Sunning by the Seine

Just because I’ve left San Francisco doesn’t mean that I left the beach behind. Each summer, the city of Paris transforms the autoroute on the Right Bank of the Seine into Paris Plage. This temporary beach has pool chairs, umbrellas, ice cream, and even sand. As with a real beach, you can play bocce ball or swim in the pool. Apparently, they offer aqua gym in the morning at the pool. I know a girl who went once and decided it wasn’t stimulating enough. According to her, there were too many old people and not enough vigorous exercise. My least favorite part of the plage would have to be the clowns. They are spaced out along it making balloons and entertaining little kids. French clowns are even creepier than American ones.

Paris Plage is directly across the bridge from where my foyer is located. Last night, I took my book and read by the river, surrounded by picnickers and couples cuddling. On Sunday, I went to plage with my friend, Emily, and another of her friends from England. We strolled along it for about two minutes, found a place to sit under some trees, and promptly decided to rest. This entry would be quite dull if we had remained there for the entire day. Luckily, we were able to finally get moving and continue to explore the plage.

This Sunday was also the final stage of the Tour de France. After missing the parade on the 14 juillet, we resolved to get to the Champs Elyées early enough to get a good place. While we were able to get close, we did have to wait for hours in the sun. I suppose that there is always a trade-off. I amused myself by chatting with the American tourists next to me. They had just gotten off a plane from Cleveland and only had 5 days to see Paris. It feels odd telling other Americans that I actually live in Paris.


Before the cyclists arrived, there was an endless parade of cars advertising the sponsors. It dragged on for an hour and mostly consisted of cars and trucks decorated with the sponsors’ logos honking and women waving what looked like thunder sticks at the crowd. Imagine an hour’s worth of commercials without the jokes and you’ll have an idea of what it was like.

The actual Tour de France was more interesting, although it would be hard not to be. The bikers went up and down the Champs-Elysées eight times. The first time, I wasn’t ready and was shocked by the speed at which the block of cyclists zoomed by. After a few times, I knew what was coming. First, a yellow car would come charging down followed by motorcycle with two guys in yellow. They would be followed by the block of cyclists. A team of support cars with bikes strapped to their roofs tailed the cyclists. A few minutes everything had passed, a black car would come flying by as if it were desperately trying to keep up.

The cyclists were bunched much closer together than it seems on television. I could easily spot the yellow jersey, which the leader wears, because it so much brighter than all the others, but it was impossible to pick out the green, polka dot, or white ones. These pictures capture the speed at which they went by. I think the way in which the cyclists flew past got everyone excited, even people like my friend, who had no previous interest in the Tour. It was thrilling to have everyone start cheering and have the little boy next to me shouting “ils arrivent, ils arrivent” and then to suddenly be confronted with the blaze of color and cyclists practically next to me.

Following the Footsteps of the Revolution

Historian lover that I am, my escapades in Paris often involve trying to rediscover the history of this city. This past Saturday was no different. On my nighttime boat trip on the Seine, I discovered that I could visit the Conciergerie. Thanks to my luck in staying on the Île de Saint Louis, the Conciegerie is in walking distance from where I stayed. It was just the first in a day full of location’s from Paris’ past.

The Conciegerie began its life as a palace during the Middle Ages, but that is not what it’s know for. For those of you who have not read A Tale of Two Cities, which I just finished a week ago and thus am now a self-appointed expert on the French Revolution, the Conciergerie is the prison where they held people before guillotining them. Today, they’ve recreated the little chambers, as they would have been during the Revolution; however, there are dummies instead of humans garbed in 18th century clothes and groveling in the straw. They have a list of all the victims of the Terror and surprisingly, only 2,000 people died. The most famous prisoner was Marie Antoinette, but Robespierre also spent the night there before he died. Unfortunately, Louis XVIII decided to build a chapel where Marie Antoinette’s cell was, but they knocked out the bathroom and built a recreation so that all the visitors can see what her cell might have looked like. They even have a dummy facing the wall that’s supposed to look like her. These pictures are of the entry to the building (notice the Gothic arches) and the courtyard.





