Our family in Paris

Adieu Michael

2009-06-26T15:10:00.000-07:00

All right, we're back in Paris after being gone nearly a year, and the one thing that has really pushed me to write on the blog is the death of Michael Jackson. I'm weird like that. Deaths of people I know and of people I didn't know seem to both affect me deeply. Okay, while I didn't know Michael Jackson, I totally grew up listening to his music. As did the world. The guy is (was) incredible, performing since five years of age and still (until yesterday) going strong. A forty five year history on the pop charts. His cute little face and the sugary lyrics of ABC are in my mind, as well as the gloved hand, the Thriller moves and songs from Dangerous.

When something big like this happens, I like to talk to people about it. I found myself alone at Printemps, the big department store during "les soldes" which is a huge sale event that takes place but twice a year in France. So here I am frantically searching the aisles for the article of clothing that will make me look tres chic despite the fact that I now weigh more kilos than ever. C'est la vie.

Anyway, here I am in this virtual parade of people scanning the racks when I hear "Don't Stop 'Til You Get Enough". I start singing along, then remember he is dead. I start to become teary and then call my husband because I'm afraid my urge to share the moment with someone will have me weeping openly to a sales clerk. We chatted and I continued on.

There was continuous playing of Michael Jackson songs in the store. I had to ask one of the sales clerks if we were listening to the radio, because they're playing a lot of Michael Jackson. She said that the store was playing its own music and it was a tribute to Michael Jackson, and I have to say I began to tear up talking to her.

"It's so..." ( I was looking for the words to say it's so silly I'm so affected by this .." )
"bete, tragique" is what she said. And I stopped my words and agreed that it was indeed tragic. I told her I was kind of embarassed to be so moved, but she understood. The world was enchanted by Michael Jackson. So many wonderful songs and such great dance moves. I dare say that the techtonic dance moves in Paris today are traceable to Michael Jackson. But I digress.

We just came back from a fun party at my friend Allison's. On the taxi ride home, we had a driver that seemed like a friend we should have. Michael Jackson was blaring from the radio and I yelled "ah" and began singing along. He cranked he radio up for us. We discussed the tragedy and he revealed that the death was due to an overdose of medicine, we hadn't known that yet. He said that all day and night the radio has been playing Michael Jackson. I just love that. The French know how to pay hommage to a great musician, no matter the nationality. I asked the driver if he liked Michael Jackson, and he said, "Je l'adore."

My husband was totally enjoying himself cruising the streets of Paris with the radio blasting Michael Jackson.
He said aloud, "a beautiful Friday night in Paris cruising to Michael Jackson. "
Quinn said "huh?"
"Your dad is having a moment," I responded.

We are all having a moment. I'm sure radio stations all over the world are playing their respects.

Paris plage pleasure

2008-07-28T13:49:00.000-07:00

The kids and I headed out in this heat to where else? The beach, of course. Paris turns into a tropical sandy destination for four weeks this Summer, ending on August 21st. It's all happening along the quai of the Seine just below Hotel de Ville. Along with stretching out on lounge chairs at various points, there were activities including fencing, ping pong, petanque and the largest foosball table I've ever seen, enabling 20-24 people to play at a time. We ended up playing on a traditional four person table, and it was quite fun to play on the banks of the Seine.

Of course we were scorching hot, but we didn't melt due to the many sprinklers and misting stations. If you check the schedule, you might even be able to take a dip in the temporary public pool just to the East of Hotel de Ville.

My favorite part of our day was, of course, enjoying a light lunch overlooking the Seine in the shade of the gorgeous trees that line the quais. There was a cool breeze, we were right next to the Seine looking at the lovely view of Ile de la Cite and Ile St. Louis. As my friend Denise said about her recent trip to Paris, "they do everything right here." Indeed, it's nice to spend a day amid palm trees and sand, and have a cool refreshing drink on the banks of the Seine.

Last Hurrah

2008-07-27T15:22:00.000-07:00

"All good things come to an end." Well, I don't know who said or wrote that or if it is necessarily true, but that expressions seems to fit as our good thing here in Paris is coming to an end. It was truly a wonderful year that we were fortunate enough to be able to do. I mean, how lucky we have been to just pick up and move ourselves and our children to Paris to live for a year sheerly for the enjoyment and experience of it all?

Mais alors, the time has come to pack our bags (and bags) and head home. This week while our kids were in pony camp, we had our last hurrahs in the city of Paris. My brother was in town, as was Denise, my Irish friend. We tried to pack as much in as we could. This was my brother's first time in Paris, so he wanted to see the usual sights, and Denise and I just wanted to hang out in the city that brought us together.

During our time together, we drove through Pigalle at night as well as down the Champs-Elysees and around the Arc de Triomphe (woo hoo!) We pondered the name 'le chat noir' and saw up close the new EU look of the Eiffel Tower with its blue lights and circle of stars. During the day, we Velib'ed along the Seine and then through the Louvre to see the "new" pyramid, and then on toward Pompidou where Denise and I reminisced about our youth. We had a good time eating at cafes and people watching. We had a great visit, and now it's back to packing.

I'm truly going to miss Paris and its polite citizenry, the great transportation, especially bus 92, the beauty every where you look, the light through the chestnut trees, the balcons with the black wrought iron, the cobblestoned streets, the Seine, and the velibs, of course the velibs.

But what I think I'm going to miss most is who I am when I am here. I feel so free, alive. I have hope in the future and feel like Paris brings out the best in me. It may not make a lot of sense to anyone else, but that's the best way I can explain it. Sure, I'm happy and free back in my hometown as well, but I just feel lighter here somehow. I'm quite tearful right now, so I'm going to leave on this note, "Paris is everywhere, Paris is everywhere, Paris is everywhere".

Un gros bisou.

Tour de France

2008-07-27T14:38:00.000-07:00

The final leg of the Tour de France finished today on the Champs-Elysees. After we spent a couple hours watching the pack approach Paris, we decided to finally pick ourselves up and walk to the Champs-Elysees to catch the ending live. The avenue was packed and the sun was scorching, but we scrambled toward the front of the crowd to see the "maillot jaune", the leader wearing the yellow jersey in the middle of the pack. Spanish cyclist Sastre won the race which was becoming evident as the days went on as he held a good margin in front of the other cyclists.

It was fun to be swept up in the enthousiasm of the finish.

Ireland

2008-07-22T14:57:00.000-07:00

We popped over to Ireland for five days while we are still in the region. I went to visit my friend Denise, a friend I had met over twenty years ago at the Sorbonne. Back in the day you would find us hanging out in front of the Pompidou eating patisseries and listening to the street performers who became our friends.

Denise is now living again in Ireland after living over ten years in Denver, Colorado. It was a great trip seeing her and her husband "Gerd", and their four fun, happy boys. Our kids had a great time playing together by day, and by night, the four adults had a great time telling stories, watching movies, and having a bit of a feast.

Wicklow is very scenic with beautiful parks, coastlines and even a great beach! Sure, the coldness of the water rivaled a glacial lake we once swam in, but what a perfect afternoon we had there. A great trip altogether with a couple of humorous hosts. Thanks guys!

le 14 juillet

2008-07-14T04:08:00.000-07:00

We followed the crowds and headed for the big parade down the Champs-Elysees. It was a flotilla of army tanks, fire trucks and even U.N. vehicles. We must have missed Sarkozy and Ingrid Betancourt who was joining the parade. But we did catch an air show including a jet streaming blue white and red smoke as well as parachuters.

NOw for a little boules in the park followed by some fireworks. Vive la France!

St. Jean de Luz

2008-07-13T04:50:00.000-07:00

We were told we had to see the Basque countryside before leaving France, and so that's why we ended up in St. Jean de Luz. It's not in the countryside, but on the coast, and this way we could tour the country and enjoy the beach. And indeed, it was a green, lush mountainous region with sheep and horses grazing on the hillsides.

This is a train we took to the top of La Rhune mountain which offered a spectacular view.

At la ferme Ostalapia where we had a great dinner (thanks Alain).

Maggie had some friends also vacationing in the area.

There are Irish in basque country.

Sean enjoys a pot of "moules".

The promenade along the St. Jean de Luz beach.

Quinn had a week of surf lessons which he really enjoyed and was able to ride some ways the last few days. Here,surfer dude at rest, and earlier, piling into the cool van.

View of Biarritz

The view from our apartment in St. JEan de Luz, and nature girl at work.

Typical basque church interior.

Bilbao

2008-07-05T04:44:00.000-07:00

From St. Sebastian we headed to Bilbao for a quick run through the Guggenheim. It was a great museum and no complaints from the little people. On they way, the kids were plotting how they'd trick their friends with their new wigs.

Jim Dine, a fellow Cincinnatian's work at the Guggenheim. I later found out you're not supposed to take photos.

The big floral bear.

Basque country July 3-12th

2008-07-03T01:16:00.000-07:00

The first thing I remarked about the Basque region, was the prominence of the Basque language or Euskara. The major highway signs from Biarritz, France to San Sebastian, Spain were written first in Basque, and then in Spanish or French, depending. This was my first time seeing the language and when looked at, the Basque language had it's own font or typeface if you will, sort of Hawaiianish if you can imagine. The French or Spanish that followed was in "normal" print. And the Basque words were not at all recognizable. You know how you can kind of figure out Spanish, French, Italian and even German if you had to? Well there was no figuring out this Euskara. It was full of mysterious letters like x's, k's and z's.

Later research (internet browse) revealed that the Basque language, Euskara is considered a language isolate, meaning it has no language relatives, and it is the only pre-indo european language. Well, well. No wonder it was so FOREIGN to me, "kaixo" meaning "hello" and "zer modez?" meaning "how are you?"

A few days after arriving, I met a Basque man named Pierrot and he spoke a few words to me. It's like nothing I've heard. It doesn't sound French or Spanish which is weird because it's been surrounded by these languages for centuries. And isn't that kind of cool, to actually meet someone named Pierrot (who was in fact wearing a black beret)? Before this encounter, Pierrot was the clown all in white who is mentioned in the French folk song, Au Clair de la Lune. I never suspected that anyone would have the name, not that it can't be a serious name, too.

So, my first impressions of Basque country, in addition to the lush green hills decorated with timbered frames houses, were of the interesting highway signs, of which I wish I had a picture to show. Actual pictures of the area to follow.

Last days of school!

2008-07-02T13:41:00.000-07:00

The last scooter ride to school.

I've been rather emotional this week, knowing that the school year has come to an end, and this is it for us. The kids won't be returning next year. We will be returning to our hometown of Cincinnati, Ohio, USA.

It's not because we haven't had a fabulous year. It couldn't have been any better. Seriously, it's been like a dream. From the beginning, Parisians have been so kind to us. We found a great apartment within scootering (and walking) distance to the kids' school. Our location allowed us to take buses almost everywhere we needed to go which was just wonderful. The metro is efficient, but the buses are more humane. I have totally enjoyed the feeling of safety of riding the metro until midnight and walking alone along the quais of the Seine alone in the early evening. And dare I even begin (again) to sing the praises of the easy and fun velibs?

Despite my daughter's teacher's cold exterior, she has been a wonderful teacher and M has learned to read in French and later, in English. The first report cards home encouraged M to speak more French. I checked with her teacher after they recently presented a play for us, and her teacher said "are you kidding? she speaks nonstop now!" Q and M have even taken to speaking French at home. Of course, they speak it with a very silly invented southern American accent which is hilarious to listen to.

Q has quite enjoyed his year of year-round soccer and swimming, increased reading proficiency, becoming a spelling bee champ and challenging chess player. He enjoyed computer class and became proficient at reciting poems by Jaques Prevert. He especially enjoyed making friends with Mason, Parker, Takaki, Will, Sasha and Pierre Louis, a very nice group of boys who really made the transition to living in France and attending a French bilingual school so much fun.

I am sad to leave, and yet am grateful to have had such a wonderful year. We are returning for various reasons. It wasn't an easy decision. Family and friends are a strong pull home, as is our home in a great neighborhood with friendly neighbors. My husband will be happy to walk down the street and speak his language to friends and strangers alike. Our kids will be thrilled to see our little dog Pearl again as well as play outside in the yard and down the street with friends.

Our departure date is July 31st, so there will be several posts before we bid adieu to this amazing city. We are off to the Basque area tomorrow, so stay tuned for some entries from Southwest France, and perhaps Spain.

Until then, enjoy these end of the school year shots of kids enjoying themselves.

School days - Q

2008-06-30T13:55:00.000-07:00

Every now and again, Q had to copy down and memorize verses or a poem in French. I especially liked the poem "Les hiboux" by Robert Desnos that he would recite at top speed with all of it's "oo" rhymes. He can still recite most of it in a pinch. I've appreciated that they learned through reciting poetry.

It cracks me up to see our boy doing these conjugating activities. It's like what I did in high school, and here he is understanding the concepts very well.

In English class, the students in Q's class have written various poems based on the work of Blake, Whitman and Stevens. They presented their work to the parents with pride and seemed to really get into the style of the author.

But when all is said and done, this is probably what Q will remember most:

Picking teams for after school dodgeball.

Playing at recess in Parc Monceau.

School days - M

2008-06-30T13:40:00.000-07:00

A few weeks ago, M brought home a folder of work she had recently done. She picked up this paper and began reading this whole passage to me in French. It is amazing to hear her sound out the words and pronounce them with such a great accent. This was a reading and comprehension measurement, and I was pleased that she could not only read the sentences, but she knew very well what it was about. It's awesome!

This little piece is a dictation in which the teacher reads a paragraph and the students have to spell the words and use correct punctuation. I'm amazed at how much she has learned after only one year.

These little pieces go together. M has a whole book of songs to which she has created pictures. Very cute.

But after all is said and done, this is what M will remember:

An Eiffel Tower confection.

Thursday singing group.

Playing with A and L at Parc Monceau.

Ceci n'est pas une robe blanche!

2008-06-29T12:19:00.000-07:00

Invariably, every early Friday afternoon there is a wedding taking place outside of the American Cathedral. It is a lovely place for photographs. However, there is a fun, diverse crowd that also gathers at the same time. These folks are just leaving the free lunch offered by the church, and they linger out front in various manner of attire, and add an amusing contrast to the Parisian wedding look.

Additionally, you never know what is going to be said. The woman in the gold coat for example remarked at LEAST 17 times that the bride was not wearing white, "c'est creme, c'est pas blanc," she accused over and over again. The man in the purple shirt could not contain himself and was snorting with laughter. Not the usual Parisian wedding photo background but definitely colorful.

The Netherlands

2008-06-23T14:16:00.001-07:00

We plucked the children out of school two days this week in order to take a trip to Amsterdam and Haarlem. I know, it sounds like we're sliding down a slippery slope, skipping school and heading to Amsterdam, but really, it was all very above board.

The Van Gogh museum was our first stop, which contained many diverse paintings from the troubled painter who only painted from the his mid 20's to mid 30's. Ten short years and such work!

We also toured the Anne Frank House where she had hid, along with her family, until someone tipped off the Nazis that there were Jews hiding in the building. A very troubling and compelling museum to visit. The kids had some very thoughtful questions about the Frank family, the war and what followed.

The next day we continued with our canal boat pass and toured the city by its waterways. What a fun city, full of boats and bikes. There were three story parking garages full of nothing but bikes. It is a flat city which really helps with the bike riding. However, it is not a sunny, warm climate, and I can imagine that people bike in the cold and the rain.

In the afternoon we met up with our brave and free-spirited friends who are beginning a year long world tour with their nine year old twin girls. The kids had a fun time playing at Vondelpark together, and we all headed to Haarlem where they have rented a charming house. While at the house, the kids spent the next couple of days preparing fairy snacks and accomodations for the Midsummer Nights, when the fairies have a great big party.

