Our Writer Friend

Marilyn Kaye is a writer in Paris. She retired from her university job in New York (where we met in the mid-90s), sold her apartment in Brooklyn, and moved herself over here. She’d been spending nearly every available break and vacation over here already, so it was not much of a shock, and she’s a busy lady, so we don’t get a whole lot of time with her, but I had lunch with her one time and then we made a plan to have dinner with the kids. She brought Meredith two books and all of us a darling set of placemats, and then we enjoyed an al fresco meal by the Stravinsky fountain. Thayer was able to do a few laps, meet some Americans, and cause trouble for the waiter, who called him “a little catastrophe” (well, it sounded cute in French, anyway!).

Marilyn has no children of her own, but she loves kids and they love her back. She writes her novels for the “tween” and youth set, mainly, and she’s got a great grasp on the latest literary trends in this arena. Her current series, Gifted is rather like ABC’s “Heroes” -- but for the middle-school set. There are six books out (anticipating three more!), starting with Gifted: Out of Sight, Out of Mind.  Meredith has read and loved them all; I have to admit to getting a bit wrapped up in the suspense of the overall story arc, myself, and I appreciate Marilyn's character development. A book geared for older youth, Demon Chick, concerns a teenager girl whose mother sold her to the Devil in return for fame, fortune, and political power. An intriguing concept, I found, plus I really enjoyed Marilyn’s depiction of hell-as-suburbia! A bit mature for Meredith, thematically, however, so I’ll hang onto it for another couple of years. [If you’re interested, the Gifted series and Demon Chick are available at Barnes and Noble and Amazon.com].

Marilyn is also the godmother to something like four French kids. This is pretty amazing, considering that she’s neither French nor Catholic. But she is like a Fairy Auntie to them all and is very involved with them, picking them up from school, taking them to dance class or music lessons, babysitting, and – the best part – going on vacation with them and their parents, to the south of France, for example, to Italy, to Corsica, and currently to the Dordogne.

Her life here is never dull, that’s for sure, and I can’t imagine that she’s ever lonely. She joined a group of ex-pat writers at one point, but she soon tired of the moaning and belly-aching about not having friends or feeling like they have a place here. This is not her experience at all, as she has had friends here for nearly 30 years, if I’m not mistaken! Marilyn is totally engaged with Paris and Parisians. And although I love my family, and I wouldn’t trade them for the world, part of me can’t help but envy her ability to be spontaneous and to answer to no one but herself, in the main.  If only she’d start a salon, she could be a 21st century Gertrude Stein!   Except much, much nicer.  Plus, she’s got Tilda Swinton as a BFF, but that’s another story!

It’s a Disney Kind of Day, Part II

As with our arrival in the morning, the first part of our day at the Disney Studios went extremely well. First of all, Monsters Inc’s own Sulley was greeting people and since he can’t speak (he’s not a “face” character, like Tiana) or write (his huge paws don’t allow it), it’s just a minute or two of interacting and a photo op with the big blue guy, so the line advanced quickly. The kids loved meeting him and he chased Thayer around a little bit; they had a good performer in the suit! Then we walked over to the Cars Rally ride, which had virtually no waiting, but Thayer wanted a blue car and bonked right into another child who was also heading full speed ahead and damn the torpedos toward her chosen car. No big boo-boo, fortunately, but some crying before the ride, which is a bit like the teacups, but tamer.

Now, Meredith had requested a showing of Animagique, which is a live-action spectacle that features Donald, Mickey, a bunch of animal friends, and black lights. By animal friends I mean Sebastian the crab, Simba the lion, Rafiki the orangutan, Baboo the bear, and King Louis the chimpanzee. I will let you guess which songs they sang. We got good seats, but had to wait – sitting down, mind you – for about 15 excruciating minutes while we listened to the theme song, Animagique. Over and over. This made both kids extremely restless, but the show finally started and there were bubbles and other diversions for 20 minutes. I do think we waited nearly as long as the show lasted. That’s how it goes!

Back outside, the next item on the schedule was to camp out and get a good spot to watch the Stars and Cars parade. We have never seen this before and I was especially looking forward to it. Two issues: first, I had no idea where we should position ourselves for what would be about a 40-minute wait; second, Meredith noticed that Stitch Live would be starting in English in 5 minutes. And she told Thayer. And then, that was all they wanted to do.

Now, I realized right away that we would have TIME to do both things, that the Stitch show only lasts about 15 minutes, but that we were unlikely to find a decent viewing position for the parade by the time we got finished with the blue guy. But they outnumber me, my children, and really it’s their time at DLRP, so I relented. And in we went, and doesn’t Meredith get picked as the “best monster” and enjoy a brief exchange with Stitch. He asked her where she learned to be such a good monster and she said, “Monster School” – not the kind of response he was expecting, I don’t think! And he took her picture and it appeared up on the screen for all to see. She was delighted; personally, I was glad she responded appropriately – this not generally the kind of situation that our Meredith seeks out or enjoys. Sometimes, the growing up enhances her already engaging personality. I was proud of her.

But lo, it came to pass: when we emerged from the theater, there were TONS of people on the parade route. Right in front of the Stitch entrance, however, there was some open space right at the rope. I suggested we take it. The kids were displeased, but we went for it. We got pressed in pretty well, with about 5 minutes to parade time, when Thayer announced that he needed a potty. So I pulled him out of his spot, barked at Meredith to keep our places as much as possible, and ran him to the closest restroom (at least I knew where they were).

When we got back, there were easily three times as many kids squeezed into the space than when we left. The families who had waited for an hour to make sure their kids were in the front? Suckers! And the parade was pretty much in full swing, with uniformed chauffeurs driving the characters around in custom cars. Then they all got out of their cars and it was obvious that we were in the WORST place to see the show. While each of the characters was on the stage, the others made the rounds (if we had had our autograph album this would have been great), but Meredith was in a terrible state, not even wanting her photo with Remy or Woody or Gaston. Then she turned around and noticed that the stage action was being simulcast on a diamond-vision screen behind our heads. I did not think this was the best way to see the show, actually. Then both kids were happy to leave…

…especially when it was made clear that Playhouse Disney LIVE would be starting in 5 minutes! And since the parade was in full swing, the attendance was pretty light. This is a 30-minute puppet show with one live person who interacts with both the puppets and the audience. There’s a “frame” story that involves Minnie’s surprise party, and then three interior stories that are basically ads for Playhouse Disney shows – Handy Manny, Pooh and Friends, and Little Einsteins. As Gru says in Despicable Me: “This is garbage! You actually like this?” Really low-end for Disney, I’d say, although there was a bubble machine (again with the bubbles!) and other stuff gets floated down on the crowd for effect. I found it painful, however, just as I find the live action Winnie the Pooh show painful.

When we left that theater, you would have never known a parade had come through a few minutes before. These Disney people can be extremely efficient, when they want to be. Not so much for our 30 minutes or more in line to ride the Disneyland Railroad from Main Street to Discoveryland (that’s Tomorrowland for y’all who are keeping track in the States), I do love the train, though, as it takes you past things that are not particularly themed, but also through the Grand Canyon (replete with taxidermied animals) and both the Pirates and Small World rides. Once off and into the future, we went to check out Autopia, the car ride of the future (or something. Why is this in the science fiction part of the park?) Anyway, only 20 minutes to wait, which went by fast, and Thayer and I shared a car and Meredith had her own car, on a different track. And two cars broke down in front of Meredith, which backed up the entire ride for quite some time (good thing the cars don’t have horns!). I just missed getting a photo of a woman talking on her cell phone in the hold-up (really?), but Thayer started to do the pee-pee dance so I was also getting stressed out during the wait. Finally she was able to finish her circuit and we could go (pun intended!).

