twin doorways to the building. Lycée Professionnel Privé Coiffure Esthétique. Ahhhhh! It makes sense now... it's a BEAUTY SCHOOL!

That's how we were only 4th in line going into the social security office, which shares the building with the beauty school. The other 100 or so people were waiting to go in and become the next great Parisian coiffeuse. I joked to Georges that maybe he'd have time to run in and get a free haircut.

Or maybe not. Some of those girls were really scary-looking. If I walked into a salon and one of them wanted to cut my hair, I think I'd run for the nearest exit. Remember this?

Feels like fall

It really feels like fall in Paris today. It's a Saturday morning, and I just got home from doing some typical Saturday morning errands. First I went to the bank to make a deposit and to ask them once again (I did this over a month ago already) to please change the name on my account, as they are still referring to me as Mademoiselle H, not Madame H-M. On the way to the bank I had to pass by the mairie and there were the usual wedding parties waiting out front for their turn to be married (this time I noticed one VERY pregnant bride... oh well!)

Then I wandered through a small marché and bought a new black shoulder bag for 19€ because my current one is falling apart. I stopped at the fruit seller and bought some limes for our weekend Coronas. I bought some new socks for the Little Guy as his seem to keep disappearing somewhere. And then I stopped at the dry cleaner to drop off some shirts and pick up some jackets before heading home.

What I noticed along the way was how normal Paris feels again, how energized. Lots more people and more normal traffic on the streets. Cooler temperatures seem to give people more "oomph" as they go through their Saturday morning errands. All the shops are open now (the rotisserie chicken guy is back from vacances finally, and those chickens smelled SO good!) And tomorrow we'll go to the Louvre as it's the first Sunday of the month and admission is free (we enter through the metro station instead of the pyramid to avoid the tourists).

It's good to have the real Paris back again. I missed it!

Resurrected

Paris is slowly coming back to life again.

August is the month when Paris is nearly stone dead. Seriously, if you've ever been to Paris in August then you know what I'm talking about: it's practically a cemetery at this time of year. A majority of Parisians choose to take their vacances in August (although some do go in July or at other times during the year). Shops and restaurants thoughtfully post notices in their windows to let patrons know they'll be closed until such-and-such a date. And if you forgot to pick up your dry cleaning before your local pressing guy took off for the month, you're out of luck until September.

In August, there are noticably fewer cars on the streets and people on the sidewalks... unless of course you're passing by the usual tourist attractions in which case there will be MORE people -- just not Parisians. (I normally advise friends to avoid coming to Paris in August for precisely this reason: it's all tourists and very few locals, and you just don't get that real Parisian experience in August.)

I actually rather like Paris in August. It seems easier to get a table at a restaurant (if they're open, that is) and the lines don't seem as long at the movie theatres. There's a quieter feel to the city both day and night, and it makes for pleasant walks... especially when you're walking hand-in-hand with someone you love.

But now, there are signs of life again. Our neighbors came back with their two little boys, and today I spotted the nanny with them. Restaurants and stores are reopening. The little épicerie next door was having some work done in preparation for reopening soon. Traffic is picking up. Everywhere you go, there are posters and signs in shop windows advertising products for the rentrée (i.e., back-to-school), and you see mothers with their children picking out new backpacks, notebooks and other school supplies, because school starts next week.

The energy of the city even feels different now. It's got that almost-September vibe again. We're getting ready for back-to-school and back-to-normal at our house, too, including planning and preparing for a few special dates this month: (1) the Little Guy's 7th birthday, and (2) a little champagne fête with our friends and family here in France, to celebrate our wedding with them since they couldn't be at the actual wedding.

So, that lazy, sleepy Paris of August is nearly behind us once again. Although I'm eager for that rush of energy I always seem to get in September, I'll miss the way Paris felt in August (despite the lousy weather), because Georges and I had some extra alone-time together to relax and just BE.

But all good things must come to an end, as the saying goes. Real life calls. Time to leave the summer behind and go back to reality... until the next holidays, at least!

Alors, let the rentrée begin.

A little night music

Just so you know I'm not totally obsessed with the upcoming wedding (except to say it's TWO WEEKS from TOMORROW that we fly!), I thought I'd talk about la Fête de la Musique, an annual two-day event where you can find live music out on the streets of Paris in pretty much every quartier.

Last night, Georges and I took the Little Guy over to the Abbesses area of Montmartre, where we knew there would be a lot going on. Did I say "a lot"? That's an understatement: it was like one giant neighborhood block party, celebrating the first day of summer. Many of the restaurants had put out extra tables on the sidewalks, and in some of the squares there were barbecues grilling sausages (we had some spicy ones that tasted like pure wasabi so I don't know what spice was in there, but WOW! did my sinuses clear up!) and there were little stands everywhere selling beer and even crêpes.

With a small child in tow, we of course started and ended our evening early (home well before dark) but the Little Guy had the best seat in the house when he rode on his Papa's shoulders during part of our hours of strolling and listening to the different musical acts located every half-block or so all through the neighborhood. A DJ posted up on the roof over one restaurant seemed to be a big hit, with people dancing in the street below.

