30 December, 2006 | 7 Comments

[as the Italians call Paris...]

I had the most amazing time in Italy. My trip exceeded all expectations. It was magical. It was perfect. And I must thank the travel gods for looking out for me — I was healthy and safe the whole time. I wasn’t robbed or ripped off or treated in a mean way by anyone. I didn’t lose anything. I didn’t miss a train or a flight. I feel blessed.

I also feel nourished on every level. Literally, of course, because the food was fantastic. I also feel nourished as a human, looking at so much art and history and beauty. The people were fantastic and warm and gracious. I wish I could give Italy a big hug right now. Italia, I missah youah alreadeee!

Before I left Paris, I was soooo burned out. I hadn’t had a real break from my job in a year, I was sick and tired of studying French every single day for hours and I was coming off three and a half very exhilarating but difficult months. Add Christmas while being far from home and a birthday on top of that and you’ve got yourself a real angst-fest. I can’t remember the last time I felt so fried. The first two days of my trip, I had fun but still felt tense. I couldn’t relax. I began to worry that I’d lost the ability to ever really and truly relax at all. But then something happened. I switched off. I lost myself. I stopped thinking about home and stress and just let Italy wash over me. I entered this sort of euphoric traveler’s state, where all that matters each day is what you’re going to eat and what amazing sights you’re going to see and who you might meet. Honestly, I feel like I’ve been gone for at least a month — the fact that my trip was only 8 days long is unbelievable to me.

I highly recommend Italy in the winter. As I’ve written before, I visited Italy once before during peak season about ten years ago and had a miserable time. It was hot and mobbed and overwhelming. Italy in the winter is a much different place. There are fewer crowds, the locals are more relaxed and friendly because they aren’t being barraged with pushy foreigners and the cold was typically more bearable than being outside in the sun and heat all day (at least for me — I’m very sensitive to heat). The prices were also much lower. Of course, there are trade-offs — reduced hours for many sights, reduced daylight hours (which does force you to be more organized with your time), etc. But seeing Italy at Christmastime was particularly lovely and special.

I feel completely refreshed now as the year ends and we await 2007, which is just what I was hoping for when I booked this trip at the last minute (with so many of you encouraging me!). Sometimes you need to get away from home — even if “home” is a place like Paris. [BTW, the first time someone in Italy asked me where I live, I had no idea. My mind went blank. I ran through a list of cities in my mind before remembering, oh yeah, most of my clothes and books are parked in Paris right now. I guess, sadly, that I don't think of Paris as my home. I think it was good for me to get away from Paris too -- I think I'll appreciate it more now.]

Despite having such a great time, I was ready to come “home.” Eight days of intense, non-stop cultural and culinary stimulation is about the limit for me, I think. It is possible to have too much of a good thing. This week, I plan to write in more detail about my trip and try to organize all the photos I took. My Italian journey was one I’ll never forget. It has a place in my heart.

12 December, 2006 | Comments are off

de Beauvoir and Sartre

Originally uploaded by Anglofille.

11 December, 2006 | 2 Comments

Sometimes when I’m bored between classes (like today), I hang out at Simone de Beauvoir’s grave.

Yes, I know Jean-Paul Sartre is buried there too, but he doesn’t really interest me.

The Second Sex is one of two books that shaped my feminist consciousness when I was a teenager (the other was Backlash by Susan Faludi). You know how it is when you’re very young and you read a book that gives a voice to all sorts of complex things you are feeling but are powerless to articulate? That was The Second Sex for me. Reading that book empowered me in so many ways. It completely changed my way of thinking. And it’s amazing to think that this book had the same effect on countless women who read it before I was even born and it will no doubt have the same effect on women born generations from now.

So yes, I like to visit Simone de Beauvoir’s grave. And sometimes I even leave flowers.

10 December, 2006 | 1 Comment

Notre Dame à Noël

Originally uploaded by Anglofille.