Right next door to the Conciergerie is Saint Chapelle, which is a gorgeous 13th century chapel built by Saint Louis aka Louis IX. It’s almost all stained glass. I’m not sure if the pictures even do it justice.

I don’t know if you can see me and Julie, but we’re all the way at the bottom beneath the rose window.







In the afternoon, I went to the Musée de la Vie Romantique with my friend, Jackie, form Princeton. It’s near the metro station, Pigalle, which I only discovered later, is the in the heart of the red light district. The museum itself is in a cute little house. It’s filled with pictures and memorabilia, including the hair, of the 19th century author, George Sand.

To conclude the afternoon, we decided to get ice cream and sit by the Seine, but this time we branched out and tried Amarillo, a chain of gelato places in Paris. They are one of the few places I’ve been to that will give you unlimited flavors. They also make your ice cream in the shape of a rose, which is quite lovely.

A Birthday in the City of Light

On the afternoon of my birthday, it rained. Not a light drizzle, but a heavy rain that came down in sheets. I looked out of the window at my work and resented the weather for being so miserable on my birthday.

Luckily, the day improved. Yes, I was in a foreign city without my family, but that did not mean I was without friends. In fact, throughout the day, my friends kept giving each other meaningful glances. When nothing happened at dinner, I felt slightly disappointed until they hinted that something was going to happen later. At 9:30, they hustled me out of our foyer. I had no idea where we what we were going to do, until we crossed one of the bridges and started to rush along the river.

For my birthday, I got to take a boat ride along the Seine at night. My friends presented me with a bottle of champagne, which we sipped as we passed by all of Paris’ famous monuments. The Eiffel Tower, the Louvre, and the Pont Neuf all are beautiful by day, but when they are illuminated and the lights are reflected in the river, they are stunning.



In addition to the champagne, we also ate macarons. They are little French pastries made from almonds and come in a variety of colors depending on their flavor. They are nothing like macaroons, which are made from coconut and do not come in pink, purple, or green. The ones we ate were from Laduré, one of the two famous places to get macarons in Paris.



The boat trip also included a guided tour of all the monuments in Paris. Among other facts, I learned that there are 37 bridges in Paris and the one I cross everyday to get to work, the Pont Marie, is the most romantic bridge in Paris. The woman provided the information in both French and English, but the English sections were completely translated versions of the French ones. For example, “le Petit Pont est le plus petit bridge à Paris” became “the Little Bridge is the smallest bridge in Paris.” Last time I checked, Americans still referred to places in Paris by their French names.

Sadly, my camera batteries died when we were on the river. My friends have promised to give me their pictures, so I’ll add those hopefully tomorrow.


I was able to get this picture for free. A photographer was taking pictures on the boat and gave us this one, because it was my birthday. I had to prove it with my driver's license first though.

Harry Potter Speaks French?

The weird thing about France is that they dub everything. I was lucky enough to find a theater which showed Le Prince Sang-Mêlé in V.O. (version originale); Still, it was rather strange to watch the movie with French subtitles.

Going to the movies in France isn’t radically different than going to the movies in the United States. Like the US, you get it’s free seating, which apparently isn’t the case in Britain (Cynthia, pay attention). Oddly enough, they mix the previews and the ads up. You see two previews and then you get an ad for Nissan and then another set of previews. I also noticed that at the bottom of the ads for ice cream and other desserts, they have the same kinds of warnings we have for cigarettes. Thus, in an ad for M&M’s, you’re reminded to engage in physical exercise regularly and to eat at least five servings of fruits and vegetables each day.

