J'ai Fini!

Which means that I finished my tutoring lessons today! And I am very happy about that. Yippee!!! Unfortunately, that doesn’t mean I can speak or understand French now. Oh, no…but I can really read it well! If only I could get everyone to write down what they are saying to me…and I could write back… Myrtille was an excellent tutor—really pounding grammar into my head—but she couldn’t work miracles. At least she kept her humor and patience the entire time.

So, how did I celebrate after taking my last lesson? I went to a book store and bought a new French-English dictionary. I decided it was about time to replace the old one from high school (Class of ’68) so maybe I could find words like computer, dishwasher, menopause (you never know when you might need that one..), hot flashes (I do need that one), microwave, marijuana (still haven’t but you never know), etc.

I am not going to stop studying, of course, but I am going to take a break from the books. There are some French movies in the apartment that I can watch; I can listen to French radio and television; I can read French newspapers. But what I really need to do, as we all know, is talk and listen to someone speak French. A demain! (Until tomorrow.)

Ou Sont les Toilettes?

Last year on February 1st, the city made available to the public for free these 200+ curbside toilets. (I swear there are more than that—I see them everywhere!) I remember when these Sanisettes (self-sanitizing street toilets) required 40 euro cents to operate (about $.52). I don’t remember trying one but “Sista Sam” did in the Netherlands, I think—outside the train station in Haarlem. How do they work? When you finish and step out, the toilet actually sprays itself clean before the next person is allowed to enter. They’re even heated!Unfortunately, we can’t let the dogs in there but wouldn’t you think that all pedestrians would choose to use them instead of the curb, the Metro, a dark alley? Not necessarily. But to be fair, the Sanisettes are closed between 10 PM and 6 AM because they were becoming “homes” for—hmmm, yes—the homeless people. So when you gotta go, you gotta go. It’s against the law for anyone to be caught taking a leak in the streets of Paris—you can be fined 183 euros or for repeat offenders, 450 euros. This “law” is probably enforced like the one for not cleaning up after the dogs.

So now when I ask, “Ou sont les toilettes?”, they just point me out to the street…

Paris also Launches Microsoft Windows Vista

I wasn't there, of course, but they had a giant fireworks display at the Grande Arche de la Defense last night to kick off the launch of their new product, Vista. (I've read about the launches in the US on the Seattle Times website, the NY Daily News' site, etc.) La Defense is the most obvious place to have it in Paris--a complex of glass towers that make up a business and shopping center. This huge "window" of the Arche raises above the modern skyscrapers that accommodate over 150,000 employees and about 60,000 residents.
These pictures were taken last year by my sister. It's hard to get the perspective of how grande the Arche is. The steps leading up to under the canopy are massive. You may be able to see the little dots of people next to the right wall in the top photo. Just try to imagine how it looked with fireworks shooting off in the dark. Knowing Microsoft, it was very impressive.

The Wallace Fountains

These public water fountains that appear in the form of small cast-iron sculptures are found all around the city and are recognized worldwide as one of the symbols of Paris. Called Les Fountaines Wallace, they are named after Sir Richard Wallace, a wealthy English art collector, who financed and designed them. Wallace inherited a large fortune from his father and decided that the Parisians, his adopted countrymen, should profit from it.

After many aqueducts were damaged or destroyed in the Franco-Prussian War and also as a result of a two-month coup by the Paris’ socialist government in 1871, most of the poor citizens of Paris could not get water without having to pay for it. Wallace, a very reserved philanthropist, decided that fountains were a way to help those people resist the temptation to quench their thirst with alcohol. He contracted Charles-Auguste Lebourg, a sculptor from Nantes, France who improved his sketches to make the fountains true works of art. The four sculpted female figures, representing charity, kindness, sobriety, and simplicity, are different from the others by the way their knees are bent and by where their tunics are tucked into their blouse. They were installed around Paris in 1872.

The fountains distribute perfectly potable water to this day although they are turned off between November 15 and March 15 because freezing can harm the internal plumbing. They are regularly maintained and repainted in their discreet dark green color every two years. Several different sizes and models of fountains were produced and 75+ still exist around the city of Paris. Approximately 20 others are located in other parts of the world. An article I read a few months ago, in fact, said that there’s a working one near the UCLA campus in LA but I can’t confirm this. Over the years, some were purchased by collectors and celebrities, like Maurice Chevalier and Brigitte Bardot, so I suspect that as they get sold or passed along, they could end up anywhere.

Not only did the fountains accomplish Wallace’s philosophy of lending a helping hand but they still serve Paris with their beauty and discreetness. They have endured for more than a century, even respected by the Nazis who melted down a number of other statues here to make arms. As well as the fountains, Sir Wallace also founded a hospital in Paris during the Franco-Prussian War; and because of his popularity with the French, he is buried at Pere-Lachaise cemetery with many other important figures.

