I recently signed up with a site that hosts blogs for people all over the world going through similar experiences as me. They were nice enough to feature my blog as June's expat blog of the month, which you can read about here. I'm flattered and hope this will be another opportunity to make some new friends!

I hate to admit it, but I'm captivated by this.

I spent the better part of my day browsing through Les Soldes in the happening part of town today. It's funny because even though everything's on sale here, it's all still so expensive. I really need to get used to the idea of living with Euros. Since I can't work yet, I was only looking for things that we really "need," like, for instance trousers for Gui. He "needs" another pair because he's getting tired of wearing - and I'm getting tired of seeing him wear - the same two pair in rotation each week. So, I scooped up a pair of new slacks and a couple of very well-priced dress shirts for him from his favorite shopping destination, Zara. I hate going in there during soldes, though. I barely took two steps into H&M before busting a U-ey outta there. It's so. crowded. And this is in the early afternoon when everyone should be working...or studying...or something.

I haven't been to La Marais in a while, so I was happy to take in the loveliness of the neighborhood again. Gui's cool aunt lives around there and I was wishing she didn't have to work so she could have joined me in my (un-) shopping spree. I came away with two very reasonably priced tank tops, but my biggest treat of the day was stumbling upon this:

Yes, boys and girls, that's a very fake Pinkberry in the middle of Paris' 4th arrondissement. Myberry (with two little dots above the "y" in "my") is the latest copy-cat in the yogurt (or non-yogurt) hype brought on by the famous Pinkberry. I'm not gonna lie - I love Pinkberry and I would have eaten there every single day when we lived in Long Beach if Gui didn't give me the stare every time I asked(and if I could have afforded it). So, I walked past this place, giggling to myself, snapped a photo, walked some more, then turned right back around and indulged in a "0% fat" Myberry yogurt with mango and strawberries (they didn't have Cap'n Crunch).


And, it was GOOOOD! I'm glad I indulged because I inexplicably forgot to eat lunch (must've had something to do with all the half-price stickers on the walls) and didn't have another bite until sometime around 5pm.

How do walk-aholic Parisians maintain their feet so well?? Now that sandal season is in full swing, I'm desperate for a pedicure. I'm not sure how to even go about looking for one in French, and I'm scared to see how much a foot massage and paint job is going for around here. There aren't "nail ladies" at every intersection like back home, so it's going to take a little investigating on my part. I don't mind it, though. My feet have never walked like they do now, and they're screaming to be professionally exfoliated, smoothed and painted.

My most memorable dining experience while living in Italy for a summer was the seafood pesto ravioli that I had at a friendly trattoria in Genoa while visiting my former Italian professor. In fact, perhaps it's my most memorable dining experience ever since I mention it every time I have pesto pasta, which is pretty often. Since then, I've had good pestos, my favorite being the Trader Joe's store brand jar that's vibrant green and flavored to near perfection.

I've always wanted to try making my own sauce, but I wanted to wait until I had my own supply of basil. Last weekend Gui and I picked up a couple of plants to keep in our kitchen (I've since moved the chive plant to the outdoors for some much needed fun in the sun), and thus began my search for the perfect pesto recipe. Naturally, for my first experience making pesto, I chose the most physically-challenging (and most authentic) recipe I could find. It was a bit of a challenge, and I should have waited until I had a mezzaluna like the recipe calls for (I looked in two stores in our 'hood and didn't find one...booo).. But, it was worth it in the end. My hard work and sore arm were not in vain because I ended up with a very fresh and tasty pesto linguine. Next time, I'm trying pesto-stuffed chicken...or maybe I'll even give seafood ravioli a try.

And it's still this bright outside. We have something like 15 hours of sunlight everyday and I absolutely love it.

(FYI: The videos below are not the best quality and the sound can be a bit loud.)

