la playa

Oh, damn I love the beach so much.

I'm always kind of hesitant to actually go as I know I will lose the willpower to get anything done at all.  I become sloth-like, barely able to move from one spot, occasionally raising my head to sleepily smile and attempt to get a straw into my mouth so I can have a hands-free sip.  Mind you, mid-days are usually way too hot for me to be at the beach, as I am slightly darker than ghostly pale even in August and I just don't tolerate hot sun that well.

On these near-private black-sand beaches, there is very little shade.  Locals hang up sheets and towels to create shade in the trees high up on the beach, but I found the ants to be a bit too aggressive.  So i wait patiently for 3pm, and have a good couple hours to bask and swim before watching an amazing sunset.  Or, because I've felt so lazy that I've needed to get up at sunrise, I will head out for an early-morning swim on a section of the beach where, let's say that the privacy dictates that clothing might just be optional.

The most zen-like experience for me is to let the waves wash over my feet until I'm forced to move due to the eroded pit I'm in.  I love the tides, the water, the sand.

I sit or walk the beach until the mosquitoes drive me in.  It doesn't take long.  I got fairly covered with bites pretty much every evening.  I just wasn't fast enough.

I found a totally charming and welcoming place to call home for a few days.  Open-air dining, good fresh seafood, a lovely room,  and the surf crashing in the distance.  It was secluded- the nearest town was quite small, and rutted dusty dirt roads would take you from one beach to the next.  But why would you want to leave this one?

Munda Millo eco lodge is really one of the nicest places I've stayed in.  It's run by a Dutch couple who lovingly build and decorate gorgeous private cabinas in an eccentric, world-traveler style.  

Catching Up

Just when I had the seed planted in my head that my winter coat would be a year-round staple, les printemps arrived in a spectacular fashion.

It feel amazing to get a little warm sun on your face after being completely under wraps for months.

All the news in the past weeks coming from the states has been so sad and tragic and scary, and once again, I feel helpless and a little lost not being there. But hooray, gay marriage just passed in France (which totally floored me that it wasn't legal here ages ago as the French were the original mainstream accepters of gay culture) and there's all sorts of scandals and happenings here that I'm trying to get more involved with to feel more connected to this place.

I'm dealing with a few challenges right now that's making my life a little hectic. Want to hear about it? I'm pretty sure you have no choice in the matter, so read on. Aside from dealing with the really awesome bureaucracy involved with getting my residency permit renewed and trying to convince a utilities company to get a bill to me to prove I live where I do...a small drama is in the process of happening. While we were gone this past weekend and merrily eating schnitzel and spatzel, a pipe in the wall of our bathroom burst. Not only did it flood the apartment below us, it also badly damaged the apartment below that as well. When the neighbors went to turn our water off, the pressure in the pipe in the hallway built up, and that burst as well.

Magically, in France, if this happens to be your rental flat, you are 100% liable. This is part of the reason why insurance is mandatory for renters here. There is lots of conflicting paperwork to fill out and triplicates to send to different parities involved and plenty of headaches ahead as we prepare for some experience in the land of insurance inspectors and plumbers and contractors, and the bathroom in our flat is a bit torn up and will remain so for months to let things dry out. At least it wasn't in the kitchen, as then that would be torn up and unusable for pretty much forever. But alas, our neighbors with the water damage have been nothing but kind to us, and fairly nonchalant about the whole issue. It's an old building with very old plumbing and this thing seems to happen all the time here. I have seen the glorious way in which a person or the Parisian persuasion has the ability to have a dramatic tantrum over pretty much nothing, and I was totally relieved at how cool they have all been. They shrug and give a half-smile and accept my apologies gracefully and humor my french, with the occasional run to the computer to help me translate a perplexing phrase or words that I don't understand. I will be making batches of cookies for them soon.

But I am here, I am well, and I have tons of pictures and lovely knitwear and stories to tell, and I'm currently watching honeybees swarm the beautiful pink blossoms of the cherry tree from my window while debating just what variety of cheese should I have for lunch today. Strawberries are in season here (and delicious) and I found some rhubarb at the market this morning to make this lovely gooey bit of springtime cheer, the weather has been relatively dry and warm, I These problems are small, but time consuming, and we all have to deal with them at one time or another.

