A Year of Kir

Question du Jour #41

2010-02-03T13:25:00.005+01:00

Hello again! I don't have a picture for this, but I'll see what I can do about finding one. Not France-related, either, but something I'm wondering about all the same:

If everything in Spanish is spelled the way it sounds, do they have spelling bees in Spanish-speaking countries?

Question du Jour #40

2009-12-20T00:17:00.003+01:00

Sorry for my extended absence, folks; got into some serious final examming. But now I'm back, and I thought this would be a timely topic for a lot of us:

It's snowing. Umbrella or no?

For me, it's a definite no, but some Parisians seem to disagree with me.

Question du Jour #39

2009-12-11T13:48:00.005+01:00

I took this picture during my class at the Sorbonne on Wednesday afternoon. The girl next to me is actually knitting during class, sitting quite visibly in the second row--with very few people sitting in the first. Which leads me to today's question:

Can I bring some colorful tissue paper, Elmer's glue, and water to class and découpage one of the tables?

Because heaven knows that plain wood could use a little sprucing up.

Question du Jour #38

2009-12-08T12:20:00.005+01:00

These artfully carved squash products were in the produce section at a Monoprix on Boulevard de l'Hôpital in the 13th. I have to say that I was a little taken aback to find something so pretty and decorative just sitting there, with no fanfare, in a local outpost of a major supermarket (and everythingmarket) chain. Just wanted to put that out there and ask, in the immortal words of Dr. Gordon, my AP Calculus teacher:

What's going on here?

Would this everever happen in the U.S.? Who's the artist and what is (s)he doing sequestered in a Monoprix in rainy December Paris when (s)he clearly belongs on a sunny cruise ship deck in the Caribbean, fashioning admirable edibles and getting a tan?

Question du Jour #37

2009-12-06T16:45:00.003+01:00

Please forgive my lengthy absence; I spent much of the last week face-first in an Art History paper on Georges Seurat and Paul Signac, one of whose paintings (Grand Canal (Venise)) is pictured above. Finally handed it in on Thursday, and I guess that since then, I've just been recovering. But, in honor of all the time I spent with these two artists, my question is:

Isn't Signac's work gorgeous (sigh)?

Question du Jour #36

2009-11-27T16:39:00.006+01:00

Close-up on our huge bowl of leftover cranberry sauce...So today is Black Friday, or, as we anglophones in Paris call it, Friday. Today is Americans' signal to turn their focus to the next big holiday at hand, which is, as far as commercialism is concerned, Christmas. Obviously not everyone in the country celebrates it, but Chanukah, Kwanzaa, Solstice and their other winter friends don't provide much competition from an advertising and consumerist standpoint. What I'm wondering is:

Here in France, where is there is no Thanksgiving, when does it become Christmastime?

Question du Jour #35

2009-11-22T13:05:00.005+01:00

I didn't say the scary deer was keeping me away from Orangina--just that she threatened to keep me awake nights. I try to have a big bottle of Orangina Light in our fridge at all times, because it's such a good deal: all that yummy taste for only 12 calories a glass. Particularly on a day like today, when I'm heading to Angelina for crazy hot chocolate with visiting friends later, I need to economize where I can. They've had this for years here, and what I want to know is:

Why hasn't Orangina Light made it to the U.S.?

And am I going to have to go into importing to make this happen?

Question du Jour #34

2009-11-20T10:09:00.004+01:00

I find this Orangina ad campaign terrifying. Seriously? A seductive, bikini/undergarment-clad kangaroo smoking a cigarette? I'll have what she's having. So maybe you can help me out:

What made the ad execs think this was a good idea?

Update: An astute reader pointed out to me that this is not, in fact, a kangaroo, but a deer. Well spotted!...as it were.

Question du Jour #33

2009-11-15T13:49:00.003+01:00

I just wanted to give Starbucks Paris a shout-out for having a keypad on their bathroom, the code for which is printed on your receipt when you buy something. This would certainly be useful in New York, where, as it's the known go-to spot for free toilet use, you never know what you're going to find in a Starbucks bathroom. Question for today:

Why hasn't New York/the U.S. caught on to this entry code thing (which is all the rage on every Parisian apartment building as well)?

Question du Jour #32

2009-11-13T14:21:00.003+01:00

This is the line I waited in yesterday afternoon to buy a movie ticket. Unfortunately, the part of the line that was in front of me looked just like this for a while, because there was nobody in the booth selling tickets. The guy who worked for Studio Galande--seemingly the only person answering to this description--was in the theatre itself, I don't know, cleaning up?, and didn't come out to sell tickets until after the movie's posted start time. In fact, on the ticket booth, there was even this little gem:
...which is a buzzer that reads SONNEZ ET PATIENTEZ S.V.P., or "Please ring and be patient." Ring a bell if you want to buy a movie ticket?? This all leads me to ask a question I've been wondering about for quite some time, but finally have photographic evidence to back it up:

Why are French people so willing to wait in line?

It especially suprises me in a big city like Paris. In New York, people would be carrying on, complaining, storming off, but here, they seem perfectly content to while away precious minutes standing still, in the hope that their turn will eventually come around.

Question du Jour #31

2009-11-11T19:45:00.003+01:00

This is a picture of the water that rushes out of the holes in the curb every day or two in order to clean our street. In case you're trying to read what it says on the metal plate, it says not to drink the water. You got it, fellas--promise. While NYC-style car-moving for street cleaning is a total pain for people with cars, I have to wonder:

Isn't this a huge waste of water, or does it somehow get recycled in a useful manner?

Question du Jour #30

2009-11-11T02:22:00.008+01:00

30 questions already?! Time do fly. This above is one of the holiday windows at the Galeries Lafayette. Each of them proffers a cute or funny, but often slightly suggestive, buffet of animatronic entertainment. This gingerbread fella was davening (second definition) on the bouffanty mannequin's knee--zoom in for a better look--and a goofy little part of me wondered:

What would the offspring of a gingerbread man and a svelte fashionista mannequin look like?

AYK Bonus!

2009-11-10T01:13:00.007+01:00

Vindicated! I couldn't help myself; I had to take this picture, and I did my best to crop it down to minimum size for recognition of the important bits without trying to exploit the individual pictured, who is lovely. This, dear readers, is a real French person--one of my Alto-section choirmates--eating, standing up, before the start of rehearsal! I was so excited! You can kind of make out the end of the pain au chocolat in her right hand. It's just so nice to know that I'm not alone, that there are other snackers--even French ones!--lurking here in Paris.

Question du Jour #29

2009-11-10T00:14:00.004+01:00

Most of you will recognize this as Winnie, our littler little dog. She's pictured above chewing on one of the Nylabones my parents brought for the pups. She's been spending a whole lotta time chewing, which is quite unlike her. Graham's always been a heavy hitter, dentally speaking, but we had a hard time convincing Winnie to follow suit. This meant that, despite her sweet face, she had some gnarly breath. But since we've been in Paris, she has been a whole other pup. Sure, she's still generally entropy on four paws, but some things have changed. Where she was once sometimes picky, she now chows down with gusto. She runs alongside Graham to chase bones thrown across the apartment. She's a bouncier, pluckier girl (and also a little more willful, but perhaps this comes with the territory). So the question is:

What is it about Paris or the Parisian lifestyle that has transformed our little one?

