Les Soldes de Paris

Wednesday started the sale season in Paris, which is a big deal here. I’d like to say that I’ve been good at taking a back seat in all the chaos but this is suppose to be a full, well-rounded experience. So I set out with one main goal: to find the perfect purse.

I found out there were sales during French class. When asked what I was doing after class I said in elementary French that I was going to buy a bag; I didn’t know the word for purse so I guessed bag was a decent substitute. My teacher proceeded to talk for a good five minutes about waiting until Wednesday but to look over the weekend. So I came home and told John that I was told to hold off and just window shop until the sales began.

People go crazy for these sales. France has major sales twice a year: once during the summer and once during the winter. All retail stores seem to participate in reductions up to 70%, though I think 30%-50% is the average. The summer sales last for six weeks, though I read that by the end of the first week most of the “good stuff” is gone. Sadly, there is no restocking so though by the end of the sales you may find better deals, you run the risk of not finding what you want. Most Parisians seem to look what they want before the sales start. It sounds crazy but it makes sense; the lines for the fitting rooms must have been 20 people long!

In hopes to have the full sale experience, John and I window-shopped for a purse before the sales started. We must have looked at over a hundred bags. John was not only a good sport for doing this with a smile but also gave great advice on what looked good and what didn’t. I was quite impressed with his taste. We found a great Lamarthe purse that I fell in love with. Come Wednesday, John went to the store when it opened (I was at class) just incase they would sell out. Luckily I got the last one. Thanks, John! Today, I went walking around Rue de Rivoli checking out the sales, on my own. Now it makes a little more sense; if you wait until the sale season to buy your clothing it’s much more affordable to dress like a true Parisian (very nicely). Though I think it’s safe to say that I will stay away from stores for a while. It’s too chaotic, even for me!

Fete de la Musique

I can’t believe I haven’t posted in a week!

Last Sunday was the Fete de la Musique. This is when, for the day, anyone can play music in the streets of Paris. From the bigger concerts to watching a guy play his ukulele in front of a store it’s free for pedestrians to experience a world of music. In doing a little research it looks like the Fete de la Musique first started in the 1970’s. Since then the idea has spread to over a dozen other countries including Argentina, Belgium, Canada, Germany and even the states (in NYC).

John and I set out for Chatelet around 5pm. From there we planned to wonder the streets making our way toward St. Paul to La Marais, Bastielle and then home. But there is no real point in planning for the day because only some of the concerts published on the Fete de la Musique site. In fact, I think the best performances we saw were the ones that weren’t listed. I think John and I wondered from Chatelet to La Marais back to Chatelet and to the Pompediu and finally made it to Richelieu Drouot where we took the subway home (around midnight). There were a few performances that really impressed me. My favorite for the night was a Native American band. Though I think I was the most impressed with a handful of people who sang classical choral music in a corner on the street; though only four they sounded like a full chorus. From a rock band of teenagers to the communists to the Gay chorus to the “Gefitle Swing” each performance was unique and such a pleasure to see. I don’t think we heard anything we didn’t like. The coolest part of the whole evening was the fact that some people passed our sheets of music or just lyrics and a whole group of strangers would sing in unison. It was a great night, perhaps my favorite Parisian experience thus far.

Happy Father's Day

The one downside to being in another country is the fact that you get lost from all the important dates: birthdays, father’s day, graduation dates, weddings, etc. In all my running around, adventures and even mundane chores I’m out of touch with my life at home. This morning MSN was kind enough to bring me back to reality: it’s Father’s Day!

The last (almost) eleven years, Charlie has become a part of the family. When people find out I have a step dad they always ask if I like him, expecting the worse. But how many stepchildren can say that they are being adopted by their step dads? My friends all know that Charlie, or Dr. Charles as I sometimes call him for kicks-and-giggles, is one of the people I value most in life. There have been many frantic phone calls about electronics, my computer, classes, work assignments or even personal situations made at all hours of the day. Though sometimes I’m sure he’d rather pass the phone to mom or finish what he’s working on first, Charlie always takes the time and care to handle every call as if it’s the life or death situation I act like it is. I have laughed so hard I’ve cried. I have learned how to make a proper salad. I have become a Jazz fanatic, and can now spot a Fats Waller song from just a few bars of music played. Charlie has given me more than I could ever ask for.