We explored parts of Haarlem and we traveled to Zaanse Schaanse which is a magical little village where working wooden windmills can be toured. We also entered a wooden shoe museum where a worker demonstrated how a wooden shoe can be made with machines in five minutes, as opposed to three hours by hand. It was a picturesque area, and we enjoyed lunch at a pancake house next to a canal with goats and ducks nearby.

My hat is off to our friends who have done so much research and planning for their yearlong, worldwide trip, and are actually able to enjoy the fruits of their work. They are off to a wonderful start. Not every coulple could do a trip like this, and with kids to boot! A fun adventure lies in store! I appreciated dropping in on part of their adventure. Bon voyage!

Showtime!

2008-06-19T12:42:00.000-07:00

Rehearsals were over, it was the night that we were to peform our play before a live audience. After a year of practicing bits of classical French plays, movie shorts and a month of improvisation which I especially enjoyed, it was time to focus in on our final piece. After proposing different ideas, it was agreed that Three Tall Women by Edward Albee would be our final play and the culmination of our working all year together. Thanks to Dale Hodges, actor extraordinaire for recommending the play. It was an interesting story of a woman's life told by three characters who were actually all the same woman at different stages in her life. Our director was able to find the play in French, so we began the work of memorizing our parts and making them believable.

Did I mention that I have never acted in anything my whole life? Okay, once at eight years old I was Hansel in Hansel and Gretal, and I have never forgotten what it was like to memorize all those lines, 42 I believe it was, or the fun of doing it.

So here I am, learning lines in French and practicing them every Tuesday in class. As it turned out, having an real audience wasn't that big of a deal, as I was always "performing" in front of the other two women and the director. They would correct my pronunciation at times and the director had suggestions as to how to say things in a different way to convey the meaning better. It was challenging for me to keep changing the way I delivered the lines, and not feel ridiculous about it.

In the weeks leading up to our performance, we often practiced our lines two additional times per week at a member of the group's apartment. For some reason, this was harder for me to do, because I felt more pressure from one of the women. And my lines didn't follow a logical progression, so it was a little tricky knowing when to say which line.

Actually, when we first decided to do the play, and before we got going on it, I tried to bow out gracefully, suggesting the director offer my part to another student who had subsequently come along. I wasn't sure I was ready to commit to all the time it was going to take. We had many visitors coming, and it was springtime in Paris for goodness sake, time to enjoy the season in this beautiful city. But my husband encouraged me to continue, and I really did want to try and do it, I was just nervous and didn't want to screw the play up for the others.

A couple of days before showtime had me saying my lines on metros, waiting for the bus, and in our apartment. It felt good to say them out loud, over and over. It helped with memorization as well as pronunciation. Tuesday was our final dress rehearsal before Thursday's performance. The director gave us new things to work on which I wondered may be too late at this stage of the game. I needed to "strut" more like a model during one of my longer monologues, I needed to show more shock at the death of my father, and I had to disregard the other two characters' innane comments and focus on my emotion. Mon Dieu. I'll try.

I appreciate the people who came to watch- my family, including Q and M, Sean's cousin Grant along with his wife Mary and their great kids, Brianna and Dillon. A friend Allison came with her husband Eric, and being French, they were thus able to follow the play. But apparently, my son Q would laugh during the play and look over at the rest of the family and wonder why they weren't responding. His French is better than he has let on.

I have to say, it was quite fun and I didn't feel nervous for long at all. I was able to get into it and really enjoy myself. Our director played some music for ambiance at the beginning and between acts. After Act One we quickly changed into our outfits for Act Two and I could not zip up my dress. This had happened before, but I thought "it'll work out". Well, I just continued on with a portion of my dress unzipped, it was a side zipper that didn't show too much. I was later able to zip it all the way during another character's monologue. That was better. I did totally forget my line at one point and asked "pourquoi?" instead. Was I getting philosophical in the middle of the play? "Not now, brain!" My fellow actor was able to continue on as if my character had meant to ask why at that moment.

All too quickly, the final monologues were delivered and the lights were dimmed. We stood together and bowed for our gracious audience when the lights came back on. What a thrill! My kids (and spouse) were very excited for me, and I think they enjoyed it though not knowing all that was said, thankfully. I was glad to have family and friends at the play, even though I initially thought it could be harder to perform in front of people I knew. Many of the French spectators said they could totally understand all my lines, which made me happy. Of course I had an accent that was discernable, but one person thought for a while that the accent was part of my character.

I'm very glad I hung in there for the big show (big only in my mind, mind you). Fear could have won, but didn't. I signed up for the theatre class thinking it would be a fun way to continue learning and practicing French. It was more challenging than I thought it would be and at times, I wondered if my language skills were getting any better. In the end, it was a big accomplishment for me, challenging myself to do something totally new, accepting constructive criticism and showing up not sure what the final result would hold.

Encore?

Ballet and soccer finales

2008-06-18T13:29:00.000-07:00

Despite not wanting to go week after week, M hung in with her ballet classes, and the final show/class was today. Typically, once she arrived and began dancing, she enjoyed it, but not knowing exactly what the teacher was saying always bothered her a little. It was not a big production, they wore their usual outfits, but the teacher added some pink flowers to their hair. M was nervous and was a little shy dancing in front of an audience including Sean's cousin Grant and his wife Mary, fearing she wouldn't remember the right order of dances. But all went very well. The little darlings were quite cute and M is very present and exact in her movements. She is fun to watch. I was proud that she stayed with it and enjoyed the show at the end.

Isn't her teacher the very image of a French ballet teacher?

Meanwhile, Q had his last soccer practice which ended with a party. All the kids were supposed to bring a snack, and Quinn's Pringles were about the only non-candy addition. Needless to say, he was a bit fired up after that last practice. He's looking forward to playing with his former coaches, Mark and Chris in the Fall.

Montmartre and Sacre Coeur at night

2008-06-17T22:57:00.000-07:00

Okay, so my friend wanted to see Sacre Coeur the other night. So at 10 PM we take the metro and then the funiculaire to the top. It was a beautiful night to be on the "mont". The city of Paris laid out in front of us was very pretty, the crowds were minimal and the white of the church was beautiful as ever against the darkening skies. We walked over to Place de Tertre where you almost had to beg to have someone sketch your photo. The streets had not too many people as to annoy us, but enough human presence as to not be creepy. The quartier was magical at night and we stayed around long enough to see the Eiffel Tower put on its show on the hour at 11 PM. I thought as we walked back down toward the metro, "my Cincinnati friend can't be this far from the red light district and the Moulin Rouge without a little looksee." So I escorted her through the shadier side of Paris, past the sex shops and the crazy/drunk folks on the benches. No one really frightened us, just one man who growled our way. You can bet I growled back. I could then call our tour properly finished. Bonsoir.

* My husband, sensing he missed a good time, duplicated the tour with his cousin and neice a few nights later. It's funny how safe you feel in Paris. Even in the seediest places, there is a sense of security.

Huttopia

2008-06-15T14:51:00.001-07:00

When my son opted to go somewhere unusual for his birthday instead of having a party, I was relieved. Parties are a lot of work- the activities, invitations, treat bags, etc. However, when he suggested camping, the work load wasn't necessarily going to diminish, but then I found Huttopia on the Internet. Huttopia is an organization that offers camping in scenic natural settings, at all different levels, from pitching your own tent, to RV camping, to renting "cabanes" and "canadiennes". Cabanes are really just groovy cabins complete with a stove and DISHWASHER, not to mention BEDS! A canadienne is (in addition to what I call myself when visiting certain regions of the world) a sturdy year round wood and canvas tent that has an elevated sleeping area with mattresses. They even include the linens along with the cooking equipment. There are three Huttopias in France and quite a few in Quebec.

We stayed at Huttopia Rambouillet which is the former royal hunting grounds to the kings of France. The area was quite scenic with a pond and many kilometers of bike paths through the forest, some of which we experienced with our rented bikes. The accomodations were charming and our son and his buddy were quite excited about their tent.

Nearby we found an adventure course in the trees "accrobranche" as it is called here. The whole family really enjoyed it, even our little girl was way up high in the trees stepping from log to log. She is a tough cookie.

Our boy had a great birthday, and we enjoyed the beauty of nature while getting a good night's sleep.

Happy 15 years!

2008-06-12T14:32:00.000-07:00

How lucky are we to spend out 15th anniversary of marriage in Paris. Our tenth was in Antibes. We love France! To celebrate our day, we (among other things) lunched at the Bistro du 17eme. They have a prix fixe menu only for lunch and dinner, and the choices are all mouthwatering. I had an entree of carpaccio de boeuf on a bed of paper thin tomato rounds, all tender and tasty. For the plat principal, I chose sole with a pot of mashed potatoes which was very satisfying. My husband enjoyed a more exotic dish of ostrich of which he ate every bite. We finished off the meal with a mousse-like gateau au chocolat and the ever sweet and delicious millefeuille. I'm not sure what the traditional gift for the 15th anniversary is, but treating each other to a delectable French meal is always a great idea.

Birthday for Q

2008-06-09T14:18:00.000-07:00

Our boy turned 10 today! He was able to "roll" with the boys after receiving his gift of rollerblades. A great day for a birthday. We spent a couple hours after school at the park rollerblading and enjoying ice cream cones. It was about 83 degrees out. Perfect.

daisy campout

2008-06-08T13:57:00.000-07:00

To celebrate the end of our scouting year, my daughter and I, along with 3 other Daisies and parents, attended the girl scout campout at Jambville. The little flowers stayed in their own tent, and were very excited about it. Activities included hauling logs onto a stump to make some very natural seesaws, trading swaps, singing around the campfire, and eating s'mores. For the s'mores, we used the Petit Ecolier cookies that have the chocolate built right in and put a hot marshmallow on top. Tasty. The girls enjoyed riding on the chariot onto which we piled all the supplies, which were many!

Finally French?

2008-06-06T15:16:00.000-07:00

Well, okay, I'm nowhere near being French in reality, but the fact that my name is actually in the phone directory here, and I have just today ridden down the street on a Velib' with flowers in my basket should count for something, n'est-ce pas?

Velib' mania

2008-06-01T15:56:00.000-07:00

Oh my goodness. Today was a two Velib' excursion day. Life doesn't get much better than this! First of all, I was near Luxembourg gardens, which is a little tricky to get back from on a Sunday without the 84 bus running, and part of line 3 was out of commission. Despite loving the Velib' every time I hop aboard, I still need a reason to take it sometimes. I'm a little nervous about the route to take, or I think, "what if I start to exceed my free half hour and need to check in and out again? Where is the next station?" I was smart enough to pack my Velib' map today which can be found at most Monoprix stores and some of the kiosques. Actually, now that it has been super awesome weather, I try to carry the map with me always. It shows all the Velib' stations, of which there are hundreds. It's pretty impressive to see all the stops on a map.

Thus decided on taking a Velib', I locate the nearest station on a map. There are Velib's available and I choose my ride. Next, consulting the map, I try to plan my route. The map also indicates the bike paths, and I notice that part of my route is not designated as a bike path, but I give it a go anyhow.

I can't describe how awesome it is to ride down the quais of Paris on a (practically) free bike. I travelled on the Left Bank along the Quai Voltaire, Anatole France, and d'Orsay, passing the bouquinistes selling their wares along the Seine as well as viewing the Louvre across the river and rolling past the Musee d'Orsay. It is truly a beautiful ride traveling under the Horse Chestnut trees and seeing the Bateaux Mouches along the river. After taking Pont d'Alma across the Seine, I headed up Avenue Marceau where I did a bit of huffing and puffing, I hate to admit. It's not a huge hill, but a hill nonetheless, but was able to continue in the lowest of the Velib's three gears. Circling the Arc de Triomphe via rue de Tilsit, I then continued down Avenue MacMahon to Niel into my neighborhood. I tell you, at the end of my ride, I was exhilirated. It was like I had taken a happy pill, I was totally pleased.

Sunday is a great day to ride because there are much fewer cars and buses circulating. There are almost always fellow riders on the street as well which makes for a more enjoyable ride.

After having a delicious Lebanese dinner with my family, I ask my brother-in-law if he would like to try the Velib'. He has been wanting to give the Velib' a go, and he has the little "chip" in his card that allows you to rent a Velib' on the spot. Thus begins my second Velib' excursion which is with a buddy and at night. I'm stoked. Uncle D and I figure out how to get the Velib' and luckily there are two available and functioning bikes at the station.

We head South on rue de Courcelles and decide to ride to Parc Monceau. Thinking we might sneak into the Parc on our bikes, we are almost instantly stopped by a guard who told us to walk our bikes. No problem. We appreciate the beauty of the park a pied and then I am antsy to "refuel" at the Velib' station. There is no time limit on the bikes, but after a half an hour, the bikes begin to cost a minimal amount of money. I enjoy the sense of freedom from riding the Velib' as well as its being free of charge. So outside the park near Alfred de Vigny, I check my bike in, and seconds later, I check it back out again. It remains free as long as it is checked in every half an hour. And with stations everywhere it is not hard to do.

The Arc de Triomphe was our next destination, so we headed down Avenue Hoche to the Arc and then came back via rue Carnot and then back to our neighborhood. It was fun riding the cool streets at night while having a chat with my brother-in-law.

Whether trying to get from one end of town to the other, or just soaking in the sights of Paris while getting some exercise, the Velib' is a great option. The rental fee for 24 hours is one Euro, plus the hourly fee which is nominal. (Uncle D's total cost was 2 Euros for just under an hour, quite the bargain.) It's one of the best activities in Paris while spending the least amount of money. Give it a go!

The metro is a bus today

2008-06-01T15:22:00.000-07:00

I have to hand it to the RATP, it has done a good job at continuing service while a portion of the line 3 metro was under construction. I admit I was a bit panicked upon seeing that on May 31st and June 1st, line 3 between Villiers and Pont de Levallois would not be in operation.

However, it turns out that buses are being used to shuttle people from stop to stop. Thus, our section of Avenue de Villiers, which is unaccustomed to bus service (except for Noctilien service) there have been buses with the sign "service special" traveling to and fro. It was funny to see a bus going down our street, and a little shocking to see how packed the bus was. I've not seen any bus that crowded since the transport strike in October. Even then they weren't this consistently crowded. When our kids saw a crowd of people waiting on "our" street corner, they thought it was a line for the recycling bin, as the temporaty stop was positioned next to the big green canister.

There were orange-vested RATP workers at the closed metro stops guiding people to the special service buses. It was a well organized effort.

My brother-in-law visiting from Brussels actually ended up taking this line to get to our house. We tried to warn him. But he and his luggage hopped onto the overly crowded bus. According to Uncle D, he was quite shocked at how civil, polite and even jovial the crowd was. For many this was a big inconvenience, but they were meeting it with the usual calm that the French uncannily display in such situations. Bravo RATP.

Une fête des fées

2008-05-31T14:33:00.000-07:00

Our baby girl turned seven today. To celebrate, we had a fairy party, which included (in case you’re in the dark about fairy parties) making floral headpieces, finding flower fairies that led to treasure, eating smallish foods, and dancing to music and freezing when DJ gnome stopped the music.

All went well until I pulled the scarf too tight on the birthday fairy’s head during pin-the-flower-on-the-fairy game, whereupon she ran screaming into the other room, accusing me of ruining her birthday. Oh, la, la …

Things turned around once the fairy finding began and the human fairies were all fairly giddy upon opening their treasure. Happiness truly is a treasure bag filled with magical surprises.

The fairies left a note stating that the seventh year is a special one. I hope they are aware that the sixth year is going to be hard to outdo. Notable events in our fairy’s sixth year include:
A summer of family reunion fun from Saugatuck, Michigan to Long Beach, California.

Saying goodbye to wonderful family, friends and neighbors and heading to Paris for a year. Or more. Or less.

