Oct 10, 2009

Hamam

n. – sauna
There is a spa just across the street from our apartment that was offering a special for a hamam and gaummage (scrub) for 15 euros. So I thought I would treat myself.

I’ve been to a hamam in Morocco, which was the real deal. You sit in a room filled with hot steam often infused with eucalyptus. It’s so hot and the mentholated smell so strong, you feel as if your lungs are going to explode. Then a woman comes in and scrubs you within an inch of your life. I suppose some people sit in there nude, but I wore my bathing suit, which I thought she might rub right off me.

While it sounds unpleasant, which it was, once it’s finished, you feel cleansed inside and out and your skin is as soft as a newborn baby’s. So I figured what did I have to lose and suspected it would be a slightly more civilized experience in the 7th arrondissement of Paris.

When I arrived, I was shown to a little room with an odd looking machine that looked like something between a tanning bed and an MRI. I realized that was the hamam so it was already looking to be a much different experience. I was told to undress and given a little paper “string” same as in English without the “g.” Then I had to lie on my back in the machine while the technician started to exfoliate my skin. She told me I must not have any “probleme de poids” problems with weight and that my body was practically perfect. I liked her very much. So I happily flipped over and then back again with no sense of self-consciousness, although at one point I feared I may flip right out of the machine itself since it had become slippery with the scrub.

When it was time to start the hamam, there appeared to be choices with regards to what kind of setting, but since I didn’t really understand the differences, I allowed the technician to choose for me. She closed the lid on me just leaving my face out and explaining that I could always push the lid open with my hands if for some reason I felt uncomfortable.

Water started to pour in, which turned to steam and lights around the machine changed from blue to green to orange to pink and back to blue. The machine vibrated which was supposed to act as a mini massage. I was fine while the technician was there now exfoliating my face. We chatted about different regimes for one’s skin. She told me mine was good, but I had to be careful since it was starting to lose its elasticity. Of course there was a she assured me this shouldn’t be a problem since I didn’t have a weight problem because if I suddenly gained and lost a lot of weight, I could risk sagging.

We talked about her own regime to lose weight, which had nothing to do with diet or exercise, but rather sea algae scrubs in the hamam. A good friend of mine who is French once told me, a French woman is more likely to buy a cream she can rub on her body than get a membership to a gym. Apparently it seems to work for them though since for the most part, they’re all in pretty good shape.

It was time for my face mask and with that, the technician left me for the remaining 10 minutes of the treatment. It was the longest 10 minutes of my life. Suddenly being left alone with the lights changing colors, the machine making noise and startling me as it moved from steam to jets of water to vibrating, I started to panic. The blue light especially made me anxious since it reminded me of swimming in a pool at night. I used to be convinced that the pool bottom would open up and a giant sea creature would rise from the depths and eat me. I suppose I have Steven Spielberg to thank for this.

So I was thrilled when it was all over. To thank the technician, who was actually the spa owner, for her compliment about my perfect body (which I assure you is far from it), I bought some products. Don’t get me started on the tipping because since I was once told it wasn’t necessary to tip the owner, I didn’t. And so I made my way back home, slightly rattled, but feeling silkily smooth.

Oct 9, 2009

Nom

n. – name
Chien
n. – dog
Beginning in 1926, French dog breeders were required to name their dogs with a letter that corresponds to the year. So, for example, 2009 is the year of the E. All dogs born this year have to be given a name that starts with that letter.

What’s not clear to me and I have to research further is if the dog owner can then change the name, while keeping the same letter or if the dog comes with a name you have to keep. This rule was established to help simplify the work of dog genealogists, something I’m also not really clear on.

The order of the letters chosen by year follows the same order of the alphabet so next year, it will be the letter F. However, K, Q, W, X, Y and Z have been removed since it was decided that there weren’t enough French names that begin with these letters.

I discovered this amazing piece of information last weekend when we were seated next to two ladies and their dogs in a little café. One had a little wired haired dachshund, the other a little yorkie. Both my husband and I love dogs so we engaged their owners in conversation and ultimately asked about the dogs’ names.

The dachshund was called Ypsilon, which stands for Y in the Greek alphabet, but it was spelled Upsilon since the dog was born in the year of the U. The yorkie was called Violette so obviously, she was a year younger.

And while you can get away with naming your dog after a Greek letter, albeit spelled incorrectly, don’t think you can do the same for your child. There are no fruits or vegetables allowed here. You’re always safe going with Marie for a girl and I’m sure it would come up as the most common. My name, on the other hand, is completely baffling until I explain what it translates to in French.

