Le Rhythme de la France

Most places in the world have a rhythm all their own. Perhaps it's because my adult years have been spent in France, but here (especially in Paris) and especially now that I am spending my second summer en ville, I truly notice a very distinct rhythm that creates the heartbeat of ce pays.

Life starts with La Rentrée when children go back to school and adults go back to work. Everyone is tanned and well-dressed (from les soldes- sales!), nostalgic for les vacances but motivated for a fresh new start. The metro is full, the streets are bustling and the city buzzes with energy.

Soon there is a chill in the air, butternut squash and citrouille start popping up in the open-air marchés and women begin to wear their go-with-everything trench coats.

Days get shorter, trench coats turn into les manteaux d'hiver, scarves begin to make their appearance and finally foie gras and champagne are being sold en masse in the specialty boutiques for Noël. Finally, the mayor decorates the city with twinkling lights and the shop keepers compete for the fanciest vitrine.  The smell of roasting marrons fills the air...

After the holiday craze come the first of two yearly soldes. Les français et surtout les françaises flock to Paris for the best stores, the biggest selections and the most exasperating shopping experiences of their lives. Only the truly motivated (or truly crazy!) tempt the ginormous Galeries Lafayette and Printemps.

A mild depression takes over the country as everyone waits for winter to be over and for spring to shine a little light over l'Hexagon. Frown lines are de rigeur. Getting out of bed when it's still dark in the morning is pure torture.

Finally! Boots are no longer a necessity and the terraces and streets are packed at the first sign of sunlight!  Le bonheur est de retour.  No one even cares that they can hardly move on the rue des Francs Bourgeois because the entire city has come out of its cave at exactly the same time.

Students cram into libraries and study for leurs examens. Office folk work late in preparation for les vacances. Everyone wants to know where everyone else will be spending their summer. Et toi, tu vas passer les vacances où? The second round of sales is in full force and les françaises cram into tiny, sweaty dressing rooms, determined to faire une affaire.


And then ladies and gents, mesdames et messieurs, the moment they've all been waiting for...les vacances. Parisians clear out of the city and head south, tourists land at Charles de Gaulle airport and parking suddenly becomes available again. The city is relaxed, France is happy.  On the télévision they obsess about la météo, how hot it will be aujourd'hui, demain and the day after demain. Picnics abound on the Champs de Mars and La Place des Vosges, les glaces drip off their cones, Paris builds a beach right along la Seine for those unfortunate few who cannot leave town.

And then, like clockwork, la saison estivale comes to a close, the children shop for their new trousse, the cherished French pencil bag, and sweaters start to fill the rayons at Monoprix.  Everyone starts to prepare mentally and fashionably for la rentrée...

I can feel La Rentrée on the horizon, but until then, I'm quite enjoying my quiet walks home, the warm, cheery terraces full of carefree vacationers and my unfashionable summer dresses...

Paris Plage

Check out a book and relax by the Seine

Les vacances, right in the heart of Paris...

Numéro Cent

Oh la la! Messieurs, Madames - this post marks my 100th blog on French Cannes Cannes. C'est fou non?!


In honor of blog post number 100 (and as a precursor to the 30 Days of Lists challenge I am going to attempt starting March 1st), why not start with 100 reasons why I love France? (soon to be followed by the 101st blog post of why France drives me nuts).


Ready? On y va! (in no particular order)


1. French reportage - Frenchified documentaries on American gangs, American Spring Break, American Universities and American Obesity - they suck you in faster than you can say fromage.

2. Walking - always - anywhere (in Paris that is).

3. Millefeuille pastries - I can eat two in one sitting. (seriously)

4. Marchés - open air markets with lots of yelling about cheap fruits and veggies.

5. So many things are "ancien" - which leads me to number six:

6. Inherent charm

7. Arrogance - The French all think they are Hot Ish ...and they're not embarrassed to make you aware of that fact.

8. UHT milk - I know we may have this in the states but I had no idea what the strange bottle of unrefrigerated white stuff  was when I was handed a bag of "welcome snacks" by my university program coordinator in Toulouse, 2004. Now it makes me so happy to buy a six pack of milk - one goes in the fridge, five in the cupboard. I NEVER run out of milk people!

