pianomd

Several days have passed since my last entry. Part of the reason is there has been a lot of activity with email and simply ‘stuff’ which has required attention. Haven’t yet figured out how to manage that ‘stuff’ so it is not distracting.

I was up late the other night (about 1:30 a.m.) and had just gotten up from the computer to check something in the kitchen when I heard the computer ring – a skype call! It was my nephew and niece who had seen I was ‘on-line’ and thus called. That’s the kind of thing for which these computers are really worth having. What a pleasure to be surprised, here in Paris by a visit from them. There we were – the three of us chatting, seeing each other, all these thousands of miles apart. How amazing is that?

So much else has happened since I last made an entry. Susan Tiberghien’s admonition to keep a notebook on hand at all time for making quick entries to use as reminders is a habit I must now adopt. Over the past few days I said to myself several times, “Must remember to write about that…. “ and then again… “Must remember…” Well – I don’t remember most, but here is what I do remember.

It is VERY cold! The sun comes out for a few minutes in the morning (maybe!), and then it is gone. The wind makes it more bitter, with a significant wind chill factor making it feel much colder. I had my hair cut – and I like it! It is quite a bit shorter — I’ll take a photo and post it. The appointment was with Muriel who was recommended by our friend Marie-Louise. Muriel works at the chain Sergio Bossi and we’ve been going to her for years. She speaks very little English we manage to communicate. I know now what I have to say in terms of getting the right hair cut….’pas trop court’ (not too short); ‘degradé’ (not a blunt cut, but layered); ‘brush’ (blow dry and brush) or ‘natural’ (just let my curls do their own thing!).

It works! The hard part is getting the appointment time straight over the phone. As you can imagine, anything over the phone is difficult. All of the hand motions that are helpful in person are obviously of no use over the phone. This time, I was relieved when Muriel herself answered the salon phone.

“Ah, Bonjour Caroline” she said as soon as she heard my voice and my faltering French. “Muriel? Oui, c’est Caroline” (most folks for whom English is not their native language cannot say, “ann” after Carol. It’s OK.) She asked…”Demain?” “No – today, if possible” I responded in French. “O.K.” she said, and gave me the time.

Now, hours of the day and numbers are difficult for us “estrangers” (foreigners) and getting right over the phone is VERY difficult. The morning hours aren’t too bad, but since French appointment, schedules, and reservations are all on the 24 hours clock, any time after the noon hour is a challenge to get straight.

She said, “Seize heure et demi.” I asked her to repeat it – she did. And then I said, “Seize heure — at 4? “ Yes, at 4.” OK. I knew there was another something after the 4 p.m., but I figured I’d get there at 4 and just wait to be on the safe side.

Let me explain: “seize” is 16 in French and 16 heures is 4 p.m. (I subtact 2 from the second digit to get the hour I can relate to IF I understand the number given to begin with!) Thus, a reservation for 9 p.m. will be at 21 heures or “vingt et un” (pronounced ‘vin-te- un’ — said very quickly so you must pay attention. And a 9:30 pm appointment …. Well, you get the idea!) My hair appointment was for 4:30, so I read a book I’d brought along for that purpose.

I like going to this particular salon because it is, as we say, ‘low key.’ Muriel herself travelled to NYC last year and loved it (I haven’t met a person here who hasn’t). She is tall and very thin with long straight black hair. She has a ready smile and gives both George and I welcoming kisses on both checks when we arrived. Coffee is always offered while we wait. She washes our hair and sweeps the floor herself after every cut.

The shop is on a busy street in the 5th arrondissemont, with lots of small stores and markets. Vartan’s is one of two Armenian restaurants in Paris (Yorgantz is the other in the 9th) I discovered Vartan’s one day when I had arrived much too early for my appointment and decided to walk around exploring the area. Tucked back off the main street but with a Blvd Saint Germain address, we tried it for lunch but haven’t been back. The day we were there we chatted a long time with the owner who apparently asks, in Armenian, each customer as they enter, “Are you Armenian?” If you are, you respond, “Ayo”; if you don’t understand the language, there is no response on the part of the entering patron. At least that’s what happened the day we were there. We thought it was pretty funny!

