After getting back into town after vacation, Sarah and I went to one of my favorite stretches of Paris: Ile St. Louis, smack dab in the middle of the Seine. We peeked into the shop windows, but I was discouraged as the nice cozy atmosphere that I usually relish here was diminished by the vast numbers of tourists, and lack of anyone French. Even my favorite little romantic accessories shop had replaced its wares with the gaudy baubles only the Red Hat Society could adore. Bummer.
We crossed the river, and just around the corner from the Hotel de Ville, by Metro 7 stop Pont Marie, is a sweet vine-covered and blooming passage that leads to some good frips [second-hand vintage stores] that I explored once with my friend Kitty and loved. Unfortunately for us, Paris weather is fairly fickle and it was cold and raining on us [we hadn't had umbrellas as the weather forecast we checked before leaving the house predicted sunshine at 73 degrees].
Saturday evening after a lovely sushi and sashimi dinner at home, Sarah and I went to another of my favorite parts of town, St. Germain des Pres, which just lights up and is bustling every night of the week with a good mix of hipster and classy clientele. We sat at a terrace bar and sipped our red and rose wines while watching passersby for my last Saturday evening out in Paris.
Today I had my last lazy Sunday, which commenced at 10:30am with my rolling out bed to immediately make my newly coined 'pink pancakes' [pancakes with mashed raspberries]. I spent the afternoon with Sarah at the Musee de l'Orangerie, where the famous curved-wall Monet murals are housed. We went to the Petit Palais afterward, as I have been meaning to get out there to check out the retrospective Yves St.Laurent exhibit before my departure. Unfortunately, it seems that August 15th is Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary, so it was closed. Instead, we sought shelter from the continuous rain and drizzle at a street-side cafe for some cafe creme and a plate of fries - undoubtedly some of the best I have experienced this year.
By the way - French french fries really are better.
Sunday, August 15, 2010
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Two Weeks in Provence.
On the road again...
Jennifer, Sarah [next year's au pair who will be replacing me], Sebastian, Luke and I made our trek down the Autoroute 6 in the trusty Volvo on Friday, July 30th. Luis and Alexandra had the fortunate task of arriving by train, which takes roughly 2.5 hours and 0% heartache.
The first day of our journey, getting to Lyon, was pretty smooth sailing. Not a lot of traffic congestion on the highways, kids didn't scream much, and pulling into Lyon, we actually got a parking spot for our car right outside the hotel - which basically never happens in France! [To the hotel's credit, they did have a parking garage, but with our car-top carrier, we didn't even come close to fitting.]
We had a good roam around Lyon, and a nice Cote de Veau dinner, and after some profiteroles [for me] and mousse au chocolat [for Sarah], we dropped off a sleeping baby Luke back to Jen at the hotel. Upon recommendations of a friend from high school now living in Lyon, Sarah and I enjoyed a stroll along the river and around the cobbled streets of Vieux Lyon, the old district filled with lovely buildings, cool bars and lounges. The next morning, we took Sebastian for a tour around, ending up at a playground for an hour or so before hitting the market. Jen bought us sausages and cheese, plums, figs and prunes for the picnic-style lunch in the car for the rest of our south-bound journey.
Among the unchecked items from my bucket list, navigating and driving throuhg backroads of French country still remained. Fortunately for me, The Autoroute 7 was at a standstill, what traffic radio 107.7 called a 'journee noire' or level black traveling day... so we elected to navigate the sometimes perilous, but often picturesque small roads through the south of France. We passed through vineyards and fields of sunflowers, and stopped in a couple of small towns along the way to stretch our legs, for Jen to nurse Luke, and to refold the map.
