16 Weeks

I have a friend here who likes to do something called “tatting”.   Yeah, I didn’t know what it was either, but it’s the process of making knotted lace.  She told me that she used to blog about it – posting something everyday about her craft.   I’m certain that tatting groupies achieved a certain high reading her blog.   I’ve seen her creations, and she’s a really good tatter.   I’ll go out on a limb and say that my writing skills are nearly as good as her tatting skills.  Still, I suspect a daily diatribe about our Paris comings and goings would be either boring or pretentious.  Plus, that’s what we use Facebook for.

A few pictures of my new favorite place to run, the Lac Inferieur, in the Bois de Boulogne.

Showdown with a swan.

It’s been awhile since I’ve written anything.   My real life petty dramas would make for a good read, but I’d probably get in a bunch of trouble if I wrote about them.  So, that leaves me with the following slices of life, which hopefully are not boring, and are only marginally pretentious.

A common daily sighting:  well coiffed elderly woman in a fur coat.

Tributes for the November 13th attacks -  at the Place de la Republique.

We are finally free of our prior landlords.   Just as we were contemplating legal action, they “decided” to return our security deposit.  A game of real estate cat and mouse, the likes of which I’ve not ever experienced.   We received a crash course in French rental laws and also coined a new curse word.  

"Cooking with Dominique."

Charlie had a vet appointment with Dr. Pierre Métivet (that’s his real name).  Dr. Metivet told us that Charlie was the first Goldendoodle he had ever seen.  He also told us that the former French President, Jacques Chirac, is one of his clients.     “Monsieur Chirac tells me he wants a Goldendoodle.”  “I say to him that I do not know what is this Goldendoodle you speak of.”  “And, now I’ve seen one!”   “Can I take Charlie’s picture?!”    I must say that every time I pass by some gross American fast food chain here, I hang my head in shame.  So, the Goldendoodle contribution makes me proud.

Scene from the Passy Cemetery - not a terrible place to be buried.

Discovered this little alleyway on our walk home.

We visited the Musée Rodin.  It’s in the Hôtel Biron, a beautiful setting worth visiting for the gardens alone.  We saw “The Thinker”, of course, but I was more interested to learn about Camille Claudel.   She was a sculptor in her own right, as well as Rodin’s model/muse/lover.   Sometime after their relationship ended, she went a little crazy, but was actually mentally sound.  Despite this, her family had her committed to a mental institution.  She stayed there for 30 years, until her death.  There is a whole section in the museum dedicated to her work.   A beautiful talent, yet tragic life.

"The Thinker"

"The Gossips".  Camille Claudel

Yet more pretty, shiny things.  The Musee Baccarat.

I attended a lecture at the American Ambassador’s residence.  The event was sponsored by the girls’ school, and this was the only reason I was invited.   The speaker was Tim Egan, an accomplished author and journalist, who currently writes an online opinion column for the NY Times.    He spoke about the current American election cycle and equally skewered both parties.    I admit that he leans left, which was probably why I enjoyed it so much.   In any event, it was pretty wild to be able to visit this place – a fortress like building I’ve passed numerous times, but never knew what it was. 

Scenes from the Ambassador's residence, and a glass of wine at Hotel Le Bristol.

Our niece, on her semester abroad in London, visited us for a weekend. We climbed the spiral staircase to the top of the Basilique du Sacre Coeur, and took in the views from the dome.   We had lunch on the Rue des Martyrs and had fun sharing a bottle of wine with this girl – who only yesterday was an infant at our wedding.   Listening to her opinions on politics and her plans for the future makes me feel optimistic, despite the dismal worldwide news.

Our niece, Mary Catherine, and a Dome view.

My friend Stacy was in town.   She is a dealer in vintage photos and was in Paris for work.  We went to high school together, and have only seen each other a handful of times over the last few decades.  She is beautiful, smart, and wickedly funny.   The time goes too fast whenever we get together.    Reminiscing about our school years, we discovered that we’d both been harassed by the same evil twit named Michelle. Discussing the person who bullied us in high school, while sitting in a Paris bistro, did take the sting off.   Stacy heard that Michelle had become a meth addict.   Very sad.

Stacy!

The girls’ had a week off for winter break, so we spent a few days in Amsterdam.  I LOVE this city.  Jim and I were talking, and we think, just for one year  . . .  kidding.  We stayed in a beautiful home on the Herengracht Canal near “The Fault in our Stars” bench (loved the book, never saw the movie).   We visited Anne Frank’s house.   If you’re in Amsterdam, this is a very necessary visit.  If for no other reason then to remind us that very terrible things happen to very normal people.  People just like us.   It will give some perspective to your life’s petty dramas. 

Jim and I also visited the Red Light District one evening.  Our girls opted not to join us on this cultural journey.   It was fascinating to me. Strolling along these charming little alleyways, with numerous glass doors.  Behind each door, a pretty young naked thing on display, offering her services.    All legal, just doing their job.    It didn’t feel sleazy, just surreal. 

