Paris
Showing posts with label Paris. Show all posts
'Might as well blog since I can't sleep
Talk about some writer's blogger's block! I don't know what's gotten into me these days, but every time I remind myself that I have a blog to keep up with, I feel less and less inspired to write anything. I have a couple of posts just lingering about in my draft box, composed of meaningless drivel and pointless remarks on trite, day-to-day encounters. It sucks to feel so uninspired, especially when there's been a lot of socializing going on around these parts lately. Perhaps my lack of inspiration is coming from my current state of disarray about the transition I'm making from student to graduate (of sorts). Classes are over, and my mind is in a sort of state of shock as it tries to come to terms with its newfound freedom. Now, instead of finding interest (or disinterest) in the smallest of things - like the gloomy weather or the last movie I saw, it's feeling a little overwhelmed with the bigger picture - like what in the heck am I supposed to do next, and how do I spend my days without spending all our money? But as those latter, more profound questions are neither here nor there, it seems pointless to waste an entire post on trying to answer them. Instead, let me talk about the fun times that I've been having around Paris.
Last Sunday, Gui and I spent the afternoon with his dad's side of his family at a birthday party for his great-aunt and great-uncle who were celebrating a combined 160 years of life. I remember meeting them for the first time at our wedding; they hugged me and kissed me like I was already family, and then spoke to me in rapid-fire French while I widened my eyes and grinned. Seeing them again this time was not any different, except that after saying only a word or two in French, they praised me on my progress. (How on earth could they know that I've progressed after only saying, "Bonjour, oui, très bien, merci. Et, vous?") Of course there was a six-course meal served, songs were performed by the sons and daughters of the hosts, and they even hired a theater group to perform a few scenes. It was unlike any birthday party I've ever attended, but it was really enjoyable. Gui's family are all incredibly generous and kind, and I'm finding myself easily opening up to them and feeling more and more a part of the family. It's a good feeling.
On Monday, I headed over to La Sorbonne to read an excerpt from a story and answer questions about it during my fifteen-minute oral exam. This part of the test counts for something like 30% of my final grade, but I was confident after the "très bien, Sarah" comment my professor gave me when it was all over. I breathed a sigh of relief, and went along with a few other relieved students to celebrate our accomplishment with a tasty lunch and casual conversation about how hard learning a new language (especially French) is. It was a really great way to end the semester, I thought, even if I never have the chance to see any of them again.
Of course Tuesday was spent watching the tides turn and our new president take office. Apparently, all of Paris was in search of a place to watch history being made, which left us stuck outside of an overcrowded bar and in search of a TV. We found hope in a kitshy, American diner that appeared like a neon beacon at the end of the same street as the bar. We arrived before the crowds and snagged a table front-and-center with a perfect view of the screen. Over fries, onion rings and mozzarella sticks, we watched it all unfold and then raised our glasses of red French table wine to toast to our new president. I doubt I'll be forgetting that moment anytime soon.
Wednesday nights are spent with the knitting group at L'Oisive Thé, and are designated "cook your own dinner, I'm going to knit" nights. (I don't think Gui minds, actually.) Since finishing my first scarf, I've become somewhat of an addict about knitting. I've spent hours and hours pouring over the Ravelry website, gushing at some the things people can make with a couple of needles and a ball of yarn. The possibilities are endless, which makes it so hard for me to choose what to tackle next. I'm realizing, though that it's not a cheap hobby to have and that a little investment is required to get started on the more rewarding projects. I recently ordered a set of Addi-click needles and am now anxiously awaiting their arrival so I can get started on some of those more challenging patterns. I'll admit that half of the fun is picking out patterns and choosing the yarn - I never knew there were so many choices!
I picked up some sale yarn on Thursday afternoon after a trip to the first cupcake boutique in Paris. Sam invited me to meet up with her, Leesa and Dawn to scope out Cupcakes & Co in the 11th arrondissement. I honestly didn't have very high expectations, so the cold, dense cupcake I dug into wasn't such a disappointment. The cupcakes were pretty, the frosting was tasty and made with true-blue Philly cream cheese, but the final product wasn't really worth raving about. I still had a good time and got some cheap yarn out of it, too!
This weekend turned out to be jam-packed with fun stuff with fun peeps. Gui and I checked out Slumdog Millionaire on Friday and loved it. I cried like a baby, of course, but totally dug the whole bollywood influence. The soundtrack will be mine! We finished off the night with a tex-mex dinner and a mosquito cocktail at El Rancho, which hit the spot. Saturday's lunch date with Juliet and Marc turned into an all-day event. We started out at Les Pâtes Vivantes (as usual, thank you, Mr. Lebovitz) for a [very] late lunch, and after being shooed out of there before we could have dessert, we headed over to Île Saint-Louis for some delicious Berthillon ice cream. We opted out of going bowling and decided to skip right on over to happy hour at one of our favorite bars in the 5th. Juliet introduced us to the best mojitos in Paris (and cheapest, too!) while she ran down a list of all the things she's lost to the streets or cabs or bars of the big city. There was some sort of blackout in the bar, so we downed our drinks and headed over to Belleville where we ended the eventful night in the company of old friends and preppy-dressed punk-rockers.
I managed to roll out of bed today in time to meet up for a 2 p.m. jazz brunch on the same street as the cupcake shop. It's the first time I've ever been to a buffet in Paris, and I'm pretty sure it won't be the last. There was a great variety of food (although not much in the form of traditional breakfast grub), bottomless OJ, wine, coffee and tea, and a slightly lacking, yet still delicious spread of desserts. The music wasn't without praise either, and I found the entire ambiance of the restaurant strikingly harmonious. It'll definitely be at the top of the list of places to take people visiting Paris in search of a good Sunday brunch. It's the closest I've seen in Paris to the real deal (although, it'd be nicer if they swapped out the bottomless wine for bottomless mimosas...or bloody marys).