As I was watching Harry Potter, I noticed that the some of the names had been changed. This became even more obvious when I tried to discuss the film with some people at work, who had watched the dubbed version of the film. In the French version, Draco Malfoy becomes Drago Malfoy and Tom Marvolo Riddle becomes Tom Elvis Jedusor. I knew the last name, but I just discovered the middle name online., quite amusing I would say. Death Eater is Mangemort, which is a direct translation, but still takes some thinking. Some of the differences are even more dramatic with Snape called Rogue and Hogwarts known as Poudlard.

I don’t think people in France are as crazy as we are about the series. My friends and I only got to the theater about 15 minutes early and we still had good seats. A number of people at my work went to see the movie, but very few of them have read the books. As far as I know, there weren’t any midnight showings or costume parties. Part of the problem is that the books don’t come out at the same time in France as in the English speaking world. They have to wait for the translation and as a result, there’s much less hype.

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One of my goals for my stay here is to sample all the cuisines that Paris has to offer. Of course, I’ve had a fair amount of French food. In fact, they sell crêpes here at stands on the street practically in the same way that they sell hot dogs in the US; however, the vendors do make the crêpes on the spot. They pour the batter out of a special machine that makes it into a circle and you get to watch it cook right before your eyes. You can get whatever toppings you want, either sweet or savory, but it’s hard to resist getting something chocolatey when all the stands have a giant jar of nutella, which is very popular here. Once the crêpe is ready, they fold it up it in the same type of little paper bag you get when you but a chocolate chip cookie in the US.

This Sunday, I decided to try a different type of cuisine. A friend from Vietnam had mentioned going to a Vietnamese restaurant, which she said was pretty authentic. Curious, I asked her to take us along. I got phu, which at 7 euros (10 dollars), is remarkably cheap for dinner in Paris. Believe it or not, the Vietnamese food I’ve eaten in San Francisco is quite similar. These are the desserts we ordered. I’m a fan of fried bananas, but we also got mini rice pan cakes topped with bean curd and a green drink that was apparently a mix of rice and gelatin.


One last addition for Angela and Jenny's benefit. Paris is full of ice cream, but today I saw my first yogurt shop. It was called "my berry"

From the Winding Streets of Montmartre to the Fields of Monet

Finally, the long-promised account of the previous weekend. Before starting, I want to share a few odd tidbits.
Everyone in this country thinks I’m Spanish. At first I thought it was interesting when people asked me if I was from Spain, but now even when I ask people where they think I come from with my bad American accent, they still think I’m Spanish. I’ve had people also guess Italian, Cuban, and British. I asked a couple people about it and they said that my features and coloring are very Spanish. I was especially flattered when a woman in a shop said that I reminded her of someone in a Velázquez painting.

Anyone who knows me, knows that I love apples. The French take apples to a whole new level, in fact they put apples in everything. In the United States, applesauce is for babies, but here, it’s served after a meal like a dessert. I’ve also found apple yogurt, which has little pieces of apple in it. You can even find a croissant with an apple filling.

In the afternoon, we made the standard tourist pilgrimage to Montmartre. Paris is much flatter than San Francisco, but Montmartre, could rival any of our hills. In order to get to Sacre Coeur at the top, you have to climb both steep slopes and endless staircases. At the top, you’re rewarded with a view of Paris and the church itself.

Since it is a church, Sacre Coeur is free. It’s different than Notre Dame and some of the other Gothic churches in heart of the city, because it was built in the 19th century. It’s domed and the windows have symbols, rather than images of saints.

Montmartre itself is an interesting neighborhood. It still has the small, windy streets you’d expect to find in Paris. At the same time, it is one of the most touristy areas in the city. If San Francisco Chinatown is what white people think China is like, Montmartre is what Americans think Paris is like. The restaurants are the small cafés, but there really are only tourists. There are also shops selling the standard souvenirs and hoards of artists who come up to you and try to insist on drawing your portrait.


As a side note, I saw the Moulin Rouge on my way back. It’s much smaller than I would have imagined.