You see Dawn is an acceptable girl’s name in French, “Aurore,” but in English, it’s downright exotic. So it makes me feel quite special in fact. Of course if I ever wanted to name my dog Dawn, which I wouldn’t because that would be strange, I would have to wait another 19 years. So if we do ever get a dog, I guess we’ll try to make sure it’s in a year with a letter we like. Too bad my husband’s choice of Winston won’t be up for grabs with the loss of the W, but maybe we can lobby for its return. It wouldn’t be any stranger than this system already is!

Gratuite, pourboire

n. – tip
Gratuite is the same as the English word, gratuity. Coming from the word gratitude, it’s something you leave for service you were pleased with. The word TIPS traditionally stood for To Insure Proper Service. Pourboire, literally translated, means “for drink.”

In the US, even though technically it’s at the patron’s discretion how much they want to leave, a tip is still pretty much expected. The only question is whether you leave between 15% and 20% because leaving anything less than that could indicate that you weren’t happy and in some cases will encourage a waiter to come running after you to see what was wrong. As such, doubling the tax only really works fairly if you’re in a state where that would amount to at least 15% of the bill. I think a lot of waiters have been shortchanged since someone suggested that as an easy calculation.

You’re not supposed to tip on tax or alcohol on a restaurant bill, but try doing the calculation like that and you’ll feel like your skimping. Plus the server is never going to bring back the tip and say, this it too much – it looks like you tipped on top of the tax and alcohol. And of course you’re expected to tip a bartender so why not tip on the alcohol that’s brought with your meal? So I find tipping time consuming and even stressful.

Tipping taxis in New York is no better. You’re always going to end up rounding up and sometimes it feels like you’re giving too much proportionately to what the ride cost. But be careful not to skimp with the drivers because they will yell at you or at the least glare at you if you ask for change that they think should rightfully be theirs to keep.

In France, service is “compris” or included. This counts for restaurants and taxis as well as services such as hair salons, spas, etc. So here it is simple – in theory. You can walk away from a perfectly good, well served lunch or dinner without leaving an extra centime. However, don’t be fooled into thinking that people still won’t accept a little something extra. And this is where it gets complicated.

If you decide the service was exceptional, you can leave one or two euros for a more casual spot – never less than one though and maybe five if you’re somewhere more upscale. In any case, these amounts are generally closer to a 5 or 10% gratuity that’s appreciated just as much, but make me feel like a cheapskate at times. Of course, there's little to no recourse if the meal is bad or the server is rude. He gets his tip either way.

A taxi driver will genuinely thank you if you tell him to keep the change and I’m talking about literally just the change. So if a ride is 15 euros and 60 cents, you give him a 20 euro bill and just ask for 3 euros back, you will get a “merci.” This isn’t to say if you told him to keep the 20, you wouldn’t get an even bigger merci.

It’s the same rule of thumb for hairdressers or masseuses, but if you ask how much is appropriate to leave, they absolutely won’t tell you. Obviously, I never ask the person directly, but will try to find out from someone else in the salon, for example. The first response will be “c’est compris,” it’s included. But this is inevitably followed by “c’est comme vous voulez,” “it’s as you want.” What makes it even more awkward to me is that the smallest bill denomination is five euros. So even a two-euro tip, which can be perfectly appropriate seems cheap since you’re handing over a coin.

I’ve never been good at haggling or bartering. If I want something, I just want someone to tell me how much it costs and I will pay for it. So with tipping, I don’t want someone to tell me it’s up to me – I just want them to tell me how much to leave - for that, I would be grateful.

Oct 2, 2009

Se faire de nouveaux amis

exp. – making new friends
When moving to a new city, there’s an even bigger opportunity to make new friends since everything including them, is new. In Paris, it’s easy to get to know the local merchants since you frequent their shops on a regular basis. We know the newsstand vendor near our office by name, Jacques. And we often chat about the latest topics that grace the cover of our favourite magazines or share opinions on the latest soccer scores when my husband picks up the sports-paper, L’Equipe.

Near our apartment, we almost always go to the same friendly baker just down the street. There’s one just across the street that’s even closer, but since the ladies who run it aren’t as friendly, “ca n’est pas le peine,” it’s not worth it. The beauty of having so many choices in our neighbourhood is being able to find quality goods and service with a smile.

