Summer in Paris

Despite my (almost!) 9 years in France, it always baffles me that many businesses just close for big chunks of the summer. 

Who cares about making money - les vacances are sacred. As you walk around town, you'll often see these (very professional) signs, posted in the windows:

OK, I guess we can give them three days...

Modified hours in August - because really, who is going to be in before 11am anyways?

Have a great vacation (AKA: Peace out)! Back on August 20th!

Paper and duct tape, posting material of champions!

 (From Aug 02 to Aug 29, closed at midday, open at 7pm. Closed on Sundays too).

Why serve lunch, when you can only serve dinner? 

And then you have your lone rangers who stick around and soak in the tourist market!

The boutique is open ALL SUMMER! (what a concept!!!)

Summer When It Sizzles

Il fait chaud à Paris! Yikes it's hot here! It's cocotte minute, sweat until you can sweat no more, HOT.

After a walk through the 13th, up rue Mouffetard in the 5th and then down the boulevard St Michel and over into the Marais, Copain and I were getting irritable from the heat.  Feet swollen, beaks parched - we decided it was time to head home.

The Frenchies decided a long time ago that it was a good idea to peace out in sweaty August...pretty much everyone had some version of this sign in their storefront:

Frozen fruit fan that I am (try the frozen melon balls at Picard!!) I'd cut up three bananas last night and put them in baggies in the freezer.  The moment we got home I tried out this recipe that I found on Erin Zammet Ruddy's blog over at Parenting.com - basically, you just blend up frozen bananas to make vegan "banana ice cream".  She uses it as a "treat" for her kids who think they are eating junk food when in reality, it's just fruit!  As I'm not a vegan, and as I forgot her little microwave tip, I decided to add one plain yogurt (Activia) and a little bit of non-fat milk.  It was just as awesome as she said it would be - Copain gave it two enthusiastic thumbs up.

Now we have grapes freezing in baggies (all out of bananas) - in full chill mode on the couch.  Because what the heck else can you do in Paris, quand il fait une chaleur pas possible???

Summer, When it ...Drizzles

I love Paris in the springtime
I love Paris in the fall
I love Paris in the summer when it ...drizzles....???

Paris is confused - one day it's warm and sunny, the next there's a chill in the air, the rain starts to fall and Paris puts on its dreary face.

Today Paris didn't know which was was up: this morning the sun was shining, but when I walked outside to get to the metro, I could feel the wind blowing and wished I'd brought a light sweater.  By the time I got into the office, it had warmed up and my colleague and I had to put on the fans to keep the air circulating tellement c'était humide.  Then, out of nowhere, rain, all the way through until I walked home at 7.30. Finally, by the time I could see Bastille, it had settled into an irritating drizzle.

La Bastille, on a better day...

It made me think of autumn in Paris and I instantly dreamt of black tights and derby shoes, my beige trench turning whatever outfit I'd thrown together into a chic tenue. 


How can it already feel like fall?


I so wanted a warm soupe, a fresh baguette and a good movie to cuddle up with on the canapé, but Copain was in a salad mood as we often are in summer. I came home to a cutting board full of cucumbers. Tant pis. 


I guess I should take advantage of the little bit of été we have left...drizzles and all...

A Way With Words and Other Musings on Swamp Ass

Some say French is a beautiful language - not quite as beautiful as Italian but still, nicer sounding than English and far nicer sounding than German.  And I tend to agree.  Not only is French gentle on the ear with the sing-songy Bonjour! and Aurevoir! but I have come to discover that the French can make even the most hideous thing sound lovely.

For instance, don't pieds de veau sound nice?  Pieds de veau with a side of purée maison? But if I told you you were actually eating calve's feet with mashed potatoes, you may reconsider. Perhaps a more subtle example: you're running late for a meeting because you slept in.  You call your colleagues to tell them you'll be late.  But instead of telling them the detailed truth, all you have to do is tell them that you had an empechement -  you were detained for reasons you will never have to explain.  An empechement! so simple! So clear and yet so wonderfully vague! No one will ever have to know that you drank too much Bordeaux last night and ooops - completely missed the alarme at 7am.

All of this was clarified on Thursday as I popped in to visit a group of Americans who were visiting Paris.  It was hotter than hell on Thursday.  The kind of hot where you just give up on looking decent.  Your dress sticks to your back, the sweat rolls down the back of your legs and your mascara gathers in black streaks under your eyes. I think in the states they are using the term "hot mess," which actually happens to be very appropriate.

My fellow Ricaines invited me into their apartment and we sat down in the living room for a good ol' American chat.  The subjects went from Spain to teaching English in France to French living standards to their plans for coming back for another trip abroad.  It was nice to talk to other Americans and encourage them to come back.  I decided that at 9pm it was time to go and as I got up from my chair I glanced behind me fearful of the sweat that had surely gathered on the back of my dress.  The most talkative of them didn't miss a beat: "Oh don't worry," she said, "I had swamp ass yesterday too."

Yes ladies and gentlemen, Swamp Ass.

If you are wondering what Swamp Ass entails, perhaps you have heard of Swalls? Swoobs? Sweaty balls? Sweaty boobs?  Elegant, I know.  Swamp Ass, I now know, means a sweaty ass.  And I had one, and so had she - yesterday apparently.

Now the French have a Swamp all their own.  Perhaps you've heard of the Marais? Initially the place where the Seine could flood the city thus creating a "swamp," it is now one of the chicest (and gayest) parts of Paris where rents soar and gay bars abound.  Fancy boutiques line the streets with names like rue des Francs Bourgeois and beautiful courtyards are sneakily hidden inside the historically preserved buildings.  And there the French have done it again!  They have turned a nasty, dirty word associated with flooding, mud and mosquitoes into the posh, Parsian hot spot for the super branché.  If they called the Topanga Plaza "The Swamp" I highly doubt Chanel stores would come flocking for a top notch placement.  But call it the Marais and voila! Instant amazingness!

So, in honor of the French and their beautiful way with words, let's just say that Thursday included a magnifique Cul de Marais.  You know, Swamp Ass for you Americans.