Yes, we love Paris indeed!
Thursday, December 8, 2011
Sunday, September 4, 2011
What we learned on our Paris adventure.
A year ago our Paris adventure was just beginning. If it were not for the daily reminders and influences that remain in our lives, I would swear that it was all just a dream, a blur in my mind; it went far too quickly. We came home with fresh knowledge, new thoughts, opinions, having learnt so much from living away from our safe happy lives in Calgary. Some of these are Paris specific, others just from the fact from having gone away and lived new experiences.
Small rat like dogs can indeed be cute.
Frenchman can get away with wearing red, orange and yellow pants – most of them at least.
If our baguette is hot when we buy it, always buy two as one will have been inhaled by the 3 Tai girls by the time we get home, crumbs on the front of out clothes as evidence.
I love not driving and not having a car.
Wearing a scarf all the time does actually serve a purpose and is not just for looking fashionable (yes the dreaded courant d’air/draft!)
There is always something to do in Paris.
I still have my passion for photography.
Parisian pharmacists can help you with any problem.
Thank god for worldwide Apple Stores.
Yes many French women are beautiful indeed and Paris definitely is the capital of fashion.
Fresh market ingredients make our meals much tastier.
I should not keep Nutella in the house. Whole jars can quickly disappear.
Paris is not a good place to be on a diet!
We like living in an apartment and would certainly be able to survive in a smaller space.
I should always carry my camera and a notebook with me.
It is ok to be feminine.
We can make new friends.
We would be able to survive with less.
It did not take long for the girls to speak better French than I do.
Some Parisians do pick up after their dogs. Many still do not.
It is so important to always be learning and be curious.
You can get to know Parisians; you just have to make a bigger effort and be patient.
Melissa can always make me laugh so hard until tears are running down my face.
Nathalie and Gabrielle look fabulous dressed like young Parisian girls.
10 days with Jackie is not nearly enough.
Even in a large city like Paris one can get a sense of community and belonging.
When I asked Gabrielle what she learned in Paris her response was “that I have a big family! And that I can ride a scooter really well.”
The French are interested in someone who is different and not the Parisian mold.
I can ride a bike in a skirt and heels (don’t have to be in full athletic gear.)
We all have a sense of adventure and the travel bug.
We would be able to live somewhere other than Calgary.
We are all adaptable –the girls probably more so than I.
We adore our Paris family.
“I’m not as shy as I thought I was and I can make friends easily” was Nathalie’s big revelation about herself during this year. And she certainly loved her independence.
Living across the hallway from my mother works. We so enjoyed having her as part of our every day lives. Yes we did not do all the museum visits and activities we envisioned but mealtimes, walks, the marche, panaches on the terrasse, café sur le balcon, spending our every day lives together was indeed lovely. Our year would not have been possible or the same without her.
We don’t want to live away from George.
I don’t need to fit in.
Nathalie and Gabrielle certainly rise to the occasion. Bravo les filles!
Life in Canada is easy.
Family is everything.
I can write
Alone time is important.
I can be independent.
Change is good.
Paris IS magical.
How lucky we are.
And would we do it again? In a heartbeat, tout de suite, bien sur!
Small rat like dogs can indeed be cute.
Frenchman can get away with wearing red, orange and yellow pants – most of them at least.
If our baguette is hot when we buy it, always buy two as one will have been inhaled by the 3 Tai girls by the time we get home, crumbs on the front of out clothes as evidence.
I love not driving and not having a car.
Wearing a scarf all the time does actually serve a purpose and is not just for looking fashionable (yes the dreaded courant d’air/draft!)
There is always something to do in Paris.
I still have my passion for photography.
Parisian pharmacists can help you with any problem.
Thank god for worldwide Apple Stores.
Yes many French women are beautiful indeed and Paris definitely is the capital of fashion.
Fresh market ingredients make our meals much tastier.
I should not keep Nutella in the house. Whole jars can quickly disappear.
Paris is not a good place to be on a diet!
We like living in an apartment and would certainly be able to survive in a smaller space.
I should always carry my camera and a notebook with me.
It is ok to be feminine.
We can make new friends.
We would be able to survive with less.
It did not take long for the girls to speak better French than I do.
Some Parisians do pick up after their dogs. Many still do not.
It is so important to always be learning and be curious.
You can get to know Parisians; you just have to make a bigger effort and be patient.
Melissa can always make me laugh so hard until tears are running down my face.
Nathalie and Gabrielle look fabulous dressed like young Parisian girls.
10 days with Jackie is not nearly enough.
Even in a large city like Paris one can get a sense of community and belonging.
When I asked Gabrielle what she learned in Paris her response was “that I have a big family! And that I can ride a scooter really well.”
The French are interested in someone who is different and not the Parisian mold.
I can ride a bike in a skirt and heels (don’t have to be in full athletic gear.)
We all have a sense of adventure and the travel bug.
We would be able to live somewhere other than Calgary.
We are all adaptable –the girls probably more so than I.
We adore our Paris family.
“I’m not as shy as I thought I was and I can make friends easily” was Nathalie’s big revelation about herself during this year. And she certainly loved her independence.
Living across the hallway from my mother works. We so enjoyed having her as part of our every day lives. Yes we did not do all the museum visits and activities we envisioned but mealtimes, walks, the marche, panaches on the terrasse, café sur le balcon, spending our every day lives together was indeed lovely. Our year would not have been possible or the same without her.
We don’t want to live away from George.
I don’t need to fit in.
Nathalie and Gabrielle certainly rise to the occasion. Bravo les filles!
Life in Canada is easy.
Family is everything.
I can write
Alone time is important.
I can be independent.
Change is good.
Paris IS magical.
How lucky we are.
And would we do it again? In a heartbeat, tout de suite, bien sur!
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
Taking Stock Part IV - Writing
Paris made us feel alive. The beauty, art, history, and constant activity. The girls and I loved to think about who walked before us in many parts of the city. Les rois, royalty, painters, sculptors, famous thinkers, scientists, and of course, famous authors. Yes Hemingway, but many others from different walks of life: Colette, Nancy Mitford, Edith Wharton, James Joyce, Camus, the list is endless, writers coming to Paris to work on their craft with the fortunate ones, succeeding.
I try not to make New Year’s resolutions as I have never been good at keeping them. I made one this year: to write, as much as possible. To take advantage of the time I had in Paris. In February my Travel/Memoir writing class began. This is what I was searching for: my writing life was born. Inspiration was all around me; women from all walks of life, from different countries with amazing stories to tell. Stories of heartache, loss, and survival. Challenges that come into our lives and force us to fight, persevere and build character. Women with feelings and thoughts that needed to be put down on paper, some as catharsis, others to share their deep emotional experiences. Our common bond was that we all wanted to write about these experiences, whether happy, sad or angry. We all wanted to work hard, get our thoughts and emotions down on paper, properly. Do it right and make our writing worthy of our experiences. I came home from my first class aching to get going. I was stirred by these lives and by our instructor, who was energetic, motivating, knowledgeable and passionate. I ached to find a rhythm, to get into a schedule and to get creating. I could sense my groove was somewhere in the room, I only had to reach out and grab it. I just had to get writing.
The key was that in Paris, I had the time. While the girls were in school, I wrote, I went to classes, I read, I discovered and I wrote some more. I got into a groove that I am trying desperately to maintain. Now back in Calgary, I'm working on finalizing some of my Paris essays and hope to soon find a home for them. I can say that my writing goal was surpassed in Paris. What an opportunity I was given. Indeed, this one can definitely be checked off the list. √.
I try not to make New Year’s resolutions as I have never been good at keeping them. I made one this year: to write, as much as possible. To take advantage of the time I had in Paris. In February my Travel/Memoir writing class began. This is what I was searching for: my writing life was born. Inspiration was all around me; women from all walks of life, from different countries with amazing stories to tell. Stories of heartache, loss, and survival. Challenges that come into our lives and force us to fight, persevere and build character. Women with feelings and thoughts that needed to be put down on paper, some as catharsis, others to share their deep emotional experiences. Our common bond was that we all wanted to write about these experiences, whether happy, sad or angry. We all wanted to work hard, get our thoughts and emotions down on paper, properly. Do it right and make our writing worthy of our experiences. I came home from my first class aching to get going. I was stirred by these lives and by our instructor, who was energetic, motivating, knowledgeable and passionate. I ached to find a rhythm, to get into a schedule and to get creating. I could sense my groove was somewhere in the room, I only had to reach out and grab it. I just had to get writing.
The key was that in Paris, I had the time. While the girls were in school, I wrote, I went to classes, I read, I discovered and I wrote some more. I got into a groove that I am trying desperately to maintain. Now back in Calgary, I'm working on finalizing some of my Paris essays and hope to soon find a home for them. I can say that my writing goal was surpassed in Paris. What an opportunity I was given. Indeed, this one can definitely be checked off the list. √.
Monday, August 8, 2011
Taking Stock Part III - Culture - A Paris Education
Years of history, world famous art, entertainment, architecture, literature, food, tradition, etiquette, fashion, celebrations, so much to be absorbed. Everywhere we went in Paris, we were always surrounded by new and different culture. This was certainly one of our objectives for our year in Paris, to take in as much as we can. To learn about French culture, to visit museums, and to nourish the girls' interest in all of this. And to make them want to go back and learn more. Below is a short essay I wrote after Gabrielle and I visited the Louvre. What an eye opening experience. Yes objective number 3 for our year in Paris definitely checked off our list. √
A Paris Education
“Maman, can we go to the Louvre next Wednesday?” asked my daughter Gabrielle.
Gabrielle was delighted to be in a Paris school that did not have classes on Wednesday. Her older sister was not as fortunate and had half a day of school on these days. This was our mother-daughter day to explore wonderful Paris together. But I was surprised by her Louvre request.
“What do you want to see at the Louvre, Gabrielle?” I asked.