Not long ago I went to our baker to buy a quiche for the following day. I wanted her to just hold one for me to pick up later since I was on my way out. I think she was confused why I wouldn’t wait and buy it fresh the following day, but I didn’t want to tell her I was too lazy to get up early to collect it. So to avoid any further confusion, I decided to take it back upstairs to the apartment before heading out again. I forgot to ask her if I should keep it in the fridge or not so I ran back again on my back out.

She then realized how close I lived and said she lived on the same street, too, just above the bakery in fact. “On peut prendre un verre,” we should have a drink sometime she said, to which I replied “avec plaisir!” with pleasure! And then not sure if I should set the date there and then or not, I just kept repeating “avec plaisir” and left.

Each time I walked by the bakery after that or even went in, I thought about our date and how to make the next move. We would exchange the usual warm greetings, she asked how the quiche was and told my husband that we were going to meet for drinks at some point. I felt like the ball was in my court since she is after all trapped behind the bakery counter and I’m the one free to come in and go out. So finally one day I went in and asked if she was free the following Monday since that’s her day off and I thought we could meet earlier since the rest of the week she has to wait until after the shop is closed.

We exchanged phone numbers, set the time and I was back on my way, pleased with myself for following through. The Monday came and I got a call from her explaining she had to cancel because something had come up. “Pas de probleme, une autre fois,” no problem, another time, I said, to which she responded “avec plaisir!”

All of this coincided with my husband taking a break from bread. While he has no weight problems, he does sometimes have stomach problems and the doctor wanted him to experiment with eliminating certain food groups to see if that might help. I felt badly because I didn’t want the baker to think I was upset about the cancelled date since I wasn’t coming to see her any more. Each time I walked by the shop to wave at her though she was either busy or in the back.

Finally last night, we stopped in on the way home from work. My husband was treating himself to some pate, which requires bread so there we were in front of our friendly baker. She apologized again for cancelling and again, I said we could do it another time. She said she had wondered why she hadn’t seen us so I felt relieved to give her the explanation. And I couldn’t help observe that making friends, just like dating, can have its awkward moments. But while I’m happy to have my dating days behind me, I’m thoroughly enjoying making new friends here and realize that new friendships are some of the many wonderful gifts a new city has to offer.

Chambres de bonne

n. – maid’s rooms
The top floors of virtually all the old apartment buildings in Paris are made up of small rooms that once housed the maids. The British have their own system referring to them as the servant’s quarters. In any event, it’s a concept that’s a bit dated to say the least.

Here the chambres de bonne, despite their often spectacular views for those with windows large enough to look out of, are tiny rooms sometimes only large enough to fit a bed. Because they’re often located directly under the eaves, they can be stiflingly hot in the summer and freezing in the winter. In other words, they were not built as places of comfort, but rather simply created to function as rudimentary shelter for the staff.

When I think of the name chambre de bonne, I can’t help thinking it would be a great title and topic for a horror movie with the subtitle – “The Maid’s Room” said in that ominous horror movie trailer voice. Both the apartments we’ve lived in have them. Sometimes owners will incorporate them into their own larger apartments. Our neighbours here use theirs as their bedroom. But often times they are rented out separately mostly to students because they’re the only ones with the energy to climb the six, seven or eight flights of stairs depending on the height of the buildings. You see the chambres de bonne usually can’t be accessed by the elevator in buildings that have one, as they have their own separate stairwell access. This is why most of the apartments have a service door usually located in the kitchen where the maids could once go in and out.

Our service door was walled over when our landlord renovated. So if I wanted to access the chambres de bonne, I would have to go down to the ground floor and take the stairs all the way back up to the 8th floor where they are located just above us. Fortunately, the ones above us are not directly overhead so we still have the sense of being on the top floor ourselves.

I went up to explore the chambres de bonne in our last building, which was a mistake. The back stairs were dimply lit, dirty and frankly quite scary. When I reached the top, it reminded me of something out of The Shining with a long hallway and lots of doors. Some people have combined chambres de bonne allowing for more space and even the ability to rig plumbing etc. But for the ones that remain only as big as a bed, there is a shared bathroom in the hallway.

It’s illegal to rent out something under 6 square meters or roughly 60 square feet (with good reason!), but many can be about that size and a blind eye is turned. So while some of them might be creepy, they are character building and I suppose it affords the luxury of living in Paris to those who can’t pay the steep rents. Also again for most, there is a view over Paris that is unbeatable. So that is well deserved for all the flights of stairs, the heat, the cold and the cramped space because a view over Paris can make one forget many a hardship. I would take a chambre de bonne with a view over a larger apartment with none. But luckily for me, my student days are over so that’s a choice I no longer have to make.