I give to the following day

Ok. So I am finally going to finish blogging about Paris. And thanks to the magic of backdating, you may never notice. It's Blogger's gift to the procrastinator. Speaking of, I learned a new saying:

Je remet au lendemain.

(It's French for 'I procrastinate.' Or literally: 'I give to the following day' which is a really nice way of saying it.

See. It's not that I'm procrastinating; I just want future me to have something to do. Wouldn't want her to get bored.

I don't speak French. I speak French Food.

So, after 27 days in Paris, that is the conclusion I've come to. I can wing it (or gesticulate it), but really, my French is not so good. But my ordering is impeccable. Or at the very least, it gets me food and wine. So I'm fine with that.

(And for those wondering, I never had an issue with my "not-so-good French for a few reasons.

1. In the city, many people speak English. In the country where people don’t speak English, people appreciated any attempt, no matter how butchered. They know it’s hard.)

2. I tried. I said s’il vous plait and merci and bonjour(nee) and bonsoir(ee). I said excusez-moi de vous déranger. I said monsieur and madame. I looked up key words or phrases when I knew I had to ask something specific, but otherwise I winged it. So thank you, Alliance Française for teaching me enough French to feel comfortable even when I wasn’t speaking it.

Étoile Sighting!

This may be something that only Samantha cares about, but my second to last day, I saw Daniel Auteuil on the street. He was coming out of a parking garage near Pont Marie. It took me a second to process who it was. One of those that guy looks familiar, how do I know him? moments.

Daniel Auteuil is one of my favorite French actors. And there he was. On the same sidewalk as me. In Paris. Not that I was following him or anything, but I lost sight of him on Île Saint Louis. I couldn’t trail him too closely, not being familiar with French stalking laws.

Plus, I had some shopping to do.

S.W.A.K.

Most definitely not The Jewel.

I was at one of my neighborhood grocery stores (there are three right outside the St. Paul metro station). I tried to buy groceries frequently because 1) it's very French and 2) I was living in a third floor, ancient uneven stone staircase apartment. So heavy bags of groceries were a no.

I'm checking out and the cashier takes my yogurt and says something to me. In French. I put my deductive powers to the test, "What would someone be saying at this point?" 'I love this yogurt.' (No, it seems more important than that.) Ah, she's pointing, saying something about the date. Oh, it's expired. (Holy crap. She was actually checking the expiration dates on the food as she rung it up.)

So I divine that she's telling me I can run back and get another one. Which I do. 'Causing a hold-up. Which (for a change) was totally not my fault.

Beep. Turn the page.

I was in the Museum of Jewish Art and History (Le Musée d’art et d’histoire du Judaïsme). It’s a beautiful building featuring impressive and moving exhibits. They provide visitors with audio guides free of charge. I’m not always a fan of audio guides, but the exhibits were frequently in Hebrew and described entirely in French so it was necessary. (The only Hebrew I know is the wine prayer. And while that certainly comes in handy in Paris, it’s not so useful in a museum.)

So I found myself in a room filled with various and ancient Hebrew tombstones. It was amazing to see these concrete (well, stone) examples of the presence of Jews in France hundreds of years ago. I wandered through the room along with an elderly couple, listening to my handset describe the unearthing of the stones and the age from which they came.

As I looked over these memorials to loved ones, Audio Guide Man said, ‘For more information on anti-semitism in the Middle Ages, press 5-5-1.’
Now do you recall those read-along records we had as kids? The one where you’re reading Peter and the Wolf and the record says “At the sound of the beep, turn the page.” Remember his voice? His inflection? His enthusiasm for turning the page? Well, there he was. In my ear in the 4th arrondissement. That same voice. That same inflection. That same enthusiasm for pressing 5-5-1.

So I laughed. And no, it wasn’t that uncomfortable, at a funeral, inappropriate laughing. It was real laughing at something really funny.
Okay. So maybe you had to be there. Though by the looks I received from the elderly couple who were there, no, that wasn't it (But I’m guessing they never had that record. Probably don't even know who Peter and the Wolf is. Are.) But if you had been there, you Generation X American, you would have laughed with me. I promise.

Oh, and by the way, if you’re wondering, I did press 5-5-1. And anti-semitism in the Middle Ages (and I’ll go out on a limb here and say every other age, as well) really isn’t funny.

Walking down the Champs-Élysée.

 

So today I happened upon an amazing event when I turned the corner onto the Champs-Élysée. I'm having trouble discerning it if takes place every day but that seemed to be the buzz around the Arc.   

