This morning, Gui and I started the day a little earlier than normal for a Saturday and headed out to the marché. I checked to see what markets would be open first because I've learned that in Paris, markets are always open at different days and times. So, we headed up a few metro stops from our station to the Marché President Wilson - how fitting.

The morning air was crisp and cool and the market shoppers were out in full force today. But, we managed to find everything we came for and even a few extra goodies. I'd been wanting to pick up some seasoned black olives, a few spices, melon (which is really in season right now) and some onions (I've never seen a decent one at any supermarket here). We also scooped up some loose mint tea, a bag of sea salt and some almond powder. And, after getting a mouth-watering whiff of the rotisserie, we unhesitatingly picked up half a bird and a bag of drippings-soaked fingerling potatoes. The smell was literally like crack - I couldn't get enough. With haste, we headed home and dove into the most succulent rotisserie chicken lunch that I've ever feasted on. Midway through the meal, I announced that I would never again eat an HEB rotisserie chicken and reflecting on that statement now, I'd like to adjust it and say that I'll never again eat any rotisserie chicken unless it smells as good as that one. I think (and hope) we've created a new Saturday ritual chez nous.

So, despite what I thought, my last baking endeavor was not a complete disaster - although, I did still forget one key ingredient.

I was attempting to make this "Easy Jam Tart" that was recently posted on one of the blogs that I stalk. I didn't have any cornmeal so I stuck with the recipe that it was originally adapted from and used only flour. But, after combining everything, the dough seemed so sticky. I went back to reread the recipe and realized that somehow I used 100 grams less flour than I was supposed to. After a little cursing, I added the missing flour into the dough, but not having mixed the added flour with the baking powder and salt, I was worried about how it'd turn out. I also don't have a springform pan, so I was worried about how that might affect the baking process.

Not being a baker and all, this easy tart wasn't as easy as it should've been, but after it came out of the oven, I breathed a small sigh of relief. It seemed to turn out just fine. After a delicious dinner of lasagna rolls and salad, I nervously served it up to my (French) mother-in-law and received a round of compliments. The apricots were super sweet, so having forgotten to add the token cassonade to the crust (grrrr), I was a little relieved that the key ingredient wasn't missed so much. Now that I have my shiz together, the easy jam tart just might live up to its name next time around.

After once again screwing up a perfectly perfect recipe because of my conversion miscalculations, I decided I'd have to hit some Stateside people up for a set of standard American measuring tools. But, then I started thinking that it might be kind of presumptuous to ask my friends or family to just up and ship some American-esque things off to me (which isn't a cheap, simple or time-efficient request) without some kind of incentive.

So, I came up with an idea. I'll do a swap! I don't know if they already have that kind of thing available on the internet - I know they have swap-sites and clubs, but I'm not sure if they involve only sending things that the person on the receiving end doesn't know about. I propose to put out a list of things I'd like to have, and then return the favor for something you might like to have from Paris. It's not really a novel idea or anything, but I think it's a good way for me to feel like I'm returning a favor for someone who's willing to go out of their way to help me out a bit. Also, I'm not asking the whole world to send me something - just maybe my peeps from back home. (You know who you are!) I'm hoping this might keep my mom from going crazy with all my requests for books, foodstuffs and random things from home. (Sorry, mum.)

As for that baking disaster - it's still in the oven, so I'll update (with pictures) after it's done. We're having my mother-in-law (that word is still weird for me to say) over for dinner tonight, so if the dessert is ruined, I'm running of to the boulangerie at the corner!

I thought I had more videos than I actually did, but the only one I do have isn't so great (all you can hear is wind, so maybe you should turn your speakers down if you decide to check it out).

I had such a blast and going through all the pictures reminded me how much we got to do and enjoy during our short stay. I can't wait to do it again!

We spent the holiday weekend with friends in Normandy. The last time I was in Normandy was on my first trip to France - two years ago. This year, we were able to visit with our old friends from Texas and a couple of friends who came to visit us last year in California. It was really cool catching up with everyone, and it was as if time had never passed. I love that.

I discovered a few things about myself while visiting Normandy, too. 1) My new favorite sport is bike-riding, and I plan on entertaining myself with a few rides a week in the huge park just near us...once I find a bike. 2) I no longer think that the only place in France I can live is Paris; give me familiar faces, sea and sand and I'll pack my bags and head anywhere around this lovely country. I can't express how great it was to be back around good friends. I even spoke French for 90% of the weekend without wearing myself out. 3) After eating three glorious meals a day, I've found myself spoiled rotten but totally motivated to keep up the habit. And finally, 4) I can make a mean mayonnaise.

I couldn't upload all the pictures (and videos) tonight, so you'll have to wait until tomorrow for the album. For now, here are a few of my favorites from a perfect weekend.

