Just A Quickie

Apparently, I seemed to have caused some confusion with my last blog.  From the comments received, I appear to have suggested that it was my last blog and that I must, as Hemingway, continue to write.....Okay, maybe Hemingway is a bit of a stretch.  So to set things straight, here is a quick update on our latest Paris adventure.

As is customary for this time of year, Roland-Garros [the French Tennis Open] started this week.  I've blogged on this last year so I won't rant on about the French and how they think this is the most important tennis tournament in the world.  Every match, every stroke, every serve, is televised.  And Wimbledon, what's that?  You're lucky if you even get a box score.  But I digress.

On Friday, Pierre [you all remember him from an earlier blog....he taught me how to butcher and prepare my own rabbit],  came over for a drink.  With Roland-Garros on the telly, I was reminded of Pierre's friend, Olivier, whom we met at a dinner party chez Pierre last year.  Olivier is "un orfèvre," a gold and silversmith,  who owns "Lapparra" an ancient and highly renowned  Atelier in the Haut-Marais.   Lapparra has been in business since 1893, so it is one of Paris' venerable institutions.    And, to the point, Lapparra designs and fabricates the Roland-Garros trophies; the big one that you see the champions raise and the individual ones that they each get to keep.  They also design and manufacture by hand, important trophies for various events, including Longchamps - for those of you who are horse-racing fans.  So I asked Pierre if it was possible to visit Olivier's studio.

Turns out that this weekend was the "Nomades 2010," an annual event where over 100 art studios and artisans in the 3rd "arronde" open their galleries, factories and studios to the public.  So on Saturday, we took a walk to the Marais and Olivier's studio.  Et voilá, there was Pierre to greet us  - turns out Pierre was helping out in the Lapparra showroom while Olivier gave tours.  We joined up with several  people as they embarked on Olivier's tour of the "Atelier."

For security reasons, we didn't take any pictures, but Katherine was absorbed looking at all the gold and silver bits and pieces that were hanging around waiting to be joined up to form a trophy or punch bowl or some such item.  Just listening to Olivier describe and demonstrate how the artisans shape the gorgeous knives, forks and spoons that they make was fascinating.  I was blown away by the antiquity of the tools and machines used to fabricate the tableware and artifacts.  It was amazing to hear how much manual labor went into preparing a trophy, cup, or spoon.  I was even more fascinated by the "piles" of gold and silver "trash"-scrapings, dust, ribbons of gold and silver filling up trash cans.  I even touched some dust and discovered that I now had a 24 carat fingerprint! 

After the tour, we spent the next hour in the studio talking with Olivier and Pierre about some of the more exotic creations like a huge centerpiece made for the King of Morocco.  You have to see it to believe it.  One table was set with an entire line of Art Deco silverware which is destined for an upcoming showing in New York. 

So if you ever make it to Paris, visit Lapparra.  You will be warmly welcomed and amazed at what you see. Here is the URL:

http://www.lapparra.fr/en/goldsmith-silversmith-lapparra.htm

La Rentrée - Part 3

Today was an incredible day; incroyable! It’s Saturday and we’re off to our local market, Marché Maubert, just a couple of blocks from our apartment. The market is here 3 days a week (Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday) but Saturday is the “big one”….at least for our little neighborhood. Our merchants come from as far away as Normandy to sell their wares. These are the merchants who have given me advice on how to cook the meat I was buying, what wine I should serve, to the cheese that should follow, and the dessert. A different merchant for each course. I have to tell each one what the meal is, based on the input from the previous merchant. It’s hard for me because it’s all in French but it’s the raison I am living in Paris.

Today was the first time since I left Paris in December that I was in the market again. Would they know me? Would they remember me? Would they still be in business?...Talk to me?...Give me advice? La crise économique has been difficult. As we walked along Blvd St. Germain yesterday, we noticed that Duriez, one of our favorite stationery stores in Paris, was closed forever.



But today was beautiful. Unusually warm for avril and dry. Blue skies, light breeze, and very few tourists. The marché was busy with locals and a few tourists (that’s not us, we’re locals!). Even last December we had more tourists but the nuage de cendres from the volcano was still wreaking havoc although it doesn’t seem to be making the news anymore [at least here in Paris]. And all the merchants were busy. There seemed to be an abundance of fruit and veg folks. But I was determined to start my purchases at my favorite boucherie.