Question du Jour #28

2009-11-09T00:27:00.005+01:00

This is the dessert section of the lunch menu at l'Ami Louis, a famed old-school rotisserie on our block. Those prices are in euros, sadly, not francs. We did not order dessert. When we (Nick, my parents, and I) got there for lunch this afternoon, I was absolutely blown away by the ridiculously over-inflated prices. Could it possibly cost still more for dinner, or is it the same menu all day? I realized after we left that I had, in fact, known that this was a pricey establishment, but had totally forgotten beforehand, including when I made the reservation. Which, by the way, required calling the restaurant three times--to say nothing of the times the line was busy or they weren't answering. They didn't have a single table for dinner all week, and made me call back to confirm my reservation the day-of. I have a million questions, including: "Will my parents forgive me for thusly lightening their wallets, once they read this and realize I had once been aware of what we were getting into?" But I'm going to go with one that I believe has more universal appeal:

How can somewhere so expensive, where the service is utterly indifferent, be so popular?

Question du Jour #27

2009-11-08T01:14:00.002+01:00

This is from a store window in Barcelona. The bride and groom look pretty happy together, sure, but my question is:

Was the bride responsible for the groom's (and perhaps the rest of the wedding party's) headlessness? If so, how does this bode for the rest of their marriage?

Question du Jour #26

2009-11-07T00:49:00.003+01:00

Quick, macaron Rorschach test:

What does this shape look like to you?

Question du Jour #25

2009-11-03T19:20:00.006+01:00

Anyone who has been a college student or in other low-budget, fairly low-expectation circumstances is familiar with wine in a box. This above is the yummiest bulk beverage I ever did taste: sherry in a box! Goodness me. They were serving it over the weekend in Spain in little plastic shot glasses, but once we realized what it was, I went for the full-sized paper cup experience. Dee-lightful. So what I want to know is:

When are they going to start selling this stuff in the U.S., and why don't they already?

Because I would be all the heck over it.

Question du Jour #24

2009-11-01T17:19:00.000+01:00

I noticed when we were in Barcelona a few days ago that the "walk" signals at intersections, like the ones at home in New York, give an indication of when they are going to turn from green to red. In Barcelona, the green walking-guy light flashes a few times to tell pedestrians to hurry across the street, whereas in New York, the red not-walking-guy flashes for a while before solidly insisting that you not walk. In Paris, he turns directly from green to red with no warning. And I'm wondering:

Why do other cities let you know when cars are going to start coming, but not Paris?

Question du Jour #23

2009-10-28T21:27:00.003+01:00

Like my chest x-ray? A little gift from the French government following my medical visit today, which is required in order to receive the titre de séjour, which allows me to be here legally for the year. So now that I have this lovely artifact, I'm wondering:

What should I do with it?

Your ideas and creativity would be much appreciated.

Question du Jour #22

2009-10-27T10:39:00.004+01:00

Pictured above is the waistband of a pair of pants I bought here in Paris, which provides a fine illustration of today's question:

What's with the profusion of very large tags inside French clothing?

Question du Jour #21

2009-10-26T22:30:00.002+01:00

This is my dinner from this evening, a little while before I finished it. On Mondays, I have class from 5-7 at Paris 3 and then choir rehearsal from 7:30-9:45. I grab dinner between the two and eat it once I get to my seat at Eglise Saint-Marcel, where we rehearse. I know that, to the average French person, this sort of on-the-run eating is incomprehensible and precisely the reason that Americans are obese and carry guns. Nonetheless, I persist, because if I have to wait until after 10pm to eat dinner, I'm kind of a mess. Spanish I ain't. At any rate, while I'm eating my dinner on any given Monday, a few of my French choirmates will catch my eye and, while looking at me as though I have two heads, wish me bon appétit. My question is:

Do you think they're saying this sarcastically?

As though to say: "nice dinner ." They're sweet people, but I know that what I'm doing goes against everything they hold sacred.

Movieing Right Along, Take 2, Scene 1: The First Part About the Movies

2009-10-25T18:34:00.002+01:00

This fine kir on the left came from a tasty lunch Nick and I had at a restaurant called Le Pommier in Bayeux, on the Middlebury weekend trip to Normandy. Once again, the Guide Michelin did us tasty.

What I didn't tell you about in the last post is something fantabulous in the world of movies here, something that I can't imagine existing in the U.S., and that is the unlimited movie card. UGC, one of the big cinema chains here, has created the Carte UCG Illimité in partnership with another chain of theatres and many smaller theatres, adding up to about 30 in Paris, so that cardholders can see all the movies they want for a flat rate per month. Can you imagine? I had to get one. The catch is that you have to get the card for a minimum of 12 months, and we're only going to be here for about another eight. So I made up my mind to make it worth the money, and I'm keeping track of the cost of the movie tickets I get for free, in order to make sure that I do get my euros' worth. The card costs 19,80 € per month, and since I got mine last Wednesday, I've seen 53,70 € worth of movies--plus an additional pre-release screening I got into for free by virtue of having the card. I feel as though I'm doing my duty. Although, to be fair, I counted tickets' full prices, and I could get them for less with my student i.d. Still, four-plus per week is more than adequate, although not likely a level of cinematic gluttony I'll be able to keep up all year. We shall see. But I did want to share with you some spoiler-free tidbits on the 20 I've seen so far, along with, when available, their Rotten Tomatoes (RT) ratings, where 60% and up is considered to be "fresh," rather than "rotten." If the movie has a foreign-language and an English title, I'll give you both. So, without further ado, here are the first ten (not necessarily in the order in which I saw them)...

1. Brüno (RT 68%): I really thought this movie was dreadful. Borat wasn't particularly my thing, although I thought it was better than this one. I may have laughed twice. Maybe I'm just not the Sacha Baron-Cohen type.

2. Ma vie pour la tienne/My Sister's Keeper (RT 47%): Fairly emotionally heavy-handed, although there were some lovely moments. From what some of my better-read classmates have said, painfully inferior to the book.

3. Whatever Works (RT 48%): Definitely more than one percentage point better than My Sister's Keeper. Pretty funny, and I'm a longtime Evan Rachel Wood fan, ever since she was on Once and Again from 1999-2002.

4. À Deriva/Adrift: Brazilian coming-of-age story, an "Un Certain Regard" (translated variously as "a glance" and "a certain look") selection in Cannes this year. Lots of bikinis. Thumbs-up, not specifically for the scanty coverage.

5. Tu n'aimeras point/Eyes Wide Open: A beautiful Israeli film that I especially appreciated because it's a window into the world of Hasidic Judaism, one that is difficult to penetrate from the outside. Another "Un Certain Regard" competitor this year. Definitely worth seeing.

6. Fish Tank: British film that won the jury prize at Cannes this year. More coming-of-age (I love this stuff!), badass Brit teenager. Not happy-go-lucky, per se, but good stuff.

7. Neuilly, sa mère!: The first actual French movie I saw this year. I understood most of it, but got a little lost on some of the slangier bits. Class tensions, teens. Not bad.

8. Le Petit Nicolas: Based on the characters created by René Goscinny et Jean-Jacques Sempé in the Petit Nicolas series of books. I thought it was a lot of fun, particularly because I could understand all of it.

9. Hôtel Woodstock/Taking Woodstock (RT 51%): Our friend Mike worked on editing this one, and so there was no way we were going to miss it. Whoever thought this rated 17 percentage points lower than Brüno must have been smoking something strong and Woodstocky indeed. The average of Nick's and my opinions was that this was a decent movie, although I really enjoy the Woodstock vibe; I just think it must have been a neat time to be alive. And my dad was there, at the festival, which makes the imagining fun, too.

10. La Danse: le ballet de l'Opéra de Paris/The Danse: The Paris Opera Ballet (RT 69%): Why does the English-language title still have danse spelled in French? A very good question, but that's what the UK Rotten Tomatoes site--the only one I can get to from here--says. This was a loooong movie with some gorgeous dancing in it, but, in my opinion, insufficient narration. I would have loved to see some interviews with the dancers, but sadly, no such luck.

I'll leave you with these for now; more soon!

