Public Urination

I tend to associate public urination with homeless people who have difficulties accessing facilities. But, the other day while walking through a suburb outside of Paris, I encountered two men peeing on the sidewalk. It was only 6pm and bright as day. Both men were within arms reach as I passed them and neither showed signs of being destitute. Furthermore, they were in residential areas. The first man was peeing at the corner of a park nonchalantly. The second man was a truck driver who had obviously pulled over to relieve himself, a few cars down from two women who were having a conversation next to their car. Why he thought peeing on an apartment building was acceptable is beyond me. In disgust, I asked the boyfriend about it, and he quipped, "Dogs pee on the sidewalk and men pee in the gutter." Don't worry, my boyfriend is house trained, but as for the rest of the male french population, I really cannot say. Dirty french indeed.

Horseshoes and Steering Wheels

The summer of two thousand and eight, the boyfriend and I were walking around a park on the California peninsula, when he spotted a group of people playing horseshoes. One of them was wearing overalls, and at the sight the BF's face lit up like he had just seen the most awesome thing in "le monde entier".

In fact, he was so excited about it that he pulled out his camera phone and asked the group if he could take their picture. Slightly mortified, I hid behind a tree in an attempt to imply that I was not associated with him, but it was too late as they already knew.

Actually, it was very cute and endearing. The horseshoe players thought it was great that he wanted a memento of their sport. Besides they too got an amusing anecdote to tell all their friends. So, it was a win-win.

Well, last night driving on the Boulevard Péripherique, I spotted a green Mercedes sedan out my right hand mirror that's steering wheel was also on the right. I just about died of excitement. Delighted, I pointed it out to the BF and his friend R., who both looked at me like I was insane.

Apparently this is a common sight, so they didn't know what all the fuss was about. I had to explain that "This is my horseshoe moment! Think about it, nowhere, on the CONTINENT of North America, can you find a car with the steering wheel on the right side."

The BF doubted me, so we added the caveat, "Unless, they are super rich and want one for fun, but they don't count cause they're not normal." 

Street Art and Space Invaders

 

Paris is a goldmine for graffiti. Oftentimes it consists of ugly tags or initials scratched into the windows of the metro. Those I am not so fond of, but there are also beautiful stencils and bright colors that liven up old decrepit buildings and work to make the dingy aspects of Paris more beautiful. Unfortunately, while I have appreciated great street art while walking around, I haven't taken many pictures, which is something I intend to remedy.

Luckily, I found a great walking tour from the blog Invisible Paris. Even better, one of my most pressing, unanswered questions has been answered: What is up with the all the video game icons? Here is an example:

This is picture was taken from the blog Paris Street Art, which is a good resource for examples of "space invaders" and creative graffiti.

When I asked the boyfriend about the mosaic aliens I kept spotting on walls, he was very blase about it. It seems that they have become just another feature of Paris scenery for him. Which makes sense, because they are EVERYWHERE. I have discovered that they constitute an entire movement, and are spreading worldwide! Don't believe me? Here is a website that chronicles their invasion, but only features a fraction of the space invaders I have spotted in Paris. 

French Beauty Products

I ran out of soap from home last week, so when we went to the grocery store I sniffed a bunch of bottles and selected this one. It is a very strong citrus scent with a slightly masculine lemon verbena overtone.  When I say strong, I mean industrial cleaning product strong. While I feared this would get nauseating, miraculously it hasn't. Instead it wakes me up in the morning, and the scent stays on my skin after I rinse off, so for the rest of the day I smell slightly lemony and clean. Even better, it makes my skin super soft. In fact, it has been making my skin look so healthy, I've started using it on my face, and my pores are less clogged.

Given my success with the body wash, when I realized I was running out of shampoo and conditioner, I became totally excited to buy new French versions. I did the smell test again at the grocery store and mango/jasmine was the winner. I used it for the first time today, and not only does my hair smell amazing, but it is super soft and well-behaved. This is quite a feat since I have thick, dry hair with a mind of its own. But, not today. Today, I am amazingly well-coiffed.

The moral of this blog post? French beauty products are superior to their American counter-products. I am a total convert, especially given that I have bought cheap options at the grocery store. My goodness, if these are the bottom rung, how good can they get? Hold me, my knees are weak at the thought!