And there was Stella. Busy with a line of locals buying their weekend meats. I snuck in at the end, determined to be incognito until it was my turn. It worked. She didn’t see me or Katherine until we said “Ça va”? And then 3 months of missing us, came out in one sentence, maybe two. I’m not sure, my French is getting better but not when the French talk at lightning speed. But Katherine got it all. And apparently, our Stella missed us. She thought we were coming back at the beginning of April…probably because it was me who was telling her when we would be returning. So there it was; somebody remembered us.



And as I paid for our meat and turned to leave, there was Katherine chatting away (en français, naturellement) to her jewelry vendor. I didn’t know Katherine had a jewelry vendor but apparently she does. And apparently the vendor remembered her since they were deep in conversation ….but I am not sure I am happy about this merchant knowing us [or Katherine]….



The line in front of our fruit and veg man (fermier artisanale) was short; at least for him; only 3 or 4 people. But as we approached and got on line, he stopped, came over to shake our hands, and asked us how the winter was in the States and welcomed us back to Paris….he remembered us! We loaded up on veggies and started to make our way over to our wine shop.

We never made it. Before we got there, our local vintner was walking across the market. He stopped us in our tracks and asked us how we were doing. I don’t think this is because we buy a lot of wine. I think it’s because I fracture French so badly when I discuss wine with him that I am unforgettable as opposed to memorable.

So we trundle back to our flat, laden down with fruit, veg, meat, bread, wine (but no jewelry). Just as we are entering our building, our local creperie guy comes up to us with a big smile and says bienvenue à Paris! We chatted for a few minutes about le commerce and the cold, long winter they’ve had in Paris. This is like your local BurgerKing guy saying “hey, I haven’t seen you in a while; welcome back”. We’re so glad he remembered us and so glad we’ve come back to the same apartment – it’s like coming home. After unloading all of our market goods, Katherine is dying to walk up to the Jardin du Luxembourg – it’s a beautiful afternoon and spring has definitely sprung in Paris.

And it looks great. All the flowers are in bloom. It’s probably the first really warm day and weekend day since last autumn. Winter was hard in Paris this year. Not much snow but very cold. I think every Parisian was here in the gardens. The trees that had been stored for the winter in L’Orangerie were already out basking in the sun. New beds planted and in bloom. And every seat, bench, and more, occupied…especially in the chess and bridge area. So we walked over there and got a few nods, winks, and Ça va’s? from the regulars that I played with last year.

And then there were the “regulars” who play boules. No we don’t play boules or pétanque but we remember the ones who do. We love watching them play. Teams of men, women, and young lads….they all play and they all play together. Some of the young lads and women are better than the men. It’s quite a melting pot and a pleasant way to pass a Saturday afternoon.

But in the end, whether we were remembered or not, it’s April in Paris and it’s merveilleux.

La Rentrée – Part 2

With much trepidation and a good night’s sleep under my belt, it was time for me to check out my Paris. Has she changed? How did she change? Was anything the same? Was everything the same? So I laced up my running shoes and hit the Seine. I figured a familiar run would blow away the cobwebs and show me Paris.



It was cold. Colder than my normal Delray Beach runs but warmer than a winter DC run. The streets leading to the Seine were the same. Same crowds of tourists and locals. Same restaurants slowly preparing for the lunchtime meal. Quickly running past these shops, across the street towards the Cathedral, and down the steps to the Seine, my run begins.

I decided to go east towards the Peripherique, familiar territory, passing Notre Dame, towards the Jardin du Sculpture en plein air. Still the same old same old. But a quick look up towards the sky reminded me of a very complex tic-tac-toe board; criss-crossing contrails showed that displaced travelers were still trying to get back home in the worst way. Mother Nature still rules.

Past the Sculpture Garden the trail was being ripped up. Improvements that to me, looked like they were increasing flood protection with higher brick and stone river banks. No signs to say what was going on nor when it was going to be completed. Oh well, I had no trouble running around the construction.