Question du Jour #20

2009-10-22T20:21:00.012+02:00

This, for authenticity's sake, is a photo of the event to which I will be referring below, but given the sensitivity of some readers (myself among them), perhaps it's better that my phone's camera didn't pick up enough light for a clear picture. I took a couple afterwards of the main characters that will help to illustrate. In this corner, weighing in at...hold on, I'm going to go weigh him...18.4 lbs (it was actually 16 when I weighed him, but Nick got worried that the pup had been crash-dieting and double-checked, and got 18.4 three times in a row), we have Graham, our little boy puppy. Wow, he's lost weight. Hey, Dr. Neuman, if you're reading, it worked! And in this [other] corner, weighing in at...shoot, I don't know, let's just say a couple of pounds, and definitely fewer than 18.4, we have a probably injured bird. The photo sort of tells the whole story in itself, but I'll fill in the details. When Nick and I had gone out for dinner earlier, there was a seriously chubbed-out pigeon-type character sitting in our courtyard. He was, in fact, so plump that I thought upon first glance that he had no head, when, really, he just had no neck. He was behaving in a rather unbirdlike fashion, which is to say that he didn't appear to have a 3-trillion-beats-per-minute heartrate and wasn't moving, and thus seemed as though he might be sick or injured.

Fast forward a few hours. I took the dogs out for their night walk, and as I sometimes do, let them off leash when we got back into the courtyard. Only too late did I notice that the bird was still there, after either just Graham or both he and Winnie had pounced--I'm not sure which because, like most public-space lighting in France, the light in the courtyard is on a timer and soon went out, leaving me in the dark with two small dogs and some short-lived flappy scuffling sounds. The bird's protests soon went silent, and when I got the light to go back on, Graham had it in his mouth. The bird, not the light. He looked at me, ready to head upstairs, as though there weren't a splay-winged, feathered creature locked between his jaws. I tried the old "leave it," which, on a good day, works with a bit of baguette he might scavenge in the street, but a whole bird? Forget it.

I yelled up for Nick, who heard me through the closed window (blast you, broken interphone) and came down with a rawhide bone, previously just about Graham's favorite thing ever. But that was B.B. (Before Bird), and this was a whole new ballgame. We had learned in long-ago puppy kindergarten class that in order to get your dog to drop something he has in his mouth, you just swap it out for something of higher value. He has a toy? Trade it out for a piece of cheese. Sadly, we were fresh out of live deer, and so what was our option? In fact, Graham was very interested in the bone, stared at us wide-eyed, wagged his tail, sat politely for his special treat, even ran after the bone when we threw it, but seemed to be missing that there was something in the way of his chewing on it. Something that, as we now saw all too well, did have a neck after all. Nick, in a feat of bravery (or maybe just imperviousness to yuck) that is way beyond me, grabbed for the bird at one point, but quickly came to his senses and got grossed-out. A guy who was in the courtyard on his cell phone sympathized with our plight, but mostly thought the whole thing was pretty funny. It was. Eventually, after much fruitless cajoling (and while Winnie chowed down on the bone he was ignoring), Graham dropped the bird to have a better look at it and I picked G up, while Nick went upstairs for a plastic bag and disposed of the bird in the common building trash. So, what I'm wondering is:

What would you do to get a dog to drop a yummy, yummy bird?

Question du Jour #19

2009-10-21T15:56:00.003+02:00

I've always wondered about this; it happens in some places in the U.S., too:

Why, in a country where you drive on the right, would you escalate on the left?

Question du Jour #18

2009-10-20T23:15:00.003+02:00

I know this isn't the greatest picture (and I hope the gentleman in it doesn't mind getting totally famous from appearing on my blog), but it was taken on the sly from across a métro car. I was looking at the crutches. This question has actually lain unanswered for over 15 years--a friend and I discussed it the year I spent in Brittany--and so I present it to you. It seems that French people use for a broken ankle, for instance, the sort of crutches that people use in the U.S. for a longer-term crutched tenure--the kind that fit loosely around the arm, and have a handle in the middle. But for these shorter-term injuries, Americans generally use the loosely triangular kind, with one pad under the armpit and one to grab below. So the question is:

If one of these is better than the other (and I imagine it is, although I don't know which), why doesn't everybody use it?

Question du Jour #17

2009-10-19T22:48:00.003+02:00

A couple of my favorite people are pregnant, and at least one of them is having a boy. I've always been very into naming things--I owned three baby name books as a child--and I've been doing a little online browsing. Today's question:

What would lead people to name their son Bear?

Question du Jour #16

2009-10-18T22:36:00.005+02:00

Pretty berries, right? No, that's not today's question. We bought these lookers this afternoon on our first visit to the Bastille market on Boulevard Richard Lenoir in the 11th. And they are absolutely ordinary. I was going to ask today where the seller got off selling unremarkable produce at an open-air market, but I think that, more to the point, I should be asking:

What made me think that strawberries had suddenly come into season in mid-October?

Movieing Right Along, Take 1: Setting the Scene

2009-10-17T23:47:00.000+02:00

This here on the left is what I have dubbed a "guilt kir." I poured the framboise into my glass, then reached into the fridge, opened a bottle of wine, and didn't realize until after I'd poured, and noticed how dark my kir was, that the wine was red. Dumb mistake. Ordinarily I would have poured it out, but this turned out to have been the only bottle Nick had brought back from Beaujolais from the domaine where he worked the harvest back in September. I had made my kir; now it was time to sleep in it. Or something. And so I did. Not awful, but not generally what I would choose. Bonnie tells me, though, that what I thought was a made-up non-apéritif actually has a name--a "cardinal"--and is the intentional choice of some cocktailians. Ya learn something new.

I like going to the movies. A lot. And by "a lot," I mean that both my enjoyment of the activity and its frequency are on the high end of the spectrum. According to my tally, which is accurate unless I've forgotten one, I've seen 15 movies since arriving in Paris, an average of 2.39 movies a week, considering that, as of today, we've been here 6.29 weeks. But who's counting? I don't know when I became such a movie hound, although years of New York City therapy indicate that I should blame my parents, and in this case, it might even be justified. My folks have been going to Friday-afternoon movies for ages now (movie before dinner means you're less likely to fall asleep, a tendency that seems, to my chagrin, to be genetically dominant), and have gone to Sundance for the last bunch of Januaries (do you pluralize January with an i-e-s?). For most of the year, they've already seen the bulk of the good movies to come out in the theatres. So I come by my cinematic zeal honestly, as they say. I don't know whether it's the comfy seats, the escapism, the un-butter on the popcorn, but whatever the reason, I'm kinda hooked.

Going to the movies here in Paris is funny. Less ha-ha, more stroke-your-chin. Here are some of the reasons:

- For starters, it's pricey. A full-price seat at the nearish-by multi-plex comes in at 10,20 € (they reverse commas and decimal points for numbers here), which Google tells me is $15.22 today--expensive even by inflated Manhattan standards.

- There's no climate control in the theatres. At home, you might go see a movie on a hot summer day to cool off, whereas here, the body heat in the windowless room can reach sweatlodge levels. Who knew I'd be cheering the approach of winter?