Day to Day

Generally when one goes to a foreign country, they go for vacation. Friends or family join and all of them stay in a hotel and sight-see during the day. Normally, they are completely removed from day to day life such as cleaning the shower or doing paperwork.

In my case, while I am here on vacation, I am living in an apartment with my boyfriend and have been helping him finish up his thesis and pack to move to the United States. That, coupled with the fact that I have spent about three months in Paris this year, means that my life has become a bit more mundane.

I have almost run out of tourist activities. The last major one of my list is to go to Versailles, which we are going to do next week. (Yes, I am ridiculously spoiled.) I am super excited to go, France does opulence right.

As far as today, I woke up at seven am to be ready when the piano movers came. They arrived at eight twenty and were out the door in fifteen minutes. They were incredibly efficient; I was very impressed, but they work for the conservatory, so they should be good.

The man who purchased the piano from the BF arrived at nine, chatted a bit, picked up the piano stool, and money was exchanged. The boyfriend left to take care of business at the laboratory, and I then spent the next hour playing Minoto Point and Click games on the internet.

They are so adorable and cute and fun. Plus, there is tons of delightful Engrish and hilarious logic to solve the games. Not to mention, a new one comes out every week! Love, love, love. So perhaps, I am not doing what one would expect in Paris, but as dorky as my interests may be, it is pretty fantastic to have the time to play silly games guilt free.

French Cuisine

It has been about a month since I have arrived in Paris, and I have done little to no cooking since I have been here. Why bother when breakfast consists of a baguette, butter, fruit, and yogurt? For dinner, we either go out to eat, order pizza, or buy food that doesn't require much more than heating it up. If anything, my laziness has been continually rewarded as everything has been delicious.

But, I am finally taking the plunge, and intend to start making dinner from scratch. Since ingredients are different here, I cannot make what I would cook in California, so I have spent some time on the internet compiling recipes that a novice like myself should be able to handle, for which the blog chocolateandzucchini.com has been invaluable.

Tonight, after going out to dinner (Japanese), we will go to Monoprix and buy ingredients. Let's hope that I can convert grams to ounces and pounds successfully. I am not to worried though, so far it seems that French cooking is surprisingly simple. It is the presentation that makes the food look so complicated. Nonetheless, wish me luck!

Mille-Feuilles

The boyfriend brought me to Rue Sainte-Anne the other day for authentic Japanese food. There are multiple restaurants all grouped together, and all were packed during lunch hour. Luckily, we came right before lunch, so we were seated right away. Otherwise, we may have had quite a wait. 

We ended up at Sapporo Ramen (37, Rue Sainte-Anne 75001 Paris, France), and it was delicious. I had Miso Ramen with Katsudon, and he had Miso Ramen with Gyoza. So much food, I tried to eat it all, but it was an impossible task. Of course, the boyfriend managed just fine.

(As an interesting side note, restaurants do not offer "doggy bags" in France. You either finish it, or you don't.) 

After which, despite my tummy's misgivings, we split a Mille-Feuilles (custard, thin slices of pastry dough, and powdered sugar) at the Patisserie (I cannot find the name) across the street. I find a new favorite dessert weekly, but this one was so good it was a bonafide mouth-gasm. My boyfriend spoils me, and I love it! 

Quick Sprite

 

Quick is a fast food chain that originated in Belgium, but is now French owned. It is essentially the equivalent of a Wendy's, Burger King, or McDonald's, and is so prevalent that the boyfriend's mom was surprised to hear that we don't have the franchise in the U.S. as well. Besides having pink toilet paper in the public restroom (I know, I cannot get over colored toilet paper), there isn't anything particularly special about their products. They do not salt their fries, and they sell Fanta without bubbles. What is strange, at least from an American perspective, is how slow Quick is. Fast food restaurants in France do not have automated ordering systems. In the U.S., you order, pay, get a number, and wait for your food to be called. In France, you order, stand in front of the register, watch your cashier assemble your order on trays, and then pay. The food is pre-made by workers in the back, but the system puts a lot of stress on the cashier, and the line can get rather long. That said, Quick will always have a soft spot in my heart because they gave me the sweet elixir that is French Sprite (the BF ordered it and offered me some). It tastes nothing like American Sprite as it isn't very sweet. It leaves me breathless, thus I am to inept to put its carbonated greatness into prose. Just do yourself a favor, if you come to France, order yourself a Sprite.