“The statues of the Greek gods,” she answered
“Sounds good to me. We can go this Wednesday morning if you like.”
This was not a conversation I had ever expected to be having with my eight-year-old. I had brought my two daughters, from our home in Canada to Paris for a year. This was exactly one of the reasons we had come here, to offer the girls these kinds of opportunities and to make a diverse education available to them. I knew that both my girls had read the Percy Jackson series; actually they were rather obsessed with it. My eldest daughter, eleven-year-old Nathalie, had plowed through all five books, and even Gabrielle, who was young to be reading these books, was not far behind her sister. Greek gods it was.
Having a Parisian mother, with a solid accent and a strong bourgeois French nose, I had been coming to Paris my whole life with her, Madame Genevieve Cottin. When I was a child, journeys were made yearly and since then I had made frequent voyages to Paris by myself. When my father was with us in Paris we always went to the Louvre. Many childhood hours had been spent in those hallways and large exposition galleries and that certainly had been enough for me. These visits to the Louvre at a young age were always far too long and quickly became boring and painful. They did not have special activities or workshops for children then. You followed your parents around always spying the nearest bench to sit on and wait, again, uninterested. Although I regularly visited many museums, I had not been to the Louvre in years, not seeing the need for another visit. Now as a mother, after my initial surprise, I was pleased that my youngest had asked to go to the Louvre. A request I certainly could not refuse.
“Maman, we need to get a map of the museum to see exactly where the Greek god statues are. But I think they are in the Sully wing.” Gabrielle said as we entered the museum.
Her excitement was palpable. As soon as we entered the area with the Greek god statues, my lesson began.
“This is Pan, the god of Shepherds and Flocks.” Gabrielle walked right up to the sculpture in the first room.
“He is also known as Faunus in Roman mythology. You can tell it is him since he’s half man and half goat. Look at his hooves. And he has horns too. He was the son of Hermes and a nymph.”
I stood there looking at Pan for a few minutes, impressed that my young daughter could share this kind of knowledge with me. Gabrielle grabbed her camera off her belt and started snapping pictures of our first statue.
“Maman, quick, come and see this next one!” she yelled. “This one is Artemis, she’s the goddess of Hunting which is why she carries a bow and arrow.”
“What is her Roman name, Gabrielle?” I said intrigued.
“That’s easy, it’s Diana.” She said confidently, with a big smile.
I remembered bits of this from grade school, but I was surprised that Gabrielle already knew so much.
“Who is your favorite god, Gabrielle?” I asked.
“Probably Artemis, but she is a goddess, not a god. I like her because she belongs in the outdoors. Besides hunting, she is also the goddess of wilderness and wild animals.”
Of course, I should have known this as Gabrielle leads the way on family hikes in the Canadian Rockies at home, and runs down to the dock every morning when we are at the lake, to start minnow catching, activities we were putting on hold this year for their Paris education.
“Did you really learn all of this from Percy Jackson?” I wanted to know.
“Yeah, Percy runs into so many different gods.”
Hermes, Athena, Apollo, Poseidon and even his wife Amphitrite… my lesson went on and on. By the time I looked at my watch again, an hour and a half had passed. Who knew the Louvre could be so captivating? And who knew that I would be thanking one of my children for my renewed interest in the Louvre?
Gabrielle was particularly taken with the Venus de Milo.
“What do you think happened to her arms, maman?”
“Well, she is a very old statue, and many of them do not get discovered or preserved entirely. I think they found her that way. Let’s go and read the plaque and find out.”
After two solid hours of looking at statues, we both reached our limit. I had learned from my own childhood experiences here to leave while we were still smiling. On the Metro ride home, as Gabrielle was enthusiastically flipping through her new workbook on Greek Mythology, I thought about our morning and what I had learned. A torch had been passed. I had been learning from my children for years, but this was a different kind of raw knowledge, book learning. Instead of a one-way flow from me to my daughter, the tides had turned and I was going to be learning from her. I must have been sitting on the Metro with a big smile on my face. I was proud. My child was like a sponge, taking in everything around her, everything she was reading and she was sharing her knowledge. As a parent you occasionally have “ah ha” moments, when you understand that some of your parenting skills are working and some of your decisions have been the right ones. Sitting on the Metro in Paris that Wednesday afternoon, I had one of those moments and I had the Greek gods to thank for this.
The Louvre also became a new museum to me. I realized why my father used to bring us here so often. It was magical to see everything through your child’s eyes. Gabrielle’s enthusiasm and happiness were contagious. I knew we would soon be back.
I’m grateful for the amazing education and opportunity we were giving our children. Taking them away from everything they knew in Calgary had been painful. There had been tears during our first two months in Paris. They deeply missed their father, their dog, their friends and their every day lives. Whenever we had a grand moment, I would remind them we could be happy here and learn so much. It was going to be a brilliant year; we just had to open ourselves up to the idea. Whether eight, eleven or forty years old were going to gain a new perspective and live new experiences. And perhaps I was the one who had the most to learn.
Paris, Jan 2011
A Paris Education
“Maman, can we go to the Louvre next Wednesday?” asked my daughter Gabrielle.
Gabrielle was delighted to be in a Paris school that did not have classes on Wednesday. Her older sister was not as fortunate and had half a day of school on these days. This was our mother-daughter day to explore wonderful Paris together. But I was surprised by her Louvre request.
“What do you want to see at the Louvre, Gabrielle?” I asked.
“The statues of the Greek gods,” she answered
“Sounds good to me. We can go this Wednesday morning if you like.”
This was not a conversation I had ever expected to be having with my eight-year-old. I had brought my two daughters, from our home in Canada to Paris for a year. This was exactly one of the reasons we had come here, to offer the girls these kinds of opportunities and to make a diverse education available to them. I knew that both my girls had read the Percy Jackson series; actually they were rather obsessed with it. My eldest daughter, eleven-year-old Nathalie, had plowed through all five books, and even Gabrielle, who was young to be reading these books, was not far behind her sister. Greek gods it was.
Having a Parisian mother, with a solid accent and a strong bourgeois French nose, I had been coming to Paris my whole life with her, Madame Genevieve Cottin. When I was a child, journeys were made yearly and since then I had made frequent voyages to Paris by myself. When my father was with us in Paris we always went to the Louvre. Many childhood hours had been spent in those hallways and large exposition galleries and that certainly had been enough for me. These visits to the Louvre at a young age were always far too long and quickly became boring and painful. They did not have special activities or workshops for children then. You followed your parents around always spying the nearest bench to sit on and wait, again, uninterested. Although I regularly visited many museums, I had not been to the Louvre in years, not seeing the need for another visit. Now as a mother, after my initial surprise, I was pleased that my youngest had asked to go to the Louvre. A request I certainly could not refuse.
“Maman, we need to get a map of the museum to see exactly where the Greek god statues are. But I think they are in the Sully wing.” Gabrielle said as we entered the museum.
Her excitement was palpable. As soon as we entered the area with the Greek god statues, my lesson began.
“This is Pan, the god of Shepherds and Flocks.” Gabrielle walked right up to the sculpture in the first room.
“He is also known as Faunus in Roman mythology. You can tell it is him since he’s half man and half goat. Look at his hooves. And he has horns too. He was the son of Hermes and a nymph.”
I stood there looking at Pan for a few minutes, impressed that my young daughter could share this kind of knowledge with me. Gabrielle grabbed her camera off her belt and started snapping pictures of our first statue.
“Maman, quick, come and see this next one!” she yelled. “This one is Artemis, she’s the goddess of Hunting which is why she carries a bow and arrow.”
“What is her Roman name, Gabrielle?” I said intrigued.
“That’s easy, it’s Diana.” She said confidently, with a big smile.
I remembered bits of this from grade school, but I was surprised that Gabrielle already knew so much.
“Who is your favorite god, Gabrielle?” I asked.
“Probably Artemis, but she is a goddess, not a god. I like her because she belongs in the outdoors. Besides hunting, she is also the goddess of wilderness and wild animals.”
Of course, I should have known this as Gabrielle leads the way on family hikes in the Canadian Rockies at home, and runs down to the dock every morning when we are at the lake, to start minnow catching, activities we were putting on hold this year for their Paris education.
“Did you really learn all of this from Percy Jackson?” I wanted to know.
“Yeah, Percy runs into so many different gods.”
Hermes, Athena, Apollo, Poseidon and even his wife Amphitrite… my lesson went on and on. By the time I looked at my watch again, an hour and a half had passed. Who knew the Louvre could be so captivating? And who knew that I would be thanking one of my children for my renewed interest in the Louvre?
Gabrielle was particularly taken with the Venus de Milo.
“What do you think happened to her arms, maman?”
“Well, she is a very old statue, and many of them do not get discovered or preserved entirely. I think they found her that way. Let’s go and read the plaque and find out.”
After two solid hours of looking at statues, we both reached our limit. I had learned from my own childhood experiences here to leave while we were still smiling. On the Metro ride home, as Gabrielle was enthusiastically flipping through her new workbook on Greek Mythology, I thought about our morning and what I had learned. A torch had been passed. I had been learning from my children for years, but this was a different kind of raw knowledge, book learning. Instead of a one-way flow from me to my daughter, the tides had turned and I was going to be learning from her. I must have been sitting on the Metro with a big smile on my face. I was proud. My child was like a sponge, taking in everything around her, everything she was reading and she was sharing her knowledge. As a parent you occasionally have “ah ha” moments, when you understand that some of your parenting skills are working and some of your decisions have been the right ones. Sitting on the Metro in Paris that Wednesday afternoon, I had one of those moments and I had the Greek gods to thank for this.
The Louvre also became a new museum to me. I realized why my father used to bring us here so often. It was magical to see everything through your child’s eyes. Gabrielle’s enthusiasm and happiness were contagious. I knew we would soon be back.