A little ice cream topped off the evening (and helped ease the "burn" of those sausages), and we enjoyed our stroll back down the hill to our part of Paris. Tonight, Georges and I might head back out later to catch a bit of music over a glass of wine or a lite bite to eat... the weather is still warm and it really feels like summer has finally arrived.

And now I'm in the mood for a real American-style barbecue in a couple of weeks, with my family. Maybe we'll "cook out" for the night before the wedding... it's not fancy, but it's home.

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Editor's note: After posting this, Georges told me the event was really only the one night, on the Saturday only. I don't know why I thought it was for two nights. Silly me.

Another French paradox

Volumes have been written about the French "paradox". Usually this refers to the fact that while modern nutritional science suggests that it's sheer folly to eat lots of breads and cheeses, drink lots of wine, and consume nearly raw or actually raw beef because you're likely to either die of blocked arteries, end up at an AA meeting, or contract Ecoli from the un(der) cooked meat, the French have been living like this for centuries and continue to be among the healthiest people on the planet. And as long as they live in the "classic" French way (which includes daily walking, eating in moderation and eating lots of fresh produce and abstaining from processed foods), statistically speaking they seem to defy all the odds (even with the penchant for smoking).

Yet paradoxes in French culture are not limited to the food and wine. There are paradoxes everywhere you turn, like in the language where "there is the rule, and then there is the exception to the rule". Rules like "nouns ending in -e take the feminine gender... except when they don't".

It's enough to make you insane some times, and what's funnier (except when it's not funny at all) is that the French KNOW these paradoxes exist everywhere in their culture, and in typical Gallic fashion will just shrug them off: "Beh, oui... c'est normal."

This rule/exception logic also applies to the sometimes mind-numbing bureaucratic machine that is France. According to a survey from the end of 2003, 20% of employed people are employed as fonctionnaires, or civil servants. And those fonctionnaires take their job security seriously. The French, as a collective body, seem to like having rules, structures and procedures for doing things... at least judging by the sheer volume of documents one must produce, copy or fill out to get things done. Yet the paradox is that the French, as individuals, seem to enjoy being the ones to bend or even break the rules... they want to be the exception, the one who got around this or that regulation, or the one who got a fonctionnaire to go the extra mile. When you're THAT lucky person, you get to feel like you scored one for the Little People.

As I immerse myself more and more in French culture, I am becoming more intimately acquainted with the Paradox of the Red Tape... and with the frustration of having to deal with fonctionnaires and their little power games. Added to my periodic frustrations is my inability to sometimes communicate fully with the people with whom I must be able to communicate, because my French, although improving, is still not up to the task of withstanding the wrath of an indignant civil servant.

Case in point today: while trying to get a simple apostille on some documents to make them valid in the U.S., a fonctionnaire at the Palais de Justice MADE ME CRY.

I am not going to bore you with the details of what was happening or why I cried, but suffice to say I was mortified, confused and monumentally frustrated all at the same time.

The paradox was, that my tears ended up putting me in that category -- just this once -- of People who Beat the System. One of the fonctionnaires (not the one who made me cry with her witchy attitude) took pity on me, made some phone calls, and actually left her cubicle to walk me to another office where she spoke to another very nice fonctionnaire about my paperwork dilemma. In minutes we had a workable solution that, although it will require me to come back tomorrow with more papers, is a small price to pay for having had someone actually bend over backwards to HELP me, and to do it with sensitivity and a smile. Walking back towards her office, she admitted that things are confusing in France.

It was as I was preparing to leave that I noticed the title chiseled over the doorways adjacent to the "apostille" kiosk at the Palais de Justice:

Chambre des Criées. The Chamber of Screams*.

I know just how they feel.

In which wine was served in baby bottles

You have to love a fondue restaurant that serves its wine in BABY BOTTLES. It may not be elegant but it sure is a novelty. Yes, I am totally serious, you read me right: baby bottles. Last night I went to Le Refuge des Fondues on rue des Trois Frères in the 18th (not far from Metro Abbesses and the foot of Sacre Coeur) with assorted blogger friends, old and new.

The food is average, the wine comes in two flavors (red and white), and the waiters have personalities which completely defy description. If they seat you on the benches against the walls, you have to climb over (or step on) the tables to get to your seat (I opted for a seat on the aisle, knowing how accident-prone I can be!) And apparently there is a practical reason for the bottles; it saves the establishment some kind of imposed city tax they'd have to pay PER STEMMED WINE GLASS otherwise. These French, you have to admire their creativity when it comes to getting around the tax man; it's a real art form.

Of course I forgot my camera, so this evidence inadmissible in court photo is coming to you courtesy of Sam-formerly-de-Bretagne, whose new private blog I will not link to, as Sam is in some kind of witness protection program. Or maybe not, and she just wants her privacy. Which I totally respect.

And yes that's yours truly on the right with Katia of the world-renowned Katia and Kyliemac Podcast (where they will no doubt be discussing this outing in raunchy detail in a future cast). As other photos come in, I may steal share them. I seem to be getting lazier with my blogging of late, what with wedding plans in the foreground of my mind all the time. Which is why it was so great to have a crazy night out with some of the funnest (is that a word?) people I know in Paris.