Last Sunday, Gui and I spent the afternoon with his dad's side of his family at a birthday party for his great-aunt and great-uncle who were celebrating a combined 160 years of life. I remember meeting them for the first time at our wedding; they hugged me and kissed me like I was already family, and then spoke to me in rapid-fire French while I widened my eyes and grinned. Seeing them again this time was not any different, except that after saying only a word or two in French, they praised me on my progress. (How on earth could they know that I've progressed after only saying, "Bonjour, oui, très bien, merci. Et, vous?") Of course there was a six-course meal served, songs were performed by the sons and daughters of the hosts, and they even hired a theater group to perform a few scenes. It was unlike any birthday party I've ever attended, but it was really enjoyable. Gui's family are all incredibly generous and kind, and I'm finding myself easily opening up to them and feeling more and more a part of the family. It's a good feeling.
On Monday, I headed over to La Sorbonne to read an excerpt from a story and answer questions about it during my fifteen-minute oral exam. This part of the test counts for something like 30% of my final grade, but I was confident after the "très bien, Sarah" comment my professor gave me when it was all over. I breathed a sigh of relief, and went along with a few other relieved students to celebrate our accomplishment with a tasty lunch and casual conversation about how hard learning a new language (especially French) is. It was a really great way to end the semester, I thought, even if I never have the chance to see any of them again.
Of course Tuesday was spent watching the tides turn and our new president take office. Apparently, all of Paris was in search of a place to watch history being made, which left us stuck outside of an overcrowded bar and in search of a TV. We found hope in a kitshy, American diner that appeared like a neon beacon at the end of the same street as the bar. We arrived before the crowds and snagged a table front-and-center with a perfect view of the screen. Over fries, onion rings and mozzarella sticks, we watched it all unfold and then raised our glasses of red French table wine to toast to our new president. I doubt I'll be forgetting that moment anytime soon.
Wednesday nights are spent with the knitting group at L'Oisive Thé, and are designated "cook your own dinner, I'm going to knit" nights. (I don't think Gui minds, actually.) Since finishing my first scarf, I've become somewhat of an addict about knitting. I've spent hours and hours pouring over the Ravelry website, gushing at some the things people can make with a couple of needles and a ball of yarn. The possibilities are endless, which makes it so hard for me to choose what to tackle next. I'm realizing, though that it's not a cheap hobby to have and that a little investment is required to get started on the more rewarding projects. I recently ordered a set of Addi-click needles and am now anxiously awaiting their arrival so I can get started on some of those more challenging patterns. I'll admit that half of the fun is picking out patterns and choosing the yarn - I never knew there were so many choices!
I picked up some sale yarn on Thursday afternoon after a trip to the first cupcake boutique in Paris. Sam invited me to meet up with her, Leesa and Dawn to scope out Cupcakes & Co in the 11th arrondissement. I honestly didn't have very high expectations, so the cold, dense cupcake I dug into wasn't such a disappointment. The cupcakes were pretty, the frosting was tasty and made with true-blue Philly cream cheese, but the final product wasn't really worth raving about. I still had a good time and got some cheap yarn out of it, too!
This weekend turned out to be jam-packed with fun stuff with fun peeps. Gui and I checked out Slumdog Millionaire on Friday and loved it. I cried like a baby, of course, but totally dug the whole bollywood influence. The soundtrack will be mine! We finished off the night with a tex-mex dinner and a mosquito cocktail at El Rancho, which hit the spot. Saturday's lunch date with Juliet and Marc turned into an all-day event. We started out at Les Pâtes Vivantes (as usual, thank you, Mr. Lebovitz) for a [very] late lunch, and after being shooed out of there before we could have dessert, we headed over to Île Saint-Louis for some delicious Berthillon ice cream. We opted out of going bowling and decided to skip right on over to happy hour at one of our favorite bars in the 5th. Juliet introduced us to the best mojitos in Paris (and cheapest, too!) while she ran down a list of all the things she's lost to the streets or cabs or bars of the big city. There was some sort of blackout in the bar, so we downed our drinks and headed over to Belleville where we ended the eventful night in the company of old friends and preppy-dressed punk-rockers.
I managed to roll out of bed today in time to meet up for a 2 p.m. jazz brunch on the same street as the cupcake shop. It's the first time I've ever been to a buffet in Paris, and I'm pretty sure it won't be the last. There was a great variety of food (although not much in the form of traditional breakfast grub), bottomless OJ, wine, coffee and tea, and a slightly lacking, yet still delicious spread of desserts. The music wasn't without praise either, and I found the entire ambiance of the restaurant strikingly harmonious. It'll definitely be at the top of the list of places to take people visiting Paris in search of a good Sunday brunch. It's the closest I've seen in Paris to the real deal (although, it'd be nicer if they swapped out the bottomless wine for bottomless mimosas...or bloody marys).
I'm here
I haven't been much of a blogger these days, have I? Well, there's no real explanation except for maybe that I'm spending my blog time doing other things or that I haven't been all that inspired to write lately. Maybe it's winter in Paris. I just don't really like the cold. Or the gloom. And, there's been a lot of both around here lately. Talking to a girl in my phonetics class the other day, we decided that the reason why we feel like Paris is Russia right now is because we don't have a car in a relatively warm garage to walk to in the mornings. We have a metro station a 5-10 minute walk away from home as our destination at 7:45 AM, when it's recently been at or below freezing. It just ain't fun.
I'm still taking my classes at La Sorbonne, which are coming to an end rather soon now. We have two weeks off for the holidays and then only one week of class in January before our big exams start around the 15th. Scary! Progress is slowly being made, I think, but I still have those days when my voice and tongue completely fail to work in any language. I am, however, finding that practice does make perfect, and the more I try to speak, the more I progress. Novel concept, I know. I had to go to our wedding photographer's shop today and as confident as I was about speaking to her before I got there, I felt like I stumbled over every other word once I was faced with actually speaking. Thankfully, she's incredibly sweet and patient (and hardworking, too - I heard her tell someone she'd be there on Saturday despite having family in town), so she indulged my choppy sentence structure with a smile and never once patronized me with corrections or funny looks. She also remembered my name right away, and reminded me how much she "adored" our wedding portraits. I remember when she was showing us the pictures for the first time, she kept remarking at how much the camera and light loved us. Flattery makes for good customers, I suppose, but she always seems sincere.