Six hours later, four of those driving, we made it to the house! I can now claim success as a navigator through the French countryside, and check that one off of my bucket list for this year in France. The small hitch though, was that the last half hour of our journey was spent in circles about a block away from our destination, as unfortunately, all of our directions said to turn left, when apparently we actually needed to turn to the right. None of the addresses down there seem to have numbers, so we were desperately searching for one with a green gate and white shutters. However, with Luis and Alexandra waiting patiently in the road to flag us down upon our arrival, we eventually pulled into our very own old stone 'mas', a french farmhouse. The grounds were nicely landscaped, providing nice patches of smooth grass that would allow for games of tag and hide and seek for the next two weeks. To the west of the house was a small orchard, from which we enjoyed tart green plums, small red prunes and sweet peaches. To the east of the house was the swimming pool, in which we spent every morning and afternoon with or without the kiddies. Sarah and I shared a room on the west side, that was apparently originally the place where the pigs were kept! It had since been converted to a nice retreat, where we had a separate entrance [not at all connected to the house accept for sharing a wall], bathroom and beds. With the windows closed it was silent in the morning - a nice anomaly from having lived with toddlers and an infant for a year! We rented the place with a French family, the Aprils, who have three children of their own: a six year-old named Stanislas, a four year-old named Capucine, and a two month-old named Valentine.
I spent most of my time inside in the kitchen, and had the chance to put my cooking skills from the past year and my cooking class to use. Laurence even mentioned that I should set up shop as a traiteur, a caterer/chef, which was a lovely boost to my ego. : )
Sunday, Jen, Sarah, Luke and I ventured to Isle-Sur-la-Sorgue, a small island on the river Sorgue that is famous for its incredible markets and antiques brocantes. We found parts of the town enchanting, but the market was so touristy and the day so oppressively hot, we sought shelter at a riverside cafe under some grapevines and then made for home.
Unfortunately 'home' was plagues by wasps. So much so in fact, that Claude, the burly Provencal father of the owner lumbered on over to check the pH balance and add more anti-wasp chemicals to the pool just about every other day. The wasp problem culminated in a visit from the local pompiers [firefighters] who climbed to the roof and smoked out the three nests they found there. The kids loved the pin-pon of the classic French firetrucks, and after Stan, Sebastian and I had been stung, we were all grateful for the removal of the things.
A welcome retreat at the end of the first week, Sarah and I borrowed the car to travel off of the compound, our term of endearment for the fenced house and yard that we had not left for 6 days. Saturday night we went to Goult, tiny town, population: 900, for a jazz festival featuring a trio by the name of New Orleans that was enjoyable, save the slightly chilled air courtesy of the Mistral winds that blow through Provence from Siberia. [I kid you not, the winds actually are from Siberia...brrr.] Sunday we traveled to Gordes, from where there was a beautiful outlook across the valleys, vineyards and farmlands, a crumbling old chateau, and some lovely cobbled streets that did a number on my sandals and ankles. We sipped iced tea on the veranda of a five star cliff-side hotel, La Bastide, before departing for Bonnieux. Bonnieux was enchanting with its beautiful winding [uphill streets] and great views. We cooled off with a tasty treat in the form of gelati on a shaded terrace. We then went to Oppede le Vieux, where another crumbling castle from the 13th century marks the territory of the bloodthirsty Baron Oppede, who murdered and ransacked much of the land and population of the area.
Monday evening I went with Jen, Luis and all of the kids to the Guignol. Guignol is the traditional french puppet show featuring a hard-up puppet who at first you think is the bad guy, but is apparently the good guy, someone stealing food because they have no other means to live and a happy ending. I didn't catch much throughout, but was at least glad to find that neither did Jen, Luis, nor francophones Francois and Laurence, due to the heavy Provencal accent. [Think Eliza before and after Professor Higgins has finished with her.]
Avignon was a bit of a bummer, one of the towns that is kind of a city, but with no real vibe of its own, so it falls flat into the lump of towns that aren't as cool as Paris. However, Sarah and I went to market day in St. Remy on Wednesday, and perused linens, quilts, baby olive trees, lavender anything and everything, fresh produce and all of the other sweet offerings of a Provencal market. That was a truly wonderful day away from everything in a sweet town with blooming flowers, bubbling fountains and passageways that felt like secret gardens.
Friday we packed back into the car with the intention of missing most of the traffic which would block up the auto-routes, as apparently the entire nation tends to do their road trippin' on Saturdays. It was a good plan, and with the exception of 30 minutes traffic caused by construction on the right lane, we breezed back north and were able to be in Paris, and then at home by nightfall [total: 11 hours in the car, 8 spent driving].