- Before most movies, after the previews, there are a boatload of ads. Not every time, but most of the time--also odd. But I have seen some of these ads a good ten times. And by "good," I mean "annoying." Some of the regulars:

The Ikea ad where the lady can't believe the low prices and drives away thinking she is the lucky beneficiary of a big mistake, at the end of which a woman's voice whispers "bien plus qu'un marchand de meubles" ("much more than a furniture store"). Loud whispering is super-irritating.
The ad for some phone company where a guy picks up a stone on the beach and starts talking into it, and the message actually gets to his winsome girlfriend like this is normal.
Usually two ads for ice cream or some sort of ice cream novelty, often incorporating semi-erotic imagery, with the fine-print message at the bottom reminding you to eat fruits and vegetables, exercise, and avoid a diet that is too sugary, salty or fatty, pointing you toward the website mangerbouger.fr (EatMove). I checked the site out and think it's kind of dynamite (much more fun than this one), but it is all in French, and so might pose some comprehension difficulties for my non-Francophone readers. In fact, if it doesn't, that would be pretty weird, wouldn't it? But I digress.
A protracted colonialist-looking ad featuring a South-Asian girl following a decked-out Nicole Kidman around, goo-goo-eyed, before NK catches some dude's gaze and absconds behind closed doors, unzipping the back of her dress, to drink some Schweppes citrus soda and say to us naughty-minded viewers (in English, with a French subtitle): "Hey, what did you expect?"
Two ads, with one or two others in between, for the special MTV cell phone service package with provider SFR. A bunch of teenagers gallivant around on a grassy hill, and then shake up a dorky-kids' party.

- Individual screening rooms (that is, Salle 3, not the whole UGC Montparnasse) only open up just before the movie starts, which goes against my every Type-A synapse. What about the prime-seating worm for the early bird? Hrmph. And, in fact, if you arrive even at the time that the movie is advertised as beginning, you are penalized by having to sit through those alllll those ads.

"15 movies?!" you say? "Do tell!" In fact, in the time it has taken me to write this, that number has become 16. Stay tuned for Take 2 and my spoiler-free reviews.

Question du Jour #15

2009-10-15T14:11:00.005+02:00

We got this tube at our local pharmacy, and you're supposed to massage its contents into sore muscles. The warning, "Tenir hors de la portée et de la vue des enfants," means "Keep out of reach and sight of children." So today's question is:

What do you reckon happens to a child--or, at the very least, a French child--upon catching sight of this cream?

Question du Jour #14

2009-10-14T20:57:00.002+02:00

The only excuse I can offer for this photo is that I took it of myself at a stop light, while on bikeback. I only hope its low quality and attractiveness don't burn your eyes. Speaking of which...here's today's question:

Why is it that, when I'm riding a bike and there's wind blowing in my eyes, I cry (tear) out of my right eye only?

Question du Jour #13

2009-10-13T16:43:00.007+02:00

A friend and I did some window shopping today at the many pet shops near the Pont Neuf. Prices were universally high, but this one above kind of blew my mind. 3660 € for a mini fawn-colored Chihuahua--that's $5430.34, according to Google's latest rate of conversion.

This is the blond(e) in question--cute, to be sure, but upwards of $5000?? That's got to be over $1000 a pound--even when full-grown. You could get nearly three Ritz Side Cars at that price! So the question is this:

If you bought a dog for 3660 €, what would it have to do to earn its keep?

Question du Jour #12

2009-10-12T16:03:00.009+02:00

If you look carefully at the photo above, you'll notice there's a little buggie floating in the glass of wine. Don't see it? Maybe this one below will make it easier.

Little guy up toward the top. Got it? Okay, good. This fella happened to fly in after the glass had been sitting out on our coffee table for a bit, but I was glad to have the chance to take a picture, as we have had a couple of small-insect-in-beverage incidents at restaurants recently. Once in a carafe of water, and once in a glass of wine. These are, in my opinion, situations of a different stripe than a friend's finding a larger critter in her onion soup...and then again in the one the waitress brought to replace it. So let's focus on liquids. The bug in the drink, to me, falls into a category of scenarios I have always wanted to discuss outside my own head. Basically, I don't think a tiny, winged beastie in my water or wine is that big a deal. I could fish it out with a spoon and, with little difficulty, forget it was ever there. But doing so feels as though I am letting the restaurant get away with something it shouldn't. If I complain to my server, I feel as though I am being a little difficult (although both guys were most apologetic), but if I don't, I am letting carelessness walk all over me. This brings to mind what I have always thought of as situations with no middle ground. For example, if you hold a door or an elevator for someone, you are considerate, where as if you don't, you are kind of a douche. There is no middle ground there--a choice that makes you a neutral, okay person. Other day-to-day happenings have rung this same bell for me, but they're not coming to mind at the moment. So I guess I want to ask you this:

If you find a harmless little bug in your drink, do you complain or just deal with it?

Question du Jour #11

2009-10-11T23:10:00.004+02:00

Here's one for ya, courtesy of today's visit to the Mont St. Michel: Forgetting the rope and the surrounding Spaniards (although I do appreciate the size perspective they offer)...

How big a hamster do you think it would take to get this wheel moving?

Question du Jour #10

2009-10-10T19:51:00.005+02:00

One of my pet peeves is being able to clearly hear what other people are listening to on their headphones. But I noticed, when looking at this random stranger's standard-issue Apple earbuds (seen closer-up at right), that there are holes on the non-listener side--that is, facing me--that look like little speaker holes. So my question is:

Why would headphones be designed so as to project sound toward people who don't want to hear it?

Question du Jour #9

2009-10-09T23:57:00.004+02:00

Do I owe you a question every day now? Oy, look at the precedent I've set. Well, it's still Friday here, and will be in the U.S. for a few hours more, and so I give you this, suggested by Nick and Donna at dinner tonight (photo not taken by me):

Why do French people wear so much more clothing in the métro (where it's super-warm) than we do?

Extracurriculars, Part II

2009-10-08T16:34:00.006+02:00

Why not a kir in a paper cup? Why not a paper cup with balloons on it? Why not a paper cup with balloons on it that was uncommonly expensive, because, unbeknownst to us when we walked into the place, we bought it and seven of its brethren at a store that imports goodies from the U.S. and charges homesick expats or wannabe Frenchies top-euro to buy them. Ah, well. We were having a picnic on the Champ de Mars, facing the Eiffel Tower (see photo to the right), and needed cups for our wine.

This is just going to be a quick update, but I wanted to share the fact that...I got the internship! The lady from Camp Experts decided that, even though my potential absence during some of her salons was a major inconvenience, we were a good match. Hooray! So I'll start there in early January.

In other outside-the-home news, I've spent the last week or so waffling as to whether or not to join the Chorale Pop and Soul after all, just as a way to meet people. I had told the teacher that I wasn't going to be able to do it, because the class I'm going to be taking at the Sorbonne meets on Mondays and Wednesdays from 5-7, and the Chorale starts at 7 on Wednesdays, not too close by. But she countered that it looked as thought the meeting time was going to be changing to Tuesday nights, and so it was once again a possibility. I was more or less resigned to devoting two hours, two consecutive nights a week to singing, in the name of both working on challenging material and befriending some real Frenchers, until two game-changers came down the pipeline:

1) I started talking to more cool people in my Monday-night chorale.
2) E-mails from the teacher made it look as though Chorale Pop and Soul may not change its rehearsal night after all.

So I'm staying put, at least for this semester, and not spending 350 € on new friends. Something else Nick and I are considering checking out is an organization called Polyglot Club, where people who speak all different languages get together and converse in their non-native tongues. Nick's ears perked up when we saw a story on the group on 100% Mag, a TV news magazine that's on five evenings a week, right after Un Dîner Presque Parfait (A Nearly Perfect Dinner), my favorite French TV show. There's actually a Polyglot Club get-together tonight near the Centre Pompidou, but we'll see whether we make it out of the house. Will keep you posted...

Question du Jour #8

2009-10-08T15:17:00.004+02:00

Whenever I see these little pork nubbins at the supermarket, the way they're all crowded together kind of yucks me out. Hence today's question:

What might be a more appealing way to package cocktail franks?

Question du Jour #7

2009-10-07T16:00:00.003+02:00

A serious question today, and one to which I am anxious to have your feedback. If I have x amount of money that can live in either my U.S. bank account or my French bank account (and can, obviously, be transferred between the two, for a fee), and if my purchases can be charged on my U.S. American Express card (thus earning me points), my U.S. debit card, or my French debit card, with the AmEx bills' being paid from either of the aforementioned accounts...

