I was clicking through pages on the Internets today and I stumbled across this article in the NY Times Style section:
http://runway.blogs.nytimes.com/2010/06/04/starting-the-summer-in-paris/?ref=fashion
The article is pretty much all about how summer fashion in Paris is "inventive," etc. and the author follows in the grand American tradition of slobbering over Parisian style simply because it is Parisian. My favorite bits in the article are when she cites the plethora of ballet flats and flat sandals as evidence of "inventiveness" and breathlessly describes the outfit of a middle-aged parisienne dressed all in black. All-black in a city (a bloutfit, if you will)? Linen, shorts and flat sandals for summer? Inventive, I tell you. Truly unexpected.
True, French women are undeniably chic with their touseled hair, cool denim and classy accessories. True, you can get away with certain things here that might be questionable in much of the U.S. (harem pants, onesies/rompers/playsuits, joutfits). But I have been saying it all along, people: French women all dress the same. One French woman on the streets of small-town U.S.A. probably would seem truly interesting and fashionable in her understated silhouettes and carefully combined neutrals. But you walk around Paris for a few months and you realize that they all have the same stuff. Each age group of parisienne has its own acceptable set of shoes, handbags, jeans and sweaters. If you lived here, you'd probably dress like that, too. It's not inventive, it's uniform. And here's the best part - Parisian teenagers are actually trying to dress like us as much as we're trying to dress like them. Hence the overabundance of Abercrombie & Fitch and NY Yankees gear.
06 June, 2010
29 May, 2010
French people (don't) hate America
I've realized something about language. There's a stereotype about the French that they a) hate Americans b) hate the U.S. and c) hate literally everything our country symbolizes. However, most of the Parisians (and Europeans) I've met who speak English fluently have this almost unnerving obsession with the U.S. I met a man the other day who is from Luxembourg and lives in France (by the way, he speaks English, French, Italian, German and Luxembourgish, don't worry) who was telling me that he's lived and traveled extensively in the U.S. - he even stayed in South Carolina for a few years! - and that he loves, loves, loves, America and Americans. Ditto the family I work for. Ditto every French person I've met who speaks English proficiently. In fact, several English-speaking French people have, upon finding out that I'm American (they usually thing I'm English for some reason?), smiled broadly - something the French NEVER do - and said, "Oh, I LOVE your country!" You find the same sentiments among French-speaking Americans. We tend to be passionately in love with France / the French / Paris in a way that our non-French-speaking neighbors are not.
On the other hand, when an American walks into a French restaurant / bus / store and insists on speaking English (loudly) to the driver / saleslady / server who speaks nothing but French, you can cut the nationalistic tension with a knife. The American, for some reason, becomes furious because, seriously, doesn't everyone speak English? Isn't this bus driver just being intentionally obtuse? Meanwhile said bus driver is mumbling under his breath about how maybe you should try speaking the language of the country you're visiting, for a change, you self-centered American fool. This exchange leaves both parties feeling grumpy about the other's language / culture / country in general.
I think this arises from the two cultures having very different attitudes about language. Because of France's location, well-educated French people (especially along the borders) often have at least a basic understanding of English and, sometimes, German, Italian and/or Spanish. Additionally, the French are historically fiercely protective of their language - hence the existence of the Academie Francaise - and have become even moreso recently because French is steadily decreasing in its rank among the list of the world's most widely spoken languages. Combine the French language's slump in popularity with the steady influx of Arabic-speakers into France and suddenly the French see their beloved language as being in jeopardy. Meanwhile, Americans don't really feel like we need to learn another language because one of our two neighboring countries is Anglophone and even when you're traveling you can nearly always find someone who has a basic understanding of English. The French wish more people would speak French; Americans merely expect that most of the world speaks English.
On the other hand, when an American walks into a French restaurant / bus / store and insists on speaking English (loudly) to the driver / saleslady / server who speaks nothing but French, you can cut the nationalistic tension with a knife. The American, for some reason, becomes furious because, seriously, doesn't everyone speak English? Isn't this bus driver just being intentionally obtuse? Meanwhile said bus driver is mumbling under his breath about how maybe you should try speaking the language of the country you're visiting, for a change, you self-centered American fool. This exchange leaves both parties feeling grumpy about the other's language / culture / country in general.
I think this arises from the two cultures having very different attitudes about language. Because of France's location, well-educated French people (especially along the borders) often have at least a basic understanding of English and, sometimes, German, Italian and/or Spanish. Additionally, the French are historically fiercely protective of their language - hence the existence of the Academie Francaise - and have become even moreso recently because French is steadily decreasing in its rank among the list of the world's most widely spoken languages. Combine the French language's slump in popularity with the steady influx of Arabic-speakers into France and suddenly the French see their beloved language as being in jeopardy. Meanwhile, Americans don't really feel like we need to learn another language because one of our two neighboring countries is Anglophone and even when you're traveling you can nearly always find someone who has a basic understanding of English. The French wish more people would speak French; Americans merely expect that most of the world speaks English.
19 May, 2010
Montmartre vs. Paris
The Montmartre neighborhood - especially Place du Tertre and around the Sacré-Coeur - is kind of like a "Paris at the turn of the century" themed amusement park. Like if Disney did Paris. You walk down the crooked, cobblestone streets and see crooked, old, vine-covered buildings and artists sitting outside with their easels painting the same images that Toulouse Lautrec and Picasso used to see when they lived in the neighborhood. The area is intentionally picturesque. It's actually not so bad in the winter, but once spring and good weather hit, so do the cheesy outdoor cafe terraces, craftspeople, and tourist hordes. That being said, Montmartre is charming in its own way and should be a priority for visitors to the city if only to peek into the basilica to ogle the mosaics. But it's not the place to find "authentic" Paris (if there even is such a thing). The Paris that Montmartre reflects is just an image of an era that ended somewhere between Haussmann's remodeling of the city and the German invasion of World War II.
Embarrassingly, I have to admit that when I first visited Paris at the age of 14, Montmartre, especially the Place du Tertre, was everything I had wanted Paris to be (and was disappointed it wasn't). Montmartre was the image I stored in my brain while I zealously idealized Paris and Parisian life throughout high school. And Montmartre (specifically the Montmartre of Amelie) was what I remembered and got excited about when I returned to this city when I was 20. I won't say that trip made me understand Montmartre for what it actually is, but a second visit to this city did make me replace Montmartre as the default "Paris" image in my mind with other pictures (specifically of the Marais). Honestly, it really wasn't until a few weekends ago that I fully realized just how absurd my Parisian ideal had been. You see, pretty much every time I have visited Montmartre since arriving in Paris in August the city has been in its off-season. So I could climb up the little hill to the basilica and goof around in the empty fountain and get lost on the crooked, winding streets while looking for the Dali museum in ignorant peace. I suppose I should have had some clue given that the main street leading up to the Sacré-Coeur is lined with souvenir shops and there are multitudes of shady souvenir-hawking dudes lurking at the bottom of the hill trying to make you buy a string that they tie around your finger (???). But it wasn't until my last visit to the neighborhood that I really understood - Montmartre is an amusement park minus the rides.
