Goodbye Paris, I'm really going to miss you.

A series of unfortunate events has really foiled my plans to live and work in France, namely a worldwide economic recession.  I could blame it on the bad timing, my sub-par french, or just poor planning on my part, but whatever it is - Paris isn't showing me any employment love.  I was stubborn and clingy to the idea of being with Paris, but eventually I came to terms with the fact that maybe it's just not our time.  

So.  I'm leaving Paris - for Burgundian wine country - on bikes and with a tent.  One last hurrah in France before we return home in November.  I can't tell you much besides that.  It's a real pattern for me and my time here in France - that is, not knowing what I'll be doing or where I'll be living 2 months out.  Oh, and we're going to try and get some work during the harvest.  In exchange for an authentic french country meal and free wine I am willing to endure great hardship.  In the mean time here are some random images from Paris:

We were on Pont des Arts one night with a friend.  Isn't this couple cute?  I love his navigational earnestness, and she looks like she's being patient and helpful trying to spot landmarks. It was a fine summer night, we were right smack in the middle of a pedestrian bridge over the Seine with views of Notre Dame and the island.  Where else did they possibly want to go?

You know.

Sunset from our apartment window.

A photo of Luxembourg gardens from my Paris "tour guide" days.

A print from an exhibit we saw on the Description de l'Egypt.  This was part of a temporary exhibit at the Musee de l'armee / Les Invalides / Napoleon's Tomb...or "Gold Dome" as we like to call it.  It really was an impressive undertaking.   A complete volume of the Description de l'Egypt was on display and in its entirety takes up a whole book case.  

In this photo, I've placed a keen young man next to the book case as a size reference.  His enthusiasm comes from the fact that he's been reading about culture and imperialism...a work that is coincidentally titled as such.  Some could say he was like a kid in a culture and imperialism candy store.  

Galeries Lafayette

Paris' oldest department store - floors upon floors of the fanciest brands.  Almost like a market with people in little areas like stalls hawking Chanel and YSL.  Just looking, thank you.  

The ornate detailing reminded us of the Alhambra.

They had just opened up a brand new shoe floor in the basement.  3000 sq. m. (YES 3000 sq. m.) of shoes too beautiful to bear, after a dizzying 7 minutes I had to flee the lair before it did irreversible damage to my expectations of normal shoe shopping.

 

Looking down on to the cosmetics floor.  You'd think their domestic, french brands would be less expensive than back in North America - nope.  I think the french take "luxe" very seriously.

There's a whole other building devoted to "Gourmet" - I'm going to have to go it alone this week.  Why P wouldn't want to spend hours walking up and down food aisles is beyond me.

But we just got here!

These photos are of the studio that we're staying in right now.  We've been here for almost 2 months, and are leaving in a week and a bit...but thought I'd share some Parisian studio-living pictures with you:

It's the nicest place, besides our little place in Toulouse (*heart), that we've lived in during our time in France.  The studio comes with its own lesbian art photography, full views of the Eiffel Tower and the Beaubourg, and too many flights of stairs.   It's in the 20th arrondissement, a few blocks away from Belleville, primarily a working class immigrant neighbourhood that's beginning to gentrify.  Thanks to the immigrant population here (a mix of north and sub-saharan Africans and Chinese) we've been "eating local", making tagines from meats bought at one of the many halal butchers,  and digging into algerian almond-based pastries with hot mint tea in the evenings.   

It'd be hard to tell from our apartment, which happens to be one of the few Haussmanian buildings about halfway up a hill from larger block-like apartment complexes, that the neighbourhood itself is a little rough around the edges.  Although it might not be what one might envision as the postcard perfect Paris, in some ways it reflect a more accurate Paris - a large cosmopolitan city where people live, work and go about their daily business without having to step aside every 2-strides to accommodate a map-wielding tourist.   Walking around here, you see kids on bikes, families on errands and old men hanging out at cafés.  Hookah and moroccan cafés are tucked right up alongside french neighbourhood bistros and bars, their patrons sharing the same sidewalk and a mix of 2nd hand cigarette and hookah smoke.

