Parisian entrepreneurs

Everywhere you go in Paris, there are street performers, buskers, artists, and sadly, many people begging. It’s heart wrenching (as surely as its intended to be) to see small children begging with their parents, the elderly or infirm shaking their cups or people down on their luck, with signs asking for money. It’s not possible to give to everyone (although I’ve never given money, I have given bread and croissants away).
There’s also performers on the streets, some with magic tricks, some gymnastic tricks. Musicians will jump onto the métro to serenade the train car. There’s one fater/daughter pair with a clarinet and violin, who are quite good. Some are good. Some are….well…not so good. But my very favourite is the ensemble who play at the Chatelet station. I think they’re there (or some group of them, not sure if it’s the same people) every day. They. Are. Fantastic.
I’ve attached various photos of different acts here (there’s loads) but also a thirty second clip of the ensemble playing yesterday. It’s such a great way to travel…

Blasted heat

It’s so hot here, I’m considering jumping into fountains when I walk by them. I’ve seem kids wading through them – smart kids. Everyone is complaining – the French, the Africans and Indians. It’s hot. It’s 40+ degrees by 9 in the morning and only cools off to 30 by midnight. Its unbearable.
I’m just posting some pictures I’ve taken recently, because frankly, it’s too bloody hot to think.

McDo

The French call McDonald’s ‘McDo’ [mick-dough]. Not a place I usually frequent, however, I had an appointment the other day and was an hour early. I hadn’t had breakfast and was in need of caffeine. I was on rue de Rivoli, which, while awesome, is obscenely overpriced – tourist central. I refuse to pay six and a half euros for coffee! I’ve heard that the coffee at McDo is good and cheap (and I’m no connoisseur, so I decided to give it a try).
First if all its been grossly hot in Paris. 40+ degrees everyday. It’s still 30 degrees at midnight! When I walked into McDo, I was stunned into immobility – air-conditioning! In France, the coffee doesn’t come from a pot at McDo, no sir. There two baristas there with a proper expresso machine – no joke. The coffee was under a reasonable three euros too! I had to order les petite pains because, well, just look at the adorable pot of marmalade you get with it! Also, it had free wifi.
I spent a very pleasant hour, in air-conditioning, drinking good, reasonably priced coffee out of a real cup (no paper here!), enjoying my breakfast (which wasn’t fabulous but was fine, especially for the price) and using free wifi! Bliss!

Mosquée du Paris et Jardins des Plantes

I went to the Mosquée and Les Jardins des Plantes today. I had a delicious couscous for lunch with mint tea. Only parts of the mosque are open to the public. There’s the teahouse, the restaurant, a beautiful courtyard and the hammam. The hamman is open to each gender on different days of the week and some days for both (swimsuits are mandatory on the days). There are no visits on Fridays (the most holy day in Islamic religion). It’s beautiful and richly decorated. The restaurant is both inside and out, with the doors open, hence the wee birds who flit in and out of it, landing on abandoned tables to nibble before the waiters can clear up!

After, I went to the Jardins de Plantes, which is down the street. The zoo is also in the garden, you can smell it from certain parts! The day was cut short by a rainstorm, as I had forgotten my umbrella at home. I dodged under storefronts and trees to the métro!

A favourite haunt

One of my favourite places to wander into is a bookshop, particularly the infamous Shakespeare and Co. (although do not forget The Abbey, it’s smaller and not as well known but equally wonderful and a place to get lost in for a few hours).

I love it not just for the history and books but also the people and events. There’s always something interesting going on there.

An author reading…

A mini concert…

And a wedding! I didn’t want to be intrusive so it’s not a great picture but seriously…you can get married there?!? Hmmm…..

OIF continued

I forgot a few!

There’s no screens on windows or doors. So yes bugs can get in but it’s not the end of the world. I’m a little worried about a pigeon flying into the bedroom but Shmoe assured me that I’m neurotic and that will never happen. We shall see.

All windows have glass doors that open wide and shutters. There really is no need for air conditioning in the house (the same cannot be said for public areas!). If you keep the glass doors open and the shutters shut, it doesn’t get hot at all. It’s actually quite cool.