Life is good.

David Chang comes to Paris! (sort of)

One thing I miss badly from the states: a good sandwich.

The French make many things better than anyone else. Alas, they are uninspired sandwich makers. Occasionally, a melty toasty Croque Madame or Monsieur will catch my eye, but I almost always go for the crepes when given the choice, as sandwiches are usually just a spit open baguette with grocery-store ham and cheese slicers. Perhaps a bit of lettuce if you are lucky. Always pre-made, never anything different.

Imagine my excitement when Verjus, a fantastic American-owned restaurant and wine bar near Palais Royale, announced they would be serving a sandwich-centric lunch.

The menu is exclusively sandwiches, all knocked off from famous chef menus in the US.

A David Chang inspired pork bun sandwich:

A perfectly crispy friend chicken sandwich:

A lovely monstrous Cuban:

Your sandwich of choice is served with either chocolate chip cookies or a brownie. The fact that they had real ginger beer was enough to make me cry tears of joy.

I am happily homesick no more...not even having to walk back in the metro in the pouring rain was enough to sour my mood.

Another Failed Walk: this time in the snow.

On a recent afternoon, I set off for a long walk to go to Shakespeare & Company, a well-known expat hotspot and historic Anglo bookshop near Notre Dame. I needed a travel book of the Lonely Planet variety for un upcoming trip, and this was by best option.

Rather frustratingly, they only had travel books about France. Ah well. It was a nice walk anyway, made extra fabulous by the dusting of snow that was going on.

First, a stop at my favorite North Africa pastry shop for a little sweet nostalgia.

Once I had pastry-fueled energy, anything is possible and a sunny outlook can be had on the grimmest of gray days.

I hadn't been over to Notre Dame in a couple of months. For the 850th (!) anniversary of the church, they built a huge stadium-style viewing platform on the plaza out front. I have to go back when it is sunny as it's a great way to get a good view of the statues and windows up close.

Autumn

The trees here don't turn brilliant scarlet and gold. My east-coast lifestyle has always been a spoil of color before winter sets in, yet in Paris, the leaves turn brown and fall off. What an anticlimactic way to say goodbye to the sun for a few months!

However, the produce scene has more than redeemed the autumnal feeling I crave that the trees usually set off.

While I have yet to find apple-cider donuts (sigh, beignets) I have been busily cooking and eating my way through autumn. Every trip to the market sets off ooohs and ahhs and I generally end up carrying home much more than I planned to. Kilos of crispy-bright apples and pears, bunches of green cabbage, squash and pumpkin. My entire apartment permanently smells of garlic and onions as that is what goes into almost every meal now. I miss having a food processor and my big-ass kitchen aid mixer, but I am making due and having a real creative renaissance in the kitchen.

I've even been super lucky and found a vendor at the Bastille Market that has enormous bunches of kale:

Slugs seem to love it too, as I found several lurking in the folds of the leaves when I was washing and chopping it up. Squidgy! But I had several kale-based meals this week and have more in the freezer for later. Thank you to Kristen at the Kale Project for her hard work in this department! She sends out alerts when kale is spotted in a market in the city, and she's been working with farmers to convince them that there is a market for big bunches of bitter greens.

One of my only complaints about the produce here is that there is almost no bitter greens (kale and collards and rabe) and no hot peppers. The French don't really care for spice, and for whatever reason, the good stuff just never made it into their daily menus. I can usually find swiss chard, but not the pretty rainbow variety you get in the states. I can occasionally find bok choy. Alas, I can not really truly complain. Everything is brilliantly fresh and other than those few unavailable items, the variety is downright stunning.

Don't even get me started on the cheese.

Best. Gift. Ever.

A friend of mine sent a care package a couple weeks ago.

You have no idea how awesome this is. In fact, if you know anyone traveling or living overseas, this is probably the best thing ever to send them.

