Okay, mes amis, I believe this is my last post. I leave for Dublin tomorrow to tour with Bruce and the choir of St. Philip's. (6 days in Dublin at St. Patrick's, a week in London at Westmininster, and back to DC on August 6.) This blog was just for Paris, so... adieu. I've had tons o' fun writing and hearing back from you, and I'm so glad that I've been able to share my experiences from the past 8 months with you.
In that spirit:
THE LAST FEW DAYS have been a wonderful end to my Parisian life. Saturday was pretty much shot to hell, as I slept from 7am until noon, recovering from Harry Potter. In the afternoon Harry and I bummed around, went shopping (well, he went shopping; I stood in line for every to get tax rebates), and enjoyed the sun. I babysat that night for an AmCath family and got to see what would happen if I, like the mother of the family, who's from Oklahoma, marry a Frenchman. (Hint: it involves a three bedroom apartment with crown moulding in the 16th. Not bad.) On Sunday morning, Harry surprised me with an incredible breakfast of champagne, raspberries and cream, eggs, bacon, and hash browns. We somehow managed to join some of the AmCath kids at lunch a bit later to say gooodbye. Needless to say, we didn't eat much, but it was great to see everyone. Afterwards we headed to the Luxembourg Gardens to eat ice cream and read in the sun. We were going to metro home, but decided to get off a couple stops early and try out the new Vélibs that are stationed all over the city. (NY Times article on the Vélibs here, if you have Times Select.) It was a blast! The first thirty minutes are free once you've bought a 1€ card, so we rode around for half an hour, dropping our bikes off near my house. Harry then left to see some friends; I met up with them a few hours later, and we all went for drinks at the top of the Montparnasse Tower. The restaurant seemed to think that the view permitted them to charge 15€ for a gin and tonic, which is a leeeetle steep, but the sights were stunning. It was bizarre to look out over the city and realize that I may never live here again. Bizarre, and sad. To cheer me up, Harry and I vélibed home (walking would have taken 15 minutes, buut biking was so much more fun!) We raced nearly to Invalides and back - he won, obviously. In my defense, though, I was wearing a dress!
Today will be packing, cleaning the apartment, running errands, meeting Harry and our friend Ludo for lunch, and grabbing a quick drink with Laura. I'll be off to the airport at 11pm tomorrow morning, and it will be goodbye apartment, goodbye friends, goodbye Harry, and goodbye Paris.
Monday, July 23, 2007
Saturday, July 21, 2007
Harry Potter
Went to a French/English bookstore on Avenue de l'Opera at 12:15am, 2 hours and 15 minutes after their Potter release party started. Waited on line for 20 minutes to prepay for two copies of the book. (Harry was sick at home and couldn't come, but wanted it nonetheless. I am the best girlfriend ever.) Flipped through Domino magazine and the new Chocolate and Zucchini cookbook while watching costumed fans complete Harry Potter crossword puzzles and games. Interestingly, although the book has only been published in English so far, most of the customers were French.
Was somehow near the beginning of the line when the store employees decided where the prepaid hand-out line was going to be. Got on line at 12:40. Joined in the countdown at 1:00:50 Saturday morning and cheered along with the crowd at 1:01. Received my book at 1:20. Was home by 1:40.
Went to bed at 7:10am.
Good book.
Was somehow near the beginning of the line when the store employees decided where the prepaid hand-out line was going to be. Got on line at 12:40. Joined in the countdown at 1:00:50 Saturday morning and cheered along with the crowd at 1:01. Received my book at 1:20. Was home by 1:40.
Went to bed at 7:10am.
Good book.
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
kitchen experimenting
My empty wallet (caused by unemployment) and full fridge (caused by my love for grocery shopping) have been resulting lately in some experimentation with kitchen basics, and I thought I'd share the fruits of my labor.