Real Estate in France

There was an article in Britain’s “Daily Mail” yesterday titled “36 Reasons to Say Goodbye to Britain and One to Say Bonjour to Fabulous France.” The newspaper cited the US travel magazine, “International Living,” which compiled a list (called “The Quality of Life League”) that ranked 191 countries using nine criteria: cost of living, climate, culture and leisure, economy, environment, freedom, health, infrastructure, and safety. France was number 1; the US was number 5; Britain was number 37 (sharing this ranking with Cyprus, Ecuador, Greece, Iceland, and Lithuania). Even more discouraging for the British, it seems, is that they were bested by Bulgaria, Panama, the Czech Republic, and Slovenia. France scored so high because of its culture, climate, high-speed TGV trains, ample supply of hospital beds, ski resorts, beaches, and relatively low cost of living.

Real estate is very hot in France and has been for the past several years—not just with the British but with the Americans as well. Britons were asked in a recent survey about their desire to move to France. Their aim, the survey found, is to recapture the gentler lifestyle, sense of community, old-fashioned values, and village markets that typified Britain in the 1950s. With the average cost of a home in England now about $200,000 and with good-sized equities in their homes, many Britons can afford to look outside of England for cheaper holiday or retirement homes and are buying those in France. Because of low deposit requirements, world-wide appeal as a holiday destination, and supposedly a straightforward purchase process, France continues to be a favorite for the British investor over the up-and-coming hotspots in the Eastern bloc.

This leaves some parts of France becoming “very British.” One of the ladies in the conversation group I attended a couple of weeks ago said not to go to Normandy if you wanted to feel “French,” for example. Normandy, which is already referred to as Paris’ 21st arrondissement, and some parts of Provence are also seeing heavy influx. According to the 1/25/07 French Property Insider newsletter that I receive, the northwest (Brittany) and south (Languedoc-Pyrenees) regions of France are set to experience significant property growth in 2007. These regions are already popular with the British for holiday homes and are relatively inexpensive compared to those on the French Riviera. All this is expected to change in 2007, however, because of the growing demand. So, what about a small apartment in Paris? Very expensive. The average size is slightly less than 538 square feet (50 square meters); my studio is probably half of that. And I suspect that my LL paid over 200,000 euros plus renovation costs; real estate values in the Marais (area that I'm in) have tripled in the past 10 years. I don't know if any of the listings in this picture of the local real estate office window are readable but one on my street is 487,000 euros for 65 square meters and another one down the block is 299,000 euros for 36 square meters. Unbelievable.

But the draw is the very active rental market here. France, one of the world’s top tourist destinations, receives more than 75 million international visitors each year—plus the French themselves typically prefer to vacation in France. Therefore, many people buy property and rent it out when they're not using it--supposedly providing a very good return on their initial investment not to mention the historically attractive appreciation rates of the property.

Because there is a shortage of short-term rental accommodations, the French government even offers investors and developers many incentives to invest in new properties (not existing ones) which are then leased back to management groups for rental to vacationers or students. But that’s way too much information to cover in this posting. I’m not trying to push French property, after all; I just find it tres interessant.

PS - There is no MLS (Multiple Listing Service) in France and an abundance of independent real estate agencies--4,000+ in Paris and 11,000 in France. This makes it very hard to find properties that meet your requirements. Additionally, inventory in each real estate office is normally limited to the properties available in that neighborhood; and there is a limited sharing of commissions among agencies. Really saleable properties are sold before the agency even has an opportunity to advertise them openly as there are so many ready buyers. To find these properties requires direct contact with the agencies and owners at the moment the properties go on the market.

Was it a Full Moon?

On Saturday, while happily wandering the city and snapping more photos in the sun, I was asked by two different men within several hours to have dinner! Realize that I was not socializing with friends or in a setting that would invite this kind of attention. I was just having a very good time alone, as always, and minding my own business.

The first guy was the ticket taker at Victor Hugo’s museum in the place des Vosges. Maybe he was my age—maybe he was older or younger—who can tell? And he was quite the flirt but very friendly and he seemed harmless. He kept taking my hand as we talked—I kept trying to pull it away while he continued to take and hold it and talk a mile a minute. We communicated in both English and French, which was quite entertaining. Since this is one location where the entrance is the same as the sortie (exit), I couldn’t sneak out without subjecting myself to his attentions encore and drat! (I thought as I came down the stairs)...he wasn’t on a break! Again, we went through the same grabbing and pulling of my hand and flirty conversation. And then he asked me to have dinner with him! I answered with a polite “Non, merci” and a smile and left, fortunately, with both of my hands.

A couple hours later while strolling through the Tuileries Garden toward the Louvre, another man passed in front of me and said, “Bonjour, ca va bien?” (Hello, are you well?) Being the nice girl from Iowa that I am, I smiled but quickly clipped, “Ca va” and kept walking. But several seconds later, I caught a glimpse of him out of the corner of my eye and realized that I was trapped—he was like a missile honing onto his prey and approached me again! He started speaking in French and then switched to English (was it the dumb look on my face?)—a French professor, he said, living here—again, I suspect, around my age. Before I could politely make my escape, he asked me if I wanted to go to Montmartre and have dinner with him. And before the final ‘n’ in “Non, merci” escaped my lips, he was off and searching for another victim! The more I’ve thought about this, the creepier it gets—especially if his idea of weekend entertainment is picking up tourists at the Louvre! PS – I have most of my blond hair (which is unusual here) covered with a hat but I need to be French and more aloof. Or, better yet, I'll say I'm running to meet my "husband." Yes, that will work.