Then Meredith got one of her wishes: Captain EO. This is a 3D adventure from the 80s that features none other than the late-great Michael Jackson. It was a collaboration between George Lucas, Francis Ford Coppola, and MJ and it’s quite a hoot. Some of it is very Star Wars-y, so imagine some of the space flights in 3D – pretty cool! And there are dancers and flashing lights and weird alien creatures and Angelica Huston plays the evil lady (good bit of casting there). I don’t know if Thayer could follow the action or not, but even he seemed to enjoy it!

Then we had one last mission: Big Thunder Mountain Railroad. Back across the park we walked, and the posted wait was 30 minutes. So we go in. The line looks just a wee bit better than last time, when it was more than an hour. I am concerned, but we start snaking our way in and it’s looking pretty good for time when there is an ANNOUNCEMENT in about five languages: the attraction is experiencing technical difficulties and has been temporarily halted. I tell the kids that if we don’t move in 5 minutes, we’re leaving. And so we wound up leaving, getting a couple of Happy Meals (which are far and away the cheapest eats in Disney Village), and taking the RER back to the Big City. It was a dismal way to end the day, but we were all exhausted from the stressful morning, the big crowds, and the long day. In the end, we actually crammed a lot in, but the feeling of being thwarted was hard on everyone. Next time will be better…

It’s a Disney Kind of Day, Part I

One of the best pictures I have ever taken of the kids!

After a few weeks of recovery and anticipation, I decided to take the kids back to Disney, with an eye to doing things that we didn’t get to do last time, what the French would say was raté… Unfortunately, we had a number of obstacles to overcome before we even made it to the park, nearly an hour later than I had planned, which got things off to a difficult start. We were otherwise fairly successful in hitting our targets, but a few glaring exceptions spring to mind. I’m thinking that the “Free Return Trip” offer at DLRP this summer is to help locals feel less ripped; they can return to spend a second day, as we did, focusing on what we hadn’t gotten to on Day One.

But first things first: We were dealing with a lice infestation. France is full of lice and they love my Meredith (all biting insects love her; she must have an attractive scent!). She had ‘em two years ago, as well. The centres are not particularly concerned about them (in 2008, Thayer’s centre posted a small, handwritten sign that just said, “Attention, poux” with a drawing of a little beastie). Anyway, we stopped at a pharmacyand the recommended treatment involved a leave-in poison (8 hours minimum!) along with a shampoo to (theoretically) loosen the dead nits. So we treated our heads that evening (Thayer has sensitive skin, poor fella, and the poison spray stung his scalp) and went to bed. First thing in the morning, we were faced with three “shampoux” in a row. No one was happy about it, but it was done and we were out the door.

Then we went to the metro, where I wanted to purchase 10-trip tickets to the park. The very ticket window where I had previously been able to buy my monthly pass, as well as local tickets, had suddenly become an Information Desk, and cannot sell tickets. My American credit cards do not work in the vending machines; I need human help. So we had to go to another station for that. Lost a good 30 minutes of precious morning time just trying to get into the RER!

And when we finally made it onto the platform, with two minutes until the Disney train was to arrive, Thayer announced that he had to pee. I did not take this well, because there was just nowhere to go down there, except that this is Paris, where boys and men can go about anywhere. So Meredith and I downed a small bottle of water that I had brought with, and once we were in the train I had Thayer make use of it. Not with 100% success, I might add, but better than having wet his pants before we even got to Disney. Then we washed our hands with sanitizer and wet wipes and had our breakfast on the train. I mean, really.

Because we didn’t get to the park until 10:30, we could not get on one of the Main Street trolleys that Thayer had wanted to ride. They only go in the morning, to help get people to the Central Plaza (in front of the Castle) in style.  So we walked up Main Street and visited the dragon under the castle (She is big and menacing. Extremely well done!). And we stopped to get Peter Pan fast passes and then rode the Pirates of the Caribbean ride, which has always been a favorite (Meredith does not look at all the skeletons), and Thayer remembered, before we got to it, that we would pass a restaurant inside the ride. I guess some experiences do stick! After that, we went back to the castle to “read” the story of Sleeping Beauty (it is her palace, after all), which is told in stained glass, tapestry, and statuary, with illuminated manuscripts all along the way. Extremely lovely, but a bit more crowded than I would have liked. And, as an aside, the whole park was like that on this visit, even a cool, overcast day with a sprinkle here and there.

We then rode the Carousel (with perhaps a 5-minute wait; that is the fine with me!) and it was time for Peter Pan. A Disney employee rode with us and shone a black light and a laser pointer on various elements of the attraction, something that the kids got a big kick out of. At this point, I’m thinking that we’re off to a great start! and perhaps the day won’t bear the mark of the morning’s misadventures.

Our restaurant was not quite ready for us at noon, so we had time to walk through the Passage d’Aladdin, which features a series of dioramas, partially animated, that tell the story of the film. Very pretty, that, and a great way to get us in the mood for our fantabulous lunch at Café Agrabah. A delight to the eye, the location involves both interior and exterior seating in a recreation of a casbah - - many small rooms linked together, mosaic tables, stained glass light fixtures, and our favorite area with cloth ceilings (like in a tent) and small pouf cushions to sit on. The staff wears richly-colored satin harem pants. It creates a beautiful, exotic atmosphere. No skimping on the meal either, as the buffet features what Americans call “middle eastern” food (the French associate it more with North Africa, actually) – stuffed grape leaves, olives, taboulleh, hummous, eggplant, then cous-cous, schwarma – and pasta with meatballs, to be sure! For dessert: baklava, pecan and coconut cakes, fresh fruit and, well, crêpes. The kids ate exceedingly well and chose fruit with their crêpes (Meredith had fruit salad, Thayer enjoyed a pomme granny) and I indulged in a mint tea, which came in a lovely, traditional silver pot with a long spout, big enough for all three of us to have some.

Somewhere in there, we rode the tea cups... 

 

As we were finishing up, I went over our plan for the afternoon (we had already decided not to stay for the fireworks; we will do that when Daddy gets here!): still very much on the agenda were Buzz Lightyear and Big Thunder Mountain, although we had ridden them both last time – they are great favorites! The Fast Pass times were not conducive to our other plans, however, so we let them go in favor of one of Meredith’s goals for the day: to meet Tiana, the Princess with the Frog. After visiting the Nautilus (Captain Nemo’s submarine) we walked back down Main Street and got to the spot about 5 minutes before she was meant to appear. There were quite a number of people ahead of us in the queue, but we staked our claim. Just before Tiana arrived, however, a Cast Member came over to our part of the line. Without actually saying it, he suggested that we might not get to meet her after all, as she is only available for 45 minutes at a time, but that we could come back for a later time (and wait again). The families around us in line had trouble understanding that the neutral comments added up to: “You will not meet her this time. You got here too late.” Meredith wanted to stay, to some degree, so we agreed to wait 20 minutes and see where we were. The result: not nearly far enough along to think that we would see her; there were simply too many autograph hounds and photographers and chatters in front of us. This was now the third desired activity for the afternoon that was not panning out. Some crankiness emerged. In the end, we left the line and headed for the Studios…. Which will be covered in Part Two of our Disney Kind of Day!

A month (or more) of Sundays

I have already noted that Sunday is a day off for the French. Well, mostly. And since I have been working on Saturdays, at least for a few hours, it is Sunday that has been my day of rest from work. I also have tried not to schedule too much activity on Sundays, so we can sleep in and enjoy the day. Herewith, an overview of our Sunday activity, or lack thereof:

Sunday #1: Bon appétit exhibition and felafel lunch in the Marais with J (see my post, “Perfectly fine for Sunday”)

Sunday #2: E and M, the pals with whom we would spend Bastille Day, arranged for us to meet for Brunch and a trendy (the French would say branché) restaurant. E had found it on line and was especially pleased that it featured a kids’ menu. Which turned out to be a sugar-fest, but they loved it: hot cocoa, fresh juice, pancakes with syrup, and dessert (one panna cotta, one chocolate mousse). I had the house brunch, which included coffee, juice, eggs, mushrooms, bread… and fromage blanc for dessert. It was fun to catch up with them and M took some great photos of the kids!