Besides my unceasing French lessons, we've been having quite the busy social lives of late. It seems that every weekend we've got things planned and even during the week, I find it necessary to check my calendar to be sure we're not "double booking" things. It's kind of strange. I think it's the upcoming holidays that have us so busy; since Thanksgiving and up until we head to the States for the holidays, it's a whirlwind of cocktails, friends, dinners and fêtes. Last weekend was completely filled with enjoying American food and drinks with new friends. We were celebrating the 200th episode of the Katia & Kyliemac podcast, which is frankly, quite a genius broadcast that these two creative geniuses host twice a week. (By the way, if you haven't checked it out and you're interested in expat life in France, you should give it a download.) They've got an amazing following of listeners who turned out from near and far to check out a live broadcasting of the historic episode, and we got to meet some really fantastic people and indulge in some really delicious fare in the process. Lucky us.
I've also (since last week) picked up a new hobby, which has been keeping me busy and often confused. It's knitting. My friend, Aimee has a beautiful tea salon in the 13th arrondissement of Paris where she hosts a weekly knitting group. She's a knitter (an amazing one, actually), and she offered to teach me and another friend to knit during the meet-up last week, and she did just that! I remember knitting and crocheting when I was younger - my grandma was always an inspiration for my creative side and she showed me once how to do it, but I didn't keep up with it as a hobby. Over the past couple of years, I've wanted to get more seriously into knitting - I've bought needles, yarn and a couple of books, and all I was lacking was a knowledgeable and patient teacher. Well, thank goodness that's exactly who Aimee is, and in between serving tea and soup, she gave me the introductory skill-set I needed to get started on my first project - a scarf. Since then I've been working almost daily on the piece, but every few rows I run into some kind of stitch-glitch and have to "frog," as they say, most of the work I've already completed. Still, it's been a rewarding and really fun hobby so far, and there's still so much I have to learn.
These next couple of weeks (THIRTEEN days!) are going to be pretty busy while we prepare for our trip to the US (and Gui's first American Christmas), but I plan on finding some time to blog. Christmas shopping is underway, and braving the cold is getting tougher and tougher for me. I just can't do it. All I can think of as I walk from my class to the metro is "home, heater, coffee; home, heater, coffee." We're trying to do some of our shopping online this year, though. Since we'll be arriving in Texas so late on the 23rd, we have to get most, if not all, of our gifts in Paris, which I'm not so happy about; besides having to brave frigid Paris temps, that also means that we'll be buying in euros and not dollars. I'm just hoping that the malls and Target will be open on Christmas Eve long enough for us to pick up any last-minute goodies. I seriously cannot wait!
I'm still taking my classes at La Sorbonne, which are coming to an end rather soon now. We have two weeks off for the holidays and then only one week of class in January before our big exams start around the 15th. Scary! Progress is slowly being made, I think, but I still have those days when my voice and tongue completely fail to work in any language. I am, however, finding that practice does make perfect, and the more I try to speak, the more I progress. Novel concept, I know. I had to go to our wedding photographer's shop today and as confident as I was about speaking to her before I got there, I felt like I stumbled over every other word once I was faced with actually speaking. Thankfully, she's incredibly sweet and patient (and hardworking, too - I heard her tell someone she'd be there on Saturday despite having family in town), so she indulged my choppy sentence structure with a smile and never once patronized me with corrections or funny looks. She also remembered my name right away, and reminded me how much she "adored" our wedding portraits. I remember when she was showing us the pictures for the first time, she kept remarking at how much the camera and light loved us. Flattery makes for good customers, I suppose, but she always seems sincere.
Besides my unceasing French lessons, we've been having quite the busy social lives of late. It seems that every weekend we've got things planned and even during the week, I find it necessary to check my calendar to be sure we're not "double booking" things. It's kind of strange. I think it's the upcoming holidays that have us so busy; since Thanksgiving and up until we head to the States for the holidays, it's a whirlwind of cocktails, friends, dinners and fêtes. Last weekend was completely filled with enjoying American food and drinks with new friends. We were celebrating the 200th episode of the Katia & Kyliemac podcast, which is frankly, quite a genius broadcast that these two creative geniuses host twice a week. (By the way, if you haven't checked it out and you're interested in expat life in France, you should give it a download.) They've got an amazing following of listeners who turned out from near and far to check out a live broadcasting of the historic episode, and we got to meet some really fantastic people and indulge in some really delicious fare in the process. Lucky us.
I've also (since last week) picked up a new hobby, which has been keeping me busy and often confused. It's knitting. My friend, Aimee has a beautiful tea salon in the 13th arrondissement of Paris where she hosts a weekly knitting group. She's a knitter (an amazing one, actually), and she offered to teach me and another friend to knit during the meet-up last week, and she did just that! I remember knitting and crocheting when I was younger - my grandma was always an inspiration for my creative side and she showed me once how to do it, but I didn't keep up with it as a hobby. Over the past couple of years, I've wanted to get more seriously into knitting - I've bought needles, yarn and a couple of books, and all I was lacking was a knowledgeable and patient teacher. Well, thank goodness that's exactly who Aimee is, and in between serving tea and soup, she gave me the introductory skill-set I needed to get started on my first project - a scarf. Since then I've been working almost daily on the piece, but every few rows I run into some kind of stitch-glitch and have to "frog," as they say, most of the work I've already completed. Still, it's been a rewarding and really fun hobby so far, and there's still so much I have to learn.