Side note: I hate pasta salad with a passion. This was meant to be served hot. Turns out, though, as I discovered when Harry came home for dinner an hour and a half late, this is excellent cold.
carrots
courgettes
pesto (NOT HOMEMADE, duh)
fusilli pasta
fresh mozzarella
make the pasta. don't add too much salt to the water and don't butter the pasta, just add pesto when it's done. while the water is boiling, slice the carrots and courgettes into very, very thin rounds. here's the genius bit: sauté them in the oil from the pesto jar. don't add any other seasoning or oils, just use that. it's amazingggg. sauté until a little squishy and a little charred. mix with the pesto pasta, let cool in the fridge for an hour and a half (or however long it takes your delinquent
boyfriend to come home). just before serving, top with little pieces of fresh mozz. serve with a crisp white wine, a green salad with balsamic, and a baguette.
Yum, if I do say so myself.
Side note: I hate pasta salad with a passion. This was meant to be served hot. Turns out, though, as I discovered when Harry came home for dinner an hour and a half late, this is excellent cold.
carrots
courgettes
pesto (NOT HOMEMADE, duh)
fusilli pasta
fresh mozzarella
make the pasta. don't add too much salt to the water and don't butter the pasta, just add pesto when it's done. while the water is boiling, slice the carrots and courgettes into very, very thin rounds. here's the genius bit: sauté them in the oil from the pesto jar. don't add any other seasoning or oils, just use that. it's amazingggg. sauté until a little squishy and a little charred. mix with the pesto pasta, let cool in the fridge for an hour and a half (or however long it takes your delinquent
boyfriend to come home). just before serving, top with little pieces of fresh mozz. serve with a crisp white wine, a green salad with balsamic, and a baguette.
Yum, if I do say so myself.
tht life and times of a chomeuse
Since I've been unemployed, I've spent a lot time on youtube, rediscovering bits of movies I love and using it as a de facto radio station (my iTunes is on the blink). One of the sets of clips I keep going back to is from Les Choristes. If you haven't seen the movie (obviously, Christine, I'm not talking to you here), watch some of these. They're heartbreaking.
La Nuit
Caresse sur l'océan
Vois sur ton chemin
p.s. How much would you hate to be this boy (Jean Baptiste Maunier) after his voice breaks? That would be... unimaginable.
p.p.s. The choir they used for the movie is actually of mixed voices; that is, there are both girls and boys singing. They only show the boys, though. See? I'm not the only one who secretly wants to be a treble. Well, at the very least, I'm not the only one who sees more of an appeal in being a boy treble than just a young soprano.
La Nuit
Caresse sur l'océan
Vois sur ton chemin
p.s. How much would you hate to be this boy (Jean Baptiste Maunier) after his voice breaks? That would be... unimaginable.
p.p.s. The choir they used for the movie is actually of mixed voices; that is, there are both girls and boys singing. They only show the boys, though. See? I'm not the only one who secretly wants to be a treble. Well, at the very least, I'm not the only one who sees more of an appeal in being a boy treble than just a young soprano.
Monday, July 16, 2007
literary confusion
Learn from my mistakes, chums: never read Austen and Alcott together. I just did that. Well, kind of. I read Karen Karen Joy Fowler's The Jane Austen Book Club, then Little Women, and then watched all of the BBC's Pride and Prejudice. (It's free, and in managable chunks. This Elizabeth is no Greer Garson, but I'll take Colin Firth over Laurence Olivier any day.) They've combined to create one ginormous superwoman character that's a bit Jane, a bit Elizabeth, a bit Louisa May, and a bit Jo. I feel like I'll never measure up.
Sunday, July 15, 2007
Bastille Day weekend
Chello, chomies.
Summer has arrived. One day it was Marchish, the next - July. Phoom. It's in the low 80s, sunny, and sticky.