Sunday #3: We did not make plans with anyone else for this Sunday, but chose rather to head up to Montmartre, the hilly neighborhood in the 18th arrondissement in north-central Paris. First things first: playground and carousel ride! Then we got some crêpes à emporter and ate them by the playground. Once our bellies were full of ham and cheese, we hiked up the hill to visit Sacré Coeur, the newest church in Paris, I believe, now celebrating its centennial. It looks like a birthday cake on the outside. Lots of interesting artwork on the inside (not all of it aesthetically pleasing in my book, but that’s okay). Then, because I am a soft touch, we rode the little Montmartre train around the neighborhood. It was less that 10 euro for the three of us, and proved both entertaining and relaxing (it took about 40 minutes); I was glad the kids didn’t ask too many questions about the red-light district (although I had to explain the term “peep show” to Meredith). To get home, we first took the funicular (that’s a fancy, old-timey word for tram), then continued on foot. But we did stop for ice cream, and then at a nearby park, for some better playground recreation. We got home in time to see Germany beat the pants off of England in the World Cup quarterfinal; Thayer picked the Germans to win and he’s had pretty good success by going with his gut, or by what color the team is wearing, or whichever socks he likes better. I have no idea. We also finished our 1000-piece Disneyland Paris puzzle, enjoyed soup, bread, cheese and salad for dinner, and watched a DVD that we brought from home to end the day.

Sunday #4 July 4th See previous post: “Americans in Paris III”
Sunday # 5 See previous post: “Weekend in the country”

Sunday #6 : This may have been our best Sunday yet! Meredith slept over at her new BFF’s house. A is Anglo-American, like some other wonderful children we know, and she lives just behind the big church, about 5 minutes from us. When Thayer and I went to pick up our girl, A’s mother kindly offered me a coffee and we chatted while the kids played with A’s hamster, Caramel, and her various Build-a-Bear stuffed animals.

We were sad to leave! A’s mom was quite fun to chat with, but we had a date with another family, so we headed home to collect our picnic food and then descended into the metro. Because we were going to the Luxembourg gardens, we had a rather long ride on the train. Thayer had staked out his favorite spot at the front of the front car, and was enjoying the view through the front window, when the conductor came into our car (we were stopped at a station, of course!) and invited us all to join her IN THE DRIVER”S COMPARTMENT! This was amazing; Thayer was in bliss. Of course, we stayed there until our stop, then thanked her for her kindness, forced Thayer off the train and went on our way.

A few minutes later, we had met up with my former classmate, S, her husband R and their 3-year-old daughter L. This is an Italian family, actually! S and I took a few classes together at NYU and I remember meeting R’s brother, H, when he was visiting S from Rome. Not long after that, H re-introduced S to his brother R and the love affair began. I saw S two summers ago (she usually teaches for an NYU film school summer class in Paris), but I hadn’t seen R since 2000, I think! He and S came to visit us in Queens and met baby Meredith. And this was my first time meeting L, who is cute as a little Italian button. She attends a centre near her home and speaks a fair amount of French.

All of the kids enjoyed the big sand pit in the Luxembourg playground, and Meredith of course was off organizing other kids in various activities. Thayer climbed the “Eiffel Tower” – a very tall play structure, one that I think would not be legal in the US, and the kids all had lunch (of various sandwiches and saladières – my beloved tuna and veggies in a pop-top tin) and the grown-ups chatted and caught up. Gorgeous day to be out, too!

The bell rang just before 4 o’clock: The puppet show was going to start. My kids were pretty ready for a break in the action, and L had gone to the 11 am show, so I wrangled my two into the theater. With some snacks that I had in my bag (why I don’t always have snacks in my bag is a mystery to me. They come in handy all the time.) Today’s show: The Three Little Pigs. This is a part-Disney, part-French, part-I-don’t-know-what version of the story. Unlike many French fairy tales, it does not end badly, although the wolf does get part of his tail bitten off by a crocodile.  When all seems lost for the pigs, the hero of French puppets, Guignol, shows up to save the day. He’s a bit like the woodsman in that regard, I guess, but he can pretty much pop into any narrative at any time. And he’s great at beating up on other characters. Anyway, the kids enjoyed it for 45 minutes and then we met back up with the Italians and the kids played a bit more, but everyone was pretty weary by then. We said our good-byes and headed back to the metro.

Once back in the ‘hood, we stopped at our local Monop’ (this is like a quickie-mart version of the Monoprix, and some are open on Sundays) to pick up some essentials (milk, for example), then we climbed up the stairs to fix supper. Meredith loves the soup-in-a-box and picked “Pot au feu,” which is similar to Beef vegetable. Thayer enjoyed canned cassoulet, with white beans and saucisses (French version of beanie-weenies!) that was very tasty, whilst I finished off the duck and potato mélange from earlier in the week.

It was still early, so we had time to watch a whole movie, Kiki’s delivery service (highly recommended if you haven’t seen it!) and to savor an ice cream bar. And to savor some quiet family time. Days like this are too few and far between, in my book, but I know we’ll have more of them when our actual vacation begins on August 6!

14 juillet: La fête nationale!

In the past, I have celebrated Bastille Day in a variety of ways. It happened to be my college boyfriend’s birthday, so some years back it involved candles and cards and cake. Then there were the years of dancing with the firemen. Many of the Parisian fire stations hold Firemen’s Balls on the 13th and 14th of July, with DJs or live music and food and drink for sale and good fun to be had. One memorable summer, one of my pals made it a priority to kiss a fireman and we all made sure she got her wish! Also years of the fireworks on the Champs de Mars, dazzling eruptions of color around the Eiffel Tower – excellent wow factor there.

These activities were, for me, pre-kiddos in Paris. Les bals du pompier are clearly not for the under-18 set, and my last experience of the feux d’artifice involved some young boys hurling fire crackers into the crowd for sport, and dealing with the awfully crowded metro home. So we were looking for something other to do. And our friends E and M suggested the morning parade on the Champs Elysées (that's French for Elysian Fields, which is where -- according to ancient Greek legend and myth -- great warriors go when they die), something I (and they, it turns out!) have never actually done. It was a date.

E and M are a delightful, young Franco-American couple, married now for a couple of years. Both attorneys, they used to live in OKC, but they moved to Paris about 18 months ago hoping that E would have an easier time finding work (she’s the French one). And she has (M landed a job at an international law firm before they departed). I really like both of them and am a bit sad that they left Oklahoma, but now we get to hang out with them here, which is great fun, actually. We did brunch together soon after our arrival (see upcoming the “month of Sundays” post for more on that outing!), and we arranged to meet in front of the Pizza Pino on the Champs around 8:30 AM for the bit Fête Nationale. Possibly the earliest RDV of our whole trip, but who knew what kind of crowds would be amassing in the mean time?

So I had to awaken the little monsters, tired from our California connection the night before, and get them in the metro. We brought breakfast with us: baguette and nutella and some fruit and bottles of water (a bottle of iced coffee for Maman), and we were glad to see that the Pizza Pino was on the much less crowded side of the Champs Elysées. M and E were delayed, as the vélib stations near the Champs had been inexplicably closed for the day, but we staked a little claim along the barricade in the meantime. “Formez vos bataillons!” we sang.