I was totally floored by the transformation to which the neighborhood had been subjectted. Literally thousands of people pushed their way past each other to try to get a seat on one of the newly erected covered outdoor cafe terraces on place du Tertre. There were more signs, more craftspeople / artists (and "artists"), more souvenirs, more cheesy accordian music. It was insanity.
I suppose this is why I giggled so much when on that last visit I heard a stereotypically loud, oblivious American girl say to her father while standing in Place du Tertre, "Now THIS is what I always imagined Paris would be like ever since I was a little kid." I laughed at first because, you know, what an inane thing to say! And then I laughed a little more because I used to think the exact same thing. Sorry, sunshine. This picturesque square that you are ogling excitedly through those knock-off Chanel sunglasses that you bought next to the tour Eiffel yesterday? This isn't Paris. It's too one-dimensional.
Paris is complex. It's living and evolving every day. It's wide boulevards and narrow alleys, the hipster bar near Bastille, the Arab-dominated Barbes-Rochechouart market, the awesome boulangerie next to my house (A la flute enchantée), the omnipresence of both H&M and McDonald's, the haute couture ateliers and haute cuisine restaurants. Paris is incredible and frustrating and beautiful and exciting and stressful and all of these different extremes. You can't encapsulate the idea of Paris in a theme park.
Embarrassingly, I have to admit that when I first visited Paris at the age of 14, Montmartre, especially the Place du Tertre, was everything I had wanted Paris to be (and was disappointed it wasn't). Montmartre was the image I stored in my brain while I zealously idealized Paris and Parisian life throughout high school. And Montmartre (specifically the Montmartre of Amelie) was what I remembered and got excited about when I returned to this city when I was 20. I won't say that trip made me understand Montmartre for what it actually is, but a second visit to this city did make me replace Montmartre as the default "Paris" image in my mind with other pictures (specifically of the Marais). Honestly, it really wasn't until a few weekends ago that I fully realized just how absurd my Parisian ideal had been. You see, pretty much every time I have visited Montmartre since arriving in Paris in August the city has been in its off-season. So I could climb up the little hill to the basilica and goof around in the empty fountain and get lost on the crooked, winding streets while looking for the Dali museum in ignorant peace. I suppose I should have had some clue given that the main street leading up to the Sacré-Coeur is lined with souvenir shops and there are multitudes of shady souvenir-hawking dudes lurking at the bottom of the hill trying to make you buy a string that they tie around your finger (???). But it wasn't until my last visit to the neighborhood that I really understood - Montmartre is an amusement park minus the rides.
I was totally floored by the transformation to which the neighborhood had been subjectted. Literally thousands of people pushed their way past each other to try to get a seat on one of the newly erected covered outdoor cafe terraces on place du Tertre. There were more signs, more craftspeople / artists (and "artists"), more souvenirs, more cheesy accordian music. It was insanity.
I suppose this is why I giggled so much when on that last visit I heard a stereotypically loud, oblivious American girl say to her father while standing in Place du Tertre, "Now THIS is what I always imagined Paris would be like ever since I was a little kid." I laughed at first because, you know, what an inane thing to say! And then I laughed a little more because I used to think the exact same thing. Sorry, sunshine. This picturesque square that you are ogling excitedly through those knock-off Chanel sunglasses that you bought next to the tour Eiffel yesterday? This isn't Paris. It's too one-dimensional.
Paris is complex. It's living and evolving every day. It's wide boulevards and narrow alleys, the hipster bar near Bastille, the Arab-dominated Barbes-Rochechouart market, the awesome boulangerie next to my house (A la flute enchantée), the omnipresence of both H&M and McDonald's, the haute couture ateliers and haute cuisine restaurants. Paris is incredible and frustrating and beautiful and exciting and stressful and all of these different extremes. You can't encapsulate the idea of Paris in a theme park.
03 May, 2010
L'Avant Comptoir and other deliciousness
I have become a very adventurous eater since moving to France. Here are some things I have eaten (and liked!) here that I never would have touched in the U.S.:
Foie gras
Steak tartare
Blood sausage
Veal (just because in the U.S. people judge you)
Frog legs
Escargot
Camembert
An assortment of raw things such as eggs, tuna and salmon
One can sample all kinds of delicious things at l'Avant Comptoir, an excellent restaurant in the 6th. The little sister to larger, more famous le Comptoir de Relais (both opened by Yves Camdeborde), often people only stop in at the former for appetizers before a large sit-down meal at the latter. In fact, l'Avant Comptoir doesn't even have tables and chairs. You squeeze into the tiny space and stand at the counter. However, Kay and I have decided that l'Avant Comptoir is a great place to create a delicious (and inexpensive) lunch out of several hors d'oeuvres. We made friends with the chef (the one who prepares the food, not the one who opened the restaurant), Sebastien, so it's a fun place to go, too.
They offer several different types of sausage and ham, thinly sliced and served on a wooden cutting board. You can also get brochettes of foie gras with roasted red pepper, fried pig's feet, oxtail with horseradish cream, and grilled chicken hearts with garlic and parsley. I've also seen them serve a bone marrow dish, and I've heard tell that you can occasionally get grilled duck's neck. L'Avant Comptoir has a great atmosphere, too. You get to chatting with your neighbors (in a bizarre combination of French and English and sometimes Dutch and Japanese when you're with Kay) and you pass around a communal bread basket. They have butter, sweet pickles and other condiments on the counter to go with your bread and charcuterie.
My reawakened excitement about food has also made me want to cook more. This past week has been cooking playtime. Last weekend, Kay's friend Thomas (also a chef) taught Kay and I to make our own fresh pasta. Then on Wednesday we went to the huge market in Chinatown to buy ingredients for pad thai (we totally winged it - we didn't really have a recipe, just kind of an idea of what goes into it - but the dish came out really well). Then last night I whipped up some Thai green curry with veggies.
It's probably weird to be cooking so much Thai food in France, but one complaint I have about French food is that it's often quite bland (not the case at l'Avant Comptoir, yet another reason I love it). You see, my American palate loves having spicy Italian, Chinese and Mexican food on a pretty regular basis. I just get really bored with mustard and cream sauce being poured over literally every kind of meat and served with bland, overcooked vegetables. Obviously food at high-end French restaurants is not like this, but the stuff you eat on a daily basis is heavy on the cheese and cream and light on fresh vegetables and seasonings. The French want to hold on to their reputation as the gastronomic capital of the world, but for the most part it's the haute cuisine that will help them retain that title, not the daily fare in your average cafe.
I find this problem in fashion, too. The haute couture shows give Paris its reputation for being a fashion capital, but Parisian street fashion lacks creativity. In terms of every-day fashion (and every-day food), I find New York and London more exciting. In defense of Parisian fashion, though, you can totally get away with joutfits here.