So yesterday was Bastille Day, and the day before that Hannah came to visit. We had a ball - literally. On the night of the 13th, dozens of Firemen's Balls are held all over France. Sponsored and thrown by local fire departments, these balls are a way to kick off Bastille Day celebrations. We had planned to go to one in the VIth, which was supposed to be very Ibiza, but were so full after dinner (Chez Omar's, the best Moroccan ever) that we couldn't deal with shlepping across the river. On the way to the metro, though, we passed another ball, and got swept into the maddening crowd. It was so much fun! Not wild and crazy like the Ibiza one would have been; this one was very family oriented. There were kids everywhere and confetti and balloons
and a passable cover band playing everything from Elvis to random French music (okay, probably not random to the French people) to something nearly like American swing. Here are some photos from the frolic:
On Saturday, Bastille Day, we hopped over to the Champs Elysee to see the parade, but realized once we got there that we were several hours late. No worries; we walked up the avenue, stopped at Ladurée for some yummy macaroons (the rose is my absolute favorite), and then walked to the Seine to catch the bus to the Musée d'Orsay. Hannah wanted to see some of the permanent collections there, and I wanted to see the Vollard show, so we split off for an hour and a half. (The show, by the way, Moo, was fantastic. I like art.) It didn't take me that long to go through the show (duh), so I wandered around the Impressionism collection and renewed my love affair with Monet. The museum itself is magnificent; I had forgotten how impressive the architecture is.
After our cultural jaunt, we headed home to hydrate, read, and nap. We meandered out in the early evening to pick up picnic supplies (bread, cheese, cold cuts, apples, cookies, and wine) and then planted ourselves on the Champs de Mars to watch the fireworks. It was complete bedlam out there. First of all, every single tourist in Paris must have been there. Second, one of the local radio stations was giving a concert, so it was packed with people for that. We found ourselves a spot on the side, on grass and with a view of the top of the tower. Even though we were behind a bank of trees, we assumed we'd be able to see the fireworks. WRONG.
When the fireworks started, we - and the hundreds of others who couldn't see - scrambled to the main lawn. They had arranged a whole score to accompany the show; they played everything from the Star Wars and Harry Potter themes to Moulin Rouge and Edith Piaf. I took a [sideways] video of a bit of it. (My technological savvy amazes me.)
It took over twice as much time to get home than usual: metro stations all around the Eiffel Tower as well as several bridges were closed to control traffic. As Hannah observed, sometimes we couldn't even make decisions about where we were going; we were just swept up in a "wave of humanity." Even though one heard English just as often as French - vive la France!
Summer has arrived. One day it was Marchish, the next - July. Phoom. It's in the low 80s, sunny, and sticky.
So yesterday was Bastille Day, and the day before that Hannah came to visit. We had a ball - literally. On the night of the 13th, dozens of Firemen's Balls are held all over France. Sponsored and thrown by local fire departments, these balls are a way to kick off Bastille Day celebrations. We had planned to go to one in the VIth, which was supposed to be very Ibiza, but were so full after dinner (Chez Omar's, the best Moroccan ever) that we couldn't deal with shlepping across the river. On the way to the metro, though, we passed another ball, and got swept into the maddening crowd. It was so much fun! Not wild and crazy like the Ibiza one would have been; this one was very family oriented. There were kids everywhere and confetti and balloons
and a passable cover band playing everything from Elvis to random French music (okay, probably not random to the French people) to something nearly like American swing. Here are some photos from the frolic:
On Saturday, Bastille Day, we hopped over to the Champs Elysee to see the parade, but realized once we got there that we were several hours late. No worries; we walked up the avenue, stopped at Ladurée for some yummy macaroons (the rose is my absolute favorite), and then walked to the Seine to catch the bus to the Musée d'Orsay. Hannah wanted to see some of the permanent collections there, and I wanted to see the Vollard show, so we split off for an hour and a half. (The show, by the way, Moo, was fantastic. I like art.) It didn't take me that long to go through the show (duh), so I wandered around the Impressionism collection and renewed my love affair with Monet. The museum itself is magnificent; I had forgotten how impressive the architecture is.
After our cultural jaunt, we headed home to hydrate, read, and nap. We meandered out in the early evening to pick up picnic supplies (bread, cheese, cold cuts, apples, cookies, and wine) and then planted ourselves on the Champs de Mars to watch the fireworks. It was complete bedlam out there. First of all, every single tourist in Paris must have been there. Second, one of the local radio stations was giving a concert, so it was packed with people for that. We found ourselves a spot on the side, on grass and with a view of the top of the tower. Even though we were behind a bank of trees, we assumed we'd be able to see the fireworks. WRONG.