There were lots of well-dressed military types in the street, sporting various dress uniforms, some with spats, some with plumed hats, some with swords, some with automatic weapons. We were handed programs by a charming female member of service, and told that we could not bring our liquids in with us (lots of barricades for crowd control, but not difficult to manage. We could leave our bottles by a big tree, where they would be safe and not fodder for passers-by. My glass pot of Nutella was allowed in, however. Such are the vagaries of the system. Good thing, though, as the kids were starving. And the waiting was torture (as my dear Dr. H. likes to say, life in France involves “the torture of waiting.”)! Then there was some music. And the well-dressed brigades stood at attention. With their backs to us. (So that’s why there were three times as many people on the other side!) The good part was, we got to see the faces of the commanders who were inspecting the troops. Which went on for a while, up and down the Champs. And then, more waiting. And then, President Sarkozy rode by, waving at the gathered crowds (The man is short. He could never get elected in the States.) And then, when it didn’t seem like we could wait any more, a nice man with lots of ribbons on his uniformed chest approached us, the masses at the barricades, and asked if we were hungry. And then he handed out Twix bars. Really! I was thrilled that the weather had cooled off, because Twix bars on a hot day would be just horribly melty and sticky. The kids were thrilled.

Finally, finally, the parade began. Right from where they’d been inspected, each group fell in and started down the Champs toward the Place de la Concorde. And then there were planes that flew low overhead, in tight formation. Wow! One of the first passes involved a v-formation of fighter planes that spewed streams of blue, white and red smoke in their wake. This was the highlight for Thayer, I think, and really impressive to see in person. A few more planes, lots more marching, and then --- the skies opened and it started to pour. I mean POUR! We beat a retreat out of there (with nearly everyone else, I might add), and tried to take cover in the Pizza Pino. It was closed. Just across the street, Pizza Roma. Doors open. We go inside, the kids are hungry (it’s about 11 by now), so why not? The maitre d’ says, practically without stopping: “Sorry, we’re full. Sorry, we’re closing. How many in your party?” E laughed and said she could see the panic on his face as a throng of damp spectators rushed the doors.

Our Party of Five climbed the stairs to the upper level, where we could see a bit of the soaking wet parade (all of those beautiful uniforms!), now including tanks and vehicles and flags of many nations (the Francophonie were out in force, celebrating 50 years of independence for many of the former African colonies). Lunch wasn’t served until 11:30, so we had dessert first, crème caramel, pains au chocolat, and ice cream for Thayer. Bubble gum ice cream (yecch.). Then we could get some pizza and pasta. Not the best meal. Not the best prices (hey, it’s the Champs!). Not the best service (when Meredith asked if she could have some bread, the waitress said, sluggishly, “If you want.”). And I was thinking that for some foreign visitors to Paris, this is the kind of experience they have, over and over. Overpriced, pedestrian food and the frazzled servers. But we were dry and happy.

The rain abated, a bit, and we said our good-byes to M & E and crossed back over to the Disney Store, which Meredith had honed in on as soon as we surfaced from the metro. And the skies opened some more, so we wound up spending about an hour in there, I’d say. Without a purchase! Then we booked it to the metro and stopped at the Alimentation Générale near our stop to get some milk. The nice man there gave us plastic sacks to put over our heads for the 1-block dash to our building.

Once home, we relaxed, dozed, and watched “Enchanted” in 11 small parts, courtesy of You Tube. And then I asked the kids if they wanted to do something else, a surprise. That might involve more rain. They were up for it, so we headed out again, this time to the Grands Boulevards, where we went to see Toy Story 3 on its opening day in Paris. We saw the V.O. (original version) with French subtitles. Movies in France deserve a whole different post, but suffice to say that the kids had Eiffel Tower gummies and thoroughly enjoyed the film. I did, too. Those Pixar people are amazing.

Then we went home and it was nearly 10 when we had dinner (soup, bread and cheese) and by the time we were ready for bed, we could hear the thunderous booming of the fireworks. Since the buildings are uniform in height (6 stories or fewer) there’s no sound barrier, so even all the way across town the noise came to us. A happy sound, I’d say. And speaking of sounds, I realized, as I was falling asleep, that we hadn’t heard La Marseillaise (France’s national anthem) a single time, all day! Curious, no?

Americans in Paris IV: California dreaming

One day when the kids were out with Le Guide, they reported having met an American family in a nearby park – Mom, Dad and two little girls. Thayer, in particular, was very enthused about having met them. The next day, Meredith was checking her email and found a message plus photos – this is the first time, to my knowledge, that she has given out her email address without my knowledge! And an invitation to get together in a more organized fashion.

So I got on it right away and we made a plan for the following week. Turns out, their apartment is on Rue du Paradis, just like Thayer’s centre, so they are close to us. I suggested Parc La Villette and that we meet at the metro entrance at 7. The day of, around 6:30, W (the mom) calls - -they are running a bit late, can we say 7:30? Fine with us! And there they all are, W and K (the dad) and their girls (K age 4 and M age 2) and their Grammy T. They are all from LA. Lots of hellos and into the metro we go, Meredith leading the way. The girls both want to hold her hands. Thayer is in bliss.

We get to a patch of green at La Villette and spread out their blanket. Thayer runs to pee against a tree; he gets more Parisian by the day, that boy. The girls are already barefoot and running and enjoying a gorgeous evening. We start unpacking food and finding out a bit more about each other. K and W are web designers and they have a great, well-situated house in LA (between the Hollywood bowl and ? well, my LA geography isn’t very good), that they exchange with French people. This made me jealous. Our house is really great, but what Parisian wants to swap houses to Oklahoma City? Anyway, they are all set up here and they even have a car! And they’re here for the whole summer, some of it in Dijon but mostly in Paris. Of course, it’s not all vacation; they are working on projects and dealing with the 9-hour time difference, which I imagine can be tiresome for an extended amount of time. They have been here before (including for their honeymoon), but they don’t speak much French, as it happens, and they are climbing the learning curve on life in France, with great gusto and humor, I would say, especially since they have such little ones in tow! And two strollers!

Back to the picnic: I poured wine and offered some cheese and olives (remembered the olives this time!) We ate meatballs that W had made (very tasty!) and sausage from Lucheux that I brought – and sandwiches for my kids and spaghetti and zucchini for their kids and we chatted away and Thayer only ran away once, far and fast, to the big fountain. He looked about ready to climb in it, so K went to help me gather him up. And little M climbed on her mom and the glass of red wine went all over the poor woman’s white jeans. She took it in stride, big points in my book!

And Meredith trotted little K on her shoulders and made up a game and they kicked a beach ball around and ate some fruit and cookies (brownies for the grown-ups) and we packed up to show off the big bicycle (Grammy T is an art teacher, so she really liked that idea) and then, with great difficulty, we crossed the canal and descended through Cité de Sciences to the metro. At least it wasn’t as dark as the last time, and I had done it once so I knew sort of how to go, but with two strollers and 4 tired kids, it was a bit of a hassle. And a lot of stairs. Then W got clobbered by the metro doors (ouch! Not the smoothest of outings for her!) and finally we were up the Poissonnière escalator and saying goodbye (I think it was nearly 11!). Just a great outing and I love that my children are fundamentally responsible for it happening in the first place.

They also have a great blog about their summer in France that they update EVERY DAY. With LOTS OF PICTURES. In my defense, I will say that I am going for a topical blog more than a chronicle. But still, I am impressed. And a little jealous.

I need professional help.

Here is the follow-up to my entry “A Personal Ad” from 2003, when I first discovered the joys of personal shopping.  Last week, I returned to Galéries Lafayette, of of the big French department stores, for a third appointment with Isabelle, wardrobe consultant extraordinaire. Had to book three weeks ahead, and then one of her underlings called me to change the time, but no matter.  She is great at what she does.

So first off, she measured me (I tried not to think about the weight I have gained since we got here!),  "Vous êtes grande," she says.  "You are tall,"  [note:  I am just shy of 5'5"].  Then she looked at what I was wearing (a hand-me-down top from my Aussie pal J), and decided that I was more of a romantic, less of a sporty, type. Not afraid to show some skin, she noted. I told her I still like greens and pinks and that I really need some dresses. Summer-y dresses that I might be able to wear into the fall, because the Oklahoma fall is hot as blazes. But I also need some little jackets or cardigans, because the A/C can be frigid.