It's a well-known phenomenon that while riding the metro you will almost certainly come in contact with some bizarre, odd, or otherwise foreign person. This happens daily. Usually, it's a smelly guy in a suit who's late to work, or a couple talking in a language I've never heard before, or a dude who gets off at every stop and yells some indiscernible chant at his fellow-riders as they descend the metal tube.

Today, I sat next to two very normal-looking guys who were transporting a few bags of market produce. I opened up my book, preparing for the long and dull ride to my stop and kept about my business as usual. Just as I was starting to get back into the juicy bits of the story, a loud clucking noise sounded from just next to me and the plastic bags at the feet of my fellow passengers started moving violently about on their own. Everyone, including me, cocked our heads in the direction of my two neighbors who started wrestling with the bags. A few seconds later, a beak and red-colored head peeped out from the bag and let out a loud "Cluck!" Apparently, these guys had picked up more than bananas from the market and were taking some chickens (or maybe they were hens) home (presumably) for dinner tonight. I couldn't help but laugh out loud, and when they saw that I found it amusing, they began laughing with me. I couldn't decipher what they were talking about before or after that because they weren't speaking French (like that would make a difference anyway) or English or any other recognizable language, but I asked them in French if I could take a picture of their fowl, and they happily obliged. Not wanting to impose too much, I snapped two very quick shots and ended up with these:



We laughed a little more at the incident and carried on with what were doing before the distraction - they continued their conversation and I dove back into my book. Then, something happened that is also a well-known reality of metro-riding. A woman came by to beg for money - I, being engrossed in a book, was all but ignored by the woman, but when she spotted the fresh goods being transported by my poultry-carrying friends, she asked them if she could help herself to a banana. One of the guys had already given her a few coins, but the other guy leaned over and pulled off a banana for her. She thanked him a few times and stood by the doors awaiting her stop. A few seconds later, still conversing with each other, the two guys filled an empty sack with a bunch of bananas and a few mangoes and handed it to the woman. She, nor I, nor the girl opposite me could believe the kind gesture we'd just witnessed.

Here, especially, I find myself on an eternal quest to suppress my over-active, highly-sensitive emotions, and it took everything in me to allow only a single tear to fall. It probably sounds silly, trite even, to become teary-eyed over such a natural and daily encounter. But I find more and more that kindness like this is rarely depicted in the streets (or metros) of Paris. My thoughts are that this has something to do with tradition, and even I have become less sympathetic after hearing people (my husband included) paint a malicious and deceitful, mafia-like picture of the poor and homeless population in Paris. It isn't easy for me to say no to someone when I have the means to say yes, but I feel like it's what's expected of me here. After today, though, it seems clearer than ever that I can still fit in as a Parisian without abandoning my humanity.

Don't follow people who cross on a red man.

I literally typed this into my phone on my way to the metro after nearly becoming windshield splatter on someone's car yesterday morning. There's a blind-spot on one of the crosswalks that I pass on my way across the peripherique to the metro station. Since the person on the other end of the crosswalk has a full view of the oncoming traffic, I (as well as the rest of the confident travelers on my side of the crosswalk) generally tend to think that once they've realized no cars are coming and start walking across the pavement, it's safe for our side to forge ahead (even when the little crosswalk man is red). This has been failsafe until yesterday morning, when someone didn't get the memo and decided it'd be ok to walk into oncoming traffic whilst totally disregarding the Peugeot and Volkswagen that were racing to make the green light. Oh, merde! I and two other half-asleep Parisians, needless to say, picked up the pace after realizing we were in the path of a few honk-happy commuters who were probably still half asleep and likely willing to rid the city of a few pedestrians if they could make it through the stale vert light.

That's not the only note I'm writing to myself these days. Note number two: Steps are deadly, try to avoid walking on them in public at all costs.

Yesterday, while walking up the measly four steps to my school building, instead of putting one foot on one step and the other foot on the next step, I decided to forget a step altogether and fell nearly flat on my face just in front of two students (or maybe teachers), spilling my piping hot espresso all over the marble floor and my pants. Not knowing what language I spoke, one of them asked if I was ok in about three different languages and then proceeded to ask me in French if I needed to go to the hospital. I didn't really know how to react - I just said, no...shrugged...gave an awkward smile and brushed myself off. I'm still cringing from that.

Still, not comprehending this very new invention called stairs, I found myself once again conversing with the marble, but this time in front of everyone and their mom at one of Paris' busiest places - Les Halles. I was carelessly strolling through the square, on my way to the magasin when out of nowhere two downward steps appear and send me flying onto my arse in between two innocent folks trying to have a chill moment. "Whoops!!" This time around there was more laughter, a hearty attention, madame! from one of those folks, and a brisk, ça va! from me.

I'm so not looking forward to tomorrow, it's supposed to rain and who knows how my balance will fare on slick Parisian steps. Maybe I should look into taking walking or stair-climbing lessons after my French class.