I had a flu in June that was miserable and I suffered through because I couldn't really figure out what kind of cold meds to buy here. Everything looked so weird and foreign. Will they make me drowsy or high as a kite? What the hell are all these fine print warnings trying to tell me? Do all these homeopathic things really work? Why are all the cough drops here sugar-free? I just wanted familiar so badly.

I'm suffering through this latest summer cold much easier now, thanks to the lovely care package.

Woe is Me! An Expat's 4th.

I hope everyone had a Happy 4th. We tried our damnedest to try not to be heartbroken and nostalgic, especially after the blast we had last year. To sum it up: Maine, sunshine, parade, lobster rolls, beach, ocean, backyard BBQ, booze, watermelon and back to the beach for fireworks. Anything else you do after that pales in comparison when it comes to pure Americana.

Still. Making the most of it here. River I am crying slowly drying up.

It was a lovely day in here in Paris. Bright and sunny, and while I was out getting summer-sweet peaches at the market, violent sideways rain hail thunder. The usual hijinks.

Consulting with other expats, we decided the best course of action would be to hit the Cantine California food truck.

We ordered a few plates of tacos to share. Oh, yum. I had forgotten how good food from a grill was, and the Mexican flavors are almost alien at this point. It hit the spot.

We were about to order burgers, when horror of all horrors, they were fresh out as they had a busier like-minded expat crowd than usual. Fainting couches were needed.

Action was taken: We must find the Le Camion qui Fume! We will hit the two food trucks in existence in Paris in one night. Had it been done before?

But first, a walk across the Tuileries revealed much had changed since the last time I had been there.

We became distracted by amusements.

Finally!

We found the Smoking Truck, parked in a lot off the Quai near D'Orsay Museum. They set up outside a stationary party ship and serve a pared-down menu to people drinking on the ship. Brilliant! We actually boarded the club ship, and after not finding topside tables, we found an empty dance floor with portholes where we could sit and enjoy our needed dose of Americana. Occasionally a boat would pass and the wake would splash over the portholes, making the whole thing a bit surreal.

Oh, Paris! How well you lend yourself to homesick expats.

Ode to the Internet

Oh, my lovely internet...I bow to it and kiss its ring and delight in its many wonders.

After nearly a month without it (I'm told this isn't unheard of), I am so happy to have it back. It was getting really hairy. I'm usually pretty self-sufficient and I regularly shun technology. I go on vacations without it, as my annual retreat into the Maine woods meant no electricity for years (out of habit, even when we got electricity, I made it a rule to leave the gagets at home). I dislike smart phones and their temperamental fits, and I hate being dependent on GPS when a map will do just fine. Still...moving to a new place, not knowing where anything was or what was going on was really hard to deal with. Also...since I was pretty sure living in the middle of a populous European country meant that I wouldn't be without, I had scanned and PDF'ed all the necessary administrative documents I would have needed. Totally useless.

Trying to set up school, trying to meet up with people, trying to meet new people, finding measurement conversions, applying for my residency permit, order basic utilities...pretty much impossible. To make matters worse, the phone is bundled with the internet, so I didn't have one of those either.

So what did I do?

Lots.

Sure, it meant showing up at the train station blindly and maybe waiting a little bit longer. It meant having to spot someone in a crowd at an appointed time. It meant spending a lot of time wondering where I was, what the closest metro station was, and not knowing what was going on in the world.

I did survive though. Neat, huh? I just don't want to do it again willingly.

We did move into a posh apartment though. I like it, especially now that I can be entertained at a moment's notice by endless cat videos (and I don't even particularly care for cats).

The best part was when our shipment crate arrived. The delivery men were understandably grumpy at the walk up (they had been promised an elevator) but the treasures revealed once they left made my life a bit easier.

Oh, look at that. I surprised myself with a whole tote of pretty yarn. Very little rhyme or reason to it. I'm sure I'll survive and get by on it though. Oddly, whenever I was packing it must have been a nice spring day as I packed lots of pinks and purples. Not my usual palate, but everything is in merinos and silks and cormos and cashmeres, so really now. There is no bad color.