Next on my run was the fluvial police station. A floating office on the Seine with lots of speedy river boats in the parking lot…ready to dash in case of trouble on or near the river. The parking lot was also closed off for repairs….no sign why or when it would be completed. So I ran back up to street level and over the police, and then back down to the river. I’m running under a building that has always puzzled us. The front part, the west side, is part of a design center. The rest of the building is supposed to be the Port du Seine. It’s a huge building that you can walk or run under. It must be sharing the space because there is a sign in the empty field in front of the building that says they are constructing the Port du Seine here. It says they are starting the construction July 2009 and completing the construction July 2011. From the looks of it, this place hasn’t changed since I began running here last May. Worse, from the looks of it, there hasn’t been any work here, period. So we have a sign that says we are working, please excuse the inconvenience but no work is being done, and where there is construction, back at the Sculpture garden, there is no sign, no explanation, and no termination date…..C’est la vie parisienne…..

Now I’m running towards the Gare d’Austerlitz. And just beyond the station is Piscine Joséphine Baker. It’s a floating barge that houses a public swimming pool. It’s undergoing a cleaning. The French do this pool cleaning once or twice a year. They are very concerned about public cleanliness….too bad they have a completely different perspective on personal cleanliness. It’s a French thing. Us Yanks are overly concerned and sell all sorts of products to cover up sweat, odor, and dirt. The French have a different appreciation for the aroma of the body. And quite to the contrary, the last time Piscine Baker was cleaned was last July. Perfect timing…who wants to swim in the summer? Seems like they got it right this year.

My run continues past all the peniches. These haven’t changed from last year. They are the same floating barges that are either homes or restaurants. I love’em. Gardens and bikes and cars on the home barges and tables and chairs and sound systems on the restaurant barges.

Almost at the half-way point. At the east end of the Peripherique there is cement factory. It’s a good location. Work barges go up and down the Seine loaded with sand, rock, and whatever else it takes to make cement. Cement trucks come here from all over Paris and beyond. Their sign explains it all: “Convoi fluvial = 250 camions dans la ville”. Makes sense to me. And it makes me understand why the French are building the Port du Seine.

I turn around and instead of going back on myself, I run back up to the street and into the Jardin des Plantes. Smaller than Jardin du Luxembourg but just as pretty. JdP is crowded with school children on field trips, people sitting on benches, reading newspapers, and runners. Nothing has changed. Different flowers are blooming but that’s seasonal not permanent.

I feel good. Nothing has really changed. The Paris I left in December is the Paris I am returning to. My Paris. My neighborhood. My runs. My Seine. Just a few small changes. I can put up with that. As I start to end my run, I am running along Boulevard St. Germain. Familiar restaurants, familiar shops, and even a few shopkeepers who nod “bonjour” to me.

But it is warmer now than when I started my run. People are jockeying for tables in the sun. Lunch is being served. I’m feeling warm; sweat is running down my face. And then I remember the French and their love for the sun. And there, at a table, drinking her coffee, is a sweet young thing wearing a tube top…about as low as you can legally wear a tube top, catching the rays. Life is good.

But looking up, there is Brück-Lin….or not. Those of you who have been following my blog know Brück-Lin. [If you haven’t here is the link http://vivelafrance-mark.blogspot.com/2009/10/october-14-2009-odds-and-sods-1-tree.html]. Those of you who visited me last year, saw Brück-Lin. Only it’s not Brück-Lin. Brück-Lin was pulled up by her dead roots and chipped into tree heaven. After putting up with myriad parades, my tree stump with a face is gone. I don’t know….maybe for the better? There is a brand new, young, fresh tree planted in her place but I still miss Brück-Lin’s sad “visage.”

So there you have it. I am sad. My tree stump is gone. It’s only been 2 days. What else has changed? Will my bucherie remember me? Or my vintner, vegetable guy, baker, or fromagerie remember me? I don’t know….tomorrow is market day but today Paris is still Paris.

La Rentrée– Part 1

We can’t believe that these past 3 1/2 months flew by so quickly.  It seems like only yesterday that we arrived back in Miami from Paris and were driving up to Delray Beach on New Year’s Eve.  But here it is, April 20th and it’s time for our “rentrée” to Paris.

