August in Paris

Le Sud

It's funny to hear the Parisians speak about le Sud (the south). There is an air of nostalgia, of longing,  their shoulders visibly relax as they remember running around barefoot as kids chez mamie et papi or drinking a Ricard with friends as ados. 

Everything is better in the south: the sun shines brighter, the food tastes better, the people are nicer. 

Then depression sets in: why the eff did I ever move to Paris?! I had it so good as a kid! 

And while I didn't live in the south of France as a kid, I did grow up in southern California, where I barely owned a pair of jeans and a jacket was just out of the question.  I was worried about being too hot. Can you imagine?

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Dancer friend is moving to Vietnam. I'm so excited for her, but it makes me sad to lose such a wonderful friend in Paris. Since she is essentially homeless until she moves to her new home across the world, she and her husband had the brilliant idea of renting a home in the south of France for a couple of weeks before their departure. Awesome right? Then, even more awesome, she invited me and another close friend to spend the weekend with them. Thankfully, I got over my commitment problems and got myself some train tickets stat. 

The minute we stepped off the train, we felt the heat of the sun, needed to put on our sunglasses and decided that sunscreen was in order. It was glorious.

After a quick stop in Aix-en-Provence to take in the Saturday marché (we got vintage plates and guacamole fixins!), we arrived at their little slice of heaven. 

Crisp rosé and bright-red tomato salads greeted us at the table, followed by BBQ chicken and fresh pain de campagne. Our feet were bare, our shorts were on and the air was exceptionally warm. It was divine. I kept asking myself why on earth I ever left Toulouse, why I ever left Cannes. What was I thinking?!

In-between pool time and playtime with their two little boys, we took a lazy walk into town and then a drive into one of the neighboring villages...

poppies!

quirky doors in the south

A beautiful place for a dip in the water when it gets too hot

In the evening, we cracked open a big bottle of red, prepared the veggies together and seared the steaks on the grill.  

In the morning, this awaited us on the terrace:

I had to remind myself, that life in the south is perfect because we were on vacation. But truthfully, I was dreading Monday, when we had to pack up and leave. I took a minute to lie on the grass and soak in the sun one last time (with sunscreen!). 

As the train pulled into the Gare de Lyon, my friend and I looked out the windows at the grey clouds and bundled Parisians. Even though I was sad to have left the slow-paced, sunny south, a wave of relief washed over me - home feels good. There is something about too slow that can depress me  - and Paris will always be in action, always buzzing. I love that.

That doesn't mean that I don't totally want a country home! But, Paris is still my homegirl.

Les Vacances Scolaires

It's oh-so-quiet in Paris this week...all of the petits Frenchies are on vacances scolaires (school vacation), and parents are either home with them or have sent them to some sort of day camp so that they can continue to go to work.

I have my pick of any Vélib I want, and the metro is about half as crowded as usual.

Le BONHEUR!

I rode to work this morning, all I could do was sing this little song in my head...

Because when the kiddos are back in school....

Copain-isms : The Strap On

I reluctantly rolled out of shavansana at the end of my Vinyasa yoga class and Namasted along with the other tourists, island hippies and first-time zen-seekers on Gili Trawangan.  It was our first day on the island after 10 days in Bali, and I was determined to yoga it up during my four-day island adventure.

Copain had decided to take a stab at stand-up paddle boarding while I was in class. We had met an English expat with spectacularly crooked teeth and an SPF-oiled-up hairy chest who was renting them out on the beach down from our hotel- he even advertised a free lesson when you rented a board. Our plan was to meet back at the hotel after our respective activities.

As I floated into our traditional lumbung, I was hit with Copain at his irritated best:

Babe! Mon genou!

Your knee? What happened to your knee?

P*tain de English paddle-board guy didn't tell me about the coral!  The water was too shallow and I fell off the board onto the coral - right on my knee! Aiiiiiiiiieeeeeeeeeeeeeee! Don't touch it! It hurts too bad!

Now, let me just clarify that this guy being English was not helping any part of the situation. It all dates back to a lot of wars you know...

What do you mean he didn't TELL you about the coral - couldn't you SEE the coral underneath you?

