My Ancestors, the Plouks

I took a delicious four-day weekend to unwind after a particularly stressful couple of months at work. I told Copain that we absolutely had to get out of Paris, even if it was just for a night. I needed a change of scenery.

I also told him that I couldn't plan any of it. Thankfully, he was more than happy to take on the job. 

He gave me two destination choices, to which I replied, "I don't care."

He gave me train time choices, to which I replied, "I don't care."

Then he asked me which hotel we should stay at, and I said, "just make sure we can walk there from the train station."

This is how we ended up on a train at 7:45am on the way to l'Hôtel de L'Europe in the little fishing town of Dieppe in the north of France.

Dieppe wasn't just chosen par hasard; this is where the French side of my family began. According to our family tree, our first ancestor was baptized at la Cathédrale Saint-Jacques, right in the middle of town. Having lived in the south up until three years ago, I'd just never taken the time to visit mes racines.  Since it was just a 20-Euro, 2-hour train ticket away from Paris, there was really no excuse - off to Dieppe we went! 

We transfered trains in Rouen and I scrambled through strollers and a cloud of summer-induced B.O. to find two seats together, yelling to Copain to come and join me. When the train started moving and the three small children next to us started to whine and cry, Copain and I started to notice our surroundings...

Fake tans, gold chains, visible bras and bra straps, acrylic nails, mullets....

Were we on a Jerry Springer set?

I checked our train tickets again - Déstination: Dieppe. This must the right train.

We arrived in Dieppe and watched as the train unloaded. Our suspicions were quickly confirmed - we were in Plouk-ville! When I told Copain we were surrounded by plouks, he thoughtfully commented, "they're your ancestors!" Génial.

Well, when in Rome...

Copain put on his plouk tank top and just like that, he fit right in! After a quick walk on the beach, we both got plouk sunburns which sealed the deal - we were super-plouks for the weekend: When we ordered cheese at the marché, we appreciated the thoughtfulness of the vendor when he swatted the flies landing on our slice. When our ray dish came covered in cream sauce that floated over to the side salad, we just ate around it. And when the seagull bombed us, getting Copain down the back and me down the front, we just rolled with the punches and suddenly felt... Dieppois ourselves.

Though somehow I had hoped that my old French famille had some nobler beginnings, Dieppe was just what the doctor ordered - sun, sea, beach picnics, apéros on the port, fish dinners, and of course, the best people-watching EVER. Waaaay more fun than stuffy Cannes or jet-set Monaco in the south!

Are you my ancestor?

Un pêcheur Dieppois...this is obviously why my Dad and Grandpa like to fish. 

When we arrived at 10am, the fish market was in full effect. Nothing like a little fish stench to get you going in the morning!

Despite the wind and millions of rocks, the Dieppois were à la plage. We had a picnic there, fell asleep and woke up with stiff necks from the rocks.  Mais bon, this was an important step in our sunburn plouk-dom.

The big marché was going on in centre-ville ...how adorable is this salad to plant? We got afore-mentioned fly cheese, ham with herbs, cherries, nectarines, peaches and fresh bread. 

Port de Dieppe, where the magic happens.

Saint-Jacques - where my first 'cestor was baptized.

Chateau on the cliffs...pretty sure my peeps lived right here.

Too bad they peaced out to Montreal...I could get used to this.

Foie de lotte, the local specialty. Who knew you could eat fish liver?

And just for good measure - the ray with crème Normande (and floating salad):

Don't worry, that's pretty much how I left my plate. My plouks left town waaay back in the day, which I am assuming means that the percentage of plouk in my blood must be pretty low at this point. 

I guess I was all plouked-out.

When Paris Stops to Smell the Roses

I looked out the window this morning, only to see this:

More snow!

Perfect excuse for a brunch and a day out in beautiful, snow-covered Paris n'est pas?

6am on a Saturday

After a lovely day with My Very Parisian Friend, full of delicious lentils and sausages,

 galettes des rois (I got the fève!)...

 and lots of cooing at baby Josephine,

I walked home through a pristine, snowy Paris...

It seemed like the perfect end to a rejuvenating day with my good friend and her adorable baby. I put on my pjs and got cosy in my bed...

Then at 6AM I heard keys in the door (Copain back from a a-hem, VERY late night out), Copain in the shower, Copain in the bed, Copain snoring, and then at 6:35AM WHOMP WHOMP WHOMP WHOMP WHOMP!!!!!! HIS STUPID ALARM!!!!!!! 