With some trepidation, we went to the airport to board our flight to Paris.  This was sort of a crap shoot.  After 5 days, Eyjafjallajokull was still erupting and Eurocontrol was still restricting all flights.  By the time we got to Miami International, over 20,000 flights had been canceled.  The air carriers were going ballistic.  Hundreds of thousands of passengers were stranded all over the world.  But Lufthansa had said our scheduled flight was leaving so we were packed and ready to go.

And we did…..but not before a 2 hour delay.  The news was reporting that the volcano, after seemingly slowing down for a few hours, had started spewing out even more ash.  Maybe Eurocontrol was reconsidering allowing our flight to leave?  But no, that wasn’t it.  It seems that the canny Germans were checking our jet engines for ash damage!  They were taking videos and still pictures of the engines and sending them back to Frankfurt for analysis.  The German engineers gave us the all-clear.  We knew nothing of all this until we were actually in the air…nor was it explained that the reason for checking the engines was that on take-off from Frankfurt, the jet passed through the ash plume.  What was explained was that every precaution was being taken and that depending upon the ash plume location, “certain landing procedures” might need to be invoked.

“Certain procedures”….now there’s a calming expression.  What they meant was we would be cruising at our normal altitude until we approached Frankfurt airport.  Then, depending upon the location of the plume, we would nose-dive, rapidly, and land.  If any of you are familiar with the landing procedures at San Diego airport or John Wayne airport, then you have some sort of idea of “certain procedures”.

But we made it.  Two hours late but we’re in Europe…..and joining the other hundreds of thousands of passengers who are stranded!  With the exception of the German airports, the rest of western Europe is closed.  No flights to Paris.  Time to figure out how to get to Paris.

Fortunately, our bags were checked through to Paris even if we weren’t.  And once through customs, we could talk to the Lufthansa agents about getting to Paris….which is exactly what we did…we talked to agents but didn’t get any help getting to Paris.  We were on our own.  But we had several things working in our favor.

One, K’s German is pretty fluent.  Two, we didn’t have to worry about schlepping our suitcases all over Europe trying to get to Paris.  And three, we had Lufthansa on the hook for getting us to Paris, or at least covering all or some of the expense.  Well, more on that in a later blog.

So after checking out all our options, we handed over about €400 and boarded an ICE train [the German equivalent of the TGV] to Brussels and then connected to the Thalys train for Paris.  All direct trains and buses to Paris were completely booked.  In fact, our train was so overbooked that it was SRO.  I managed to sit from Frankfurt to Köln but then had to stand for 2 hours to Brussels.  In fact, most of the people on our train were stranded folks trying to get to London.  All trains from Frankfurt to Brussels – booked.  The Eurostar from Paris to London – booked.   We were so overbooked that in Köln they announced that anybody standing had to get off the train and take a bus to Brussels because they felt it wasn’t safe to operate the train.

Well, excuse me mate, but no one was about to give up their SRO to get on a bus that might or might not reach Brussels in time to catch the Eurostar, the Thalys or whatever connecting train we had all paid a fortune for!  So after 20 minutes and no one volunteering and the German conductor threatening us all with grievous bodily harm if someone didn’t get off the train, the train started moving slowly out of Köln (accompanied by much cheering and applause by us passengers).  Herr conductor advised us all that for safety reasons, he would have to operate the train at less than high speed…which meant we would arrive in Brussels 30 minutes late and possibly cause everyone to miss the Eurostar to London.  At the last moment, after keeping everyone on tenterhooks, he finally announced that they had arranged to hold the Eurostar an extra 10 minutes but then told everybody to RUN after de-training!  And, we barely made our Thalys train which then sat for another 30 minutes to allow other passengers from connecting trains to board.  Ah, on to Paris at last! 

But the train trips were enjoyable; everybody exchanging travel horror stories; 2 day business trips lasting 7; total strangers stuck in Budapest agreeing to share a room in order to split the outrageous room charges; or multi-nights sleeping in an air terminal.  We even met several  Glaswegian girls who happened to live only two streets from Katherine’s sister in Netherlee.  Even on our Thalys train to Paris, a fellow passenger who got stuck in New Delhi and managed to get back to Frankfurt, could only make it as far as Paris that night - he lives in Nice so he’s bunking on a cousin’s couch in Paris tonight and will see what travel delights tomorrow brings…

But we’re here.  We’re back at our apartment on rue de la Harpe in the Latin Quarter. This is the same apartment we had last year.  Amazingly, we arrived at the apartment only 7 hours later than originally scheduled.  And after a good night’s sleep we were awakened by a taxi driver who said he was on his way with our luggage.  Who knows, maybe this Paris thing will work out well again???