Foie gras
Steak tartare
Blood sausage
Veal (just because in the U.S. people judge you)
Frog legs
Escargot
Camembert
An assortment of raw things such as eggs, tuna and salmon
One can sample all kinds of delicious things at l'Avant Comptoir, an excellent restaurant in the 6th. The little sister to larger, more famous le Comptoir de Relais (both opened by Yves Camdeborde), often people only stop in at the former for appetizers before a large sit-down meal at the latter. In fact, l'Avant Comptoir doesn't even have tables and chairs. You squeeze into the tiny space and stand at the counter. However, Kay and I have decided that l'Avant Comptoir is a great place to create a delicious (and inexpensive) lunch out of several hors d'oeuvres. We made friends with the chef (the one who prepares the food, not the one who opened the restaurant), Sebastien, so it's a fun place to go, too.
They offer several different types of sausage and ham, thinly sliced and served on a wooden cutting board. You can also get brochettes of foie gras with roasted red pepper, fried pig's feet, oxtail with horseradish cream, and grilled chicken hearts with garlic and parsley. I've also seen them serve a bone marrow dish, and I've heard tell that you can occasionally get grilled duck's neck. L'Avant Comptoir has a great atmosphere, too. You get to chatting with your neighbors (in a bizarre combination of French and English and sometimes Dutch and Japanese when you're with Kay) and you pass around a communal bread basket. They have butter, sweet pickles and other condiments on the counter to go with your bread and charcuterie.
My reawakened excitement about food has also made me want to cook more. This past week has been cooking playtime. Last weekend, Kay's friend Thomas (also a chef) taught Kay and I to make our own fresh pasta. Then on Wednesday we went to the huge market in Chinatown to buy ingredients for pad thai (we totally winged it - we didn't really have a recipe, just kind of an idea of what goes into it - but the dish came out really well). Then last night I whipped up some Thai green curry with veggies.
It's probably weird to be cooking so much Thai food in France, but one complaint I have about French food is that it's often quite bland (not the case at l'Avant Comptoir, yet another reason I love it). You see, my American palate loves having spicy Italian, Chinese and Mexican food on a pretty regular basis. I just get really bored with mustard and cream sauce being poured over literally every kind of meat and served with bland, overcooked vegetables. Obviously food at high-end French restaurants is not like this, but the stuff you eat on a daily basis is heavy on the cheese and cream and light on fresh vegetables and seasonings. The French want to hold on to their reputation as the gastronomic capital of the world, but for the most part it's the haute cuisine that will help them retain that title, not the daily fare in your average cafe.
I find this problem in fashion, too. The haute couture shows give Paris its reputation for being a fashion capital, but Parisian street fashion lacks creativity. In terms of every-day fashion (and every-day food), I find New York and London more exciting. In defense of Parisian fashion, though, you can totally get away with joutfits here.
17 April, 2010
SIA - Socialism in Action
Tonight I played Monopoly - the beloved pasttime of the American capitalist - with a French seven-year-old. I will recount for you how this went and leave it up to you to decide whether her behavior was a product of the French economic and social system or just a little kid not wanting to lose.
Me: Oh man, I love Monopoly! We used to play this all the time when I was growing up.
Kid: Oh good, you know how to play. Ok so here's your money. I go first.
[We play for a while and I buy a bunch of property, clearly. I explain to her how it works if you get a monopoly. We play some more.]
Kid: Oh, I'm running low on money now. I need to go to the bank.
Me: ...?
[Kid takes a few bills out of the bank tray.]
Me: Um, can you do that?
Kid: Yeah, I was almost out of money so I just got some from the bank.
Me: Oh. Um. Ok, that's just not how we play at my house.
Kid: Well that's how you're supposed to play. It's in the rules.
Me: So how do you win? Isn't someone supposed to run out of money?
Kid: No, no one wins. You just play until you're tired of it.
[Her dad walks in.]
Kid: Hey Dad, in Monopoly when you're almost out of money, you just take some out of the bank, right?
Dad: Of course.
Insert "government" where you see "bank" in that exchange and there's France for you. In fact, if you're unemployed (un chomeur), the government gives you a pretty legit annual income to make sure you can still eat and have a home and everything. They treat their citizens really well. America, are you taking notes?
Me: Oh man, I love Monopoly! We used to play this all the time when I was growing up.
Kid: Oh good, you know how to play. Ok so here's your money. I go first.
[We play for a while and I buy a bunch of property, clearly. I explain to her how it works if you get a monopoly. We play some more.]
Kid: Oh, I'm running low on money now. I need to go to the bank.
Me: ...?
[Kid takes a few bills out of the bank tray.]
Me: Um, can you do that?
Kid: Yeah, I was almost out of money so I just got some from the bank.
Me: Oh. Um. Ok, that's just not how we play at my house.
Kid: Well that's how you're supposed to play. It's in the rules.
Me: So how do you win? Isn't someone supposed to run out of money?
Kid: No, no one wins. You just play until you're tired of it.
[Her dad walks in.]
Kid: Hey Dad, in Monopoly when you're almost out of money, you just take some out of the bank, right?
Dad: Of course.
Insert "government" where you see "bank" in that exchange and there's France for you. In fact, if you're unemployed (un chomeur), the government gives you a pretty legit annual income to make sure you can still eat and have a home and everything. They treat their citizens really well. America, are you taking notes?
For giggles
My dad sent me some good French military jokes after he read the last post. I felt it would be cruel not to share them.
Back in 2003, Jay Leno said it was no surprise the French wouldn't help us get Saddam Hussein out of Iraq. They didn't help us get Germany out of France, either. Leno added that the French contribution to Iraq could be to teach the Iraqis how to surrender.
Why are French streets tree-lined?
So the Germans can march in the shade.
How many Frenchmen does it take to defend Paris?
No one knows, it's never been tried.
What do you call 100,000 Frenchmen with their hands up?
The army.
For sale: French rifles... never fired, dropped once.
You're welcome.
Back in 2003, Jay Leno said it was no surprise the French wouldn't help us get Saddam Hussein out of Iraq. They didn't help us get Germany out of France, either. Leno added that the French contribution to Iraq could be to teach the Iraqis how to surrender.
Why are French streets tree-lined?
So the Germans can march in the shade.
How many Frenchmen does it take to defend Paris?
No one knows, it's never been tried.
What do you call 100,000 Frenchmen with their hands up?
The army.
For sale: French rifles... never fired, dropped once.
You're welcome.
15 April, 2010
How many gears does a French tank have?
Five - Four in reverse and one forward (in case of attack from behind). [Hahahahaha]
Seriously though, today we are going to talk about French military history because the stereotype that Cathy suggested was that the French always lose wars. I would like to begin with an excerpt from the book I am currently reading, Paris to the Moon, by Adam Gopnik*. I feel like he pretty much sums up the actions of the French military in the last 150 years.
"Bordeaux is the town where France goes to give up. It was where the French governemnt retreated from Paris under fire from the Prussians in 1870, and again from the kaiser's armies in 1914, and where, in June 1940, the French government fled in the face of the German advance and soon afterward met not just the fact of defeat but the utter depth of France's demoralization."