Isabelle got me a coffee and then she was off. Before she left, she told me to look around at what was in the room to see if I liked anything, as there were quite a lot of things already in there. I was immediately attracted to a white linen dress. A bit low-cut, but not otherwise revealing. Good start. She was back in about 15 minutes with a rack full of clothes, mostly (but not only) dresses. In lots of colors – grey, rose, black and white, yellow, coral… and she was a little bit distressed that I hadn’t tried on more things already. Hardly anything that I would have picked out myself, actually.  That's the idea!

A grey knit dress was too clingy; a gorgeous flowered tank with a hint of lavender at the bottom hit me wrong in the hip. A seagreen smock dress was, well, too smock-like.  But a darling green and blue checked dress, just great. And a coral number with a flounce, I was loving it. There was a beautiful black and green top already in the room that I found attractive, so Isabelle went to find me some pants to go with it. I thought the pants were too tight. “Nonsense,” she said (in French), “They are beautiful on you!”

“Oh, Catherine, you are ravishing!” I was beaming at my reflection in the mirror.  Then she got me some super-tall, very trendy Kookai shoes. “You must put these on.” They have zippers on the heel. I don’t think I’ve ever worn shoes like this before. Surprisingly comfortable, although as Christine Lavin would say, “I can see my house from here!”

And the gilets, which is French for little sweater or jacket or hoodie or what-have-you that buttons or zips up the front. She brought three white ones, all of which were stylish, but I limited myself to the simplest one (I have a nagging regret about the one with the snaps, but that’s how these things go). And a beautiful navy cardigan to go with the green and blue dress. And a little grey-green with lace for the white dress.

And she had brought a great black sleeveless dress with beading at the shoulders and a yoke at the waist, with a gorgeous off-white cardigan. And an olive green dress with black accents that had its own matching jacket. And my favorite (must I choose?) , a dark grey, close-fitting robe with a colorful beaded yoke. “Il faut un gilet,” (It needs a jacket) said Isabelle. She returned in a flash with a seagreen silk cardigan. I wanted to wear it out of the store! But really, too dressy for Tuesday afternoon. And a red and white floral with a collar and short sleeves, really perfect for the classroom.

There were a few casualties as I struggled to stay within my (very generous, thanks to Bill!) budget. A blue silk with stars; an olive sleeveless belted; a black and white with a yellow tie around the neck; a pale green halter with a gathered waist and a big sash; a tiny floral with a criss-cross back… I had to prioritize.

In the end, 8 dresses and 2 pairs of pants, one top, and 7 gilets, and 4 necklaces and a scarf. I wore the black pants and the shoes out of the store, then changed twice that afternoon. Wednesday I wore the green and blue dress. Friday, the white one. Saturday, the black one. The grey is for a night out, and the yellow for a really hot day (it’s very light-weight), and I should have strapless bra for it. I think I will wear the green and black one tomorrow! I am as pleased as punch, and even happier when the handsome young man at the détaxe desk thought I was French. He said it was my lack of an accent, but I think it musta been the pants…

[Meredith has documented all of my outfits. Yes, I need a haircut, but take a look at les fringues! (That’s French for “duds”).]

Weekend in the country.

I have this one French friend. This sounds ridiculous, but it’s practically true. It doesn’t bother me like it used to and I know that it is commonly difficult for Americans to truly befriend the French here in France (those who come to the US are already exceptional, and a category of their own!). This is possibly food for thought in another post. For now, let’s talk about Madame Jolie (not her real name, but she is indeed beautiful inside and out). I met her in Amiens in 2008 at a gathering of faculty who were exploring the idea of an exchange program between our universities. Before the meeting officially started, there was a little coffee and cake, over which I was asked the typical questions that visitors get: When did you arrive? How long are you staying? When Jolie found out that I would be staying a full month, she invited me, then and there, to visit her for the weekend. “I have two kids,” I said, “and my mother is with me, too.” “Let them all come!” Jolie replied. We sat together during the initial meeting: Jolie opened her planner and indicated two weekends that would be good for her. “Pick one!” she insisted. So I did. And we have been good friends ever since. She’s even come to visit in OKC!

We had had lunch once already this summer while she came to Paris for a conference, and last Friday I took the kids on the TGV (that’s the Train de Grande Vitesse, or Train of Great Speed) to Arras, a lovely city not far from the Belgian border. Train ride took less than an hour! Jolie’s husband, R, came to pick us up. He’s a sculptor and carpenter and also, truth be told, très joli. They are a gorgeous couple. No kids of their own, but they were entertaining two of their nieces for about 10 days (J is 11 and S is 7; more pals for my kids to run around with!).

Jolie and R live in a tiny hamlet, on a property that has been in R’s family for generations (most recently, it was his uncle’s home). It is old, impractical, rustic and romantic. There are gardens. There are chickens. There’s a big black dog named Coyotte who is Thayer’s anchor to this place (when he can’t remember Jolie or R, I remind him of Coyotte). The girls were playing out back when we arrived, so we got introduced and the four kids ran and got acquainted whilst I had some time with Jolie. And we had a fantastic homemade quiche for dinner (eggs from the property) and salad just picked from the garden. And delicious local bread and cheese, and a bottle of wine opened just for me (Jolie is allergic to wine and R prefers beer, -- so much for your preconceptions of the French!). It’s been hot, so we ate in the courtyard, under a gorgeous oak tree that was planted to honor R’s birth. The kids didn’t even miss dessert, so much fun they were having together (and screaming, and falling down, and looking at bugs, etc.).

We all slept downstairs (the kids and I were in what seems to be their living room, but the downstairs rooms apart from the kitchen remain mysterious to me in terms of function) after lots of up and down and giggling and whispering and whatnot. Meredith claimed she was cold and her mattress was too hard (a princess, no?), but we all slept soundly until the morning light brought a couple of pesky flies (Thayer slept on, oblivious of the fauna). Yogurt and fruit and tartines (bread and butter and/or jam – pink cherry and cassis jams! Ooh the fruits!) to start our day, and then there was an expedition to the back garden where we gathered up an obscene number of raspberries (from bushes planted by R’s mom many years ago). I found a beautiful bird’s nest, complete with several tiny blue eggs, that I showed the children one at a time. When they were done berrying, Jolie got them to dig up some potatoes from the vegetable garden. We then went back to the kitchen to make raspberry smoothies (with fromage blanc) and enjoyed them after our delicious lunch of baked chicken with those self-same potatoes and fresh peas and more salad, bread, cheese, and wine. The kids drank fresh strawberry sirop in their water – miam miam Thayer started to say (French for yum yum!)

After lunch, we made raspberry ice cream and put it in the freezer so it would be ready for dinner. Then we packed up some snacks and took a short drive to the woods. The girls had discovered the frame of a cabin tied together near a ruin of a chateau, and they worked to make a special place for Coyotte within it (he did not care for it, in the end), and the kids sat within the frame and ate their snack and Jolie and I took some photos and talked and relaxed. The children were a bit too interested in the bons-bons I had brought from the States (gummy bears and such), so we had to restrict those. They dragged sticks around and played with Coyotte until they were thoroughly exhausted. Then home for baths and pjs and a video before dinner, which was leftovers (for once!), again under the tree, with our freshly made ice cream and Chantilly (whipped cream) and since it was the last night for the girls to spend there, Jolie took some special time with them and I crashed with my kiddos in the other room.

On Sunday, we all packed our stuff together so that we’d be ready to go later. Jolie was going to drive them three hours West to meet up with their parents in Caen, about ½ way between their respective homes. Before departure, though, we had planned to spend the morning at a Medieval fair in nearby Lucheux, but S pinched her thumb in one of the doors and was screaming her head off (it did not look good, in all honesty), so we waited for R to return from some errands. He then stayed back with S and the rest of us left for the fair. Right away, there were monstrous furry creatures on stilts descending towards us, and there was archery practice that Meredith did well with, to the point where one of the archers put a special glove on her hand and showed her some more technique. And then there were illuminated manuscripts and tarot card readers and a blacksmith…and a calligrapher to write our names on little slips of paper, and ham to sample, and toy swords and shields to play with, and a kitten to pet, and then it was time to go back.