I’m grateful for the amazing education and opportunity we were giving our children. Taking them away from everything they knew in Calgary had been painful. There had been tears during our first two months in Paris. They deeply missed their father, their dog, their friends and their every day lives. Whenever we had a grand moment, I would remind them we could be happy here and learn so much. It was going to be a brilliant year; we just had to open ourselves up to the idea. Whether eight, eleven or forty years old were going to gain a new perspective and live new experiences. And perhaps I was the one who had the most to learn.
Paris, Jan 2011
Sunday, July 24, 2011
Taking Stock - Part II - Zee Parisian Family
As I sat at my favorite spot at the kitchen table, full view of the gorgeous property out the back window, I was watching little cousins giggling as they peaked out from behind their hiding spots as their grande cousine Canadienne, Gabrielle was running across the yard searching for her little cousins in a joyful game of hide and go seek. Nathalie was snuggled up on the couch watching Bambi with 4-year-old Delphine, her arm cradled around her admiring petite cousine. It had taken a few weekends at my uncle Xavier’s country house, for my girls to feel this comfortable. But each time we saw our Parisian family, Nathalie and Gabrielle’s comfort levels grew exponentially.
We were fortunate to spend some wonderful family weekends at my uncle’s country house just outside of the big city during our Paris adventure. Some weekends it was just the three of us with my uncle and aunt. Other weekends, it was pure mayhem, with up to 24 of us, including 11 children, 7-years-old and younger. At the beginning it was tough for the girls to be around all these new family members. Yes they had met most of them before but last time they had been 7 and 4-years-old. Life changes quickly at these tender ages, so do personalities and comfort levels. This was certainly true for me as well. I could see that my girls were looking to me to see how maman felt, how maman fits in, how maman feels. Funny how my comfort level shot straight up with my children looking on; forced yes, but so glad for the big push.
Yes one of my biggest challenges in France has always been for me to feel completely comfortable with my Parisian family. As a child I would see my aunts and uncles and cousins perhaps several times every few years for a dinner or two. Not exactly enough time to develop bonds and relationships. My sister and I would be sitting at la table des enfants, a separate dining table for the children, our legs almost hitting our chins as we sat on miniature chairs. And being 5 years older than my eldest cousin did not help, we had very little in common. This year, these weekends at the country house, Christmas en famille, museum visits together, lunch, coffee dates, shopping, with a year to spend time with them, our relationships and my comfort level grew. My mother often talks about how important it is for future generations of our families to stay in contact over the expansive ocean that separates us. But this year I heard my reserved uncle Xavier, my mother’s brother, tell us how important this will be when they are no longer around. Moments like this only reinforce how important it was for us to spend time in France and really get to know les Demortreux and their ever-growing families.
Gabrielle playing Uno with Mathieu and Alban. Nathalie sitting at the big country dining table showing my cousin’s husband, Nicolas, how to use her iPad. Gabrielle playing badminton with Patrick, my eldest cousin Valerie’s husband. Nathalie happily helping Tante Simone make dinner. A week after we returned to Calgary, I received an e-mail from my cousine Laetitia. She signed off her message with a salutation I have never seen before from my French family, avec toute mon affection, with all my affection. I immediately realized that, yes, we were all feeling much more at ease with each other and were spending time together because we wanted to, not because we had to. Another success for Tai Girls: family bonds. Objective number two for our year, happily checked off the list. √
We were fortunate to spend some wonderful family weekends at my uncle’s country house just outside of the big city during our Paris adventure. Some weekends it was just the three of us with my uncle and aunt. Other weekends, it was pure mayhem, with up to 24 of us, including 11 children, 7-years-old and younger. At the beginning it was tough for the girls to be around all these new family members. Yes they had met most of them before but last time they had been 7 and 4-years-old. Life changes quickly at these tender ages, so do personalities and comfort levels. This was certainly true for me as well. I could see that my girls were looking to me to see how maman felt, how maman fits in, how maman feels. Funny how my comfort level shot straight up with my children looking on; forced yes, but so glad for the big push.
Yes one of my biggest challenges in France has always been for me to feel completely comfortable with my Parisian family. As a child I would see my aunts and uncles and cousins perhaps several times every few years for a dinner or two. Not exactly enough time to develop bonds and relationships. My sister and I would be sitting at la table des enfants, a separate dining table for the children, our legs almost hitting our chins as we sat on miniature chairs. And being 5 years older than my eldest cousin did not help, we had very little in common. This year, these weekends at the country house, Christmas en famille, museum visits together, lunch, coffee dates, shopping, with a year to spend time with them, our relationships and my comfort level grew. My mother often talks about how important it is for future generations of our families to stay in contact over the expansive ocean that separates us. But this year I heard my reserved uncle Xavier, my mother’s brother, tell us how important this will be when they are no longer around. Moments like this only reinforce how important it was for us to spend time in France and really get to know les Demortreux and their ever-growing families.
Gabrielle playing Uno with Mathieu and Alban. Nathalie sitting at the big country dining table showing my cousin’s husband, Nicolas, how to use her iPad. Gabrielle playing badminton with Patrick, my eldest cousin Valerie’s husband. Nathalie happily helping Tante Simone make dinner. A week after we returned to Calgary, I received an e-mail from my cousine Laetitia. She signed off her message with a salutation I have never seen before from my French family, avec toute mon affection, with all my affection. I immediately realized that, yes, we were all feeling much more at ease with each other and were spending time together because we wanted to, not because we had to. Another success for Tai Girls: family bonds. Objective number two for our year, happily checked off the list. √
Thursday, July 14, 2011
Taking Stock - Part 1
“There is never any ending to Paris, and the memory of each person who had lived in it differs from that of any other. Paris is always worth it, and you received in return for whatever you brought to it.”
Ernest Hemingway - A Moveable Feast
As I sit here at 5am on a Sunday morning, no longer able to sleep, still jet lagged, I wonder what the three Tai girls brought to Paris and what we received in return. What was our year all about? Going to Paris we certainly had goals in mind; what we wanted to accomplish and hoped to gain from this experience. Did we achieve these? Can we check our goals off our list? Now that we are back in Calgary, it is time to take stock of our year.
The year in Paris (and my blog) started with me sitting in a café after dropping Gabrielle off for her first day of school. The Frenchman beside me struck up a conversation and the second sentence out of his mouth was “what a lovely English accent you have." For a transplanted half Canadian half French woman, hoping to fit in, this was not the most encouraging way to commence the year. Luckily our French improved over the year, some of us faster than others.
It only took a month of school for Nathalie to start sounding like a Parisian adolescent, stylish mumbling included. Her accent is impeccable; any hint of the Canadian is completely gone. By October, she was correcting my French. By November she was rolling her eyes at me when I made mistakes, looking embarrassed in front of her new friends. I brought this on myself though, as this was one of our main goals for the girls, for them to speak French better than I do. I did not factor in the 11 year old attitude and the rolling of the eyes.
Gabrielle had higher to climb and more work to do. She did not disappoint. She was in special lunch time sessions with her teacher for students with French issues. Come December, Gabrielle was told she no longer needed to attend the lunch time sessions. By January, Gabrielle was correcting my French. Apparently I should have been attending these sessions with her. But a week before our departure back to Canada a French friend told me that he could almost not hear my accent when I spoke French. I did not question him any further, took this as a compliment and quickly changed the subject.
A few days later, with some good family friends and apparently speaking French with barely any accent, I made the dreaded “Kristian mistake.” Kristian is my younger brother. Years ago when he was 12-years-old and we were in Paris he commented to our French family about the peanut butter he liked back home because it did not have any “preservatives” in it. In French, "preservatifs" means condoms. Needless to say, our family was quite delighted to hear that Canadian peanut butter did not contain condoms. Yes, I made the dreaded “Kristian mistake” two days before leaving Paris. At least after a year of school in Paris the girls speak French better than I do. Apparently my French still needs some work.
The only French I wished we had left behind are the lovely schoolyard words the girls have learned and occasionally use –which I will not repeat here. These are some words that are better left at recess at their Parisian schools. Merde, this is not the kind of French I brought them to France for, goddammit!
I can proudly check off our list: French language skills (with some bonus words too). √
Next, getting to know zee intimidating Parisian relatives....
Ernest Hemingway - A Moveable Feast
As I sit here at 5am on a Sunday morning, no longer able to sleep, still jet lagged, I wonder what the three Tai girls brought to Paris and what we received in return. What was our year all about? Going to Paris we certainly had goals in mind; what we wanted to accomplish and hoped to gain from this experience. Did we achieve these? Can we check our goals off our list? Now that we are back in Calgary, it is time to take stock of our year.
The year in Paris (and my blog) started with me sitting in a café after dropping Gabrielle off for her first day of school. The Frenchman beside me struck up a conversation and the second sentence out of his mouth was “what a lovely English accent you have." For a transplanted half Canadian half French woman, hoping to fit in, this was not the most encouraging way to commence the year. Luckily our French improved over the year, some of us faster than others.
It only took a month of school for Nathalie to start sounding like a Parisian adolescent, stylish mumbling included. Her accent is impeccable; any hint of the Canadian is completely gone. By October, she was correcting my French. By November she was rolling her eyes at me when I made mistakes, looking embarrassed in front of her new friends. I brought this on myself though, as this was one of our main goals for the girls, for them to speak French better than I do. I did not factor in the 11 year old attitude and the rolling of the eyes.
Gabrielle had higher to climb and more work to do. She did not disappoint. She was in special lunch time sessions with her teacher for students with French issues. Come December, Gabrielle was told she no longer needed to attend the lunch time sessions. By January, Gabrielle was correcting my French. Apparently I should have been attending these sessions with her. But a week before our departure back to Canada a French friend told me that he could almost not hear my accent when I spoke French. I did not question him any further, took this as a compliment and quickly changed the subject.