9. Public transportation - Somehow the French, who have made prolonging red tape some kind of an art form, are all on top of the public transportation...while Americans are chillin... in their Fords.

10. Cobble stones (though I am considering asking my shoe repairman if he has some sort of fidelity card).

11. Almond flavoring - the French love it, and so do I....almond soap, almond tarts, almond slivers on croissants, almond powder (I sprinkle it in yogurt!), almond lotion. It's a mini-almond heaven.

12. Health care. Now, I almost wrote free health care, but that would be a bit fat mensonge seeing as how a big chunk of my salary goes to taxes and those taxes pay for health care. BUT, I do appreciate not having to worry about say - getting hit by a Velib while crossing the street, losing my arm and then not getting treated for it :-) Merci La France (and merci to me for paying taxes).

sad Velib

13. Oh la la - mais oui, I like France for this expression (and so does Olivier Giraud).

14. Merde - again, a favorite. Nothing wraps France up more than the word merde - dog merde on the ground, merde on your shoes, merde I missed the metro!, this show is de la merde. See - so useful!

15. Yogurts - you know how in America there is Yoplait or...Yoplait?  Well, in France the yogurt section takes up an ENTIRE AISLE at the grocery store. I could do an entire year's worth of blogs just about taste testing the different yogurts: soy yogurt, goat's milk yogurt, almond yogurt, plain yogurt, whole fat, low fat, non-fat yogurts, small, medium and large yogurts...and the list goes on and on...

16. Quality not quantity.  In some ways this is not always true (you'll always be able to find a kilo of cheap chocolate or 5 tank tops for 25 Euros) BUT most of the time France is about quality, not quantity. Boxes of chocolates are small but oh so tasty, clothes are expensive but are meant to last.  I'm still battling my inner-American who just wants a cheap thrill on this one(except for Target - don't worry, I still love you), but the French have got this one right.

17. Paris - how could I make a list of things I love about France and NOT list Paris?!

18. l'Art de vivre - we take time to walk, we take time to eat, we take time to talk, we take time to relax.

19. La Ville en Rose - Toulouse will always be my first French city.

20. Bastille - anytime I walk home, the moment I see Bastille, I feel better. It means I'm almost there, it's full of life and movement and just the sight of it makes me happy.

21. Copain - France wouldn't be France and my life would not be complete without my uber Frenchified, radin Copain. I'm not even sure I would be sitting on my Conforama couch in the middle of Paris typing this if it wasn't for him.

 22. Art de la table - I make fun of it, but oh my dog do I love the energy the French put into decorating their tables: fancy place settings, silver cutlery, water glass, white wine glass, red wine glass, cloth napkins, center piece! And no table is complete without some sparkly table confetti! Behold the Belle Mère's Christmas table:

23. Champagne - never in my life have I had more champagne than during my years in France. How did I not know about its greatness earlier???!!!

24. Which brings me to - Foie gras. Again, I'm in love. Add some sea salt (perhaps a little bit of fig chutney) and I'm in FCC paradis.

25. Mi-bas and sockettes. I know, I know, you're thinking what the heck is a mi-bas?! Just ask my mom and she'll tell you of the wonders.


26. Vacances : 5 weeks, paid, yearly. How is that not amazeballs?

27. A love for cahiers - the French are biiiiig fans of the cahier (notebook) - especially Copain.  The school supply section at BHV makes me want to be 7 again and have my "liste pour la rentrée". (Yes, the teachers actually give parents a list of all the cahiers, pens and different colored folders they need to buy their kids before the first day of school...to the tune of a lot of Euros per enfant).