When the fireworks started, we - and the hundreds of others who couldn't see - scrambled to the main lawn. They had arranged a whole score to accompany the show; they played everything from the Star Wars and Harry Potter themes to Moulin Rouge and Edith Piaf. I took a [sideways] video of a bit of it. (My technological savvy amazes me.)
It took over twice as much time to get home than usual: metro stations all around the Eiffel Tower as well as several bridges were closed to control traffic. As Hannah observed, sometimes we couldn't even make decisions about where we were going; we were just swept up in a "wave of humanity." Even though one heard English just as often as French - vive la France!
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
new addition to the links list
haven't actually explored this site in full, but it looked good from the skim:
http://www.theparisblog.com/
http://www.theparisblog.com/
London calling
On Friday morning, Harry and I caught a 7:16 am (ugh) EuroStar to London. We arrived in "the country of Shakespeare, Churchill, the Beatles, Sean Connery, Harry Potter. David Beckham's right foot. David Beckham's left foot, come to that." just after 9:30am local time, not exactly bright and bushy-tailed, but glad, at least to be able to stand up and walk around. Harry was rather miserable about not being in France; he spent most of the morning complaining about how everything was better in Paris than in London. I, however, thought the city was, as I remembered, wonderful. (Interestingly, though, I've decided I wouldn't be happy living there. As a place to visit, though, it's lovely.) We wandered around South Kensington until noonish, as I had to catch another train to Oxford. Harry had the brilliant idea to get off at the tube stop after Paddington station and then walk; don't, boys and girls, try this at home. It took FOREVER. We passed the Tate Modern, though, which was interesting, and were able to walk along the Themes for a bit, which was terribly romantic.
In Oxford I met up with Hannah, a friend from Columbia whom I met in a couple medieval classes. She's doing a program there for the summer, and so she showed me around the town and we caught up on six months' gossip and news. We had a great time; sometimes I forget how much I miss my friends until I'm confronted with them! We found a great Thai place for dinner, watched Love Actually, and then went out with her friends for the night. I must admit, I felt much more at home in the pub than I do at bars here in Paris. Somehow, when I go out here in Paris I feel like I'm always putting on some sort of Elegant Betsy suit. It's fun, and I like being elegant, but it was so refreshing to let down my hair and drink a beer without being afraid I'd be labelled "American."
On Saturday morning Hannah and I lazed around and then met up with Gen for lunch. She's grown - she's nearly as tall as I am! (Also, Kate, she's absolutely stunning. Good job.) It was wonderful to catch up. A little strange, though, to talk seriously about college with her! After lunch we hoofed it back to the station for my train, and I arrived in London around 4pm. Because of some snafus with Mel, a friend from both NCS and Columbia who's been living in London for the past year, Harry and I ended up bumming around King's Cross for nearly an hour and a half (not the prettiest part of town). Eventually we meandered back to his parents' hotel to shower and change for dinner. (Possible highlight of the evening: Mr. Smeeden telling Harry to run to thge drugstore to get some asprin and water for the Mrs. while he and I had a drink downstairs.) Dinner was a little intimidating at first; we (the Smeedens and I) met up with some family friends, a British couple and their two teenagers at a nice restaurant in Kew Gardens. Everyone was very nice and friendly, though, and it was tons o' fun. Poor Harry was on the end of the table and, as I was trying to be socialble to everyone else and he was sitting opposite his mother, I think he felt a little left out. After dinner I said goodbye (and thank you, duh) to Harry's parents and headed back to King's Cross to Mel's appartment. I didn't get there till nearly midnight, but things were lively as she had a few friends over - including Ashley and Claire, two friends from high school! Clare is studying in London for the summer, and Ashley is studying in Valencia and was up just for the weekend. We hung out for a few hours until everyone finally left, and crashed around 2am.