A few days later, with some good family friends and apparently speaking French with barely any accent, I made the dreaded “Kristian mistake.” Kristian is my younger brother. Years ago when he was 12-years-old and we were in Paris he commented to our French family about the peanut butter he liked back home because it did not have any “preservatives” in it. In French, "preservatifs" means condoms. Needless to say, our family was quite delighted to hear that Canadian peanut butter did not contain condoms. Yes, I made the dreaded “Kristian mistake” two days before leaving Paris. At least after a year of school in Paris the girls speak French better than I do. Apparently my French still needs some work.
The only French I wished we had left behind are the lovely schoolyard words the girls have learned and occasionally use –which I will not repeat here. These are some words that are better left at recess at their Parisian schools. Merde, this is not the kind of French I brought them to France for, goddammit!
I can proudly check off our list: French language skills (with some bonus words too). √
Next, getting to know zee intimidating Parisian relatives....
Saturday, July 2, 2011
Ingrid's Top Ten Lists
TOP EIGHT THINGS I'M NOT GOING TO MISS ABOUT PARIS
I could not even come up with 10 here! That is a good thing!
8. Motorcycles driving on the sidewalks. You are a vehicle, not a pedestrian - get on the road!
7. Too many friggin' tourists most of the year. In some areas you really have to fight your way through the crowds.
6. The humidity. Winters chill you to the bone and the hot summer days are rather dreadful (yes it is +34 degrees C out as I write this.)
5. Expensive life, expensive everything!
4. "Kids at school asking me what the F word means." This one is from Gabrielle as I could not come up with enough of my own.
3. Racism. I don't know how many times I have heard this year that all the problems in France are caused by immigrants. And calling the man who owns the corner store "the little arab" and then saying that this is acceptable as it is part of the culture. Don't get my started on these.
2. Cigarette smoke, cigar smoke, 2nd hand smoke, smokers in general. Parents smoking around their children and pushing baby strollers with a cigarette in their hand.
1. And the number one thing I'm not going to miss about Paris....yes, all the dreaded, messy, smelly dog poo on the sidewalks and in the streets of this lovely city!
TOP TEN THINGS I'M GOING TO MISS ABOUT PARIS
- of course, these are, besides the obvious, like my wonderful French family & my new friends - it was difficult to stop at 10, there is so much we are going to miss!
10. Well dressed, good looking men, in nicely tailored, fitted suits. The men here know how to dress. And you never tire of getting an appreciative look from them as you walk on by.
9. The Metro - convenient & easy. And the metro rumbling under the apartment. Love the feeling & sound. Makes me feel alive!
8. Velib System. The pick up & drop off bike system is great and so convenient. After saying when I first arrived "I would never ride a bike in Paris," I did, and often. Even managed to do so in a skirt & heels!
7. Our tiny 50sq m apartment. Easy, intimate & low maintenance! And our fabulous balcony.
6. The girls' excellent schools. Walking to and from school. No driving/being a school bus for 10 months was lovely!
5. Dare I say it, but the French people! Their passion; lively discussions, encores at the theatre, not being afraid to express their opinions, and yes, often saying exactly what they are thinking. Funny how I did not appreciate this trait much while growing up with a French mother though.
4. The baguettes, les pains au chocolats, le fromage, the wine, all zee food! And importantly, le marche with my Apple Man! No saran wrapped food for a year was refreshing.
3. Weekends at the family country house. Relaxing, enjoyable, beautiful setting, fresh air and spending time with our loving French family. Seeing my girls chasing their little French cousins around the yard made this whole year worth it.
2. My Writing Group. Inspiration, motivation, helpful ideas and friendship.
1. And the number one thing I'm going to miss about Paris...how Paris makes me feel! I feel alive, free, adventurous, curious, impulsive, feminine, sexy, like anything is possible. There is always something new, something to do, always learning, discovering, about the city, about the people and about myself.
As Audrey Hepburn said in Sabrina,
"PARIS IS ALWAYS A GOOD IDEA"
I could not even come up with 10 here! That is a good thing!
8. Motorcycles driving on the sidewalks. You are a vehicle, not a pedestrian - get on the road!
7. Too many friggin' tourists most of the year. In some areas you really have to fight your way through the crowds.
6. The humidity. Winters chill you to the bone and the hot summer days are rather dreadful (yes it is +34 degrees C out as I write this.)
5. Expensive life, expensive everything!
4. "Kids at school asking me what the F word means." This one is from Gabrielle as I could not come up with enough of my own.
3. Racism. I don't know how many times I have heard this year that all the problems in France are caused by immigrants. And calling the man who owns the corner store "the little arab" and then saying that this is acceptable as it is part of the culture. Don't get my started on these.
2. Cigarette smoke, cigar smoke, 2nd hand smoke, smokers in general. Parents smoking around their children and pushing baby strollers with a cigarette in their hand.
1. And the number one thing I'm not going to miss about Paris....yes, all the dreaded, messy, smelly dog poo on the sidewalks and in the streets of this lovely city!
TOP TEN THINGS I'M GOING TO MISS ABOUT PARIS
- of course, these are, besides the obvious, like my wonderful French family & my new friends - it was difficult to stop at 10, there is so much we are going to miss!
10. Well dressed, good looking men, in nicely tailored, fitted suits. The men here know how to dress. And you never tire of getting an appreciative look from them as you walk on by.
9. The Metro - convenient & easy. And the metro rumbling under the apartment. Love the feeling & sound. Makes me feel alive!
8. Velib System. The pick up & drop off bike system is great and so convenient. After saying when I first arrived "I would never ride a bike in Paris," I did, and often. Even managed to do so in a skirt & heels!
7. Our tiny 50sq m apartment. Easy, intimate & low maintenance! And our fabulous balcony.
6. The girls' excellent schools. Walking to and from school. No driving/being a school bus for 10 months was lovely!
5. Dare I say it, but the French people! Their passion; lively discussions, encores at the theatre, not being afraid to express their opinions, and yes, often saying exactly what they are thinking. Funny how I did not appreciate this trait much while growing up with a French mother though.
4. The baguettes, les pains au chocolats, le fromage, the wine, all zee food! And importantly, le marche with my Apple Man! No saran wrapped food for a year was refreshing.
3. Weekends at the family country house. Relaxing, enjoyable, beautiful setting, fresh air and spending time with our loving French family. Seeing my girls chasing their little French cousins around the yard made this whole year worth it.
2. My Writing Group. Inspiration, motivation, helpful ideas and friendship.
1. And the number one thing I'm going to miss about Paris...how Paris makes me feel! I feel alive, free, adventurous, curious, impulsive, feminine, sexy, like anything is possible. There is always something new, something to do, always learning, discovering, about the city, about the people and about myself.
As Audrey Hepburn said in Sabrina,
"PARIS IS ALWAYS A GOOD IDEA"
Friday, June 24, 2011
Two weeks and not counting
With good bye lunches and dinners starting last week, I can no longer deny that we are soon on our way home. After several days of panicking and then understanding that this is not going to accomplish anything, I find myself calm and slowing down. With this stillness has come days of being a flaneur in Paris: walking aimlessly, discovering new neighbourhoods, no real goal or destination in mind.
I found myself strolling in the Cimitiere Montparnasse this week. Two of the most popular graves here are those of Serge Gainsbourg and Jean-Paul Sartre. Gainsbourg was an iconic French singer-songwriter, actor and director. It has been said that he "elevated song to the level of art." I walked up to Gainsbourg's grave just as a French woman was placing a pack of cigarettes, a lighter, metro tickets and a personalized note on his tombstone, which was already covered with numerous tributes fans have lovingly left behind. I could hear two Brits behind me, one saying to the other "did she just put a packet of fags on his tombstone?" in a strong English accent. "Disgusting" was the other's response. Gainsbourg was rarely seen without a smoke in his mouth. The cigarette pack brandishing fan then took off her coat to reveal a black t-shirt with white lyrics from the song "La Javanaise". Even through her slight embarrassment, she was quite pleased to be there. I guess crazy fans exist all around the world. This could be me in 30 years at Jim Cuddy's grave in my 80's wearing a t-shirt saying "And if we're lost, then we are lost together." For now, I look forward to seeing Jim next week at La Maroquinerie. And perhaps bringing some of Serge's music home, with his smooth voice, sexual and dark undertones, would be an excellent Paris souvenir. "J'avoue j'en ai bave pour vous mon amour."
I then searched for Sartre's grave for half an hour, to no avail. I'm sure he would have something existentialist to say about this and that I didn't consciously want to find it.
90 minutes in the cemetery being enough, I made my way over to la Foundation Henri Cartier-Bresson for a photo exhibit by Mitch Epstein titled American Power. I was pleased to see that this was not about the power Americans like to have but rather, all the power they greedily consume. The photos of nuclear reactors, electrical plants, off shore oil platforms, wind turbines, oil pumps, certainly made me reflect on what energy hogs we all are. At least I was relatively green this last year in my 50 sq metre Parisian apartment. And I have my hybrid car anxiously waiting for me at home.
The girls and I managed to squeeze in a quick rainy visit to the Musee Rodin with the always amazing, 90 year old, Mirielle. No visit to Paris is complete without a morning here; Le Penseur, the cheery Gates of Hell, The Burghers of Calais and my favorites, Le Baiser and La Cathedrale. The Cathedral has always signified a powerful lover's union to me, a triumphant interaction. I tend to ignore the symbols of hope and faith or any religious significance, with the two right hands pointing towards the sky.
Thursday I had a special meeting and good-bye lunch with my Memoir Writing Group. Working with them and meeting weekly for the past 5 months has been incredibly motivating and has literally launched my writing. Merci les amies and until next year. D'accord!?
And of course, no lunch in a family owned Parisian bistro is complete without the family pet watching us enjoy our food!
Two weeks left. I will see how much I can squeeze in and don't think that sleeping should be on the agenda. After all, Paris is open day and night, 7 days a week. I figure emptying the apartment and packing can all be done in the last 48 hours. And then I can start panicking!