These next couple of weeks (THIRTEEN days!) are going to be pretty busy while we prepare for our trip to the US (and Gui's first American Christmas), but I plan on finding some time to blog. Christmas shopping is underway, and braving the cold is getting tougher and tougher for me. I just can't do it. All I can think of as I walk from my class to the metro is "home, heater, coffee; home, heater, coffee." We're trying to do some of our shopping online this year, though. Since we'll be arriving in Texas so late on the 23rd, we have to get most, if not all, of our gifts in Paris, which I'm not so happy about; besides having to brave frigid Paris temps, that also means that we'll be buying in euros and not dollars. I'm just hoping that the malls and Target will be open on Christmas Eve long enough for us to pick up any last-minute goodies. I seriously cannot wait!
Two days and counting!
Today, didn't start out particularly well. I was nearly late to my phonetics class, in which we had our first test on pronunciation. I haven't been to this class in two weeks (we were off for holidays and I had the my immigration stuff to deal with, so I'm not a complete slacker), so under-prepared is hardly sufficient to describe how ready I was for the test. In the end, I couldn't answer half of the questions and cringed at the sound of my voice trailing off into mumbles through the laboratory ear-phones. It sucked. But, apparently Tuesday is a favorite day among teachers for testing so my grammar teacher decided to hand us a three-page writing test not long after class that began. The test questions weren't too difficult, but I was taking my time answering them which left me with three minutes to finish an entire page of work when our time was up. By the time the clock struck noon, I had successfully bombed two tests.
But, there's nothing like some holiday cheer to turn a frown upside-down. And, when I saw these beauties outside my neighborhood grocery store, I couldn't help but feel merry.
After class, my sweet mother-in-law scooped me up from our apartment and we shuffled off to Auchan to pick up the big bird that I'm going to roast on Thursday. I've been so worried about this turkey - Will it be fresh? Will it be big enough? Will it fit in my oven...in my fridge? - but, my belle-mère took care of the talking and the voilailler handed over a magnificent turkey for our special day. It was fresh from this morning and ready for baking. And, perhaps the best part is that it cost a mere third of what I would have paid at an American specialty shop in Paris. I skipped out of the store with my 8kg (read: 16 lbs) turkey in-hand and a Texas-sized smile. The holidays and food make me so happy! As soon as I came home, I gave the bird a nice look over and crossed my fingers that it'd fit in the roasting pan I bought.
And it did! I quickly arranged her in the oven to be sure it was big enough. And it was! That's a turkey what was meant for Thanksgiving, and I can't wait to get started!
But, there's nothing like some holiday cheer to turn a frown upside-down. And, when I saw these beauties outside my neighborhood grocery store, I couldn't help but feel merry.
After class, my sweet mother-in-law scooped me up from our apartment and we shuffled off to Auchan to pick up the big bird that I'm going to roast on Thursday. I've been so worried about this turkey - Will it be fresh? Will it be big enough? Will it fit in my oven...in my fridge? - but, my belle-mère took care of the talking and the voilailler handed over a magnificent turkey for our special day. It was fresh from this morning and ready for baking. And, perhaps the best part is that it cost a mere third of what I would have paid at an American specialty shop in Paris. I skipped out of the store with my 8kg (read: 16 lbs) turkey in-hand and a Texas-sized smile. The holidays and food make me so happy! As soon as I came home, I gave the bird a nice look over and crossed my fingers that it'd fit in the roasting pan I bought.
And it did! I quickly arranged her in the oven to be sure it was big enough. And it was! That's a turkey what was meant for Thanksgiving, and I can't wait to get started!
Hey, look Mom! Snow!
Central-Texans can always remember the last time it snowed. Sure, there was that frosty mush in February 2004, but the last time it really snowed in Austin was back in 1985...or something. My mom has pictures of a fat, three-year-old me, bundled up in a pink coat and matching knit bonnet, sitting in a heap of white next to a two-foot snow man. I'll have to dig up that picture and post it someday. Today, we had the opportunity to snap a few photos of our own in the snow (but they didn't really turn out). There were no heaps of white covering cobblestone, but there was enough snow to make me feel like a kid who's never seen snow. And, since I can't really remember that day in 1985, I'd say that seeing snow for the first time from the warmth of your own living room window is really like seeing it for the first time. I'm pretty sure it snowed in Kansas and Dallas once while I was visiting family, too, but my excitement and awe never abate, and it somehow feels different now that I live here. I suppose if I'd grown up in a colder climate, or went skiing instead of sunbathing for the holidays, I'd feel less enamored by it all. But, I didn't. Neither did my mom, and since it's her birthday today, I called her the moment I laid my eyes on the falling snow (which was something like 6 AM for her) to wish her a happy birthday and share my childish excitement. Of course, she was still in bed and didn't answer her phone, but I left the standard ten-minute message and am looking forward to our conversation this evening.
Happy birthday, mum! Thank you for always radiating your young spirit, musical personality and infectious smiles. And, thanks for the snow. I love you!
Happy birthday, mum! Thank you for always radiating your young spirit, musical personality and infectious smiles. And, thanks for the snow. I love you!
Babies
This is definitely the year of babes in my group of friends. Three of my girlfriends from home have had or will be having a baby for the first time before the new year (although it wouldn't be a stretch if one of them held out into the first day or two of 2009). Having a kid was never something I ever aspired to do. That is, if one does aspire to bear children. I always swore I'd be single and childless at age thirty, living the great single life in a big city, doing as I please, answering to and for no one but myself. Funny how things change, isn't it? It's still sometimes strange to think that I'm married, that I am a wife. It's even stranger to think of myself becoming a mother. Generally, I've always gotten along well with babies and kids, kind of like I have with cats and dogs. When my nephews were born and I swaddled them in my arms for the first time, my heart swelled with love unlike it ever had before. Is it even possible to share such a full heart with a kid of my own?