And THEN Sunday morning between 1 and 3 AM, loud yelling and what sounded like the beating of drums in the streets around my apartment woke me. Was I dreaming? Since I had just visited Victor Hugo’s mansion that day, were scenes from his novel, "Les Miserables," still fresh on my mind? Was there a mob running through the streets?? What it some kind of riot? Oh my GOD, is anyone being killed??? What was going on???

I live within eight or ten blocks of place de la Republique, in which sits a very large statue of Marianne, a symbol of the French Republique. The monument, known as La Republique, was inaugurated before it was quite ready in 1880 for the first official celebration of the 14th of July as a national holiday. A new inauguration took place when it was completed in 1883; it was created by the Morice brothers.

Marianne, a popular name among the working classes at the time of the Revolution, personifies liberty and reason, which goes along with the French motto, “Liberte, egalite, fraternite.” This is carved on the statue as well as 12 bronze reliefs around the base which tell the story (along with the dates) of the establishment of the Republic. There is also a reference to Universal Sufferage, the right for everyone to vote, established by France as the first state in the world (1848). Interestingly enough, of course, it only applied to men (French women had to wait until 1945!)

A-n-y-w-a-y... It seems that because of this statue and place, it is the scene of many demonstrations. I’ve already seen several since I’ve been here—as well as busloads full of policemen parked up and down the streets plus other gendarmes standing on every street corner dressed in full riot gear with helmets, batons, and shields. They seem to be loitering—just smoking cigarettes, talking on their mobile phones, and drinking espresso. But they are vigilant and keeping their eyes on the scene under the statue…whatever the current demonstration is about. And I’ve never been able to tell.

So, I had no idea what was going on in the early morning hours of Sunday. I was tempted to bounce out of bed and go outside for a look. Fortunately, I don’t go anywhere without makeup so the angry mob was spared that sight. I grabbed the ear plugs from my night stand and went back to sleep.
But while taking a walk this evening, I believe I have solved the mystery. There’s a very large open warehouse-type building a couple blocks from my apartment in which a daily clothing market is staged. It's very large and some evenings, I’ve noticed neighborhood kids inside playing hockey on roller skates. Tonight the streets around the market building were blocked with many trucks; and workers were rolling up flooring, taking down stage lights, etc. Ahhh. There must’ve been a concert or a dance last night. That sits better in my mind than angry demonstrators carrying burning torches marching ten across down my street.

Then again—it may have been a full moon on Saturday and I was dreaming all of these strange events.

Road Work in Paris

In Paris these days, you’ll find a lot of road work as the city is being transformed to reduce traffic and discourage people from using their cars. Bus lanes are being built and widened; more trees are being planted; a tram is being built around the city; and sidewalks are being widened. I hear that car drivers (50% of the Parisians) are not happy while the pedestrians are very happy. In my opinion, these changes are GREAT!

Place des Vosges and Victor Hugo's Museum

It was a sunny but cold Saturday so I took no chances and wore leggings under my jeans as well as two pairs of socks. And I stayed fairly warm as I walked to the place des Vosges to tour the apartment of Victor Hugo, France’s great poet and writer. But first, some information about place des Vosges, the oldest square in Paris. In the early 1600s, Henri IV (Louis XIII’s father) decided to take over the horse market which had previously occupied this site to build a new square. (Louis XIII sits atop a horse in the center of the square; the original one was melted down during the Revolution, as so many others, and replaced in 1825.) Originally called the place Royal, the square, which has changed very little since the time it was built, turned the Marais into Paris’ most exclusive neighborhood. It is surrounded by 36 red brick pavilions—nine on each side—mounted on vaulted arcades.

The two highest pavilions facing each other on opposite sides of the square are designated the Pavilion of the King and Queen; however, no royals have ever lived in the square. Despite what today's nannies tells the kids in the sandboxes, those two pavillions were never intended for royal residences but as sites to view ceremonies. The square at that time was paved with cobblestones and left completely vacant for parades, grand processions marking royal arrivals, marriages, elaborate fireworks, etc. Throughout the 17th century, this square remained the focus of French social and literary life; and many aristocracy and other prominent people lived here including Sully, Cardinal Richelieu, Theophile Gautier, Daudet, etc.

It was renamed in 1799 when Napoleon, in order to encourage the various countries to pay their taxes and support the Revolutionary army, promised naming rights to the district that paid first. The Vosges region near Germany anteed up and thus, place des Vosges. In the 19th century, the Marais became more of a working-class neighborhood and home to the Jewish population. Although it never recovered its social position, the Marais once again became briefly a resort of some of France’s major writers, including Victor Hugo. Today you'll find a number of art galleries, shops, and cafes under the arcades.