Bravely entering a school where she knows no one except her brother down the hall, and doesn’t understand what the teacher is saying.

Going to school each day despite the fact that her teacher is physically (or psychologically) unable to smile, and en plus, she greets the children with the manner of an undertaker, and all this with nary a complaint.

Learning to ride a bike with no training wheels on the wide and smooth pavement below that we fondly call “our front yard”.

Eating all sorts of new dishes at the cantine every day.

Trekking on a camel and spending the night in the Moroccan desert.

Learning to comprehend, read, and finally speak French (when necessary).

Going to the Picard (a high-end frozen foods store) to get a dessert with her brother only- no parents! (It’s right below our apartment, so don’t call the authorities- yet.)

I suspect the fairies are right about the seventh year being special. Every year is unique with its own set of discoveries, challenges, disappointments, and joys. Here’s to the special seventh!

Monceau

2008-05-28T16:22:00.000-07:00

Another beautiful day at Parc Monceau.

Unlikely venue for a family reunion

2008-05-23T16:26:00.000-07:00

Some may say that Paris is a crazy place to hold a family reunion. It's not the beach, it's not a state park, and it certainly doesn't have buffets or even seating for large numbers. However, as 3 out of 6 siblings in my husband's family are residing in Paris and Brussels, Paris became reunion central.

Paris has such great public places in which a big crowd can easily gather and the children can enjoy themselves. The Jardin de Tuileries was where the not yet teens would kick a ball and play army. The Jardin de Luxembourg allowed the older members to sit and have a chat, while the youngsters played with the boats and ducks in the fountain. The Palais Royal and its gardens allowed for silliness at all ages as family members would take turns jumping from post to post or posing on the columns.

Enjoying the sights of Paris was also doable as a group. The Musee Rodin and it's beautiful outside sculpture garden and cafe was a perfect place to see an incredible building with gorgeous art, while allowing time to relax under the big trees at the cafe. It also afforded the kids some mischievous time, whether it was feeding the birds some questionable food, or playing hide and seek from a fellow tourist who had her eye on one of the teen cousins.

Eating as a group also worked out, surprisingly. On one occasion we tried to have a late lunch at a bistro, L'Absinthe, and they said it was too late (and too early for dinner). But seeing so many hungry faces, the owner and waiter changed their minds and allowed us in for "lunch" (it was 4:00). Ten of us sat along the back wall in the back room. Most of the offferings of the day were still available and we ordered quickly. The service was nice, the food came shortly after ordering and it was quite tasty.

Thirteen of us had a three course dinner at le Petit Villiers in the 17th, which was quite delightful. This time, we had made reservations, and we all sat together in the back room. Despite a couple of misunderstandings, the waiter was quite cheerful and accomodating.

The Musee Jaquemart-Andre which was highly recommended by great Aunt K, turned out to be a spectacular showplace for art that the former inhabitants donated to France from their collection they had acquired over the years. We could all listen to the description of the house and the art at our own pace, and then meet for lunch at the cafe, also in the museum.

Just visiting with their cousins, aunts and uncles is what our kids liked most. Little M and G, both 6 years old, lost teeth the same week and got to have a Parisian sleep over. Hanging out at Gram and Grandad's apartment with their balcon overlooking the Comedie Francaise, and enjoying Monoprix gourmet pizza and salad was an activity our children looked forward to. They quite loved buskering on the street for passing change.

I always wonder, "Will the kids remember being together at the fountain at Tuileries? Will they remember eating at Angelina's with their grandparents? Will they recall the Guignol theatre with the littlest of French kids yelling out warnings to the puppets?. Will they remember drawing at the Louvre with their cousins? Or what about performing on the street for money?" I can't be sure they will.

But what the kids do carry with them is a fascination for the stories that are told at these family gatherings. They love to hear about dad's house catching fire when he was a kid, and the kids sleeping in the dining room, even when their four cousins from St. Louis came, making 10 kids sleeping in the dining room. The loved to hear almost any story or tips about secret languages from their Great Aunt K; they were mesmerized when she was at the table. When an uncle or aunt would begin a story, it seems our kids had a sixth sense that something good was going to take place, because they'd gather around. My son noticed that most of the great stories resulted from mishaps, accidents or even tragedies. He even said " I wish more accidents happened to us, so we would have more good stories." I'll try to keep in mind the future story value when going through an unpleasant event.

So Paris ended up being a fun place for a family reunion. It was a little more hectic than lying on a beach and catching up over a barbecue, but it had its own flavor which included chocolat chaud from Angelina's and watching the performers in front of the Pompidou. Not every family would be up for this, so I thank everyone for making it happen.

One stop short of a good show

2008-05-23T16:07:00.000-07:00

We either entered too late or got off the metro too early, but I would sure like to have seen what this character was up to with his supporting cast of batman and the creepy life sized doll.

Transportation Strike Wednesday Evening

2008-05-21T05:10:00.000-07:00

Attention all commuters, which is just about everyone in Paris, the metros and buses are calling for a strike tonight (Wednesday) at 20:00 lasting until Friday morning at 8:00. Have your rollerblades, trottinettes, velib' pass or walking shoes ready! Soyez prudent, however, because in October, the motor scooters took over the sidewalks, thus walking down the street became thrill seeking behaviour. Bon trajet!

La Fête du Pain

2008-05-17T14:28:00.000-07:00

A beret topped man bicycling down a tree lined street with baguettes peeking out of his basket is easily conjured up at the mention of France. This past week, the mysteries of the baguette have been exposed at the Fête du Pain, which is taking place in front of Notre Dame through May 18th.

At the Fête, boulangers can be seen combining the components of the bread: flour, water, yeast, salt; rolling dough that has been mixed in huge temperature-controlled mixing bowls, hand-stretching the dough out onto baking sheets, and cooking the dough for approximately 2o minutes, forming crispy, perfectly browned baguettes.

If the process wasn’t completely understood under the big tents where this was all being staged, there was a film in a nearby smaller tent, showing the entire process from the growing of the wheat, to the testing the composition of the wheat to ensure the proper makeup of proteins. Wheat that doesn’t meet the standard is rejected. Lastly, the techniques of making the designs on the bread were demonstrated, with a teacher scolding a student for not having the design properly lined up on the baguette. Oh, the standards. It was an interesting film.

Other agricultural products tried to catch some attention during the fête. There was a sugar booth where a video tracing the process of refined sugar was shown. There was a milk and a cheese booth. I scored at the cheese booth by finding a book that gives a cheese tour of France. For example, the fact that le Livarot was the most consumed cheese in Normandy in the 1800’s, and was considered the “poor man’s meat” is just one detail found in the book. It suggests sights to see while savoring a region’s cheeses. Detailed descriptions of how the cheeses are made and thus, their unique flavors are delightful to read.

My daughter’s and son’s classes had the privilege of rolling out, shaping and later eating their own bread at the Fête du Pain. The boulangers and helpers were very warm and animated with the students. It was a fun field trip for the two of them, especially with time at the park and the zoo to fill out the day. Lucky kids!

Breadmaking takes a lot of concentration!

Enjoying the end product.

The whole class in a section of the bus. They were so quiet!

Animal races at the park.

The hands were eager to build at this "U.N. sandbox".

Sorbonne revisited

2008-05-13T16:04:00.000-07:00

Monday night, I happened to be in Amphitheatre Richelieu of the Sorbonne. This was very exciting for me as I just watched footage of both the police and the students "taking over" the Sorbonne in 1968. That night, the room was "occupied" by the jazz ensemble Belmondo and their special guest Milton Nascimento. This was held as part of the Jazz Festival in Saint-Germain-des-Pres which continues until May 23rd. There are so many choices of groups and venues, it can make a head spin.

Nascimento is a Brazilian singer/songwriter who had a vocal sound I had never heard before in my somewhat limited experience with Brazilian music. He entered with extremely high pitched vocal tones accompanying the horns, cello, piano and drums. The only thing I can liken his voice to is the high pitched calls in the songs of some Native American tribes. It was unusual and interesting. It was a mellow concert overall with great music and unbelievable vocals.

Salle Richelieu was an enchanting and intimate space in which to see a concert. The lights shone on the statues perched high on the walls in a very dramatic way. The walls were painted a soft greenish color with a beautiful mural/painting, and wooden benches rose up high along the walls.

And then it struck me, the second reason for my excitement. I had monitored clases in this same room 21 years ago, and my French classes met around the corner. Not quite the days of the Revolution, but I had been a young student in these same rooms. I felt very lucky to be able to come back and feel a bit of Paris' past along with my own.

Mai 1968

2008-05-13T01:43:00.000-07:00

Here it is May 2008, 40 years after the student uprisings and labor movements in France. 1968 was a historic year throughout the world and here in France, it is referred to as Mai 68, as that is when most of the action happened. This date is being commemorated throughout Paris; the Figaro has put out a special edition, 1968 Révolutions: Paris Rome Prague États Unis Vietnam; Rolling Stone has a collector’s edition, 68 Les Révolutions: Rock Art Cinéma Literature. There is a photo exhibit appropriately near the Sorbonne showing scenes of burned cars, and students heaving bricks. There are debates and discussions taking place. There are also a number of films in town that portray or document the happenings.

One such film is Mai 68 by Lawaetz and Kanapa showing at the Filmothèque du Quartier Latin. (It is showing tonight at 18:20 in French). It is a three hour documentary which chronicles the events as they unfolded in the Spring of 1968. I caught the film Sunday night in an effort to have a better understanding of what went on 40 years ago.
Here’s my interpretation of what went on. Mind you, I did fade out at one point during the movie (I fell asleep during Star Wars), and I couldn’t follow the French at times. So what I may have missed, I may now misinterpret.

Taking note of what was going on at the university in Nanterre (not to mention the rest of the world), namely radicals (students speaking out against the government) were met with a taking over of the university by police. This is exactly what ensued at the Sorbonne. In a reaction to the police occupation of their university, students (and teachers) demonstrated and eventually took over the streets. The Latin Quarter became the battleground with the students using the grills around the trees to dig up the cobblestone bricks to then launch them at the police. Barricades were built using nearby cars, bricks and whatever was handy. The police responded by firing what looked like those long rubber bullets as well as hosing down the students with huge powerful currents of water. (Editiorial: after seeing the Eyes on the Prize, a documentary about the Civil Rights Movement in the U.S., it’s hard to take other protests as seriously. Just my opinion.)

Labor became agitated and strikes began taking place all over France at Renault and Citroen factories. The mostly female workers at Galleries Lafayette went on strike. Whereas the students were calling for a dramatic and idealistic demolition of the means of production, workers did not want to destroy the means of production, and thus their livelihood, and instead were calling for higher wages and better working conditions. While the students’ and workers’ ideas were not always the same, it seemed as a whole, both groups were able to send de Gaulle running for a few days, three to be exact.

Literally, de Gaulle disappeared, which really had the public and the media wondering. Here I get a little foggy. It could be that de Gaulle returned with tanks and was going to declare a state of military emergency and ordered everyone back to work/school. There was a pro de Gaulle demonstration. It also appeared that hundreds of thousands took to the streets to protest de Gaulle. At one point the well organized students had brought transistor radios to listen to de Gaulle’s speech as tens if not hundreds of thousands had gathered in protest. The footage of all these people in the streets quietly listening to his speech was pretty powerful. At this point, de Gaulle dissolved the National Assembly and announced that there will be parliamentary elections soon. In response, the protestors took out white handkerchiefs and waved them in a sign that they would surrender (I believe).

In any event, the students were able to move society and government in a more liberal direction with more focus on equality and human rights. Workers' wages were increased and the majority of people returned to work and school.

Overall the film was interesting, especially when the shopkeepers in the Latin Quarter were interviewed, and were seemingly unfazed by the cars and streets being torn apart around them. There was also reference to the protests going on worldwide, and some German protest footage was included in the film. If three hours is too much, as it was almost for me, I recommend the first half which covers a lot of the history of Mai 68.

*Picture from liberalisationmai68.free.fr/partie3/manif

Naughty Velib' ?

2008-05-08T00:50:00.000-07:00

In this nice weather, it's hard not to pass a Velib' station and impulsively ride off somewhere, anywhere. That's just what I did on the way back from dropping the kids off at school. On passing the Velib's glimmering in the sunlight, I set free a bike and was heading off when I realized the seat was all funky, which is usually an indication that something else is not right. Sure enough, there was a pedal missing on the right side of the bike. Thankfully, there were more docked at the station, and I chose a bike that was in good form.

I rode merely 10 minutes to the station near our apartment. This is the beauty of the Velib', just hopping on and back off again for short jaunts.

Two days later, my husband and I were headed to the Musée Jaquemart André, which is a personal collection of art in a beautiful setting that was donated to France, building and all. A must see.

Wanting to hop on a Velib' and cruise downhill to the museum, I scanned my Navigo which also contains my Velib' pass. The scanner emitted a nasty "you're wrong" noise as well as a red light. I tried my pass on several other bikes, all with the same results. Hmmmm. I've only had a happy relationship with Velib'- what could be wrong?

I slid my card on the main Velib' database, and after entering my secret code, the screen showed that I owed 35,00 Euros! What! How can that be? My last ride was nearly 10 minutes long, I couldn't possibly owe anything. A closer look at my "history" showed that on the day of my 10 minute ride, the bike was checked out for 8 hours and 35 minutes. Uh oh...

This was the first time I felt that Velib' had let me down. A bit saddened, I waited for bus #84 to come by to take me near the museum.

Later in the day, I called the Velib' team to inquire about my situation. The man on the phone grilled me. "What day was your last trip on a Velib'? Where did you pick up the bike? Where did you drop it off?" He explained that after I thought I was finished with my trip, my velib carried on with travels unbeknownst to me, eight hours of secret travels to be exact, ending up only a few kilometers away, as if to mock me.

I felt slightly betrayed by my Velib', even though I knew the wrong wasn't the bike's. What bike wouldn't take advantage of the fact that the last traveler hadn't fully locked it in? I imagined where my Velib' had gone. Had it gotten lonely and searched for other Velib’s which were hard to find on such a nice day? Was it fraternizing with those capitalist, individually owned bikes that were not to be trusted? Did it merely want to go for a long journey, having tired of so many short trips? I could only wonder.

Fortunately, the interrogator on the other line said that they'll take care of the fine this time, since it hasn't happened before. I was relieved and yet a bit nervous, knowing that if I hadn't locked it in properly once, I'm likely to do it again. After all, I'm no newcomer to the Velib', and still can't believe that I left it "unleashed". I was happy that the bike was actually returned and didn't become someone's personal Velib' (shudder the thought) which certainly could have happened.
I can’t wait to go and scan my card again. Hopefully this time, the happy beep will sound along with the green, everything’s cool, light. I will think about my next Velib’s potential for mischief as I ride off.

Jemaa el Fna Square in Marrakech at night

2008-05-01T15:16:00.000-07:00

Even though he had much disdain for the heart of Marrakech and its people, Hassan dropped us off at Jemaa el Fna Square where we entered the throngs of people. We were among families passing through, snake charmers, outside cafes, scooters, men fishing for Coke and many various merchants. It was quite the scene. The square at night was magical.

Our approach to the center.

Negotiating with the fellas for M's necklace.

Fishing for Coke?

Scenes from the restaurant patio overlooking the square.

Return to Marrakech

2008-05-01T14:57:00.000-07:00

The scenery between Ouarzazate and Marrakech is just as breathtaking on our return trip.

As we left Ouarzazate, we stopped in a Berber pharmacy and picked up some black cumin seed, damask, argan oil and saffron.

This is Matt getting his "Keith Richard's" look.

Rissani to Ouarzazate from the South

2008-04-30T14:35:00.000-07:00

Many beautiful views were enjoyed on the return to Ouarzazate which in part passed through the Valley of the Draa River. We lunched at an outdoor restaurant nestled in the hillside and enjoyed a tajine of lamb, and wonderful melon for dessert.