Pulling into Paris, seeing the skyline which included the Eiffel Tower, Sacre Coeur, and Invalides, I realized just how much I am going to miss this beautiful city and the life that I have built here over the last year. I spoke with Becca on the phone that same evening, and she told me how much she missed it here and that sentiment was seconded by Jenna, and probably all of my other Paris girlfriends. So though it will be sad to leave the beauty and fun memories of this year here in Paris, I am so thankful to have been blessed with this opportunity and learning experience.
God has spent this year teaching me humility, servitude, patience and perseverance, love, gentleness, patience, kindness, and how to be a better, more faithful follower of Christ. I am wizened a little bit, cultured I hope, stronger in the face of snobbery, and maybe a tad more fashionable to boot.
Thank you for sticking in there with me, and for listening to me whine, prattle and romanticize.
Jennifer, Sarah [next year's au pair who will be replacing me], Sebastian, Luke and I made our trek down the Autoroute 6 in the trusty Volvo on Friday, July 30th. Luis and Alexandra had the fortunate task of arriving by train, which takes roughly 2.5 hours and 0% heartache.
The first day of our journey, getting to Lyon, was pretty smooth sailing. Not a lot of traffic congestion on the highways, kids didn't scream much, and pulling into Lyon, we actually got a parking spot for our car right outside the hotel - which basically never happens in France! [To the hotel's credit, they did have a parking garage, but with our car-top carrier, we didn't even come close to fitting.]
We had a good roam around Lyon, and a nice Cote de Veau dinner, and after some profiteroles [for me] and mousse au chocolat [for Sarah], we dropped off a sleeping baby Luke back to Jen at the hotel. Upon recommendations of a friend from high school now living in Lyon, Sarah and I enjoyed a stroll along the river and around the cobbled streets of Vieux Lyon, the old district filled with lovely buildings, cool bars and lounges. The next morning, we took Sebastian for a tour around, ending up at a playground for an hour or so before hitting the market. Jen bought us sausages and cheese, plums, figs and prunes for the picnic-style lunch in the car for the rest of our south-bound journey.
Among the unchecked items from my bucket list, navigating and driving throuhg backroads of French country still remained. Fortunately for me, The Autoroute 7 was at a standstill, what traffic radio 107.7 called a 'journee noire' or level black traveling day... so we elected to navigate the sometimes perilous, but often picturesque small roads through the south of France. We passed through vineyards and fields of sunflowers, and stopped in a couple of small towns along the way to stretch our legs, for Jen to nurse Luke, and to refold the map.
Six hours later, four of those driving, we made it to the house! I can now claim success as a navigator through the French countryside, and check that one off of my bucket list for this year in France. The small hitch though, was that the last half hour of our journey was spent in circles about a block away from our destination, as unfortunately, all of our directions said to turn left, when apparently we actually needed to turn to the right. None of the addresses down there seem to have numbers, so we were desperately searching for one with a green gate and white shutters. However, with Luis and Alexandra waiting patiently in the road to flag us down upon our arrival, we eventually pulled into our very own old stone 'mas', a french farmhouse. The grounds were nicely landscaped, providing nice patches of smooth grass that would allow for games of tag and hide and seek for the next two weeks. To the west of the house was a small orchard, from which we enjoyed tart green plums, small red prunes and sweet peaches. To the east of the house was the swimming pool, in which we spent every morning and afternoon with or without the kiddies. Sarah and I shared a room on the west side, that was apparently originally the place where the pigs were kept! It had since been converted to a nice retreat, where we had a separate entrance [not at all connected to the house accept for sharing a wall], bathroom and beds. With the windows closed it was silent in the morning - a nice anomaly from having lived with toddlers and an infant for a year! We rented the place with a French family, the Aprils, who have three children of their own: a six year-old named Stanislas, a four year-old named Capucine, and a two month-old named Valentine.