 There's this café a few blocks from us that's undergoing renovations.  At its most stripped down stage the doors were still wide open  (actually, there were no doors) with nothing but unfinished surfaces, a bar with a man behind it, some stools and the beer tap still in operation.  We've walked by this place almost on a daily basis, and it's fun to see the progress take place around the cast of regulars that seem to be permanently camped there.  It was like time-lapse footage where people are the fixed elements and the constructed environment transforms around them.  Seeing this made me understand café culture in a different way - that it really is an old school, hardcore dedication to your café and the social life in your community.  Floors or no floors.  

Vegetable plants for sale at a florist in our hood.  

The apple of Mai's eye...

I'm not sure how the conversation started, but it started with M.  M & K were staying with us for the first week and a bit in July and over some fine dinners and some "crazy" wines we got to talking about apple tarts.  Specifically, M started talking about apple tarts.  The object of her wildest apple tart fantasies consisted of apples, cooked to perfection whereby the texture remains fresh-tasting, tender with a subtle chew, atop a shortcrust pastry.  And very specifically NO GLAZE.  The discussion soon turned to whether this magic combo existed.  Was it just a figment of her extremely particular food expectations?  There was one obvious way to settle this: Paris-wide apple tart search.

The object was to find something that met what M had envisioned under 4 euros. The following days were met with intense research.  M tapped into the Japanese-paris foodies network.  K stayed cool, resting on a tip-off from a local friend, while P and I scoured a growing repertoire of impressive bakeries that we'd tried.  4 patisseries hardly qualifies as "paris-wide", but it did come to a showdown between patisseries from the left bank vs the right.  

You can see that the entry on the bottom right didn't exactly match the criteria of the others.  It hailed from the famous bakery Poilâne, and rather than slices of apples on a flat flaky crust/shell, it contained chunks of apple in a yeasty, bread-like pocket.  M & K knew they might break some rules with that entry, but they couldn't resist. Besides we're a lenient panel, and would you have turned away a sweet little thing like that?  Ranking 1st was the tart pictured top right (a layer of applesauce, which at first seemed bizarre, gave it a tangy apple-y edge), and descended in order going clockwise.  There was room for debate between the 2nd & 3rd.  The funny thing was that none of them met the specific elements that M had set her heart on, but none of us were about to blow the whistle on this party of caramelized apples and buttery, flaky bases.

Note that July was not exactly the season for apple tarts.  Some of the fine bakeries that we considered carried a "seasonal" tart instead, which was almost always apricot at the time.  

This treat came from the same place as the winning apple tart, on the corner of a quiet street behind Sacre Coeur.  It was called a "tulipe aux framboise", and consisted of a waffle-cone shell, coated with chocolate on the inside and filled with a raspberry cream and topped with fresh raspberries.  Tulipe cookies are traditionally a light thin cookie that is baked flat, but then put into a brioche mold while it's still warm and pliable.  They're often served with whipped cream and fruit, kind of like the version we had. 

Left behind in Paris in August? You poor thing.

This city has become a ghost town.  Relatively speaking that is, and it still depends on what neighbourhood you're in.  The Parisians have made their mass exodus out of the city starting the long-weekend of July 14th (Bastille/National Day) and slowly continue to trickle out to seaside destinations.  What's left behind?  Throngs of tourist in the centre and disgruntled workers who have to stay and form the skeleton staff of companies.   Little shops shut down for the month, putting up signs in glib handwriting, "bonnes vacances".   This might explain the lack of postings as offices and work in general grind to a halt, making my job search here in Paris almost impossible.

 

In an attempt to provide a balm for all those left behind, the City of Paris puts on "Paris Plages" in the summertime.  Large stretches along the Seine and some canals are transformed into...a beach.  The busy roads that run the stretches of the Seine are closed off, fine sand is trucked in, beach loungers are set up, and pétanque (french lawnbowling) pitts are cordoned off.  The Seine-side beach comes equipped with a stretch of boardwalk, showers, changing stalls, news vendors on bikes and potted palm trees.  It looks really beachy, non?

