Rue de Versailles Market
Janet finds our neighbourhood market a little chaotic and claustrophobic, which it is. But it's still a shame because it grows more enjoyable the more I get to know the merchants that I habitually deal with, like the Irishman from whom I buy my yoghurt, and the smiley cheesemaker (below).
One trick I've learned is to go late, when they're getting ready to close (somehow this approach came rather naturally). Many of the stalls will set out, or bellow, special deals "
pour finir" - to sell off things they don't want to put back in the truck. I went a little overboard today, picking up a couple of pounds of chicken legs and two free-range chickens for 20 euros; then got tempted by some lamb chops that will make us two good dinners for another 10 euros. I'm not even sure that these are especially good values; I just hate to pass up a deal.
A Museum At Last
Some five months into our residence, the two of us have finally managed to find our way into a museum in Paris. We chose a gentle start, with a visit to the
Musée Carnavalet, in the Marais. Housed in a grand old mansion surrounding elegant interior courtyards, it's large enough, but certainly not the Louvre. It presents a glimpse of Parisian history from its beginnings as a seat of power up to the 18th century. There were paintings and furnishings, but also some more unusual models of the early city, and very early shop signs (like the one Janet is looking at).
So it's not just about the food.
If It Quacks Like a Gander
Last night we finally managed to re-pay D&T for the times they've had us over while we were finding our feet and getting settled. While this isn't the first time we've entertained in Paris, it's the first time we've managed to do so with all the wedding china, tableclothes, and so on. We may indeed have gotten a little carried away, since these are close friends dropping over for a casual Sunday evening; but they hadn't seen the apartment yet and we wanted to show it off a little.
But, in the midst of our final preparations, it struck me. After spending an hour polishing silver so that we could use our nicest pieces, I guess it's official: if I have, and actually use, a silver-trimmed toothpick holder for serving canapés, I really must be all grown up.
Still Life With Toothpicks
Birthday Dinner
Janet took me for dinner last night to the
restaurant at the top of the
Institut du Monde Arabe. It was in celebration of my birthday, albeit not precisely coincident. On the actual date a month ago a) I had a bad cold, and b) Janet was working 13-14 hour days on her report. And, the previous factors aside, since it was a week before we were to leave on our Christmas vacation it just made sense to put it off until we had some leisure to enjoy the ocassion.
The Institut is right beside the Seine, and the restaurant is on the ninth floor with a view to the North towards the Place de la Bastille and westwards to Notre Dame. It is a remarkable building itself, striking for its Islamic-patterned screens covering every window. We had originally planned to go to the museum before dinner, as there is an exhibition on that appealed to both of us,
L'Âge d'Or des Sciences Arabe. We'll have to come back for that (in spite of our vow to do something cultural this weekend) since it turned out the museum closed long before our dinner reservation.
Dinner itself was lovely, the wait staff having a nice combination of French professionalism and middle eastern humour. The maitre d' gave us a hard sell on the bottled water, telling us, when we asked simply for tap water that it came from the Seine.
Recommended; but next time we'd consider coming back for lunch, or at a time of year when the sun was still up in the evening, to take full advantage of the view.
Imbal Day
Oh, happy day, today is the bi-weekly visit from our cleaning lady, Imbal. Imbal has seen the inside of a few Canadian homes, as she came to us through our Canadian embassy connection. We hired her husband, too, to help me paint the apartment over several weeks last fall. They are both from the old French colony of Mauritius.
Imbal naturally doesn't speak English, so it's another opportunity for a practical French lesson. Today Imbal presented her lecture on syntax and vocabulary concerning vacuum cleaners (
les aspirateurs). While we have been loath to replace every one of our North American appliances with those that run on European voltage, I can see we're going to have to buy a vacuum or I'll be reviewing this lesson regularly.
Parc des Polices
We live very close to the
Parc des Princes (the city's football stadium), which was a cause for concern when we moved in. When we first considered the apartment, we asked a waitress in the corner café what it was like on game days. She smiled and explained simply that the police don't let anything get out of hand.