What combination of the above is my best bet?

Question du Jour #6

2009-10-06T11:37:00.003+02:00

Pictured above are Nick's and my toothbrushes. Mine's the one on the right, sitting in the little white charger. We have two of them, but Nick suggested that we keep just one [charger] in the bathroom and share it, so that we could use our second step-down (or maybe it's step-up) transformer for other American appliances. I had a hard time with this, because I like to have my toothbrush charging at all times when it's not in my mouth. Similarly, I am most at ease when my laptop is plugged-in, and get anxious when Nick wants to use my adapter because his computer is about to switch over to reserve battery power. I think these are two distinct personality types: fearful of scarcity vs. trusting that the plenty will be there when needed and, if I'm being honest, this comes up all the time, not just in the realm of home electronics. So what about you?

Are you a leave-it-charging or a run-down-the-battery-first sort of person?

Question du Jour #5

2009-10-05T16:51:00.006+02:00

What, in your estimation, are the odds that a Nick Gorevic would steal the identity of a Nicholas Gorevic (or vice versa) and try to open a cell phone account?

How about if they're both married to the same person?

Question du Jour #4

2009-10-04T13:35:00.005+02:00

Pictured above is a short piece of French dental floss. See how it's fuzzy on the lefthand side (you may have to click to zoom in)? This is what happens to it when it is used. I tried both squeezing and wetting a fresh piece to see if that would cause the transformation, since that, as far as I can tell, is what happens to something that passes between one's teeth. But no change. So...what I want to know is:

How and why does something that I would slice cheese with become something I would crochet with?

Question du Jour #3

2009-10-03T12:22:00.004+02:00

Kind of mind-blowing, right? Think of all the vet bills we could pay...Okay, so here's the question:

If you were going to pay 1250 € for a cocktail--take this as a given--what would be in it?

Question du Jour #2

2009-10-02T10:06:00.008+02:00

I took the photo above when I was at the movies this morning. It's a finger provocatively tracing the edge of a pint or so of Häagen-Dazs, showing how unctuous it is, after a pretty lady has been sitting on the floor, making eyes at said pint. So here's the question:

Does sex really sell ice cream?

Question du Jour #1

2009-10-01T14:19:00.009+02:00

What is with French doorknobs in the middle of the door?

Makes absolutely no sense in terms of everything I know about simple machines--levers, fulcroms, and the like. Anyone?

New Feature!

2009-10-01T11:35:00.004+02:00

Regular readers of A Year of Kir (that's right, I'm talking to both of you) will have noticed that the consistency of my posting has been a little spotty. Anyone who has ever had class with me--sorry, guys--or met me, for that matter, knows that I ask a lot of questions. And so, in order to reward the former for their fidelity and regale (?) the latter with more of the same, I'm introducing the Question du Jour. The topics will generally relate to France or our life here, or something else entirely. Some questions will have actual answers and others will not, but either way, I want to hear ("hear") your thoughts! So comment early and often. Postulate, set me straight (rhyme!), inventate (okay, poor attempt--but really, just make things up if they're entertaining)...Or don't, and I'll just hang out here and wonder into the void...which is sort of what I've been doing already. Enjoy, and first question soon to come!

Extracurriculars

2009-09-28T11:31:00.023+02:00

At the left, you will find the seldom consumed and even less-oft recommended kir vin rouge. Yup, a friend came over and as we were all out of white wine, we tucked into the red. Drinkable, I suppose, but not the way nature intended it. Below at the right, you will find a really cute picture of Winnie. No relation to the content, just me abusing my artistic control.

Now that classes have started, I have been on the lookout for things to do other than book-learnin'. It was my longtime plan to join a triathlon club here, in order to keep up with my training after last spring's first foray into the world of multisport. I was originally thinking I would join e xpaTRIés, an English-language expat tri club, but then reconsidered in favor of a more authentic, local experience...until I looked at the membership fees. A senior (adult) tri membership with Paris Sport Club costs 300 € for new members, and with Stade Français Triathlon it's 332.50 €, plus, if I understand correctly, another 100 € for first-timers, whereas a full membership with expaTRIés, complete with required tri license, costs 136.50 €. Not much of a comparison. I've been holding off on joining because they require a medical exam, and since getting my carte de séjour does as well, I thought I'd kill two bureaucratic birds with one socialized medical stone. But, if I'm being honest, the combination of regular walking and vélib'ing is pretty much taking care of my major fitness concerns. I haven't gone running since my goofy first outing, and although one of my classmates posted a terrific time and had a blast last Sunday in La Grande Classique (16km from Paris to Versailles), my knees and I aren't particularly missing it.

Hi, Mom and Dad. I feel as though this admission entitles you to a paragraph all your own. I know you spent an arm and a leg sending me my bike from the U.S. (which, if we're doing the conversion, means that I subsequently spent two of each getting it through Customs, blast them). If I end up not riding it while I'm here--which is to say, not doing any tri training, since it's not the sort of creature I'd tool along the cobblestones on--I will make it up to you somehow. And above all, thank you for going through the pain in the tuckus I know it was to send it. For what it's worth, it's not in the shipping box anymore; I took it out last night because the cleaning lady complained about there being too many boxes around the house. It's now in the closet, behind our coats, covered in trash bags to keep everything clean. Did I mention that I love you?

I figured that, if my tri-life was potentially going to be anglophone, I would search out a group of Frenchies to sing with. I basically wanted to sing with a group that was at a high enough level to require auditions, but I didn't necessarily want to have to audition myself. Tricky, that. Also wasn't sure whether I wanted to sing old stuff, as it's called in the trade. More or less forever in search of my college a cappella group is what it comes down to. I've come close since graduation, but never quite close enough. And given that graduation was nearly ten years ago, maybe my goals should grow up? I don't know, though...At any rate, a little research turned up the Chorale Pop and Soul, which "rehearses" on Wednesday evenings just a few métro stops away. The quotation marks owe to the fact that this isn't so much a singing group as a class, as it turns out, and the teacher charges 35 € a month, which, by the end of the school year, costs just as much as one of the pricey tri club memberships, but without the cardiovascular benefits. Hrmph. But the first class was free, and so I decided to go check it out.

The pluses:
+ Everyone seemed really nice, especially once they realized that I was American.
+ The night I was there, we were singing in English (Madonna's "Rain," if you must know), and so I got to enjoy a gentle sense of superiority, because I pronounce my "h's" without even thinking about it...until I started not to and felt silly.
+ The location is hard to beat.
+ No auditions!

The minuses:
- No auditions, and so the level was not especially advanced. That meant no sheet music, only words. I'm not a great sight-reader, but I'd like the chance to improve.
- Due to the above, the sound wasn't top-notch. Can't believe I'm about to do this, but if you want to listen, you can do so here.
- There was little to no specific instruction, and so the idea of its being a "class" felt semi-farcical.
- The price. Not worth it for me, although I considered signing up just to make some Frends, a word I just coined, meaning "French friends." It only works in writing.

And so back to the drawing board. I sent some more e-mails to other choral groups, received a couple replies, got one message bounced back to me twice (why did I try a second time?), and even made a phone call, which is usually not in my bag of tricks, but I got lucky and hit voice mail. Then a friend mentioned to me that our choral director from over the summer at Middlebury had a chorale here in Paris that he (friend) was joining. I got in touch with said director, she was game for another alto, and thus my second vocal adventure began. Best part: it's an audition-to-get-in group, but she said I didn't have to audition! Couldn't have designed it better myself. I went to my first rehearsal this past Monday night, and discovered a few things:

1. The whole thing is conducted in English.
2. The bulk of the repertoire is Negro Spirituals.
3. The group is quite good!