The US Embassy in Paris

Today while dilly-dallying as I waited for the boyfriend to complete his visa paperwork, I decided to take a picture of the US Embassy because, as you can see, it is very pretty. I was then promptly rushed my three men in blue who were waving their hands in the air, and yelling at me, "Non, non, non." It was very alarming. I cannot remember if "le flic" (low level slang for police officer), spoke to me in English or French, but nevertheless, as he stood over me, he made it very clear that I was to delete the picture on the spot. Indeed, I had forgotten how to do so, but he waited quite patiently (laughing when I cited being American in an effort to demonstrate my innocence and U.S. of A. pride). When I showed him the next picture on my camera, some ritzy hotel next door, smiling he said, "C'est bon," and sauntered off. I decided to retreat to the nearby park to wait, so as not to arouse any more suspicion about my intentions. So, in case you were concerned, the US Embassy is very well guarded, and no pictures are allowed. Unless of course, you do a quick wikipedia search. Then you will find the photograph the heads this blog entry. But, admittedly, mine was a much closer shot, too close for comfort. 

A&F Polos

I have been seeing men's Abercrombie and Fitch shirts everywhere lately. All the shirts have the letters A&F emblazoned on the chest, and most are polos in neutral colors. Interestingly, the majority of men I have seen them on are in their mid-thirties, and tuck their shirts in. The result is very fitted and body-conscious. Furthermore, with dark rinse jeans, a belt, and loafers, surprisingly non-casual. I am generally not a fan of A&F, but dapper French men are providing a compelling argument, and I may be changing my mind.

Pizza and Paris

 

When I learned for the first time that I would be coming to Paris, I imagined romantic dinners over candlelight at bistros and creperies with my boyfriend. Pizza parlors never figured into my reveries. But they should have, because pizza is just as beloved in Paris as it is in the United States. In addition, my boyfriend loves pizza with such fanaticism that I am bereft of the skills to the express the depth of such a love.

I am fairly certain, that in a perfect world he would eat pizza every night for dinner (gnocchi for lunch). As it is,we eat pizza roughly three times a week, and I am an accomplice to my own culinary overdose.While he was writing his thesis, he deserved to eat whatever helped keep him in a positive frame of mind. Now that he has finished his thesis, it seems unfair to withhold his just desserts, pizza or otherwise.

Last night, we went to Del Arte, an Italian chain restaurant that is very popular on a Friday night. His orders show just how creative toppings are, and thus why it is easier to be a pizza addict in France. For the main course, he ordered a four cheese pie with two sunny side eggs on top. For desert, he had another pie, this one topped with warm bananas and chocolate.

Tonight, we will be ordering delivery from Speed Rabbit Pizza, which we do fairly frequently. One of the BF's friends is coming over tonight to play video games, and pizza is the perfect no-fuss, fast dinner in between Guitar Hero and Final Fantasy (or whatever they will be playing). So when in France, do as the French do, and eat pizza.

Fashionable Toilet Paper

We know that Parisians are all about fashion, fashion, fashion, but until today, I did not know how far reaching fashion can be. Hello color coordinated toilet paper! At our local grocery store, colored toilet paper abounds. There are pink, peach, black, floral, and even scented papers. I spent a considerable amount of time weighing my options. First, I rejected the scented rolls, for fear of cloying fragrances. I then began to debate the colored papers. I can foresee misplacing the black during a sleep haze at three in the morning, which should be avoided at all costs. Peach seems tacky, which is a no. And finally, given our light green bathmats, pink would be too preppy. Ultimately, we selected soft white rolls with a light blue floral pattern subtly imprinted upon the sheets. The fashion lover within is pleased, but my eco-friendly self is perplexed. Aren't dyed toilet paper rolls bad for the environment? And if so, dare I say it, should Paris be a tad less fashionable?