Between 1832 and 1848, Hugo lived at #6 with his wife and four children. He had already enjoyed widespread success with his novel “The Hunchback of Notre-Dame” and would write many major works here including much of “Les Miserables.” By the way, the popularity of the Hunchback shamed the city of Paris to undertake restoration of the much-neglected Notre-Dame, which was now attracting thousands of tourists who had read the novel (reminds me of the current connection between “The Da Vinci Code” and the Louvre). On 1/22/07, I blogged about the architect, Viollet-le-Duc, looking up from his perch on the spire at the backside of Notre-Dame admiring his great work.
The mansion at place des Vosges was converted into a museum in 1902 on the occasion of Hugo's 100th birthday. It displays several rooms which include family paintings and pictures; his writing desk; a bust of Hugo done by Rodin; his pen-and-ink drawings; other furniture and awards received during his lifetime. The museum’s brochure says the apartment reflects the three major periods around which Hugo structured his life—before exile, during exile, and after exile. At one time, he openly declared Napoleon a traitor and fled to Brussels and then some islands between France and England where, fearing for his life, he lived for a time.

Victor Hugo was very popular with the French during most of his life. His funeral procession at the age of 83 from the Arc de Triomphe to the Pantheon where he is buried was joined by more than two million people.

Fountaine aux Satyres

When I first saw this huge statue at the Louvre, I wondered why these guys were contemplating their…uh…navels. Then I read the sign.

These dudes actually held a HUGE fountain on their heads (I saw the drawing) in the gardens of Cardinal Alexandre Albani (nephew of Pope Clement IX), who amassed a great collection of Roman art in the 18th century. Ahhh, and upon checking my French dictionary…this work of art was called the “Fontaine aux satyres” or the fountain of sex maniacs!? Hmmm, does “Cardinal” translate the same from French into English? Yup.

Reading French provides me with a wealth of information.

A Melting Building

It's not your eyes; this building looks like it is melting. The windows and balconies are painted on a huge cover that hides renovation work at a building on Avenue Georges V. This is a very trendy area in Paris so I guess they want any renovation work to look...not like renovation work! The building is a block off the Champs-Elysees and a half block from the exclusive and expensive Four Seasons Georges V hotel. In fact, it’s so expensive that I suspect it’s the site of the 2007 Haute Couture fashion show being held in Paris this week. It was hard to get a good picture for all the makeup and hair trucks, limos, and luxury cars parked along the street today.
PS - I later found out that this building is the future headquarters of Le Groupe Foncier Bleeker and that Athem (www.athem.fr), a specialist in large format urban communications, created this immense toile of more than 2,500 square meters. (They were also responsible for the enormous suitcases that covered the Louis Vuitton building on the Champs-Elysees when it was under renovation.) The creation is by plastics artist Pierre Delavie and is a replica of the building. It took more than 40 workers and more than 370 hours to paint, 300 hours to fabricate, and 70 hours to install and light. The building is scheduled for completion at the end of this year. The project has caused some much discussion that it has led to the creation of a blog, http://www.39georgeV.org.

Here's the Woof... I Mean "Proof"

That les chiens are active members of French café life. I’ve been trying to get a picture like this since I got here and during my brisk walk around the neighborhood last night, I was finally successful. I love it! I stood and watched them for a few more minutes—I’m not sure what they were feeding the dog—maybe a hot-dog??—but it was getting its share.

Since I was up so late the night before with Rolinka, I decided to make it an early one. And it was a night for earplugs. Some more Americans moved into the rental above me. How do I know they were Americans? Clomping up the stairs, loud talking, banging suitcases against the walls. Quel dommage! The ladies in the lower two apartments will not be happy.

So when I started to think about going to bed around 9, they (along with another friend who arrived earlier) were just clomping down the stairs to go out for dinner. Therefore, the reason for the ear plugs. Late dining is the norm in Europe. When I walk by restaurants and cafes at 8 PM, the tables are set and the candles are lit but no one is there—yet. At 9 PM any night of the week, places are overflowing and some have lines out the door. (PS - The earplugs were successful; I never heard my new neighbors come home.)

I mentioned earlier that because my apartment overlooks the courtyard, I don’t hear any street noise and only occasionally the faint melody of the police and ambulance sirens. (When Mary and I were here in 2005, she felt like she was in a movie when she heard those distinctive sounds—so different from ours.) But because I’m overlooking the courtyard, I get to hear the sound of wine bottles hitting the bottom of the trash receptacle in the courtyard of the building next to mine (our receptacles are in a closet with a door and therefore, more discreet). It’s not so bad when they’re throwing them in during the day or early evening--you hardly notice--but one night I heard them at 10:30 and another night at 12:30! And I’m not talking one bottle. During the 12:30 AM destruction mission, someone systematically and with great rhythm dropped one by one at least ten or eleven bottles into the trash! Crash-crash-crash-crash… You get the picture.

Which reminds me, I still have this beautiful bottle that Rolinka brought over the other night. Of course, I will toss it into my discreet trash receptacle behind closed doors around noon. Ahhh, it was a very good year…

Partying with Rolinka

Well, it wasn’t quite a party but Rolinka came to my apartment last night to watch a movie, Amelie (en francais), but it never happened. She didn’t arrive until after 7 PM and then we got to talking—and then there was wine—and then we got to laughing… So it was a party by my standards. At 11:15, I finally walked with her back to a new (to me) Metro stop and learned another route from my apartment. It’s lots of fun for me to visit with Rolinka—not only because we share some history but because I learn so many things about the differences in the European and American cultures from her. She was reminding me of these differences last night by relating some funny stories about her past tours. We didn’t discuss all of the following but this is a list of things that I notice when I’m in Europe.