When you buy a chicken at the market (not in Monoprix or Dia chain stores but actual markets) or the butcher, it comes with the feet still attached. Sometimes the head too. Occasionally a few feathers. I’m a hypocrite and request them to be chopped off, to the dismay of the butcher.

Fish in a restaurant always (in my experience) comes with head, tail and bones attached. I’m too squeamish. I try not to remember that my food was alive once. Things like heads make that harder to do.

Daily life is very local. Obviously, people go to dinners, parties, visit family and friends and other outings that aren’t so local but day-to-day life is within a small community. In our area, the lycée is a few blocks away, as is the maternelle and crèche. The train station is as well. Once you are home from work, everything is within a few blocks. Mostly people walk. There a few boulangeries, the boucherie, the epecurie, the supermarché, the charcuterie, the fromagerie, the banque, the droguerie, the poste, the pâtisserie, two brasseries, two coiffures, at least four kabobs and others in a four block radius. There’s a tailor (essential for French living), bookshops, cafés and more. As such, people walk about during the day and after work. They stop and talk to each other. As I cook dinner, I can hear people chatting, gossiping and catching up out in the street. Men with hang out for hours and talk at the coiffure across the street (I’m not sure how their wives feel about it!). People go to the tabac, which is the brasserie, not just for coffee, wine and cigarettes (yes, it’s France – everybody smokes) but to chat with others. People know each other. Even as I walk to and from the train station each day, I say a bonjour/bonsoir to several shopkeepers and people walking on the street. It’s amazing that in such a large city, there can actually be more of a small town experience.

Only in France…

Okay, not ONLY in France (many are European in general) but here are some of the differences, the oddities, that make France so….French.

I had to get a key cut a few weeks ago. Look at the board of keys. Notice all the skeleton keys? That’s because they are still used in France. All the time. Seriously.

And speaking of keys…even modern keys, well, locks are different. For the three apartments I’ve lived in while in France, you have to turn the key two complete times, it clicks twice, to be properly locked. After a few glasses of wine, I can get confused as I’m convinced we’re locked out of the apartment as I frantically turn it both ways, hearing the clicks but cannot open the door. I don’t even feel stupid (well, not too stupid) when Shmoe takes my hand and turns the key for me. I’m just relieved.

Doors. Doors usually are pushed in France. I always go to pull them (I mean like the door to a restaurant- in Canada it’s almost always a pull). Of course, what happens is my arm jerks as the door slams into the door jam and I look like a moron. Particularly when I simultaneously am stepping forward and hit my head into the door.
That’s only happened once.
Fine.
Twice.
That there were witnesses.

Les vacances. When trying to book appointments or get your building manager to fix your electricity, it’s common to hear in summer about les vacances. The holidays. For example, we had a blown fuse and couldn’t find the right switch. Oh, we found switches. We found not one but two fuse boxes. However, none of these flipped the fuse for our place (yes, only one fuse, which is why you cannot run the vacuum and have a light on a the same time. Who knew?). We looked for the manager. Can’t find him but one if the long term neighbors of the complex is ‘in charge’. He can’t find the fuse switch either. Shmoe decides to run a huge extension cord to our place so at least we can have some power. I ask the guy n charge when the manager is coming back. He replies “Les vacances.” Thinking that there’s a language barrier (i.e. I said in wrong in French) I ask Shmoe to ask him. Again he replies, this time with a Gallic shrug, “Les vacances.” and he leaves. This drives me insane. Guess where the fuse switch was? In a suite down below us and over a few. Yeah.

Also, loads of businesses are closed for weeks, a month or even longer in the summer, for holidays, especially in August. There’s an expression of whether you’re a ‘July or August’, based on when you go on holiday.

Cars don’t have cup holders.

Electricity is expensive. Fridges are small. Ice is like gold and you usually have to ask for it.

Air conditioning is practically non-existent. Even in plus thirty degree heat. Women (and a few men) actually carry and use fans. Karl Lagerfields fan is not only an affectation, it’s also practical.