Before getting married, Gui made it clear to me that he wanted to someday become a father. I've never had the "baby fever" that it seems everyone else gets, but coming from a large family, it still feels natural to think of growing a family. Over the past few months I've become really curious about motherhood, and I've found my mind drifting off into my hypothetical life as a mom. I see moms with with strollers on buses and metros and I think of how exhausting it must be to be a mom in this city. I notice young kids waiting at the bus station or hopping on the metro alone and I admire their independence yet question if I'd ever be able to trust my own offspring to tackle this big city alone. I walk by the kids in the park with their mothers or their nannies and wonder if we'll have to hire a nanny. I read the blogs of expat moms in bilingual families and speculate how we might one day communicate as a family. It's all stuff that I never pondered before, things that seemed so far off in time they weren't worth even thinking about. It's rather exhausting to consider all the possibilities, all the logistics and energy that must be go into being a parent. Can someone ever really be ready? I guess if we want to have a kid in three years, it might be a good idea to start our research and preparations now.
Although Gui and I aren't looking to add to our family today or tomorrow, I feel that "someday" is quickly morphing into "soon," and that makes me both curious and anxious. We've gone as far as thinking of names (boy names are so hard to come up with), but we haven't settled on how many kids make an ideal family (I have a feeling we won't settle on this until after we successfully have one). We've also talked about where the best place would be to raise our hypothetical kid(s), which is proving to be a harder question to answer than it seems. I can't imagine being pregnant without the massive support system of friends and family that I have in the States. Not to mention the physical challenges I'd have to overcome if we're still living in Paris. And, what about health care and education and language and cultural activities? So much to consider. So. Much. But, thankfully, I still have some time to do my homework and pick the brains of my girl friends back home. I'm sure by the time we're ready to take the plunge into parenthood, they'll be old pros and will have a fair share of advice and knowledge to share with us. And, then during their prepubescent years, we'll be shipping our kids off to each others' homes for a yearly cultural exchange of sorts. Although, maybe it's still too early to start planning how I'm going to get rid of my adolescent kid.
Before getting married, Gui made it clear to me that he wanted to someday become a father. I've never had the "baby fever" that it seems everyone else gets, but coming from a large family, it still feels natural to think of growing a family. Over the past few months I've become really curious about motherhood, and I've found my mind drifting off into my hypothetical life as a mom. I see moms with with strollers on buses and metros and I think of how exhausting it must be to be a mom in this city. I notice young kids waiting at the bus station or hopping on the metro alone and I admire their independence yet question if I'd ever be able to trust my own offspring to tackle this big city alone. I walk by the kids in the park with their mothers or their nannies and wonder if we'll have to hire a nanny. I read the blogs of expat moms in bilingual families and speculate how we might one day communicate as a family. It's all stuff that I never pondered before, things that seemed so far off in time they weren't worth even thinking about. It's rather exhausting to consider all the possibilities, all the logistics and energy that must be go into being a parent. Can someone ever really be ready? I guess if we want to have a kid in three years, it might be a good idea to start our research and preparations now.
Although Gui and I aren't looking to add to our family today or tomorrow, I feel that "someday" is quickly morphing into "soon," and that makes me both curious and anxious. We've gone as far as thinking of names (boy names are so hard to come up with), but we haven't settled on how many kids make an ideal family (I have a feeling we won't settle on this until after we successfully have one). We've also talked about where the best place would be to raise our hypothetical kid(s), which is proving to be a harder question to answer than it seems. I can't imagine being pregnant without the massive support system of friends and family that I have in the States. Not to mention the physical challenges I'd have to overcome if we're still living in Paris. And, what about health care and education and language and cultural activities? So much to consider. So. Much. But, thankfully, I still have some time to do my homework and pick the brains of my girl friends back home. I'm sure by the time we're ready to take the plunge into parenthood, they'll be old pros and will have a fair share of advice and knowledge to share with us. And, then during their prepubescent years, we'll be shipping our kids off to each others' homes for a yearly cultural exchange of sorts. Although, maybe it's still too early to start planning how I'm going to get rid of my adolescent kid.
Politics and food
Last night, Gui invited a friend from work to celebrate America's triumph with us. His friend, Louis, is an intern from Senegal who's studying business at a school in France. We exchanged enchantés and sat down for a coupe of champagne to discuss the new president and our respective countries. Louis's never been to the States and he was as curious as a six-year-old about my home country and life there. When I first arrived in France, I was a little naive to the idea that many Parisians hadn't ever visited the US, and it struck me as absurd when an 18-year-old girl in my French class told me she'd never seen a black person until she came to France. I think that's when I realized how sheltered of a life I'd really been living. Sure, I'm far more cultured than my grandparents ever were, but I've never learned so much about the world as I have since arriving here.
After explaining to Louis that subways don't exist in every major US city, that nearly everyone drives a car and that people can actually pick up an entire meal from a drive-thru for less than 5 bucks like you see on TV, we got on the topic of what being American is all about. He wanted to know about this patriotism idea that he so frequently hears about when Americans speak of their country. What Louis found so fascinating about being American is that regardless of heritage, religion, or skin color, American citizens (generally speaking) identify themselves as Americans first and foremost. It's the kind of pride that France tends to shun, and Gui gave an example of waving the French flag at a demonstration to be something that many in his country would see as divisive. France has a history of problems concerning the treatment of immigrants and the acceptance of other cultures and religions. I find many of the government's answers to a divided country to be absurdly backwards. I understand that as a secular country, provisions must be taken to ensure religion does not play a role in policymaking, but most of these provisions simply ignore that religion exists altogether. Take the headdress and cross-wearing laws, for example. Disallowing someone to express themselves freely for fear of how others might discriminate is tolerating discrimination. Let's not waive our country's flag because we might be flaunting our national pride too much and don't want to offend any immigrants. Let's just tell everyone with dark hair to dye it blond because, let's be honest, people will discriminate. I know there's a ton of French history that needs to be considered when taking great steps to unite this country, but it seems to me that the politicos running the country today aren't moving fast enough in the right direction.
I don't want to turn this into a political blog - at all - so, take this as a simple culmination of my thoughts about a very interesting conversation I had last night. After polishing off the last drop of champagne, we headed out for an authentic American dinner which required waiting in the cold for an hour first. We all ordered the bacon cheeseburger and fries, I had a vanilla milkshake (can't believe they didn't have strawberry - What-A-Burger, here I come!) and a side ofapparently, what French people are fooled into believing is good ranch dressing (it's on my list of things to bring back). Even though I was the only one at the table who ate my entire meal with my fingers, my nostalgic pangs were more than satisfied, and I felt a little closer to home.