So with that preamble, I am going to make a few lists. List A will be the times France has won a conflict. List B will be the times they have lost / surrendered. And List C will be the times where no one is really sure who won. Ready? (Side note: from what I understand, the Gauls [early tribe in what is now France] even surrendered first to Caesar and then to the Franks in something like 50 BCE and the fifth century CE, respectively. This habit of surrendering has been a long time in the making, for real.) (Also, don't feel obligated to read my whole timeline. I'll sum it up for you at the end.) (Also, DISCLAIMER: This is not meant to be 100% accurate and awesome unbiased historical reporting. Duh.)
List A:
5th-6th Century: Clovis I kicked everyone's asses
8th Century: The French bested the "Islamic hordes"
9th Century: Charlemagne won lots of wars and totes created an empire
1066: Norman Conquest (of England)
1337-1453: Hundred Years' War - The French technically "won" the war, but they lost a whole lot of battles
1718-1720: War of the Quadruple Alliance (Britain, France, Austria and Holland beat Spain)
1859: Franco-Austrian War
List B:
1302: Battle of the Golden Spurs (Flemish victory)
1415: Battle of Agincourt (English victory)
1494-1559: Italian Wars
1754-63: Seven Years' War (English victory)
1803-15: Napoleonic Wars (yeah, Napoleon might have gained a lot of territory, but he was ultimately defeated at Waterloo.)
1870-71: Franco-Prussian War
1914-18; 1938-45: WWI & II (I mean, the Allies won but France totally got shat on)
1946-54: First Indochina War
1954-62: Algerian War
List C:
1095-1272: Crusades (I mean, clearly some were successful and some were not, but they were all disasters, let's be honest)
1562-98: Wars of Religion
1667-68: War of Devolution
1672-78: Franco-Dutch War
1683-84: War of the Reunions
1688-97: Nine Years' War
1701-14: War of Spanish Succession
1733-38: War of Polish Succession
1740-1748: War of Austrian Succession
1789-1871: French Revolutions I-IV
Whew. So, by my count, there were seven true wins, ten losses and something like 13 (unless you want to count each and every crusade separately) in which there were no decisive victories. However, with the exception of the Franco-Austrian War of 1859, the French have not actually won a war all by themselves (you know, without the Anglo-Saxons) since the fifteenth century.
To quote a Wikipedia article* about the military history of France, "[After the Algerian War,] De Gaulle often believed that France had little control over its military destiny. Today, despite being a nuclear power and having some of the best trained and best equipped forces in the world, the military role of France is seen in terms of coalition interventions, peacekeeping, and minor disputes."
So yes, kids, you can keep those French military jokes coming. Turns out, stereotypes are indeed based in fact. *I'm going to cite where my quotes are from. You know, so I'm not plagiarizing and stuff.
Paris to the Moon by Adam Gopnik, p. 106
"Military History of France," http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Military_history_of_france
Seriously though, today we are going to talk about French military history because the stereotype that Cathy suggested was that the French always lose wars. I would like to begin with an excerpt from the book I am currently reading, Paris to the Moon, by Adam Gopnik*. I feel like he pretty much sums up the actions of the French military in the last 150 years.
"Bordeaux is the town where France goes to give up. It was where the French governemnt retreated from Paris under fire from the Prussians in 1870, and again from the kaiser's armies in 1914, and where, in June 1940, the French government fled in the face of the German advance and soon afterward met not just the fact of defeat but the utter depth of France's demoralization."
So with that preamble, I am going to make a few lists. List A will be the times France has won a conflict. List B will be the times they have lost / surrendered. And List C will be the times where no one is really sure who won. Ready? (Side note: from what I understand, the Gauls [early tribe in what is now France] even surrendered first to Caesar and then to the Franks in something like 50 BCE and the fifth century CE, respectively. This habit of surrendering has been a long time in the making, for real.) (Also, don't feel obligated to read my whole timeline. I'll sum it up for you at the end.) (Also, DISCLAIMER: This is not meant to be 100% accurate and awesome unbiased historical reporting. Duh.)
List A:
5th-6th Century: Clovis I kicked everyone's asses
8th Century: The French bested the "Islamic hordes"
9th Century: Charlemagne won lots of wars and totes created an empire
1066: Norman Conquest (of England)
1337-1453: Hundred Years' War - The French technically "won" the war, but they lost a whole lot of battles
1718-1720: War of the Quadruple Alliance (Britain, France, Austria and Holland beat Spain)
1859: Franco-Austrian War
List B:
1302: Battle of the Golden Spurs (Flemish victory)
1415: Battle of Agincourt (English victory)
1494-1559: Italian Wars
1754-63: Seven Years' War (English victory)
1803-15: Napoleonic Wars (yeah, Napoleon might have gained a lot of territory, but he was ultimately defeated at Waterloo.)
1870-71: Franco-Prussian War
1914-18; 1938-45: WWI & II (I mean, the Allies won but France totally got shat on)
1946-54: First Indochina War
1954-62: Algerian War
List C:
1095-1272: Crusades (I mean, clearly some were successful and some were not, but they were all disasters, let's be honest)
1562-98: Wars of Religion
1667-68: War of Devolution
1672-78: Franco-Dutch War
1683-84: War of the Reunions
1688-97: Nine Years' War
1701-14: War of Spanish Succession
1733-38: War of Polish Succession
1740-1748: War of Austrian Succession
1789-1871: French Revolutions I-IV
Whew. So, by my count, there were seven true wins, ten losses and something like 13 (unless you want to count each and every crusade separately) in which there were no decisive victories. However, with the exception of the Franco-Austrian War of 1859, the French have not actually won a war all by themselves (you know, without the Anglo-Saxons) since the fifteenth century.
To quote a Wikipedia article* about the military history of France, "[After the Algerian War,] De Gaulle often believed that France had little control over its military destiny. Today, despite being a nuclear power and having some of the best trained and best equipped forces in the world, the military role of France is seen in terms of coalition interventions, peacekeeping, and minor disputes."
So yes, kids, you can keep those French military jokes coming. Turns out, stereotypes are indeed based in fact. *I'm going to cite where my quotes are from. You know, so I'm not plagiarizing and stuff.
Paris to the Moon by Adam Gopnik, p. 106
"Military History of France," http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Military_history_of_france
14 April, 2010
Le Medecin Chez Moi
Today I had a very interesting experience. Apparently here in France, doctors still do house calls. Now, maybe I've just been missing out on this awesomeness in the U.S. for some reason, but I kind of thought that doctors stopped doing that in the 1920s or something. So, without further ado, I present to you a thesis (based entirely on anecdotal evidence): the French are a) overmedicated in a way that would put 30327 to shame (you know what I mean, Atlanta people) and b) hypochodriacs.
So the four-year-old has been sick with a pretty minor cold for the past week or so, and was therefore given antibiotics, nasal spray, cough syrup, fever medicine and suppositories (don't really know why he needs those but the French LOVE suppositories). The doctor came back again today to re-examine him because he is still coughing, as well as to check out the seven-year-old and me. The seven-year-old was given the same laundry list of medications and diagnosed with something that sounded like "rhinopharagine" (I suppose that if spelled phonetically it would look like this: REE-no-fair-a-GENE) which I suspect might be the French hypochondriac version of "common cold." Which leads me to this: antibiotics and suppositories for a common cold? I ask you.