Along the way, there was a bit of excitement doing desert donuts in the 4 x 4 and being caught with the windows down in a small sandstorm. After a long, long drive, we arrive at our hotel where the kids (and adults) can finally relax and swim.

Trekking out on camelback

2008-04-30T14:19:00.000-07:00

The journey back was a bit calmer because we were more familiar with the beasts on which we were riding. That is, except for Q, who was quite queasy and uneasy on his camel's back. Maggie bravely requested her own camel, and to be last in line for the return trip. That way there would be no camel behind her breathing on her neck.

A night in the desert

2008-04-30T13:01:00.000-07:00

After hopping off our camels, who were very calm and steadfast, we entered our Berber camp. It was quite the international community in our "square". We met people from Holland, Italy, and New Zealand. We stretched out on mats in the center of our square while we waited for our hosts to cook dinner. Q and M climbed up the nearby dune.

After dinner, we gazed at the stars for a little bit and then climbed into our "tent" for the night. With the big wool blanket in front of the door, it was a bit hot and stuffy inside, but we kept it down because there was a fair amount of sand blowing in the wind. The howling of the wind was a little unsettling for me, and I had a hard time sleeping, but it was cool lying in the desert listening to the wind and feel the sand. I was hoping it wouldn't turn into a big storm (it didn't). (However, a few nights later, another guide we met took a group into the desert during a sandstorm. She said it was practically impossible to see. I'm glad we didn't have to deal with that. We (M and I)actually did pack and wear ski goggles on our way into the desert because even on our trek a fair bit of sand was blowing across the dunes into our faces.)

In the morning Q and I began climbing the very high dune next to our camp. I got maybe 1/3 to 1/2 up, it was very tiring as you would slide as you step and it was very steep. It was like doing a stairmaster. Q made it to the top, and you can see below the pictures he took from the peak. Afterwards, he ran down the mountain of sand, which is also a bit scary because of its steepness. Soon after, he vomited three times as he exerted himself so much with no water or food. The poor little dude was queasy the whole time riding back on his camel.

Into the desert

2008-04-29T12:24:00.000-07:00

After packing our backpacks with essentials and leaving our luggage at the nearby hotel, we became acquainted of our camels and began our journey into the desert. I was hoping that camels couldn't sense fear, or if they did, they didn't react to it.

Our guide leads us into the desert.

Leaving the comforts of the hotel behind (can be seen in distance).

Matt's camel comes undone.

Tying the camels back together.

Lining back up.

String on my camel breaks.

Where is Maggie? She's not on her camel.

Here she is with dad, the camel behind her was getting too "friendly" with her.

Route to Rissani

2008-04-29T11:25:00.000-07:00

Along the way to Rissani we saw women doing laundry in the creek, and a fossil shop where fossils are polished and big slabs of fossils are turned into tables and sinks. We had lunch with Hassan's family before entering the gates to the desert.

It turns out Quinn and Said have a similar taste in music, Akon fans.

The gate to the desert.

This is the flat desert, known as the Reg. If you click on the picture, you can just make out the desert of dunes in the distance, known as the Erg.

These are the dunes, with a couple of cafe tables set up (if you click on the picture you see them).

Gorges of the Todra

2008-04-29T10:59:00.000-07:00

The gorges that were cut by the Todra River were beautiful orange red cliffs. We had an opportunity to follow the Todra on foot for a while. It was nice to get out and move.

Castes made of sand

2008-04-28T05:05:00.000-07:00

Remembering that Jimi Hendrix had spent some time in Morocco, mainly in Essaouira, I couldn't help thinking of his song Castles Made of Sand as we passed by the kasbahs and village houses that were in various stages of eroding back into the sand and dirt.

Gorges of the Dades

2008-04-28T04:09:00.000-07:00

After traveling through the valley of the Dades where the roses were in bloom and being sold as necklaces along way by little children, we followed the river Dades into the burnt orange gorges of the dades where we spent the night.

It was special to wake up in the night with all the electric in the hotel turned out, which enabled a beautiful viewing of the clear night sky. All that could be heard was the flowing of the Dades river below.

The Atlas Mountains

2008-04-28T02:59:00.000-07:00

After hopping into a Toyota 4 x 4 with our driver Hassan, who is Berber in his roots, heart and soul, we began our journey into and over the Atlas Mountains. What a spectacular drive! A beautiful view greeted us around every bend, and changed every 100 kilometers.

Along the way:
Colorful carpets on deep brown hillsides
Women washing clothes in creeks
Sheeps and shepherd on rust colored rocky hillsides
Mountains in soft green,dusty grey, violet and deep orange/red
Bundles of freshly harvested wheat and herbs on the backs of women
Dry mountains all around with a fertile green line at the foot following a river or stream
Small children riding a donkey
Mud/clay villages perched on and blending into hillside
Slushie colored geodes being sold at the roadside
Terraced and farmed plots on the brown hillside

*Click on third and fourth picture down to see "hidden" village on mountain side and planted plots.

Marrakech Express

2008-04-27T02:14:00.000-07:00

Instead of a train from Casablanca going South, we boarded an Easy Jet flight from Paris and arrived into Marrakech just three short hours later.

As we headed into Marrakech we passed many little scooters or mopeds filled with two and even three people. Sometimes a family of four was aboard, with a little sleeping baby somewhere in the pack.

Being a Sunday, we passed throngs of people at the local park. It was a Moroccan version of Chicago's "Saturday in the Park" or Seurat's Sunday in the Park. It was a happy scene.

Our first Moroccan meal was bean soup followed by an egg and meatball tajine, both very flavorful. Orange slices sprinkled with cinnamon was an excellent finish to the meal.

We let in a cool breeze from the windows in our room which looked over the peach colored walls and buildings of Marrakech with the minaret peaking out over the Place Djema Efna. Contrasted with the peach color were varying shades of trees including date and evergreens.

Marche aux puces

2008-04-26T16:14:00.000-07:00

With the help of family visitors from New York, we finally made it to the famous Paris flea market at the Porte de Clignancourt. It seemed like a crazy idea, a flea market on the first warm, sunny Saturday. Imagine the crowds!

Well, as it turned out, there were not many people at the flea market at all, which was nice, because it was thick with vendors. After seeing booth after booth of contemporary clothing, Converse high tops, CD's and other trinkets, we finally arrived at the antique, art and more eclectic portion of the flea market which had a much calmer feel. And it had much more interesting offerings. Everything from Art Nouveau to 1950's diner style furnishings could be found. We found a vintage poster store, where I spent too much time considering a big Bretagne poster to commemorate my son's trip to Brittany. But the prices were rather high considering the state of the dollar, so we passed on the poster. However, we did find a vendor selling "outsider art" which was really colorful and appealing, some of which came home with us. I also bought a 1956 edition of Le Ballon Rouge in book form.

This proprietor is showing us his champagne corking gizmo. Because champagne has the gassy bubbles, it is more tricky to cork, so this machine launches the cork into the bottle with a lot of pressure.

For lunch, we had French onion soup, omelettes and salad at the restaurant Paul Bert. It was nice to relax and soak up some sun at our outside table. The food was tasty and the bathroom clean.

Now that we have survived a Saturday at the flea market, I have to say I would go back, especially now knowing where the more interesting stalls are, and knowing that a good meal can be had. Thanks New York family for showing it to us!

Lions and tigers and bears, oh my!

2008-04-26T15:30:00.000-07:00

I now understand why people at places like Yellowstone National Park get attacked by bears. It's because they look so cute, they hardly seem dangerous.

We just spent a day of our kids' vacation 45 minutes outside Paris in the park of Thoiry. In Thoiry, there is an animal reserve, a more traditional zoo and a chateau to be explored.

The highlight was definitely the animal reserve where we drove our car through hectacres of land which was populated with hippos, ostriches, elephants, buffalo, bear and warthogs among other beasts. We could practically reach out and touch a buffalo and a bear who were right next to our car. I tell you I was totally tempted to pet the matted down fur of the buffalo. Those creatures are huge! In the end, we did stay in our car, but we did roll down the window (which is a no no) to get some good photos. Here are the beasts we met:

A Day in and yet out of Paris

2008-04-23T15:18:00.000-07:00

We began our exploration of the 19th arrondisement at the Parc des Buttes Chaumont. What a treat for the eyes it was! It was a pleasant surprise to see big buttes or hills as well as the mont chauve, or bald mountain which is central to the park and crowned with a pretty temple. There was also a lovely waterfall that could be found by following your ears. In this park you are transported away from Paris, perhaps to Japan. It is unlike any other in Paris. It has a very peaceful feel despite the many joggers and martial artists.

We were then transported to Holland, or so it seemed by the canals with boardwalks on either side. By boat we explored 10th arrondisement through the waterways Canal St. Martin, featured in the movie Amelie, and Canal de l'Ourcq. It was fun passing into a lock and being magically lowered down as crowds of onlookers watched and grew smaller as we descended and entered the next channel of the canal.

It felt as though we had taken a day trip outside of Paris, and yet there we were in the heart of the city.

A Morning in Sarko's Front Yard

2008-04-19T13:00:00.000-07:00

Wednesday's field trip took us to President Sarkozy's extended front yard. How nice it is. I am refering to the green belt between the Rond Point and the Concorde on the Champs-Elysees just outside the Elysee Palace gardens.

Just beyond this magnificent gate lies the Elysees Palace, where the President of France resides. Notice the cock on the top of the gate which is the symbol of France.

We were here to see "le plus ancien Guignol theatre" in Paris with the kids in my daughters class. I was quite excited based on my last viewing of such puppetry at the Theatre du Luxembourg. This time, the show was not even in the same category as the other. It was cute, and we sat in the sun to enjoy it, but it was not the spectacular show that we saw at its rival, "the vrai".

The man who ran this theatre was quite the character.

Our boy is back!

2008-04-18T11:10:00.000-07:00

Our little man returned from his week long trip to Camaret today! He looked exhausted, but happy. His adventures included fishing and catching crabs, crawdads, and some little fish; walking on the beach in Brittany, and exploring the ports in the region by boat. It's great to have him back!

Spring is Here!

2008-04-16T12:49:00.000-07:00

It's official- the gates allowing people to sprawl out on the grass at Parc Monceau are unlocked, and how the people (and nature) responded! What a beautiful park!

A Horse Chestnut tree in blossom.

Not so random things about me

2008-04-15T14:36:00.000-07:00

Mr. Paris Musings tagged me to tell 7 random things about myself, and first after calling it a grade schoolish idea, I really got into it. I in turn am tagging Petrea, and hope you enjoy this little activity.
Seven Random Things:
1- I was kicked out of French class early in seventh grade, not for my usual obnoxious behavior, but for lack of payment; I wouldn’t tell my parents that it was time to pay up again. I think I was full of guilt. I already knew that school was expensive, and French class was one more thing to pay for, not that we were pinching pennies, I just worried about things like that. However, I kept excusing myself from Science class on Thursdays for the next two years to go to “French class”. I would wander the halls; see if a sibling was having lunch in the hopes of catching an early lunch. Sometimes, if there was a substitute, half of the class would excuse themselves to go to “French class”. We would then wander as a gang, looking for stray art supplies, and possibly sneaking a smoke in the janitor’s closet.
2- I attended grade school at no lie, Little Flower. The public school kids called us “Big Weed”.
3- I have six brothers (although one died when I was 14) and a sister. It’s made me a little tough.
4- In high school French class, someone in my class would throw pennies at a metal cabinet, and then a couple of us would volunteer to look for the “culprits” up and down the hallways. Sr. J-M appreciated our helpfulness. I fell in love with St. Exupéry’s Little Prince in this French class. I really did appreciate Sister J-M; I was just predisposed to a bit of naughty behavior.
5- I loved Fort Scott Camp.
6- I went to Woodstock II in 1994 with my friend Jennie. I had to go. Whenever I watched the real Woodstock I got so upset that I’d missed it. We heard some awesome music- Dee Lite, Cheryl Crow, Peter Gabriel, Crosby, Stills and Nash, Melissa Etheridge, Bob Dylan, Aerosmith… And while waiting in line at a Thai food booth, I feel a tap on my shoulder, and there is my brother who lives on the West Coast! Among hundreds of thousands of people, we run into each other. Later, while sleeping in Jennie’s car in Saugerties at the “purple parking lot” because I broke the key off in the ignition, a panicked clown knocked on the window in the middle of the night, and pleaded for us to “stick our heads out the window, and let ‘em know we’re here!” When later she knocked again, I feigned sleep and muttered to Jennie, “Don’t answer, it’s the clown.” But not to worry, the next morning, the clown, now lacking much of the clown makeup and appearing in her 50’s, rode off on the back of her son’s motorcycle. It was a most hallucinatory experience without any trace of acid or drugs (or alcohol).
7- When I travel out of town away from my family, I leave my husband a list of songs I’d like to have played at my funeral (just in case). They include:
Nightingale by Norah Jones,
I’m Feelin’ Allright by Joe Cocker
Joni Mitchell’s Circle Game
Enya’s Orinoco Flow
Peter Gabriel’s Shaking the Tree
Crosby Stills and Nash (and Young?)’s 49 Bye Bye’s
Youssou n’ Dour’s Celebration
What a Wonderful World by Louis Armstrong
Downtown by Petula Clark
A Beausoleil song
This is just a start, and I hope no artists are hurt in my mentioning them alongside my funeral plans.

Tarte aux pommes

2008-04-14T14:51:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, my family and I went to the antique and art show at Parc Monceau which is going on until the 20th. You have to go to at least one while in Paris. This particular one had everything from 18th century secretaries to modern steel and plastic living room furnishings. Jewelry included brown ball-shaped baubbles to rings and broaches imbedded with garnets and sapphires. There were rugs, paintings, statues and silverware for fine dining.

It was all rather interesting to look at, but what really caught my eye, the piece de resistance, was a mouth-watering tart. Occasionally the vendors would be eating while we perused their goods, and I passed up a man holding a gorgeous tart. I asked where he got it, and he smiled, saying "I made it myself." Seeing my drool, the man offered me a piece. For some STUPID reason, I decided to be polite and decline. I figured he was only being polite as I was STARING at the tart. (I was once offered a piece of leftover homemade carob avocado pie on the street in my hometown by a stranger (although I knew her friend) and I ate that- why did I say no NOW!)

Having just made a very foolish decision, I turned back around asked the man if he would tell me what the ingredients were so I could make it at home. He quite willingly gave me the secrets to the pie, and I recorded them in my mind. My mind which forgets most details, can be very sharp when concerning a good meal or treat.

Today I rounded up all the ingredients at Monoprix and started thinking about my tart. I made the tart while catching up with my sister-in-law, so this is approximately what I did, because we were having quite the good chat.

Take a pate brise (pie crust) and form it into bottom of a pan. A tart pan would be great, but lacking one, I used an oval glass pan. Not ideal, but will do.

Add heap of apples to the crust. The man at the fair recommended cutting the apple "into dice", which is sort of what I did. Spread heap around.

Make crumbly top: Add sugar (1/3 cup ?)to almost completely melted butter- about a third of a french rectangle of butter, add flour and a few pinches of cinnamon. You need to add enough flour so the crumble is crumbly, hint: more flour than sugar or butter. What should be added now is ground almonds, which I forgot and sprinkled on a the end while tarte was baking. Add to taste and texture. Once the crumble is lumpy and crumbly, sprinkle it on to the heap of apples.

Put tarte into oven at 180 C for a long while, and then realize it should be higher after about 20 minutes, so turn temp up to 200 C and let cook until it is remembered later during dinner that there's a tarte in the oven.