Sunday morning was blissfully uneventful: I left Mel's around 10:30 and met up with Harry back in South Kensington. We had a leisurely brunch and walked around some more until we had to go catch our EuroStar back to Paris. All in all, it was a lovely, if tiring, weekend.
In Oxford I met up with Hannah, a friend from Columbia whom I met in a couple medieval classes. She's doing a program there for the summer, and so she showed me around the town and we caught up on six months' gossip and news. We had a great time; sometimes I forget how much I miss my friends until I'm confronted with them! We found a great Thai place for dinner, watched Love Actually, and then went out with her friends for the night. I must admit, I felt much more at home in the pub than I do at bars here in Paris. Somehow, when I go out here in Paris I feel like I'm always putting on some sort of Elegant Betsy suit. It's fun, and I like being elegant, but it was so refreshing to let down my hair and drink a beer without being afraid I'd be labelled "American."
On Saturday morning Hannah and I lazed around and then met up with Gen for lunch. She's grown - she's nearly as tall as I am! (Also, Kate, she's absolutely stunning. Good job.) It was wonderful to catch up. A little strange, though, to talk seriously about college with her! After lunch we hoofed it back to the station for my train, and I arrived in London around 4pm. Because of some snafus with Mel, a friend from both NCS and Columbia who's been living in London for the past year, Harry and I ended up bumming around King's Cross for nearly an hour and a half (not the prettiest part of town). Eventually we meandered back to his parents' hotel to shower and change for dinner. (Possible highlight of the evening: Mr. Smeeden telling Harry to run to thge drugstore to get some asprin and water for the Mrs. while he and I had a drink downstairs.) Dinner was a little intimidating at first; we (the Smeedens and I) met up with some family friends, a British couple and their two teenagers at a nice restaurant in Kew Gardens. Everyone was very nice and friendly, though, and it was tons o' fun. Poor Harry was on the end of the table and, as I was trying to be socialble to everyone else and he was sitting opposite his mother, I think he felt a little left out. After dinner I said goodbye (and thank you, duh) to Harry's parents and headed back to King's Cross to Mel's appartment. I didn't get there till nearly midnight, but things were lively as she had a few friends over - including Ashley and Claire, two friends from high school! Clare is studying in London for the summer, and Ashley is studying in Valencia and was up just for the weekend. We hung out for a few hours until everyone finally left, and crashed around 2am.
Sunday morning was blissfully uneventful: I left Mel's around 10:30 and met up with Harry back in South Kensington. We had a leisurely brunch and walked around some more until we had to go catch our EuroStar back to Paris. All in all, it was a lovely, if tiring, weekend.
Thursday, July 5, 2007
bagatelles (upon which I have always mused but never blogged)
1. The children's hospital that Harry works at is called "l'Hopîtal Necker pour des Enfants Malades." Scrawled across all the signs, engraved into every lintel are the words "Hopîtal Necker / Enfants Malades." Well, duh, the children are sick. That's why they're there! Do you have to make it so painfully obvious?
2. Buildings in France (apartment buildings, at least) must by law be cleaned every ten years, and residents have to shoulder the cost. This makes for pretty buildings, but don't you think this would also make for pissed-off residents?
3. I'm going through a corgette phase. France is making me a whole new woman. Seriously, by the time I leave, I, like Sabrina, will know how to properly crack an egg,
4. Today Armelle told me that she knew my dress wasn't from here because it wasn't "trop en France." Good thing she worships me, cause otherwise I'd feel pretty bad about being called a fashion failure by a seven year old.
2. Buildings in France (apartment buildings, at least) must by law be cleaned every ten years, and residents have to shoulder the cost. This makes for pretty buildings, but don't you think this would also make for pissed-off residents?
3. I'm going through a corgette phase. France is making me a whole new woman. Seriously, by the time I leave, I, like Sabrina, will know how to properly crack an egg,
4. Today Armelle told me that she knew my dress wasn't from here because it wasn't "trop en France." Good thing she worships me, cause otherwise I'd feel pretty bad about being called a fashion failure by a seven year old.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