#1 is not entirely what I was going for. #2 is fine, musically speaking, and while I feel a little odd singing things like "Soon ah will be don' a-wid de troubles ob de worl'," I'm sure I'll get used to it. I'm just hoping that it isn't a religious group. I have no problem with Christian people (or people of any religion)--heaven knows I've been surrounded by 'em most of my life--but I'm a Jew, through and through. I'll sing pretty much anything, but I like to keep my social interactions as non-sectarian as possible, unless explicitly stated otherwise. #3 is, obviously, a plus. So for now, I'm spending my Monday evenings with Voices Choeur International.

And finally...a little income! I didn't come to Paris planning to work or take on an internship in addition to my studies; I thought I'd leave the baguette-winning to Nick. But I couldn't resist when the woman in charge of job opportunities and other day-to-day life stuff for Middlebury in Paris e-mailed us, saying that the Paris office of Camp Experts, a company that matches French kids with summer camps and programs in the U.S. and around Europe, was looking for a paid intern during the second semester. Are you kidding me? Camp is my thing--no, better still, my thang. You heard me right. This is mostly due to one camp in particular, Hidden Valley, where I spent some of the best summers of my life as a camper, counselor, and funny in-between creature called an AWAC--some part of 12 summers in all, if I'm counting correctly. Kid paradise itself. So this Camp Experts gig seemed right up my alley. I immediately sent a letter expressing my interest and my innate campiness, along with my CV, and soon heard back from Catherine, the boss lady, who wanted to speak on the phone. I called her, and everything went great. She told me that one of the major roles of her intern is to help out with the salons she hosts every year, in schools, among other places, where families meet camp representatives. Sure, I said, do you know yet what the dates are of those salons? She listed out several days in the beginning of February...which happens to be precisely when my nephew (first kid in the family--so excited!!) is expected to arrive, and when Nick and I are going back to New York to welcome him. General deflation of spirits, because Catherine, like me, felt that we were a perfect match, but couldn't envision hiring someone who wouldn't be around for the salons. We each understood where the other was coming from, but that didn't change the basics of the situation. And so we hung up, and each went on our way.

At the beginning of last week, she e-mailed me and said that, after thinking about it over the weekend, she was interested enough in my "profile" that she wanted to meet me anyway, in hopes that we could find a solution for the salons. And so I went to her house in Neuilly-sur-Seine, a suburb of Paris, a couple days later. She operates the business from home, and so this was also my potential workplace-to-be. And what a home it was! I asked the woman who met me at the door whether she was Catherine, and she said that no, Madame was upstairs. That sort of household--the kind with help. Looked huge and beautiful, although I didn't get the full tour. Anyway, we chatted, discussed possible salon solutions (isn't that a brand of shampoo?)--her scanning and e-mailing me new families' contact info to enter into the database from New York, for example--and she told me she was interviewing two more people and would get back to me at the end of this week.

And so I wait...

Vélov'

2009-09-21T21:07:00.005+02:00

Just wanted to be clear that I don't always drink alone. Not that four kirs side-by-side prove it...These puppies were made with crème de framboise, raspberry liqueur, which I brought to a classmate's house for apéritifs a couple nights before school started.

Riding a bicycle along the Seine on a warm evening--it doesn't get much better than that. Paris is blessed with a network of self-service rental bikes called vélib' (pictured below--photo taken from their website), which I can only assume is short for vélo libre, or "free bicycle" (the kind of "free" that describes freedom, rather than not having to pay). Nick and I first discovered the vélib' a couple trips to Paris ago, and had heard rumors that they were no longer available, due to theft and other unfortunate shenanigans, and were thrilled to find, upon our arrival, that they are still in full effect. There are banks of 3-speed bikes stationed all over the city--every 300 meters, according to the website--and once you subscribe to the service (1€ for one day, 5€ for seven days, and 29€ for a year--plus a security deposit of 150€ in case you run off with one of the vélos), you can take one out from any of them, and return it to any other. The first 30 minutes of any trip are free of charge, and the bikes are available 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, allowing for an unlimited number of trips per day. It's amazing! I've started riding the vélib' to school almost every day, and just today, after doing so for a week, I found my way home (not the same as the outbound route, due to a profusion of one-way streets and a downright un-gridlike layout). I get such a kick (although wicked messy hair) out of exercising during my commute. We try to take the bikes as often as possible, and while it sometimes takes about as long as taking the métro, other times it's considerably faster, particularly where changing métro lines at huge stations would otherwise be concerned.

A few thoughts and tidbits of advice from my week-plus of vélib'ing this time around:

A good idea when you stop at a red light, if you're a 3rd-gear rider like me, is to down-shift, so that when the light turns green, you can take off without too much effort or swervy nonsense. This may be obvious to you, but wasn't to me.
Hand signals are a big, important deal when you're riding in traffic and go a long way toward getting cars to let you in where you want to be. Again, all city riders may know this already, but I hadn't given it much thought. Maybe I should have called this section "Things You Knew and I Didn't."
The iPhone app "Velo" is fantabulous. It costs $2.99 and has maps of all the vélib' stations, *plus* a fairly up-t0-date account of how many bikes and "parking spots" are available at each one. It has this information not only for Paris, but also for 14 other cities that have similar bike networks--in France and elsewhere in Europe.
There are one-way streets in the 9th and 10th arrondissements (and probably elsewhere) that have bike lanes going in the opposite direction, so that you can more easily get where you're going without having to make your route excessively circuitous.
I still haven't figured out what the local custom is regarding red lights. Some bikers stop, and some slow down and then go through if there aren't any cars or pedestrians coming. And some drivers and motorcyclists get annoyed and yell at them. Or me, as the case may be. Clearly jealous.
There are bike/bus lanes around a lot of the city, and a lot of cabs that drive in them. I can't figure out whether they're bikes or buses.
If you head off on a vélib' in the general direction of where you thinking you're going, you may not end up there, but you can always return the bike and take the métro if you end up in the middle of somewhere else.

I heartily recommend trying vélib' if you're in Paris and know how to ride a bike. If you don't live here and come to visit us, we will inevitably do our best to show you what fun it can be to tool around town on two wheels. Happy riding!

What About the Children?

2009-09-08T12:35:00.013+02:00

Even though I'm not going to be kir-ing it daily, I still have a backlog of photos. This one was homemade, and marks Nick's and my first time entertaining (if only slightly) at our apartment in Paris. A few of my Middlebury friends came over for apéritifs and munchies before four of us headed out for mediocre tapas with the three dogs we had between us.

Speaking of dogs, we came over here with two, and the question of what their lives are going to look like here has been evolving. Back in Brooklyn, we were rather particular about what they ate. We looked for human-grade ingredients, and had read or been told that at least the first three or four should be items that we would eat--meats, for example, as opposed to meat by-products or bone meal. We ended up settling on Merrick Before Grain dry food mixed with such flavors of their wet food as Thanksgiving Day Dinner, Wing-a-Ling, and...trying to remember...maybe Cowboy Cookout? I like to think that there is a difference between a pet or a child's being spoiled (which literally means that something is rotten, right? that it's gone bad?)--which, to my mind, implies behaving in an entitled manner--and being treated well...but regardless, we may be walking the line with these two. Anyway, we arrived in Paris with very little of the dry food we had brought on vacation and none of the wet. And so it was time to either order more Merrick from the U.S. and pay for costly shipping (because that stuff's heavy!), or find a French alternative. After visits to a couple of grocery stores and three pet stores, I think I've found a mixture that we can all be happy with. I hesitate to feed Graham and Winnie anything that can be purchased at the supermarket, but given that the people food here is mostly better than what you can find at Gristedes or Food Emporium at home, maybe it's the same for the critters. At any rate, I found a dry food at Shopi (one of the supermarket chains here) whose first ingredient was chicken, rather than one grain or another, and have been switching off among several wet foods: one made by Pedigree from Shopi, an all-natural German one called Almo Nature that we found at Miaou Waou, a pet store in the 11th arrondissement, and a third one, also from Miaou Waou, called Nature's Harvest, which comes in frozen-dinner-type trays and says it should be used--even if refrigerated--within 24 hours. This means that we will be either: a) throwing out a lot of dog food, because our two are small and can't possibly take in a whole tray of that stuff in a day without dire consequences in the output department, or b) serving them vittles that, by Nature's Harvest's exacting standards, are past their prime. Time will tell, as we're just nearing the end of our first 24 hours after opening.