Tomorrow, we're off to Caen to visit our dear friends once again. Tuesday's a holiday, so in typical French fashion, Gui's off from work on Monday, too, and that means a long weekend in Normandy for us! We expect to eat and drink incredibly well while we're there and I anticipate much more champagne in my very near future - all of France is celebrating American democracy, and hey, who am I to argue?
After explaining to Louis that subways don't exist in every major US city, that nearly everyone drives a car and that people can actually pick up an entire meal from a drive-thru for less than 5 bucks like you see on TV, we got on the topic of what being American is all about. He wanted to know about this patriotism idea that he so frequently hears about when Americans speak of their country. What Louis found so fascinating about being American is that regardless of heritage, religion, or skin color, American citizens (generally speaking) identify themselves as Americans first and foremost. It's the kind of pride that France tends to shun, and Gui gave an example of waving the French flag at a demonstration to be something that many in his country would see as divisive. France has a history of problems concerning the treatment of immigrants and the acceptance of other cultures and religions. I find many of the government's answers to a divided country to be absurdly backwards. I understand that as a secular country, provisions must be taken to ensure religion does not play a role in policymaking, but most of these provisions simply ignore that religion exists altogether. Take the headdress and cross-wearing laws, for example. Disallowing someone to express themselves freely for fear of how others might discriminate is tolerating discrimination. Let's not waive our country's flag because we might be flaunting our national pride too much and don't want to offend any immigrants. Let's just tell everyone with dark hair to dye it blond because, let's be honest, people will discriminate. I know there's a ton of French history that needs to be considered when taking great steps to unite this country, but it seems to me that the politicos running the country today aren't moving fast enough in the right direction.
I don't want to turn this into a political blog - at all - so, take this as a simple culmination of my thoughts about a very interesting conversation I had last night. After polishing off the last drop of champagne, we headed out for an authentic American dinner which required waiting in the cold for an hour first. We all ordered the bacon cheeseburger and fries, I had a vanilla milkshake (can't believe they didn't have strawberry - What-A-Burger, here I come!) and a side of
Tomorrow, we're off to Caen to visit our dear friends once again. Tuesday's a holiday, so in typical French fashion, Gui's off from work on Monday, too, and that means a long weekend in Normandy for us! We expect to eat and drink incredibly well while we're there and I anticipate much more champagne in my very near future - all of France is celebrating American democracy, and hey, who am I to argue?
What we've been eating (and drinking)
Living in Paris has given me many opportunities to try so many new foods to both eat and cook with. But, I tend to stay true to my roots which means that a craving for nachos will have me searching Paris high and low for refried beans and cheddar cheese. And, I always keep my kitchen well-stocked with all the foods and spices that I find easy and familiar to cook with, like tortillas, rice, chili powder (I make chili or taco soup nearly once a week), pasta and barbecue sauce. Sometimes I wish I was more experimental in the kitchen, and I often wonder what's being served up on the tables of other families in Paris.
I am lucky (and so is Gui) that I have a decent grasp of cooking, and I find myself trying to merge my cooking habits with those of Gui - well, his mom, at least. When Gui and I were living in Long Beach, he burned pasta while attempting to make some sort of carbonara-type dish, and that's when I decided he didn't really belong in the kitchen. Plus, he doesn't mind doing the dishes (which I detest), so it's kind of a culinary match made in heaven between the two of us. But, his mom, now, his mom can whip up some serious grub. Terrine d'asperges, roasted chicken with caramelized apples and a mean stir-fry rank high among my favorites of her culinary specialties.
Last Sunday, Gui and I managed to roll out of bed early enough to get started on what would become a day of intoxicating chocolate. Despite having taken part in another first in Paris the night before...
...(yep, a bit of absinthe after a few rounds of drinks before), we still made it to the Salon du Chocolat for our own little gourmet version of a chocolate "brunch". It didn't take much more than the lure of fancy chocolate samples to convince me to wake up before noon on a Sunday morning, and I didn't regret my choice after spending a few moments in the exposition hall.
I'm not usually very comfortable asking someone to sample a product knowing full and well that I'm not going to purchase their goods afterwards, but I eventually got over it and set off shamelessly sampling to my heart's desire like everyone else was. I was kind of upset that some of the better-known brands weren't offering any samples, which to me signified a slight arrogance in their product. It's true, I don't know how it all works, but I'd imagine, as a business, you involve yourself in such a venue to gain exposure for your products, especially new ones you're trying to usher into the market. But, the great thing is that almost everyone there was happily offering dégustations of their goods, and I found myself falling in love with new and old chocolatiers and their divine creations.
Our greatest discovery at the Salon, though was of the savory type. As good as the mango Baileys, cappuccino mousse-filled chocolate, and myrtille-flavored chocolate square were, we couldn't get the chicken molé poblano out of our heads after trying a spoonful on a piece of baguette. My mom makes an amazing molé, but hers is reddish-colored and made with peanut butter. I've (kindly) asked her to make a batch of her chicken molé and Spanish rice when we come visit in December because it's definitely on my short but growing list of comfort foods. The molé we tried at the expo was a Mexican specialty, and not completely unlike my mom's; it was made with chocolate instead of peanut butter, which produced a rich, delicious, black-colored sauce that made Gui and I go crazy. We ended up buying some of the last few spoonfuls of the pre-made sauce, rustically packaged in plasticwrap-covered plastic cups, making the complicated dish easy to reproduce the next day. For me, though, the best part of reproducing the meal was that I finally perfected my mom's Spanish rice - no small feat, mind you. It turned out fluffy and flavorful and reminded me why I'll never get tired of eating the stuff I've been fed since childhood.