And thus, my little tart became a tarte. I daresay that it would rival the antique man's tarte. Our dinner guests might wonder why the tart is so small in the picture above. I'll just have to say that it looks smaller in a blog. It's all that technology that shrinks its appearance- downloading, uploading, etc.

If you want to try this at home, good luck. It was definitely more art than science, but the results were wonderful.

Au revoir les enfants!

2008-04-13T01:19:00.000-07:00

French students start at a young age to go on trips with their schools. Each year, for a week or more, the students go on a spring trip. Sometimes kids as young as six years old will go on a weeklong trip away from their families, but with their teachers and classmates.

This is a big deal for my son, a nine year old, who has been away from us for three days maximum, and that was at the very familiar and comfortable home of my good friend Shelly, with some time also at my parent’s house. He’s been looking forward to the trip for months, and weeks ago he urged us to begin gathering the items needed for the trip: a laundry bag, big boots for fishing, and a disposable camera, among others.

The week before the trip he was a little anxious about the various details. Was our address written in his hat? Had we turned in the luggage tag? Did we get the big notebook? Sometimes I wonder what our children think of our mental and parental capacity. They often worry about deadlines and details when they should trust that we are handling everything, or at least most of the time we are.

So Friday was the big send-off. I’m surprised that our boy slept at all on Thursday night, but between a long day at school and a trip to the park after, he slept with no problem.

We woke up an hour early on Friday, packed a lunch in Q’s backpack, zipped up his suitcase and headed for the bus. The good old bus 92 took us all the way to Gare Montparnasse where the students were all to meet. As we rode up the escalator, we heard some little voices calling, “Hi, Q!” Q turned and saw his buddies and classmates all donning their white caps which identify them, and not liking to be different, he hurriedly put his white cap on with all the addresses inside.

The kids were excited, and the parents were taking care of last minute details. “Do we mail the letter to our kids or hand it to the teacher?” was one of the questions. Some parents had forgotten cameras; others made a mad dash at the station to look for chapstick. There were parents who were a little weepy (myself included) and others who were looking forward to a getaway with their spouse while the kids were away.

We headed toward the TGV which would bring the kids partway to their destination of La Bretagne, or Brittany. They would then board a bus that will take them the rest of the way. My son boarded the bus seated next to his best buddy M, and his buddy S was across the aisle. They all looked very excited. I blew my boy a kiss from the window, and he actually blew me a kiss back! There were some little seven year olds who were bawling and waving tearful goodbyes to their parents. As the train took off, I got teary eyed and waved once more to my boy, who I believe also had a little tear in his eye. But only for a moment, as he is bound to have a wonderful adventure on the coast of Brittany- lucky dude!

Aix en Provence

2008-04-12T14:02:00.000-07:00

Well, Aix has become my new favorite city in the South of France. I recently had an opportunity to go to Provence for a few days, and my view of Aix-en-Provence has vastly improved since my last trip in October. I went down with Liaisons Delicieuses, a culinary travel experience that gives an authentic flavor of a place.

We stayed at La Royante outside of Marseille which is set in a very peaceful region with olive and fig trees on the land.

This is Bernard, our very hospitable leader, and with his wife, owner of the Royante, who gave us interesting details about Marseille and Aix en Provence, and also drove us around in the "Jumper", which I can attest is appropriately titled after spending a few days bouncing in the back.

Our time was spent cooking and eating. Oh, and of course, some sight seeing.
On our third day we spent the day in Marseille, watching the fisherman pour their catch onto the market tables. After seeing the fellows were were going to eat, we entered Le Miramar and began our classe de cuisine. We participated in all the steps in making a bouillabaise. It's a little tricky cooking the fish just right, without over doing it, and saffron is a principal spice used in the dish, so it can be a bit costly, but the results sure were tasty.

After our filling and savory meal, we headed to Notre Dame de la Garde, which is seen from the road when in the Marseille area. It is set high on a hill, and the sailors could see Our Lady far out at sea. In perilous weather, the sailors would make offerings to Notre Dame if she saw them safely to shore. And true to their word, offerings were brought almost daily to the church, some of which are mounted on the interior walls of the church. Thus, there is a very nautical theme to the church, with a grand sailing vessel in mosaic behind the altar and mobiles of boats hung throughout the church. It was the most colorful church interior I've seen.

I only spent a few hours in Aix-en-Provence before a death-defying dash to the train station. I was on the quai one minute before the train approached. Too close for comfort. What I enjoyed about Aix were the wide streets lined with the Plane trees, apparently a hybrid of a sycamore and another tree which I can't remember. The many scenic plazas which were filled with local produce and delicious local products like olive oil, tapenade, lavender, thyme, and the region's specialy, calissons, an almond citrus confection. The town had a great overall feel to it, the light, the buildings and the number of places to sit at a cafe under a big tree.

Le theatre du Luxembourg- les marionnettes

2008-04-04T14:44:00.001-07:00

Sure they seem very scary in the pictures at the front of the theatre. The old black and white pictures depicting the marionettes did more to scare children away then invite them in I thought. They had that creepy carnie look and feel to them.

I’d been hoping to see a puppet show with our kids. It’s so French, so Truffaut, like the scene from 400 coups. My kids, having been in France now for seven months, were game to see the show. My niece and nephew were unsure, but wanted to be with their cousins, so I finally convinced the young crowd to see the show with me. I was trying to avoid looking totally foolish seeing the show on my own. (We had a TV program with marionettes as a kid, and I totally adored it. I was excited that this type of entertainment was still being preserved in France. Hattie the Witch anyone?)

The theatre is located in the middle of Luxembourg garden which is a great place to spend an afternoon doing nothing but walking, sitting and watching. We wait in line to buy tickets and enter the theatre. It is a perfect size, small enough that everyone can see the stage, but big enough for kids to feel like they’re in the real deal. We sit on tiny little benches that have backs to them, they are very cute, like little elf benches. I was practically too long to fit comfortably. On the walls were pictures of some of the marionettes that we’d soon see behind the red velvet curtain. The first four rows are reserved for kids only, which I didn’t notice. By chance, the older two kids with me chose the fifth row where we had quite a good view. The two girls sat in the first row. I hoped the play wouldn’t be scary.

The puppeteer/ director/ owner occasionally chased parents holding young children out of the first four rows. Even those who appeared just before the curtain went up were kicked back to the adult rows, despite their indignant complaints and temporary non-compliance.

The curtains went up and I was so thrilled, and I still can’t explain exactly why. The colors of the set were rich and the marionettes truly came to life on the stage. The voices were easy to hear and understand (if you understand French a bit). Their costumes were festive and they manouvered around on stage so gracefully. They didn’t appear to be marionettes at all. No strings could be seen, and they danced, climbed, sword fought and fell very realistically.

I didn’t realize how fun and interactive the puppet play would be. At the beginning, the character Guignol asks the kids how they are, and the little audience roars out “ça va bien!” At one point the prince asks where the princess is, and the young earnest crowd belts out “dans le château!” in their most darling high pitched little French voices.

During the intermission, parents, grandparents and caretakers were filling their little ones full of sugar. I had the most absolutely adorable little curly toddler next to me. She (he?) was so fired up about the show, she kept talking about it. I asked her how the witch killed the prince and she exclaimed in all earnestness in her adorable little voice, “avec une baguette magique!” If you’ve ever heard a very young French child speak, you can imagine exactly what the Little Prince sounds like. It’s an impossibly beautiful lyrical sound. Of course, in France, the fairies (or witches) carry magic baguettes instead of magic wands.

I told Q and J sitting next to me that the second half should be even rowdier than the first with all the sugar that has been consumed in the theatre. Sure enough, the little curly top to my right was frantically shaking the bench in front with her (his) mouth all covered in chocolate, screeching at the curtains to open.
The curtains did indeed open and the show continued with a very creative set. I thought the set itself was stunning, so I can’t imagine how magical it must have been for the wee ones. The second half involved dancing elves, fire and smoke, and much more audience participation. When the mean witch was sneaking up behind someone, the little person next to me, along with forty others, would shout out anxiously, “attention!” , “attention!”

I totally loved it. My son was unwilling to admit it, but at nearly 10 years old, he frequently cracked up during the show. It’s something that must be done if you are in Paris with children. A very well presented play, French children in action, a fun theatre; these are the little bits of French culture I’m so happy to experience.

I spoke with the puppeteer/director afterwards and thanked him for such a great show. He said it’s been going on since 1933. His father started it, and now the business is his. I asked if there were other such theatres in Paris. While he admitted there were others, he said that his was “the vrai.”

To see the real thing, head to the Jardin de Luxembourg on Wednesdays at 3:30, and Saturdays and Sundays at 11:00 and 15:30. And don’t be scared off by the pictures out front. The play is quite delightful.

The Price of a Strike

2008-04-02T00:53:00.000-07:00

As you can see, there's been handsome reimbursement for any hassles I may have encountered involving transportation during the "social conflicts at the end of 2007". (The transportation workers were on strike in October through December 2007, and buses and metros were "perturbed".)

Ten Euros and 36 Centimes. It's not a large amount, and yet it sets a large precedent. When the teachers next go on strike will we be reimbursed for any out-of-pocket expenses incurred for finding alternative care for the children? (Even though neither of us works for the moment and wouldn't be too bothered). Will we be compensated with a carnet of metro tickets when the taxis next go on strike (even though I have a velib pass and love it)? Will the French citizens be reimbursed for all the time Sarkozy has been spending on his personal relations (even though it has been fun to watch and talk about).

Striking is a well established act of democracy in France. I'd hate to see the French government pay out every time a group goes on strike. I mean, there must at LEAST one strike a week in Paris, or at least lately, when there's a new President who is trying to institute change or flex his political muscle. It's democracy in action, and it is great to see, even if it causes perturbances once in a while.

Le Renard et l'enfant at le Denfert

2008-03-30T14:18:00.000-07:00

Okay, from my posts, you can see I've seen a lot of movies this week (not to mention the fabulous opera, Le Temps des Gitanes). Today was no exception. I had been wanting to see this movie about a girl who befriends a fox for some time, and we finally had the chance.

What an enchanting movie it is! The beautiful nature footage is as compelling as the storyline. The main character is a ten year old girl who lives in a most beautiful region of France (and Italy as it were because some of the footage was taken there). She spends hours of her days outdoors in prairies and forests. After seeing a fox, she is compelled to find it, and later, befriend it. Trying to connect to the fox actually takes a few seasons, and finally, slowly they "tame" each other. (I have to say, it kind of reminded me of the Little Prince's taming of the fox in Antoine de St. Exupery's story. I wonder if the story was inspired from this?)

The fox and girl spend many days adventuring together in the great wild, and danger is often close at hand. We often wondered where the parental supervision was, but were secretly glad those potentially pesky parents left her alone to discover the stunning and unpredictable world of nature that she enters. The kids were on the age of their seats. I won't spoil the ending to this movie as I have in the past. I do recommend it highly for people of all ages.

We viewed the movie at le Denfert in the 14th. This little theatre shows about 17 diverse films a week, all in the same room. Here is an example of what can be seen this week: La graine et le mulet, Caramel, Persepolis, La vie des autres, Jours d'hiver, Ratatouille, etc. And most are in their version originale, so if you want to see Into the wild in English, there you go. The theatre is entered by going down steps and entering the lower level, or you can go up a few steps and watch from the balcon. We found the seats very comfortable and the theatre clean. I love these little Parisian cinemas!

A day in Bois de Bologne

2008-03-30T14:04:00.000-07:00

We had a one day reprieve from the bad weather, and we headed to the Bois de Bologne for some fresh air and a birthday party.

My daughter and I rented a couple of bikes (5 Euros an hour each, or 4 hours for 10 Euros each), and rode around the trails for an hour. It was great to bike along the scenic route on a very flat path. Be sure to bring along a map if you do go for a ride (or a walk) as the many paths can be confusing.

Meanwhile, my son was shooting targets and riding rides at the Jardin d'Acclimation (inside the Bois de Bologne) with his buddies. We met up with him and rode a few rides ourselves.

Kids' pics of Notre Dame

2008-03-30T13:48:00.001-07:00

"It's every girl's dream to visit Paris!"

2008-03-30T12:06:00.000-07:00

My little niece who gushed these words was visiting us this week, and the heat was on (not weather wise, as it was damp and rainy). She had such high expectations of Paris; I was already worried about her disappointment. Not that Paris isn’t wonderful, it’s just that when a 10 year old arrives with such big expectations, there’s no way it can measure up, I figured. But I was wrong.

I greeted little A at the airport, and without having much sleep, she was full of questions. “How do you say `I would like a vanilla ice cream cone, please’?” she would ask, and then would quickly jot down the answer in her journal/ self made dictionary, along with many other entries. “Merci beaucoup, Madame,” she could be heard saying when interacting with French women (and with me- very darling).

People seemed to really appreciate that she was speaking French, and she received a lot of positive attention and goodwill from people. She is now among the artists to have a painting hanging in a café in Montmartre. Waiters charmed her as she charmed them.

While touring the Louvre, A, along with her brother and cousins, was intensely involved in drawing a sphinx as well as an Egyptian tomb. They copied some hieroglyphics off of a mummy case.

From their home, A and her family had done their homework. They knew what they wanted to see, had practiced saying things like “please”, “thank you” and “excuse me” and brought books like The Louvre up close which had the kids looking for fun details in paintings.

Even A’s little brother loved Paris. While sitting in a café with the awning separating him from the drizzle, little F. belted out over his chocolat chaud “I love France!” No dampened spirits here.

This family has done its share in promoting Franco-American relations. And more importantly, Paris lived up to the very heady dreams of a 10 year old girl.

Double Feature

2008-03-27T03:44:00.000-07:00

I got hit with a nostalgic craving for a good old fashioned kid movie. The weather was gloomy, and I’d been wanting to take the kids to a show. Today was the day. I was in luck, there was a double feature at 5:35 showing on rue Strasburg at L’Archipel for le Ballon Rouge and Crin Blanc.

The theater itself was a throwback in time. The screen looked half the size it normally is, as if the screen weren’t pulled down completely. There was what appeared to be a stage under the screen. On this stage, there was a piano covered with a red velvet cloth. There may have been 15 rows of seats in the theatre, intimate. When the vendeur finally came down, we bought our tickets and entered the queer little theatre.

Soon, the crackling movie started. Crin Blanc was actually going to be the first up. I hoped it wasn’t going to be very scary or sad, because I really had no idea about this one, something about a boy befriending a horse. It’s billed as a movie without dialogue, but there was indeed a bit of dialogue that I would relay to the children. I kept thinking that since my daughter couldn’t get through The Adventures of Milo and Otis (the slow paced pug and cat story) because she was so sad, I wasn’t sure how she was going to react to this.

It was totally a simple, French 1950’s film, like I was hoping for. The boy has been watching the wild horses of Camargue when he notices some cowboys have rounded them up. All except one, and that is Crin Blanc (White Mane), who fights an ongoing battle to remain wild. The young boy is able to earn the trust of the horse and they become friends. So you have the bad guys- the cowboys, the good guys- the horse and the kid. The region of Camargue is quite scenic and some of the scenes with the horses racing through tall grasses , dunes and the marsh are quite stunning at times. Although simple in its story line, as a spectator you are completely sucked into the plot and it is even thrilling. Of course my kids and I don’t see many movies, so this was like an adventure film for us, and we all quite liked it. To avoid a totally sad ending, the narrator states that the boy and horse swim off to a land where horses and “man” are friends.

Right away, the second film begins, Le Ballon Rouge (the Red Balloon) which is a whimsical story of a boy that “sets free” and “befriends” a balloon . I had been wanting to see le Ballon Rouge for years now, knowing it was vaguely about a boy, a balloon and scenes of Paris. Kind of like Crin Blanc, but with a balloon. The balloon hovers outside the classroom when the boy is in school, and it flies just out of the reach of the mean neighborhood boys who try to steal and stone the balloon. It even flies along behind a bus (the cool old style buses that were open in the back), when the conductor tells the boy the balloon can’t come aboard. There is great footage of a Paris gone by, as it shows the streets of Belleville and Menilmontant as they once were, complete with Citroens and schoolchildren in old fashioned outfits.