The other shops in the area include a Greek grocery with lots of delicious takeout foods; a natural food store with many ‘green’ supplies for home and self in addition to food; and a very nice clothing store with good quality, moderately priced clothes for women. One street over are an open air market and specialty stores all equally wonderful: a “poisonnerie” with all kinds of fresh fish still wiggling and assorted shellfish still in their shells –displayed on ice; a specialty cheese shop with various yogurts and jellies for takeout; a wine shop, a vegetable-fruit store; and of course, a “boulangerie- pâtisserie” (bakery-pastry shop) from which the most wonderful aromas float succeeding in luring us in.

Most days of the week the square in front of these shops has an open market as well– tented – with all kinds of things for sale from DVDs to sundry items for the house, and clothing for men, women, and children. It isn’t a big market, but supplements the food stores. It makes for ‘one-stop’ shopping.

Going for a haircut becomes a half-day outing as we always need to make the rounds of these shops afterward – they are simply too enticing!

More to follow but it is lunch time now.

The sun is shining today – well, maybe the word shining is an exaggeration. The sun seems to be out and the sky is more blue than grey. From the window I see that folks in the street below are hurrying around, bundled up. I’m sure in every woman’s handbag there is an umbrella – just in case.

George is upstairs working on his art. Today, I’m going to meet with one of the women from the writers’ workshop I attended. Susan Tiberghien, the author who ran the workshop, emphasized the need for having either a group of writers to meet with periodically or a buddy, without one can regularly work with — reading your work, listening to the other’s work, discussing, helping, critical thought exchanged. Though she lives in Geneva, she has a friend who comes from Italy once a month for that purpose.

Yesterday was the one week mark since we left Boston and since then, it has been icy cold there, with more snow expected today. I feel as though we are in the Caribbean in comparison!

Yesterday we ventured back to Le Bon Marché to buy the bedspread on sale we had seen a couple of days ago. The store was full of shoppers but there was a marked difference in the atmosphere. Nearing the end of the sale period, there were fewer of the great bargains to be had, though there were still a few. On the 3rd floor, we bought the bedspread, and then rummaged through sale items concentrated in one area – housewares, furniture, stationary, and an assortment of various odds and ends none of which we needed.

Le Bon Marche, the store itself, deserves a few descriptive lines, but my prose failed to convey its elegance and so I deleted those lines before posting this. The shoppers? They, too, have a certain air and elegance which is hard to describe. — an elegance, which even on a cold blistering winter, rainy grey day is impressive. You’ll have to come see for yourselves!

Later in the afternoon I headed for Café Malonga in the 6th.
For a meeting with one of the women from the workshop. She lives in Paris for this year with her daughter who is studying here. You can find her at her website and blog:

http://www.simmerandsips.com Enjoy!

If these upload, there are a few more photos:  St. Sulpice without scaffolding, the new post office, and another photo or tow of the inside of Shakespeare & Co.

I’m having a bit of difficulty uploading photos into my blog so here they are — I hope. There are no descriptions though I’ve been trying and maybe with time I’ll figure out how to get them included.

Also — a word about the blog itself. It is taking more time than I thought and editing isn’t easy. My mistakes (or which there are many) — words, misspelled, misplaced, or left out — though I try to catch them, they slip in nontheless. I have a form of dyslexia which causes me to reverse letters and numbers. Thus, spelling has always been, let’s say, not my strong point. AND, editing is even worse, as I don’t SEE the error. So bare with me — and fill in the blanks!

Now for the photos!!!!

January 22

The day started out slowly as we have lots to do later on. After the usual morning activity in the apartment and George’s usual trip to our Saturday ‘marché’ (outdoor market) we headed for the metro. Guess where George was going? Yes! BHV. For what? For clear plastic to seal our long French style window. I’m headed to a writer’s workshop.

