A wonderful weekend in Paris with an old friend

After 13 years apart, we found things right where we had left them.  Only we had moved from Texas to Europe.  An excellent weekend in Cambridge with Céline and Charles proceeded by a few days another marvelous weekend in Paris with Vanessa.  Both St. Stephen's alums and former college tennis players, we met up this weekend after having found each other via Facebook about a month and a half ago.  

Je suis rentrée, mais les boulangers sont partis!

After being away for the weekend, I finally braved the cold drizzle to do a little grocery shopping.  Since I live in a place where one is constantly being lurred down the street by the smell of fresh baking, I don't usually buy my bread at the grocery store.  Why settle? There's a bakery every couple of blocks.  Except?  When France goes on vacation!  Market failure?  How is it that all three boulangeries within a half a mile of my apartment are closed at exactly the same time?  The one across from the metro and at Monoprix were probably open, but I had just done my shopping at Franprix (right around the corner from me) because I had planned on going to my favorite boulangerie (just down the street from Franprix) since its typical day of "fermature" is Tuesday (today is Monday).  Finally, after walking down the Avenue General de Gaulle in both directions and passing all of the closed shops (not just the bakery, but also the cheese shops and butcheries), I finally stopped in at the Kosher café, Le Piment rouge ("the red pepper").  Slightly exasperated and seeing that they make and sell sandwiches, I greeted the young woman behind the counter with a "Bonjour. Vous vendez du pain?" (Do you guys sell bread?) Eh, oui!  Enfin!  I wonder if they sold a lot of bread today, or if everyone else, more up to date than me, just bought their loaf or baguette at the grocery store, with the knowledge that all of the bakeries in the neighborhood were closed.  Hmmm...

Under the river and through the woods: A weekend in London and Cambridge

Eurostar magazine diagram and info

Céline and Charles, my lovely hosts

Residences at Magdalene College (chez C et C)

Les fiancés

A few snaphots of Cambridge and several of the University's beautiful colleges

 

"Two wheelers left here will be removed"? (or something like that)

 The first time we passed this sign in the evening, there was a bike attached to the bars just below it.  When I did an internet search for the meaning, I found many other postings of the exact same photo, with a note on one of them that suggested that the "two wheelers" are never removed.

Cam River and punting boats

 The start of the Saturday morning run.

Jesus College; two wheelers here NOT removed

 In fact, what's cool about this entryway is that the bicycle parking is part of the decor.  There are chains attached to the bottom of the wall for locking up one's bike, but they are rather inconspicuous.  It gives the place a very casual and friendly feel, as if the owners just hopped off and leaned their vehicle against the brick partition before heading inside.

Céline at the market

Streetview 2

A streetview

On Sunday afternoon, I took leave of my Cambridge friends, and took the First Capital Connect train back down to London.  The first order of business, post King's Cross-arrival, was to head to Victoria station and pick up some goodies at the Savanna, a chain of South African convenience shops in London.  Here are the spoils of this detour, plus the next one to Nando's (A South African export that serves chicken) before making my way to the Hicks.

After descending at Putney Bridge, I got slightly turned around and asked for directions from a group of thirty-somethings and their gaggle of baby carriages.  My request resulted in a race between 4 smartphones to find my address, which was only about 500 feet away.  Love technology! 

When I arrived at the Hicks, I was first welcomed in by David and Margaret, and then...a Strawberry Fairy!

Eliza, the Strawberry Fairy

S.F. and my Navigo card for the metro

My pic with the S.F.

"I love it when a plan comes together!" - Dad

When I arrived home this evening from a free concert at La Bellevilloise in the 20th arrondissement, an email with the map of the upcoming Paris Half Marathon course awaited me.

If you can decipher the "Start" and "Finish" symbols on the map, then you can find where I live.  To the left of the "Arrivée" four circles: the "km" marker, the "First Aid" station, the "Timekeeping" symbol, and the "Food - Drink" station.  My apartment is right underneath the "Food and Drink" station.  Unfortunately, I don't think that I have enough space in my whole studio apartment to stock enough refreshments for 30 000 half-marathoners.  Hopefully they've worked out a plan B! :)

At least I won't have a long walk/metro ride home!

Le bonnet qui fait sensation à Paris

(Nope, it's not a leaf. It's a bird!)

I purchased this ski hat at the beginning of 2008 when I was living in Chicago.  It is a simple knit cap made by Burton, the snowboard company, and I chose it because it represented for me a winter hat that foreshadows the coming of Spring (a little ray of hope in what can be a harsh Chicago winter).  And it really is a city hat, for it offers little protection against possible mishaps in the mountains.

Unfortunately for my hat, I wear a helmet when I'm on the slopes. And apparently it's a good thing that I do - not just for protecting my head, but for protecting others' heads as well as they turn around and stare.

