Signing out

We’ve been back in San Francisco three weeks now, and of course with constant comparisons to Paris. An American we met in France said, “You know what the problem with the French is – they expect everyone to have a decent quality of life!” I was stunned that someone would criticize a country that attempts to provide good food, decent housing, and time off to enjoy their families and hobbies to every one of its citizens. I keep thinking about this now that I’m back in the U.S., and how important it is to try to maintain this French pursuit in our everyday. We have had many “French-style” quality of life days since we’ve been back, and for this I have to thank our lifestyle, Paul’s success and support of his fans, and the American that opened my eyes to what I really love about Paris – the quality of life that everyone seems to be enjoying!

That said, I want to sign out of the “Joen in Paris” blogspot with a final posting of our last week in Paris highlights…

I finally made it out to the La Defense area on the west outskirts of central Paris. Concepted and begun in the 60s, it is like a back to the future retro-mod sci-fi downtown business district area. The Grande Arche as the focus, the entire area is amazing for the architecture and general all around hub-bub keeping the area vibrant on a sunny workday afternoon. I had seen plenty of pictures of the arch before, and as I often say about the Grand Canyon, I’d know it anywhere. But to be there at the foot of the arch, looking up 350 feet to it’s top – the amazement can only be experienced live and in person. Pictures truly do not do it justice. I am going to include one here, but you’ll have to look really closely to see the tiny ant-sized people milling around underneath it to get an idea of how grand it really is. The sculpture garden along the esplanade leading up to the giant sci-fi plaza is amazing, as is looking down the major axis back towards the Arc de Triomphe and the Champs-Elysees – all in a tidy line cutting through the right bank of Paris. It was fun, too, to see so many handsome Frenchmen in their trim tailored suits with their narrow-legged pants and pointy leather shoes. Too bad I didn’t get any pictures of them!

We ate well while in France. One of Paul’s art buyers recommended a sweet little restaurant in Montemarte, La Part des Anges. Her brother worked as a chef in Paris for a while and claimed it was the best food for the atmosphere and price in all of Paris. We tried it our second week, then returned for our last dinner before our departure to San Francisco. I tried boudin noir (blood sausage) for my first time and fell in love. France is another place, like Thailand, where one can order anything and it will be good. So of four choices on the prix fixe menu, I boldly ordered the one which I had no idea what it was. And talk about my delight to find it so rich and delicious. Honestly, I didn’t know exactly what it was until we got home and I looked it up on the Internet. We had it again when we visited Racines, a lovely organic wine bar tucked into the picturesque Passage des Panoramas Arcade, originally built in 1799 (and yes, still stands today). Racines is run by the owner/chef Pierre who is passionate about his food and wine and is only open M-F so he can spend the entire weekend with his wife and three children. You can see additional photos and read more about Racines by the French photographer and blogger Bertrand Celce here: http://www.wineterroirs.com/2008/04/racines.html

On our walks back to our neighborhood, we always knew we were getting close when we’d pass the large and beautiful Porte Saint-Martin arch. So lovely and innocuous, it has marked the entrance into the center of Paris since 1674. One of out last nights in Paris we went to dinner with our French host’s brother, Alexandre. Smart and curious and infatiguably patient with our Paris questions and our rapid-fire English, we chose a pan-French restaurant in the touristy area of the 5th Arr. so that we could sample any of a number of traditional French dishes. After dinner, we waited in line on the Ile St. Louis for ice cream, then ate it along side the Seine. Alexandre graciously walked us all the way home with a stop in Beauborg for a glass of wine and water. We decided to walk up rue St. Denis to catch a glimpse of all the prostitutes that generally line the street. It must have been an especially good night, for we didn’t see a one all the way home. Alex hopped on one of the Velib communal bikes at a “station” across from our apartment at 1:30a.m. and pedaled home.

We made it out to the famous Parisian flea market, the Marches aux Puces. Blocks and blocks of housewares and cheap clothes and perfume, we spent the most time in the covered two-story antique market. It was quite expensive, but worth the handful of euros we spent of a few irreplaceable trinkets. P found an old toy Citroen car, and we picked up a handful of old postcards. Most of the stone-faced proprietors couldn’t be bothered with haggling – we could either pay their steep price or be gone. We had a rejuvenating snack of orange Fanta and a panini half-way through, then a coffee as we walked all the way home. I don’t know why I find this so funny, but the name of the market translates literally to “Markets with Fleas”. Ah, but of course!