Then the doctor got to me. Apparently I have what sounds like "sinusite" (or SEE-noo-SEET). I believe this is French for "sinus infection." I mean, I could have told him that. That's why I've been taking all the Nyquil. Alas, it's not enough. Apparently I should be taking antibiotics, steroid nasal spray, allergy medicine, sore throat syrup and narcotic cough pills. The pharmacist was apalled when I told her I only wanted the antibiotics and spray. I mean, how will I survive?
What really put the nail in the coffin of my opinion of French hardiness, though, was the four-year-old's little accident this evening. He stubbed his toe, which seemed to be fine until he looked at it and saw he had torn a nail and it was bleeding a little. This led to hyperventilating and tears. So I gave him a Transformers band-aid and figured he would be fine. But no. Here are some of the things I heard him say tonight: "Well, I guess I can't go to school tomorrow because I have a boo-boo on my toe and I won't be able to wear shoes." "Elizabeth, I need to sit at the big table at dinner because when I sit at the little table my feet touch the floor and, you know, I have a boo-boo on my toe." "Elizabeth, will you carry me to the kitchen? I can't walk because of the boo-boo on my toe." He also called his mom to tell her. You know, just in case he needs his leg amputated or something.
In Cathy's opinion, this is why the French never win wars. More on that next time. Until then, gros bisous from cold, windy Paris, France.
So the four-year-old has been sick with a pretty minor cold for the past week or so, and was therefore given antibiotics, nasal spray, cough syrup, fever medicine and suppositories (don't really know why he needs those but the French LOVE suppositories). The doctor came back again today to re-examine him because he is still coughing, as well as to check out the seven-year-old and me. The seven-year-old was given the same laundry list of medications and diagnosed with something that sounded like "rhinopharagine" (I suppose that if spelled phonetically it would look like this: REE-no-fair-a-GENE) which I suspect might be the French hypochondriac version of "common cold." Which leads me to this: antibiotics and suppositories for a common cold? I ask you.
Then the doctor got to me. Apparently I have what sounds like "sinusite" (or SEE-noo-SEET). I believe this is French for "sinus infection." I mean, I could have told him that. That's why I've been taking all the Nyquil. Alas, it's not enough. Apparently I should be taking antibiotics, steroid nasal spray, allergy medicine, sore throat syrup and narcotic cough pills. The pharmacist was apalled when I told her I only wanted the antibiotics and spray. I mean, how will I survive?
What really put the nail in the coffin of my opinion of French hardiness, though, was the four-year-old's little accident this evening. He stubbed his toe, which seemed to be fine until he looked at it and saw he had torn a nail and it was bleeding a little. This led to hyperventilating and tears. So I gave him a Transformers band-aid and figured he would be fine. But no. Here are some of the things I heard him say tonight: "Well, I guess I can't go to school tomorrow because I have a boo-boo on my toe and I won't be able to wear shoes." "Elizabeth, I need to sit at the big table at dinner because when I sit at the little table my feet touch the floor and, you know, I have a boo-boo on my toe." "Elizabeth, will you carry me to the kitchen? I can't walk because of the boo-boo on my toe." He also called his mom to tell her. You know, just in case he needs his leg amputated or something.
In Cathy's opinion, this is why the French never win wars. More on that next time. Until then, gros bisous from cold, windy Paris, France.
08 April, 2010
Sex, drugs and French judgment
Ok, so now that I'm in an upper-level French class, we have "debates." Today's happened to be about drugs, alcohol and smoking. First of all, in 90's French slang (the only kind my teacher knows, let's be honest) "weed" = something that sounds suspiciously like "shit" with a French accent. "Sheet," if you will. But you have to purse your lips and sound pompous when you say it. But that's beside the point. The point here is that during today's debate, my professor JUDGED me. The conversation went something like this (but in French, c'est clair):
Prof: "I've noticed that English, German, Australian and American girls drink far too much and get very drunk in public."
Elizabeth: "I don't think that's always true. I mean, maybe when we go out on the weekends we drink a little more than French girls, but..."
Prof (staring me down): "Elizabeth, when you go out, do you ever have more than two drinks?"
Elizabeth: "I mean, yeah, I guess... sometimes..."
Prof (talking over me and with clear judgment in her eyes): "Don't you know that French men hate it when girls get drunk?"
Jeez. Also, I was talking to an Irish girl in my class about the shady "mecs" (slang for guys) who hang around the Barbes-Rochechouart area where my favorite market is. She was saying how any time those guys see a younger woman they'll kind of follow her down the street and yell things at her and some brave ones will even try to grope her. So we were making all the jokes about throwing a 'bow in said mec's face when my professor interrupted and said, "Well you American girls wear your skirts too short and that's probably why they're following you."
...
I mean, I don't even wear short skirts (they're impractical for crawling around on the floor after a 4-year-old), but are we saying it's a girl's fault if she gets sexually harrassed?
Anyway, the point I wanted to make before I got sidetracked by the mecs is that the culture of having a few drinks with friends is very different here than it is in the U.S. For example, Kay and I went out to a cafe one night with a French guy, Cyril, and each of us had two drinks and then when Kay and I weren't paying attention, Cyril paid the bill and told us it was time to go home. I felt like a badly-behaved college freshman for even entertaining the thought of staying out later or having another glass of wine. I mean, it's fine because I'm not going out on the weekends looking to get completely blitzed. But like, they drink their beer out of a 25 centiliter wine glass. Wine glasses, I tell you!
Prof: "I've noticed that English, German, Australian and American girls drink far too much and get very drunk in public."
Elizabeth: "I don't think that's always true. I mean, maybe when we go out on the weekends we drink a little more than French girls, but..."
Prof (staring me down): "Elizabeth, when you go out, do you ever have more than two drinks?"
Elizabeth: "I mean, yeah, I guess... sometimes..."
Prof (talking over me and with clear judgment in her eyes): "Don't you know that French men hate it when girls get drunk?"
Jeez. Also, I was talking to an Irish girl in my class about the shady "mecs" (slang for guys) who hang around the Barbes-Rochechouart area where my favorite market is. She was saying how any time those guys see a younger woman they'll kind of follow her down the street and yell things at her and some brave ones will even try to grope her. So we were making all the jokes about throwing a 'bow in said mec's face when my professor interrupted and said, "Well you American girls wear your skirts too short and that's probably why they're following you."
...
I mean, I don't even wear short skirts (they're impractical for crawling around on the floor after a 4-year-old), but are we saying it's a girl's fault if she gets sexually harrassed?
Anyway, the point I wanted to make before I got sidetracked by the mecs is that the culture of having a few drinks with friends is very different here than it is in the U.S. For example, Kay and I went out to a cafe one night with a French guy, Cyril, and each of us had two drinks and then when Kay and I weren't paying attention, Cyril paid the bill and told us it was time to go home. I felt like a badly-behaved college freshman for even entertaining the thought of staying out later or having another glass of wine. I mean, it's fine because I'm not going out on the weekends looking to get completely blitzed. But like, they drink their beer out of a 25 centiliter wine glass. Wine glasses, I tell you!