28. I know it's cliché but...baguettes. Who doesn't love hot, crispy, yet perfectly soft and chewy bread with cheese???

29. An unwavering attachment to tradition (see baguettes, health care, vacation).

30. La buvette - the cheapest bar on the planet which can be found at the classy "Board Games Festival" (this is where French nerds walk around playing board and strategy games all day) and the "Foire aux Celibataires" (Singles Festival - where those over 60 and single speed date, line dance and plus si affinité). Hey, people get thirsty.

31. Franglais - le weekend, ok, le basket, un t-shirt, un jean - we win.

32. Obsession with all that is "bio" (organic)...though maybe this is not just France?? I've totally caught the bug...except for those wafer cookies I just bought and inhaled. merde.

33. Expats - France is so fun to make fun of ... and even more fun with expats!

100. Overachieving is not always admired - in fact, they may think you are trying too hard and that if you have to try that hard, you must have some issues to work through...which is why I am going to stop there and go to bed. Désolée mes amis ....but this FCC needs to dormir.

Bonne nuit la France - je t'aime, even if I can't make it to 100 ce soir.

Americans in Paris

My childhood next door neighbor, past travel buddy and friend is here in Paris this weekend using what little American vacation he gets yearly to revel in the amaze-balls that is Europe.  I don't know how he does it, but the man gets to Europe more than I get to the states - and I have family there...he just has pints and good wine to appreciate here. I'm baffled/jealous all at the same time.

In any case, last time he visited I was living in Cannes and flew up to (snowy, freezing my bootay off) Paris to hang with his group of travel friends - but this year I am a (freezing my bootay off) Parisian! So much better - so many more possibilities because I'm not a total tourist anymore, falling for the restaurant menus translated into fifty languages including pig latin. I can actually suggest places to go that are off the beaten path / not yet discovered by Rick Steves! (I know, I know, I'm kind of amazing).

Last night Neighb texted me asking for a wine/cheese bar extravaganza idea and I sent him the address of a place on rue de la Roquette called Resto Zinc - maybe you've heard of it? I was a little stressed to make a suggestion - what if it sucked? what if they wanted hip, modern Paris when I had sent them to hole-in-the-wall-authentic Paris? ahhhhh. crap. Copain and I had no Friday plans and ended up meeting them there as well - so I could torture myself with hoping things went well in person instead of from afar. awesome.

Our waiter was what I can only describe as a giant awkward nerd who I just felt bad for. yeah, poor dude. I asked if we could sit for a drink and a fromage plate and he looked at me confused and asked - pour diner? Well no, I clarified - just for wine and a fromage plate. Yeah, so pour diner then? he repeated. Umm, okay...if you say so...and so we followed him to one of the five tables that were so clearly hard for him to choose from. 

After perusing the wine and cheese menu we decided on a Côte du Rhone red and the assiette dégustation (tasting plate) of fromage...basically happiness for about 35 Euros.  When we signaled that we were ready to order Monsieur Bizarre decided it was a good time to tell us that the kitchen wouldn't be open for another "petite demie-heure" - little half an hour (as opposed to a big half an hour?). Okay, then we'll just take the wine and then in the little half an hour we'll take the cheese - merci. 

He arrived with our glasses and our bottle and jauntily set it all down on the table. But I glimpsed the bottle before he could start pouring - and Côte du Rhone it was NOT. When I kindly pointed this out to him, his awkward level went up about five notches - and then six more when I looked at the menu and mentioned that it was about 8 Euros more expensive than our original order. Not ones to cause a scene, we agreed to try the Côtaux du Loire that he had brought instead and he took this as an opportunity to explain the amaze-balls quality of grapes in the Loire Valley and the leeetle keeek that the wine had due to the richness of the grape mélange...ohh la la, this one knows how to sell it!

A petite forty-five minutes later and after a firm word from Copain to Monsieur Bizarre, our cheese platter made its grand entrance into the world and onto our table....and all was forgotten.  Two more bottles of Côte du Rhone followed, the restaurant filled with chattering Parisiens, and even though we were clearly the loud obnoxious American table, they seemed to accept our imposing presence in this little corner of France.  