If you see this, you're in the Red Light District.

The Most Interesting Man in The World.  In Amsterdam.

Many, many houseboats.

Yet another forced pose.  Someday, they will thank me.  Maybe.

View from our little Canal house.

After Amsterdam, we did a road trip to Normandy and visited the American Cemetery.   This is a beautiful part of France and worthy of a return trip.  Even though D-day was long ago, one gets the distinct feeling that the French here remain very grateful to the United States.   The locals are really kind, and positive American sentiment permeates the area.  It’s quite impactful.  It made me a little weepy, truth be told.   We also toured around Mont St. Michel.  Our driver’s name was Frederick LeBastard (really).  I’m not certain of his parentage, but he was not bastard-like at all. 

Scenes from Mont St. Michel and the American Cemetery. 

Our Seattle friends, Matt & Steve, visited for a week.   They are very well traveled and had been to Paris a bunch of times.  So, we did a few slightly less touristy things on our bucket list.  We finally made it over to the Porte de Clignancourt Les Puces – a massive flea market in a somewhat sketchy part of the city.   Afterwards, we had lunch at an out of the way bistro called Chez Louisette.   We ate boeuf bourguignon, while a chanteuse serenaded us with Edith Piaf songs.

Lunch at Chez Louisette.

This little guy was the official greeter.

An impulse buy I wish I'd made.

We spent a morning at the famed Pere Lachaise Cemetery. Throughout the large property, there are various guys loitering around wanting to tell you about the graves - covertly offering their tour services.  We came across a wild looking, semi-toothless guy, and we said, “Jim Morrison?”  The guy replies, “he’s dead!” We decide he’s our guide, and spent an entertaining hour following him around.   He was a character.  In addition to Jim Morrison, he highlighted a bunch of other graves, including “Mr. Viagra” (the picture below speaks for itself).

Our tour guide, giving us an animated description of this grave, which he referred to as "Mr. Viagra."

Jim Morrison.

A picture of your dog indicates fidelity.

We checked out Les Caves du Louvre.  This is a wine museum/tasting room housed in the 18^th century wine cellars once used by Louis XV’s sommelier.   It’s described as an “interactive wine experience for the whole family”.    You download an app, and go through the cellar’s rooms learning about the winemaking process.  We got bored midway through the soils room and headed straight for the tasting area.  

Steve and Matt.  Lunch at Caffe Stern - probably the best  Italian food I've had yet.

The whole place is really beautiful, though the concept was a little gimmicky:  there was a photo booth where you could make your own label.    We thought this was a little cheesy at first and weren’t going to bother.   Then we started tasting with the other participants.  This included an American group with a distinct southern accent who expressed their desire to “chug” the wine.  The kind French woman doing the pouring asked us “what is this word chug?”  We moved a little further down the bar.  There was a very nice, well-preserved couple from southern California who weren’t chugging their wine.   We had a nice conversation with them, until the husband says, “Donald Trump is starting to make sense.”  We moved further down the bar.  We finished the tasting and decided the photo booth was a good way to commemorate the experience.

Les Caves du Louvre.

That's me, on the right.  It was supposed to be an exotic masque look.  

We are in the last part of our stay here.  Four months left.   I will admit that we seriously considered staying in Paris for another year.  Many a well-meaning friend here has implied how much better it would be for my kids to stay.  I agree.  In a perfect world, we would let both girls finish high school here.  However, we will return home as planned.   It’s been a glorious adventure, but we miss our California community. 

A little pink house and other scenes from a walk in the Parc de Bagatelle.

I’m so grateful for this experience.   However, even as I’m happily swilling my burgundy, a subtle doubt is constantly there.  The disruption in my daughters’ lives, the unknown impact on their friendships back home, the challenge of transitioning back both academically and socially.  Will it all have been worth it?  Probably.  I think so. 

On a lighter note, here’s why I personally think it’s time to go home.   This is a silly, corny anecdote, and I apologize for another high school reference.  However, it’s my blog, so I’ll write what I want to.   When I was a senior, I was obsessed with a certain guy in my English class.   I recall absolutely nothing of what I learned that year at school, but I still remember this guy’s favorite band (Foghat).   In reality, I barely knew him, but my teenage brain was in love.  He took me to the prom, we graduated, end of story.   I never got to know him any better, and haven’t seen him in decades.   Honestly, I prefer it that way.   I’m content with my happy memories of that time in my life, even if they’re not totally realistic.

If we stayed in Paris, fully integrated, made it our actual “real life”, I think some of the glow might fade.   The things I find charming or amusing, might become frustrating.   I’d rather leave while we still love it here.   I’d rather leave while I still want to return, so I can discover more.   My kids would say that they are living a “real life” here (and they are, compared to Jim and I).   But, I still hope that there remains a novelty in all of this for them.    Besides, if we stayed I’d have to do more real life stuff, like find a new gynecologist.  That would take the bloom off the rose for sure.

à bientôt