I yelled for him to turn it off three times before he even rolled over.

I tried to think relaxing thoughts, lull myself back to sleep. No such luck. I checked my emails, read a few blogs, looked at facebook - Sleep was NOT happening. AHHHHH!!!!! STUPID COPAIN COMING HOME AT 6AM AND HIS STUPID ALARM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! So I did what any perfectly sane girlfriend would do:

I turned on all the lights, flipped on the radio, washed the dishes, did a load of laundry, set my alarm to go off at 10 minute intervals with sounds like "digital" and "timba"in the bedroom, and cleaned the house from top to bottom, making sure to be especially loud for the sleeping giant.  It's too bad our vacuum is broken, that would have added an extra je ne sais quoi.

When I couldn't take one more interval of "digital", I made a cup of espresso and sat on the taupe couch, Adele blasting from RTL2 morning wake-up radio.

I'm still a bit reeling if you can't tell - perhaps it's my triple espresso. What irritates me the most is that what could have been a cosy morning in bed with snow outside, has turned into the most annoying morning of my life. After a week of nothing but stress, all I wanted was to relax into the weekend. 

Merci Copain, merci a whole lot.

Sometimes Paris is Better

When Copain announced that he would be spending this weekend with his parents in Biarritz, I was kinda bummed that I wouldn't be joining them.  A getaway to the beach with nothing but soupe de poisson (fish soup!) and les balades (strolls) along the coast to worry about sounded like just the vacation I needed. But alas, I had to stay in Paris.

My first indication that I had made the right decision was this MMS sent by Copain from Montparnasse train station:

Accompanying text: Aren't u happy right now? It's a mess here

Then I got this:

Accompanying text: My seat and the train

Needless to say, 6 hours on a fold-down chair, squished in-between what are surely bed-bug covered suitcases, would have put me completely over the edge.

Then I got this:

Accompanying text: Pig's ears!! Did you see the blood vessels?

I had forgotten that Copain had asked his mom to get him pig ears and apparently Belle-Mère pulled through for him. Oh. dear. god. Does this not remind you something you once fed to your dog to gnaw on? 

This text was followed by another one indicating that the next three days would be rainy - Rain + Beach = depressing (except I guess it does make hot soupe de poisson taste that much better).

Finally, I got this gem:

Accompanying text: I found our new salad spinner!!

Now in this instance, it's Copain who's lucky I couldn't go to Biarritz, because if I had been there when he suggested we purchase this GIGANTIC gadget to put in our teeny Parisian apartment (right next to all of his other genius purchases!!!!!!), surely I would have exploded in his face. 

Oh my life.

See, sometimes it's just better (for everyone) to stay at home in Paris, bed-bug free with normal food and no physical violence due to inappropriate purchases by significant others.

La Troisième Liste

List 3 - Recipe for a perfect weekend

Funny that this prompt fell on this weekend in particular, because it's starting to resemble my vision of a perfect weekend already...

Now that my Friday work hours are reduced, I can leave at 2pm. That said, I never do, but I got pretty close on Friday and left at 4pm.  I decided to be a tourist for a day and so, my weekend started on Friday at 4pm like this:

overcast Paris, just me, the Seine and the bridges

Notre Dame, in all her touristy glory

Quai Saint-Michel

La Jacobine - I resisted a crumble that was calling to me from the window

I had to get a closer look - but still, I resisted!

My willpower failed me when I passed by this Italian gelato place...

I love these

I've never eaten here, or even had a quick café...but something tells me I have to do it once in my life

A wine box for a bicycle basket - genius

Repetto - please go on sale!

St Germain

rue Buci... time for an apero

Piles and piles of old books... don't you just want to go in and smell the store? Library memories...flea markets...cozy days

On my way to meet Copain for a sushi dinner near rue Dauphine

Today, Saturday, I'm off to lunch, followed by a hammam on rue Montorgueil with a copine! I can't wait to zen out with mint tea and a gommage to get off all the winter tired feeling and dry skin...I might even treat myself to a massage with hot huile d'argan.

Sunday, I have no plans - just how I like it. Perhaps we'll watch New Girl (our new American TV obsession - watch it, you'll love it!). Perhaps, we'll have a brunch or a promenade in a new quartier. Maybe I'll bake muffins with my new chestnut flour, or maybe....the possibilities are endless n'est pas?