Brownie Points for France

Let's do a recap:

• I officially turned in my request for French nationality on the 24th of May 2009.
• I then received a letter saying that I had an interview at the Prefecture de Nice in November 2009.
• On September 7th 2010 I called the Prefecture de Nice to see how my file was moving along.  It was then that I learned that I had been French since August 27th 2010.
• On September 9th 2010 I received a letter confirming what I had been told over the phone and informing me that within 6 months I would receive another letter with information about my official documents etc.
• On September 16th 2010 I tried to get a French ID card using the letter that I had been sent telling me that I was officially French.  It was then that I learned that I needed to wait for the "ceremonie".  Ahhhh - who knew!  

So I waited knowing very well that I could be waiting quite awhile before the famous ceremony information was sent my way.

France, I just want to say, wow - way to go.  Big pat on the back for you my friend.  Even though none of your worker minions knew what the hell was going on most of the time, you managed to pull through in the face of adversity.  Gold stars all around for France!

Just last week I got THE CEREMONIE LETTER telling me that I could do one of two things:

I could go to the Prefecture on October 26th to turn in my request for my French ID card and therefore receive it at the ceremony on November 10th OR I could just turn up at the ceremony and deal with my ID card later.

Never one to refuse the offer from France to show up at the Prefecture at a precise time instead of waiting in line for 8 hours like the rest of the population, I decided to go to the rendez-vous on October 26th.  They even warned us to prévoir une demi-journée - plan to stay half a day...how thoughtful.

I was nervous, I was running late and I was determined to re-do my ID photos so that my first French ID card would have a picture of how I looked at the time I learned I was French (I know, I know). The French gods were obviously looking down on me that day - there was a photo booth in the Cité metro stop and I got it on the first try - bam! Take that France!

This didn't prevent me from going to the wrong part of the Prefecture and having to take a long walk along the Seine to get to the right part but I finally made it to the Salle Marianne (the Marianne room) complete with Nicolas Sarkozy's photo, a French flag and Liberté, Egalité, Fraternité written on the wall. I felt French already.

The essence of France: bleu, blanc, rouge and lots of paperwork

I waited in line expecting to be standing there for at least two hours when I was surprisingly greeted  by two stoutly French women who took our photos and placed them on what can only be described as a serving tray.  Whatever works right?  We were instructed to take a seat and were then given a crash course in "Filling Out your ID Request Form 101". We were told that if we didn't know our height that they had a measuring stick there for our use - I was again so incredibly impressed with the planning that obviously went into this rendez-vous. I began to wonder if they hadn't they been secretly taking lessons from the Anglophones...

I looked around the room - people of all colors, all nationalities, all ages were there with me - and we all had something very special in common: we had worked hard to go through the system and to ultimately be French.  And we had made it. This was what we had been waiting for.

I wanted to reach out and congratulate each and every one of them but my new Frenchness told me not to -- only an American would do that right? Even still, I felt close to these people and just as happy for them as I was for myself.  We had all been through the gamut (some much more than others) to get to this very moment.

We all got copies of our French birth certificates to help us fill out our ID request forms.  I noticed that France had made a few small mistakes (mais bon, on est en France n'est pas?). My last name now had a space where before there was none AND my street name was completely wrong, but eh - those are just les détails right? I wasn't about to slow down the process by complaining about a little space or about my street name...so voila. Tant pis, c'est comme ça. The French FrenchCannesCannes will have a last name with a space.

I measured myself in meters, I turned in my documents (secretly took a photo- see above) and I left after only 2 hours of Prefecture galère. It was the least painful Prefecture experience I've had in 6 years.

Outside, I felt like Paris was congratulating me.  A man played the accordion on the bridge and the sun was shining in such a way that the Seine sparkled, creating a glow around the buildings on the banks.

Due to my running late I hadn't had time to eat and the pangs of hunger were starting to get stronger. I decided to bypass the bran biscuits in my purse and treat myself to a very French breakfast.  And that's just what I did at Chatelet, in a warm café where the Parisians bustle by the café windows. Just me, the Française, and my French petit-déjeuner.