I found myself strolling in the Cimitiere Montparnasse this week. Two of the most popular graves here are those of Serge Gainsbourg and Jean-Paul Sartre. Gainsbourg was an iconic French singer-songwriter, actor and director. It has been said that he "elevated song to the level of art." I walked up to Gainsbourg's grave just as a French woman was placing a pack of cigarettes, a lighter, metro tickets and a personalized note on his tombstone, which was already covered with numerous tributes fans have lovingly left behind. I could hear two Brits behind me, one saying to the other "did she just put a packet of fags on his tombstone?" in a strong English accent. "Disgusting" was the other's response. Gainsbourg was rarely seen without a smoke in his mouth. The cigarette pack brandishing fan then took off her coat to reveal a black t-shirt with white lyrics from the song "La Javanaise". Even through her slight embarrassment, she was quite pleased to be there. I guess crazy fans exist all around the world. This could be me in 30 years at Jim Cuddy's grave in my 80's wearing a t-shirt saying "And if we're lost, then we are lost together." For now, I look forward to seeing Jim next week at La Maroquinerie. And perhaps bringing some of Serge's music home, with his smooth voice, sexual and dark undertones, would be an excellent Paris souvenir. "J'avoue j'en ai bave pour vous mon amour."
I then searched for Sartre's grave for half an hour, to no avail. I'm sure he would have something existentialist to say about this and that I didn't consciously want to find it.
90 minutes in the cemetery being enough, I made my way over to la Foundation Henri Cartier-Bresson for a photo exhibit by Mitch Epstein titled American Power. I was pleased to see that this was not about the power Americans like to have but rather, all the power they greedily consume. The photos of nuclear reactors, electrical plants, off shore oil platforms, wind turbines, oil pumps, certainly made me reflect on what energy hogs we all are. At least I was relatively green this last year in my 50 sq metre Parisian apartment. And I have my hybrid car anxiously waiting for me at home.
The girls and I managed to squeeze in a quick rainy visit to the Musee Rodin with the always amazing, 90 year old, Mirielle. No visit to Paris is complete without a morning here; Le Penseur, the cheery Gates of Hell, The Burghers of Calais and my favorites, Le Baiser and La Cathedrale. The Cathedral has always signified a powerful lover's union to me, a triumphant interaction. I tend to ignore the symbols of hope and faith or any religious significance, with the two right hands pointing towards the sky.
Thursday I had a special meeting and good-bye lunch with my Memoir Writing Group. Working with them and meeting weekly for the past 5 months has been incredibly motivating and has literally launched my writing. Merci les amies and until next year. D'accord!?
And of course, no lunch in a family owned Parisian bistro is complete without the family pet watching us enjoy our food!
Two weeks left. I will see how much I can squeeze in and don't think that sleeping should be on the agenda. After all, Paris is open day and night, 7 days a week. I figure emptying the apartment and packing can all be done in the last 48 hours. And then I can start panicking!
Thursday, June 16, 2011
Family Adventuring - Canal Saint Martin
With less than a month left in Paris I seem to have slipped back into tourist mode. I know my days here are limited and as a result I am squeezing every minute out of them that I can. If I could I would stay up 24/7 to do as much as I can before our dreaded departure date.
Today the girls and I went to the Canal Saint Martin in northeastern Paris. This Canal feeds into the Seine in the south and the Bassin de la Villette and the Canal de l'Ourq in the north. We hopped on a boat at La Bastille and took a 2 1/2 hour trip up the canal. Napoléon ordered the construction of the Canal Saint-Martin in 1802. It was originally built to link the Canal de l'Ourq to supply fresh water to the city. In the 19th century, the area was mostly occupied by working-class laborers. Only recently has it started to attract well-to-do professionals eager to snag apartments with views of the canal.
The boat started by going into the 1km long vaulted tunnel under the Place de la Bastille. This was followed by 4 double locks and 2 swing bridges along the canal. Numerous classic iron footbridges traverse the canal, usually with people on them, looking down at us, while we were looking up at them. The girls enjoyed going through locks in a boat for the first time, watching the water swish in and the boat quickly moving upward. I enjoyed the quaint neighbourhoods we passed through, the foot bridges and the fabulous people watching. I need to invest in a large zoom, or "borrow" George's Nikon & lenses, to zoom in on some of interesting faces and characters lining the canal, again, us looking at them, while they were checking us out.
Next time I make it to this part of Paris I will have to nurse a drink on one of the many local terraces and enjoy a meal at the current hot spot, Chez Prune. Its where all the trendy young Parisians go, so I will, of course, fit right in!
Tomorrow more adventuring for me in eastern Paris at the Bois de Vincennes as I explore the little known Jardin Tropical, or less nicely put, what remains of the old human zoo from the 1907 colonial expo. I will finish the week days out with a visit Friday to le Grand Palais to discover an artist new to me, Odilon Redon. It certainly looks like the next 3 weeks will be non stop for me, clutching to every last minute I can in my adopted hometown.
Today the girls and I went to the Canal Saint Martin in northeastern Paris. This Canal feeds into the Seine in the south and the Bassin de la Villette and the Canal de l'Ourq in the north. We hopped on a boat at La Bastille and took a 2 1/2 hour trip up the canal. Napoléon ordered the construction of the Canal Saint-Martin in 1802. It was originally built to link the Canal de l'Ourq to supply fresh water to the city. In the 19th century, the area was mostly occupied by working-class laborers. Only recently has it started to attract well-to-do professionals eager to snag apartments with views of the canal.
The boat started by going into the 1km long vaulted tunnel under the Place de la Bastille. This was followed by 4 double locks and 2 swing bridges along the canal. Numerous classic iron footbridges traverse the canal, usually with people on them, looking down at us, while we were looking up at them. The girls enjoyed going through locks in a boat for the first time, watching the water swish in and the boat quickly moving upward. I enjoyed the quaint neighbourhoods we passed through, the foot bridges and the fabulous people watching. I need to invest in a large zoom, or "borrow" George's Nikon & lenses, to zoom in on some of interesting faces and characters lining the canal, again, us looking at them, while they were checking us out.
Next time I make it to this part of Paris I will have to nurse a drink on one of the many local terraces and enjoy a meal at the current hot spot, Chez Prune. Its where all the trendy young Parisians go, so I will, of course, fit right in!
Tomorrow more adventuring for me in eastern Paris at the Bois de Vincennes as I explore the little known Jardin Tropical, or less nicely put, what remains of the old human zoo from the 1907 colonial expo. I will finish the week days out with a visit Friday to le Grand Palais to discover an artist new to me, Odilon Redon. It certainly looks like the next 3 weeks will be non stop for me, clutching to every last minute I can in my adopted hometown.
Monday, June 6, 2011
Where did May go!?
My forty something birthday this past weekend was certainly entertaining and unique. What a delight to be celebrated by my adopted Parisian family, Mirielle and Les Cabritas. Excellent wine, chilled champagne, delicious food, many laughs, a beautiful warm evening and most importantly, good company made my Paris birthday memorable. Merci les amis et ma famille.
Saturday was spent wandering around Roland Garros, trying to sneak a peak at some of my old favorite tennis players with tickets for the Legends Tournament –basically all the “older” players. Came upon a fun game with Andre Agassi, Jim Courier and others. Even in an amusing laissez faire exhibition match, I would not want to be anywhere near the tennis court with either of these two. Came across Nadal practicing for the finals, his serves whizzing by, blurry tennis balls flying all over the court. Nice arms on that boy! We also watched the ladies Legends doubles semi-finals with Lindsay Davenport, Martina Hingis vs Sandrine Testud and Andrea Temesvari. Seeing these amazing women hit the ball certainly makes me want to get back on the court and see if I still even know how to hold a racket. Tennis is now officially on the Calgary 2011 summer activities list. I kept scanning the crowds for my 1980’s tennis hero Borg in his Fila track suit and sweaty headband but no Bjorn sightings for me at the French Open. Not too happy to hear that Nadal has now matched Borg’s record of six French Open titles.
Fabulous 9 day visit from Jackie, le theatre, handball games, writing groups, graffiti, Musee d’Orsay, Andre Agassi, a trip to Gex, family visits, Montmartre, Loveday, lunch & visits with long lost German relatives, Belleville, sun filled days, bike rides, perfectly chilled panaches, Napoleon’s tomb, the streets of Paris, climbing La Tour Eiffel for the 3rd time this year, being "mooned" by French teenagers, Les Invalides, walks along Blvd de Montmorency, Corinne & Dave, many hours writing, weekends at the family country house, and far too much wine have all kept me from my weekly blog updates –at least these are my credible excuses. With one month left is Paris I am being called by the deliciously warm summer days & evenings and the gorgeous city streets. Am feeling “bien dans ma peau” in my home away from home. Plan to take advantage of it while I can.
Saturday was spent wandering around Roland Garros, trying to sneak a peak at some of my old favorite tennis players with tickets for the Legends Tournament –basically all the “older” players. Came upon a fun game with Andre Agassi, Jim Courier and others. Even in an amusing laissez faire exhibition match, I would not want to be anywhere near the tennis court with either of these two. Came across Nadal practicing for the finals, his serves whizzing by, blurry tennis balls flying all over the court. Nice arms on that boy! We also watched the ladies Legends doubles semi-finals with Lindsay Davenport, Martina Hingis vs Sandrine Testud and Andrea Temesvari. Seeing these amazing women hit the ball certainly makes me want to get back on the court and see if I still even know how to hold a racket. Tennis is now officially on the Calgary 2011 summer activities list. I kept scanning the crowds for my 1980’s tennis hero Borg in his Fila track suit and sweaty headband but no Bjorn sightings for me at the French Open. Not too happy to hear that Nadal has now matched Borg’s record of six French Open titles.