Two years ago, we went down to Florida for Thanksgiving. We stayed at a great place that happened to have a spa downstairs. Carrie & I decided we might want to check it out just for fun. It turned into an afternoon I will never forget. Carrie, Melanie (my sisters) and I were treated like princesses. We were given fluffy robes and slippers and led into a dimly lit room where the three of us were allowed to be together for all of our massages. I cannot tell you how hard the three of us laughed that afternoon. We even had the masseuse in stitches. Of course, she kept telling us we should be calm and take the opportunity to relax but anyone who knows the three of us knows that was a long shot. As we left we were given gifts (different scrubs and lotions) and told everything had been taken care of by our father. This is the kind of dad Charlie is. He would give anything for us to experience life, to be happy and to never worry. He does so without asking for much in return; maybe a hug or a diet, caffeine free coke every once in a while. So today, on Father’s Day, I just want everyone to know that I have one of the best. Thank you, Charlie.

I would also like to wish my Grandpa’s a happy father’s day. I am so fortune to have two grandpa’s that are so kind and loving. Happy Father’s Day, Grandpa Arthur & Grandpa Abe. I love you both very much.

The last shout out I have, even though it’s father’s day is for my mom. Everyone knows that I must talk to my mom at least once a day. I am always thinking of her and though it’s a little strange, I embrace the fact that I become more like her every day. Somehow between my travels and hers I never wished her a Happy Birthday on the actual day. So if we could pretend it was June 15th for just a moment: HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MOM. I wish we could both celebrate in Paris. I know how much you would love that. I can only wish you what you deserve: a great, happy, relaxing year.

Je suis étudiante.

It occurred to me that I’ve yet to take the time to write about my school. Seeing as I spend a good deal of time learning French I might as well take the opportunity to share something about France Langue. I’m enrolled for seven weeks of classes at France Langue. I have classes four times a week for four hours (a day). When I first started there were five of us in the class. After one class, one student proceeded to drop the course leaving four of us. The program is set up so you can start from the beginning or join in (at the beginning of a week) and take classes for as long as you’d like. Going into my third week of classes I’m now one of six. The group has changed a little; now we’re all women, and many of the other students are housewives.

It takes about forty minutes for me to get to school from home. I walk ten minutes to Pere Lachaise (metro stop) and hop on the subway and ride almost until the end of the line. From Victor Hugo I walk two minutes to class. It’s a very pretty area though I don’t spend much time wondering around. The school has multiple classrooms, offices and a little cafeteria. It’s small but very busy. I’m impressed to see so many other students during our ten-minute break. Check out my pictures on flikr to get a better idea of what it’s like.

I’ve gone from being confused most of the time to understanding a good deal of what’s being said in class. I’ve gone from being excited to overwhelmed to frustrated to excited all over again. Everyone seems to want to know what I’m learning but I don’t have an answer. I can tell you that I’m learning a few verbs (and how to conjugate them), nationalities and am increasing my vocabulary. I may not understand the method to the madness but I can see that I am slowly learning more each day. I recognize words on the news and on signs/posters. I try to talk to John and Oscar as much as I can in French and take opportunities to read in French. The process is slow and I’m nowhere near fluent but the process has begun.

click here to see my updated pictures on flikr

The City Life

I suppose you can say that because I lived in the twin cities (Minneapolis & St. Paul) I’ve had a city life experience. Though I have never had an experience quite like this, where public transportation is the easiest way to get around and you tell people where you live based on a metro stop. I’ve always had the luxury of being able to use mapquest to figure out where I’m going instead of an actual map and grocery stores have always been simple: you go in, you get everything, you leave and lug it all home in a car.

            Okay so the whole map business is getting easier. And though I’m sure I’d look like a tool, how many other people can put “competent at figuring out maps” on their resume, especially in this generation? I suppose I should stick with “excellent problem solving skills.” In all seriousness though I enjoy not driving. Granted my awesome roommate for the last few years happened to have a car which made life in the twin cities that much easier and you can’t really get around easily in Jersey without a car but it’s amazing how carefree you can be knowing you don’t have to worry about traffic or parking.