We all ate a wonderful Parmentier (like a shepherd’s pie, with chopped meat, and cheese and potatoes) that Jolie had put together, and another round of salad and ice cream, then the kids played a bit more before it was time for Jolie to take them to their parents. But she and R offered for me to take R’s car back to Lucheux for the afternoon! Me, driving in the French countryside! R’s car is old, and a diesel, and a manual. I am used to driving my hybrid Prius, so it was a bit leap backwards in terms of technology, but at least I know how to drive a stick! So I felt a bit like we were inside Chitty Chitty Bang Bang as we made off back to Lucheux, where there were lots of traditional games (ring tosses and balancing and other diversions), and a pig roasting on a spit (named Albert, we were told) and a guy making chain mail, and honey to sample and a puppet show and sausage to buy for dinner, The day was capped off by a joust exhibition that featured three knights on horseback and some hand-to-hand combat. Very small-town, pretty authentic. No Renaissance crap trying to anachronistically creep into the Middle Ages.

And then we headed back to the house for a rest and a shower before R drove us back to Arras for the train. We were loathe to return to the Big City, and are already planning next year’s visit!

Americans in Paris, Part III: Still crazy after all these years...

Not long after I started posting from Paris, my friend A contacted me: “We’ll be in Paris in early July,” said she. “When can we see you?” The more short-term visits I make here (and I do count this 10 weeks as short-term, for various reasons), the better I appreciate the need to make plans and fast with any and all friends and colleagues I want to see. The time (theirs and/or mine) goes by too quickly otherwise and opportunities are lost. For example, I messed up the day of the week in June and was therefore unable to see a former student with whom I’d been making vague plans for some time (another time, V, c’est promis!). Anyway, A & I booked July 4th well in advance and exchanged phone numbers for further plan-making.

A little history: I have known J since 1984, A since 1990, and I am mostly responsible for their meeting one another. A had been an RA on my staff; J, her husband, and I raised a certain amount of H-E-double hockey sticks with the Columbia Band back in the day. In a bizarre twist of fate, J answered a classified ad for an apartment in Brooklyn that was the home of my then-beau. He and I fixed J and A up at a dinner for four in my apartment and the rest is, well, history. With almost 30 years of marriage and 4 kids between us, here we were, getting together in Paris after about a 9-year hiatus. About time, too!

On the 4th of July, we met at the Stravinksy fountain, which is adjacent to the Pompidou center in what the Parisians call Beaubourg. Their kids are 13 and 10, the younger being a girl, so Meredith was instantly pleased; girls were holding hands like old friends after about 20 minutes. Turns out, their son B (age 13) loves little kids and is a certified Red Cross babysitter – he soon had Thayer on his back and was galloping around the plaza. We enjoyed some ice cream (some of us were happier than others with our choices, but oh well). And we were entertained by break dancers (a genre that never went out of style here!), Mongolian throat singers (J thought their melodies resembled Appalachian tunes), a jewelry-maker, and a blower of big bubbles before heading inside the Centre Pompidou itself – the Art Museum is free on the first Sunday of the month, so we took the “habitrail” elevators up to the top and admired some cubist art (lots more Picassos and Braques in the collection than I had remembered, including Picasso’s plaintive Harlequin). We were greeted by large “buttons” on the wall with feminized names of male artists: Annie Warhol, Marcelle Duchamp, Jacqueline Pollack, etc. And we looked at a canvas that was painted completely black. The kids smartly asked about these “artistic” efforts and we had a good time discussing them. Also enjoyed a photo exhibit from Gaza, not something that would easily come to the States.

Plus, the views are just terrific!

After popping into the gift shop, a stroll through the Marais brought us to the As (or Ace, as in a deck of cards) de Felafel for my second meal there with the kids. I sampled a Maccabee beer with my sandwich this time, and the kids enjoyed their pasta as we talked about how much Paris has and has not changed in the 25 years or so since J spent some of his junior year abroad here. Much more diverse, yes, I would agree. He found it more open to tourists, which pleases me, but I find hard to gauge. My students like to tell me that the reason I like Parisians and get along with them so well is because I can communicate with them easily and fully. This may be partly true, but I was heartened by J’s impression. He did also express concern that the city not become a caricature of itself, locked in the Belle Epoque for tourism’s sake.



I have to say that while there are some extremely touristy parts of the city that borderline on precious, there is still a great deal of Paris that remains largely untouched by outsiders and moves with the times. Well, as much as Old Europe moves with the times! Hence say hello to Direct Matin et Soir, Paris Plage, Vélibs, Wifi in the parks, et cetera. These are all possible blog topics, although it would seem that I will be blogging well into December at the rate I’m going, months after my return to the States!



We stopped at a chocolate shop for treats and then made our way back to the metro. We said our good-byes on the train and I had some sad moments later in the day, as I wished we could have had more time together.

My special little guy

I am feeling the need to devote an entry just to Thayer.  He definitely gets less air time than Meredith, and he is in some ways having a more difficult time of it here in Paris than she, but there are some precious aspects to my Mr. T. that I want to share.

He is completely taken by all of the various vehicles around us that seem, well, like toys.  At home, we play the "tap buggy" game, where you yell out, for example, "Tap Buggy Green! No tap backs!" and you tap the person nearest you.  Some of you might know this as Punch Buggy.  Fortunately, the less violent version was introduced to Meredith a few years back.  So we have that.

We also have special actions and motions for Smart Cars (I get to smack myself in the forehead, like I coulda had a V8), for Mini Coopers (Meredith does a curtsy), as well as for motorcycles with overheads (Thayer says, "cover-up" and makes a cover with his hands around his head), and for the three-wheel bikes (say "trois roues!"  and imitate having your hands on the bike's handles).  There are also comments for tour buses, both the closed kind (a "car" in French, like a tour bus) and the Open Tour (a double-decker bus), but I can't keep those straight.

Then there are his sidewalk rituals.  He loves the interruptions on the sidewalks here, the various manhole covers in different shapes and sizes.  He will stop to play hopscotch on the long rectangular strips, and spins around on the circular ones.  This makes him a rather unpredictable pedestrian.  He knows that this behavior is not tolerated by the centre staff, but with the Guide or myself, if we're not pressed for time, it's perfectly fine.

On the metro, there are other preferences.  If at all possible, Thayer wants to be at the end of the train.  The very front is better, but the back is all right, because he wants to look at the tracks as much as possible. He is entranced by the metro tracks.

There are a few things about the centre that are pretty great, actually.  First of all, he has learned to raise his hand like a French kid.  Over here, you don't just stick your hand up as high as you can, shooting it up over your head, elbow by your ear.  Instead, you hold up your index finger and bend your elbow, so that the tip of your finger is about as high as the top of your head.  Very cute, this.

And on a personal note, Thayer and I have developed a ritual that I have come to love.  Each morning after checking in at the centre desk, we hang up his backpack and find a seat at one of the tables dedicated to drawing.  I write his name in bubble letters and let him fill it in, then he writes me a note or draws a picture for me to take with me.  For example, on Friday he wrote "Maman" with hearts around it.  Then I fold up the paper with his name on it and put it in his pocket, and I take his message with me.  I have quite a collection now, no two alike!

And while I sometimes find his behavior exhausting or exasperating, he gets great reactions from the Parisian strangers around us.  Whether we're asking to use a café rest room, or making our way to the back of the train, or singing a little tune while we wait in line at the supermarché, Thayer manages to make the people around him smile.  Which, for Paris, is especially nice.  He still hardly ever looks in the camera, though!

Americans in Paris, Part II: French Like Me

The first American family we hung out with in Paris is one that we don't know well (I've met the dad a couple of times, state-side), but could shape up to become good friends of ours. T & T, and their sons T (11) & D (8), have returned home to the greater OKC area after about two years of living in Paris. Both parents speak good French and their kids, of course, are even better, thanks to their time in the French schools.