   

Several old soldiers, sailors, paratroopers (I'm not familiar with French military so I don't know who belongs to what) paraded down the end bit of the the Champs-Élysée to the Arc de Triomphe and laid enormous wreaths at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, sang the national anthem and waved flags from their respective regiments. 

For a few minutes (about a half-hour or so), you could see the young men and woman (there was one) that they once were. They got scolded for talking and not paying attention. They sang with pride and raised their flags with enthusiasm.

And then they were just regular old guys and gal again, a little hunched, heading off in their own directions. I wanted to give them all hugs. But there was a rope and you know, that'd be weird.

So where's Andrew McCarthy?

Is there anything not creepy about a room full of naked mannequins? But hey, if you need to buy a mannequin, I now know where you can get one.

Bigger than Titanic.

Maybe not quite yet, but the French film "Bienvenue Chez Les Ch'tis" could be headed there. I decided to take in the biggest movie in France. I went to a multiplex on Champs-Élysées; it looked just like the AMCs back home, so I just went for it. It seems that for many theaters, you buy your ticket ahead of time, then wait on line for the appropriate time to go in. But as I had waited until last minute to commit to seeing a movie, there was no line. It was just buy the ticket and go in.

I ordered my billet. (I wasn't sure if billet (ticket) or place (seat) was the right word. I went with un billet, svp and it worked. I walked in and the snack counter was right there, with the theaters down the hall. Before I could order food, I needed to use the bathroom because 1. I always use the bathroom before I get my snacks and 2. When traveling, I always use the bathroom when I have access to one.

The bathroom was near the theater so I had to do a little wandering and doubling-back. Time to order. No nachos (which I never actually get, just an observation). The popcorn though came in two options: salty or sweet. I wondered in you could order a mix, but I like my salt, so didn't try for le deux. And the diet coke came in a plastic bottle. Which was a good thing, as there were no cup holders. (Chicago thought: I really think this is the reason why people don't like the Esquire and Piper's Alley theaters. No cup holders.)

I found my seat in the pretty empty theater. The lights went down. And I don't mean dimmed but in case of fire I could find my way out. I mean it was pitch black. DARK.

The movie started. And I had no idea what anyone said. I had read a review ahead of time so I had something of an understanding of what was happening. It seemed pretty funny. But more than enjoying the movie, I enjoyed being in the movie theater. With the French people. Because for 106 minutes, I was one of them.

Happy Passover!

Matzoh ball soup for the soul.

No, that's not a crepe with a cherry on top. It's a potato pancake with a cherry tomato on top. Along side a grilled kebab. 

Tonight for dinner I went to Pitchi Poi, a vaguely Russian/Polish/Eastern European restaurant around the corner from my apartment. Despite not being a kosher (cacher en français) restaurant, (I know because several people stopped in to ask) they were serving a special Passover menu, as well as their regular menu. No bread on the table, only matzoh. And you could get (which I did) potato pancakes instead of blinis.

Gesticulation is the universal language.

In French class, there was one section on food. It was probably the most important chapter ever written. Here we learned how to ask for a container, a slice, a wedge a morcel a piece, a tube and a box. We learned that in Paris, you get a tube of mayonnaise and a box of milk. (Somewhat disconcerting. Like going to a place where you nod for no and shake your head for yes. It makes your brain hurt. Go ahead, try it.)

I try to prepare for my adventures out (quick consultation with relevant vocab before I head somewhere). But here’s the thing when buying cheese, sign language is really the best way to communicate. Even in the U.S. where I have an excellent grasp of the language, I make a little wedge shape with my hands to indicate how much cheese I want. I might throw in “I want this much,” but the communication is all in the hands.

And that is universal.

(I did throw in a comme ça, merci for good measure.)

Clarins #704

Cupid Red.

When I bought my much needed lip balm at the Clarins counter, the man gave me a sample card with 4 colors on it. This is the first one. I think it might be too pink. Though my lips are so chapped that it might just be that. 

Stay tuned. I'll try another color tomorrow.  The anticipation's killing you, isn't it?

Jardin du Really Big

(Sorry. Blogger won't let me upload. No pictures posted tonight.)