Metro #10 to the Cluny-Sorbonne stop. Again, the train was packed and again, we were surprised. It had to be that people are going shopping given the huge sales which I’ve mentioned a few time already. Usually, even when a train or a restaurant is crowded, people keep their voices low. On more than one occasion  with an American friend we’ve had to caution them to ‘lower your voice.’ It isn’t that the French don’t talk as much as Americans do; they just talk more softly usually! Today, the metro was like a beehive! OH MY! Buzzing away at quite a high decibel. One young couple didn’t notice, too busy in each other’s arms enjoying their moment despite the onlookers. There were groups of women headed for the bargains I assume, and others alone or with a friend. Everyone, except the young couple was talking with animation and even laughing. It was wonderful!

I left George to go on to the next stop making my way down Rue de Danté (yes, found the symbols to allow for accents!) to just behind the Eglise Saint Julien-de-Pauvre. (one of the oldest churches, if not the oldest, and with what is purported to be the oldest tree in Paris in its courtyard.) We’ve been to concerts in this wonderful little church with lots of history. Google it, if you don’t know it. Situated opposite the Cathedral de Notre Dame, it is a lovely spot to sit and enjoy just being there. But no time — now I was hunting for Shakespeare & Company, the bookstore where my workshop is being held. I’ve passed it at other times,  but can’t quite remember exactly where it is.  The address is clearn, but the ‘rue’ stops and starts up again — I’m looking1 One turn around the block and I’ve found it.

I’m not going to write about the history of Shakespeare and Co. except to say the original bookshop with that name was started right after WWI by an American woman with $3000 U.S. — quite a lot of money I would supposed at that time. She managed to keep it going, a place for new writers to be discovered and old writers to find continued support. The shop carried only  books in English  for sale and to borrow. Her name was Sylvia Beach.   In the beginning, her source of books was mainly from a friend who owned a bookshop in Britain, but later she developed other sources as well as publishing books herself.  The shop was closed in 1941 as she was interred briefly and nearly bankrupt during the Nazi occupation. In the early 1960s, George Whitman opened a new bookshop, in a different location, still on the Left Bank, and in Sylvia’s honor named it Shakespeare & Co.

Making my way through and around piles and piles of books stacked on top of each other on the floor, and again higher on the towering book shelves, I found stairs at the rear of the shop leading to the 2nd floor where the workshop was going to be held. I should mention that not only were the books an obstacle course, but so too the shop’s customers and those sitting around reading — all seemingly placed as haphazard  as the books oblivious to anyone trying to pass through. The wooden stairs leading to the second floor were old – very old. But, they held me along with others, in both direction.  The second floor had yet more small rooms of piled high with even more books. The room where the workshops are held was easy to find, the area was so small.  Charming, lined as well with books and with chairs and benches in a circle, it  looks out to Notre Dame and the river Seine.  The bookstalls (or more correctly ‘les bouquinstes’ in French) which famously line the road along the river added to the setting — not lost on our workshop leader who later commented on them.

Susan Tiberghien, the author and leader of the workshop, was already there and soon the room filled with about 16-18 aspiring writers eager to learn. The workshop was on memory and memoires. One man, the rest women, I quickly learned were not all beginners.  Many were published authors, not just aspiring ones. However, everyone had come for help, inspiration, and direction.   I don’t think anyone was disappointed.  Unfortunately, we didn’t get to share our stories, as I would have liked to heard them and to have heard what others wrote during the course of the workshop. I think there were too many of us for that, though we had three hours.
It seemed I was the newest to Paris, as some of the women here had been living and working in Paris for many years.