I knew we’d be in Paris together for about a week at the end of June, so was not completely surprised to receive an email inviting us to join in a picnic with them at Parc La Villette, which is happily not that far from us, and a vast, kid-friendly place. My kids were thrilled with the idea of a rather spontaneous night out (a Friday, when we would otherwise be out to dinner), and they do very much enjoy meeting new kids, so we picked up some sandwiches at the bakery across the street, packed up some other treats, and hopped on the métro. In due time, I received a “Nous sommes là!” text, which meant that Mr. T was there with a friend; his wife and kids had gotten caught up in the sales (the French have designated sale periods in July and January, more or less) and were to arrive a bit later.


But there was eating and drinking and merry-making, as the kids climbed up the Claus Oldenberg bicycle tire and got into some antics with locals over the vast quantity of fireworks they had with them. Once it got dark, we walked along the canal to a semi-secluded spot where their boys shot of fireworks out of an empty wine bottle, mainly over the canal. All the kids spoke French together and got along nicely, although we had to track down Thayer at one point as he had gone back to entertain himself at the playground area. Some random strangers even helped look for him!

A nearly French-only evening, conversation-wise (at least among the grown-ups), in spite of the Anglo native speakers! And a good time was had by all, although navigating through the Cité des Sciences after dark (and well after closing time) proved tricky and physically demanding. I had two cranky but happy children on the métro home. They will look forward to seeing this family again in the Fall; I will, too!

Americans in Paris, Part I: The Overview

Oh, the US Invasion – more and more American tourists are visiting the City of Light, at least to my mind, than ever before. Chock it up to the Obama White House (no more “Freedom Fries”) or the weakened Euro (thank you, Greece!), but it seems like the Normandy beaches have been stormed once again.

I have a love-hate relationship with American tourists.

Hate: the fatness, the loudness (why does being in a foreign country give you permission to use your outside voice everywhere?), the traveling in herds with matching backpacks (EF Tours, I’m talking to you!), the horrible clothes (ill-fitting, sloppy, and showing too much or the wrong kind of skin), the loudness, the complaining about the obvious (no ice cubes, no air conditioning, no elevators), the ignorance (“I know they can all speak English; they are just mocking me.” Or: “How come I missed Michelangelo’s David in the Louvre?”) – It makes me want to “pass” as other than American, so that I won’t be identified with this lot.

Love: the hard-earned cash being spent here (I admit to worrying about the French economy!), the lifelong memories some will store on this first-and-only opportunity (“Oh, that Notre Dame is so beautiful! And the Eiffel Tower, did you know that it twinkles?”), some opening up to other cultures (“How can the French be so thin and eat so well?” “Really, even the waiters get 5 weeks of paid vacation?”), attitudes (Wow, there aren’t nearly so many box stores in France!), and even cuisine (“Now that was the best peach I’ve ever eaten.” “Even the Pepsi tastes better!”) and language (“Gee, there are a lot of these words that look just like English!” Or: “I really should learn a bit of French…”).

I also am of two minds about their coming at all. Obviously, it is good for me and my career to get people here and for them to like it and want to communicate with the locals. But I also have a jealous streak that wants to guard Paris for those Americans who “deserve” it. Like my friends, old and new, who will be featured in other blog entries about Americans in Paris.

Two Rendez-Vous, social skills optional

English has taken many words from French. Café, camouflage, fiancé… these are neutral words. When used in English, however, the word rendez-vous implies a certain naughtiness. In French, though, the word simply means a scheduled appointment. If you have a rendez-vous with the dentist, you are likely going to get your teeth cleaned!

Anyway, I had two rendez-vous recently, on the same day, with two different French men. The first one lasted three hours and involved lunch. The second took only about 45 minutes, during which time I received a glass of water. And so it goes…

1) I was to meet Monsieur D at his office, which happens to be at the Louvre. Turns out, there are lots of entrances to the Louvre, some of which are better marked than others. This one requires a RDV (that’s French shorthand for rendez-vous, the showing of an ID, the giving of a day pass, and the waiting for an escort. D came to greet me and we were off on a labyrinthine backstage tour of the world’s largest museum [okay, maybe 2nd largest after the Hermitage, but I think it’s a toss-up]. First to his office, which is on an upper floor in a wing not visited by most, at least from what I could tell. Then he showed me a courtyard that was under construction. Since it’s not really possible to build additions onto the Louvre (although he told me with a laugh that there are those who would like to see the original Tuileries Palace rebuilt on the West end of the current structure!), the plan for now at least is to make use of as much of the existing building as possible, and also ideally to profit from the spaces underneath the courtyard areas. He whisked me through several passkey entrances and then into the galleries, where he pointed out a few of his favorite pieces and showed me the error in Greek that has now been painted on the ceiling in one hall. Oops!

Then we were on our way down a few more hallways, and into a tiny staff elevator to an exit that led us to Le Fumoir, where we lunched on beautiful salades niçoises and shared a demi-bouteille of white wine, followed by a lovely chocolate dessert that came with delicious vanilla ice cream and a slice of burnt sugar such as you might find atop a crème caramel. We talked about work, and he asked me how I became attached to French and/or France (not an obvious attachment, by any means!), and about travelling in the States, and cultural oddities that are amusing and/or irritating.

We walked back though the behind-the-scenes Louvre and I was able to meet his colleague, C, who was the co-director of the Roman Art from the Louvre exhibit in the States, which is the reason I met D in the first place. She also does work at Princeton, it turns out. Before I left, D offered me two passes to the “new” Greek gallery opening for the following week. He had plans to be on vacation, but he encouraged me to attend.
I gave back my entry badge with some regret – I felt like a character in a French version of From the Mixed-up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler.

After a few hours’ time at the library, I picked up the kids from their centres – a bit late, it turned out, so M the Guide was waiting for us at home. And then I was off again, for RDV #2.

2) Monsieur N is a note-worthy French film critic with many scholarly publications to his name. A couple of years ago, he co-organized a special exhibit honoring one of my main research subjects; his collaborator was the archivist with whom I’ve been working for several years. That is not how I got in touch with Monsieur N. however. Two years ago, I answered a classified ad for a summer sublet in Paris. The woman who I dealt with in the negotiations and planning is a History professor at a prestigious French university. Upon meeting her, she mentioned that her husband is a famous French film critic, did I know him? Turns out, I had dinner with him in New York back in the day when he came to give a talk at NYU. Over the course of the summer, I spoke to him a couple of times and he gave me Monsieur N’s personal email address and suggested I contact him.

When I got the NEH grant, I contacted Monsieur N. for help getting into the Cinémathèque, which is a private institution dedicated to the cinema. He was instrumental in getting me in contact with the right people, and also mentioned that he’d be pleased to get together with me to talk about French films of the 30s, etc. And then, when I inquired about a RDV, he invited me to his apartment, in the evening. This felt a bit odd to me, but what was I going to do? Well, I asked for his indulgence and to forgive me for my sensitivity on this matter, but could we meet at a café near his place? His response: “Will I see you at 6:45?” So I went, with my map and his address and the code and the interphone number. But I left word with M the Guide to call me after 30 minutes to check in on me.

It was all fine. I drank the water he offered me and I mentioned briefly why I was in Paris this summer and also how I got his email address. Then I listened to him catalogue various filmmakers and their works and their casts and the main critics who have written about them. This is extremely French in terms of scholarship, I find. I was pleased to learn that we shared a common disdain for one overly fawning writer. He mostly talked, and I mostly listened, for about 45 minutes, then he went to his computer and sent me some emails; these contained articles that he has written and also names and emails of other French film critic types that might be useful to me. He encouraged me to contact them. And he mentioned twice that I should keep him informed of my progress.