Fabulous 9 day visit from Jackie, le theatre, handball games, writing groups, graffiti, Musee d’Orsay, Andre Agassi, a trip to Gex, family visits, Montmartre, Loveday, lunch & visits with long lost German relatives, Belleville, sun filled days, bike rides, perfectly chilled panaches, Napoleon’s tomb, the streets of Paris, climbing La Tour Eiffel for the 3rd time this year, being "mooned" by French teenagers, Les Invalides, walks along Blvd de Montmorency, Corinne & Dave, many hours writing, weekends at the family country house, and far too much wine have all kept me from my weekly blog updates –at least these are my credible excuses. With one month left is Paris I am being called by the deliciously warm summer days & evenings and the gorgeous city streets. Am feeling “bien dans ma peau” in my home away from home. Plan to take advantage of it while I can.
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
Saturday Fun at the Jardin de Luxembourg
Who would have thought that pushing a wooden sailboat around a pool with a long stick could be so much fun? I certainly did not, but my girls loved it. Yes, we finally made our way to the Jardin de Luxembourg on Saturday. It was a “not a cloud in the sky” kind of day, hot, muggy and beautiful. I love spring in Paris!
As Nathalie pushed around her white sailboat with an elephant on the pink sail, Gabrielle was rushing after her black and red pirate sailboat. I vividly remember doing this with them 5 years ago when they were 3 and 6 years old. Gabrielle was barely big enough to reach the boat and her big sister did most of the pushing, but both girls ran around the pool, back and forth depending on the direction of the boat and the wind. I was right behind them, easily keeping up with their little legs. This time around I enjoyed sitting on the edge of the pool, watching them laugh and patiently wait for their boats to come back to the sides and within reach of their sticks. I sat next to a young Korean girl getting mad with her French male companion, telling him that he did not know how to debate and discuss properly. Needless the say, it was amusing to hear both of their opinions. I wanted to tell her that she is in the wrong part of the world to be arguing about debating properly, this is a discussion you will never win here. From my experience, the French have made debating an art form. Always interesting to see different cultures trying to get along.
An hour was spent at the Children’s playground, which with all the kids running around, full of energy, was more like a zoo. Kids laughing, sliding, climbing, tumbling and yes, falling and crying. Luckily my two managed all of this without the falling and crying.
They also spent 5 thrilling minutes on the old fashioned boat like swings, together, each of them on their own side. All I heard for the 5 minutes was constant laughing, giggling and joyfully shouting at each other. They are already asking to go back, with a friend each this time, for the swings alone.
The Jardin de Luxembourg is also perfect for people watching, and on a Saturday, there are many people to watch. Some basking in the sun, eyes closed, cold beer nearby. Others hiding in the shade, newspaper and coffee in hand. All ages, shapes, sizes, and ethnicity are present, making the viewing fascinating and ever changing.
The day came to a perfect Parisian end with an ice cream cone at famous Dalloyau. It looked so good that I even had to have one, saveur café bien sur.
As Nathalie pushed around her white sailboat with an elephant on the pink sail, Gabrielle was rushing after her black and red pirate sailboat. I vividly remember doing this with them 5 years ago when they were 3 and 6 years old. Gabrielle was barely big enough to reach the boat and her big sister did most of the pushing, but both girls ran around the pool, back and forth depending on the direction of the boat and the wind. I was right behind them, easily keeping up with their little legs. This time around I enjoyed sitting on the edge of the pool, watching them laugh and patiently wait for their boats to come back to the sides and within reach of their sticks. I sat next to a young Korean girl getting mad with her French male companion, telling him that he did not know how to debate and discuss properly. Needless the say, it was amusing to hear both of their opinions. I wanted to tell her that she is in the wrong part of the world to be arguing about debating properly, this is a discussion you will never win here. From my experience, the French have made debating an art form. Always interesting to see different cultures trying to get along.
An hour was spent at the Children’s playground, which with all the kids running around, full of energy, was more like a zoo. Kids laughing, sliding, climbing, tumbling and yes, falling and crying. Luckily my two managed all of this without the falling and crying.
They also spent 5 thrilling minutes on the old fashioned boat like swings, together, each of them on their own side. All I heard for the 5 minutes was constant laughing, giggling and joyfully shouting at each other. They are already asking to go back, with a friend each this time, for the swings alone.
The Jardin de Luxembourg is also perfect for people watching, and on a Saturday, there are many people to watch. Some basking in the sun, eyes closed, cold beer nearby. Others hiding in the shade, newspaper and coffee in hand. All ages, shapes, sizes, and ethnicity are present, making the viewing fascinating and ever changing.
The day came to a perfect Parisian end with an ice cream cone at famous Dalloyau. It looked so good that I even had to have one, saveur café bien sur.
Saturday, April 30, 2011
New Paris Discovery - The Tower at Notre Dame
A myriad of trips to Paris, countless walks past Notre Dame de Paris, immeasurable walks through the cathedral, with family, with friends, being a tour guide, and alone, just because I felt like it. When I was at university in Paris in the early 90’s hearing the bells ring at Notre Dame, seeing the crowds gather in front and walking past it to get to the gym, were part of my every day life. Yet, after this limitless exposure in my life, I had never climbed up the 387 steps to the top of the south tower. Today, with my girls, Lise and Julian, who are visiting from Calgary, we made our way up the old steep narrow steps of Notre Dame. This was after an hour of standing in line made tolerable by ingesting Nutella crepes. The wait was worth it for the 5 of us. What a magnificent view. Discovering new and different angles of the cathedral, the intimate view of the gargoyles and my first introduction to the 13 ton bell. All French bells have names and the enormous bell that hangs in the south tower is named Emmanuel. It takes 8 men to ring the bell by hand. Luckily no bells were ringing while we were climbing and admiring the views (although they might have been for Lise who has claustrophobic and vertigo issues). It was also remarkable to see the neighbourhood where my mother grew up, from above. The streets she roamed, the church where she was baptized and where several of my first cousins were married, from a completely different perspective. The distances look shorter, the buildings more fragile, and the colors more vivid. What a stunning area.
I love that in Paris, after all the trips here and all the time spent here, there are still parts of this fascinating city that I do not know and have yet to discover. My “home away from home” can still surprise and exhilarate me. My 40+ year wait to climb the stairs at Notre Dame was well worth it.
I love that in Paris, after all the trips here and all the time spent here, there are still parts of this fascinating city that I do not know and have yet to discover. My “home away from home” can still surprise and exhilarate me. My 40+ year wait to climb the stairs at Notre Dame was well worth it.
Friday, April 22, 2011
Connections? A Day in Szczecin/Stettin
My family was good enough to spend four hours on the train with me yesterday. Two hours each way to travel to Szczecin, Poland, north east of Berlin, over the German-Polish border.
My father was born in Szczecin in January 1931 when this was still part of Germany and known as Stettin. He always spoke fondly of his birth town even though he only lived there until the age of 12 or 14 years old. The details and dates are sketchy. It appears as if he came and went, between being sent away (with no choice) to an elite Nazi boarding school as a young boy, and then returning to fetch and flee with his mother and younger brother when the Soviets entered Germany. I have always believed that this town represented family and happiness to him and I wanted somehow to share this with him, to have a connection to his childhood, which I cannot now ask him about. There were also the painful moments. His little sister died in 1942 as a toddler and then his father was killed in the German army, three weeks after being sent away. Perhaps this is why he never returned to Stettin. It represented joy and good times but then ended in bad memories. He also never did have the opportunity to return. He died three years before the fall of Berlin Wall.
I know I was searching for something in Stettin. A link to my father, something he spoke about, something familiar, from pictures he rarely showed us but that are forever marked in my memory. There was no familiarity for me, nor the connection I had been yearning for. Stettin seemed like a busy, slightly depressing, former eastern block city. My father would not have known it like this. Yes he would have remembered the trams, some of the striking medieval and neo-gothic buildings, but not the communist era apartment buildings, the new high rises and the graffiti covering much of the city. But I’m glad I went, even for a few hours. I saw where he came from, the streets he wandered as a child, the place where he was happy as a young boy and this somehow makes me feel closer to him. He would be happy we went.
Stettin was an interesting day trip from Berlin, a bustling city of 400,000 inhabitants, but not what I would call a tourist destination. Thanks for accompanying me my adorable family and giving up a day in Berlin. It would not have been the same without you. As my father always believed, family is everything, I am glad you were with me.
Tomorrow, a day cycling through Potsdam, discovering its superb and infamous castles and gardens. Our Deutsch adventure continues.
My father was born in Szczecin in January 1931 when this was still part of Germany and known as Stettin. He always spoke fondly of his birth town even though he only lived there until the age of 12 or 14 years old. The details and dates are sketchy. It appears as if he came and went, between being sent away (with no choice) to an elite Nazi boarding school as a young boy, and then returning to fetch and flee with his mother and younger brother when the Soviets entered Germany. I have always believed that this town represented family and happiness to him and I wanted somehow to share this with him, to have a connection to his childhood, which I cannot now ask him about. There were also the painful moments. His little sister died in 1942 as a toddler and then his father was killed in the German army, three weeks after being sent away. Perhaps this is why he never returned to Stettin. It represented joy and good times but then ended in bad memories. He also never did have the opportunity to return. He died three years before the fall of Berlin Wall.
I know I was searching for something in Stettin. A link to my father, something he spoke about, something familiar, from pictures he rarely showed us but that are forever marked in my memory. There was no familiarity for me, nor the connection I had been yearning for. Stettin seemed like a busy, slightly depressing, former eastern block city. My father would not have known it like this. Yes he would have remembered the trams, some of the striking medieval and neo-gothic buildings, but not the communist era apartment buildings, the new high rises and the graffiti covering much of the city. But I’m glad I went, even for a few hours. I saw where he came from, the streets he wandered as a child, the place where he was happy as a young boy and this somehow makes me feel closer to him. He would be happy we went.
Stettin was an interesting day trip from Berlin, a bustling city of 400,000 inhabitants, but not what I would call a tourist destination. Thanks for accompanying me my adorable family and giving up a day in Berlin. It would not have been the same without you. As my father always believed, family is everything, I am glad you were with me.