1. Dealing and coping with a foreign language goes without saying…but I said it anyway.
2. There’s the 24-hour clock which if you’ve traveled to Europe in the past or were in the military is not such a big deal.
3. There are different measurements—meters, kilos, grams, kilometers—but since I don’t cook and I’m not driving, who cares.
4. There’s the conversion of temperature from Celsius to Fahrenheit, and I’m finally getting used to this. Double the temperature in Celsius and add approximately 30 to get a fairly close estimate (or pull up the BBC Weather Centre website and switch back and forth between the two—many ways to skin a cat!). Today it is 1 degree Celsius (yesterday morning I had a little sleet and spitting snow but only for 10 minutes or so).
5. Americans are the WORST at this—you can immediately tell an American by how loud they talk in public. Europeans keep their voices down because, as Rolinka explains, the cities are so densely populated and they respect their neighbors’ personal space and privacy. They quietly go up and down the stairs in the buildings and they don’t slam doors either.
6. Dates are written differently. Today (in the US) is 1/25/2007. The Europeans write it 25/1/2007.
7. And some numbers are written differently than we're used to: 1 and 7 especially. One looks almost like a 7 to us; they put a horizontal mark through the 7.
8. Always keep both hands above the table when eating; your hands are not to be in your lap. When your hands are not visible, people began to wonder what you’re doing under there…
9. When eating, you hold the knife in one hand and the fork in the other. And you don’t switch hands with the fork after cutting the meat, par example.
10. In small shops (not the super marches or grands magasins), you always greet the proprietor when you walk in: "Bonjour, Madame" or "Bonjour, Monsieur." And you always say, "Au revoir, merci" when you leave--even if you haven't purchased anything.
11. It used to be that you didn’t hand money to a clerk—you placed it in a tray between the two of you. They, in turn, placed your change in the same tray, not in your hand. In the last several years, however, I’ve noticed that even though the tray or indentation in the counter top for currency is still there, clerks are now accepting money from your hands to theirs and vice versa. 12. Phone numbers are many digits and if you’re calling from the US, you add the country code but drop the beginning 0 in the particular phone number. For example, if I’m in my apartment in Paris and calling my landlady (LL), I dial 01 45 38 88 98 (not her real number). But if I call her from the States, I dial 011 33 1 45 38 88 98. I omit that leading zero and I have to look this rule up every time. (Cell phones in Paris begin with 06.) I’m sure that was “too much information,” n’est-ce pas??
13. If you must wear a cowboy hat, only wear it in your hotel room or apartment (a very funny Rolinka story).

Hopefully, if you ever come to Europe, some of these tips will be of help to you. By the way, since I did not get to bed until after midnight and Myrtille was here by 9 this morning, I was not the stellar student that I hoped to be… After some quality studying and a brisk walk, it will be early to bed tor me tonight!

Les Chiens

Oh, yes, the French love their dogs. You see them everywhere, even in shops and in restaurants.
Additionally, there is plenty of evidence on the streets to prove the French love their dogs.

These signs are all over Paris.

They say, “I love my quarter; I pick up.” Yeah, right. I have never once seen anyone clean up after a dog even though the small print at the bottom of the sign references an ordinance or law. This makes it tricky for a wide-eyed tourist walking around looking at sights, buildings, monuments—at everything but where she’s walking…

I read that a 2005 poll found that 62% of Parisians think their neighborhood is clean because of the "little green man."

But he doesn’t pick up after the dogs either—he only sweeps the streets and sidewalks and picks up litter and trash. Additionally, high-pressure hoses sluice every pavement at least once a week. (By the way, Paris spends more money per head on sanitation and street cleaning, it's said, than any city in the world. The reasons are obvious...)The green man, however, does makes “sweeps” through the neighborhood with little green trucks that are outfitted with big pressure hoses. He sprays the streets and sidewalks so they are clean again….until another chien trots by…

Les Smart Cars

My sister LOVES these little Smart cars (La Smart, en francais), which are tailored for the small size of European city streets. (I tell her that she’d never fit her PURSE in one!) They zip along like nobody’s business; and although you and I don’t think they’d be very safe in a collision, their value seems to be that they fit just about anywhere. In fact, once we saw two guys in Rome pick one up and move it because it was blocking a tour bus! You see them everywhere in Paris and because they’re so small and cute, many people make money off their car by allowing advertisers to print an ad on it. There are some requirements to be eligible; for example, you must park your car outside (not in a garage) so the advertiser gets maximum exposure, which makes sense. Each campaign runs a month and I hear you can make between 100-300 euros a month. This particular car, advertising the “big information store,” may be the owner’s or it may be a for-hire billboard. It has been sitting in this same spot for over a week, and I don’t see the Surcouf Daumesnil store anywhere.