Returning with many fond memories is easy to do. And some of the fondest will be of our sunset strolls and evening wine along the Canal St. Martin. One of our last nights of 5 Euro rotisserie chicken, we packed a bottle of wine and some Nutella and sweet biscuits to enjoy after dinner wine and dessert canal-side. We watched the sun set and the night’s lights come to life, dancing across the surface of the water. There were dozens – perhaps hundreds – of people out recreating, eating and drinking along the quay and tucked into every seat in the cafes and bistros as far as the eye could see. We enjoyed the warm air, the people watching, took dozens of photos, and found a great bookstore that we returned to the next day, Artazart (http://www.artazart.com/fr/). We also had an incredible lunch at the Hotel du Nord, recommended by Sebastien. (Which also has a most entertaining website: http://www.hoteldunord.org -- click on the U.K. flag shoes for the English version).

We had such an incredible time that all we can do is say how truly terrible it all was. When asked how our time in Paris was, we say, “Terrible, just terrible.” And everyone seems to understand that spending in month in Paris is just that: so great that one can only attempt to diffuse the envy with such a bold and sarcastic comment. We owe buckets of thanks to our gracious European hosts: Magali and Sebastien for their lovely apartment, Alexandre for an evening of dinner and walking, and huge hugs to Sole and Cecilia for introducing us to Italy, most specifically Rome. Our lives are truly charmed by the special people that grace it.

We Will Always Have Paris

It is 6:55 a.m., we're sitting in the kitchen, having just finished our last Parisian breakfast of salmon on toast, coffee, blood-orange juice and Nutella bread. We're leaving for the airport in 30 minutes...

P and I have this saying, that it's always best to leave wanting more. Leave on a high note, and you'll always have a good feeling about a place. We're sad to go, our month here has been wonderful.

But we know we'll return someday, because we'll always have Paris...

Place des Voges

We have returned from our week in Rome, happy to be back “home” in Paris. I am sitting on a bench in the tree-lined Place des Voges, where the grass is filled with young Parisians picnicking, and lazing about in the sun. Paris is turning on the charm for us, welcoming us back with a bright sunny day -- and it certainly feels nice to be back in such an elegant and civilized city. After an entire week of being together and being surrounded by others – as gracious as hosts they might be – we have agreed to take the afternoon to ourselves, by ourselves, and get lost on our own, doing whatever we want. And it turns out (for now) we both want to be in the same place, doing our own thing – I am writing, computer in my lap, with the park and the grass and the 17th century rose-colored buildings (where Victor Hugo once lived) encircling the square in my view every time I look up. And P, of course, is doing some sketching of the picnickers.

There’s a group of young schoolchildren – perhaps around 8 or 9 years old – who keep assembling themselves into groups of about ten and trying to take pictures. I hear a tiny voice yelling, “Un, deux, trois!” again and again, with a few commands in between telling her cohorts to be still, or come closer together. There is a little bouncing around, but overall the kids are well behaved, and seem to be used to having their entire class in the park for a picnic.

We were in the park for a few glorious, warm-sunny hours before relocating to a café for an espresso and crème brûlée. Again, I wrote and P drew. Sounds like a pattern forming, doesn’t it? After a few hours at the café, we strolled along through the Marais district. Most of you have seen the drawing and limited edition print P made of Paris – it is from this particular ancient neighborhood: tiny curving streets with cafés, restaurants, high-end boutiques, Jewish delis, gay bars, and some of the best gelato in the world, Amarino. No picture I take could do justice to how P captured it in his drawing. On this particular sultry day, I was lured into and out of the shops, while P balanced himself on a parking balustrade and did yet another drawing. As evening set in, we got take away French-style pizza (which was considerably better than a lot of the street pizza we got in Italy) and ate it sitting at a table, perched in the open-air window seat of a bar. We really had considered just having one glass of wine before going to the market to go home and cook dinner. But after two glasses of wine – and the weather was gorgeous, I tell you – we instead went to Les Halles and wandered around the pedestrian open-air market until we found the perfect sidewalk table, and watched the last bits of golden-orange sun reflected off the 17th century buildings fade over another few glasses of wine and half a baked chicken. We truly are powerless to a beautiful evening!