Tomorrow, a day cycling through Potsdam, discovering its superb and infamous castles and gardens. Our Deutsch adventure continues.
Saturday, April 16, 2011
Tai's Take on Berlin
We are lucky enough to now be in Berlin for 9 days. Even better to have met up with George here, to discover a new city all together. We initiated our visit with a walk to the Reichstag and the Brandenburg Gate. What a perfect way to introduce ourselves to Berlin history. We could not figure out though what all the police and crowds were doing in front of a large hotel by the Brandenburg Gate. Like good tourists we stood around wondering who the red carpet, limousines and security were for. After a brief discussion with a kind polizei we discovered that we were all waiting for Hilary Clinton to come out of the hotel. And she did. We saw her arm waving and her blond hair and I have some blurry pictures to prove it! Day #1 was ended in good German style with schnitzel, fried potatoes & beer for dinner. We all went to bed with smiles on our faces and extremely full stomachs!
Friday, March 18, 2011
Writing in Paris
"If you are lucky enough to have lived in Paris as a young man, then wherever you go for the rest of your life, it stays with you, for Paris is a moveable feast." Ernest Hemingway, 1950
It was not going to be possible for me to go through a year in Paris, a year of writing and blogging without mentioning one of my favourites, good old Ernest. Seeing Paris through his eyes and descriptions in "A Moveable Feast" has always been a joy for me. Many of the neighbourhoods he writes about, I know well. Many of the feelings he had about Paris, I have and will always have. Paris has always been part of my life, always will be and when I am not here, I take Paris with me wherever I go. When I return, she welcomes me back with open arms.
It has been such a treat to be able to spend much of my free time in Paris writing. Yes it sounds like a cliche, coming to Paris to write, but it was one of my main personal goals for this year. I am now onto my fourth writing class with WICE and these keep on getting better and better. I am lucky to be part of a class/workshop being taught by the lovely Christine Buckley, a talented writer, author, who is motivating, generous with her time, full of constructive, helpful feedback and ideas. We are currently a small group of five students, from various parts of the world, in a Memoir class, all writing about such varied experiences in our lives, many life changing. I feel fortunate to be sharing in these ladies stories and memoirs. There are going to be some captivating and bittersweet articles, books and memoirs coming out of this group.
Focusing on my writing has led to me being hunched over my computer for far too many hours. This has led to large painful knots in my shoulders. When this first happened, I rushed out seeking a massage therapist to pound out my knots and pain. The first place I looked, that I pass regularly in the neighbourhood, had young Asian women in tight revealing clothing on their web site indicating that they were "available at any time for their clients needs." I did not think this was what I was looking for. I have found a Thai massage therapist nearby, who beats me up trying to relieve my pain. This includes climbing up on the table, driving her elbows into my knots, back and neck and karate like chops on my corpse. She tells me that I need to come weekly for this treatment. I agree. I am not sure about the breast massage though. This has never been part of my Canadian massage experience. This could certainly be part of a Thai massage but I suspect it could be the French influence as well. This is not part of the Paris I take with me wherever I go, but all the cafes I have written in, the fellow writers I have met, the inspiration this city gives me and the many words I have put down on paper are all an element of my very own personal Paris. My very own moveable feast. Merci Ernest!
It was not going to be possible for me to go through a year in Paris, a year of writing and blogging without mentioning one of my favourites, good old Ernest. Seeing Paris through his eyes and descriptions in "A Moveable Feast" has always been a joy for me. Many of the neighbourhoods he writes about, I know well. Many of the feelings he had about Paris, I have and will always have. Paris has always been part of my life, always will be and when I am not here, I take Paris with me wherever I go. When I return, she welcomes me back with open arms.
It has been such a treat to be able to spend much of my free time in Paris writing. Yes it sounds like a cliche, coming to Paris to write, but it was one of my main personal goals for this year. I am now onto my fourth writing class with WICE and these keep on getting better and better. I am lucky to be part of a class/workshop being taught by the lovely Christine Buckley, a talented writer, author, who is motivating, generous with her time, full of constructive, helpful feedback and ideas. We are currently a small group of five students, from various parts of the world, in a Memoir class, all writing about such varied experiences in our lives, many life changing. I feel fortunate to be sharing in these ladies stories and memoirs. There are going to be some captivating and bittersweet articles, books and memoirs coming out of this group.
Focusing on my writing has led to me being hunched over my computer for far too many hours. This has led to large painful knots in my shoulders. When this first happened, I rushed out seeking a massage therapist to pound out my knots and pain. The first place I looked, that I pass regularly in the neighbourhood, had young Asian women in tight revealing clothing on their web site indicating that they were "available at any time for their clients needs." I did not think this was what I was looking for. I have found a Thai massage therapist nearby, who beats me up trying to relieve my pain. This includes climbing up on the table, driving her elbows into my knots, back and neck and karate like chops on my corpse. She tells me that I need to come weekly for this treatment. I agree. I am not sure about the breast massage though. This has never been part of my Canadian massage experience. This could certainly be part of a Thai massage but I suspect it could be the French influence as well. This is not part of the Paris I take with me wherever I go, but all the cafes I have written in, the fellow writers I have met, the inspiration this city gives me and the many words I have put down on paper are all an element of my very own personal Paris. My very own moveable feast. Merci Ernest!
Thursday, March 10, 2011
Bored, in Paris!? Better not be!
“Maman, what are we doing this weekend” asked Nathalie, with an extremely bored sounding monotone voice.
“What would you like to do?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well let’s find something to do. We are in Paris, there is always something to do! You cannot be bored in Paris!”
And we did find something to do, a very different kind of activity. We went to see Viktor Vincent in a show called Synapses. Yes, it has to do with the brain. He is a mentalist. Apparently he influences and controls your thoughts. Nathalie, her friend Marine and Gabrielle sat there staring for an hour wondering how all of this was done (I was too) and then would smile and laugh in amazement after each “trick.” Don’t think she was bored any more. At least not for this one hour.
The girls also discovered Monet’s Nympheas (Waterlillies) at the Orangerie last week. These are described as “the haven of peaceful meditation” and they certainly are. Both girls were quite taken with them. After sitting in the middle of the rooms, surrounded by these serene masterpieces, Gabrielle slowly rediscovered them through the lense of my camera, carefully taking many photos from all different angles. The result is some lovely pictures of the Nympheas. We will definitely have to make a trip to Giverny in the spring and see Monet's inspiration, his garden and pond, in person.
The week was finished off with attending a Women’s Professional Handball game! What is there not to like!? Talented, muscular, strong women playing an amazing sport at a high level. All the things I attempted to be and do 20 years ago. We will definitely be back to watch more games. Nathalie liked it and Elle, well she watched Toy Story 3 on her iPod, so maybe not so much.
Between amazing art, performances that scramble your brain and professional sports, I assume that it was a good non boring week for my children. It certainly was for me. Nathalie now tells me that she would like try oysters, which we will definitely do soon. After enjoying escargot, I am sure she will savour oysters just as much. Planned for this weekend, a classical Mozart concert for children at the Chatelet Theatre. Yes I am working on having well rounded children who appreciate the arts and the finer things in life! And really, what better place to do this than in Paris!?
And finally, you can’t be living in Paris and not comment on the small creatures we share the sidewalks with (as well as their many droppings.) When we first arrived we laughed at many of the little “rat dogs” we saw, as we like to call them. Now six months later, as with small cars, we seem to have developed a taste for small dogs too (but not quite the rat like ones.) We coo when we see little cute dogs now, even the fluffy ones. This week the cooing has temporarily slowed down as we had to say goodbye to our beloved dog back home, Hershey. At 15 ½ years old she lived a good long happy life, was well loved and a big part of our family. She would have fit right in here and would have been a wonderful fluffy barky Parisian dog. Like many Parisian canines, Hershey thought she was human and she would have loved the Parisian restaurant scene, being allowed inside and not having to be tied up outside as in Canada. We will certainly always coo and smile when thinking of our beloved Hershey.
“What would you like to do?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well let’s find something to do. We are in Paris, there is always something to do! You cannot be bored in Paris!”
And we did find something to do, a very different kind of activity. We went to see Viktor Vincent in a show called Synapses. Yes, it has to do with the brain. He is a mentalist. Apparently he influences and controls your thoughts. Nathalie, her friend Marine and Gabrielle sat there staring for an hour wondering how all of this was done (I was too) and then would smile and laugh in amazement after each “trick.” Don’t think she was bored any more. At least not for this one hour.
The girls also discovered Monet’s Nympheas (Waterlillies) at the Orangerie last week. These are described as “the haven of peaceful meditation” and they certainly are. Both girls were quite taken with them. After sitting in the middle of the rooms, surrounded by these serene masterpieces, Gabrielle slowly rediscovered them through the lense of my camera, carefully taking many photos from all different angles. The result is some lovely pictures of the Nympheas. We will definitely have to make a trip to Giverny in the spring and see Monet's inspiration, his garden and pond, in person.
The week was finished off with attending a Women’s Professional Handball game! What is there not to like!? Talented, muscular, strong women playing an amazing sport at a high level. All the things I attempted to be and do 20 years ago. We will definitely be back to watch more games. Nathalie liked it and Elle, well she watched Toy Story 3 on her iPod, so maybe not so much.
Between amazing art, performances that scramble your brain and professional sports, I assume that it was a good non boring week for my children. It certainly was for me. Nathalie now tells me that she would like try oysters, which we will definitely do soon. After enjoying escargot, I am sure she will savour oysters just as much. Planned for this weekend, a classical Mozart concert for children at the Chatelet Theatre. Yes I am working on having well rounded children who appreciate the arts and the finer things in life! And really, what better place to do this than in Paris!?