There were lots of clothes, including winter coats that I didn't want to have to buy again even though they take up a ton of space. I think the best surprise I left myself were bathrobes. It tickled me to no end that I thought to pack those. It's not as warm here as it is in New York, and it's quite drab most days, so having a cozy warm robe to shulff around the house in with your morning latte was a brilliant idea.

Also, my knives. I was pretty fed up with all the cheap Ikea knives that came standard with every furnished place we stayed. Sawing through bread without ruining it, trying to chop carrots without losing a digit, peeling a turnip without severing an artery, slicing a tomato without turning it into sauce. All these are terrible tasks without proper, sharp knives. I had brought my entire block of professional chef's knives, a couple of paring knives and a really handy bread knife, all of which I sharpen at least weekly. They make the kitchen feel like home.

Bonjour Vietnam

One of the things that I'm trying really hard not to do is have a fatal overdose of cream and butter based sauces. It's really hard, but I am determined not to get sick of French food.

In previous, shorter visits, I've gotten too excited about a list of places that I had to try. Duck with blue cheese and steak with bordeaulaise and delicate pike dumplings in a cream sauce. It's all so good, but no one can eat like that for long without either having to buy a seatbelt extender for the plane ride home or perhaps getting gout. I always find I can take it for a few days, and then I get the craving for a spicy curry, a vegetable stirfry, just something with a bit more spice and, sigh, less butter. It's maddening.

So we've been quiet on the French food scene knowing that it will be available to us for a long while now, and maybe we should limit it to once a week or something. I don't have a full kitchen yet, but I've been making salads and simple dishes to go with the really good bread I get every day. Nice and light and a good way to try all the interesting produce, but eating at home isn't the most exciting way to experience the city.

The first time I got a craving for noodles was impulsive. There's a pretty big block of Japanese places nearby, and I picked a random one based on the fact that it looked clean and it wasn't too crowded.

Big mistake.

I got shrimp Udon, but there was something really weird about it. The fact that it was topped with a pancake of fries that were quickly sopping up the broth and becoming really unappealing and sad should have clued me in that perhaps this isn't the best place to get my noodle fix. It's really hard to move from New York, with it's abundance of really excellent ethnic food, to a place that seems to take them seriously at all. Kind of depressing.

No worries though...the internet saves the day. We found a great little Vietnamese place in the Latin Quarter called Bonjour Vietnam.

Really nice noodles that I don't have to gripe about how much I miss my haunts in NYC. Which I do. Just not as much now.

They had imitation Sriracha, but I won't hold that against them. I haven't seen the real-deal hot sauce at all here, but I'm pretty good at searching these things out.

It was exactly what we needed as we had been holding out hope that we would find a good place for Asian food since we first conceived of moving here. It was like a big bowl of anti-anxiety noodles, with a good clear broth and veggies and a few slices of beef on top. Nom.

It's the perfect anecdote to all the good French food that we are about to eat.

Happiness

It took me a couple weeks, but I found it. It's called beurre de cacahuète here It took me forever to figure out what the word for "peanut" was. I don't think it's very widely consumed. I kept looking for it where the nutella and jams were (which seems familiar enough to American eyes at first glance), but apparently it's considered a foreign food, so I was finally able to find it between the Thai and Mexican shelves in the "Anglais" section along with mostly British foods. It feels a little sacrilege to smear it on a baguette but I keep doing it anyway.

Lunch

I love how seriously people take lunch here. (well, until I need to get in touch with someone out to lunch, and then I grow bitter.)

You sit outside, you relax, you enjoy your food. You don't scald your mouth on your wrap-up coffee because you know your time is short before your absence is noticed. You linger. It makes for a nice day. I really don't think you could get the staff to hurry on with things anyway.

Afterwards, I allow myself to continue my obsessive search for the perfect macaroon.

If the sun peaks out, there is a flurry of activity as the population rejoices and heads to the parks. Everywhere you look, people are in full out relaxation mode. No one is multitasking on their blackberry or looking like they need to get back to something. It's all about the lounging and chatting.