Croissant Amandes

At least two. Every day. Before class. After class. And one after dinner if I'm really happy with myself for the day (if you know me at all, I'm happy with myself a lot).

Action Francaise

Across the road from our house is an office which is rarely open during daytime hours, but as night falls the gates in front of the storefront's windows rise. This is Action Francaise.

One evening, my roommate, Fern and I were walking to the local grocery store but were stopped by a few people our age. Fern speaks fluent French so she was laughing, talk and translating back and forth. These people were really, really nice! They said we should definitely come by their next party. I was up for it. Their spread of food looked awesome and they were so welcoming even though I couldn't speak much French. They even told us to join them where they were headed for the night.

As we said our goodbyes and continued onto the supermarket, Fern explained that this was the youth branch of a political movement called Action Francaise and we wouldn't be joining them later at their "party".

"Oh, well they were great anyway!"

"Yeah... they were the ones that welcomed Hitler when they invaded France."

"But they had such nice food..."

I watch them from my window at night. They're up to something. I don't know what. But there are lots and lots of flattened boxes in the middle of their office. 

I think they've changed. I'll go to their next party. I'll know when it is... because I'm watching you, Action Francaise!

One of Action Francaise's "Parties"

By the way, while talking to them they were telling me they mostly stand for reinstating the French monarchy. Mostly. Plus they hate Sarkozy. And sort of democracy (or demoCRAZY, as they termed it).

P.S. Action Francaise, if you are reading this: this is not the delightful Canadian you know from across the street. Please do not firebomb my house. I mean his house. Don't firebomb his house.

Ratatouille, the food not the movie

The real deal for dinner last night at Cafe Louise. Very good. They ran out of chocolate cake though. She said to come back today to try some.

Conversation (translated):

RICKY

I'll have the ratatouille with poached eggs, please.

LOUISE

Anything to drink?

RICKY

Just a Perrier.

Later...

RICKY

Thank you, thank you. What kind of cheese is this?

LOUISE

Poached egg.

Anti-American Sentiment?

America's love affair with their new commander-in-chief has spread across the globe. Over the past few weeks I've noticed more and more French magazine covers, political and otherwise, with Obama and his wife Michelle featured on them. I have even seen a few of the iconic CHANGE campaign signs on a few walls here and there. 

Yesterday my friend Sarah and I tried to get into an American restaurant here, Breakfast in America, to watch the inauguration but couldn't get a seat and no standing room was allowed. We watched outside with a crowd on a tiny television with no sound for a while and decided to run over to the Canadian pub to watch. The pub, just like the country it represents, was big and empty with a few scattered people. We sat down just in time to watch Aretha Franklin perform and Joe Biden get sworn in. 

As Obama took the oath of office, the excitement in the pub was palpable -- even though I'm pretty sure a good portion of the small crowd there was not American, they, like the American public that elected him to the highest office in the world, are looking for a shift in the world atmosphere. Paris is a very political city, people are passionate about government and their effect on it -- I think it is a legacy of countries whose governments were formed by revolution. Americans and the French both know what they did to change the course of their history, whereas countries like Canada sort of amble along without the fire felt inside bellies filled with cheeseburgers and foie-grois across the globe. 

This past Friday evening and Saturday afternoon, I was invited for meals at Rabbis Bloom and Asseraf of Chabad of Paris -- both delicious meals in taste and spirit. On Saturday afternoon at Rabbi Asseraf's we heard the yells and chants of a crowd. This was another planned protest against Israel's defensive attacks on Hamas in Gaza. The Rabbi moved to close the window because he said the chants were turning nasty. 

I left the Asserafs' home and began walking back toward my house. My walk happened to run parallel to the protest route. I have never seen a crowd so angry in all my life, so filled with rage. As they moved through the police-lined streets, the crowd smashed the windows of the McDonald's around the corner from my house (I guess anti-American sentiment had to come in somewhere). The protest effectively jammed the streets of Paris as the wails of sirens could be heard anywhere you were and the site of riot-geared police on the streets was not unusual.

I saw a child, who couldn't have been much older than four-years-old, wearing an "I love Palestine" shirt which I thought was about the nicest message of the day. Completely unlike the man who appeared to be his father who was holding a sign with a Star of David crossed out. The two messages couldn't have a more different tone, one expressing love for the land they struggle for and one condemning the land's neighbours with hate. If only the father, and other protestors like him, expressed what his son's shirt said maybe the protest wouldn't have turned so nasty. Maybe there wouldn't be a need for protest if there wasn't such blind hate. I wish I saw more "I love Palestine" shirts or signs, but they were few and far between other, more threatening, ones. 

The people in the pub last night all heard the sirens run through the city all day on Saturday, there's no way they couldn't have. I think those CHANGE signs across Paris, those magazine covers at all press stands are a call for action against hate. As much as the French and Americans like to talk about how much they don't like one another, there's a respect for similar history. They have fought for the countries they love, for the governments they elect every few years and now, in the midst of world crisis a plenty, the two countries are calling for a change across the globe. Let's hope President Obama can help bring along that change. And maybe make Canadians more passionate about their position as citizens because a Facebook group doesn't count as passion or protest -- but one step at a time. I know.

And now for something completely different

Enjoy! I know I did/am.