     
If for whatever reason you're a Parisian and can't take a portion of your standard 5-week holiday in August, the City of Paris graciously brings the beach to you.  As kitschy as it may be, I'm pretty psyched about scoring my own lounger on the faux beach and watching the museum tourists scuttle across bridges from the Louvre, to Notre Dame and to the Musée d'Orsay.  *sigh, oh Paris, this is so like you.

Paris and its firemen's balls - it's exactly like it sounds

Did you know that every year, the night before Bastille Day, the firemen of Paris throw what's called a "Bal des Pompiers"?  Probably not, because I didn't.  60 firehalls/firehall courtyards are transformed into giant neighbourhood parties, staffed by firemen and the like.  I know.  Ladies, it's true, I wouldn't lie about something like this.  To top it all off, the champagne was a-flowing, and served in adorable plastic flutes. 

Oh, and did I mention that the firemen in Paris and Marseille are of a particularly elite class?  Aside from being firemen, they're also members of the french military, which explains why they are uniformly young and uniformly clean cut.  That is to say, uniformly everything that you'd expect a fireman/soldier to be.  All were welcome at the event (families included) and we went as a group of 2 canadian couples and our friend from Paris, we all had an amazingly fun time -- but let's be honest here, it's really a party for girls.  The guys that we came with, just had to shrug and go along with the spectacle of the whole thing like the good sports that they are.  

The beauty of the whole thing was that these young firemen waited on you at every possible part of the party.   They were there: at the entrance greeting you, taking your coat at coat check,  serving you at the bar, in the women's bathrooms replacing the toilet paper, and at the end of the night thanking you for coming to their party.  And at each turn they were there with their cocksure, easy good looks, cranking up the flirt and charm because it's their party and, like all good hosts, they wanted everyone to have a good time...and also to reinforce all the positive sexual stereotypes that come along with being french, a fireman and in the military all at the same time.  

Also at the party and in their uniforms, were members of the French air patrol.   You can spot them in their baby blue jet fighter jumpsuits (think Top Gun, but 2009 and euro).  They were also one of the very few with cokes instead of alcohol in hand, as they had to be en pleine forme for formation flying at the Military Parade on the Champs Elysées the next day.  M and I figured that there were always at least 3 women clustered  around each of these pilots every time we chanced to look.  Not that we looked often.  The firemen were one thing, but these men were of a different breed.     

My favorite moment of the night was when the dance floor went nuts over a string of 80's french hits.  It was awesome, and in the way that a medley of bon jovi, acdc and def lepoard is awesome - only more because it was the night before le quatorze juillet in Paris, and we were tipsy off of champagne and dancing in the open-air of a french firehall courtyard.

photos courtesy of M's camera

Yes, I still like food...

Our closet-sized kitchens in Paris have been driving me insane.  The experience best resembles trying to cook in a 3-person elevator (these are common in France).  Instead of fun and experimental meals, I've been restricted to meals that are elevator-cooking friendly, that means minimal prep, minimal chopping and minimal cooking (only 2 burners).  But don't you worry, we're still eating well.  Observe:

  

"Ispahan" from Pierre Hermé - raspberry meringue, lychee and rose-scented cream with fresh raspberries.  *die. No, seriously.

They grow them a little cuter in France.

The market experience in Toulouse was pretty amazing, and 2 months into our stay there, I knew our way around town and the markets like the back of my hand.  Markets kind of operate on a self-serve system in Toulouse, there are small baskets that you take and fill with your choice of produce, and it makes the line move quick.  It also gave me the freedom to poke around and handle produce that I haven't seen before.  In Paris, I'm often served by someone - you tell them what you want and in the quantities and they put your order together for you.  Upside: it's nice to be served.  Downside: you can't take your time because the madames behind you are impatiently fidgeting and "accidently" bumping into you with their roll-away grocery bag things.  One time, I accidentally ordered 2 yellow "boats" (navettes) instead of 2 yellow turnips (navets).  Embarrassing.