31 March, 2010
Fashion Fail
Oh Paris, how lovely you are - the sun is shining, it is finally creeping up above 50 degrees, the trees are beginning to flower and... there's a freaking hurricane that's about to blow my shutters off the building? Whoever said that March comes in like a lion and goes out like a lamb clearly never spent spring in Paris. The wind is so forceful that I have been knocked over. Like, really and truly stumbled because a gust of wind grabbed hold of my grocery bag and practically pulled me into oncoming traffic. Also, you wouldn't believe the torrential downpours we have. It's given me a new vocabulary, though. Orage = storm, nuages = clouds and tempete = really bad storm. The thing about storms in Paris is that traffic becomes exponentially worse. The problem with this for me is that people don't stop for pedestrians when it's raining. (Even when the little walking man is green. You know what I'm talking about.) Wait, this seems rude and counterintuitive? Oh, hey, welcome to Paris.
Here's something else that is interesting. Young French children in ecole maternelle (elementary school) do not have school on Wednesday. Because of this, many of their moms don't work Wednesdays either. These kids generally have lots of exciting activities planned - extra English courses, tennis instruction, piano lessons, gym classes... But the kids who are lucky enough to escape all of this? They go to the park. The thing about these parks is that on Wednesdays they are PACKED with nannys or moms or nannys with moms (yes, some moms bring their nanny along even if they're not working and are available all day). This turns the park into a veritable runway. I have never seen moms like these. They totter through the sandbox in their patent Louboutins, clutching a classic quilted Chanel bag and wearing perfectly tailored cropped Dior trousers. Their hair has been nicely coiffed (clearly they have recently come from their weekly "brushing" session at the hair salon) and their nails are perfectly filed ovals. Yet here they are, sitting on the filthy playground while their grimy brats rubs sticky fingers all over their Lanvin blouses. Yet another reason I will never pass for a French woman.
Here's something else that is interesting. Young French children in ecole maternelle (elementary school) do not have school on Wednesday. Because of this, many of their moms don't work Wednesdays either. These kids generally have lots of exciting activities planned - extra English courses, tennis instruction, piano lessons, gym classes... But the kids who are lucky enough to escape all of this? They go to the park. The thing about these parks is that on Wednesdays they are PACKED with nannys or moms or nannys with moms (yes, some moms bring their nanny along even if they're not working and are available all day). This turns the park into a veritable runway. I have never seen moms like these. They totter through the sandbox in their patent Louboutins, clutching a classic quilted Chanel bag and wearing perfectly tailored cropped Dior trousers. Their hair has been nicely coiffed (clearly they have recently come from their weekly "brushing" session at the hair salon) and their nails are perfectly filed ovals. Yet here they are, sitting on the filthy playground while their grimy brats rubs sticky fingers all over their Lanvin blouses. Yet another reason I will never pass for a French woman.
15 March, 2010
Vintage
I have a really important question. When I type "vintage stores in paris" into Google, why, oh why, are the first four entries for American Apparel? Did I miss something?
However, if you are in Paris and you do want to find excellent second-hand clothing stores, here is a good website for you: http://flair.modepass.com/carnetadresse/vintage-shop-paris/. I personally recommend Vintage on rue des Rosiers, but don't go on a Sunday because it gets packed. There are several reasons for this. First of all, it is right next door to the most popular falafel stand in the city (l'As du Falafel). Second of all, the neighborhood (the Marais) is kind of touristy on the weekends. Third of all, the Marais being the Jewish quarter, it is the only part of the city where there are actually stores open on Sunday. Everywhere else, Paris is closed.
Now I have another question. When you go to "flea markets," why are they selling vintage shoes for more than I would pay for new shoes? I don't care if Coco Chanel made those herself, those are some woman's old shoes that you're charging me 250 euros for. Just saying.
However, if you are in Paris and you do want to find excellent second-hand clothing stores, here is a good website for you: http://flair.modepass.com/carnetadresse/vintage-shop-paris/. I personally recommend Vintage on rue des Rosiers, but don't go on a Sunday because it gets packed. There are several reasons for this. First of all, it is right next door to the most popular falafel stand in the city (l'As du Falafel). Second of all, the neighborhood (the Marais) is kind of touristy on the weekends. Third of all, the Marais being the Jewish quarter, it is the only part of the city where there are actually stores open on Sunday. Everywhere else, Paris is closed.
Now I have another question. When you go to "flea markets," why are they selling vintage shoes for more than I would pay for new shoes? I don't care if Coco Chanel made those herself, those are some woman's old shoes that you're charging me 250 euros for. Just saying.
05 March, 2010
Mind the Gaffe
So, your globe-trotting correspondent is now back in Paris after two weeks of fresh air, sunshine and snow in the lovely Alps. I must say, travel to and from was easier than I expected. The TGV is pretty amazing. Incidentally, TGV stands for Trains a Grande Vitesse, or really fast trains. Turns out, they go so fast that sometimes they make your ears pop and prevent you from getting a solid cell phone signal. In the case of my journey, the train was also inhabited by a large number of cranky old people who, for some reason or another, did not find a four-year-old's loud rendition of the Animaniacs theme song (in French and occasionally substituting "caca" for words he forgot) amusing or cute. Honestly, the nerve of some people.
While I was in the Alps, I had the distinct honor of being invited to a dinner party hosted and attended by French people. Everyone spoke only French to each other and to me (as one would expect), and as soon as I got over how weird their accents were (they were from the south of France), I totally joined in the conversation. Some things you should know: in France, it is entirely acceptable to discuss politics and the state of the world and things like that at the dinner table, especially if you are of the opinion that "Sarko" is just messing things up and Carla Bruni is trash; it is not, however, advisable to discuss money or anything pertaining to anything related to money. One of the men at the table committed the inexcusable gaffe of trying to talk to me about the state of the American higher education system, specifically how expensive universities are and how in debt everyone is when they graduate. I thought the women at the table were going to faint or slap him or both. It will please my readers to know, however, that I did kiss everyone's cheeks upon entering the room as I was introduced, so I was not the object of censure (this time).
Seriously though, I'm really glad to be back in this city that I'm coming to regard as home. This can be demonstrated by the fact that, because I didn't have to work today, I laid in the bed until 5:30 reading Atlas Shrugged and experiencing feelings of bitterness against Ayn Rand before I realized that I had eaten nothing but granola bars all day because I had no food in the house. I did manage to drag my lazy butt to the grocery store, helped along by the raspberry macaron that I bought along the way at my friendly neighborhood patisserie. Incidentally, if you're even in Paris and poor (story of my life), I recommend shopping at Ed or Franprix. Inno and Monoprix (which I think might actually be the same store with a different name) are too classy for me.
Now I'm home, back in bed (with food this time) and eager to get back to my grapples with Ayn Rand and everything she entails. A la prochaine!