And on and on we went, as Copain hobbled down the hotel stairs in a manner closely resembling Frankenstein on our way to dinner, left leg advancing, right leg dragging a Havaianas flip flop behind him.

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3am, Hotel room on Gili T

Copain: Aieeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!! Mon genou!!!!!!!!!!!!!  I've torn my meniscus! I just know it! Our vacation is ruined! Why does this always happen to me??? I should just lay on the beach and do nothing. Why was that English guy so stupid! 

(English men - always forgetting to tell you about coral in shallow water - pffffff)

FCC, half asleep, remembering this special moment:  Take an anti-inflammatory. Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

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We woke up three hours later to the sounds of the Mosque calling for prayer, and Frankenstein was in full effect. Despite the now four anti-inflammatories I had force-fed Copain, he was convinced that his knee was shattered for life and that he would have to walk with a cane. A CANE.  I tried to remind him of his Emmy-award winning dramatic interpretation for back pain, but the damage was done. He was going to die an old man with one working knee and a cane from Indonesia.

Since we were staying on an island that doesn't even have cars, it was no surprise that there was not a doctor's office either, but after Frankensteining around the island for about an hour, we did find this:

Worried about just exactly how creative they would get with his knee, we decided that a simple bandage with a lot of ice and elevation would be the best route until we got home and had access to reliable, less creative, more science-based healthcare.  We walked inside, trying not to touch anything, and searched our guidebook for vocab that would help us out. Unfortunately Lonely Planet left out very useful words for falling on coral from a stand-up paddle board rented to you by a buck-teethed Englishman.

Fortunately for everyone involved (you, dear readers, included), Copain found his words faster that I could and confidently asked the "nurse / doctor / antibiotics distributer": Do you have a.... strap-on?

All I can say people, is that thank god the Indonesian in front of us wasn't familiar with this particular vocabulary word, and that once I had pushed Copain behind me and taken control of the situation, we had an over-priced ACE bandage in our hands five minutes later.

When I translated the word for him (yes, Copain, a strap-on is a sex toy) and asked him what the heck he was thinking, he told me, "Well, it's a strap, and you put it on. A strap-on."

And just like a five-year old who needs a bandaid for a paper cut, suddenly the "strap on" made Copain's knee feel so much better.

Stay-cation peut-être?

Paris plages 2013...

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!!!)

B-b-b-bali

After lots of yelling and French bad words, Copain hit "acheter" and bought us two tickets to Bali via Hong Kong. It's happening people, we are going on a real vacation!

I know that makes me sound like a spoiled brat - I go home to visit my family in California every year and take little weekend trips in Europe for birthdays and getaways, but Copain and I have never, in the almost-9 years we've been together, taken a trip of this magnitude together.

Going to California does cost about the same and is almost just a long in terms of travel time, but it's going home for me, not on vacation. I love, love, love it, but I never discover anything new.  After such a long time in France, and countless summer and Christmas trips to So-Cal, I realized that if I kept using all of my vacation time to go home, I would never see anything other than France and California. 

It's one of those expat things that you realize when you hear about your friends' exotic vacations and you start to wonder what you're doing wrong...

Of course there are certainly worse places to see your whole life, BUT, now is our time to do crazy things like go to Bali, right?!  If we decide to make France our home in the future, going back to Cali will be even more important when we have kiddos - so we have to do these kinds of things now. 

I'm trying not to think about the trip budget (usually I just have to think about the flight since I stay with family and friends in the states). For this trip, I have to consider food, hotels, fun money etc. Our next challenge will be finding hotels that feel clean, fun and relaxing without breaking the bank! Thankfully, we have two sets of friends who are also going to Bali this year (one of them is there as I type!), so we'll be able to learn from their experiences (and maybe steal an itinerary or two).

Last week, when I told my dad that we may be going to Bali, he said, "Now where is Bali, again?"...

Here you go, Dad.

In my Dad's defense, we were more of a Mexico and Catalina Island family when I was growing up (perfect family vacations with beaches and a low stress factor for kids and parents!). Even more of a reason to see these cool places while I can! (I see similar family vacays in my future...).

So voila mes amies! Some major R&R (and flight anxiety!) in my future!

à suivre...