Highs around 32 degrees celsius

My face has been rendered permanently shiney, and I'm not talking about that lovely dewy look either.  Then there's the do-it-myself-haircut which is growing out and I'm not sure what to do with it, but I bet that paints a pretty picture for all of you who are imagining me and my glamourous self in Paris.  The thing I love about this city is that it's so damn snobby.  I'm not talking about the people, but city itself, like it knows how amazing it is and never lets anyone forget it.  For the most part, I wander around wide-eyed and humble, always a little self-conscious of my hack-job haircut and pseudo-tourist status.  Despite its aloofness, there are times that Paris lives up to all its dreamy hype.  It sneaks up on you when you're out for a walk at night and you can't help but think to yourself, "I'm here.  In Paris.", and what makes it so magical is that for a moment you feel like Paris finally noticed you and thinks that you're kind of cute.

tombstones and a little tranquility from facebook...

Went to the Père Lachaise cemetery last week and wandered around just taking it all in.  It was really beautiful and still there, aside from the handful of tourists in search for Jim Morrison's grave (anticlimactic by the way).  BUT, check out this beaut - Oscar Wilde's grave.  It was recently re-done by a benefactress that was a fan of his work.  If you zoom in, you can see lipstick kisses all over it!!!  Love love love.  Shades of pink, reds and browns - lips on stone.  

There was a little bit written about him on the back, but also a lovely little epitaph:

And alien tears will fill for him

 Pity's long broken urn.

For his mourners will be outcasts

And outcasts always mourn.

More of what the rest of the cemetery looked like.

  

View from our living room. 

I joined facebook the other day.  It was a little overwhelming at first and I'm retreating to this blog as a security blanket of sorts.  It's so quiet here!  Facebook is like a highschool science fair, everyone's lives on display on a 3-panel bristol board.  Or maybe a highschool cafeteria, where there are so many people you can go and talk to in 5-minute intervals before moving on and getting in line to order your fries.  I'm more used to wordy blogs and lengthy emails of late - but that's because I've had time and lots of it.  I wonder if I am in actuality a homebody or if it is just being with P, ironically he happens to be the most socially well-received person I know.  But P loves being at home.  "Hate" is a strong word, but I'll say he was "glad to escape" Vancouver and all its (our) social obligations.    As I flip through photos on facebook and see myself and my friends I really question if I'm as homebody on the inside as I've come to be with P.  

Paris week 1 + visitors...it just doesn't stop

*sigh, what can I say, it's Paris and it's beautiful.  The food is beautiful too, and we've only been here a week.  We managed to stumble on a bakery that was voted "meillure boulanger 2008" in the 10th - had to buy a half loaf, could not resist.  More on Pierre Hermé later,  all that I will say is: they're expensive, and yes they're worth it.

Fraser struggles to mount the block, not the spry little guy he used to be, but just wait and crank some of Paris' "grime-y" electronic beats into him.  Note in the background how others are using the blocks to take pictures, using perspective to make it look like they're holding the tips of the pyramids.  Joke/gag pictures abound in Paris and the Louvre.  So many nude statues, so many opportunities and hy-larious photo-memories to be had.  Fraser never fully got up on his feet, something about his hip.

Ian waiting at our metro stop.  We're staying in the 5th for the month of May.  The apartment is a bit run-down, but the outside looks lovely...and it's super central.  

Lunch.

We went for a beautiful dinner at a restaurant in the 11th called "le Chateaubriand".  All male-wait staff in threadbare white shirts and scraggly french beards.  It was perfect.  So very casual, serving beautiful, seasonal and thoughtful food.  They do a 5 course tasting menu, starting with a cold tofu and fish foam for an amuse bouche.  Then it was seared mullet with fresh garden peas and a chicken liver mouse, cod with white asparagus and black olives, and a bavette with some sort of shallot and fish-roe sauce.  DESSERT?  Fresh mint ice-cream served with "sticks" of chocolate and vanilla meringue and a basil butter.  The basil butter was a gift that really kept on giving - basil butter burps, you get it.

Ian took this amazing picture (he's a pro and has shared some amazing photos with us).  This was off from the Pyramides from the Louvre.  This little girl was rapt with attention watching the fiddler.  Just her, and the guy, his fiddle and the music.  I died, it was so cute.