And finally, you can’t be living in Paris and not comment on the small creatures we share the sidewalks with (as well as their many droppings.) When we first arrived we laughed at many of the little “rat dogs” we saw, as we like to call them. Now six months later, as with small cars, we seem to have developed a taste for small dogs too (but not quite the rat like ones.) We coo when we see little cute dogs now, even the fluffy ones. This week the cooing has temporarily slowed down as we had to say goodbye to our beloved dog back home, Hershey. At 15 ½ years old she lived a good long happy life, was well loved and a big part of our family. She would have fit right in here and would have been a wonderful fluffy barky Parisian dog. Like many Parisian canines, Hershey thought she was human and she would have loved the Parisian restaurant scene, being allowed inside and not having to be tied up outside as in Canada. We will certainly always coo and smile when thinking of our beloved Hershey.
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
Transportations a la Parisien
Courtesy of a friendly Paris cab driver last week I discovered some new information about this country that makes me like it more. Hand held cell phone use has been banned since 2003. Yes 2003! And if you get caught you are fined and lose 2 points off your Permis de Conduire. Several other countries with similar laws include Germany, Italy, Belgium, the UK, Australia, Japan. The list is quite extensive. Do you hear that Alberta!? Albertans are not great drivers and certainly not better than drivers in these other countries. For once France seems to have it correct and has since 2003.
I have rediscovered my love for small cars while here. I will completely ignore the Maserati I often see and go straight to a realistic small car. My new favorite is the Fiat 500. I even thought about getting one when I go back to Calgary. Then I realized that I would get decapitated and totally flattened by the first pick up truck or SUV that would come along. So I will stick with my lovely Lexus for now.
I have also been admiring the gorgeous BMW R1200 bike regularly parked nearby on the sidewalk. Reminds us all of Ewan McGregor and his adventures in Long Way Round and Long Way Down. Now I know why he had a hard time picking up his bike every time he dropped it. But it would be a pretty sweet ride, maybe just not in France where two wheelers count for 20% of the road accident fatalities (but only 2% of the drivers!). I will stick with my main modes of transportation here then, the metro and my own 2 wheeler, riding Elle's scooter home from her school. No accidents yet for me on the scooter I am happy to report! So no Fiat for me but maybe a BMW bike back in Calgary!?
Just going over our pictures from Mont Saint Michel which are gorgeous, especially George's. So nice to have an excellent photographer, excellent camera with a selection of lenses in the family. Just glad it is not me carrying them around! More on the lovely Mont SM next time.
I have rediscovered my love for small cars while here. I will completely ignore the Maserati I often see and go straight to a realistic small car. My new favorite is the Fiat 500. I even thought about getting one when I go back to Calgary. Then I realized that I would get decapitated and totally flattened by the first pick up truck or SUV that would come along. So I will stick with my lovely Lexus for now.
I have also been admiring the gorgeous BMW R1200 bike regularly parked nearby on the sidewalk. Reminds us all of Ewan McGregor and his adventures in Long Way Round and Long Way Down. Now I know why he had a hard time picking up his bike every time he dropped it. But it would be a pretty sweet ride, maybe just not in France where two wheelers count for 20% of the road accident fatalities (but only 2% of the drivers!). I will stick with my main modes of transportation here then, the metro and my own 2 wheeler, riding Elle's scooter home from her school. No accidents yet for me on the scooter I am happy to report! So no Fiat for me but maybe a BMW bike back in Calgary!?
Just going over our pictures from Mont Saint Michel which are gorgeous, especially George's. So nice to have an excellent photographer, excellent camera with a selection of lenses in the family. Just glad it is not me carrying them around! More on the lovely Mont SM next time.
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Feb, Week 2 - Wearing My Tourist Hat with Melissa
Just when I was starting to feel like a local, like I belonged, I became a tourist again. The timing perfect as after five months here I realized that I was already starting to take Paris for granted, the beauty, culture and amazing architecture around me were no longer part of my routine. I was no longer looking up at the buildings I was passing to admire the styles, curves and lovely detailed black iron balconies. I was no longer leaving my quartier for my weekly museum visits. Yes I was getting lazy and perhaps a bit too comfortable. I have my lovely long time friend Melissa to thank for making me look up and take in my surroundings once again.
We followed each other around Paris non stop for five days starting with walking up and down the stairs of La Tour Eiffel, with the hopes of working off Melissa’s birthday dinner that we thoroughly enjoyed at 58 Tour Eiffel on the first floor of La Tour Eiffel. With the help of the champagne and wine consumed at dinner, after we managed to get to know some of the statues at La Trocadero rather intimately, a first for me I have to say. The Palais Royale, shopping, art exhibits, more shopping, La Madeleine, Melissa’s credit card still not being turned down, Bateaux Mouches, Notre Dame, le Quartier Latin, yes more shopping and the grande finale for Melissa was a classical concert with Les Violons de France at Eglise Saint Julien le Pauvre on her last evening in Paris.
As I looked at my photos from the week I realized that I was no longer taking the normal tourist shots. It does not take long to realize that a city like Paris has layers upon layers that can take years to peel back and discover. I seem to now be somewhere in a middle layer, trying to see some of the under belly of Paris. It often makes me feel like I am living a double life, a half French part local and occasionally still part tourist but definitely still trying to figure this place out.
My double life will continue on for the next 10 days with a much-anticipated visit from George and a quick trip for the four of us to Mont Saint Michel. Merci for your visit Melissa mon amie, there is nothing like a visit from a good friend to make you realize how much you needed to laugh, the kind of laugh that makes tears run down your face. Another layer of the French I still need to grasp, their humour, a humour I am not quite used to, yet. But not sure if they would have found two Canadian women climbing statues at the Trocadero at 10pm on a Tuesday night in February very amusing.
We followed each other around Paris non stop for five days starting with walking up and down the stairs of La Tour Eiffel, with the hopes of working off Melissa’s birthday dinner that we thoroughly enjoyed at 58 Tour Eiffel on the first floor of La Tour Eiffel. With the help of the champagne and wine consumed at dinner, after we managed to get to know some of the statues at La Trocadero rather intimately, a first for me I have to say. The Palais Royale, shopping, art exhibits, more shopping, La Madeleine, Melissa’s credit card still not being turned down, Bateaux Mouches, Notre Dame, le Quartier Latin, yes more shopping and the grande finale for Melissa was a classical concert with Les Violons de France at Eglise Saint Julien le Pauvre on her last evening in Paris.
As I looked at my photos from the week I realized that I was no longer taking the normal tourist shots. It does not take long to realize that a city like Paris has layers upon layers that can take years to peel back and discover. I seem to now be somewhere in a middle layer, trying to see some of the under belly of Paris. It often makes me feel like I am living a double life, a half French part local and occasionally still part tourist but definitely still trying to figure this place out.
My double life will continue on for the next 10 days with a much-anticipated visit from George and a quick trip for the four of us to Mont Saint Michel. Merci for your visit Melissa mon amie, there is nothing like a visit from a good friend to make you realize how much you needed to laugh, the kind of laugh that makes tears run down your face. Another layer of the French I still need to grasp, their humour, a humour I am not quite used to, yet. But not sure if they would have found two Canadian women climbing statues at the Trocadero at 10pm on a Tuesday night in February very amusing.
Monday, February 7, 2011
Feb, Week 1 - Halfway Already!?
I have always had a like/dislike relationship with the French. Now after five months in Paris I am actually gaining an appreciation for the French and I like them. It has now been 19 years since I went to university here and living amongst them again is definitely a different experience than visiting regularly for a few weeks at a time. Could it be because the merchants at the local market now recognize me as a regular and have a smile on their face for me? That I now know and speak with my neighbours? And I actually have French friends (ok, maybe one or two). Yes the dislike is quietly fading away. You would not think that this would happen after a hospital visit, our first, and hopefully only, Emergency room visit to a local hospital. In short, Nathalie fainting at a friend's house, hitting her head, passing out on the bathroom floor, blood and then an ambulance ride. Three hours later we were on our way home, thanks to the super conscientious father who came in with her, friendly efficient service, and helpful nurses and doctors. The end result for Nathalie is four stitches on her right eyebrow. The end result for me, a new outlook.
Stay tuned for next week, the exciting Melissa update!
Stay tuned for next week, the exciting Melissa update!
Monday, January 31, 2011
Holiday Report!
In France you are allowed to wish people Happy New Year until the end of January, so when in France do like the French. And I think it is not too late for a quick Christmas update.
Christmas in Paris is magical. The lights, the decorated store windows of les Grands Magasins like Galerie Lafayette and Printemps. There is a feeling of excitement in the air, like we are all little children again waiting for Santa to arrive. Cafes put up their oyster stands where fresh oysters and seafood can be had for lunch, dinner or to take home. The best cuts of meat are brought out, whole pigs (cochon de lait) are bought, bright orange Christmas mandarins light up rooms
Three days over Christmas were spent at my aunt & uncle’s lovely 1800’s country house. It was magnifique! I felt like we were out of a lovely French décor magazine, lovely Christmas tree, family gathered around the huge fireplace, two hour lunches and dinners and of course, being surrounded by our welcoming French family. The bonus was that is snowed and we played outside in the snow, building a snowman followed by snowball fights. Very important for three Canadian girls who miss the Calgary snow (ok well maybe only two young girls miss it, the third can do without for a year or two!)
Christmas in Paris also means good food and excellent beverages. We had our fair share of oysters, foie gras and champagne. These are some of the traditional foods served in France for the holidays. We enjoyed it all. You only live once!
And the coup de gras for the holiday season was going as a family to see the Emperor’s New Clothes at the Comedie Francaise Children’s Theatre and after seeing it finding out that it was reviewed as the worst holiday season play for kids. And yes, the Emperor did take off his clothes, all of them. I love this country!
Bonne Annee!!
As an important New Year's resolution for 2011, I vow to update this blog weekly, not sporadically.
As an important New Year's resolution for 2011, I vow to update this blog weekly, not sporadically.
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