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?)