In the middle of the workshop I had a Eureka moment to my great delight. In fact, I almost had to get up and leave as the urge to write was so great. What was it? Something Susan explained, the ‘how to organize’ your personal memoire. I realized that I’d already written most of the stories and could easily write more now to flesh it all out because I had the theme, or as Susan put it, ‘the window’ through which to write them, how to ‘frame’ the writing. I won’t spill the beans now (sorry for the trite metaphor)

After three hours, we parted but not before making a list of names with email addresses. We’ve already been in touch as I write this and hope to continue, though Susan returns to Geneva where she lives. We’ll form the group and a leader will emerge.

I needed time to relax and think so walking home seemed better than fighting the crowds on the metro. It is a long walk through crowded areas, though despite the cold and the drizzle, people were everywhere – including many tourists camera in hand.

Home — George was back and had spent time painting. We rested a bit and then headed to our good friends, Mike, Janice, and Sarah’s apartment in the 15th. We knew dinner would be great as Mike is an excellent chef — three onion risotto and eggplant parmesan. We weren’t disappointed (again!)  We had a another evening of great conversation, laughs and catching up with what’s happening. And — we enjoyed some music as both Sarah and Janice play . Both are taking piano lessons here, in addition to working and going to school.

Getting home was easy — Metro #6 from Trocadero to Sèvres le Courbe. (I think I’ve spelled it correctly).

To bed!
(I added photos but they didn’t post)

We had a difficult night with jetlag still being a part of our system. I didn’t go to bed until 1 am, and then had difficulty sleeping. George and I were both up at 3 – 3:30 hungry. We cut slices for the loaf we bought upon arrival in Paris – a cereal bread we love. Although it had gotten soggy, when sliced and toasted with a bit of butter and cheese it was delicious – especially at 3:30 am.

We ate, talked a bit, and then tried to sleep again. I heard the footfalls of our neighbors upstairs as they followed their routine — up at 8 am and off to school and work. I heard George, too, sometime around then, wondering through the apartment,. I heard him through that place where one can be — not quite sleep, but almost sleep — semi conscious, not fully conscious. It is a nice place – a place I love because I can go either way — wake up or go back to sleep. I love having that option. I love knowing that I’m bed and can enjoy my sleep state. It is too bad, I often think, that while I’m sleeping I don’t know I’m sleeping and thus can’t enjoy it. I can’t enjoy the feel of the comforter, its warmth and softness, and comfort of the bed – its feel which both together give me retreat from the day.

My bed – it is a place I like more and more. My routine is the same – ready for bed,
get under the covers and read or do a suduko puzzle. I often think I should be studying French, learning vocabulary, or doing a more mind stimulating activity, but I can’t seem to bring myself to do that. I want to relax completely and read or do a puzzle until I no longer can keep my eyes open.

Back to this morning — we’ve had our coffee, read email, touched base with ‘home.’ Have good vibes about Steve’s recent chemo — he feels well. He and Melody are planning to come to Paris this coming Sunday. We are hopeful.

George and I have lectures and concerts we are planning to attend.
Today we will stay home for the most part to rest. We have set up the electronic piano and I am going to prepare for tomorrow’s writer’s workshop.

Around 3:00 pm we bundled up and left the apartment. However, it was quickly evident that we hadn’t bundled up enough. The wind was brisk lowering the temperature considerably; we almost turned back. My fingers were icy cold despite the heavy mittens covering them. We headed toward Rue de Sevres, after passing the new fantastic structure which is a post office (we’ll take photos later) we turned up a side street to Rue de Cherche-Midi. A few more blocks and we reached our favorite hardware store. It’s the kind of place we used to have in the U.S., and can be found in some small towns, but the kind of “ma and pa” store HomeDepot has put out of business. One can find pretty much everything and anything one could possibly need for the home from paints, to wonderful little carpets for the floor, to dishes and light electronics, utensils, carryalls, shopping carts, baskets ; you name it — they have it! George found the special batteries we needed for our Bose speakers and I found small glass bowls made in France, each for only 1.40 euros.
The women who ‘man’ the store (no pun intended) are always helpful and pleasant (unlike at the smaller, less interesting hardware store in our immediate neighborhood). Despite being packed with shoppers, we entered and left to the usual “Bonjour madame — merci – — au revoir madame – bon journee” pleasantries. (Excuse the omission of accents as my computer doesn’t make them easy to add).