Pastis and Paranoia

Long before I had met the Parisian boyfriend, I read all of Peter Mayle's books, a British expat in Provence. My mother and I started with "A Year in Provence," his first book. It remains my favorite, which may be  due to his hilarious accounts of drinking pastis with his fellow provencal townsfolk. I have never seen pastis in the U.S., and have always wanted to try it. At the house warming party I attended the other night, I convinced the BF to have a glass, so that I could take a sip. Upon tasting it, I promptly relieved him of his drink, which he didn't mind at all. While he drank a Heineken, I luxuriated in liquid black licorice. I know many people don't like black licorice, but I love it. Furthermore, Pernod ( a famous pastis brand) had no bite, so suffice to say that I have found my new favorite alcoholic beverage. Which definitely took the edge off, after I managed to lock myself in the hosts' "les toilettes," and couldn't get out. Three minutes of panicked lock jiggling in a very small room, that contains nothing but a toilet, is very stressful. Do note, that after I finally exited, I saw other people go in and out, seemingly with no difficulties. I really don't know. The perils of being an American in Paris are everywhere (the locks are different), and it has been producing a fair amount of paranoia on my part...  

Carte D'or (Chocolat Noir)

I was super excited when I found this ice cream last week, because not only is it dark chocolate, but the cacao content is 70 percent! But, when I busted it out for dessert, I was completely overwhelmed. I am a dark chocolate lover, and I couldn't eat more than a few spoonfuls.

However, today, after three hours of housecleaning (so many dirty dishes!), I had a stroke of brilliance. Cut up some chilled golden apples and add a few spoonfuls of ice cream on top. Once the ice cream melts a bit it tastes like cold chocolate syrup, except super dark. Mmm...

Troubles with Grammar

I am attempting to channel Brigitte Bardot tonight. The boyfriend and I are going to his friends' house warming party tonight. I've got the tousled blond hair, winged black eyeliner, and boat-necked black and white striped shirt (which the boyfriend ironed for me!) down pat. Now if only I had her mastery of the French language.

I spent most of my day proofreading the boyfriend's physics thesis. As I took the minimum amount of science courses required in both high school and college, it has been an ordeal.

As the boyfriend is exceedingly logical, he asks me to explain my corrections. I resorted to wikipedia-ing 'however' today in order to explain how it functions as a conjunctive adverb in a sentence, and where it should be placed.You cannot break up the verb and the predicate with a conjunctive adverb. You just can't!

My trouble explaining why grammar rules function the way they do reveals just how big the gap is between the humanities and the sciences. In the humanities, you can chalk a talent up to being a gift. In the sciences, you must belabor each and every potential condition that could of possibly brought that talent into existence and then explicate why in disjointed 'scientific' English.

English Tea

Today I ventured off to Tea and Tattered Pages from my bookstore post.

I was so excited leaving the apartment, looking forward to speaking English with someone other than my boyfriend. Filled with hope, I walked in the red lacquered door, and she said, "Hello." Elated, I replied in kind.

But then, for some inexplicable reason, she could not understand me.

When I inquired about tea, I was met with a blank expression. I repeated myself four or five times. I mimed drinking from a tea cup. Finally, she led me to the back of the store and gave me a menu.

"See, tea!" I pointed

"Oh, I thought you said, "Deeze," and that you wanted something special."

"No, just tea."

After ordering and settling the confusion, I thought she might become friendlier. No, not the case. She did, however, chat extensively with every other customer who entered, in multiple languages.

On the plus side, her cat didn't reject me. He rubbed against my pant legs and seemed only marginally intent on clawing down the tablecloth from underneath my tea set.

Once I finished my pot of English Breakfast, the cat began to retch on the carpet. I tried to move him to the parquet, but it was too late. I took this as my cue to leave, but I couldn't in good conscious without telling her that the cat was sick.

This seemed to only secure her opinion that I was a bit daft. Rather than endure any more awkwardness, I left money on the table (without getting my euro back in change), said goodbye, and hightailed it out the door.

Suffice to say, it was a disappointment.

