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.

My best friend comes to visit

A and I used to always say that we were destined to be best friends based solely on our proximity to each other.  We met each other on the first day of highschool, and since then have gone through many of the best and worst times (thankfully) together.  We'd brave the treacherous walk up-hill after school (and even though it was completely unnecessary for me to walk up the hill, I'd do it just so that we could complain about it together), our dad's would take turns shuttling us to school and home from highschool dances and when we graduated they continued to do that for our little sisters.  There was also a rumored chance first-time meeting between our mothers at the mall, where they clasped hands as if they were long-lost somethings.

We'd went on to university together, partied together, moaned and groaned about boys together, moved out together, went to concerts, were jerks together, even went to thailand in matching outfits and backpacks together.  It was a trip that we'd talked about taking together ever since we saw "Brokedown Palace"...the last piece in solidifying our best-friendedness, and we were going to test it all with a Thai prison as a backdrop.

A moved away to NYC a few years ago and most of what we share fall more and more into the past.  I can't really describe how it felt to see her and J step off that bus in Toulouse.  It was bizarrely emotional.  A is like a living time capsule for me. Looking at her is like a collapsed view of so many things that made up my life...and it really underscores where I am (and where she is) and how far we've come since before we were 25.  It's difficult to stay close with the distance and the wonky time difference and I chalk it up to taking our "proximity" for granted - I never thought about what it would mean to not live 5 minutes away from her, let alone on a different continent.  So I'd have to say it's always a little bittersweet when we see each other in new environments, because she's her and I love her - but it's a strange reminder that we're not together in the same places like we used to be.   

After having said all that - here are some pictures of us in same places TOGETHER! I was ecstatic to meet J (he's wonderful and that's a relief) and to share a little bit of what my life has been like here in France with her.

We'd concluded that between our 4 entrees and mains, we had consumed an entire duck that meal.

Before we knew how much duck we were getting into.

More photos from J's camera

This is l'eglise St. Etienne, one of our favourites because of all the churches we see around here (and we see a lot) it's the most interesting in a slap-dash patched together kind of way.  The church had run out of financing part way through construction.  It was slowly (in phases) completed over time, which accounts for the strange shape and afterthought-like look of the church.  Cathedrals and churches are generally shaped like a cross - this one, as you can see, does its own strange and wonderful thing.

When you walk by these buildings everyday, you kind of forget how old and lovely they are.    

Spring is in full force here in Toulouse.  Parks and gardens that we used to walk in during the winter look and sound completely different.  We were walking by this little pond/water feature when we heard the racket.  We spotted several of these guys croaking away.