Men are from March

Copain and I sat on lounge chairs, side by side, facing the enormous pool at our riad in Marrakech. I was reading the latest Elle and he was trying to increase his Wifi connection by moving his phone from left to right, up and down - but no luck.  Good, I thought to myself, maybe that means we can actually relax together for once...

The palm trees swayed, the water glistened, and just when it seemed that the moment could not get more romantic, he reached over to touch my leg - looked into my eyes and said...

Why is your skin all wavy? It's weird - it's all... bumpy.

Yes, ladies and gentleman, Copain was referring to the lovely bit of cellulite that decided to settle in on the side of my thigh years ago. Cellulite that I have tried over and over again to forget, to ignore, to rationalize as something normal and not worth making a big deal about. That cellulite. 

While I tried to think of a answer that was nicer than biting his head off and throwing him in the pool, I wondered, what man in his right mind asks a woman about her cellulite??!!! One would think that after 8 years with the same person, A. He would have already noticed said cellulite, and B. He would have learned that this subject, along with weight gain and dieting suggestions were off limits under any and all circumstances.

Clearly, Copain did not get the memo.

Later at dinner, when I handed him the bill and told him that he owed it to me after commenting on my wavy/bumpy skin, he explained to me that it wasn't his fault if men were from March and women were from Venus.

Amsterdam with Copain

Copain and I just got back from his 30th birthday adventure in Amsterdam.  For those of you Parisians trying to think of a good weekend getaway, Amsterdam is it! The train took about 3 hours, we arrived right in the center of the city and we were welcomed with a yummy glass of bubbly and snacks at Hotel Fita. Bliss.

As I got on the train, I tried to forget the stress of Paris and get into vacation mode with magazines, a good book and a homemade muffin.  Then I promised myself to disconnect as much as possible from the following:

Facebook

Email

Blogs

Then I connected to the hotel wifi and my plans went down the proverbial toilette.  Thankfully, the fear of paying international roaming charges forced me to put my Iphone on airplane mode once outside the walls of Fita, allowing me to focus on more vacation-y things such as:

Eating all foods not Dutch (somehow we managed to eat Chinese, Indonesian, Argentinian and Italian..)

Testing out the array of Dutch and Belgian beers

Taking in the beauty of the gables, canals and graphic style of the city

Saving my bootay from kamikaze bikers (where is the sidewalk??!)

Gawking at the Red Light District errrr...inhabitants? 

Trying to fathom how Anne Frank survived in hiding for two years

Enjoying the diverse range of licorice candies in the grocery store

In comparison to dog poop Paris, Amsterdam was like Monsieur Propre's hometown. It was also home to Monsieur Accommodating, Monsieur Polite and Mme Smiley.  Copain and I were downright lost. You have to warn Parisians about that kind of behavior! We hardly knew what to do with ourselves. I mean, the bikers stopped at the stop lights people. They stopped. Fascinating...

We got sufficiently lost to explore the city and I decided that I could totally live in Amsterdam as long as I could learn A. learn Dutch and B. learn defensive biking. I'd hate to be the American who not only gets run over by bikers on a regular basis, but who also makes the Dutch speak to me in my native language on their turf, and not the other way around.

ps - kudos to the Dutch for their complete mastery of anglais.  How do they do it?

Here are a few highlights from our voyage ... Amsterdam, we heart you. 

Fita treats

Refried beans! Three points for Amsterdam:-)

Canals a-go-go...

We visited the butterfly house in the botanical gardens...

And the tropical rainforest house...which inspired Copain to make South America our next trip destination

As we pulled into the Gare du Nord on Sunday evening, my defenses for dog doo and the Parisian way went right back up as we boarded the cramped metro for the short ride home.  Oh Amsterdam...I will miss you.

The Simple Things à Paris

My copine and her mari left for Rome yesterday and we miss them already. It was great having a lifelong friend visit me in Paris - six months pregnant and all!

We did all of the touristy things - Eiffel Tower, Bateau Mouche, Arc de Triomphe, Champs Elysées, but one of my favorite nights was when they just came to our mini-apartment and we ate chicken, an amazing Huré baguette and patisseries from my local bakery for dessert. These are the times when I ask myself why we don't live closer...