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.