New Years with the Bourgeois of Paris

We went to Alan's brother's friend's flat in Montmartre where we were the youngest people -- but definitely not the coolest. There were artists (a lady that was currently exhibiting in both Berlin and Madrid), filmmakers (people who worked on Amelie, because that was my only point of reference French film I could think of), chefs (sous-chef to Chef Ramsay) and other assorted artistes. The sous-chef to Ramsay made me try a dessert he concocted:

A layering of blue cheese, dried apricot and a single grape. I don't think he was happy when I gagged and said I had to spit it out. I don't think the host was happy that I ran to the kitchen and spit out food in her garbage. She asked if I was American. But that "dessert" was no dessert. It was sous-chef trickery!

We found there was free champagne aplenty and I became the substitute DJ because a 30+ English lady said the music was terrible and I looked like I would choose some good stuff.

Boy, did she know me or what? I had everyone doing the Cotton-Eye Joe right through till 4 in the morning. 

Winter Descends, Parisians Confused

Over the past few weeks Paris was blanketed with snow and scattered with bits of icy sidewalks and streets. Even their planned skating rinks were open (and stayed open)! Unprepared for the weather, Paris seemed frozen (1 point) in a state of shock about the weather. 

The Eiffel Tower had to close due to "extreme" weather, such as that seen here:

They didn't think to shut off fountains:

The statues looked mighty cold:

Parisians could no longer run from their alcoholism, the owner of this bottle must have had some sort of religious awakening when his wine bottle seemed to walk on water the night prior:

And these poor birds had no clue what to do:

But whoever said the French give up too easily never saw Luxembourg Gardens after the snow. Parisians everywhere, enjoying their confusion. Kids playing soccer in the snow; Children and parents stuffing snow down each other's clothes; People reading by the now-invisible pools. 

It was the first time I actually saw a good chunk of the French population enjoying their city, taking part in the experience of it all. Having the snow here allowed them to rediscover it anew and the city seemed to have a different, warmer feeling despite the freezing temperature. 

But, alas, it had to end. 

This morning I woke up to the sound of rain. By the time I stepped out, the mild weather and overnight downpour had washed away all the white stuff that seemed to add so much to the experience here. Maybe the sign over the city from the big guy in the sky meant, 'if you're good I'll do it again some time.' Paris will have to wait and see. 

Versailles

Versailles was extra special for two reasons:

1) There was a Jeff Koons exhibition going on. 

Jeff Koons is a neo-pop artist that has become well known for his over-sized balloon and blow-up inspired sculptures. At the Versailles retrospective of his work, there were pieces from the 80s:

and more recent pieces:

It was interesting to see Koons' work, often described as kitschy, alongside some of the most decadent architecture and design. In a way, I think Marie-Antoinette would have appreciated the art and its placement very much. 

2) There was snow on the ground.

As I said, snow has rarely stayed on the ground for more than a few hours in Paris and its surrounding regions, so to see Versailles covered in snow was a sight to be seen and experienced. 

It was the most impressive site I've been to while in Paris.

Look, Ma, I'm eating!

Tonight I finally bought some fresh fish and decided to make a large batch of a fish stew with a cucumber salad. Both were tasty even if the stew took more than an hour to make. It was worth it. Note: My brand new plate, bowl, cup and cutlery because I couldn't eat off the others any longer. They are stored safely in my cupboard. 

Tourist Week

This past week Rebecca was here visiting. We did a whirlwind tour of Paris and ate a lot of crepes, baked goods and macarons. The week she visited also happened to be one of the coldest on record in Paris in decades. 

On the morning she arrived, it began snowing and it was the first time in at least 15 years that the snow remained on the ground here -- sort of a very lucky week to see Paris but also frighteningly cold, especially at the top of the Eiffel tower:

The truth is those smiles were frozen onto our faces. I was actually in a lot of pain. A lot. Rebecca suggested we look out for a bit and spend another 10 minutes in the gift shop warming up and then run out to look and then back to gift shop. Sounded like a good idea. 

This gift shop had the usual Paris souvenirs but had some odd ones as well. For some reason there were giraffe and zebra styled Eiffel Towers and a lot of cow-themed things. 

And then we decided to be really, really original and a little artsy. Evidence:

On our way out I literally could not feel past my ankles. It was a little dangerous but I like to live on the edge. We ran out and asked everyone where the closest metro was but everyone is a tourist there so they had no idea. Just a sea of useless people. Finally I asked a kindly old French woman to point us in the right direction. She was waiting for the bus so I thought she would know. She placed her finger to her mouth in thought and pointed us west, away from the centre of Paris and toward the Bridge on the opposite side of the tower. "Under the bridge there is a metro station. Yes. Yes. I'm sure of it," she said in French. 

Onwards we walked in minus 10 degree weather. After 10 minutes we saw the bridge, but no metro station. Ah, but there was a tunnel leading under it in front of it! This was it! We would be home in no time. I entered first. 

This was no tunnel to the subway but the home of a homeless gentleman and his possessions. I turned around pretty quickly. 

We walked all the way back to the bus stop and I asked a younger French girl coming from a side street where to go. She told us and, finally, after searching for 30 minutes we arrived at the metro station and went home. My heating was broken so it took us a while to heat up with Rebecca's hair dryer.