The Bold Soul: A Writer's Life in Paris

Digging deeper into Chagall

Chagall isn't Chagall without a violin-playing goat. Read more →

Not that I need this, but...

Still single and living in the New York metropolitan area? Lonely and tired of it? Looking for new ways to meet that special someone? Why not head to the airport? You might not even need to buy a ticket. According to this article, Newark Airport (sorry, I'll never get used to calling it "Liberty International"; it's NEWARK for cryin' out loud) is the 3rd-best airport in which to find a date. #1 and #2? Orlando and Miami. Where they have sunshine, ambiance, beaches, Mickey Mouse and a lot of palm trees. But Newark, THIRD? The 4th and 5th picks were Philly and Beantown, what's up with that, too? Apparently this all has to do with a new dating site called MeetAtTheAirport.com. Haven't looked at it and don't intend to. But hey, I guess that's as unique a concept as any to try and meet someone new and potentially datable. I mean, as long as the person you're hooking up with doesn't have explosives hidden in their underwear. I can't help wondering if the only reason Newark made the top 5 was because of all the delays that are a normal fact of life when you're flying out of an airport... Read more →

Taking it to the banque

About a week ago, I had a message on my voice mail, a woman's voice speaking rapid French where I did not understand one single word. I listened to it 7 or 8 times, but I got nothing, except that I thought someone wanted a rendez-vous, a meeting. But who, where and why? The first possibility was: a wrong number. She spoke so fast that I couldn't even judge whether or not she had mentioned my name, so maybe she was looking for someone else. Another possibliity: the Powers That Be in France, the ones Who Govern Nationality, might have called with questions or to request my presence for a meeting, although normally I would think they'd contact me in writing for something like that. You know, being fonctionnaires and all, I don't think they'd bother telephoning when sending an official letter written in very formal French would make them feel even more important. But, I was stumped. So when Georges got home from work, I asked him to listen to the message, and in 2 seconds he had it: it was my conseiller de clientèle at my bank, and she wanted me to call her back. First of all,... Read more →

Instead of a Vespa

I wish I was the kind of girl who felt safe riding a motorcycle, because I think it would be really cool to be zipping around Paris on a Vespa, with a cute helmet, wearing high heels, a skirt and a scarf, of course. If you don't know what a Vespa is, it's THIS: Although they don't sell you the sugar box for carrying packages. But alas, I have always been terrified of motorcycles and there is really no compelling reason for me to try to face down that particular fear. Recently, I spotted something interesting that, if I ever was in the market for cheap, small transportation in Paris, I would consider: This is the Renault Twizy (I think you'd pronounce that "Tweezy" in France) which is an electric vehicle designed for city dwellers. You can have a choice of a light or heavy engine for more power, and apparently you don't even need a driver's license to drive it. (Although I think THAT might be a mistake, considering it handles like a car rather than a moped or bicycle.) It's a 2-seater but the passenger would actually ride BEHIND the driver, although it doesn't look like there's a... Read more →

Because I never get tired of them

Looking down Rue André Antoine from Rue des Abbesses Well, I should never I never get tired of LOOKING at the staircases in Montmartre. Climbing them or descending them? Another matter entirely. Let's just say I don't miss that part of living at the top of the Butte, and my hip and knee joints are thanking me and Georges for deciding to move to a less steep quartier. Now, when I do have to make the hike up the hill to our rental apartment, it feels a lot more like exercise and a lot less like torture. P.S. And hey, looks like we've had over 600,000 blog visitors. That's another giant step on the staircase to 1 MILLION! Woo-hoo! Read more →

I love our neighbors

I have to say, I love the neighbors in my part of Paris. Just around the corner, on Rue de Bruxelles in the 9th, is the building where Emile Zola lived, wrote "J'accuse", and eventually died. He is buried very nearby, in the Cimitière de Montmartre. Just a short walk away at 54 Rue des Abbesses is one of Vincent Van Gogh's residences, and Max Ernst lived at 75 Rue Lepic. Picasso. Pissaro. Utrillo. Renoir. Dali. Toulouse-Lautrec. Modigliani. Degas. Valadon. Matisse. They all lived and worked in Montmartre. Composer Erik Satie lived on Rue Courtot. Writers Jean Cocteau, Apollinaire. Singers Dalida and Edith Piaf. The list of brilliant creatives is long and distinguished. And whether or not they actually lived in this part of Paris during their lifetimes, their final resting places may be here in the cemetery: Alexandre Dumas, fils. Sacha Guitry. Gustave Moreau. Nijinsky, the famous Russian ballet dancer. Offenbach. Stendhal. François Truffaut. Berlioz. So much talent, so much creative energy in one little corner of this city. Maybe, just maybe, I belong here, too. Or, I will. Someday soon. Read more →