I don’t know if the film is supposed to be allegorical, but when the balloon finally is stamped to its death, instead of being a sad moment, something quite joyous happens. The liberation of all the balloons in Paris takes place, which is fun to see. You see two blue balloons flying out of two tiny twin’s hands donning red coats. Balloons work their way out of those chambre de bonne windows in the roofs of apartment buildings. They all get together and surround the boy and you can almost feel the joy of the boy surrounded by so many colorful balloons . He fashions them all together, and then he is lifted into the sky where he floats above the same skyline that began the movie. Again, kind of like Crin Blanc, one disappears at sea, and the other, in the sky.

In all, they were both fun films to see, as well as cinema classics. My children enjoyed the films, especially le Ballon Rouge because the balloon had taken on a mischevious personality that they (and I) could relate to.

Easter Sunday or career day in Paris

2008-03-23T14:46:00.000-07:00

Okay, it wasn't an original idea, Notre Dame on Easter Sunday. But with our visiting family we made the Pilgrimmage, hopping on the RER and popping out at the Notre Dame. We saw a huge crowd out front, which I assumed was just passing tourist groups. It turns out that the big crowd all had the same idea, "hey let's do Notre Dame for Easter," they WERE all waiting in line to get in. A closer look revealed that there were actually two lines, one for mass and one to just visit. So when the time came, we smugly walked toward the front and were practically carried in a wave of pushing to the entrance doors.

The 11:30 mass began at 11:45 which is never good with four kids. My sister-in-law smartly snatched up the first two seats she saw. I tried to find more, but the church filled up in a matter of a few minutes. The number of people was slightly disturbing. Even the outer rim which is usually tourists only was thick with people wanting to participate in the service. You better believe that the collection baskets also made it to this outer level. The mass followed the usual international format, songs in Latin and French, readings in English, French and German and prayers in all the above plus Spanish. The choir sounded beautiful, and the organ music was ominous. We thought it would take days to get communion, but it turned out that they launched out a number of communion distributors, so before we knew it, there was someone seven feet away passing out communion which Q said was his favorite host so far in France.

We spent time in the park next to Notre Dame where the kids had a good time playing together and seeing the "invisible man". We also spotted a choir girl having a smoke between masses. It looked hilarious, her innocent look with the blue choir robe against the backdrop of the Notre DAme and the smoke going to and fro furiously from her lips.

We then headed to the Pompidou Center where more street performers entertained us. Come to think of it, the invisible man wasn't really a performer, as he just sat there. Easy money. But silver man and the fortune teller at Pompidou worked a little harder for their money, doing little sprite like dances or translating fortunes into several languages.

Later, after a lively Easter dinner with much of Sean's family, the kids took it to the streets to see if they could make a few Euros entertaining people. Of course our neighborhood is kind of quiet, but between the diablo juggling and harmonica playing (and the impish look of the children), they managed to make 2 and a half Euros in a matter of minutes. This is the kind of thing that might have us be the proud parents of a magician and circus geek in the next decade.

A great day in all, and the kids were happy that the French "Easter bells" had hidden eggs about the house. Easter in France was pretty cool after all.

Culinary Patrimoine?

2008-03-20T01:09:00.000-07:00

Why the big controversy over Sarkozy’s proposition that French food be part of UNESCO’s cultural heritage? No one would argue that French cuisine isn’t one of the first things people think of when conjuring up France. I mean, come on, it’s the country of countless cheeses, boeuf bourgignon, savory sauces often made with regional produce, tarte aux pommes, soufflé au chocolat. Need I go on? The cuisine ranks up there with the tricolor flag, the Revolution and the Loire Valley. More likely the difficulty lies in the fact that cuisine is not really a site or monument, and if France’s cuisine qualifies, why not that of India or Brésil?

From UNESCO's website:
“One of UNESCO's mandates is to pay special attention to new global threats that may affect the natural and cultural heritage and ensure that the conservation of sites and monuments contributes to social cohesion.”

I couldn’t agree more that France’s cuisine is a part of its heritage and that there are indeed threats to this cuisine, be they global, national or at a community level. While I love France and her cuisine, where I differ from Sarkozy is that I think all or most countries have this patrimoine or heritage. Think New Orleans’s Jambalaya, Spanish Paella, Indian Saag hcoley, Texas or Cincinnati chili, German sauerbraten, even if they don't make your mouth water as perhaps a mousse au chocolat might.

If these cuisines from all over the globe are threatened, perhaps communities, and not just nations, could apply for UNESCO aid. The aid could be in the form of money being set aside for local chefs or volunteers to give classes on regional cooking.

In a way, this is what is being done right now here in Paris, and other cities throughout France. As part of the Accueil des Villes Françaises (AVF), members can join groups that meet to explore the city, see movies together, play tennis or bridge, and many more interesting activities. The AVF in Paris is largely a francophone group, but it does provide language conversation classes for those interested in practicing English, French and Spanish. And finally, one of the best kept secrets of Paris is the AVF’s French cooking classes. One Thursday a month the smallish group, no more than 6 people, meets at a volunteer’s home. It is in the person’s kitchen that we see, taste and learn the culinary heritage of France. Among the tasty delights we’ve had privy to include magret de canard, medallions de veau, salade des endives, and a fluffy rich dessert called vacherin.

In fact, I think culinary heritage is not the only thing being regained through the AVF. It gives people a sense of community and a sense of place which can be elusive, especially in such a technologically advanced age. It brings people together to learn about a city or region’s cultural, culinary and recreational heritage.

So I say to President Sarkozy, go ahead and apply for a UNESCO heritage protection for French cuisine. But let’s not reserve this opportunity for France alone, but any country or region that feels threatened by loss of culture, be it culinary, artisanal or otherwise. And let it happen through community organizations like the AVF which provides a structure that brings people together to learn about their heritage, as well as to have fun.

C'mon get happy!

2008-03-18T15:11:00.000-07:00

Where's the big happy Partridge bus when you need it? We have the Partridge family coming into town for a reunion, or maybe it's the Brady Bunch, I'm not sure. We have the two squeaky clean, smart, talented and daring (not to mention darling) parents who have decided to leave their rich, carefully laid out existence in Cincinnati and take the tour on the road to the city of Lights. Greg, Marcia, Jan, Cindy and Bobby are now grown with their own children. Peter is gay and living in the Marais, despite the facade of a beautiful wife, and definitely a colorful element in the Parisian tour. During the tour, there are some out of town gigs planned for Brussells, Luxembourg and the Normandy coast. You can be sure that this musical family will be singing Jacques Brel in French and English along the way.

There will be mishaps along the way as the family can't quite find the right song to sing for the "war tour" of the Normandy coast. Greg insists on singing Jim Morrison's "THis is the End" while Marcia wants to sing Peter Paul and Mary's "Blowin' in the Wind". Of course, Peter has them blend the songs in a showtune medley sort of way. Also, in the confusion of scheduling and picking up people for different parts of the tour, Cindy and her daughter Mrs. B get left at the airport for three days.

But in true Partridge or Brady style, the parents give thanks for the mishaps, realizing that it's the hard times that really pull them together as a family. "Yes," they tell the grandchildren, "it's not about the hot flaky croissants, or the thrilling ride up the Eiffel Tower's elevator, or the big red bus tour, or even the hot chocolate at Angelina's; no, it's about trying to ask for directions in French, and waiting patiently while a stranger tries repeatedly to correct your pronunciation of "rue" instead of giving you an answer. Yes, little ones, this is what this is all about."

Marcia is still mad at Jan, however because the mime in front of the Pompidou Center chose Jan to be a part of his show. Marcia said it was because Jan pushed her way to the front of the crowd. None of this matters, however, because soon it is discovered that Bobby's son, Bobby, is climbing the supports of the Pompidou Center.

The family's finale is a gig where the family performs a fundraiser to build a writer's wing onto the American Library. Peter encourages the family to end with
"I think I Love You" in honor of his "friend" that he has been "hooking up with" at the library "to write". In all, the tour is a success, the family all returns to their corners of the world, happy from shared experiences, and happier still to have a bathroom all to themselves.

Imagine killing your favorite author

2008-03-18T03:37:00.000-07:00

It has been speculated for years that the Little Prince author, Antoine de St. Exupéry was shot down in his plane by German WWII pilot Horst Rippert in July of 1944. His disappearance remained a mystery, although artifacts have been discovered over the years that included a piece of St.Exupéry’s plane as well as a bracelet that bore the name of his wife and his publishing company.

This week, all the evidence came together with an admission from Rippert.* Rippert himself had suspected for years he may have been the one to take St. Exupéry’s plane down on that fateful mission on July 31st, 1945. Rippert was not happy to have shot down St. Exupéry’s plane that took its last flight from Corsica in a reconnaissance mission. In fact, he admitted that had he known it was St. Exupéry, he wouldn’t have done it. St. Exupéry was one of his favorite authors. He was an author and pilot most known for his book, le Petit Prince, which while not as autobiographical as his other works, does begin with a pilot stranded in the desert which he himself had been in 1935 after his aircraft went down in the Saharan desert. In the story, a little prince appears to the pilot seemingly out of nowhere in the desert requesting a drawing of a sheep.

Through the Little Prince’s adventures to different planets, Saint Exupéry makes fun of what is often held as important in the world- amassing wealth, prestige, and power, as he watches adults perform tasks that he perceives to be meaningless. The Little Prince observes, “Grown-ups love figures. When you tell them that you have made a new friend, they never ask you any questions about essential matters. They never say to you, “What does his voice sound like? What games does he love best? Does he collect butterflies?” Instead, they demand: “How old is he? How many brothers has he? How much does he weigh? How much money does his father make?” Only from these figures do they think they have learned anything about him.”

The Little Prince realizes the importance of the simpler things like watching sunsets and caring for his rose (despite her thorns). He realizes, “It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye.”

Can you imagine being the guy who downed the author of the Little Prince? I kind of feel for Rippert. But that’s war. You may be destroying one of your favorite authors, or her/his children, or an entire civilization, or a researcher who was close to finding a cure for cancer, or the neighborhood crazy. I guess that’s why we have to demonize the enemy, so that the killing “makes sense”. Propaganda is a necessary tool to lead people to believe that the enemy is not human, and a threat to our own lives, and thus, needs to be wiped out.

I’ll stop my ranting with one final Little Prince quote. “To me, you are still nothing more than a little boy who is just like a hundred thousand other little boys. And I have no need of you. And you, on your part, have no need of me. To you, I am nothing more than a fox like a hundred thousand other foxes. But if you tame me, then we shall need each other. To me, you will be unique in all the world. To you, I shall be unique in all the world…”

*See http://www.france24.com/en/20080316-little-prince-antoine-saint-exupery-literature-history-second-world-war&navi=FRANCE for original article and additional information.

http://www.trussel.com/saint-ex/stamps/st-ex3.jpg

Not so cushy couchettes

2008-03-13T15:06:00.000-07:00

There were a couple of surprises upon taking the night train to Paris from the Alps. We had couchettes, which meant our tickets included little bunk beds to sleep on during the ride that began in Aime at 21:50 and ended in Paris the next morning at 6:20.

I had assumed a couple of things about our tickets and the couchettes. I assumed there were only four beds to a room, thus we'd have the compartment to ourselves. No one told me this, it is something I thought I remembered from having taken a night train sometime maybe twenty years prior. So the first surprise is that there are 6 beds to a tiny space. "This must be what it was like for the astronauts," I thought.

Next, I realized that all four of our tickets weren't even in the same compartment. Dang. We had to split the family up. We were a couple of rooms apart, but we would make do.

I almost forgot a third surprise. A family had hunkered down in our couchettes, but thankfully, they scampered when they realized they didn't have the tickets to be there. I was grateful that a train steward (although reeking of alcohol) came by to verify everyone's tickets.

At the next stop, I switched my couchette which was to be the top bunk with a friendly chap who came on board so that I might be closer to my son. Later on, a trio of snowboarder dudes dropped off their baggage and equipment, despite the fact there were only two beds left. (There was already someone tucked in on the right top bunk when we arrived. He was watching a film on this laptop.) For the next couple of hours, these dudes kept coming in and out of the cabin rooting through their things. I was quite annoyed.

Soon after, I reached for my purse that I tucked between my head and the wall, but it went missing. I checked all over my bed, but nothing. Thank goodness the "dudes" weren't around right then, or I may have accused and cursed them. I felt around some more and noticed that there was a big section of my bed missing (about one third). I got up and was panicked about my purse (having just had my wallet pinched the week before in a cafe in Paris). I looked on my son's bed below me. Sure enough, there was my purse, right next to the door, and not too far from the third of my bed that had fallen down onto my son's bed. I tried to push it out of his way as best I could (there was no getting it back up to my level).

I then began my light slumber in which I dare not turn over for I would fall of the bed because of the fallen part. It was like sleeping on a plank. It seems that I was asleep only 10 minutes when we arrived at Gare d'Austerlitz, but it must have been more, and I felt alright. It was a little tricky evacuating 6 people with lots of gear from the little room. We had to cooperate and take turns moving which was kind of getting to me.

I'm still amazed that six normal sized bodies (not midgets or hobbits), as well as luggage and snowboards, were all able to fit in about a 7 x 7 x 10 foot cube, and spend over 8 hours together. Only in France. It wasn't quite like in the picture above, but it was sort of cozy. In a creepy sort of a way.

(Picture from http://mct.sbb.ch/mct/fr/euronight_sechser.jpg)

Bienvenue chez les Ch'tis

2008-03-10T15:05:00.000-07:00

I succumbed to the fervor. I had to find out first hand what kind of film this was that appealed to everyone between the ages of 7 and 70. It had a fraction of the budget of Asterix et les Jeux Olympiques, while it was quadrupling it in the number of spectators. It was being compared to a Louis Funès film, La Grande Vadrouille, which I'm told is a not-to-be-missed classic, which is itself compared with Jerry Lewis films.

Indeed, the film was quite silly, taking a lot of its humor from a poke at the North of France, where the main character has been transfered, to his horror. In this Northern town of Bergues, the residents have a strange speech pattern, to which the main character, Philippe, mistakes as a speech impediment. It is difficult for me to catch 100% of the dialogue in a French film, but with the added /ch/ sound where normally an /s/ sound should come out, I was about at 65-70% comprehension. For example, "C'était le sien" would come out of a Berguesian mouth as "chétait le chien", which of course creates comical mishaps. Thankfully, in this sort of slapstick film, all the dialogue need not be understood. However, the cast did a fine job of speaking in this unusual fashion.

Overall, it was an amusing film, both in the story line, as well as the poke at French regional stereotypes. Additionally, it is a fun film to see at the cinema because the audience was loud with laughter, some even launching forward out of their seats with a sudden burst of giggles. In all, chétait un achez bon film.

Final scenes of Tunisia

2008-03-10T14:50:00.001-07:00

Tunisia was a mix of Italy, Florida and Mexico to me. The green hills and groves of olive trees could have been in Tuscany. The ever present orange, which we often had fresh squeezed, as well as the strips of white one story buildings was reminiscent of Florida. The warmth of the people, the enthusiasm for soccer, and the readiness to negociate at the markets took me back to Mexico.

Here is a parting look at Tunisia:

A litte bit of Tuscany

There were several carloads of men and boys riding crazily on the highway heading to a big soccer match between to Tunisian teams, sitting on the edges of the windows while flying their team's flag.

Q and M wouldn't get near the camel fearing it would spit at them.

These were a couple of nice folks whose restaurant we frequented. They gave us a big bag of oranges the day before we left.