We're just close enough that we can hear the roar when a goal is scored, as long as it's otherwise calm outside; but the woman was right, and on game nights we've never noticed anything below other than greatly increased foot and car traffic, and perhaps a few shouts.
There was a match on Sunday night. Running out to the corner store, I believe I learned the source of the waitress's ironic smile. Across the street from our apartment, the curb-side lane for the entire long block was, from beginning to end, nose-to-tail police buses and vans.
Sunday Market
We had planned to do something cultural this weekend. For once Janet didn't have to go to the office on a Sunday, and it seems all we've done since we got here (other than moving-in chores) is shop and eat. But first we had to make our weekly trip to the market in the rue de Versailles.
Unfortunately, once we'd finished the shopping and had lunch, we didn't have any more spirit to brave the crowds, even just to make our way to a gallery. On the plus side, it was a productive afternoon indoors, with many books shelved and pictures hung. Next week we'll
definitely go to a museum.
Paris Is Shopping
The January sales are in full flood. Since sales are not an everyday thing here, Parisians have hit the shops en masse. In our quest to be Parisian, we went to St. Germain and poked around the boutiques. I have a new sports jacket,
tres chic, and Janet came home with a few things too.
Janet had a craving for
bun, so looked in her books for a well-reviewed Vietnamese place. She found one in the 6th, so we tracked it down and had lunch there. When you do find ethnic food in Paris we've found that it's worthwhile, because whatever the cuisine, it's done to Parisian standards.
Second French Class
The class grew a little on Monday night, to ten people; still not a bad number. We did three-minute presentations, and after the first three I was convinced I was out of my depth in this crowd. The first guy spoke on the European real estate market, and fielded detailed, intelligent questions. The next two, while on a lighter topic, spoke comfortably, without reference to notes or searching for words. Fortunately, there followed one or two more at my level, and I regained a little confidence before it came my turn.
The "lighter topic" mentioned is an interesting reflection of the zeitgeist: the choice was completely open and no suggestions had been offered, yet two women elected to talk about Sudoku puzzles.
New French Class
I started my new course at the Alliance Française yesterday evening. This course,
Français Professionel, is oriented to business and runs only in the evening. The class is only seven students (representing seven different nations), a much better size. But there’s going to be more homework too. This bunch are a lot more serious about learning than the gap-year crowd that sets the tone in the daytime courses.
Home From the Holidays
Back at home, at last. We weren’t away that long, but packing up and moving every couple of days was wearing, and we were ready to come home by the time we got to Toronto. And we missed Emma.
We are home, but our baggage is not. We were delayed leaving Toronto, and then spent almost half an hour at the gate in London before British Airways could find someone who could drive a ramp up to our jet to permit us to disembark. This caused us to miss our connection by just a few minutes. And while our bags had a head start, since they didn’t have to wait for the ramp, they didn’t manage to find their way to the flight upon which we were re-booked. Nor did BA figure out how to get them to us today, but they advised us this evening that they have found them and will deliver them tomorrow. Fingers crossed.
We intended to take the Air France bus from Charles de Gaulle into town. It drops us at Port Maillot, which is a convenient bus ride from home. After waiting for half an hour, we discovered that there was in fact a job action of some sort going on. Had we waited longer, one of the two buses parked tantalizingly within sight may or may not have eventually found a driver and deigned to take passengers; but despite already having our tickets, we opted for a taxi.
The bus drivers provide a nice illustration of French service industry priorities. There was their strike, and the reduced service we experienced on the way to the airport on the 22nd (which permitted many of them to attend the funeral of one of their number). I don’t think that the French are rude or careless about customer service, as one occasionally hears suggested. It’s more a matter of respecting the workforce before the customer, a simple swapping of our North American priorities. The convenience and satisfaction of the worker are considered before that of the customer. So why does the system work at all? If you respect the workers, they will feel pride in their performance, which means satisfying the customers. It’s a trickle-down theory of customer service, but it has the advantage of making everybody happy, not just the customer. Or that's the theory.