            The grocery shopping is a little different story. Okay… I admit it… I’m a little picky when it comes to food, food preparation and cleanliness. Paris may be the cure to these idiosyncrasies. Once you eliminate pork products you’re limited here and so I have to compromise somewhere. Not to mention the fact that we’re on a very tight budget. John lives right next to Place Leon Blum (metro stop: Voltaire), which has plenty of places to grocery shop. The easiest option, I suppose, would be to go to Picard, the bachelor’s savior. It’s a store that only sells frozen meals. Okay so when I heard that I imagined a store with freezers containing “Healthy Choice,” “Smart Ones,” and “Hungry Man” from floor to ceiling but Picard puts all of that to shame. The next easiest was what we did the first week: one stop at a grocery store. We successfully got everything we needed for a reasonable price but realized that the meat was not so great. This week we mixed it up. After much contemplation on the best way to minimize price but maximize quality we chose to go to various places. We went to a butcher (but found that they were a little too expensive: 16 Euros for two pieces of chicken!), a fruits and vegetable store/stand, a nice grocery store for meat and the cheaper grocery store for the basics. After two hours of grocery shopping, we managed to spend 60Euros (even after going to the expensive butcher) for a week’s worth of food for two. Not too bad…I guess. I’m convinced that we can do better. With that said: if you have any suggestions on how to cut costs or easy/inexpensive recipes let us know! 

My Jewish weekend in Paris

This was my second Friday in Paris. Last Friday I was still suffering from jetlag and getting my bearings. This Friday I did a little research to find a Synagogue I could go to.  I found one that’s actually pretty close to where I have my French classes. Kehilat Gesher is French-Anglophone reform congregation. Without knowing the building number I would have never guess that a typical building with a tiny sign on the door would be a Synagogue. Unlike some others I’ve seen in Paris, Kehilat Gesher has no security guard outside. From the moment I walked in I felt comfortable. Services were held in a small room with folding chairs and no bima (stage). Instead there was an ark attached to the wall and a podium for the Rabbi to stand behind. Services were held in English, French and Hebrew. It amazes me that though I’m in Paris I can follow a service and feel at home; knowing the order and tunes of the songs. Everyone always makes fun of me because no matter where I go I have a story to tell of something bizarre that has happened to me or I have made a new friend. Why would this night be any different? I met JJ, who is studying in Paris for a few weeks.

Little did I know that attending services would start such a Jewish weekend. Saturday we took it easy. We went to the Maison Europeene de la Photographie ville de Paris (a Photography museum). John loves Henri Cartier-Bresson’s work so we saw his exhibit. Yesterday (Sunday) we met up with Emily early in the morning. We had a small breakfast and started our day of museums. The first Sunday of the month, Museums are free in France so it’s always a good time to go! We started with the Shoah Memorial, which is more like a museum than a memorial. It’s a beautifully made memorial (check out my pictures on flikr). I have been to various Holocaust museums and it amazes me each time that the general story may be the same but that each museum offers a different take and information. Like many, this museum had videos talking about anti-semitism and depicting survivors’ stories. I have been left asking myself two questions: 1: are the rumors true, is France anti-semitic? 2: why didn’t the architects of the concentration camps ever stop and ask what they were doing?

I, myself, have never had any trouble being a Jew in France. Granted I have not spent much time here, don’t talk about my Judaism with strangers or dress in a way that draws attention to my religion. But I have been to Friday night services and wear a Star of David or a Chamsa necklace. What I can say is that I see Synagogues (on the Sabbath) with security standing guard outside or even policemen with rather large guns. The Shoah Memorial had a security guard outside. The entrance and exit to memorial was very secure: we had to get the a guard to open the door, we then had to wait for the door to shut before we could open the door to the outside. At first I thought this process was just to limit the number of people who snuck into the memorial without paying a fee. Though the next museum we went to for the day had a similar situation.