View from the hotel.

Dates growing in a tree.

Being different

2008-03-10T14:31:00.000-07:00

We stood out in Tunisia. Having two blonde haired kids attracted a lot of attention. Most of the time our daughter was okay with the cheek pinching and hair patting. One of the strongest reactions was from a carload of teenage girls who pulled up next to us in the tourbus. They saw our kids, and pointed, smiled and laughed. Next a carload of teenage boys did the same. Our kids seemed to enjoy the attention.

Even though we didn't like how the vendors demanded we enter their stores, it was fun to hear them guess where we were from. We had many people guess us as German, Swiss, Norwegian, Russian, English, French and Austrian. I would say yes, whenever they got close. For example, is someone would say "Schweiss?", I would say "yah" because technically, my name being Schweitzer, along the way someone had indeed come from Switzerland. I have to say that at no point did anyone guess American or Irish. Not a lot of Americans visit the area. We felt special even though we pretended to be Canadian at times.

Sidi Bou Said

2008-03-10T14:08:00.001-07:00

Sidi Bou Said is a beautiful town set on a lush hillside perched over the Gulf of Tunis and the Mediterranean Sea. A resident has opened up his house to give the tourist a look at a typical home in the area and in return he is earning money for a restoration.

Carthage

2008-03-10T03:29:00.000-07:00

Carthage was a grand Phoenician civilization until it was destroyed by the Romans over a four year span. I have to say, I don’t think that all that dang baby sacrificing to the gods early on in their history helped the Phoenicians out- they were wiped out all the same. Come to think of it, if those babies had become Phoenician citizens, maybe they could have held their own against the invaders. The Romans later rebuilt Carthage and it again became a glorious and important port. Ruins from both civilizations can be seen today. Modern day Carthage is a gorgeous area, surrounded by the Mediterranean, the Lake of Tunis and mountains in the distance.

Hammamet and The Bardo

2008-03-10T02:20:00.000-07:00

Hammamet is a pretty area with a promenade along the Mediterranean. Its medina is enclosed within fortified walls, which made it even more maze-like and thus more difficult to get to the outside where there were no venders. Now, I'm not totally anti-capitalist, but I'd rather not purchase items from people blocking my path and telling me to enter their stores, one after another.

The Bardo was a palace turned museum near Tunis that specialized in mosaics as well as archaeological artifacts. Some "early man" artifacts at the Bardo.

A tile in the likeness of Jesus from 400 A.D.

Tunisia

2008-03-06T12:16:00.000-08:00

I've always wondered what North Africa was like. I had met Algerians and Tunisians years ago in Paris, and they'd tell me about their beautiful country and share some of the regional music with me. One of the advantages of living in Paris, is having the continent of Africa nearby. It was but a 2 1/2 hour flight to Tunis.

First Impressions of Tunisia
Blue Skies
Palm Trees
Friendly People
Distant Mountains
Olive Groves
Sheep in Green Patches
Women Stooped in a Field
Goats on a Slope
A Lone Sheep Tied to the Guardrail

Medina of Tunisia
Labyrinthine streets.
Storekeepers beckoning.
Deutch, Francais, Anglais? Norwegien? All an effort to better entice you.
Colorful tunics, sequined slippers, not so essential oils, pottery, carpets, fezzes.
Where is the way out? You seem to just get sucked further and further in.
Stop and snack on nut balls. Tasty. Eventually the nearby traders leave us alone as we huddle around our snack.
We find our way back to the opening of the medina. Open space. Sunshine. No venders.

Tunisians react to Maggie and QuinnWaiters won’t let her pass at the restaurant, with smiles on their faces.
Her head is patted twelve times in one day.
A carload of teenage girls, and another of teenage boys smile and point at Q and M.
“Barbie”.
Policeman makes quick movement in a crowd to come over and pat M on the head.
A waiter comes up to her at dinner and make animal sounds in her ear.

Raclette

2008-03-01T14:41:00.000-08:00

One of the reasons I chose Plagne 1800 for our ski destination was a picture in the catalogue of a nice family eating a hot meal. This lodging included an option of having dinner and breakfast as part of the package, and I knew that after a day of panic-stricken skiing, I would want to belly up to a tasty meal without having to cook. After having had Tartiflette, a tasty potato, cheese and ham dish early in the week, I was hoping that a dinner choice would include Raclette at some point in our stay.

As I read the menu board our last evening, I was delighted to see Raclette aux trois fromages on the menu. This is one of those French traditions that hasn’t really caught on in the U.S. I was happy to have my whole family experience Raclette, because it was too hard for me to explain, and to truly appreciate the idea, it had to be tasted. The very friendly servers explained the procedure: get a plate, choose some thinly sliced meats and/or boiled potatoes (and perhaps pickles?), then approach the three offerings of raclette: raw milk, smoked and goat’s cheese. It was an interesting set up. The half rounds of cheese were placed under a heat source which toasted and melted the cheese. Enter the plate of meat and potatoes. The raclette is then angled toward the plate and the server scrapes off a layer of the tangy pungent almost liquid cheese that is nicely browned. I was so psyched, and had a bit of all the cheeses on my potatoes and charcuterie. It’s definitely not a quick way of serving a crowd. People waited in line with their hot potatoes, meat and gherkins, to be topped with the hot oozing cheese of their choice.

It was a wonderful way to end our happy week of skiing. I have to say I was a little choked up (and not because of all that cheese) at saying goodbye to the warm and friendly staff as well as some of the people we’d met. Another little something JP Sartre would have agreed to: Hell is meeting other people, growing to like them, and then saying goodbye, knowing you’ll probably never see them again.

Adieu les Alpes.

Ski report

2008-02-27T12:35:00.000-08:00

After two days of instruction, and two days on my own, I’ve decided that skiing the slopes is more effective on my own. It frees the ski instructor up to yell at the other skiers, and I’m not as likely to be knocked down by someone in my own group. I’m still slow and cautious and getting a bit more comfortable on the blue runs. I like going my own pace and stopping or not stopping where I like. The lessons did help me find out where some skiable terrain was, however. There is one section high on the mountain that I’ve been descending on my bottom. I make it look like so much fun that almost everyone on the slopes wants to slide on down, but they’re afraid of looking silly, so they remain upright.

Sean has been getting into the wild by hiking alpine paths with beautiful vistas.

Q is now signed up for all day ski classes in order to enjoy skiing at his level for a full day. Every time I happen across M during my skiing, she looks sad and wants to go home with me. The last time it was because her pigtails were interfering with her helmet and causing her ears to hurt, which we fixed. However, by the time M arrives home, she is fired up and eager to ski with me in the afternoon. She knows I’m a bit neurotic on the slopes, but she waits at the bottom for me. The kids are really enjoying themselves both on the slopes and at the dinner and breakfast table. The food has been tasty- some savory Savoyard specialties.

Tonight we were treated to a spectacle during dinner. Skiers with torches descended a long slope on a nearby mountain, and afterwards there was quite a fireworks display.

I like the people in our ski area, Plagne 1800, they are average folks. No fur coats, fancy skiwear or beauty ski bunnies. Very friendly and always willing to strike up a conversation.

We are heading back to Paris a little early. We are going to take the “couchette” Friday evening that gets us into Paris at 6:30 AM. There are two bunk beds in the couchette on which we hope to get some sleep. We’ll see about that. I have visions of night marauders busting into our cabin in the wee hours trying to take our ski gear away from us.

Let the skies open up and send snow onto the mountain. It hasn’t snowed in weeks, other than a few flurries today. Each day we take the lift, more ground is revealed where the snow has melted away. So far, the runs have been unaffected, but there’s nothing like fresh snow for skiing. It lessens that horrible crunching sound that those #*@! snowboarders make as they come to a screeching stop or crash centimeters from my skis. Actually, on the serenity slope that I skied earlier today, there were few snowboarders or really anyone at all on the slopes.

After all, JP Sartre would agree that hell is other skiers.

*More pictures at a later date

Here I go again

2008-02-24T09:52:00.000-08:00

All I can say about today’s skiing, is thank goodness no one I knew was in my class. I was in rare screaming form which includes a gutteral, I’m going to die scream as well as a string of profanities scream. I’m not proud of this, it’s how I am at certain low times however.

The kiddies had a great time. We were conservative in the groups we placed them in, and they each were soon moved into a more skillful group. They enjoyed the level of skiing and are eager to return tomorrow, which is more than I can say. I could learn a lot from my kids, but I probably won’t.

The day began with a buffet which always makes anyone with Schweitzer in them very happy. There were croissants, yogurts, cheeses, boil your own eggs, bagettes, cereals, fruit and fruit compote, as well as juices and hot beverages. A great beginning to the day.

I started out skiing okay, but as we went on, I feel I got worse, maybe because the runs got a little harder- but not much. As we headed down a more difficult run, if we stopped at all along the way, my panic would set in, my brain would shut down, and my legs would stop dead in their tracks. It’s a real treat to be my instructor, or in my class.

After a respite for lunch, Q and I headed back out and we tried to navigate back down without going down anything too too hard. Q is amazed at just how incompetent I am on skis. We finally made it back down, but Q realized he would rather sign up for classes in the afternoon than be tortured by me, and I’m totally with him. I was just glad to make it down alive, removing my boots and sliding on my bottom only once. I’m going to wear a different hat tomorrow so no one remembers me.

On a lovelier note, last night the stars were absolutely gorgeous. The alpine skies without a lot of city lights offered a sea of stars.

Here's to a new day tomorrow.

Les Alpes

2008-02-23T13:10:00.001-08:00

Thus begins our week of skiing in the Alps. Doesn’t it sound scary? Skiing in the Alps. I’m mostly a green (in more ways than one) skier, and the thought of skiing part of the famous mountain chain makes me quite nervous. Those who have had the experience of skiing with me know that I like control (yeah!) when I ski. Never going too fast, I make lots of turns with my skis in a continuous wedge shape, and I sort of lean into the mountain, which is totally wrong and makes me the biggest dork on any slope. As you can imagine, no one much likes to ski with me. I even had a foul-mouthed (that’s a lot coming from me) Vietnam vet ski instructor give up on me. But despite me neuroses, I have gotten a bit better.

We had an enjoyable train ride to our destination of Aime/La Plagne, of just under five hours. The route was very scenic with little towns at the base of hills and later mountains, complete with church steeples and farms with sheep and cows. We passed beautiful waterways, some wide and peaceful and others mere streams where one might see gnomes carrying firewood. I noticed gardens along the way growing lettuce and chard.

After a bus ride of 30 minutes we arrived at La Plagne 1800, so called because of its elevation. We are definitely in a beautiful setting, with mountains all around accented with pine trees and ski lifts.

During our tasty pork and duck dinner we finally had time to fold out the map of the slopes, the exciting beginning of any ski trip. I looked and looked and looked some more, but just couldn’t find les pistes vertes. Being a newer skier, it’s very important to locate the green runs, especially on a new mountain in a new country, because they’re the easiest. We chose this area because it said there were 12 green runs, maybe 30 blue, and frankly, I didn’t care about the other colors, because we all know I’m not going down ‘em. Finally, I see about a centimeter length of green run. That’s it? Now, I’m really nervous. Either I’m going to spend 6 days going down un centimetre of green run 30,000 times, or I’m going to break my neck going down a scary blue run. At least that’s what my brain tells me. It has been wrong in the past, and I can only hope it is wrong again.

Let the adventure begin.

La Tour Bonickhausen?

2008-02-18T12:07:00.000-08:00

Q's first "research paper" is due tomorrow. He chose Gustave Eiffel as his subject for obvious reasons. Later, after learning about DaVinci's inventions, he wished he had researched DaVinci instead. Eiffel was pretty cool himself, however.

Facts you may not know about Eiffel or his tower:
Eiffel was born in Dijon with the surname Bonickhausen, but his parents later changed it to Eiffel as the French had a hard time pronouncing his name.
He was not always a good student, but did come away with a degree in Chemistry.
Eiffel worked on the structure for the Statue of Libery.
He worked on the Panama Canal, and was purportedly the first to think of putting a tunnel under the Eiffel Tower and a train system under Paris.
The Eiffel Tower is actually painted three different colors, getting darker from bottom to top, so that it looks uniform.
The completion of the Eiffel Tower was a builder's dream: on time, no mistakes and no accidents. Imagine.

Enjoy pictures that we (mostly my son) took.

Morning on the Mont

2008-02-16T13:19:00.000-08:00

We scurried out to see the tide at about 8:30,and it had come in around Mont St. Michel, making it almost an island. High tide was scheduled for 9:17, so we again went to the front gates to watch it rise.

After breakfast we toured the Abbey which is at the top of Mont St. Michel. We happened in during mass, so the kids and I stayed. Q and M even carried candles up at offertory with other children. The sound of voices singing in that space was spectacular.

Sean hooked up with his buddy Luke who shared some interesting details about the Abbey with us.

Too soon it was time to go, and we headed back out with the tide. Along the way, we passed many pedestrians making the "pilgrimmage" to the Mont just like in the past.

Bring back the franc!

2008-02-15T15:01:00.000-08:00

Mark your calendars, all you franc lovers. On Sunday there will be a demonstration to bring the franc back as the currency in France. I have to admit that if I'm anywhere in the area, I'll be stopping in, as I do miss the franc. I especially miss the 50 franc piece that featured St. Exupery, and his character the Little Prince.

The franc may be out of sight, but not out of mind. At an art opening, I overheard two Parisiennes talking about the price of produce and how it has increased significantly recently. They were comparing prices in francs, not in euros, which I found endearing. Vive le franc!

Mont St. Michel at evening high tide

2008-02-15T12:22:00.000-08:00

As night fell, the tide of tourists slid back out the gates of Mont St. Michel, and a wonderful quiet enveloped the city. What a joy it was to be in this walled city in February, when there are very few people spending the night inside.

We headed to the northern most wall to watch the tide come in. Curiosly enough, we heard the tide approaching before we saw it. We cupped our ears and heard the sound of waves breaking, and the sound grew nearer and nearer. We began to also hear the calls of seagulls, who, my husband guessed, had been advancing with the tide to catch some fish there were caught in the rushing waters. There were at first about seven other people out there with us, then three, and then just the four of us. The fortress was ours for the night. The stars in the sky were fabulous.

Once the tide did come in, it was indeed "galloping" as Hugo wrote. We raced the tide to the front of the walled fortress to see the water approaching the front gates. The kids had a great time watching how high the tide got, just passing the opening of the front gates. The water had gotten so high, it covered the pedestrian bridge that normally allowed it's users to stay dry. Many people jumped over the puddle, or were carried by their partners. Soon, it was too deep to cross. I took pride in telling the people that the tide was just about at its peak and the bridge should be crossable in about a half an hour. And then we discovered another exit which we revealed to people who thought they were stranded.

Hungry, thirsty and tired, we ordered onion soups and a plate of frites to top off our spectacular evening. I waited behind to pay the bill and walked back through the deserted streets. What a special night.

A walk on the bay

2008-02-12T12:01:00.000-08:00

After we walked up the curvy narrow streets to find our hotel room, we headed back outside to walk on the bay at low tide. Next to the bay were signs warning us of the potential dangers, including quicksand, which I of course took very seriously. Acquaintances in Paris and the people at the tourist office recommended a guided tour because it is more safe. But there were no more tours for the day, so we headed off on our own.

We took off our shoes and sank our toes into the cold wet sand, which was not actually sand at all, but silt. It was very slickery.

There were no more people around which made me nervous. The kids were given strict orders to stay behind us. We had self-imposed orders to follow the footprints of those that had gone before. At times, we could not see any footprints, and after a long stint of not seeing any, I declared it was time to turn around.