The Shock of Doing Laundry in Europe

There are many culture shocks when you come to Europe—and I will comment on some of those at a later time. But one of the biggest is the laundry issue, which frankly, we don’t think twice about in the US. Because we have such big houses (compared to living quarters in Europe), most of us have a separate laundry room with a large capacity washer and a separate dryer—not to mention room for a laundry basin, hanging rack(s), and an ironing board. It takes 30-40 minutes to wash a load of clothes and then you throw them in the dryer so you can fill the washer with another load. Clothes come out of the dryer all fluffy without wrinkles, just as we expect.

And then you travel to Europe and get to meet your first washer—which is actually a combination washer/dryer. This is a picture of mine, which believe it or not, retails for 800 euros ($1,050). It sits tucked beneath a counter and sink between the camper-sized refrigerator (on the right) and the cupboard (on the left) which contains the microwave under a counter-top heating element on which to cook. The heating element has yet to be turned on; but then, you knew that.

Learning how to use these little machines is very confusing especially if you don’t know any French and/or if you don’t have an instruction booklet in English (very common but I have one in this apartment). Each machine is different so even if you've used one before, the next one you meet may introduce some new challenges. You must experiment to determine what kind of wash cycle to use and then how many minutes to set the dryer. Your machine may be running for three or more hours, depending on your choices. Once you press “Depart,” there’s no turning back. You cannot open the door without breaking it with a crow bar! So if you set the dry cycle for too many minutes, your clothes come out permanently pressed IN WRINKLES! Fortunately, since this particular machine is brand new and state-of-the-art, I can set the drying minutes low and then after the entire cycle is finished, I can do an additional drying cycle if necessary.

Of course, not everyone has a washer/dryer in Paris. However, there are laundromats, just like in the US, around the neighborhood. LL Adrian tells a story about one of her friends visiting a laundromat and witnessing a nice-looking young man stroll in. He stripped down to only his t-shirt (which fell only as far as his naval) and threw his clothes into a machine. He then proceeded to sit bare-bottomed on the cold plastic chair and wait for his machine to do its thing. Seriously; true story.

I love renting apartments when I travel now (this is my fourth European apartment, Paris and Rome) and one of the top reasons is the washer/dryer. I won’t rent an apartment without one. You don’t have to bring as much stuff—and when you’re lugging suitcase(s) up 48+ steps, you appreciate this convenience. Of course, I’m missing out on the “show” at the local laundromat….

A Second "Cup" with Starbucks

Speaking of Myrtille—we discussed (mostly in English, unfortunately, because my speaking in detail like this is horrid) my blog posting on Starbucks (Starbucks Says Have it Your Way 1/15/07) and I got her “take” on my comments and impressions. She says that the real reason the French don’t like to see the big corporations, like McDonalds and Starbucks, move into France is because it pushes out the small guy. This is not so surprising because I remember that same feeling in Malibu years ago. Starbucks began construction on their new store in the neighborhood in which we enjoyed the Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf store. A petition circulated about boycotting Starbucks and not abandoning the Coffee Bean store. (Both are still doing strong business there, by the way. Trish and I stop at Coffee Bean, which has moved into a bigger location in that strip mall, every time we’re coming from and going to LAX).

But, Myrtille admits, most French people do want to go to America; therefore, entering a Starbucks gives them the feeling that they are in the US. So everyone is torn. Myrtille used to live and teach French at a lycee (high school) in Los Angeles. She moved back to France because she missed the intimacy of the French culture and lifestyle, plus she hated having to drive everywhere in LA! However, she also says that she might return to the US one day because “you can make a good life in America.” The grass is always greener, n’est-ce pas?

PS—I really try to speak French when I’m in a shop. At Starbucks the other night, as soon as I opened my mouth the cashier handed me one of those little green “how to “ brochures! I went through my spiel with the other lady (a very bubbly young lady) and questioned if I should be saying “soja” or “soya” for soy milk—I’ve heard the baristas say it both ways. She laughed and responded en francais, “You say ‘soya;’ I say ‘soja.” You say tomato, I say… I’m going to surprise them and say “soja.”

PSS—By the way, Rolinka mentioned that Americans can not do the French accent. They just can’t and she doesn’t know why. So every time an American opens his or her mouth to speak French, everyone knows they are NOT French. Oh well…

And PSSS—(I just make this up as I go along.) I noticed that few customers at Starbucks bus their own tables. This can't help their overhead and obviously contributes to their more expensive labor costs, which are passed along to us.

Tutoring Update

Yes, Myrtille (my very own French tutor) is still coming twice a week; in fact, she will be here within an hour for our Tuesday lesson. I am dutifully doing my workbook exercises and writing assignments as she asks; fortunately, she remains patient. But I am always torn between sitting at my little table here studying or going out to see more sights, take more pictures, experience more of French life.

Sometimes it’s frustrating, especially when I can’t grasp the lesson or can’t put my thoughts and responses into words. But I keep plugging along at it. Fortunately, I brought with me a French verb book, a grammar book, a “how to speak French tourist” book, and my pocket-sized high school dictionary (really need to get a new one because so many words—like ‘computer’—aren’t in a 50-year-old publication!). I am proud of how much vocabulary I know and how well I can read. However, reading French, for me, is like sight-reading in music. I can get the gist of the written word and guess the meaning because I know so much of the vocabulary. But cold turkey, putting together the sentence structure, speaking, and/or understanding….? That’s another s-a-d story.