The Musee d’art histoire du Judaism had us send our things through a scanner (which is typical at museums) but then one by one we had to enter one door and wait until the door closed in order to proceed through the next. The museum was great. I enjoyed seeing the art and different Jewish artifacts from different countries. I couldn’t help but wonder, though, why such high security? Perhaps wrongly, I have come to the conclusion that there must be a reason the Jewish museums and synagogues feel the need for such high security. That alone must be a sign of something. Hard to believe when you go to le Marais (the Jewish quarter) just down the street and see kosher restaurants, men wearing kippot and tzit-tzit and some women dressed in skirts and long sleeves skirts in summer. We got falafel from the same place Lenny Kravitz did and took it to the Place des Vosges to eat. It was great except for the fear of the pigeons attacking you for the food! It’s hard to understand what it’s like to be a Jew in France. I don’t think one weekend’s curiosity is enough to find an answer but I do think it’s an interesting question to keep in mind during my stay.

On a lighter note: I got to see how voting in France works. Yesterday was the election for the European Commission so Emily & I accompanied John to the school where he votes. Interestingly enough the process is different than in the States. After checking in, John received an envelope to put his vote in. He then picked up ballots for each party running. Each party has their own ballot; this way there is little to no room for error. Essentially you pick the paper (ballot) for the party you wish to vote for, put it in the envelope, and turn it into the ballot box (check out the pictures on flikr).

As you can see, I’m definitely keeping myself busy. I can only hope to continue asking questions and seeking out answers.

Click here to check out my updated pictures!

Je suis desole mais je ne parle pas francais...

I’ve been in Paris almost a week now. Just to catch up on what I’ve been up to:

John and I celebrated his birthday in Disneyland Paris, which was great. We did everything we wanted to with the exception of one ride. Monday was a holiday so we spent the day reading in a park, which was relaxing until it began to rain. Not to worry, we had an umbrella and waited out the quick storm while others ran to seek coverage under trees and the bridge. I have even started my French classes.

Yesterday was my first class. I went in with no expectations but am very happy with the school. I spend about 70% of the time confused, which can only mean that I must understand 30% of what’s going on. That’s not too bad if you think about it. Since the first class one student dropped because of the immersion teaching style. That leaves four of us. We’re beginning to have fun with the class; helping each other out and laughing at everyone’s frustration and mistakes. The teacher speaks to us only in French until we have a break. So by the time I get home I’m very happy to be allowed to speak in English with John (though he's helping me as well). In the weeks to come, I’m sure, I’ll begin to be less confused but for now I’m okay with the fact that I struggle.

For someone who doesn’t speak any French I’ve tried to challenge myself a little to be independent. Yesterday I went to the grocery store to find cleaning solution. I take for granted being able to walk down the isle, read a few bottles, pick the cheapest item and go. Here I prayed that the back of the bottles had the pictures of what it does. I’ve never understood the purpose of those pictures until now… and let me tell you: they don’t help. If bottles even had pictures on them, I couldn’t tell what surface they were supposed to represent. Though I may not have gotten exactly what I wanted for the cheapest price I was able to accomplish my goal.  Today, I got myself home from class. John has been very sweet. He’s woken up at 6:45am to help me figure out the route to class and yesterday he picked me up so I could learn the way home. It felt good to get home on my own (though I had a very good teacher show me the way).

Since John is taking driving lessons we have some time apart. Staying with him, I feel as though I am a guest in his home so when the doorbell rang today, I had a moment where I questioned answering. This is not my house, I don’t know anyone nor was I expected someone and I don’t speak French. How would I answer the door? I think it’s safe to say that staring at a visitor is never polite no matter where you are. I opened the door to work men speaking to me, very quickly, in French. At last! I could use some of the 70% of class I understood. “Je suis desole mais je ne parle pas francais,” I said hesitantly. The good news was he understood me. The bad news was he still wanted something. After a conversation in broken French, English and charades I figured out that he needed an electrical plug in order to finish some work but the first one we found didn’t work so we needed to find a second. To make the situation better, Oscar (John’s cat) began to scream at the workman as I searched for a plug. I would say meow but anyone who knows Oscar knows that he does no such thing when he’s upset; he meows far louder than I speak. Once the man left, I sat down on the couch with Oscar next to me. It was then I realized that I’m slowly winning him over. Once he stopped screaming, he kissed my nose as we waited for John to come home.

Life is just how I like it… full of adventures!

Lizzie 

Also: I’m updating pictures on my flickr account. The link in posted at the bottom of the blog (http://www.flickr.com/photos/38924404@N04/sets/)