Bathrooms. Sigh. Out in the ‘burbs here, I’ve been to several small brasseries, they’re like your local pub a home. Small, not schmancy but nice. The bathrooms are all Turkish. Seriously. In public, there’s either a single toilet (like on the streets) which is sometimes Turkish or the group bathrooms in the mall. Men and women use the same facilities, there’s no ‘Ladies’. And you pay to use both of them. In homes, the toilet and the sink are in separate rooms.

Women’s products, like make-up, are outrageously expensive compared to home. Even for things like conditioner. Even ones made in France. French women pay through the nose to look fabulous.

The big sales are only twice a year in stores, as it’s regulated by the government. Only in January and July.

Boobs are everywhere. On the t.v., movies, adverts, everywhere. And the ideal French breast? No more than a champagne glass. (not a flute but a glass, think of the ‘fifties and before)

Yes, the beaches are nude.

Anything to do with the government, or any unionized organization (so most of France), like the trains, is going to require every piece of ID you’ve been given since birth, paperwork from you, your neighbor and every employer you’ve ever had, it will take four times as long as you think it should, then they will charge you fifty euro and tell you that you’re still missing two forms and to come back three weeks from Tuesday. Which will cost you another fifty euro. Oh, and you’re not an EU citizen? Well, that will be four more forms, another hundred euro and you need to be in that line over there. But she’s busy, on her lunch break. Come back tomorrow, wait four hours and then we will tell you you can make an appointment for next month.

There’s are hundreds of great things about France that are unique, landmarks, museums and it’s history. I enjoy France, the people, the customs and the culture. But sometimes, it’s difficult to live here and sometimes…it’s just odd!

King Tut

I went to the King Tutankhamun exhibit the other day. It’s only replicas but I really enjoyed it. I learned a lot and they did a good job with displays. It’s so fascinating to think that bout one hundred years ago, with little technology, they discovered a three thousand year old tomb! It was barely touched, most not at all, by grave robbers, unlike most other tombs in the Valley of the Kings.

The mummy itself was encased in two sarcophagi and then four large boxes and then put into a room with barely enough room for a person to stand between it and the walls. It took months for them to remove it all.

Every room was jammed with treasures and walls depicting the Kings’ life. Every piece was intricately designed and ornamented. The gold alone is stunning!

The tomb was filled with gifts for the afterlife as well as the deemed necessities. Jewelry, servant representations, ornaments, chariots, boats and the list goes on. Sadly, there were three small sarcophagi for his three children, none of whom survived. The fact that he married his sister may explain some of that. King Tutankhamun himself, wasn’t even twenty when he died, most likely from an infection from blowing out his knee.

Gives a whole new meaning to toe socks, eh?

Anyway, if you ever get the chance, I recommend it!

O’Kari Hammam

This is the courtyard before you go into the Hammam and Spa. Yeah, it’s as awesome as you think.
I decided to go to the Hammam for several reasons, the most pressing being my neck has been in bad shape for over a week and I was in desperate need of a massage. Massages aren’t cheap in Paris and for a smidgen more I could make a pretty great day if it. There was a list of other justifications but I won’t bore you with the details. Also, I asked Gita what she thought and she said “Do it!”. I was so smart to ask her, non? I didn’t go for the Birkin of packages, but a Prada nonetheless. All in all, I have to say, it was worth every penny!

Karima is the lovely proprietor of the Hammam. She is a gracious and welcoming host. The ladies who work there are equally lovely and talented at their jobs. It was a exquisite day!

The interior is peaceful and serene and decorated to suit the intention of the spa. Karima has integrated her homeland of Algeria’s culture and tradition of Hammam and a European spa. The décor feels calm, nurturing and relaxing. You can smell the subtle fragrance of essential oils throughout the spa. The lighting is soft and gentle and the colours are soft earth tones accented with deep jewel hues.