I studied on Saturday night at a Starbucks by l’Opera while Tess was cleaning the apartment. Then, because I played most of Sunday, I hunkered down yesterday morning at 9 and studied until around noon and then for another 90 minutes in the afternoon while playing a French CD in the background. (Maybe by osmosis..?) I also studied an hour this morning. Even though I really enjoy completing the assignments in the workbook, I can think of any excuse to distract me from the task. So yesterday I didn’t raise the curtains and was only up and down doing other things about 25 times!! When did I lose my ability to FOCUS?!

I do realize that even when I’m out of the apartment and experiencing life, I am still studying in a sense—reading signs and grocery labels, eavesdropping on conversations, listening to the Metro driver announcing the station stops—I even was able to follow along with the readings at mass on Sunday, although the songs were much more difficult to understand. I haven’t returned to any of the conversation group meetings. I know I should—but my life for 40 years has been made up of “shoulds.” I vacillate back and forth before each scheduled meeting and so far, my lack of confidence wins out each time. Maybe tonight…?

This is a shot of two ladies with their laptops studying on Sunday in la Place de la Sorbonne.

Pompidou Center Museum

I walked by the Pompidou Center again tonight, which reminded me that I was going to comment on this museum. It houses one of Europe’s greatest collections of 20th-century modern art in a huge building that is revolutionary in itself. Ahhh, so how would you like to wake up one morning and have this view out your window??
After provoking fierce controversy when it was inaugurated in 1977, the building with its crazy architecture has been adopted by Parisians and tourists alike. Named after George Pompidou, a former Prime Minister, it welcomes over 5 million visitors each year and features some pretty wild art. The building is “exoskeletal,” which means that its air ducts, pipes, and escalator are on the outside of the building leaving the entire inside of the building to display its artwork.

I visited the museum on my very first trip to Paris in 1993, and my only positive memory is of the view from the top of the escalator. However over the years, I have begun to appreciate modern art a little bit more; so maybe it deserves another look. I’ll let you know…

Notre-Dame Deserves More Attention

Sooo, here are some more shots of that famous lady. Before she was the star of a novel by French writer, Victor Hugo, she had been an integral part of the history of the Parisians since the 13th century. A masterpiece of Gothic architecture, the church was designed by Maurice de Sully, bishop of Paris, and built in the 12th and 13th centuries. Notre-Dame has seen her share of great historical events: the barefoot Saint-Louis wearing the Crown of Thorns (1239) (was this the one I saw earlier this month?); Napoleon’s coronation (1804); the celebration of the Liberation of Paris (1944); and the commemoration ceremony for Charles de Gaulle (1970).
In the 19th century, Notre-Dame was restored by the famous architect, Viollet-le-Duc. As you approach the backside of the church, you can see the 300-foot spire that was a result of the restoration. I don’t know if it is visible in the picture below, but there are several apostles and evangelists at the base of the spire looking outward to bless the city. Monsieur le-Duc, on the other hand, is looking up at the spire—supposedly admiring his work.
I'm sure you can tell that the interior of Notre Dame is also very massive. In fact it can accommodate over 9,000 worshippers at a time.

Sunday in the Sun

Yesterday was chilly (8-9 degrees Celsius—high 40s?). OK, OK, I realize that this is NOT chilly for some of you but we’ve been having mild weather and I’m getting spoiled. Anyway, mass at Saint-Eustache was marvelous—as I thought, the sun was brightly illuminating all stain glass windows and the shadowy haze caused by the priests’ incense mixed with the sun beams made a beautiful setting. And the organ and the choir? Oh, my goodness!

Then I set out for the Luxembourg Gardens because I know that many French people and their families play there on Sundays—and especially on sunny Sundays. But along the way, as usual, I got distracted and hopped off the Metro at the Cite station. It is the one between Notre-Dame and Saint Chapelle and I’d read for years that they have a bird market there on Sundays. So I checked it out. How strange—stalls and stalls of little birds—who buys these things? And vendors selling bird cages and ladling out scoops of bird seed from more than two dozen bags of different sizes and shapes. Who knew?

Next I strolled by Notre-Dame in order to cross the Seine (the Luxembourg Gardens are on the Left Bank) and because the sun was out, I had to take 100 more pictures of the church. After its recent cleaning, all the scaffolding has been removed and it does make a fabulous shot.

On the sides of the Seine, you find Paris’ open-air and locked green metal bookstalls (les bouquinistes), which date back to the 1600’s. According to a booklet of information published by the Parisian Convention and Visitors Bureau, Paris is the only city to have open-air bookstalls and there are some 250 of them (there's an eight year waiting list for one to be available!).
Each vendor is given four boxes, all the same size, and they pay rent for the stone wall to which they're attached. As soon as the sun comes out, they open up to reveal antique books; discontinued newspapers, magazines, postcards and posters; engravings; and of course, city souvenirs. With Notre-Dame in the background, you can see what a beautiful setting it makes.