As I mentioned above, I've had this head warmer for the past three years.  Previously, I don't think that I had received any comments other than a few teasing remarks about the pompom on top.

But apparently Parisians love it!

I have been wearing it for the past couple of days and have received shockingly effusive compliments from acquantainces and strangers alike.

"Wow!  That's a great hat!"

"You're hat is beautiful!"

"That's a really cool hat!"

A guy to his wife/partner while they are stopped on the sidewalk to attend to their baby: "Now I need at hat like that!"

 (I am acutely aware that some may be making fun of me as well, but at least they are bold and obsequious in their mockery.)

I have to admit, I'm always a little self-conscious when I put it on, particularly in Paris.  It doesn't really fit it with the trend of dark colors and sleek styles.  But I guess I'm not very Parisian.  And now, with all the attention, I realize that my hope of moving around inconspicuously in the green hat with the pompom have been dashed.

"Look, there goes the girl with the green bird hat!"  snicker, snicker, snicker...

Nonetheless, I think I'll keep wearing it.  It fits my head comfortably, and keep both my head and my ears warm and cozy on these cold and damp winter days in the French capital.  

Happy as a hen

So, like a good little French girl, I braved the Sunday Saint-Mandé market this morning.  It only took me three months of living here to take the plunge, but, you know, every little hen has to come out of her shell sooner or later.

I had been through the market once before, just before closing time. On that day, I was not looking to buy anything in particular, but the baker saw me eying the "torsade", a diet-wrecker made of sweet dough, custard filling and chocolate chips, and convinced me to take more of them than I really needed.  Nonetheless, I received the goods at a discount, and he got rid of his remaining pastries, so neither one of us shed a tear over the exchange.  (And I certainly didn't shed any pounds over it!)

Despite that brief first encounter, today was my inaugural shopping trip.  I had taken out 20 euros from the ATM the day before, and was only 2,10 short of 20 since the previous day produced a strong craving for a pain au chocolat and a coffee to get me through a Saturday afternoon at the BNF (bibliothèque nationale de France).  With 17,90 in the pocket, shopping list and shopping bags in hand, off I went, down the Avenue General de Gaulle to the souk.

I didn't take any photos because there are lots of people, and it is hard to do the place justice.  Plus, it's really just quite awkward to try to shop and snap pics simultaneously.  Maybe I'll try to go on a specific picture-taking adventure another time.

One of the main reasons that I hadn't yet "done the markets", a direct translation from the French "faire les marchés", is not so much because I was intimidated by stand after stand after stand of products, the very vocal venders and the aisles packed with determined French shoppers...  Ok, maybe that played its part, but I was actually quite worried about the cost.  The key, it seems to me, is to go with a list and a set amount that you are willing to spend (I guess any budget coach would give similar advice for most shopping trips!)  Then, make your rounds to see which stands are selling the goods for the best prices.  So, I ventured past the many cases of cheese and dairy products, veggie displays, Chinese cooking, African cooking, Middle Eastern cooking, honey product displays, granny nightgowns, rotisserie chicken and potatoes soaking in the juices below (tough to resist!), the fish market, the butcher, the baker, the candlestick...oh wait...sorry...  through every temptation possible until I reached the stand with what seemed to be the most reasonable "rapport qualité/prix".  I snagged a few plastic sacs from up above, and bagged the spoils of my vegetable stand conquest:

4 carrots
3 avocados
1 red pepper
2 heads of lettuce
1 cucumber
2 small containers of Strawberries (a free treat from the vender!  You don't get that at the supermarket!)
All for only 6,10 euros!  I'll be having lots of salad this week.

With 11,80 still burning that proverbial hole in my "poche", I stopped at the baker for a loaf of Miche bio (translates as "yummy round loaf made with organic ingrediants"), which he so kindly sliced and bagged for me.  At 3,10 the loaf, it was a little more expensive than I usually like to pay for bread, but it looks and smells like the splurge will not disappoint.

8,70 remaining, I stopped at the cheese and dairy vender.  Slightly nervous about the possibility of asking for a hunk of cheese that I wouldn't be able to afford, I took 6 eggs from the "open-air raised hens" section.  Once again, a little steep at 2,80 for the 6, we'll see if they actually taste any better than my eggs from the evil Franprix.  Besides, for the price, I even had a little hen down float off of one of the eggs when I opened the box.  How's that for straight from the farm?

I was about to leave when I realized that I had forgotten the bananas.  It's actually one of the 7 deadly sins, pride, gluttony, greed, banana-negligence, etc.   So for my Sunday penitence, I promptly shelled out 2,37 for 1,35 kilos of yellow fruit.

