It's All Wine & Cheese.

It’s not all wine and cheese.  Well, it's been a lot of that.   I won't lie. 

 It's also been a lot of long walks with some really great people.    I've been fortunate to have met some very nice women who like to walk.  Really walk.  Anywhere and for a long time.   We meet under the Eiffel Tower and go from there.   A couple of weeks ago, they wanted to check out the Marché aux Fleurs et Oiseaux.   A flower and bird market near Notre Dame, on this quiet side street in the midst of a noisy tourist area.  Who knew?   If you're a garden person, I think you'd lose your mind.   I'd never been to Luxembourg Gardens, so that was another walk.   We got a little lost trying to walk back, but that is never a problem here.  Just hop on the metro!  Another day was Parc Monceau.  Some walks are interspersed with random cafe visits where we happily violate the French dress code by sipping coffee in our workout attire.  

With Aviva at Luxembourg Gardens.

 

Kristin & Susan and Rufus & Charlie.

We are still legally responsible for two teenagers, so our attention is frequently diverted to more serious endeavors.    School is now in full swing, so the girls’ homesickness is slightly less raw.   There have been parties, concerts, and many “discussions” about curfews (as with the drinking age here, there doesn’t seem to be one for teenagers).    There have been field trips to The Louvre, and last weekend we hosted two athletes from a visiting team.  

Katie - first cross-country meet.  In the rain.   She won't like that I've posted this, but I love this picture.

 Both girls are somewhat of an anomaly at school, speaking only one language and having only lived in one place their whole lives.   The administration and parents are exceedingly kind and helpful and, it appears to us, that the other students are welcoming.    So, our daughters are slowly adjusting (one of them may vehemently disagree with that assessment).   However, life with them right now feels like a roller coaster at times.  Not the old fashioned, happy boardwalk roller coaster, but more like Space Mountain:  with wicked curves that take you by surprise, and the need for recovery time before you go back for more. 

We do our recovery time with wine and cheese.   All of the clichés about September in Paris are true.  The weather has turned to fall and it’s just beautiful.   The crowds are less, but we are still avoiding the tourist sites for now.  We’ve been visiting smaller, lesser-known museums.   Paris abounds with the mansions of private art collectors, and these are much more fun to explore.    A combination of really beautiful art and a secret peek into another life.  

Last week, we visited the Musée Nissim de Camondo.    Comte Moïse de Camondo was from a Jewish banking family.  He had his mansion built to house his massive art collection, which he intended to pass down to his son.   However, the son was killed in combat, and the rest of the family perished in Nazi camps.    This is a magnificent home with a really rich history.   A must see if you visit Paris. 

Musée Nissim de Camondo

After our museum visit, we were enroute to a restaurant Jim had chosen for our lunch.    Those plans were quickly abandoned as we passed by Restaurant 65^th bis.  The owner (we think), Pascal, was standing outside, beckoning us in.   We were seated at an intimate corner table.   The server starts describing the menu in French.  We let her go on a little and then admit defeat:  “nous sommes désolés, mais nous ne parlons pas bien français.”  Ah, she says and gets Pascal.  He cozies up next to us and goes over the menu.   We select a couple of “grandes salades” and let Pascal choose our wine.   He brings us over a little sampling of something from the chef and two perfectly chilled glasses of vin blanc.    

A little while later, the place is completely packed.   Sitting next to us are two men, who Pascal seems to know.    At one point, he comes over and takes a sip of one of their glasses of wine.   Pascal frowns, declares it’s bad, and brings the guy a new glass.   The two men are amused and we also find it funny.   It turns out that they are father and son.   Patrick (dad) is in real estate and Antoine (son) is a banker.   They are French by birth and long time Parisians, but their English is excellent.  It turns out that Patrick got his MBA at Stanford years ago.  He also has another son that lives in California.    They are both very kind and charismatic.  

Pascal & Patrick & Antoine.  Oh my!

 When we first arrived at the restaurant, I thought to myself that Pascal reminded me of that French actor, Gérard Depardieu (Google him, he’s well known, albeit with some sobriety issues).   Antoine and I are chatting and he confirms for me that yes, Pascal is the owner, “the guy that looks like Gérard Depardieu.”   I tell him I thought that too, “Gérard Depardieu, when he was still sane and sober”.   At this point, Patrick turns his attention to me and says, “you think Pascal is sober?” 