The day following was equally as delightful, but the heat kept us moving at a slower pace. After exploring the tiny village-feeling neighborhood of Butte-aux-Cailles and eating the Plat du Jour of Beef Bourguignon (delicious melt-in-your mouth traditional French pot roast) at a cooperatively owned restaurant (followed by coffees and homemade chocolate cake!) we slowly walked our way up to a the charming Rue Mouffetard, a pedestrian “market street” lined with butcheries, and cheeses shops and flower stalls, and clothing stores, and (of course) cafés , where we sat in a children’s park (the only shaded benches around to rest on) and marveled at the "Lord of the Flies" division of power wrestled amongst the kids under 6 years old on the playground.

The evening, yet again, was stupendous – perfect temperature, clear blue sky turning indigo as the sun set, and golden-peach light bouncing off the buildings. As usual, we caught the sunset over the River Seine and couldn’t help but to take a handful of amazing shots of Notre Dame cathedral. I know it’s one of those iconic images that almost seems cheesy to photograph. But the light! And the blue sky, oh my! And to think that it was built in 1250, towering up to over 200 feet. It is impressive, even if a common tourist site. Again the beautiful night sang us its siren song, so we went for pizza, sitting in the plaza surrounding the Fountain des Innocents (built in 1549, on the site of a children’s cemetery, thus the name).

Yesterday was a “work” day for P – fans of his who currently split their time between Paris and San Francisco requested to have their portraits done while we were in town. We met them at a café near their apartment on the tiny little island in the middle of the Seine called Ile St. Louis. After their portraits were complete, they invited us up to their apartment (and what good San Franciscan would refuse an offer to nosily see someone’s home?) for a glass of wine. They have a beautiful modernized 17th century apartment on the 5th floor of a narrow-winding staircased walk-up. We stood on their step-out balcony, sipping our wine and watching the people strolling through the adorable village streets six stories below. After we parted company, we felt a celebration of a successful work day was in order, so we found our way to La Perla, a Mexican (!) restaurant we had passed before, and over the next few hours, accidentally order five Patron Silver margaritas between us. We ordered dinner too, but the French portions (tiny little burritos and two spoonfuls of salsa that came the with handful of chips) was paltry compared to the enormous amount of food shoveled into our faces in an American Mexican joint! The walk home was necessary, happy and delightful, as we passed through the Marais, standing in line behind about 30 people at 11 o'clock at night, waiting our turn for an Amarino gelato to slurp down on the walk home.

And finally, today (Friday) was another beautiful spring day. It was warm, but overcast, which does not make a good day for photos, but a wonderful day for walking. We spent most of the afternoon in the 7th Arr. having visited a gallery that represents the amazing French artist, J.J. Sempé. We popped into a number of other great shops, including Deyrolle, an amazing entomology/zoology/curiosity showroom, with hundreds of bugs and dozens of stuffed and mounted animals (tigers, deer, goats, birds) for sale. They also have a vast collection of shells and botanical and biology charts and posters – we must have said, “Oh my god, look at THIS!” fifty times or more. I decided that I had to buy this beautiful hand-painted looking shell for my mother-in-law (she collects fishy and shelly and other water-themed items for their lake house). In my best possible French (not knowing the word for shell) I asked the gentleman who worked there, “Excuse me, sir, please, I would like to buy this thing from the sea, there.” He gave me a warm smile, and giggled, and said that at least my French was better than his English. And immediately went to the display of shells and pulled out the tray of the ones I was interested in, so me and P could choose the exact one we wanted. (For you Adam Gopnik “Paris to the Moon” fans, this is the neighborhood where he lived, captured in the pages of his memoir. And this particular store is where he and his son would while away the afternoons).

We strolled along the streets of the 7th, stopping at a café (of course, you see it’s one of our daily pleasures at this point) then making our way to the grand esplanade leading into the Hotel des Invalides, where we stopped to snack on the chicken pastry and apple turnover we had carried with us from the bakery this morning, before continuing on to see yet another “market” street, Rue Cler. A rarity for us, we took the metro back to our neighborhood, stopping to buy a delicious 5 euro rotisserie chicken. We ate it with sautéed carrots, zuccini, green pepper, onions and garlic with a side of pesto noodles. Since then, I’ve been sitting on the terrace, writing, sipping wine… another perfect day in Paris.