Sean and the kids made a big smiley face in the sand. While waiting, it felt like there were worms crawling on my feet. I looked closely at my feet, and indeed, tiny little worms? were crawling on my feet. Rather disgusted, I proclaimed, "Okay, time to head back." It was cool, however to see Mont St. Michel from another view with the sun setting behind it.

We washed our feet off in a little puddle left over from high tide, which I now realize was very dirty water. Soon enough we'd wash them in our room inside Mont St. Michel. It was nice to be staying there.

Happy Birthday Sean!

2008-02-11T15:38:00.000-08:00

Along with the other throngs of people sending messages by phone and email, I thought I'd give my spouse a happy birthday shout.

We celebrated his big day first by dining at the Jules Vernes on the Tour Eiffel. The food was really tasty and there was an overriding theme of froth. The little precursory taste of lobster was in a foamy froth, which was light and tasty. Our cauliflower veloute was but a tiny avocado souffle in a cloud of froth until they brought the steamy soup and poured it on the froth. A very cool effect, and delicious. My entree of fish was also on a sea of froth and champignons. I was actually surprised that our carmel pastry dessert was not resting on a bed of froth. A sweet bed of egg whites could have been easily whipped into froth, I think it was an oversight. Overall, a tasty meal, and a gorgeous day to spend overlooking the city of light.

For dinner, Misplaced and Dodging Lions joined us along with DL's beautiful wife, Julie. The kids performed a skit wherein they dressed up like their dad and did a very silly dance. We had a Corsican veal stew with moelleux au chocolat for dessert. Quite a fun night.

Magical Mont St. Michel

2008-02-11T14:58:00.000-08:00

This week's posting will be details of our weekend at Mont St. Michel. During our last visit, there was only time for a brief looksee, and it left us wanting more.

After studying the calendar and tide schedule, it looked like the weekend of February 9th-10th would be a great time to catch the tides at reasonable hours. Saturday night, the tide was scheduled to peak at 9:02, and Sunday morning at 9:17. There are days and weeks in which the tide doesn't come in at all, so we figured we would be very lucky to catch the tide at night and in the morning.

We booked a room about a month and a half ago, and set out on Saturday at 10:30 AM in a rental car. It was a beautiful journey through the countryside, and as we approached Mont St. Michel, small farms with sheep and haystacks were a common sight. It was about a 3 1/2 hour trip in all. You could see Mont St. Michel beckoning in the distance, and I thought about Dorothy finally seeing the majesty of Oz.

Ah, l'architecture!

2008-02-08T14:58:00.000-08:00

A friend recently posted about going to Nice to escape the "monotony of the buildings" in Paris. Personally, I think the buildings are exquisite. You be the judge. Don't forget to click on the image to enlarge it.

Super Tuesday in Paris

2008-02-05T14:59:00.000-08:00

You could feel the excitement today at the American Church where the democratic global primary was being held. Between noon and 10 P.M. Americans could vote for their favorite democratic candidate.

Unlike the usual voting booths in the U.S., here in Paris voters sat at a table and filled out a paper which asked for name, address and phone number. To select the candidate of choice, a box needed to be checked. No hanging chads here. A good old-fashioned check mark in a box.

I saw my painting teacher and we discussed at the voting table how hard it was this year to choose a favorite in the primary. Many of us were torn between Hillary and Obama. I convinced an American who was visiting from Brussels to come in and vote. What I was actually doing was stalling, because I honestly couldn't decide who to choose.

This young woman was at the table having difficulty also. We talked about Hillary and Obama for a little bit, and through discussing it, we were able to finally check a box. That's what I loved most about voting here in Paris. The fact that we could sit down at the voting table and discuss the candidates up to and even after we finally checked that box.

The excitement continues as the results from the States start coming in. This is a scene from the election returns party which took place at 67 rue Pierre Charron. It's an exciting time, potentially voting for our first female or black President. This is the first time that the oversees voters will be sending delegates to the Democratic National Convention. May the best candidate win!

Fat Tuesday

2008-02-05T08:07:00.000-08:00

While walking down the street, I glanced at a couple of teenagers kissing in a doorway. Not too unusual until I noticed the wardrobe. The boy was wearing what looked like prison-striped pyjamas and the girl was wearing pyjamas under a robe. They both were sporting slippers. The building didn't look like a hospital or nut ward. I wanted to take a picture, but kept staring instead. Next, I passed a black angel scurrying down the street with a fabulous pair of black feathered wings. It could be a coincidence I thought. Soon after, I passed a girl with a blue face. I figured there must be a high school play in the neighborhood.

My teacher mentioned picking up her disguised son at school. Finally it dawned on me. "Oh, the students here wear costumes to school for Mardi Gras?", I said aloud. "Yes, they do, and they parade on the street as well if weather permits," she explained to the slow learner.

On my way home were more fun costumes, and I asked the kids if I could take their pictures. They were more than happy to pose. A peace-loving hippie is a popular costume the world over.

I'll quit tomorrow

2008-02-05T03:25:00.000-08:00

Last night I was filled with dread and started my usual avoidance routine which involves actually cleaning up around the house and doing laundry. To most people (as well as myself most of the time), this is just part of the day, or the part that is normally avoided. For me, it's a desperate attempt to escape what I really needed to do.

What I should have been doing:
Send out a girl scout related email (why did I get involved?).
Rehearse my lines for today's theatre class.

After maxing out on the laundry, I finally sent off the email. Not so painful.

However, as for the lines I needed to memorize, I launched into my other mode of coping: deciding I'll just quit. It's too hard. It's taking too much of my time. I'm just cheap entertainment for the other people in my class (my bad accent AND bad acting must be amusing). As you can imagine, this just sent me spiraling downward, filling me with negative energy.

I decided to at least look at the scenes I needed to study. It turned out there were only two scenes, as opposed to three as I originally thought, and the scenes weren't as long as I feared.

After reading through the script, I realized, I have the b---- role in each scene. Now mind you, in real life, it is not hard for me to really get into this role. But the characters in this scene weren't acting how I wanted them to act. It was hard to portray them as my teacher wanted us to. I was a little irritated with her. I kept thinking "that's not how I would do it in real life!" And of course I wondered, why am I the be-ahtch everytime? That could also be a philosophical question, but there's not time right now.

Finally it dawned on me, "that's why it's called ACTING, you sensitive little bull head". So I need to act like a neurotic family member, which if I recall, I can do pretty well in real life. I think part of the problem is that we are working from a Woody Allen movie, and his female characters leave a lot to be desired.

But here goes.

The fun of immersion education

2008-02-04T15:02:00.000-08:00

This is to balance out my last report on the kids' schooling- the perils of immersion education.

Today our daughter came skipping out of school with this darling little recipe. It is a simple French cucumber salad.

Upon arriving home, M. eagerly washed her hands and we set out to follow the recipe. I would read out "épluche le concombre", and she would diligently scrape the green skin off. There were no quantities given, so she just added what she felt was right. After all four ingredients were combined, my little chef said, "it's better if they soak a while in the dressing." By the time dinner was served, they were quite perfect.

Our son has been busy adding drawings to his history text, as well as learning how to conjugate avoir, être and -er verbs. Every couple of weeks he is given a French song to sing. The song for the past two weeks is actually a poem by Jacques Prévert, set to music by Joseph Kosma and sung by Yves Montand. It's quite a long poem, and we listened to the song to try and make it easier, but it's a tricky one in terms of tune and rhythm. Little Q. is on his own for this one.

Sean's night out...

2008-02-04T14:57:00.000-08:00

While I'm sitting at home watching documentaries on my Fujitsu, my husband is out painting the town with Carla Bruni's father and step mom. I'm doing him the favor of posting his brush with fame despite the fact that I was not invited to said dinner. Check out his story on:
http://panicinnewyork.blogspot.com/

Day in La Defense

2008-02-02T15:28:00.000-08:00

I've often seen the skyscrapers looming in the distance, and have appreciated how its modern arch lines up with the Arc de Triomphe and the Arc du Carrousel du Louvre, but I've never had the interest or need to go to la Défense.

However, on Thursday my husband needed to pick up some products for work at the Toys R Us in la Défense, and I decided to meet him there after he had time to check out the aisles. Having barely entered the Dome, I spot my husband sitting at the Starbuck's. He's been a bit homesick lately, and what better place to go than Le Dome at La Défense. They have Ben and Jerry's, Starbucks, and a cinema in addition to Toys R Us.
We decide to visit the Arch despite the price of 9 Euros to get to the top. There are a couple of modern painting exhibits, including paintings with a 3-D effect, and yes, you get to wear the fun glasses. I have to say that the view wasn't very interesting at the top, but there is a film that describes the history of the Arch which is fairly interesting. The glass elevator ride to the top and back down was kind of thrilling.

Because it was such a cold day, and there was an unsettling breeze blowing, we decided to see a movie. We chose Into the Wild directed by Sean Penn. I thought it was a phenomenal and heartbreaking story.

Overall, unless homesick for an American style mall and in France for many months, I would forego La Défense, albeit it is a good place to cure a dose of homesickness and to see a film.

Hey, who turned out the lights!

2008-02-01T15:02:00.000-08:00

One of the daily life differences between the U.S. and France is the timed lighting. Yes, we all know about it, but at precisely the wrong moment, we forget how important this difference is, and are left, literally in the dark.

While dining, my husband accompanied our son to the restaurant's bathroom. My husband came back and my boy "finished his business". He was gone for an unusually long time, so I was just about to check on him. "I was going to the bathroom and the light went out. I couldn't find the switch," our son said with amused disbelief upon his return. He shared with us how he methodically felt the walls on either side of the door, and finally struck upon the switch. (Of course I asked if he washed his hands after- he did).

This timed switched lighting is tricky for those who aren't used to it. Even though we know the lights are timed, when entering a room, hallway or a stairway that has a light on, we just expect that the light will stay on until we choose to turn it off. It's as if the lighting in France mocks anyone who isn't European. The lights conjure up funny little escapades that would leave the victim in the dark at the most inopportune moments. And sure enough, you can almost hear the lights giggling when trapped between etages in a completely darkened apartment for forgetting to tap the switch of the light that was already on.

Touche pas à mon taxi !

2008-01-30T07:38:00.000-08:00

Wednesday morning hundreds of taxis blocked the streets in Place République as a stand against Sarkozy’s intention of introducing a few thousand more taxis in Paris. Through adding more taxis to the streets, Sarkozy hopes to add jobs and make it easier to catch a cab in Paris.

Laurent Lasne, author of “Taxis,Paris solidaires", which recounts the history of the taxi in Paris, stated several concerns with Sarkozy’s plan. It will introduce too many taxis into the area which will flood the market, and no one will be able to make enough to live on. One taxi driver agreed, “Yes, we’ll be doing crossword puzzles all day”. Another concern is the traffic. Taxis spend much of their time already in traffic and they say introducing yet more taxis will add to the aggravation. The drivers pointed out that the only time it is hard to catch a cab is at rush hour, and adding more traffic will not be a solution.

Another driver was upset that along with job security, he was outraged that Sarkozy was considering waiving the license fee for the new drivers which can cost tens of thousands of Euros. Current drivers will want to be reimbursed for the licenses they have paid for.

Alain Estival, the President of one of the taxi unions, Federation Nationale des Artisans du Taxi, stated some of his concerns as well as reassured the public that they are willing to come to the table to negotiate. He also stated that they are not leaving their clients in need. If people need to make it to their medical appointments, we will take them, and then return to the strike. He then pulled out the very first money he made as a cabbie years ago. It was a five dollar bill given to him by a Texan who told him to keep it for good luck. Monsieur Estival hopes that the bill will bring him luck during negotiations.

Trip to Nice

2008-01-27T12:57:00.000-08:00

We snuck in a quick trip to Nice to check it out. The whole region "la Cote d'Azur" is very lovely.

Q and M are not supposed to miss school for such frivolous reasons. So to avoid outright lying, we strategically had Sean call in twice to P at the front dest, who doesn't speak much English, to report that the kids wouldn't be in school that day. No questions asked. Phew!, as the kids would say. The teachers didn't ask about their absences at all when we got back.

Here are some pictures:

The "orbitron"

2008-01-26T12:43:00.000-08:00

You may have thought the orgasmatron was only a fictional cylinder from Woody Allen's "Sleeper", but here it is in the South of France, residing at the Comfort Inn in Nice.

As I stepped into this bathroom, I erupted not in an orgasm, but in a spasm of laughter due to the silliness of its design. The entire circular bathroom, except for the steel bars, is made of plastic. Oh, the seventies! I took to calling it the "orbitron" because I didn't want the kids bragging at school, "we had an orgasmatron in our hotel!"

He's not ready for the streets yet, dad!

2008-01-25T00:33:00.000-08:00

All manner and ages of people can be seen riding their velos in the streets of Paris. But this was taking things a bit too far. This father and son duo even entered the roundabout at Place Marechal Juin, complete with cars coming at them from every angle, and the dad was holding the young tike on his bike up so he wouldn't fall over. I hope they made it home all right.

Perils of language immersion education

2008-01-24T12:18:00.000-08:00

My daughter came home from school today and showed me her backside. She had a flap of jeans barely covering her bottom. It seems she was leaning against a fence in the park at recess, and as she went to walk away, her pants caught on a piece of the fence. One of the older English speaking girls helped her out of the situation, but it cost her a big rip in her pants.

When I explained to her that she could have called and asked us to bring something else to wear, she said she didn't know how to do that. The poor thing doesn't know how to ask for help at school when she needs it. I further explained that she could have told the teachers about her pants and could ask to call her parents, but in an effort to force the kids to speak French, the teachers act like they don't know any English, and she believes them. And to try to tell the story in French was just unfathomable. She just toughed it out. I asked if any of the teachers knew about her pants, and she said "no, I just kept turning my bottom away from people so they wouldn't see." She was proud to report that only 4 people knew of her ripped pants, one of them being her brother. This happened in the morning, and she was at school until 5:20.

I'm glad that when Q was sick at school, it was obvious to everyone, and they had him lay down in the sick room, as they phoned me to come get him. Otherwise, the poor little creature would have toughed it out, too, because he certainly couldn't have explained how awful he was feeling in French.

I have tried to tell the kids that if there's a serious situation, the teachers really do understand English, that it's okay and important to speak up if they need to in English. But they don't believe me.

Until next time, Bobby

2008-01-24T12:12:00.000-08:00

An old friend passed away today. Bobby was someone who insisted on enjoying life. Whether it was a Hispanic Festival in Carthage , a Reggae concert in Ault Park or a dance sampler at the Contemporary Arts Center, he could be found all over the city. We often found each other at the free snack table at events. His form of transportation was often amusing. I recall he had a big old white, kind of beat up station wagon for a while, as well as a Pacer that outlived its days. Often though, Bobby arrived at the varied destinations by taking the bus, or riding his bike, or combining the two, the bus would take him so far, and he would continue on with his journey on two wheels.

Often times, we’d connect in meetings. He liked the way I would sum up my thoughts by saying “I don’t know, I’m just glad to be here.” I think we both kind of lived by that philosophy. He would challenge the status quo at times. It bothered him that at some of the meetings people called on each other to speak next. When he spoke, he always asked if there was anyone who wanted to speak, who might not otherwise have the chance.

I never really knew what Bobby did outside of meetings and cultural events. I had a sense that he was a free spirit, working when he needed to, taking each day as it came. His demeanor was certainly laid back. His dress was casual, jeans and converse high tops. For his fancier outings, he topped off his outfit with a suit jacket. He had long black hair that had twisted naturally into dreadlocks over time.

He picked me up when I was down. After a particularly sad breakup years ago (weren’t they all devastating in your 20’s?), he told me things would be all right, and then he gave me one of my favorite nicknames, “top shelf”, which is the ultimate for a couple of ex-boozers.

When I’m out in the world, I’m going to miss Bobby. But hopefully, his way of embracing life and people will stay with me.