While I was in the Alps, I had the distinct honor of being invited to a dinner party hosted and attended by French people. Everyone spoke only French to each other and to me (as one would expect), and as soon as I got over how weird their accents were (they were from the south of France), I totally joined in the conversation. Some things you should know: in France, it is entirely acceptable to discuss politics and the state of the world and things like that at the dinner table, especially if you are of the opinion that "Sarko" is just messing things up and Carla Bruni is trash; it is not, however, advisable to discuss money or anything pertaining to anything related to money. One of the men at the table committed the inexcusable gaffe of trying to talk to me about the state of the American higher education system, specifically how expensive universities are and how in debt everyone is when they graduate. I thought the women at the table were going to faint or slap him or both. It will please my readers to know, however, that I did kiss everyone's cheeks upon entering the room as I was introduced, so I was not the object of censure (this time).
Seriously though, I'm really glad to be back in this city that I'm coming to regard as home. This can be demonstrated by the fact that, because I didn't have to work today, I laid in the bed until 5:30 reading Atlas Shrugged and experiencing feelings of bitterness against Ayn Rand before I realized that I had eaten nothing but granola bars all day because I had no food in the house. I did manage to drag my lazy butt to the grocery store, helped along by the raspberry macaron that I bought along the way at my friendly neighborhood patisserie. Incidentally, if you're even in Paris and poor (story of my life), I recommend shopping at Ed or Franprix. Inno and Monoprix (which I think might actually be the same store with a different name) are too classy for me.
Now I'm home, back in bed (with food this time) and eager to get back to my grapples with Ayn Rand and everything she entails. A la prochaine!
03 March, 2010
Here's how you spot a Parisian skier
Here's how you spot a Parisian skier (the female of the species):
Ski pants are tight and trendy enough to wear out clubbing, but somehow are appropriate / durable enough for a full day of skiing (or a full day of walking around in ski clothes pretending you're a skier)
Jacket is one of three brands: Moncler, Canada Goose or Fire + Ice. Of the super-shiny, puffy, down variety. Must include a ridiculously bushy fur-trimmed hood. And none of that fake shit.
If she wears a hat (which is unlikely), it must include one or both of the following: rhinestones, puffy fur thing on top
Super-long, carefully disheveled hair is nearly always worn down so that is streams behind said skier in the event that she does actually decide to take on a slope or two.
Designer sunnies are a must. Balenciaga or Dior are preferred.
Makeup is also usually worn. I have seen more eyeliner on the ski slopes than I would normally wear for a night out.
When not skiing, moon boots are generally worn.
Here's how you spot a live-in, traveling nanny (these are always female):
Sweatpants tucked into apres-ski boots because she didn't have time to put on real pants before chasing the children out of the house.
Grubby t-shirt, probably the one she slept in
A ski jacket if she had time to grab it on the way out
Possibly some sunglasses so she can actually see the kids amidst all the white (in this nanny's case, some white wayfarers. don't judge.)
Said nanny could also be trailing a bag full of toys, ski accessories for children (hoods, helmets, mittens, scarves), bottled water, sunscreen, cookies and applesauce. Trash may or may not be flying out of this bag as she goes.
Now, dear readers, please picture the look of disdain on Parisian Skier's face as Grubby Nanny goes sprinting past her trying to keep up with a toddler on skis. This is my life, people. Somehow, the cold shoulder has never felt so cold as it does here in the Alps.
At least I have fondue to keep me warm.
Ski pants are tight and trendy enough to wear out clubbing, but somehow are appropriate / durable enough for a full day of skiing (or a full day of walking around in ski clothes pretending you're a skier)
Jacket is one of three brands: Moncler, Canada Goose or Fire + Ice. Of the super-shiny, puffy, down variety. Must include a ridiculously bushy fur-trimmed hood. And none of that fake shit.
If she wears a hat (which is unlikely), it must include one or both of the following: rhinestones, puffy fur thing on top
Super-long, carefully disheveled hair is nearly always worn down so that is streams behind said skier in the event that she does actually decide to take on a slope or two.
Designer sunnies are a must. Balenciaga or Dior are preferred.
Makeup is also usually worn. I have seen more eyeliner on the ski slopes than I would normally wear for a night out.
When not skiing, moon boots are generally worn.
Here's how you spot a live-in, traveling nanny (these are always female):
Sweatpants tucked into apres-ski boots because she didn't have time to put on real pants before chasing the children out of the house.
Grubby t-shirt, probably the one she slept in
A ski jacket if she had time to grab it on the way out
Possibly some sunglasses so she can actually see the kids amidst all the white (in this nanny's case, some white wayfarers. don't judge.)
Said nanny could also be trailing a bag full of toys, ski accessories for children (hoods, helmets, mittens, scarves), bottled water, sunscreen, cookies and applesauce. Trash may or may not be flying out of this bag as she goes.
Now, dear readers, please picture the look of disdain on Parisian Skier's face as Grubby Nanny goes sprinting past her trying to keep up with a toddler on skis. This is my life, people. Somehow, the cold shoulder has never felt so cold as it does here in the Alps.
At least I have fondue to keep me warm.
01 March, 2010
Alpine dining
Ok, first of all, you guys are not participating in the interactive blogging which means I'm going to have to be creative and come up with my own French stereotypes to blog about. Not today, though. Today, we're talking about food.
There's this problem I have here in France where I can't.stop.eating. The reason for this, clearly, is that the food is delicious. This is especially a problem here in the Alps where everything is so hearty. For example, last night I had this pasta dish in which I could hardly find the pasta because of all of the heavy cream and melted cheese. I'm lactose intolerant, so this was a poor choice. But I couldn't stop. There are also these two cheeses that are made really close to Val d'Isere called Reblochon and Beaufort. Reblochon is kind of a mild soft cheese, Beaufort is a little stronger (but not in a gross way) and it's a hard cheese. And there's an open air market on Mondays where the vendors force little bites of cheese on you as you walk by, very innocently trying to buy whole grain cereal and granola bars so you don't become obese, obesity being the deadliest of sins to the French. Today, as you know, is Monday. I am therefore so full of cheese I can hardly move. Added to all of this cheese are normal French things like having pastries and Nutella on brioche for breakfast. Between the cheese and the pastries, I'm pretty much screwed.
So here's my big question (prefaced by a statement): From what I have gathered, French people do not eat a lot of fruits and vegetables. They eat very few whole grains (just try to find brown rice in a grocery store, for real). They do, however, eat lots of really buttery and sugary things as well as lots of very heavy cream-based dishes. They also drink copious amounts of espresso and wine, neither of which is diet-friendly. Additionally, I rarely see French people exercising (although maybe they all have super-chic expensive gym memberships). So, dear readers, please tell me how, how, how do French women of all ages have butts like 12-year-old boys?
Now, give me some more stereotypes, people!
Until next time, gros bisous from the French Alps.
There's this problem I have here in France where I can't.stop.eating. The reason for this, clearly, is that the food is delicious. This is especially a problem here in the Alps where everything is so hearty. For example, last night I had this pasta dish in which I could hardly find the pasta because of all of the heavy cream and melted cheese. I'm lactose intolerant, so this was a poor choice. But I couldn't stop. There are also these two cheeses that are made really close to Val d'Isere called Reblochon and Beaufort. Reblochon is kind of a mild soft cheese, Beaufort is a little stronger (but not in a gross way) and it's a hard cheese. And there's an open air market on Mondays where the vendors force little bites of cheese on you as you walk by, very innocently trying to buy whole grain cereal and granola bars so you don't become obese, obesity being the deadliest of sins to the French. Today, as you know, is Monday. I am therefore so full of cheese I can hardly move. Added to all of this cheese are normal French things like having pastries and Nutella on brioche for breakfast. Between the cheese and the pastries, I'm pretty much screwed.