Paris, December 2009

As 2008 came to a close, we prepared to welcome 2009 with a mix of excitement, trepidation, and hope. We had been planning to move to Paris for a couple of years and with the economy taking a nosedive the reality didn’t look too hopeful. With Obama’s victory we decided we had the “perfect storm” and within 8-10 weeks we signed a lease on our Arlington condo with a wonderful couple who came to D.C. from L.A. to work for Obama. Now we were off and running on our next two tasks...

The first task was to find a place to live in Paris. The second was to get our French up to conversational speed. The latter is a work in progress. On the Paris rental scene, we found many places on the Internet but didn’t want to commit without seeing the neighborhood and the apartment. But it’s amazing how many of your friends know of people who are living in France, just moved back from France, have family in France, or even lived there themselves. To make a long story short, after putting the word out that we really were serious about taking off for an extended stay in Paris, we were put in contact with a friend of a friend and we are now firmly ensconced in his apartment in the “Quartier Latin.”

And we couldn’t have asked for a better location. We are basically at the corner of Blvd. St. Germain and Blvd. St. Michel in the Latin Quarter. We are three minutes from Notre Dame Cathedral and about the same from the Jardin du Luxembourg. We have everything on our doorstep - health club, bank, cinemas, restaurants, the butcher, baker & candlestick maker and a wonderful open-air market on Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays. During our first week here, Mark’s nephew Erik and his wife Emily were visiting Paris. We spent their last 3 days here together, culminating with dinner at our apartment. Mark’s first [and apparently successful] attempt at Blanquette de Veau...

In a nutshell, that’s the story of our time so far in Paris. Nearly every other week or so, we have had visitors, both family and friends. We’ve been on several trips to “La France Profonde,” including Provence, Dordogne and the Loire Valley. Some of our adventures are described in Mark’s blogs. So rather than bore you with our Paris misadventures, you can go to our blog-site to catch up:……..

And, we hope you enjoy these pictures of Christmas in Paris as much as we did taking them.

We depart Paris on December 31st to spend the cold winter months in sunny Delray Beach, Florida and will return to Paris in the early Spring of 2010 for another extended stay.

With our very best wishes to all our family and friends for a happy and healthy 2010.

Katherine & Mark
53 rue de la Harpe
Paris 75005

     

Notre Dame Cathedral

Eglise St-Severin  [Quartier Latin]

Marché de Noël
[Place St-Sulpice]

Lavender Christmas Ornaments

Restaurant "Au Vieux Paris"
[Île de la Cité]

Eglise St-Sulpice
Christmas Crèche

Mark on the Île St-Louis
avec sa première boule
de neige!








Our private Terrace
after the first snowfall
of the year.

Galeries Lafayette

Mark with Jean-Pierre

his very patient french tutor

Window Display

at Printemps

Rue St-André des Arts

[St-Germain des Prés]

Another Printemps Display

Carousel

[Place de la Concorde]

.....HAPPY HOLIDAYS AND A HEALTHY NEW YEAR....

Mark and Katherine

Mark's eJournal October 22, 2009 – Odds and Sods #4 –The Gentleman’s Club

Katherine’s brother Bobby came to town. It was his 60th birthday in June, so as a present we brought him over to Paris for a visit. Now Bobby and I share similar tastes. We both are enamored of French doors. Separately, we have both been taking pictures of doors. As this picture shows, the doors are huge and beautiful. When I get enough door pictures, I plan on making an album. And for lunch, we like a little wine….well, at least he does….I save it for dinner. But we also enjoy trivial pursuit and Scottish pubs. Katherine and I haven’t really gone to many Paris pubs. Don’t get me wrong, we are single-handedly saving the French wine industry during La Crise Économique. But we have checked out where all the local pubs were, just in case we ran out of wine.