In Rome You Are Never Alone

We we're incredibly well hosted in Rome by our friend Sole. We met her when she was staying in San Francisco last summer, having swapped her lovely Roman apartment for two months so that she and her son Martino could visit the Bay Area. She found P's book in City Lights and fell in love with his work. She found that he was having a show, visited the gallery a few times, then begged the owner to give Paul her number. And now we're staying at her apartment (while she stays at a friends nearby). Voila - you've got to love life!


Though we just got back last night, we are still processing our Roman holiday. Granted, we were incredibly well hosted by our friend Sole, but (as most of you are well aware) P and I tend to prefer to be more autonomous. We walked amongst all the ancient sites – the Coliseum, the Roman Forum, Circus Maximus – as well as having a visit to all the “things” to be seen in Rome: the Spanish Steps, Trevi Fountain, the Pantheon and Piazza Navona. Many days were spent similarly – walking around ruins, stopping into one of the many piazzas (neighborhood squares) for coffees and people watching, and writing/and or drawing. As usual, my favorite spots are those where locals hang out, and are less touristic. One of my favorite squares was the Piazza Madonna dei Monti (and not just because of the name). In a tiny piazza just off the main road towards the coliseum, you find a local neighborhood with a group of old men gathered and talking by the central fountain, a young boy and his father kicking a soccer ball, and a few cafés sprinkled around, overlooking the square. We wandered around the streets, popping into a few boutiques. Sole and I each bought a pair of earrings from her favorite shop – the proprietor's brother makes them all by hand (I was in dire need of earrings since in my frantic dash to finish packing, I had left all of my jewelry behind). After a visit to Sole’s friend Claudia’s incredible terrace overlooking the Piazza Madonna dei Monti and the nearby Roman rooftops, we went to the “Ghetto”, the Jewish quarter. We popped into a tiny nearly-private piazza where we felt like we had our own private Rome with a quaint view over the Teatro Marcello ruins. Sole’s sweet friend – and our new compadre – Cecilia joined us, for a fancy late-lunch snack of fresh mozzarella, prosciutto, bread and a glass of wine at a beautiful little enoteca (wine bar) called Roscioli, then a coffee in a little piazza where P drew and Ceci and I chatted. We ended this particular evening with a stroll through a quaint little ancient neighborhood, Trastevere, sipping a glass of Chianti in the main piazza, then sharing a slice of Roman pizza (thick and simple foccacia-style bread, sauce and cheese) sitting on some stairs and watching the throngs cross the Ponte Sisto bridge, to come revel in this hot Friday night neighborhood. P and I decided to walk all the way home, stopping by the ever-popular Piazza Navona for an ice cream to enjoy on our way home. It took us about an hour to walk from the south-side of Rome’s Historic Center to Sole’s in the northern “suburbs” above the beautiful park, the Villa Borghese. It was oddly quiet as we walked back through Rome - especially since the streets and monuments and parks are generally so packed with people! Seriously, in Rome, you are never alone!

As most of you would agree, time passes so fast anymore. Time slowed down in Rome, to about a third of the normal pace, and the five full days in Rome somehow felt more like ten. We saw everything we wanted to see, plus spent time in the park, at cafés, and in the Modern Art Museum. Sole hosted a lovely dinner Saturday for eight on her incredible terrace, where we chatted with her brother and our friend Ceci until after 1 a.m. (Sole left her own dinner party at 11p.m., to which her friend responded to my confusion, “Welcome to Rome!”) We were taken and dropped off here and there by Sole in her cute little Mini, as well as being joined here and there by her friends. Sole took good care of us, and boy she fed us well! From the perfect snacks she picked up for the apartment (blood-orange juice, apricot jam, proscuitto and cheese and tasty bread) to a fine lunch at TreeBar in the park and an amazing typically Roman raw seafood meal: carpaccio-thin slices of octopus; squid salad; split-open raw shrimp that went down like fresh sweet caramels; spiced lobster; and an asparagus octopus cream sauce over spaghetti noodles as the second course. Often we'd wake up to cornetti (Italian-style croissants) awaiting us in the kitchen in the morning, and eat them on the terrace with coffee. And yesterday, before heading to the airport, we had lunch in a lovely semi-private restaurant with plates and plates of veggies, pasta, salads, beans, and meats in a casual “all you can eat” buffet, and then Sole got amazing little cream-cup desserts for us to have with one last coffee at her place, then sent us packing with breaded and fried rice-mozzarella balls for the plane! Sweet Ceci met us at the train station, having already bought our tickets to get us to the airport. She saw us to our platform, and waved good-bye as we jammed in the with the dozens of others cramming into the one tiny door to get on the train, to get to the airport - ah, Italy!