At some point, Pascal decides we need champagne and brings us over a couple of glasses and a selection of macarons.   It is all delicious.  A little while later, Patrick determines its time for cognac.  Pascal thinks this is a great idea and we’re promptly served.  We’re having a great time and I swear my French is improving.  The words are just spilling out of me!  Maybe I’m finally getting a knack for this beautiful language, I think to myself.   But then Patrick says, “you will get a tutor while you’re here, yes?”   Fair enough.

The restaurant empties out and Antoine declares he must go back to work.  Patrick reluctantly agrees and we all depart after exchanging contact information.   Cheek kisses all around.  Even for Pascal.  We may never have such a haphazardly wonderful day again.

As I alluded to earlier, we still have parental responsibilities.  Later on that evening,  I’m in the kitchen when I hear anguished cries from upstairs:  “Oh no.  OH No.  OH NO.  NO.  NO.  NO!”  I try denial for a few minutes, hoping this is coming from another apartment.  Alas, minutes later, a daughter enters the room carrying her computer wrapped in a towel, along with an empty tea mug.  Yes.  It’s not pretty.   L’ordinateur est mort (the computer is dead).    C’est la vie (pun intended).  I've had to order a new one online, because they only sell computers here with French keyboards.  I proposed to Katie that this could be another growth opportunity.   I can't repeat her response, so here are a couple of pretty pictures. 

Another day, another Eiffel picture.

Parc Monceau.

Katie is on the cross-country team at school and she will be traveling to other countries for meets.   During these trips, she will be staying with host families.  Part of the deal then, is that we also serve as host family for visiting athletes.   This past weekend, we hosted two soccer players from an International school near London.  One of the girls was from a South American country and the other from a former Soviet Bloc country.   Both had lived in various parts of the world because of their parents’ jobs as engineers.  They also spoke several languages. 

We have an interesting discussion during dinner.   Neither had ever been to the United States, so we were curious about their opinions of Americans.  They are very well mannered girls and are careful with their answers.   We talk more about the types of social things they and their friends do.   South American girl asks Katie, “Do you get carded when you go clubbing”?   To her credit, Katie answers, “my friends tell me that no, they do not get carded”.  Good answer.

Katie is expected to entertain the girls after dinner by showing them around the city.  South American girl wants to “see everything in Paris!”  The school had sent out rules for host families to follow, one of which being that the athletes should have a 10pm curfew.  I bring this up during dinner.  South American girl finds this funny and thinks I’m kidding.   She says, “as long as we’re home before tomorrow’s game, right?”  We all laugh. 

A little later, Katie and Soviet Bloc girl are patiently waiting for the other girl to get ready.    She is on the phone with another teammate/friend.  The friend is unhappy, as her host family apparently doesn’t have such good food and she’s not sure she is allowed to go out.   South American girl tells me she advised her friend to “be very nice and perhaps suggest a time you will come home.”   I see this as my opening and say, “on that note, I want you guys to be home by 10:45 (10 did seem a bit early, and it was now already after 9).   I can see I’ve stunned her though.  Clearly she wasn’t expecting this.    I say to her “sorry, I’m sure this isn’t what you’re used to.”  I leave it at that.

Let me say here, that we are not overly strict when it comes to curfews (well, by US standards that is).   In hindsight, I feel slightly silly requiring these 17 year old, worldly young things, to be home at such an admittedly early hour.  However, we were responsible for these girls and they had to be back at school early the next morning for their events.   Plus, Katie was wiped out, and surprisingly, not protesting.  They all came home on time.   To the best of my knowledge, they remained here all night.

The last thing I'll note is that Allie's dance school finally started this week.  The good news is that the school is in the 6th arrondissement and a quick metro ride away.  Lots of good restaurants nearby to entertain us should we accompany her on the train.  A few weeks ago, a kind waiter wrote the following instructions for us on how to order steak in French.   Jim has been practicing and last night perfected his skill at a brasserie near the dance school. 

 The bad news?  During dinner we get the following text from Allie:  "ughh, all the girls are speaking French, and I have no clue where to go!"   This is actually an American dance school, and teaches in both English and French, which is why I chose it.  Apparently, they were only kidding about the English part.  I propose to Allie that this could be another growth opportunity.   Her response is less colorful then her sister's.   However, it's apparent that her feelings about all these growth opportunities we're throwing at her is about the same.   At least they're finally bonding as sisters.    Stay tuned.

à bientôt