You can also see the clouds were rolling in so by the time I walked through the Latin Quarter and passed the Sorbonne to the gardens, it was sprinkling. But people and kids were everywhere; a little rain doesn’t stop anyone here.
Supposedly the Parisians’ favorite park, greenery, ornamental ponds, statues, playgrounds, fountains, and pigeons make up the 60-acre Luxembourg. The true French-style garden is adjacent to the Senate Building, which was the palace begun in 1615 by the recently-widowed (Henri IV) and homesick Marie de Medici. She built it to resemble her childhood palace in Florence, Italy. Unfortunately, when her son became Louis XIII, he threw her out of the palace and sent her to Germany. Quelle horreur!
Anyway, what a lovely day for a stroll!

Have a Baby?

I was noticing the other day how many small children and baby carriages I meet on the streets. And now a news item that confirms my observations: The 2006 census figures released this month report 830,000 new French bebes, which is the highest in 25 years! France now has the highest birth rate in the European Union with an average of two babies per woman (potentially even beating out Ireland). Because 10% of the workforce is now over 55 and life expectancy is still increasing (85 for women and 77.1 for men), the French government encourages an increased birth rate with tax breaks and other incentives. Like the US, having more children reduces the income tax you pay. But the French also receive 119 euros (current conversion $154) per month if they have two children and 272 euros ($353) if they have three. French women get 16 weeks of maternity leave for the first and second enfant and 26 weeks for the third (all while receiving their full salary!). French women make up 47.5% of the workforce and 80% of them work. Thought you’d enjoy hearing about something today besides what I eat!
This is a picture of kids swinging at the Luxembourg Gardens.

Saturday Night Leftovers

I took this in front of a bar down the street from me at 9:30 this morning (Sunday). A good time was had by all, I'm sure!

The second Sunday in a row where the skies are a beautiful blue and the sun is glorious. It's in the low 40s so I need to double my gloves and double my socks. I'm headed to Saint-Eustache (see earlier post) for mass now. Can you imagine what she will look like with the sun streaming through her stain glass windows?? It's going to be a great day!

Grocery Shopping and Eating

Food is not really a big deal to me. After all, my idea of “gourmet” is throwing a Lean Cuisine in the microwave. I vowed never to cook again after “those kids” left (or, honestly, after I left “those kids”). I don't eat out much—not even in Houston—and with the euro at nearly an all-time high against the dollar, it doesn’t make sense to spend that kind of money on something I care very little about. Plus, I have a nice apartment in which to prepare my meals. (Even so, it took me 18 days to find the salad plates in the cupboard, some pasta, and a can of tomato sauce!)

So this brings me to grocery shopping which, in a foreign country is interesting, as you can imagine. Not only do you get to struggle with the language but you don’t recognize a lot of the packaging—ergo, the products. Since my French is improving every day, I can usually figure out what something is—and no, I don’t take my dictionary to the grocery store—so maybe I am luckier than some others.

Apartments are small on this side of the pond so the refrigerators and cupboards are what might fit in a US travel trailer, or even smaller. This means that grocery shopping is more than a once-a-week activity. And people like to go from little specialty shop to specialty shop—one for the cheese, one for the meat, one for the fruits and vegetables, one for the bread. If I were my buddies, Jerry and Rhea Yares, I’d be slapping on a beret each day and going from shop to shop. But they cook; I don’t. So it’s off to the supermarche that I go, pulling my little red caddie behind me.

And I get to try new things. Yesterday, I discovered some microwavable dinners that aren’t frozen but packaged to be stored on your shelf. This is good; the freezer part of the little refrigerator is one hand tall, two hands across, and two hands deep…and there are three ice cube trays in there for some reason. So I picked up a dinner called Saute d’agneau aux flageolets verts. Hmm, I knew that adneau means lamb and the picture definitely showed the meat surrounded by what looked like lima beans. But vert means green….? When I returned back home, I looked up flageolets (examine that word closely and s-o-u-n-d it out....). It means kidney bean. But the name reminded me why I might not want to eat too much of this dinner—after all, I wanted to go out last night… It was very good, by the way.

I even experimented with goat cheese—I stole this “recipe” from Rolinka. After I figured out how to open the package and what to do with the casing around the cheese, I spread it on a piece of the famous Pouline bread and squeezed honey on top. After grilling it in my little toaster oven, I ate it with fresh tomatoes. Very tasty, if I do say so myself!!

And here’s another food that Rolinka reminded me of—I know we ate these on some trip with her. It’s a tropical fruit called a litchi or lychee, which is between the size of a plum and a large grape. (We may have these in the US but I’ve never paid attention.) The red rind, thick and roughly-textured, is peeled off before popping it into your mouth. It has a stone inside and the sweet texture of the meat is like that of a grape. So I bought some of those yesterday, too.

I thought I’d lost a pound or two during my first week here with all the walking and the stair-climbing. However, then I started trying all the wonderful chocolate and cookies I’m finding at the store…I choose a new kind to try every time I go. No wine though—I still hesitate about drinking wine alone. Wish I felt that way about chocolate and cookies! I’ll keep you posted on any other new food items that I try.