Copines

This year, I got over my fear of being "the social coordinator". I pulled up my big girl culottes, rallied the troupes and set a date for a dinner with the copines. I checked in, followed up, made a restaurant reservation and then even made the executive decision to change it at the last minute when my first choice disappointed with a rule about a 45 Euro minimum per person for groups over 6.  

I think I deserve an "A" for effort because that stuff does not come easily to me - like, at all. I worry that people won't like the restaurant, that not enough people will be able to come, that my plans will fall on their face, but I realized this last night:

When it comes to restaurants and plans, most people just want others to make decisions for them to make life easy. 

I know I do. 

Which restaurant - I don't know...something good? with candles?

Which wine - uhhhh, I'll drink anything. Just please decide so that I don't have to. 

When the wine list came to our table, instead of hemming and hawing, one copine said, "Rosé non?" and that is what we drank for the rest of the night. No wondering, no who likes white, who like red, which one should we get? Plutôt sec? plutôt doux? None of that - just "une autre bouteille, monsieur - oui, la même." Easy peasy. I loved it.

The old me would have worried that not everyone liked rosé and that someone would be unhappy, but the copines rolled with the punches as I filled up their glasses with chilled rosé on a hot summer day.  We mish-mashed les entrées and les plats, shared desserts and asked for more baskets of bread. It was relaxed and I was relieved. 

At the end of the night, we peeled ourselves off of our chairs, chatting about les vacances, who would go where and when we would be back for our next dinner.  One of my dear American friends will move to Vietnam, a new friend just arrived from Ireland to live in Paris, two French copines will take an entire month off for August! My Canadian friend has started a new job and is doing some last minute get-out-of-town planning. My French-Irish-American friend will see family in Bretagne, as she grieves the loss of her sweet husband. The last time we saw each other was at his celebration of life, when we all vowed to get together more often, so saddened by what our friend was going through.  

Outside of the restaurant, as we kissed each other goodbye, making sure that everyone had a safe way home, I realized that all of the worries that prevented me from ever making plans in the past were very superficial. It doesn't matter where you eat, what the wine tastes like, or how many people can come. What matters is taking the time to see your friends, holding up those who are struggling, reminding those who are leaving that you'll miss them, welcoming new friends into your life, and enjoying the time that we do have together.


Need some chilled rosé with friends?

Chez Mademoiselle
16 rue Charlemagne
75004 Paris
Metro: Pont Marie (line 7)

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.

Parisian Parentals

I jutted into traffic to protect Dancer Friend's new little bundle in his stroller as we crossed the busy Paris streets near Canal Saint Martin. J was born just two months ago and DF was braving a trip into the city alone for the first time.

After a thirty-minute set back due to projectile baby spit up, she had finally found a parking spot, put the stroller back together, texted me that J was screaming, but that she was still going to try and power through.

Courageous is what I call that.

We met on the corner of the quai and quickly assessed that her first suggestion of Ten Belles, the most adorable café on the planet, but also the smallest, would not be suitable for her tank-sized stroller. We'd need a bit more of that precious Parisian café real estate if J was to join us.

Close, but no cigar.

We finally found La Marine, just across the canal, and poked our heads in to analyze the situation. Could we fit a stroller in there? We decided yes, and pushed the baby tank through the miniature aisle between tables, parking J in a corner we deemed "out of the way".  Our tarte tatin and café crème arrived and then J decided to poop.

I looked at DF with big eyes - ummm ...what do you do now? Where do you change him?

Again, we thought about it...if there's no changing table in the closet-sized WC, how rude would it be to change him right there in the restaurant? And more importantly, how smelly? What if we offered everyone hand sanitizer right after? Maybe I could create a distraction? Would they even notice?

DF reminded me that then she would have to do something with the dirty diaper, which is when I suggested she change him outside. But she told me it was probably cruel to change a baby outside in the wintertime.

Ohh riiiigghht. That's why she's the mom.

And so, as all Parisian parents must do, DF had to make a crucial decision: to change, or not to change? 

Thankfully, J was a good little sport, realized he probably shouldn't have decided to poop while out in the city, and stuck it out like a champ for the majority of our coffee time. Parisian parents be warned - La Marine is not the place to take a kid in diapers unless it's warm outside!

Is it just me or is my friend the bravest woman on the planet? She drove a 2 MONTH OLD, BY HERSELF into PARIS, PARKED A CAR in the city on a SATURDAY, put together a TANK stroller, breastfed in public, and had to make a decision that no mother should have to make only two months in. 

She deserves a medal.

Step it up Paris - it's no wonder the families are fleeing to the burbs!

Soirée Parisienne à l'Opera Garnier

My Kombucha Copine has become the Artistic Social Coordinator for us expat dancers in Paris, and we love her for it.

Practically a month after meeting her, she had set up 6 months of dance performances for us to see. She pretty much rocks the planning ahead (which I am HORRIBLE at, so I appreciate her that much more for getting my boo-tay out of my teeny apartment and into a theatre).

When February rolled around, it was time to see the Paris Opera Ballet dancers perform Jiri Kylian's Kaguyahime. As I got off the metro and walked towards the opera house, I realized that it would be the very first performance I'd seen at Opera Garnier. Eight years in France, three years in Paris, and I'd never seen a performance here! What?????? I know. 

See why I especially need Kombucha Copine in my life?

KC, Dancer Friend and I all met at l'Entreacte for pre-show drink and all of a sudden I felt so, parisienne, as I sipped Champagne and looked out the window at this:

When it was time to go inside, I was blown away - the Opera is a show in and of itself (no offense, Jiri). 

We made our way through the Opera to our seats in the loges, and found tiny, burgundy velvet chairs waiting for us:

and then the show began...

We walked out on a little Parisian dance cloud of happiness and decided to treat ourselves to after-show dessert drinks too...because, you know, you only live once and this is Paris!

Contemplation of the Beautiful

Ever since my brunch with Dancer Friend at Un Dimanche à Paris, when she busted out a gorgeous scarf and wrapped it cosily around her neck, I'd been pining to have one myself.

They are made by South African designer, Karien Belle, and along with other creations, come in a range of colors and fabrics. Each one says something beautiful. 

source

I couldn't make it to the sale in Paris and was having a hard time justifying a purchase for myself when I had already had a day of spending.  But I really wanted one of these amazing scarves!

You can imagine my surprise when my thoughtful Dancer Friend gifted me with the scarf she had worn to brunch. How I love it! 

Here it hangs chez moi...I can't wait to wear it.

The scarves come in these fun little bags.

My scarf says: The pleasure which is at once the most pure, the most elevating and the most intense is derived from the contemplation of the Beautiful.

Merci copine!