Every year France opens its streets to musicians of all sorts for one full Saturday. Streets get jam-packed full of pedestrians, and at every corner a new genre of music envelops the block. After being comatose for a few hours in the early afternoon, we met up with some friends and headed out to the heart of Paris where we planned to catch some Rugby then follow the crowds towards the sounds of drums, amped-up guitars and synthesizers.

The first show we happened upon was drawing all kinds of foot traffic. It was some sort of orchestra-ish act, complete with trumpets, tubas, and other various instruments that had the street up in a roar. (I somehow only snapped video of the beginning/tamest part of the show.)



Moving along, we found ourselves in between two shows - one heavy metal act that was far too loud and totally unappealing to me and a strange, funky, not-sure-what-kind-of-music duo who had a more "mature" crowd engaged. Too bad the music from the "thrashers" across the street was trickling into the other band's show.



On our way to see a friend's band perform, we stopped to listen to a bit of jazz. It was meh.



The highlight of the fête was the last show we caught with an amazing singer (who we found out later is SIX months pregnant...and barely even showing!) and a band that included a very cool violinist, too (sorry, the clip sucks).



It was such a cool experience, and the fact that all of France opens its doors to showcase its talent is the most amazing thing. Sure, there are negative consequences to having so many people take over the streets of a major city...

... (and by the end of the night, it was at least three times as bad - hey, at least people were trying) but, it promotes the artistic abilities of every citizen, and it's what makes Paris such a cosmopolitan city. Here are a few more snippets from our day in the heart of Paris.

Despite the tantalizing options in and around our 'hood, we've been pretty pathetic about eating out at any new places since we moved in. I guess with yummy goodness like this:

and this:
...being produced in our very own kitchen, why eat out? (Baked Maille salmon with basmati and salad, that I made this evening.)

When Gui's mom and sister came by, we decided it was high time to try one of the many, many Asian restaurants around these parts. Within a one-block radius, there are seriously four Japonese/Thai/Vietnamese/Chinese restos to choose from. Gui and I tried the trendy Vietnamese place just a few doors down our street for lunch a while back, but left feeling overdosed on cilantro (coriandre) and not nearly full enough, considering what we paid. But, they do proudly brew Illy coffee, so I'll likely return when I'm out of or too lazy to fix my own cup of joe and in need of a quick fix.

This time we tried the "Thailandese" place just on the next block. I'd always been curious about this place - it seems really busy at times, but at other times, it's totally empty. It was empty this time, but after we were seated, our waitress/hostess seemed awfully busy. Only after a few people came and went did we realize that she was preparing take-out orders - and lots of 'em! It was a good sign already and so was the low-priced menu. I ordered the pho for a starter and beef and onions with rice for my main course. Big mistake. The pho came out in a bowl big enough to serve all four of us. It totally hit the spot, though, and I quickly made up my mind that I'd be back in ordering the soup on the next rainy day (shouldn't be too long now). Everything else was good, too, which gives me confidence in whatever else lays undiscovered in our 'hood.

Saturday was full of more happy chewing and full bellies. After skipping breakfast (just me, Gui always finds something with chocolate to eat for breakfast), our stomachs were rumbling right around noon and we narrowed our choices down to a "traditional" restaurant and a pizzeria. I'd been wanting to try both since my mom and I had walked past them during the lunch rush before we even moved into our place, but something about the "traditional" place pulled us towards it and we had a seat inside. Despite seeing crazy-big, butter-soaked steaks and platters o' fries, we both opted for the couscous. Neither of us was prepared for what we were served, but after a few "OMG"s, we dove into this:



Yeah, there're like TEN pieces of merguez there - and that was one order. You can't even see what I ordered, which were the brochette, and there are at least five under there. It's probably not even necessary for me to explain that this all made me really happy, and really full. It brought back memories of my comatose meals in San Antonio a few weeks back when I couldn't move and had to sleep sitting up. I vowed then never to eat that much again, so this time I only ate enough to knock me out for a couple of hours without needing a stack of pillows to prop me upright. This place is definitely another keeper.