It seems that people also walk their dogs differently here. In New York, where you're generally dealing with sidewalks rather than yards, the rule of thumb is to try not to have your dog pee on anything valuable or right in front of somebody's door, and always pick up #2. I was told before my arrival that there would be a great deal of the aforementioned #2 on the sidewalks of Paris, and also that there are dedicated vehicles, called Mobicrottes, whose drivers tool around town removing it. I haven't seen all that much of the former, and none of the latter. I do believe that we are the only dog-owners in Paris who walk around with plastic-bag caddies on their leashes, picking up after their furry little ones--or, at the very least, I haven't seen anybody else doing it. If somebody straight-up tells me not to clean up after them, I'll probably stop, but until then, it seems wrong not to do it. It also seems that people actually walk their dogs in the street here. We're working on this. Graham and Winnie are fairly sidewalk-oriented, and so sometimes it involves a little tug on the leash, when they're wearing one, and on the contrary, when they go au naturel, it can be a challenge to get them out of the street when a car approaches. I should probably always have them on leash, but as a lot of French dogs aren't, I'm a fan of the sense of freedom that accompanies letting them do their own thing a little bit.

And then there's the question of childcare. Because we're ridiculous, we had a dog nanny back in New York. She would pick the kids up in the morning, hang out with them at her house during the day, walking them regularly, and then bring them home in the afternoon. Our pups are crate-trained, and so when we're not at home, they hang out in a cage-type den, rather than being loose in the house, where they could get into things that could be harmful to them (or soil things that could be of value to us). Having lost our first dog to chocolate consumption, this seems reasonable to us, and so the dog nanny situation came from not wanting to have them crated all day. But Park Slope, Brooklyn, is the kind of world where, if you place an ad on Craigslist for a dog nanny, ten people make appointments to be interviewed, show up with references, and you can be pretty well assured of finding a worthy candidate among them. This may be a corollary to the fact that Park Slope is a world of yuppies with misplaced priorities, but so be it; it's worked for us. Craigslist Paris, on the other hand, has about five postings under Pet Services. So this will be an interesting figuring-out process. Once Nick is back from picking grapes in Beaujolais, we'll at least have more hands on deck. But for now, I've been forced to crate them in my absence, particularly as we're staying in an apartment full of rugs and little doo-dads that could be damaged by a rambunctious puppy. We arrived with a small travel crate that we brought with us on vacation, but its front flap zips shut, and one or both of the dogs--my money's on Graham, the more separation-anxious of the two--has unzipped it while I've been out. In fact, I came home the other day to find him standing on our dining room table. Yikes. I have an order placed with Amazon for a larger crate with a real, latching door, but in the meantime...for their (his) next trick, they actually ripped the flap open, reducing the crate to a silly little joke. So for the last couple days, the crate and pups have been in the petit French toilet room--see, it is good for something!--which, thankfully, has a real door as well, and that seems to be a reasonable solution while we wait for the Amazon box to show up. Stay tuned.

Update #1: Tossed the Nature's Harvest and started a new can of Pedigree; didn't want to deal with the potential fallout, as it were, of expired dog food.

Update #2: Right after I posted this (which was Saturday, even though it says Tuesday at the top--it records the day of the first "save as draft," as opposed to the day you publish), I took the pups out and, lo and behold, saw a man picking up his dog's beezwax with a plastic bag. From the sidewalk, no less. Viva la globalization!

The Run-Around

2009-09-05T23:01:00.010+02:00

Okay, so seriously? What was I thinking? A kir a day?? I'm already foreseeing getting tired of them before too long, even with the potential variation of peach or raspberry liqueur instead of crème de cassis. So I'm changing the rules. A year in France is, by its very nature, a year of kir; I don't have to be so darned literal about it. There will be kirs, I will photograph them, and those photographs will be featured here. But let's not go overboard. As long as I have this picture, though, I will tell you that this was the first kir I made here, in our Paris apartment. The first of three, each on a different day. And this is only our fourth night here. You see what I mean about the over-zeal? A little out of hand.

In other news, I went on my first Parisian run yesterday. On the right is a picture of me before takeoff. I thought it was kind of a lousy picture, and when I clicked to enlarge it, it turned out to be, in fact, a seriously lousy picture--totally out of focus. Ah well, it's what I got. I planned out my route looking at maps online, because I wanted to make my way down to and run along the Seine (that's the river here in Paris...I'm sure all of you know that, but if it turned out that I was name-dropping and someone didn't know what I was talking about, I'd feel bad). I live where the little "A" pin is, just to give you a sense of things. So I ran down Boulevard de Sébastopol, which was quite crowded, and then hung a right when I got down to the river. So far, so good-ish, except for the people-dodging. The Eiffel Tower was now ahead to the left, and the sky was pinkening slightly, and it was this beautiful moment of oh-my-goodness-I'm-really-here. But I wanted to run down by the river (cue old Chris Farley SNL skit), rather than on the sidewalk above it, and so I went down a narrow sidewalk and, brilliantly, entered a tunnel that was full of moving cars. I was sort of hoping that it would be a short passageway that would let me out on the quai (but how? Where would the cars go?), but it went on and on, and as I was trotting along a quite-narrow sidewalk facing traffic, the cars sped by and honked at me. Good times. And good breathing. With no other-end in sight, I waited for the traffic to thin out for a moment and turned back around. I soon found a way down along the riverbank that was made for foot traffic, and then ran along the cobblestones (which receive about a C for ease and comfort as running surfaces go) for the remainder of the "out" part of my out-and-back. Went through another little tunnel under a bridge where a small homeless community seems to have set up camp, passed some teens enjoying snacks and drinks, couples sitting on benches looking at the water, people fishing...a lovely Parisian evening scene. I'm going to have to keep working on better routes, but I do like it here.

Good Christian Méens, Rejoice!

2009-09-04T00:43:00.015+02:00

The kir to the left came into my life at Paul Bocuse's paean to Paul Bocuse, located outside Lyon in Collonges au Mont d'Or at L'Auberge du Pont de Collonges. Very shmancy meal, very classic techniques used in its preparation, a little much, in terms of both quantity and richness and certainly price (thought not always enough in terms of service). Not so much my thing, but an experience I appreciated having. And hey, we saw PB himself!--here he is on the right.

So here we are in Paris. Our apartment is lovely, beautifully decorated with what I imagine to be art from Cambodia, where the owner lives and owns a hotel or two. No air conditioning, but as we seem to have crossed the season barrier from summer into fall as we drove here from Lyon (l'iPhone américain says it's 55º F in Paris right now!), open windows provide more than enough ventilation. Living room, dining room, kitchen, bedroom, small office, nice bathroom, toilet across the apartment from the bathroom. We're pretty centrally located, within five-ish minutes' walk of about five subway lines. I have [no-longer] secret dreams of living in the 4th or 5th or 6th arrondissement (Paris is divided up into 20 of these districts), but that's just me being bratty; the 3rd is quite nice. An eye is kept on our building during the day by a concierge, who, rather than getting us restaurant reservations or last-minute theatre tickets, is a sort of doorman type who hangs out (lives?) in a little hut in our courtyard, where he has a fridge, a washing machine, and maybe a TV. His name is Dominique and he collects our mail and provides other such helpful logistical services, among the most essential of which is wagging a finger at me if Graham, our younger dog, pees in the courtyard. Oops. I brought down a pitcher of water to rinse away the evidence, and so hopefully he won't hold a grudge, although our apartment's owner told us that Dominique wasn't a super-nice guy, and so it's hard to know. My plan had been to overwhelm the guy with kindness and adorability, always saying bonjour and wishing him a bonne journée, so that he had to like us, but that was long ago, before the Unauthorized Urination.