With a little over 3 euros left, I called it a day at the market.  On the way home, I stopped at the Monoprix to finish out the shopping list.  (Unfortunately, the don't sell toilet paper at the market.  Nightgowns, yes.  TP, no.

Finally, to round out a successful morning of shopping, the kind of yogurt I like was "en promo".  Buy two 4 packs, get the third one free.  Yay! Smiles and S'miles* all around.
*S'miles are the points you collect on your fidelity card from Monoprix grocery store and other businesses like the SNCF.

PS  It should be noted as well that this open-air, Texas-raised hen's good humour would be better described as ecstatic, as a result of the day's weather.  On a Sunday afternoon in January in the French capital, it doesn't get much better than 54F/12C, sun and completely clear skies!

We can make some wishes out of snowplanes

         
           My 2011 began over the Atlantic.  By the time I left the Charlotte-Douglas Airport at 8 :05pm, 2011 had already dawned in Europe whereas the East coast of the US would still hang on to 2010 for a few more hours.   When I arrived in Paris and the Air France bus dropped me off in front of the Paris Gare de Lyon, most of the French capital seemed to still be in bed recovering from a long night of festivities.  In Saint Mandé, the Avenue General de Gaulle was even emptier, although there were enough people in the street to offer pitying looks as I tried to downplay the difficulty of transporting 100+ pounds of luggage the last half-mile from the metro to my apartment.

            The reason for my New Year’s Day arrival was the continuation of first semester exams two days later.  Having made it successfully through the last couple of classes, my second round of vacation began with a weekend trip to the Alps for a little snowboarding and some quality time with friends.  Despite the rain on Thursday evening and the rising temperatures, Alix and I braved the slopes of Praz-sur-Arly and Notre Dame de Bellecombe in hopes of finding a few patches of skiable snow before the sun and the rain took over.  

Even with far from ideal conditions, we managed to squeeze out almost four hours of ski and snowboard time before calling it a day. The only real disappointment was that I had left my camera on my desk back in Paris.  I definitely enjoyed myself, both for the chance to get back out on the slopes and for the amazing views on what was actually a very clear and agreeable day.   During our several hours on the mountain, however, I was forced to confront my fear of the téléski, or towrope.   Even if I can’t say that I have completely overcome my apprehension, I managed to make it all the way up the slope without falling and without a superhuman effort.  Though it may seem insignificant given my snowboarding level, this feat represented a huge accomplishment.  
The following is a brief history of a previous encounter with the téléski:

My trip to France in 2008 was the first time in my 7 years of snowboarding that I had met with the necessity of using this contraption clearly conceived for skiers that appears infrequently at resorts in the US.   When the time came to hold the bar-and-disc in between my thighs, fear and lack of confidence inhibited me from accomplishing the task of allowing myself to be pulled up the slope with only one foot strapped onto my snowboard while also keeping the board pointed straight up the mountain.  Consequently, I held onto the bar with both hands out in front, relying simply on arm strength, and failing that, the fear of falling all the way back down the hill, wiping out all the other unsuspecting dominoes behind me.  Having made it to the top without incident, it was only this weekend that I revealed my prior predicament, now that I was once again being faced with the challenge of the « tire-fesses ».

The other noteworthy event of the day, in addition to the arrival of the rest of our weekend companions, included a seemingly uneventful trip to the grocery story that ended in a parking lot omelet and drive-by pickup of a slightly run-over ham.  (The logical consequence of setting a carton of eggs and a cured ham on top of the roof of the car and then driving off.  The two provisions didn’t totally go to waste.  Having realized the missing lunch ingredients about 15 minutes into the meal preparation, Alix ran out in search of the probable roadkill.  Having been well-packaged in plastic, the now highly tenderized ham was recovered from Intermarché parking lot at the approach to the roundabout.)

Although the weather prevented further trips down the mountain on skis, the group of us that were in Praz for the weekend took advantage of a second day of sunshine to allow ourselves to be transported up to the Megève Altiport for a leisurely hike down on foot.  Fortunately one of us had a camera, enabling me to provide evidence of our outing.  The first photos of the Megève Altiport document our time spent watching the many take-offs and landings of the snow planes, which land on the snow on what resembles little snowboards attached underneath each wheel.

Post-walk, we recovered with a nap, a trip to Megève for some vin chaud, and a Saturday evening of fondue and a round of Burger Quiz, a tongue-in-cheek trivia game that requires not only a fair amount of French cultural knowledge but also the capacity not to take oneself too seriously.  Since Sunday morning brought more rain, we slept in and enjoyed the good company and a healthy serving of crêpes.  And finally, after an enjoyable weekend, it's back to Paris by way of the TGV from Sallanches-Combloux-Megève to Paris Gare de Lyon.