Aug 12, 2009

Bibliotheque

n. – library
Librarie
n. – bookstore
I was reading recently about a movie star’s son who is facing jail time for dealing drugs. His girlfriend is now also facing jail time for trying to smuggle drugs into him while under house arrest – foolish, perhaps - desperate, definitely. I drew a parallel from this to my effort to secure fresh orange juice this morning in the sense that not being able to get what I wanted started to make me feel like a junkie in need of a fix.

I’ve felt the same way when not able to access the internet immediately as we’ve all grown so accustomed to doing. It’s a bit pathetic to admit, but true. There is a similar feeling of desperation when something you love is discontinued. This happened once with a perfume of mine and I became so obsessed that I resorted to searching on Ebay where I was overjoyed to find seven bottles left at half the price. Of course, the scent had gone off because they had probably been sitting on a shelf somewhere for years so it was all for naught.

I love searching for things that are hard to find. A friend recently asked me to secure an obscure out of print French book for him, which I thought would be easy given that I was in Paris, the land of old book sellers. I’ve been asking around, but to no avail. I visited one particularly musty old bookstore in the Latin Quarter literally exploding with inventory. The owner sat behind a small desk underneath a spiral staircase that let to even more books. When I asked him about the book in question, he answered immediately that he didn’t have a copy as if he actually knew each and every one of the thousands of books he had in his possession. That impressed me to no end.

So patience and a little luck will see me through my search. This is the sort of winning combination that can also be applied to my continuing battle with service challenged eating spots. Today at lunch, we made the mistake of asking for a table outside. We were there first inside the restaurant, but our request needed to be directed to the waiter outside and by the time we got to him, another couple had made their way in front of us and secured the last table in the shade. We took the last one left in the sun, but it wasn’t long before I realized my arm was burning so when I saw two tables next to each other open up in the shade, I asked the waiter if we could move.

“Ca va futre un bordel pas possible!” he cried. “Bordel,” similar to bordello or whorehouse when literally translated, isn’t really a very polite expression. It’s more like shit storm. “Bazar” would be more appropriate to indicate something that’s a complete mess or in a total state of chaos. In any case, I didn’t see how moving to a shaded table could create "an impossible shit storm." He then proceeded to explain that they needed to keep those two tables open for a party of four – that is until another couple came along and sat down!

At this point, my husband pointed out there wasn’t really any point in making a fuss. We knew the answer would be something along the lines of “If you don’t like it, you can leave” and we were hungry. You see there’s very little recourse here for bad service since the tip is included in the bill. So we muddled through and spitefully kept the 60 cents of change we got back after paying. They make really good pizzas, but I will have to condition myself the next time I have a craving and find an alternative.

Jus d’orange pressée

n. – fresh squeezed orange juice
We recently bought a juicer. It’s a relatively simple model, but effective. It’s not the speediest process so given my tardiness most weekday mornings, it’s reserved primarily for the weekends. So today I decided I would pick up a fresh orange juice on my way into the office.

There is a place near our garage called Noon. I suppose it’s called that because noon is when it opens. So that was no good. There’s another place not far from the office that serves all sorts of fresh juices, but the machine was broken. There is yet another place called Le Paradis du Fruit, “Paradise of the Fruit,” but they were also closed.

After a certain point when one can’t satisfy a craving one becomes a little desperate. I was now contemplating the practicality of going back home. I tried the super market, no dice, then a place called Jour, “Day,” closed too which made no sense unless they’re on vacation. Finally, it was Starbucks, the American institution and maker of giant coffees that saved my day. A fresh orange juice never tasted so good – merci!

Aug 11, 2009

Août

n. – August
Fermeture Annuelle
n. – annual closing
Tranquil
adj. – tranquil, quiet, calm, dead
August in Paris is when most of the French are away on vacation leaving it much quieter for the tourists. One hears less French and more English, Italian and Spanish spoken. Even the local bums I pass by on my way to work seem to have left for some time off. Stores literally close down, some for the entire month for their “fermeture annuelle” or annual closing. My husband and I took a week off to go back to New York and catch up with family and friends. I was struck by the differences in so many things now that I have adjusted to life in France. One thing is the difference in sizes. My first large cappuccino in the US was big enough to swim in!

There is also a marked difference in customer service. While in France, you have to earn the respect of the merchant, in the US, the client is still king. The economy is struggling to get back on its feet, yet I felt a sense of effort as the country tries to move forward once more. In France, there is more of an effort to hold on to age old traditions. This is merely an observation on both cultures, not a judgement on either.

My mother had a big birthday while we were in New York which we celebrated with lots of surprises and visits to her favourite places. Like most mothers, she is thrilled to be with family and both my husband and I are fortunate because we all get along with our respective in-laws. In French, the word for in-laws is “belle famille” or pretty family literally translated. “Belle mere” is mother-in-law, or pretty mother, “beau père,” father-in-law or handsome father, etc. The same expressions also apply to step-parents or siblings. I’m not sure how you distinguish other than just to know if you’re referring to your step brother or brother-in-law, the latter of my own who is in fact also handsome so the description fits well.

I’m not sure what the word for godparents is, but I know that godfather is “parrain” and godmother is “marraine.” I was just recently bestowed the honour of becoming a godmother myself. I am tickled pink and over the moon about it I might add. My own godmother who passed on years ago was an amazing woman filled with compassion, strength and grace. So I have a lot to live up to.

These qualities along with patience are important in navigating life anywhere and the latter especially so in Paris. I have grown remarkably comfortable with my life here and felt right at home yesterday afternoon when visiting a museum restaurant after taking in an exhibit with my husband. He explained to the hostess as she seated us that we would just be having coffee since it was well after lunch time. After waiting for almost 20 minutes for someone to take our order, we called her over and asked if someone could help us and also if I could take a look at the menu. “Mais vous prenez seulement un café?!” she barked at me, “But you’re only having coffee?!” I defensively replied that I may want a dessert and then wondered why I had to justify myself to her. No more giant coffees and client as king – welcome back.