We meandered back up this wonderful street passing shop after shop of specialty stores of one kind or another – a children’s shop with handmade clothes and toys, several book stores, an antique shop with an exquisite tri-fold screen in the window ebony with sailing scenes in an Asian style, clothing shops — high end/low end – and of course, a tea house and several restaurants and cafes. Textiles and handbags in the window in another shop, JG – Johanna Gullichen, a Finnish textile designer. The owner of the shop and designer are one and the same running her shop for at this same spot for 12 years. Manufactured in Finland, her designs are geometric, unlike the more familiar Marimikko designs we know in the U.S. I purchased a shoulder bag in a black and white cotton weave, machine washable and light weight. Johanna spoke with us in perfect English and spoke in French with other customers. I kidded her, “So it is possible to learn French,” noting my own struggles. A tall handsome woman, she smiled, “Yes, I learned” And then she added, “…but it took me a very long time.” I thought, “I don’t have so long…..”

We turned down a different side street other than the one we came up and discovered a used book store which specializes in paperbacks in English. We’ll head back here on another day for sure.

Back to our warm apartment, we rested before heading out for dinner — the invitation was for 8:30 p.m. a reasonable time here in France. Although we’ve been to our friend’s home many times, I researched again on line exactly how to get there in the shortest time with the least amount of walking. Using the RATP web site it was possible – take Metro 10 to Sevres Babylon, change to Metro #12 , get off at Trinite and walk about 3 minutes! Total travel time: 28 minutes the web site correctly estimated. What it didn’t tell us that we’d be packed in like sardines on line #12 – — caused it seems by a confluence of factors — Friday evening with stores open for the ‘sales’ and a little slow down in train service.

Dinner was another delightful evening with friends, Veronique and Pierre and several other friends we know well from getting together other times at each other’s homes. Veronique teaches French language and culture to exchange students and despite a heavy work schedule she had prepared a wonderful dinner of fish with mushrooms, zucchini casserole, a cheese course, and a fantastic chocolate-pear cake which she made. Pierre and I tried our four hands at the piano playing a little of a Hayden theme and variations, but we were definitely out-shown by Marian the young daughter of Cosette and Jean Pierre, who after only two years of study could play quite beautifully. So delightful – so willing to play and provide enjoyment.

The evening moved along with barely enough time to catch up with all everyone is doing. This group of friends travels (as I think Europeans are much more prone to do than Americans) always with trips to Syria, Jordan, Italy, and Romania since we were last together. Next? Burundi for Marie Odile. Before leaving, Veronique invited me to join her and her maman in Versaille for a cooking class in a couple of weeks! What fun! YES! I’ll be there.

The evening ended and we got back to our apartment in good time before the metro closed down — 1:00 am is the bewitching hour.

January 20, 2011

Paris

Time is all off — we didn’t wake until after ten a.m. George said he was up most of the night, while I slept soundly. We finally made it out by 1:00 p.m. and headed for George’s favorite department store – BHV (Bazaar Hotel de Ville – translation: department store at the City Hall).

There is so much to write about if one is to think about experiences and observations in detail. It would be nice to be able to say it all in a prose poem, or in haiku both forms use few words for profound thoughts. I remember the contests that used to be on radio when I was a kid. The announcer would say something like, “Send us a letter in 25 words or less as to why you love Ivory soap …..” Twenty-five words or less…. My mother never sent a letter in. She just laughed and said it was all phony anyway.