The Muée D'Orsay also has a reputation for being a tourist magnet, but it is definitely worth braving the crowds and going. I’ve seen pictures of Van Gough and Monet paintings, but they come to life when you see them for real. Van Gough in particular is much more vibrant when you can see the texture and the color in his paintings. I was also startled by the contrast between the two painters. The room with the Van Goughs is right next to the one with the Monets. I definitely felt calmer and more comfortable when I left behind Van Gough’s intense works for Monet’s calmer, quieter, and equally beautiful ones.



These two artists are obviously not the only ones there, but their works struck me the most. There are plenty of paintings by Renoir, Degas, Cezanne, Gauguin, and many others. Toulouse-Lautrec always reminds me of the presentation I did for French in high school with Cynthia. I’m not sure she’s ever forgiven me for the dreadful beginning.

In the afternoon, I went to the Opéra Garnier, which is the majestic opera house in the center of Paris. I think it’s the opera house in The Phantom of the Opera. You can take tours or explore the building yourself, but they still do show operas and ballets. The building is gilded beyond belief and you feel regal even when surrounded by fellow tourists. My goal for the fall is to see an actual ballet there.


As if all this wasn’t enough for one weekend, I took Monday off to go visit Saint Denis, which is the church just outside of Paris where all the kings were buried. During the Revolution, a number of the tombs were smashed up and looted, but today you can still see the effigies of most of the Kings of France, as well as a number of assorted consorts. I was understandably in raptures, especially with the ones I knew well. I have to admit; there are some French kings that I don’t know all that much about, which made me very frustrated that I left my book of French kids back at school. This is Henri II with his wife Catherine de Medici. I do actually know a fair amount about him. He died in a tournament when his helmet failed to deflect a blow to the head. He was also a notorious lady’s man.

In the Shadow of La Tour Eiffel

I literally spent 10 hours on the Champs de Mars yesterday, which the giant lawn in front of the Eiffel Tower. I now have pictures of the Eiffel Tower in the afternoon, evening, and night. The reason I gave up a perfectly good afternoon to roast in the sun was of course for the 14 juillet.

14 juillet is the French national independence day. In the US, we often call it Bastille Day, but no one here seems to. Most French take advantage of the day off to sleep in. American tourists wake up early to go to the parade on the Champs Élysées. My friends and I decided to forgo the sleep and go to the parade. Unfortunately, we didn’t wake up at 6, so I spent the parade craning my neck over the crowd to see the French troops going by. The most exciting part was the military fly over.

After wandering around in the vicinity of the Champs Élysées, my friends and I just gave up and went to the Champs de Mars. When we got there at 1:30, we had room for the four of us to spread out and lie down. By the 10:45 when the fireworks started, we barely had enough room to sit down. In between, we sat in the sun, talked, napped, and made friends with the people around us. I also learned two important lessons.

1. Bring your own sunscreen to France. I paid 13 euros, which is more than $15 for a normal sized bottle. That was the cheaper bottle.
2. If you want to eat out, go to a boulangerie/ patisserie. Restaurants are at least 12 euros. A sandwich at a boulangerie is less than 5 and you can get other delicious things like quiche for even less.

At 7, the concert for 14 juillet started. Many French people had told me, the Johnny Hallyday was going to perform. They were all surprised that I had never heard of him. He’s apparently one of the most famous French singers. My friends and I actually liked, Christophe Mae, the opening act better; however, my French friend informed us that his music was for little kids. Finally, the famous Johnny sang. He appeared in a black sparkly jacket and had little tufts of blond high lights in his hair. Like a lot of French singers, he had his fair share of songs were he purred, but he also sang a fair number of American songs. I found it very funny when my French friend and I were singing “Give Me That Old Time Rock and Roll,” but the only words that matched up were “rock and roll.” The French were not particularly enamored of “Born to be Wild,” but they all sang along to a song whose chorus was “que je t’aime, que je t’aime, que je t’aime.” It sounds much catchier when sung.