I spent most of my time inside in the kitchen, and had the chance to put my cooking skills from the past year and my cooking class to use. Laurence even mentioned that I should set up shop as a traiteur, a caterer/chef, which was a lovely boost to my ego. : )
Sunday, Jen, Sarah, Luke and I ventured to Isle-Sur-la-Sorgue, a small island on the river Sorgue that is famous for its incredible markets and antiques brocantes. We found parts of the town enchanting, but the market was so touristy and the day so oppressively hot, we sought shelter at a riverside cafe under some grapevines and then made for home.
Unfortunately 'home' was plagues by wasps. So much so in fact, that Claude, the burly Provencal father of the owner lumbered on over to check the pH balance and add more anti-wasp chemicals to the pool just about every other day. The wasp problem culminated in a visit from the local pompiers [firefighters] who climbed to the roof and smoked out the three nests they found there. The kids loved the pin-pon of the classic French firetrucks, and after Stan, Sebastian and I had been stung, we were all grateful for the removal of the things.
A welcome retreat at the end of the first week, Sarah and I borrowed the car to travel off of the compound, our term of endearment for the fenced house and yard that we had not left for 6 days. Saturday night we went to Goult, tiny town, population: 900, for a jazz festival featuring a trio by the name of New Orleans that was enjoyable, save the slightly chilled air courtesy of the Mistral winds that blow through Provence from Siberia. [I kid you not, the winds actually are from Siberia...brrr.] Sunday we traveled to Gordes, from where there was a beautiful outlook across the valleys, vineyards and farmlands, a crumbling old chateau, and some lovely cobbled streets that did a number on my sandals and ankles. We sipped iced tea on the veranda of a five star cliff-side hotel, La Bastide, before departing for Bonnieux. Bonnieux was enchanting with its beautiful winding [uphill streets] and great views. We cooled off with a tasty treat in the form of gelati on a shaded terrace. We then went to Oppede le Vieux, where another crumbling castle from the 13th century marks the territory of the bloodthirsty Baron Oppede, who murdered and ransacked much of the land and population of the area.
Monday evening I went with Jen, Luis and all of the kids to the Guignol. Guignol is the traditional french puppet show featuring a hard-up puppet who at first you think is the bad guy, but is apparently the good guy, someone stealing food because they have no other means to live and a happy ending. I didn't catch much throughout, but was at least glad to find that neither did Jen, Luis, nor francophones Francois and Laurence, due to the heavy Provencal accent. [Think Eliza before and after Professor Higgins has finished with her.]
Avignon was a bit of a bummer, one of the towns that is kind of a city, but with no real vibe of its own, so it falls flat into the lump of towns that aren't as cool as Paris. However, Sarah and I went to market day in St. Remy on Wednesday, and perused linens, quilts, baby olive trees, lavender anything and everything, fresh produce and all of the other sweet offerings of a Provencal market. That was a truly wonderful day away from everything in a sweet town with blooming flowers, bubbling fountains and passageways that felt like secret gardens.
Friday we packed back into the car with the intention of missing most of the traffic which would block up the auto-routes, as apparently the entire nation tends to do their road trippin' on Saturdays. It was a good plan, and with the exception of 30 minutes traffic caused by construction on the right lane, we breezed back north and were able to be in Paris, and then at home by nightfall [total: 11 hours in the car, 8 spent driving].
Pulling into Paris, seeing the skyline which included the Eiffel Tower, Sacre Coeur, and Invalides, I realized just how much I am going to miss this beautiful city and the life that I have built here over the last year. I spoke with Becca on the phone that same evening, and she told me how much she missed it here and that sentiment was seconded by Jenna, and probably all of my other Paris girlfriends. So though it will be sad to leave the beauty and fun memories of this year here in Paris, I am so thankful to have been blessed with this opportunity and learning experience.
God has spent this year teaching me humility, servitude, patience and perseverance, love, gentleness, patience, kindness, and how to be a better, more faithful follower of Christ. I am wizened a little bit, cultured I hope, stronger in the face of snobbery, and maybe a tad more fashionable to boot.
Thank you for sticking in there with me, and for listening to me whine, prattle and romanticize.
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