7 December, 2006 | 9 Comments

I am not going to be homeless at the beginning of January. Hurrah! I mentioned in a previous post that I met with a male model about renting his place while he’s in New York working. He had several people interested in the apartment (one of whom offered to pay several months rent up front) and I didn’t think I had a chance. I didn’t have the energy to lobby for it. But to my surprise, he said he felt the most comfortable with me and that he felt he could trust me. My innocent and fresh-off-the-farm demeanor serves me well, I must admit. I think I could have a successful career as a bank robber.

Here is a photo of my new landlord (with his face cut off — sorry, but it feels wrong to publish a recognizable photo of him on my blog):

Yes, I will be sleeping in his bed for four months — but he’ll be far away in New York. He doesn’t really appear this way in person, of course. He’s sorta grungy looking, but obviously he cleans up real nice. He’s a very sweet and thoughtful guy and I feel quite comfortable with him. He’s not a pretentious jerk — otherwise, I wouldn’t have chosen to live in his apartment. Today we met at a café so I could be introduced to his best friend — a nightclub singer who lives nearby. We plan to go to the movies together soon.

So anyway, I move in on December 30th and have the sublet till the end of April. If he lines up another modeling stint, I could stay longer. While I’d rather not have to find another place to live, I like not being tied down with a lease. By the spring, I’ll have a better idea of when I want to return to London and I like having a bit more freedom. Plus, it’s fun to experience new neighborhoods. The apartment is very tiny. It’s in a modern building (with lift, concierge, parking garage, etc.). I’ve never lived in a building like this before, so it should be interesting. If you live in New York or London, you would die to find out how much I’m paying in rent. Paris isn’t a cheap place to live in by any means, but the rents — for some reason I do not understand — are quite reasonable for a major city.

I’ll be living in the 16th arrondissement, which is close to the Eiffel Tower. The apartment is about a 5-minute walk from the Trocadéro, the famous plaza that overlooks the Eiffel Tower (and where you can take the best photos!). I will be seeing a lot of the Eiffel Tower over the next few months. I can walk to the Arc de Triomphe and the Champs-Elysées in about 15-20 minutes (I think). This area is a bit stuffy and snooty and I wouldn’t want to settle here long-term, but for a few months I think it will be fantastically fun. I move in the day after I return from Italy, which is cool because I’ll be close to the Eiffel Tower for New Year’s Eve.

I am so very relieved to have found a place without much effort (thank you, Craigslist!). And I am excited to move in. My first few months in Paris have been rocky and I think a new apartment and a new year are just what I need. It’ll be a fresh start!

6 December, 2006 | Comments are off

I’m pleased to report that French department stores at Christmas are just as hellish as their British and American counterparts. I went to BHV on the rue de Rivoli in the middle of the afternoon and you’d think it was Christmas Eve. It was a frenzy! I don’t know how I survived without some sort of tranquilizer. While I was shopping, I heard the faint tune of Alvin and the Chipmunks playing in the background. That’s the only thing that kept me from losing it.

The good news is that I am done with my shopping. I have my carte de séjour. Oh, and did I mention I found an apartment? More on that tomorrow!

Exhale.

In other Christmas news, the Notre Dame tree is up! Compared to the trees in Rockefeller Center, Trafalgar Square and other high-profile places, it’s a bit tiny and frumpy. The angle of my photo makes it look much bigger and more spectacular than it is. In person, it’s like a Charlie Brown tree. But to me, that’s what makes it special.

5 December, 2006 | Comments are off

Candy Apples

For sale on the rue de Buci. For some reason, I never expected to see candy apples for sale in Paris. Of course I bought one. And ate it. Now I need to find a dentist…

2 December, 2006 | 5 Comments

Go to the Louvre! It’s open until 9:30 and after 6:00, the admission price is reduced. Plus, there are fewer crowds. Bliss!

I can’t understand why they’ve parked the Venus de Milo in front of a horribly ugly, drab olive-green wall. Perhaps they’re building her a new home. Let’s hope.

I just think this looks too much like Laura Petrie:

More Louvre photos.

1 December, 2006 | Comments are off

Just a quick note to let you know that I got the carte de séjour (resident’s permit) this afternoon! It’s only a temporary carte. You didn’t think it would be that easy, did you? Non! But I just wanted to let you know that I got it, because many people were worried about my situation. Everything is okay. I’m not walking around Paris with expired immigration papers. Whew.