That was obviously my cue to leave. So I shook his hand and thanked him for his time and headed out. My explanation of how I came to know this person probably took longer than our RDV, but at least I have this person in my circle and I can surely be back in touch with him if I think he could be helpful to me.

Then I returned home and collapsed. It had been quite a day!

staying "centred"

As staff at both of the centres requested it, I took myself to the Caisse d’Écoles du 10ème arrondissement. For the average American reader, that sentence requires some translation and interpretation.

First of all, Paris is divided into 20 arrondissements, a term for which there is no good English translation. Arrondissements are bigger than neighborhoods (in French, quartiers, hence the French Quarter in New Orleans) -- they are municipal subdivisions of the city. In keeping with this system, Paris has 20 zip codes: 75001 through 75020, that a we’re 75010, for the 10th arrondissement.
Thus, if you know where someone lives in Paris, you automatically know their zip code (this is ingenius, really, but there are many post offices within each zip code!).

In addition, each arrondissement has its own local government, including a mayor (I have no idea, really, how these 20 elected officials relate to the Mayor of Paris, but I suppose they're like the NYC borough chiefs. Or not.). The offices of each arrondissement are located in the mairie, which is where the mayors work.

The mairie of the 10th arrondissement is a huge, beautiful 19th century affair. I reminded myself not to be intimidated by the jaw-dropping architecture and am pleased to notice the big banner out
Front “La mairie du 10ème en solidarité avec les sans-papiers et leurs enfants” [The Town Hall of the 10th in solidarity with undocumented people and their children] -- in an area of the city as diverse as this, with lots of illegal immigrants (mainly from Africa), the children are still bound to attend school and the State requires that they attend, regardless of their immigration status. In a way, my children fall into that category!

Anyway, I show up with paperwork that I think would be helpful: passports, birth certificates, the good ol’ quittance de loyer, and the vaccination records, for good measure. A young woman waves me over to her desk and I explain that we’ve just gotten to the neighborhood and that the children are at the centre and we need to know our tarif. We do not have the affiliations that the French would have (namely, the CAF, or allocation familiale, which can support your children if you are in financial trouble. Like WIC, perhaps, in the US, but more with more expansive coverage and for a much larger population. And if you are a famille nombreuse (that’s 3 kids or more, I believe), you are eligible for further subsidies from the State.

Anyway, the young woman is cordial and first off makes sure that the kids have been accepted by the centre. She tells me that I need to provide 3 months worth of pay stubs for myself and my husband, and also our most recent tax records. This I cannot produce on the spot, obviously. She also gave me the enrollment form to fill out, which is the same form used to determine how much families pay for school lunch.

I contacted Bill and he was able to get me what I needed (really, the ability to send documents by email is a great thing). And then I went back with all of the stuff. A different young woman helped me. I pulled out my form, and the copies of the pay stubs and of our taxes, and then she asked for the kids’ birth certificates, which she photocopied. Then she told me I could come back in September to find out which tarif I would be paying. I countered that the reason I was there already was because of the centre, and she said, come back in two weeks.

And have a nice day!

Dude, where's my blog?

I suppose anyone who has ever blogged can appreciate this.  Keeping a journal is a similar challenge for me.

The last time I posted was on July 1.  A lot of stuff has happened since then, some of it blog-worthy.  When will I get to it?  Then more stuff happens...

I am feeling the everyday stress of what the French call métro-boulot-dodo [metro-work-sleep] and we are enjoying one another some, my children and me, and we've had some gatherings with other families and the like. 

So, I decided to take this morning "off" -- I dropped the kids at their centres, came home, took a shower, had breakfast, and am now taking care of things for a couple of hours -- I need to write to our landlord about a few things, I have some new contacts to schedule times with, my Egyptian grandpa has given me a few assignments (we talked by phone on Sunday morning -- he was in Germany, where he said that no one wanted to talk about anything other than the World Cup), and then, of course, there's the blog.

I will spend the afternoon at the Cinémathèque, which doesn't open until 1 o'clock, so between now and then, I hope to accomplish a few of the above items.  Wish me luck!

Paris Fatigue

No, I'm not tired of Paris.  I'm tired *in* Paris.  So are my kids.  Here are some reasons why, in order of appearance:
1) Travel fatigue:  When it takes something like 18 hours to get from here to there, you get exhausted.  Even with some sleep on the plane, overseas travel can wipe you out.
2) Jet lag:  We've got a 7-hour décalage between OKC and Paris.  I have read that your body can really only fully adjust to a one-hour change per day.
3) Long days:  Most Americans are not aware of how very far north Paris is -- close to Nova Scotia on the latitude!  This means that the sun doesn't set here, in early summer, until about 10 pm.  The twilight is beautiful for young lovers and Eurail travellers, but is kinda sucks for the younger set who need their rest.  We do have shutters to block out a fair amount of light, but this is a circadian response.
4) Strange beds:  My kids are sharing for the longest stretch of time ever.  Getting them to quit poking and annoying each other (on a bad night), or giggling and whispering (on a good one) can be a challenge.  Myself, I am sleeping on a horrid Ikea pull-out that doubles as our livingroom sofa.
5) Heat:  We are already experiencing summer weather here in Paris -- daytime temperatures in the 90s.  Not much humidity, which is good, but we have no fans or airconditioners, so it's hard to get any circulation.  Also, the front windows must stay closed to protect against noise.  The heat during the day makes everyone extra tired and uncomfortable (and, sometimes, smelly); the lack of A/C in general can wear you out.
6a) Physical exertion:  Walking
 We are living 4 flights up, which means the kids normally get 8 flights a day.  Every day.  We have no car, so we walk and take public transportation everywhere.  The metro is just a block from us, but requires more stairs (at least two flights up and down for each trip).
6b)  Physical exertion:  Carrying
I get to make some of the flights home with groceries; it's easier to shop a little bit every day so that you don't have to schlep multiple grocery bags from the store to the house and then up the stairs, but that means that every other day I've got extra weight on me. And every day I go to work at the library, I am toting my laptop, power cord, notebooks, wallet, phone, map, water bottle, etc. 
7) Hurrying:  Now, I'm not in a huge rush all the time, but when you rely on public transportation, you tend to hurry.  Why not step a little lively and make the very next metro?  Or dash to get on the bus that's at the nearby bus stop?  Like that.  I am taking three metro rides a day, most days.  These things add up.
8)  Learning curve:  The things that I wrote about being different can fall into this category, but also the mental gymnastics required to learn the lay of the land, to "start up" in the apartment with cleaning supplies and basic groceries and household goods, remembering to pull the door when I want to push it, etc.  Also, we have no printer here, so any printing must be done at the local internet café, which requires an outing, and the time to take one.  Other start-up activities have involved dealing with our bank account (not as successfully as I would have wanted), getting the kids enrolled at the Centre, getting to know The Guide, getting oriented to the libraries, dealing with the landlord, overcoming the apartment quirks, etc.
9) Time sensitivity:  I will admit to feeling stress about making the most of the time here.  I try to cram as much work into each day as I can, and I know I also need to get some things done before others.  This is why I am frequently at 2 libraries in a single day.  I am also making plans, social and otherwise, with a vast array of people whose schedules are all different from mine.  My friends swing through Paris at all different times and it's hard to coordinate!  I also know from living here before that when opportunities present themselves, it is best to take advantage of them as soon as possible.   Hence my lunch and evening rendez-vous with two contacts I had wanted to see (and will likely blog about tomorrow).  I am not even counting, here, the pre-departure frenzy that takes over most people at the end of their stay somewhere, when many places must be visited "one last time," just in case.
10) Time to myself:  I really only have time to myself at the apartment when the kids are sleeping.  If they don't get to bed until 10, then I don't get to just hang out until after that.  Checking email, reading for pleasure, trying to organize some things for the Fall (which I have yet to really get going, but which needs attention!), even doing dishes (no dishwasher) and preparing for the next day, all of these things are more efficiently dealt with when I don't have the kids in my ear.  Some unwinding time.  And time for the blog!