Essential French Phrases

The boyfriend reminded me today that I should start studying up on my French, so I did some internet searches for useful French phrases. And the heavens smiled down on me because I found this website, which is bound to help my retention rate. Behold some truly useful phrases:

"You've put on weight"
"Tu as grossi"
(tu ah gro - si)

"Are you drunk?"
"Est-ce que vous êtes ivre?"
(es - ke voo zet eevr)

"You're a complete moron"
"Tu es completement debile"
(tu eh com - plet - e - men de - beel)

 "You get on my nerves"
"Tu me peles le jonc"
(tu me pel - e le zhonc)

"I'd help you, but I don't like you."
"Je vous aurais bien aide, mais je ne vous aime pas."
(zhe voo zaw - ray bien ai - de may zhe ne voo zaim - e pah)

"Do it yourself."
"Faites-le vous-même"
(fay - teh le voo mehm)

"Stop bothering me!"
"Parle à mon cul, ma tête est malade"
(parl a mon cul, ma teht eh ma - lahd)

"It could be quite nice if it were decorated with taste."
"Ça pourrait être joli si c'etait décoré avec goût"
(sa poo - ray etr zho - li si se - tay de - cor - ay avec gu)

Now admittedly it may not seem desirable to be bitchy in two languages, but how else will I be able to express myself? "Bonjour. Comment t'allez vous" is just not going to cut it.

English Bookstores

I have a yen to go on a literary jaunt through Paris. The logical first stop is Shakespeare & Co (Address: 37, rue de la Bûcherie, 75005 PARIS) but while the bookstore is lovely with an awesome selection, my last visit nearly drove me to obscenities. Two annoying teenage girls were discussing how Kerouac's "On the Road" is I quote, "like the worst book ever...I mean it doesn't even have punctuation!...eww, I just don't understand why anyone would want to read that." Do picture a sneer and a valley girl accent as they complete the image. Maybe the next visit will be different?

However there turns out to be a plethora of English bookstores in Paris. Who knew?

Abbey Bookshop - La Librairie Canadienne
Address: 29, rue de la Parcheminerie, 75005 PARIS
Conveniently this bookstore is around the corner from Shakespeare & Co, and if my research is correct, they serve free coffee!

American University of Paris Bookstore
Address: American Church — 65, quai d'Orsay, 75007 PARIS
Being a university, I assume they only carry course work for classes. But, now I know where to find Americans!

Attica-la librairie des langues
Address: 64, rue de la Folie Méricourt, 75011 PARIS
The website is written entirely in French which is daunting, but they do have a section devoted to "Anglais americain".  

The Book Cellar
Address: 23, rue Jean de Beauvais, 75005 PARIS
I cannot find a website for this one. I am intrigued...

Galignani
Address: 224, rue de Rivoli, 75001 PARIS
The oldest English bookstore on the continent!

Nouveau Quartier Latin
Address: 78, boulevard Saint-Michel, 75006 PARIS
This one also does not have a website.

The Red Wheelbarrow Bookstore
Address: 22, rue Saint-Paul, 75004 PARIS
The name alone offers ample reasons to go.

San Francisco Book Co.
Address: 17, rue Monsieur-le-Prince, 75006 PARIS
I am saving this one for a day when I am feeling particularly homesick. They also buyback books!

Tea and Tattered Pages 
Address: 24, rue Mayet, 75006 PARIS
I could not be more excited. A tea room and a second-hand bookstore in one! This may be heaven. 

Village Voice Bookshop
Address: 6, rue Princesse, 75006 PARIS
It is open on Sunday!

W.H. Smith
Address: 248, rue de Rivoli, 75001 PARIS
They sell British food and confectioneries on the upper level.

Rainy Day

Rainy Day in Paris Watercolor

 
I am home alone while the BF is doing work related stuff, and I don't mind. I've got my feet up and I am breathing in the rain scented air from beyond the open shutter. Which incidentally smells like fresh squeezed wheat grass juice.

Since I am staying fairly close to an RER stop ( a kind of combination between what is considered a train and what is considered the metro) I get to see lots of people either leaving or returning from their commute. It boggles the mind how many women conqueror the steep cement in five inch stilettos. How does she do it? I especially admire the woman who fashioned a makeshift umbrella for her head out of a clear plastic bag. Warning labels be damned!

As for myself, I spent the other day walking for hours in flats, and nearly cowed to the pain. I resorted to counting my steps in an attempt to create a zen like rhythm in order to soothe my shot nerve endings. But, I refuse to accept that sneakers are the logical solution. I could not bear the shame of being the only twenty-something girl in Paris wearing unfashionable footwear. Not in the face of such overwhelming-stiletto wearing Parisian superiority.

No, I'll stay home, wear holey socks, and play the BF's Nintendo DS instead...