So I finally made it into the Jardin du Luxembourg. My original plan had been to take the bus the Le Grand Epicerie, get some sandwich fixin's and have a picnic while I draw and take pictures. But, I got on the wrong bus and ended up getting off at the Eiffel Tower, the last stop. I figured I'd walk. But I was on an angled street so instead of walking directly east, I was walking directly southeast. I kind of almost had to double back. And, not knowing how long until I navigated my way to my destination (plus the temperature and wind were making a picnic sound less and less appealing), I stopped in a boulangerie and picked up a ham and cheese baguette to eat on my adventure. So plain and yet so really yummy. I made it to Le Grand Epicerie just as I finished my sandwich. I was cold and needed to pee, so I went up to the cafe in Le Bon Marché to warm up and well, pee. And caffeinate, of course. 

Then, I ventured out to find the park. I bought some grapes at a little fruit stand to eat should I ever make it there. (My germaphobia seems to go away when I cross international borders. I wouldn't eat organic grapes from Whole Foods without hosing them down first in citric acid fruit wash and a lot of water.) 

So I found Jardin du Luxembourg. Ate my grapes. Took some pictures. Drew a picture. Wandered around. It is huge. They have the biggest playground I've ever seen. Tennis courts. Petanque courts. (Looks like shuffleboard without the sticks or the disk thing. Or numbers. But it was old guys throwing stuff trying to get close to other stuff.) There was also a museum. The Senate. (I know. Right there. In the park. So it's the Louvre. Wrigley Field. The French Senate.) 

I understand why people want to live near it. It really is the Paris version of Hyde Park and Central Park. Though I like my neighborhood better. It feels smaller. Less populated. (Not counting Sundays. Have I mentioned how the entire city descends on the Marais on Sundays? Most stores in Paris are closed, but here, the shops stay open because Saturday is the Jewish day of closing stores. So everyone comes here. Yay Jews.)

Speaking of, I had a falafel for dinner. The falafel place is kosher, and I don't know if they'll be open come Passover. I'll probably have one tomorrow too. Got to get it while I can.

Hot chocolate. As big as your head.

 

It's nice to be in a city where adults can order hot chocolate all willy-nilly. Where the morning (or afternoon. or after dinner.) beverage choice is coffee, tea or hot chocolate. And if you order a chocolat viennois, they go to town with the whipped cream. (And how cute is my mom? And her French-waxed eyebrows?)

Le Louvre.

This place is incredible. Amazing. Under the pyramid. An entire ballroom in gold leaf.  Mona Lisa. (These people need to move. I can't believe Tom Hanks was in here alone. Well, him and a film crew. Made it to the front. There she is.) Mona Lisa. Winged Victory. Venus de Milo. Egypt. Mummies. Kings. Crowns. Beautiful floors. Tiaras. Paintings. Ceilings that put most museums to shame. Slowing down. Getting tired. Time to go. This way to the exit. Nope. Dead end. Here's an exit sign. Riding an elevator. Huh. Only goes down one floor. To one room. Back up the stairs. Is there only one freakin' door? In a museum the size of Maryland? Oh crap. There's Venus de Milo. Again. HOW DO YOU GET OUT OF HERE? Ooh. A stream of fresh-looking, non-overstimulated people. Must be getting close to the entrance. Victory! Actual, for real, this way out exit!

The Louvre truly is glorious and incredible. I may have liked the building, the details and the decor even more than the artwork. But next time, I'm leaving a trail of bread crumbs.

Looks can be deceiving.

This looks tasty. It is not.

If I ever get married...

So this place was around the corner from my apartment so I passed it nearly every day.

Des fleurs. Part deux.

Today we went to Monet's house and gardens in Giverney. I got us lost on the way back to the bus. I should have listened to my mother but she kept saying she wasn't going to pay attention. It was very stressful. I really didn't want to get stranded in the middle of nowhere. But we made it back to the bus and back to Paris where we had a wonderful meal right by my apartment. 

Oh, and the flowers were lovely.

Momma is here.

Us at the Eiffel Tower. Not my best shot, but it's us. At the Eiffel Tower.

We had coffee. We had wine. (Mom had her kir. I think that might be the only reason she came.) We had a cheese plate. Went to the Eiffel Tower, the Champs Elysee and dinner. (omelette for mom (no ketchup! and she ate the whole thing!), roasted chicken for me) Also saw the Four Seasons, very nice Nenners. Now it's time for bed. I'm a little worried we did too much today; I slightly underestimated the distance to a metro station. But hopefully Mom will sleep well. I'm very excited that she's here. I can't wait to do stuff. 

Des Fleurs

I bought flowers today. I love the way they wrapped them and then pinned their card to the paper with a rose and the biggest pin I've ever seen. Okay. That's about as eloquent as I'm getting tonight. I need to get to bed early. My mom's coming and I need to be a good, perky host. Bonne nuit.