Getting back to our day’s experiences. We took the metro and then changed to a bus. In Paris, bus driver’s will stop and wait for a passenger. The driver of our bus had pulled away from the stop, but was still quite close to it. A woman was running for the bus, coming from the rear, she knocked on the back of the bus and the driver stopped seeing her in the rear view mirror. Nice – on such a cold day.

We love the busses of Paris. People who ride the busses are older and have more time, than those who ride the metro – who tend to be more in a rush and younger. We often start to chat with an elderly person while we wait at a bus stop or even on the bus which is nice. And, obviously from a bus, one can see the city and observe life all around. We have our favorite busses — #28, #70, #39, and # 96 – which we took to get to BHV, bordering on arroundissmont #4, the Marais which is the old Jewish quarter of Paris and a great place to spend hours walking around.

But, no time for the Marais today – we’re headed for BHV along with thousands of other shoppers, not unexpectedly given the sales underway. The store was jammed with shoppers — shoppers everywhere — shopping! Special cashiers were set-up everywhere, and in the clothing areas, cabana-like booths were set up in some places for trying on clothes.

George and I separated – I went to look at bed linens and George went to the basement for various art supplies. We met ½ hour later in housewares. He had been successful, but I was overwhelmed and dizzy: too many people in frenzy mode and too much stuff to look at and sort through. Clearly we needed to eat something. What a relief! Food!

Called ‘Le Self’ , overlooking beautiful roof tops, the cafeteria was a welcome oasis. We had leek and potato soup and a little dish of salad from the salad bar. The foods were fantastic and beautifully displayed, but in keeping with French portions, the dish one was to use was the size of a saucer. Explains a lot!

After another ½ hour of meandering, we left having bought nothing else. Every time we thought to buy something we would rationalize away our need for the item and that was that!

What a relief to be outside again though cold and brisk. In the grand square in from of the Paris City Hall (adjacent to BHV) and not far from the carousel, George spied a young woman eating cotton candy and before I knew it, I was taking his picture with her and her companion. They turned out to be students from Australia. One had just finished a 6 month exchange program in Glasgow and was visiting her friend who was almost finished her exchange program in Paris, studying economic and political science. We talked for a while about conditions in Australia. She said that they knew many people who had lost their homes in the great floods Australia was experiencing and that it would take years for the country to recover.

From there we walked across a bridge to Notre Dame. A concert on Feb. 1 — Faure’s Requiem and Stravinsky’s Symphony of Psalms –was advertised on a small billboard in front so we went in and bought two tickets for it.

Continuing our walk across to the Left Bank, we decided to try to find ‘barley’ to make tanabour (Armenian hot barley-yogurt soup). We’d already looked for it in several grocery stores unsuccessfully. There is a Greek store in this area which we’d been to before — surely he’d have it, but no luck! But, he did have ‘simit’ a dry, flaky not too sweet cookie which we love. (Now that I think of it, where did George put them? I could go for one right about now –12:30 am!)

We continued walking down Blvd St. Germain, past the Cluny Museum to Odeon and decided to take the bus – bus #70 — which would take us to an organic grocery store close to home. Once there, we got more organic Fromage Blanc (translated: white cheese). But it isn’t really cheese, but something close to Greek or strained yogurt made with acidophilus bacteria. Again, we looked for barley unsuccessfully We remembered the Russian store next door run by an Armenian. When we entered he greeted us in Armenian with a big smile surprised, I think, to see us again. We asked if he had barley (as I couldn’t remember the Armenian name). He didn’t understand what we wanted, but then I said to him in Armenian, “You know — the grain Armenians use to make sebas!”’’ “Oh — sebas “ and he brought out two types of barley from Russia. (Sebas is the name given to hot yogurt soup in Armenia.)

The French word for barley is ‘orge’. The Armenian word is ‘kari’. I think it explains the Armenian word for beer: ‘kari chour’ ( barley water)’

Home, I visited our elderly neighbor on the 2nd floor and then, after dinner we set up my electric piano. That’s another story for another time.

I hope I’m able to post photos as this is definitely a learning process.

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