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...