The highlight of the evening was the fireworks show. The fireworks were extra special for the 120th anniversary of the Eiffel Tower and they were truly spectacular. My pictures unfortunately do not do it justice, but hopefully they give a general idea. These fireworks were bigger and more colorful. The show told the history of Paris and the Eiffel Tower using the fireworks and images on the Eiffel Tower. For example, to show the revolutions in 1968, the tower was covered in flowers and then a hammer came down on them, but the flowers kept coming back. At the same time, there were fireworks in rainbow colors coming out of the sides of the tower.

The entry for last weekend is coming. I promise. Now, here is my gallery of the Eiffel Tower throughout the day. Try not to get Eiffel Tower fatigue. It really is beautiful.

Quiching It Up: The French Version

This post is for everyone, but especially Angela, who was the driving force behind my less successful quiche project last winter.

Unfortunately for me, La Vigie doesn’t serve food on the weekends. For the previous three weekends, I’ve either visited people or made simple meals like pasta or soup from a container. This weekend, my friend, Mariko visited me from London and I wanted to give her a real French meal. My French friend, Anne-Constance, offered to cook one. As a result, we paid less and got to learn how to cook like the French.

We started with this whole mess of stuff that we got from the local supermarket. I’ll go through all the steps so that you all can get a sense of the amount of preparation that went into this meal and possibly find inspiration. First, we had to chop up all the vegetables for a ratatouille. These included peppers, eggplant, tomatoes, and zucchini. Anne-Constance took small pieces of onion and olive oil and cooked them in the pot before she added the vegetables. She then added salt and herbes de Provence, covered the pot, and let it simmer for the next two hours.




Next, we made the quiche. On top of the pastry shell that we bought at the supermarket, we added a level of slices of Gruyere cheese. In France, you can buy little pieces of ham called lardoons that are coated in fat. Anne-Constance fried these and put them on top of the cheese. She combined two eggs and the yolk of a third with sour cream and milk to make a mixture to pour on the quiche. She then sprinkled a layer of grated cheese on top.

In addition to the quiche, we also had an onion tart, which she improvised using the extra vegetables from the ratatouille, fried onion strips, and small pieces of Gruyere. Our meal also included cooked fennel, which is apparently a traditional French dish. You can buy a piece of fennel at a grocery store in France. It’s about as big as my two fists and has stalks coming out of it. To cook it, you cut off the stalks and then cut it into pieces about the size of an artichoke heart. It can then be sprinkled with olive oil and herbs and cooked in the oven.


This is what my dinner looked like. The little round circles are Lyonnais, which look like little white tubes when you buy them. They are made of potatoes and eggs. We cut them and fried them for a few minutes until they were brown. The green vegetable next to them is the fennel, the mess of vegetables is the ratatouille, and the yellow slice is the quiche.

Amazing as the dinner was, that was not the end of the evening. After dinner, we went down to the bank of the Seine and had bread, wine, and cheese. I’d been wanting to have a picnic along the Seine since I got here and it was just as fun as I thought it would be. As I’ve said before, on a balmy night in Paris, there are hoards of people promenading along the Seine. There are also boats, some with fancy parties that go up and down the river. One of them happened to pull up next to us and started to blare typical French music. It was just like a movie; even the soundtrack was right for the moment.


As for the bread and cheese, they are both so much better in France. At the supermarket, I was very resistant to buying four cheeses, but I’m glad my friends forced me. You’re supposed to have variety and they were all good in their own way. One of them was a small, sweet cheese that was covered in apricots. It’s so odd to have a sweet cheese with fruit, but even I enjoyed it. We had bought the bread at the local patisserie and when we got it, it was warm and fresh. I love bread, but fresh French bread is about the best bread I’ve ever tasted.

I wanted to devote this entry to the meal, but I promise that the next will cover where I went this weekend. There will be lots of pictures of Paris and lots more action.