One pub we found was the Highlander…apropos given our heritage [or at least their heritage]. And to our great surprise, they had a pub quiz on Sunday nights. Without going into details, we came in second and won free shots of whiskey. And if it wasn’t for all those French questions like “what color is the number 4 Metro line and the name of its ending stations”, we would have come in first. But Bobby needed a pub with music, with characters, with life, and most of all, with cheap Guinness. And he found it. The Gentleman. Easily within walking distance of our flat, sober or not.

Now by himself, Bobby is a very friendly guy. He makes friends with everybody. Paris is no exception. And he makes important friends, like with the bouncer, Ahmed. This friendship ensured that no matter how crowded the Gentleman got, we were always allowed entry. It also allowed Bobby easy access to all parts of the pub especially where the music was playing. And the group [or should I say duo] that were playing were great. For a couple of acoustic guitars, they sounded great.

And I didn’t have any problems making friends with the locals either. I never met this guy, Vladimir, before but he and his friends loved Americans [or maybe just me]. Anyway, they were having this drink which looked very special. I think it’s called a B-52. I watched as he and his friends appeared to “snort” the flaming drink. Apparently, I was obvious so Vlad bought me one. Not to be outdone, I reciprocated…..twice. Not because I felt obligated but because Katherine didn’t really get a good first picture. Needless to say, I didn’t mind the retake. And for those interested few, here’s how you make one of these B-52s:

In a large shot glass layer Kahlua, Bailey’s, and then Grand Marnier.

In our case, the bartender used a tiny bent sugar spoon to pour each layer onto. This ensured three distinct layers. Then he ignited the Grand Marnier. Hence the reason the picture looks like we are snorting the drink….you suck the whole flaming drink [as in "on fire"] in one suck from the bottom using a straw.....hence the expression, bottom's up???

Needless to say, we all had a great time and we look forward to Bobby taking us through more pub crawls in Paris.

Mark's eJournal November 12, 2009 – Odds and Sods #5 – Le Tabac

It’s been awhile since my last eJ. No, it’s not that I don’t have anything to write about. Rather, September, October, and soon, November, have just been a blur with all the visitors we’ve had and trips we’ve taken. It started in September with Lynda and Ross visiting for a week. Then we left for 10 days for the States for our friend’s daughter’s big fat Greek wedding. Then Katherine’s brother Bobby came for a 10-day visit followed by my Glasgow University basketball buddy, Mike and his wife Hazel and son Grant. Then we left for Le Dordogne to meet up with our DC friends Peggy and Peter, whom we drove back to Paris with and spent a long weekend. Less than one week later, Katherine’s longtime friend, Liz and her husband Mike came for a visit. And sometime in there, Adriana [the big fat Greek wedding bride] came for a visit. November isn’t even over and we still have Katherine’s niece Kirsty and her boyfriend Graham and our DC friends, George and Doris, all circling the landing strip for a Paris visit.

Whew. Now I’m not complaining. The only bad thing about all these visitors is…..well, there really isn’t anything bad; just no time left over for writing blogs. The only good thing about all these visitors is….well, there are really lots of good things but my favorite is looking at Paris through their eyes; seeing things that I might have overlooked or never even noticed.

For example, Bobby fell off the wagon. He had given up smoking for a few months but I guess the French accent got to him. Studying French in Glasgow did his head in and he started to take a few puffs. By the time he got to Paris, he was out of smokes. And since Katherine and I are smoke-free, Bobby had to go out into the streets of Paris and fend for himself.

Now I knew that in France, you buy your cigarettes in a tobacco shop [Le Tabac]; not a supermarket or a pub. They’re all over the place but I really didn’t know exactly where the closest one was. In fact, I hadn’t even been inside a Tabac since I got to Paris. I didn’t even know what to look for except to peer into a store window and look for packs of cigarettes. And that’s where Bobby's new eyes come into play.

For the first time, Bobby pointed out the one exterior identifying feature of all Tabac’s. Their lozenge-shaped sign. And if you look at all the pictures in this blog, that’s them. They are all different yet similar. Kinda like the three balls in front of all pawnshops or, for us old folks, that barbershop pole...at least in the olde days.

So there you have it. I’ve seen these red, diamond-shaped, illuminated signs all over Paris, all over France. I never made the connection. So to all of you who are planning to visit us and to all of you who have visited us, stayed tuned for more revelations as I see Paris through your eyes.