Rome has an ease and casualness to it that took some getting used to and in general, the Romans were warm and welcoming, and didn’t care much (in the good way) who we were or where we were from. Aside from the throngs of tourists that pack the streets in the historic center, it is an easy city to be in. The Romans themselves kept claiming how provincial and somewhat boring Rome tends to be (aside from dining with friends) and now that we’ve returned to incredible cosmopolitan Paris, I see even more what they mean. Sadly we have only 9 days left in Paris, but take full advantage of them, we will!

Ah, it's the little things

We've been here almost two weeks now, and the time has been blissful. Everywhere you look, and look close, it's the little things that makes Paris so charming. The other day (too many days have passed now to either number them, or refer to them by which precise day it was) after a morning of rain, we took an afternoon walk through the magical Pere Lechaise cemetery. On the way there, delighted as always to be walking the streets of Paris, we headed in a direction we hadn't before. Though it is still Paris, it's always fun to see a section we had yet to explore. With wide smiles and a spring in our step, we had just uttered the words, "Ah, it's the little things that make this place so special" and we looked up to see pink snow floating down to the sidewalk, and in little pink piles tucked into the corner of steps in a plaza. We stopped to revel in the magic of pink snow, then saw that the name of the plaza was "Place Albert Camus"!

The cemetery visit was a wonderful, quiet respite from the urban hub-bub. P even took some time to do a drawing of Oscar Wilde's tomb (it is the same cemetery where Jim Morrison is buried) and after our afternoon in the lush, beautiful park-like Pere Lechaise, we stopped along the rue La Rocquette for yet another perfect coffee. Our walk home got a little wet, but quickening our step was all that was needed to not get drenched. We got home, changed into more dinner appropriate clothes, and headed to Montmartre for a lovely, cozy dinner.

Saturday we went to a local soccer match - Paris St. Germain is the home team. It was a rivoting game - we won! - and we had a lovely nice walk through a few outter arrondissements on a gloriously warm and clear night.

The weather forecast for the next week is cloudy and rainy - but fortunately we're heading to Rome for a week! So next missive will be from Paul's homeland - Italy!

Long walks

Paris is a circular city, bisected by the River Siene across the middle. Neighborhoods (called Arrondissements) are numbered, starting in the center and spiraling outward and around itself, like a snail’s shell, crossing back and forth across the river as the numbers increase.

This suits the city well, for nothing is linear really, but really a set of relationships and relativity. For example, Paul and I took the metro south across town, to the Left Bank (the south side of the river) to find an English language bookstore one day, and to eat a proper American breakfast (eggs, bacon, toast, pancakes, and a bottomless cup-o-joe) the next. We pop up out of the subway into the 6th Arr., and easily while away the afternoon wandering further southward and westward, down quaint little streets, along grand boulevards, into the beautiful Luxembourg Gardens until deciding to start working our way homeward, northbound. Due to the higglety-piggley direction of the streets, one can never stay on a direct cardinal direction for more than a block or two, before veering slightly left or slightly right, and eventually wending your way back in the direction of your destination. Walking from the 5th Arr., we passed through the 4th, the 1st, and the 2nd before finally making back into the 10th to our apartment.

All this to say, that by the very nature of the Paris street structure, all walks are circuitous routes – which is exactly our favorite kind, when we’re here to walk and talk and to take in the city as we stroll along!