I’ll write more tomorrow. (You know I have a story!) But now it’s Friday night and for the sake of my mental health, I need to go out and do something fun. It’s been a looooonnnngggg week!

Bon week-end! Thanks for all your well wishes. xx

30 November, 2006 | 8 Comments

I’ve not had a very good week. (No, really?) Today I gave notice on my apartment. I’m moving out on January 2nd and I have no idea where I will live. I’ve been wanting to find a cheaper place and when I raised the mere possibility of moving out, my landlady went psycho. She started sending me hostile and vaguely threatening e-mails. Here’s a postscript copied and pasted from one of her more civilized messages:

“If you have any problem with my english I suggest that you learn french.”

Gee, I thought that was why I came here? She also accused me of stealing her mail so that her taxes would be late. Given her Jekyll-and-Hyde personality switch, I decided to just bail out before things get worse. I called the agency I rented the apartment from and spoke with the British woman who runs it. I explained my landlady’s bizarre behavior and she said, “Well, don’t forget this is France.”

And then of course my visa expires tomorrow. So I’ll be homeless and an illegal alien. Lovely. This morning when I woke up I actually envisioned myself being deported. I went to Cité Université to inquire about my residence permit. All of the bureaucrats I had dealt with so far regarding this issue have not been very nice (which is to be expected, I guess). As I waited in my third queue of the day, I started to lose hope that I’d ever get this mess sorted out. I finally made it to the front of the queue and tried to explain my situation. The guy behind the counter said, “I can speak English if you want.” Then he smiled.

Yes, I swear this happened.

I said, “My visa expires tomorrow and I don’t have the carte and I’m afraid I’m going to get into trouble.”

He said, “It’s no problem.” Then he gave me a list of documents I need to take back there tomorrow. “Bring me these documents, I give you the carte,” he said.

“Really? That’s it?” I said.

Though I was calm, something about me must have given the impression that I’m a woman on the verge. He looked at me and said in a very soothing voice, “Don’t worry. Everything is going to be okay.”

I wanted to hug him. The weird thing is I think he wanted to hug me too.

So I skipped class and took the RER to Luxembourg and then walked home in the freezing cold. I stopped at my favorite patisserie near the Hotel de Ville and bought a treat to take home. A slice of “abricot eau de rose” (apricot and rosewater) tarte won’t fix my problems, but it can’t hurt.

Deep breath. Everything is going to be okay.

29 November, 2006 | Comments are off

Paris’s most famous and beautiful bridge.

28 November, 2006 | Comments are off

Nothing definitive to report on the residence permit. I went to the Préfecture de Police today (a massive complex across the street from Notre Dame) and the evil lady in the visa department screamed at me “Madame! Oh là là!” when I told her I hadn’t applied for the carte yet. She directed me to go to Cité Université tomorrow to do something or other. I guess I’ll find out what I’m supposed to do when I get there. Or not.

I was feeling rather distressed after all this, but as I walked outside in front of Notre Dame, I saw that they were putting up the Christmas tree. That made me smile just a little bit.

A few days ago my landlady informed me that I am supposed to pay the electricity bill myself. I thought she would pay it and then I would reimburse her since all the utilities are in her name. But apparently not. So I went to the post office a few days ago to pay this bill, but I was missing some sort of reference number and wasn’t allowed to do it. Sigh. So for the past few days I’ve been waiting to be plunged into darkness. The electricity hadn’t been paid in over two months! Tonight, however, I got up the courage to call EDF directly. When you don’t speak the language well, it’s hard doing things on the telephone. You can’t use your hands or do charades. But I like having lights and heat, so I decided to brave it. And I had a lovely conversation with the customer service lady who told me I speak French very well and that she understood everything I said and that I understood her. And you know, I really needed to hear something positive like that right about now, since I’m feeling very discouraged about my French and life in general.

So God bless the EDF customer service lady. She made my day.