First you disrobe and then enter the Hammam. The steam filled room smells lovely and is relaxing. There are gorgeous silver bowls for you to splash water over your body, scooped from the ancient looking small fountain at the back. The room is tiled, with wee twinkling lights overhead. You are to stay in the Hammam as long as you can stand it, go cool off and then return, back and forth. Different from North American experiences, you are nude throughout the day, but it’s a women only establishment and to be honest, I didn’t fret about it in the least.

When your time in the Hammam is done, you are taken for your treatments. The treatments are done in a communal stone and tiled room. It’s beautiful and purposeful. You are often rinsed all over with water, which feels heavenly, and this can be done due to nature of the room. You lie on a heated stone slab, which one would think could be uncomfortable but it’s not. It’s was relaxing and the heated stone felt great. Every inch of me was exfoliated, scrubbed, buffed and polished. The water was always the perfect temperature. I almost melted into the stone, I was so relaxed.

One of the other reasons I chose O’Kari was all the products are completely natural and made in front of you. Since I tend to react to, well, anything chemical, this was fabulous. I had a facial and hair masque, both effective and soothing. After, you go to the small pool or bath. You then alternate between the cool bath the the Hammam again. This was bliss. The bath was cool but not cold. There must be minerals in the water as you can feel tiny effervescent bubbles surround your body. It was like bathing in champagne.

As you go back and forth from pool to Hammam, you’re brought delicious house made lemonade. There is softly playing Arabic music in the background as you sit back and simply float. After a time, you’re brought to another space, where you receive a wonderful massage, and lovely, lightly scented oil is rubbed into your skin, making it soft and supple. About this time, it’s entirely possible that you may drift off for a moment or two!

There is no rushing here and it’s perfect. It was an incredible and unique experience and I’m the better for for it. Thank-you to Karima and her talented staff for such a remarkable day. As I walked away, my only thought was I want to live there.

Jardin du Luxembourg

It’s one of my favorite gardens and not just because Hemingway used to walk there, although, I admit, it does add to it’s appeal!

It’s a beautiful green manicured garden, with plenty of shade. It’s one of the few places you’ll see runners in Paris, usually on the outermost path. However, most people just wander.

There’s loads of green space, albeit only one or two are permitted to walk on. There’s many trees with benches and the ubiquitous green metal Parisian chairs. Whether you want to sun or keep cool in the shade, there’s many options and views.

Personally, I love to find some shade, pull up a chair and alternate between reading a book and people watching.

There’s many people who have their lunch here, but I recommend bringing your own…the prices from the vendors in the Jardin are outrageous! Most bring sandwiches from one of the boulangeries surrounding the gardens entrances and there are many toting their sacks from McDo (the French call it mick-dough) from across the street.

There’s many activities that take place here, hence the excellent people watching!

There’s the usual; solitary readers, couples strolling, friends chatting and families playing.

However, there’s a myriad of atypical activities too. There’s tennis courts and basketball courts. There’s tai chi classes and discussion groups.

For children, there’s several playgrounds (separated by age groups), yet another Parisian merry-go-round and the infamous marionette shows! I didn’t go to see it, but as I walked by, I could hear children laughing uproariously and shouting directions to the puppets on the stage. The shows seem to surpass language barriers as not all the shouts were French but I distinctly heard German and English hollering as well. There are also regular pony rides, which I imagine many parents succumb to in order to remain sane. The begging would be incessant after seeing these two lucky girls enjoying their ride!

Last, but certainly not least, is the still practiced tradition of sailing sailboats in the pond. You can rent the boats for a reasonable two euros for a half hour. They come with rubber-tipped stick used to push off the boats. The boats are mostly decorated by country flag and colors (no Canadian ones, as far as I could see!) but I did spot a vicious looking pirate one, complete with skull and crossbones once. I overheard (alright, eavesdropped) one Parisian father explaining the process to a visiting tourist and his son. He said that he used to come on week-end to sail the boats with his father and now he was doing the same with his son. When Shmoe saw the pictures I took of the sailing, his first comment was “oh, that’s so seventies!”, which would be be time of his childhood.

Despite being a city with a long history and iconic, permanent landmarks, it does seem to ever be evolving. It’s nice to know that, even with all the changes, some things remain the same.