On the progress-in-getting-established tip, we finally have a bank account! We ended up choosing BNP Paribas as our bank, because our landlord has an account there and got us in touch with one of their bankers. He, in turn, made us an appointment with the fabulous Christian Méens, who set up our Esprit Libre (Free Spirit) joint checking account. Monsieur Méens (sounds like may-awnhce) is a funny, funny dude. Short-sleeved button-down, comb-over, glasses, tie, mustache, a hunt-and-peck typist and all-around sweetheart. After telling us that people said he didn't look his age, he made me guess how old that was, and when I guessed 40 (I first tried 23, but he wouldn't let me off the hook with that one) and he couldn't get me to budge any higher (he's 52), he supposed aloud to Nick that I didn't have any experience with such things. He shared with us a French saying about marriage (being no-longer-married himself)--that it constitutes a choice to have worries and problems that you wouldn't have on your own--but assured us that, over three years into it, we were probably good to go. We spent over an hour in his office, signing papers and actually writing out the words "lu et approuvé" several times, to indicate that we had read and approved whatever we were also signing our names to. Monsieur M provided us with the much coveted RIB (relevé d'identité bancaire, the string of numbers that identifies our bank number, account number, etc. to anyone who is planning on whisking our money away to, for example, pay a phone bill). He also informed us--had only we known a couple days earlier--that BNP stands for Banque Nationale de Paris, and it is a fully national bank, which means that we could have opened an account in Lyon and accessed it in Paris with no problem. Ah, well.

We walked out of BNP, RIB in hand, ready to finally make our iPhone dreams come true. But alas, you need not only a RIB (and proof of residence and proof of identity) to get a phone contract, you also need either a bank card or a cancelled check, and we wouldn't have either for a week or so. They don't give you temporary ATM cards when you open an account in France...or at least BNP doesn't...or at least M. Méens didn't. Which wouldn't be an issue (given that there's no money in our account yet), except for the phone situation. After being turned away by the guy at Orange, one of the main cell service providers here, we called M.M. to see if he could give us a temporary card. He offered a letter stating that we have an account with BNP, but still no dice; apparently, the Orangeman needed to input our card or check number right into his computer, and so there wasn't a lot of flexibility. Boo. And so we limp on, iPhoneless, for another few days.

Putting Down Roots

2009-09-02T03:14:00.016+02:00

This kir came from a bouchon in Lyon called Le Petit Flore, recommended by the New York Times in a Travel-section article about eating in Lyon. A bouchon is a bistro serving traditional fare of Lyon and the area, and we had a tasty, well priced meal at this one.

It's been a long time since I set up a life somewhere. Given that I've lived in the same country--even on the same coast--my whole adult life as I did growing up, you could pretty much say that I've never done this before. I remember going into Chase Manhattan Bank on 3rd Avenue on the Middle East Side (East Midtown? We never knew what to call it.) with both my parents in October of 2000 to open my first checking account, which now, going on nine years later, bears Nick's and my names jointly. The school year I spent in Brittany at age 15 involved no independent establishment-of-self in the two-forms-of-identification sense; School Year Abroad worked out with our parents to get us a weekly allowance in francs (quaint!), and as this was before the era of cell phones, little else seemed necessary.

So here we are in France, and we thought that, as long as we were in Lyon with not much to do and American iPhones that are best used as paperweights now that we've torn through our international data plan, we would get the French version and become just as tech-nerdy in Paris as we were in New York. In the U.S., although it's been a while since I started from scratch with no cell phone or contract of any kind, I think that if you have a credit card, then Verizon or AT&T (interesting aside, as I am currently typing on aforementioned American iPhone, brought back to useful life by the wifi in our apartment: the iPhone does not automatically capitalize Verizon, whereas if you simply type in "att," it is magically transformed into AT&T--also known as the iPhone's sole U.S. service provider...what, you mean there are other wireless companies? asks the innocent little device...) or whoever will be more than happy to take your money and put you on the road to telecommunications. In France, on the other hand, you need a bank account. Not only do you need a bank account, but you also may need proof of residence, depending on which service provider you select. Like a gas or electric bill, for example. As we are renting someone else's apartment for the year, we are never going to receive a gas or electric bill; they are all going to the owner, and we will pay him. Incidentally, the setup is the same for our home in New York, which we are renting out during the months that we are overseas. How about a ConEd bill from a duplex in Brooklyn, buddy? Can that get me l'iPhone français? By the way, in case you're over here shopping for one yourself, "iPhone" is pronounced "aye-phone" in French, same as it is in English--not the more French-seeming "ee-phone."

So, then, a bank account. We were in the Bellecour area of Lyon, a veritable banktopia, if you will, and so, armed with a sense of which ones had branches near our apartment in Paris, we went a-callin'. The first one, LCL (formerly Crédit Lyonnais), didn't have Internet at that office, and so couldn't print out the apartment rental contract that Nick had on his e-mail. They also informed us that we wouldn't be able to get something called a RIB ("reeb"--acronyms are often pronounced in French)--which proved we had a bank account and was required by the phone people--for at least a couple days. So LCL, or at least the Iron-Age branch, was a no-go. Next up, HSBC, where the lady at the front desk said that she really thought it would be better if we waited until we got to Paris to open an account, but didn't say why. Actually, she suggested we leave for Paris a day early--that very day, to be exact--so that we could open the account immediately. Nothing like down-home hospitality. Finally, when I asked the guy at Crédit Agricole why it mattered where I opened the account, he told me that, in Bankworld, France is divided into regions (Paris and Lyon being in two different ones), and that they're not linked to one another, so that if I opened an account in Lyon, I wouldn't have access to it in Paris. At least, that's what I understood. Odd and backwards to me, but at least now I knew what the deal was. And boy, were we ever glad that we hadn't taken the lady at LCL up on her offer to have their scribes copy out our rental contract by hand.

So no phone, no bank account, but I do believe we got a little smarter as far as what is required of us in order to set up shop.

Huh?

2009-09-01T13:04:00.000+02:00

Why "A Year of Kir," you may ask? My husband, Nick, and I are moving to Paris for the 2009-2010 school year while I work on an MA in French through Middlebury College. Kir--white wine and crème de cassis, a blackcurrant liqueur--is my apéritif (pre-dinner (or pre-lunch--why not?) drink) of choice here, and one whose acquaintance I made when I lived in Brittany the year I was 15. Kir (rhymes with "cheer") is France to me, and so it seemed a good mascot for these ten months here. Also, I love a good rhyme. And, because I'm curious (and a little odd), I thought I'd photograph every kir I order during my sojourn, and put one at the top of each blog post. This one comes from Les Chênes Verts, a one-star restaurant in Tourtour, in Provence, where we had dinner a couple nights ago with our Brooklyn friends, Bill and Launa, and their daughters, Grace and Abigail. Their family is spending the year in France as well, but in a very different France from ours. They will be living in Aups, a small town in Provence, and Grace and Abigail will be going to school with wee Frenchies. Follow their adventures on Launa's funny, thoughtful, well written blog. Off to have some adventures in Lyon, where we're spending two nights before heading to Paris--more later.