28 November, 2006 | 6 Comments

My visa expires on Saturday and I have not yet applied for the carte de séjour (residence permit). This is actually quite serious. I don’t know why I haven’t bothered to apply. My behavior makes no sense. There’s a very real possibility they’ll make me leave France. And the weird thing is, I just don’t care. Why don’t I care? I’ll head over to the Préfecture de Police tomorrow and see if they’ll take pity on me. Since I have no good excuse to present, I think I’ll go with “I didn’t know I needed a carte de séjour,” even though there’s a white piece of paper stapled into my passport that states I need one. Tears [real ones] might be necessary.

In case of emergency, do any of you in London have a spare bedroom I can move into? I’m really rather quiet. Messy, but quiet.

God, now I feel sick.

[tags]self-destruction[/tags]

18 November, 2006 | 6 Comments

Taken this evening especially for you, my lovelies.

Kisses,

Anglofille xxx

16 November, 2006 | 2 Comments

I live just a few minutes walk from the Place de la République, one of Paris’s grandes places. Paris is filled with these giant squares (for lack of a better term, which doesn’t necessarily have an equivalent in English), among them Place de la Concorde and Place de la Bastille. Eight of Paris’s grands boulevards run from around the Madeleine to the Place de la République. It is always buzzing with traffic and people. At its center is an immense statue commemorating Paris’s republics. There are two squares on either side of the statue (which serves as a traffic circle) and around the perimeter of the square are shops and cafés. A column I read recently described République as Paris’s most “schizophrenic” place, “because it is so many things at once and takes on bits of the quartiers that converge on it from all sides: the Marais, the grands boulevards, the Bastille, the up-and-coming parts of the 11th [arrondissement], the heavily-accented flavors of the immigrant communities… ”

République is definitely an odd mixture, with Americana (McD, KFC, Holiday Inn), traditional French cafés, crepe and ice cream stands, French chain stores and a belle époque carousel filled with delighted children just yards away from homeless people camping in tents and passed out on the pavement. Shoppers and café goers co-exist with hungry people lined up for boxed lunches. It’s all rather strange to observe and defies any attempt at neat categorization. République is the traditional starting point for demonstrations in Paris. Every weekend I see a rally of some sort in one of the squares. This past spring during the massive demonstrations over the French jobs law, République was the site of major civil unrest.

The Place de la République is a constant presence in my life and I’ve grown quite fond of it. In a strange way, it feels like home already and I can’t imagine living in any other neighborhood. As such, I’ve tried to document it in a photo essay of sorts and in a video. Nothing compares to the real thing, but I hope in some small way I can give you a sense of what it’s like to live here.

[gv data="http://www.youtube.com/v/VLb9s_kfKYM" width="425" height="350"][/gv]

[tags]Place de la Republique[/tags]

14 November, 2006 | 6 Comments

In class the other day, we were asked to complete the sentence: “When I was a child, I was afraid that…” (I know this seems easy, but it’s actually quite complicated given the insane verb tenses involved.)

The teacher called on a British student in the front row and he replied: “When I was a child, I was afraid that a dog would eat me.”

And everyone in the class laughed. (Hey, we were bored.)

The teacher called on the Brazilian student sitting next to me, and she replied: “When I was a child, I was afraid that a monster lived under my bed.”

And everyone in the class laughed.

And then the teacher called on a very quiet and shy Korean student who always sits in the back row, and he replied: “When I was a child, I was afraid that my father would beat me.”

This was followed by awkward silence.

13 November, 2006 | 5 Comments

All over Paris there are signs that make me laugh, though I’m sure that’s not their intent. I saw this sign while walking around the Marais:

At first glance, this sign appears quite evil, as if it’s saying that parents and children aren’t welcome in the neighborhood or perhaps that single parenthood is a sin. But I think it’s urging parents to hold their child’s hand because this sign is posted on a particularly dangerous street for pedestrians (and given that this is Paris, that’s saying a lot). Still, I could be completely wrong about its meaning.