It’s been a little gray and rainy, but an April rain in Paris – who’s going to complain? It’s made for some incredibly dramatic skies, and it has afforded us some further justified luxury of staying in to read and write (“Oh look, it’s going to rain. Perhaps we should stay in our pajamas all day”) and also an inspiration to get out of the apartment and see the city, fresh after a rain has passed (“Oh my, look at that blue sky, let’s go for a walk”). Truth is, I actually prefer a faintly gray day for walking around. The air is still, often the temperature has been just right, and I can take in a broader view of the city without the brim of my sun hat truncating what I see as we walk along. On most of our long walk days, the sky has vacillated between gray and blue, giving us a nice change of atmosphere every few hours. We have gotten lucky to see the sun set over Paris almost every evening, the long shadows and coral-colored sky warming the gray stone buildings to a golden hue, as the twinkling of the city of lights comes to life.

The long walks invariably end with food, in some capacity, come evening. Between our body clocks being slow to adjust (if we get up before noon, we call it “early”) and the further north latitude of Paris already having noticeably longer days (it doesn’t get dark until after 9pm) we generally aren’t hungry for dinner until around 10pm. With our schedule wide open and whim our constant companion, we either find a nice brasserie to be served sidewalk-side, or go to the market for meat, cheese and wine. The thing about Paris is that at any given moment, when one feels inclined to stop or shop for food, there are not just a few options, but dozens of choices within eye-shot. But how does one choose? The decision cannot be overthought, but atmosphere, crowd, and available tables are all sensed in one passing glance across the front of the bistro. If all signs point to “yes”, then the last, and possibly most important, consideration is what will we be looking at while enjoying our food, wine and conversation. Fortuitously, Saturday night my curiosity to finally see the infamous inside-out Pompidou Centre up close took us into the Beaubourg pedestrian district. After marveling at the modern architecture, and all the people just hanging out in the public square, we found ourselves a perfect sidewalk table, and paired it with a perfect bottle of wine, skewered steak, ratatouille and a selection of delectable soft French cheese. The lightly wine-buzzed walk home at 12:30am went quickly and blissfully.

As always, Paris is beautiful

Paris is a beautiful city. When I am not here, I have a profound memory of her beauty and I long to return, yet the actual delight of walking her streets is fresh and new every time I return. Yes, part of the allure is the absolute Paris of it all: the elaborate iron-worked railings stitched across gray-stone fronts, the ruddy-orange chimney pipes emanating from every ubiquitous Mansard roof-topped building, and the slightly curving, non-grid spoke pattern streets, where rarely one street will cross another, but usually three of four streets come together at once, with cars, buses, taxis, motor-scooters, bicyclists and pedestrians vying for their chance to boldly dance across the intersection.

P and I have come here for a month to practice relaxing, and to sketch a plan for our next interests. A clearing we have claimed, to insert our "what next". We are staying at Chez Dupuis, our dear friend’s apartment in the culturally diverse 10th Arrondissement. We arrived mid-day, our only goal to stay awake until nightfall, to attempt to baffle the circadian-dominated body clock and escape a strong bout of jetlag. After a long walk through our neighborhood, strolling past the multitude of cafes and stopping at a market for essentials, we took a small screw-top bottle of French Merlot to sip canal-side of the Canal St. Martin along the Quai de Valmy at sunset.

We made it til 9:30 p.m., only to damage our success by sleeping until 1pm the next day. Luckily, our only goal for our first day was to make it to Le Printemps (a large department store, aptly named “Springtime”) to buy me a pair of house slippers. On the 9th floor of the housewares building (Le Printemps encompasses three entire 6+ storey buildings), Café Le Ciel (The Sky) has a nice bistro with a rooftop deck and 360 degree view. Although it was a gray day, the excitement of seeing the Eiffel Tower in the skyline while eating a late lunch of salmon with dill-crème sauce and lovely thin French green beans more than made up for the weather.

We strolled along back streets heading to our neighborhood, turning at corners only when we felt so inclined. We found sweet little Café M and stopped for a cappuccino, and some writing and people watching. We are in heaven, for the French have perfected the “café hang-out”. One can order a coffee, brought to your table sidewalk-side, and stay for hours. On our way home from Day 1, we stopped at a mini-grocery store and picked up further provisions for dinner and an entire day at home the following Day 2.