I am lucky (and so is Gui) that I have a decent grasp of cooking, and I find myself trying to merge my cooking habits with those of Gui - well, his mom, at least. When Gui and I were living in Long Beach, he burned pasta while attempting to make some sort of carbonara-type dish, and that's when I decided he didn't really belong in the kitchen. Plus, he doesn't mind doing the dishes (which I detest), so it's kind of a culinary match made in heaven between the two of us. But, his mom, now, his mom can whip up some serious grub. Terrine d'asperges, roasted chicken with caramelized apples and a mean stir-fry rank high among my favorites of her culinary specialties.
Last Sunday, Gui and I managed to roll out of bed early enough to get started on what would become a day of intoxicating chocolate. Despite having taken part in another first in Paris the night before...
...(yep, a bit of absinthe after a few rounds of drinks before), we still made it to the Salon du Chocolat for our own little gourmet version of a chocolate "brunch". It didn't take much more than the lure of fancy chocolate samples to convince me to wake up before noon on a Sunday morning, and I didn't regret my choice after spending a few moments in the exposition hall.
I'm not usually very comfortable asking someone to sample a product knowing full and well that I'm not going to purchase their goods afterwards, but I eventually got over it and set off shamelessly sampling to my heart's desire like everyone else was. I was kind of upset that some of the better-known brands weren't offering any samples, which to me signified a slight arrogance in their product. It's true, I don't know how it all works, but I'd imagine, as a business, you involve yourself in such a venue to gain exposure for your products, especially new ones you're trying to usher into the market. But, the great thing is that almost everyone there was happily offering dégustations of their goods, and I found myself falling in love with new and old chocolatiers and their divine creations.
Our greatest discovery at the Salon, though was of the savory type. As good as the mango Baileys, cappuccino mousse-filled chocolate, and myrtille-flavored chocolate square were, we couldn't get the chicken molé poblano out of our heads after trying a spoonful on a piece of baguette. My mom makes an amazing molé, but hers is reddish-colored and made with peanut butter. I've (kindly) asked her to make a batch of her chicken molé and Spanish rice when we come visit in December because it's definitely on my short but growing list of comfort foods. The molé we tried at the expo was a Mexican specialty, and not completely unlike my mom's; it was made with chocolate instead of peanut butter, which produced a rich, delicious, black-colored sauce that made Gui and I go crazy. We ended up buying some of the last few spoonfuls of the pre-made sauce, rustically packaged in plasticwrap-covered plastic cups, making the complicated dish easy to reproduce the next day. For me, though, the best part of reproducing the meal was that I finally perfected my mom's Spanish rice - no small feat, mind you. It turned out fluffy and flavorful and reminded me why I'll never get tired of eating the stuff I've been fed since childhood.
On my métro line
Anyone living in Paris will tell you that the métro is not just a mode of transportation, but an important destination in its own right, especially if you're into watching strange events unfold, listening to lovers suck face two inches from your ear and observing an area full of fifty-plus people staring into space in complete and utter silence. It's funny how small the world becomes when you find yourself riding the same line on a regular basis.
On the way back from seeing a mind-reader perform the other night, Gui and I found ourselves on the metro with a group of drunk and stupid teenagers who thought that writing on the doors and walls of the metro car with a bright green marker would make their parents proud. Too bad for them, they picked the first car to showcase their penmanship and found themselves the embarrassed recipients of a stern, public lecture by the observant driver. Today, while heading back home from school, I happened to jump on the exact same metro car to find that none of their graffiti had been removed. I was thinking that had the same incident played itself out in Texas, those kids would have been crying to their parents that evening while explaining why they got questioned and held by the local police. Then, they'd be spending their next Saturday scrubbing all the metro cars clean as punishment.
One of the worst things for me about taking the metro is dealing with daily solicitation of money from beggars, homeless people and buskers. I don't mind handing over a few centimes to someone when I have it, but what irks me the most are the people who repeatedly work the metros with perfectly polished nails, wearing shoes in better condition than mine. My mom taught me long ago that what a person does with their money is of no concern to you once you've made the decision to give it to them. Which I totally agree with and I guess explains why I avoid giving those people money in the first place.
Today, I found myself witness to the most amazing conversation I've ever heard between a serial-beggar and a woman riding the metro. The woman begging for money is obviously a pro. She's definitely one of those with nice jewelry and fancy shoes, and I see her on my line every. single. day. What I hate the most about her begging is how she asks for money - she carries a stack of at at least fifty small, yellow cards that have a perfectly-typed message on them, asking for money to feed her homeless family. Occasionally, she brings a small child with her, but I haven't seen her with him since the summer. She goes around and hands these cards to unsuspecting passengers, leaving them on empty seats next to people who've refused them. I've fallen victim to her sneaky, little card trick once, but never again after that.
When I first saw her little plan unfold, I thought she must be crazy to think people would give someone so young, capable and literate some of their hard-earned money in such a place that makes it rather difficult for one to truly starve. And, it's true, most everyone felt like they'd been had when she came around to take the cards back and ask for the money they'd promised her by default. But, there were still a few who dug into their pockets, not sure if they were now obliged to do so, and handed her a few coins along with her little yellow card.
Today, though, was funny. After she'd made her rounds and just as the train was entering a station, a boisterous, straight-talking woman (who'd perhaps felt like she'd been had) asked the begging woman if she was capable of speaking. The beggar bashfully answered her (in a very audible voice) in French - "Pas bien...euh..uh...je parle..." The woman (my new hero) replied by telling her that (and I have to paraphrase some of this because although I could completely understand the conversation [thank God], there's no way I could rewrite all the words in French) "bon, si tu peux ecrire et passer les petits papiers comme ça, tu peux travailler! [well, if you can write and pass these little papers around, then you can work!]" The beggar smiled like the woman was telling her a joke, and a guy standing up to get off at his stop let out a loud laugh which only provoked my hero more and made everyone else chuckle. The metro came to a stop, but the woman continued by telling her, "Don't go around asking these people for money on a piece of paper if you can talk. If you want money, go work like everyone else." The great thing about how she told her all of this is that it wasn't in a condescending sort of way, but like one of your friends telling you to stop being lazy, get off your arse and get a job. I love that. I could hear her still trying to convince her to stop her begging ways as she walked off the metro and the doors closed. It's rare to find someone who'll speak their mind so openly here (especially on the metro), so I'm just glad it happened on my line.