This sign can be seen all over Paris:

“I love my quarter: I shovel.” If only half of the city’s dog owners subscribed to this motto…

But this sign in my local métro is my favorite so far:

Every time I see this, I crack up (once or twice, at the end of a long day, I was in hysterics over of it). It’s posted on a door leading to a room that’s apparently filled with dangerous electrical equipment. I know I shouldn’t laugh at the image of someone being electrocuted, but come on. It’s so dramatic. Rarely does a warning sign convey such feelings of horror. First, there’s the balletic movement of the victim’s body. He’s going limp, but at the same time you can almost see the electrical current flowing through him. His mouth is agape, as if he’s pleading with God or his fellow métro passengers. But the best thing about this drawing is that the victim is not a sexless stick figure with a giant round head. No. This man (who I have dubbed “Jean-Pierre” for my own purposes) is wearing a suit with a fitted coat. His shoes (presumably leather) have heels. I’m guessing he’s a dapper older gentleman, perhaps accompanied by a small dog on a leash. We can see wisps of his hair standing up on the back of his head, yet another attempt by the Paris métro to humanize the man who dared to touch the forbidden door (RIP). You have to admit that given the drawing’s genre — “crude warning sign in silhouette” — it’s an exquisite piece of work.

11 November, 2006 | Comments are off

The French passion for science led to a gnomon, in the form of a bronze meridian line, being constructed inside St. Sulpice. [Forget all that Da Vinci Code nonsense!] At noon on the Winter Solstice, a tiny ray of light shines through a small hole in the south transept window. It strikes the brass meridian line in such a precise way that light illuminates an obelisk inside the church. The obelisk bears the inscription: “Two Scientists with God’s Help.” This magical moment only lasts for a few seconds, apparently. Given that the Winter Solstice is my birthday, I would quite like to see this. It would make me feel special. I like feeling special.

[tags]St. Sulpice, Winter Solstice[/tags]

6 November, 2006 | 9 Comments

I was inspired by The Girl Who Ate Everything to try a French macaron. Her set of macarons photos on Flickr is divine! I think she’s eating macarons everyday while she’s here studying in Paris.

I’ve seen the colorful little macarons all over Paris but I wasn’t sure what they were exactly. They are obviously nothing like the macaroons we have in the uncivilized English-speaking world. (Actually, I love macaroons. I come from a family of macaroon lovers.)

After reading the aforementioned blog and talking to my American friend who studied at the Cordon Bleu, I made my way to the flagship Ladurée shop and tea salon on the Champs-Elysées. Apparently, Ladurée is the place to go for macarons. I went on a Saturday, which was not a good idea. But as I was waiting for ages in the queue I looked at the pastries and delights behind the glass and felt dizzy and slightly high. I was standing behind a group of French teenage girls who were bursting with excitement at the thought of trying a macaron. I managed to take one photo inside the shop before I got yelled at. (I get yelled at a lot.)

I wasn’t sure if the reality of the macarons could live up to the hype, but oh yes, they did. And then some. I can’t begin to describe it, but here goes: Ahhhhhhhh. Yummmmm.

The macarons are slightly crisp on the outside and soft on the inside, plus they’re filled with jam or ganache or cream, depending on the flavor. They come in two sizes — mini (“gerbert”) and full-size. I wanted to try a few flavors so I went with the minis. I tried all different kinds — pistachio, chocolate, lemon, strawberry, orange flower — but my favorites were anise (liquorice), rose petal and red fruits. In summer they have lime basil and mint! Can’t wait to try those. I asked my friend if food coloring was used to give the macarons their bright colors and she was appalled at the thought. Oops. Apparently, they use natural food colorings created from such things as powder made from dehydrated berries and nuts. Hell, what do I know. I may be a glamorous macarons-eating Paris inhabitant, but I guess at heart I’m just a hick.

[tags]macaroons, macarons, ladurée[/tags]

5 November, 2006 | Comments are off

This poem just about knocked me over.

Autumn Song

The long sobs of

The Violins

Of Autumn

Lay waste my heart

With monotones

Of boredom

.

Quite colorless

And choking when

The hour strikes

I think again

Of vanished days

And cry.

.
And so I leave

On cruel winds

Squalling

And gusting me

Like a dead leaf

Falling.

–Paul Verlaine (1864)

.

Click below for the original French…

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