So here's my big question (prefaced by a statement): From what I have gathered, French people do not eat a lot of fruits and vegetables. They eat very few whole grains (just try to find brown rice in a grocery store, for real). They do, however, eat lots of really buttery and sugary things as well as lots of very heavy cream-based dishes. They also drink copious amounts of espresso and wine, neither of which is diet-friendly. Additionally, I rarely see French people exercising (although maybe they all have super-chic expensive gym memberships). So, dear readers, please tell me how, how, how do French women of all ages have butts like 12-year-old boys?
Now, give me some more stereotypes, people!
Until next time, gros bisous from the French Alps.
19 February, 2010
Fun and Games
Sorry that I've been MIA recently, but now that I'm back, let's play a game! Call it interactive blogging.
Here's what we do: In the next two weeks, my dedicated readers comment on this post with a French stereotype. Then, when I get back from the Alps and have internet again, I tell you whether it's true or false. Can't wait!
Here's what we do: In the next two weeks, my dedicated readers comment on this post with a French stereotype. Then, when I get back from the Alps and have internet again, I tell you whether it's true or false. Can't wait!
11 January, 2010
Comfort food
Anyway, I'm back in Paris after a very adventurous Christmas vacation. I went to London for Christmas with Matt's family, which was absolutely amazing in spite of my travel difficulties (my flight to London got cancelled, I couldn't get another one so I took a 10 hour bus ride instead, then my taxi was late getting to the airport in London so I missed my flight out of London, stayed for an extra day, and only then made it to the Alps). After London, I stayed for a week in Val d'Isere, a gorgeous ski resort in the French Alps. I skied two days. The first one was an absolute disaster, possibly because the dad took me down a red slope as my first run of the day after I hadn't skied in 3 years. But the second day I stuck to the blues and cruised along quite nicely. By the way, I have discovered where you can find the nicest people in France. They all live in the Alps, and often work in fromageries that sell farm fresh, handmade cheeses. Val d'Isere was totally gorgeous, and I really enjoyed myself. I ate some pretty divine things there, too. Let's start with the beaufort and rebouchon cheeses that are made in the area. So. Good. I bought a pretty serious block of beaufort to bring back to Paris with me, and I've been snacking on it a tiny bit at a time so I don't run out any time soon. And then there's the croute. Apparently in the Alps, everything is basically a variation on warm bread and cheese. The croute is like the best croque-monsieur you ever had in your life, smothered in cheese and baked in a small casserole dish. Oh, and did I mention that the bread is soaked in white wine first? Never have I ever eaten anything that so deserved the term "hearty."
Speaking of food, I have found a way to justify breaking my diet. I just tell myself I have to try something because it's a cultural experience, and then I can eat all sorts of things. One of these things that I've justified to myself is the perrenniel French favorite, the gallette du roi. This pastry is a traditional new year's treat, and always has a little tiny toy hidden inside. It's basically a really light, buttery, delicious pastry filled with almond paste. It's too good to be allowed.
In other news, my new year's resolution is to get out more (that means watch less internet t.v. and play less farmville). To that end, Kay and I went to the Pompidou last Sunday and saw a great exhibit of disgruntled female artists. It wasn't like anything I'd seen there before, which was cool. I really liked how so many of them used light installations in their paintings and sculptures. Totally interesting and totally worth standing in line to get in for free on the first Sunday of the month. Then today, Taryn and I went to the Conciergerie and Sainte-Chapelle. What they don't tell you about the Conciergerie is that it's actually scary. They have Revolutionary-era prison cells with creepy fake men inside, and then there's a room with plaques all along the walls listing every person killed during the Terror. Interestingly enough, they list Louis XVI as Louis Capet, last king of France. It's really kind of a bummer for everyone who invested so much in the Revolution that his brother ended up back on the throne a mere twenty years later. Sainte-Chapelle is gorgeous, but I would recommend budgeting time for it given that you have to wait in line to go through security that might be more rigorous than what you find in the airport because to get to the church you have to go onto the property of the Palais de Justice, which is where the Supreme Court of France resides. The thing about Sainte-Chapelle is that the entrance to the church is actually the worst set-up I've ever seen for access to a tourist attraction. Good thing it's gorgeous inside, because it's also not heated. Indeed, I would say it was a good 5 degrees colder inside the church than it was outside. Regardless, the detailed painting on the walls and the intricate stained glass windows (that date back to the 13th century!) were definitely worth the visit.
I have decided to try to get to know every arrondissement in Paris. There are 20, so this may take a while. I am starting with the first, which is why I went to the Conciergerie and Sainte-Chappelle. I will keep you updated if I find anything interesting. I'm sure I will, has anyone else realized that this city is freaking enormous?
Speaking of food, I have found a way to justify breaking my diet. I just tell myself I have to try something because it's a cultural experience, and then I can eat all sorts of things. One of these things that I've justified to myself is the perrenniel French favorite, the gallette du roi. This pastry is a traditional new year's treat, and always has a little tiny toy hidden inside. It's basically a really light, buttery, delicious pastry filled with almond paste. It's too good to be allowed.
In other news, my new year's resolution is to get out more (that means watch less internet t.v. and play less farmville). To that end, Kay and I went to the Pompidou last Sunday and saw a great exhibit of disgruntled female artists. It wasn't like anything I'd seen there before, which was cool. I really liked how so many of them used light installations in their paintings and sculptures. Totally interesting and totally worth standing in line to get in for free on the first Sunday of the month. Then today, Taryn and I went to the Conciergerie and Sainte-Chapelle. What they don't tell you about the Conciergerie is that it's actually scary. They have Revolutionary-era prison cells with creepy fake men inside, and then there's a room with plaques all along the walls listing every person killed during the Terror. Interestingly enough, they list Louis XVI as Louis Capet, last king of France. It's really kind of a bummer for everyone who invested so much in the Revolution that his brother ended up back on the throne a mere twenty years later. Sainte-Chapelle is gorgeous, but I would recommend budgeting time for it given that you have to wait in line to go through security that might be more rigorous than what you find in the airport because to get to the church you have to go onto the property of the Palais de Justice, which is where the Supreme Court of France resides. The thing about Sainte-Chapelle is that the entrance to the church is actually the worst set-up I've ever seen for access to a tourist attraction. Good thing it's gorgeous inside, because it's also not heated. Indeed, I would say it was a good 5 degrees colder inside the church than it was outside. Regardless, the detailed painting on the walls and the intricate stained glass windows (that date back to the 13th century!) were definitely worth the visit.
I have decided to try to get to know every arrondissement in Paris. There are 20, so this may take a while. I am starting with the first, which is why I went to the Conciergerie and Sainte-Chappelle. I will keep you updated if I find anything interesting. I'm sure I will, has anyone else realized that this city is freaking enormous?
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