On the way back from seeing a mind-reader perform the other night, Gui and I found ourselves on the metro with a group of drunk and stupid teenagers who thought that writing on the doors and walls of the metro car with a bright green marker would make their parents proud. Too bad for them, they picked the first car to showcase their penmanship and found themselves the embarrassed recipients of a stern, public lecture by the observant driver. Today, while heading back home from school, I happened to jump on the exact same metro car to find that none of their graffiti had been removed. I was thinking that had the same incident played itself out in Texas, those kids would have been crying to their parents that evening while explaining why they got questioned and held by the local police. Then, they'd be spending their next Saturday scrubbing all the metro cars clean as punishment.
One of the worst things for me about taking the metro is dealing with daily solicitation of money from beggars, homeless people and buskers. I don't mind handing over a few centimes to someone when I have it, but what irks me the most are the people who repeatedly work the metros with perfectly polished nails, wearing shoes in better condition than mine. My mom taught me long ago that what a person does with their money is of no concern to you once you've made the decision to give it to them. Which I totally agree with and I guess explains why I avoid giving those people money in the first place.
Today, I found myself witness to the most amazing conversation I've ever heard between a serial-beggar and a woman riding the metro. The woman begging for money is obviously a pro. She's definitely one of those with nice jewelry and fancy shoes, and I see her on my line every. single. day. What I hate the most about her begging is how she asks for money - she carries a stack of at at least fifty small, yellow cards that have a perfectly-typed message on them, asking for money to feed her homeless family. Occasionally, she brings a small child with her, but I haven't seen her with him since the summer. She goes around and hands these cards to unsuspecting passengers, leaving them on empty seats next to people who've refused them. I've fallen victim to her sneaky, little card trick once, but never again after that.
When I first saw her little plan unfold, I thought she must be crazy to think people would give someone so young, capable and literate some of their hard-earned money in such a place that makes it rather difficult for one to truly starve. And, it's true, most everyone felt like they'd been had when she came around to take the cards back and ask for the money they'd promised her by default. But, there were still a few who dug into their pockets, not sure if they were now obliged to do so, and handed her a few coins along with her little yellow card.
Today, though, was funny. After she'd made her rounds and just as the train was entering a station, a boisterous, straight-talking woman (who'd perhaps felt like she'd been had) asked the begging woman if she was capable of speaking. The beggar bashfully answered her (in a very audible voice) in French - "Pas bien...euh..uh...je parle..." The woman (my new hero) replied by telling her that (and I have to paraphrase some of this because although I could completely understand the conversation [thank God], there's no way I could rewrite all the words in French) "bon, si tu peux ecrire et passer les petits papiers comme ça, tu peux travailler! [well, if you can write and pass these little papers around, then you can work!]" The beggar smiled like the woman was telling her a joke, and a guy standing up to get off at his stop let out a loud laugh which only provoked my hero more and made everyone else chuckle. The metro came to a stop, but the woman continued by telling her, "Don't go around asking these people for money on a piece of paper if you can talk. If you want money, go work like everyone else." The great thing about how she told her all of this is that it wasn't in a condescending sort of way, but like one of your friends telling you to stop being lazy, get off your arse and get a job. I love that. I could hear her still trying to convince her to stop her begging ways as she walked off the metro and the doors closed. It's rare to find someone who'll speak their mind so openly here (especially on the metro), so I'm just glad it happened on my line.
A glimpse of Saturday in Paris
Things have been unusually exciting around these parts lately - well, things in my little life, not necessarily in Paris (an update on my little life is coming soon). Although, last weekend all of Paris (and I believe the rest of Europe, too) was treated to a rare a peek into the usually formidable, mysterious and often private palaces, monuments and government buildings in and around the city. I honestly couldn't say I know much about the event, but Gui was all over checking out a few government palaces, so that's how we spent our Saturday.
We got a late start and only made it to two places, the Assemblée Nationale and the Bank of France. The Assemblée was interesting, and the 30 minute wait we had to get in was worth having a glimpse at the huge, ornate palace where laws are made in France - a place that I often see on snippets of news pieces.
The bank tour was pretty lame. We didn't have to wait in line, but we realized shortly after walking into the place that our "bank" tour was simply a tour of the Galerie Dorée, no money making or counting in sight. Borrrring. The closest we got to seeing gold was this gilded room that reminded me of a room I saw in the Vatican.
But the best part of our day was getting there. We decided to Vélib between tours, which is something that I've been dying (and a little scared) to do since arriving in Paris. For a measly 1€ a piece, Gui and I made our way around Place de la Concorde, and up to Palais Royal without a hitch. I was surprised at how scared I wasn't, in the end. Afterwards, Gui and I talked about taking regular Vélib rides through Paris on the weekends. There's always more to see than we realize, places we have yet to uncover and our favorite spots we don't see often enough.
We got a late start and only made it to two places, the Assemblée Nationale and the Bank of France. The Assemblée was interesting, and the 30 minute wait we had to get in was worth having a glimpse at the huge, ornate palace where laws are made in France - a place that I often see on snippets of news pieces.
The bank tour was pretty lame. We didn't have to wait in line, but we realized shortly after walking into the place that our "bank" tour was simply a tour of the Galerie Dorée, no money making or counting in sight. Borrrring. The closest we got to seeing gold was this gilded room that reminded me of a room I saw in the Vatican.
But the best part of our day was getting there. We decided to Vélib between tours, which is something that I've been dying (and a little scared) to do since arriving in Paris. For a measly 1€ a piece, Gui and I made our way around Place de la Concorde, and up to Palais Royal without a hitch. I was surprised at how scared I wasn't, in the end. Afterwards, Gui and I talked about taking regular Vélib rides through Paris on the weekends. There's always more to see than we realize, places we have yet to uncover and our favorite spots we don't see often enough.
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