Newspapers

Parisian man, newspaper

Parisian man, newspaper

Le Comptoir des Saints-Peres

Lux Bar

Café de Flore

Overwhelmingly, Parisians are readers. You’re more likely to see someone on the bus reading a paperback than you are thumbing through their phones. (On the metro, it’s a different story, but that makes sense given that it’s underground, and there isn’t Paris outside the bus windows.) It’s usually the same line of paperbacks, too; Folio prints a wide range of titles in simple white covers, and their small size, affordable price, and the fact that they are readily available in all 8000 of the bookshops in Paris, make them a popular choice. But when they aren’t reading books, in parks and bars and boulangeries, Parisians like les journaux. It’s a stark contrast to America, where the newspaper industry has been dying a slow and tormented death for years (let me tell you, majoring in Journalism was pretty bleak near the end). It was refreshing to see a young couple at breakfast, each absorbed in a newspaper, rather than on their phones. A different, better kind of distraction. I didn’t realize the trend immediately, it was only as I was sorting through the thousand+ photographs that I noticed I had a lot of similar shots. And I know this selection makes it seem as though over older Parisians read the newspapers, and that might be true. Next time I’m in Paris (OH WHEN WILL THAT BE? I’ve been home for one week and two days and I am suffering hard from PPD: Post Paris Depression) I plan on doing a series of young people reading paperbacks.

PS. That lady at the bar? Jamal fell in love with her. She must have been, what, 70? And she strolled in to the bar at 6pm on a Saturday, a bouquet of flowers in one hand and her groceries in another, walked right up to the bar and ordered a pint of beer. She stood there, drinking and reading the paper, and she downed her drink faster than he did. I swear I saw Jamal eyeing my engagement ring with some quick mental gymnastics about how best to swipe it off me and propose to her.

July 9, 2014 / art / photo / Paris / travel / LEAVE A COMMENT / 6

At the Musée Rodin

Musée Rodin

Musée Rodin

Musée Rodin

Musée Rodin

Musée Rodin

The Musée Rodin might be my favorite museum in Paris. That’s a big statement, I know, and I’m probably not prepared to defend that assertion even against myself, with all of the other incredible museums to pick from. But for sentimental reasons –we got engaged at the Rodin last year, it was one of my dad’s favorites, we have the sister museum in Philadelphia, etc.– and taking into consideration the incredible sculpture garden and the fact that Rodin actually lived there, it’s a pretty solid contender. Admission for just the gardens is €2, and there are countless sculptures dotting the wide lawn and leafy, shaded sides, as well as a café and multiple benches and deck chairs for lounging. I went several times after breakfast around the corner just to see the gardens, and to relax and read in the back, past the arched hedges and tucked away from the rest of the world (it felt). On my last visit, there was a couple napping on two wooden chaise lounges, holding hands; a woman doing yoga in a sunny patch of grass; two little kids playing in a sandbox; all within feet of bronze studies for “The Burghers of Calais.” It feels magical, especially because you can see the Eiffel Tower from “The Three Shades.”

Of course, for €9 you can visit the temporary exhibition as well as the rest of the house and the art inside, and the gardens are included. I was pleasently surprised by the Mapplethorpe exhibit currently on view; it was one of the most well curated and cohesive exhibits I’ve seen. The juxtaposition of Mapplethorpe’s black and white photography, all of nude male and female figures, with the white marble and dark bronze of Rodin’s sculptures dotted throughout the exhibit was so, so striking and incredibly successful. In parts it left me speechless, it was that powerful, and I am still kicking myself for not buying the exhibition guidebook. Because, as my father always said, “Every good cultural experience must end in a retail experience.”

rodinmapple

If you’re in Paris before September 21st, I cannot recommend it enough. Anytime you’re in the city though, this is one museum I would urge you to see. It’s never nearly as crowded as the Louve or the Musée d’Orsay, and its size makes it a manageable afternoon visit.

Musée Rodin, 79 Rue de Varenne, 75007 / metro M13 Varenne / Closed Mondays

July 8, 2014 / art / photo / At the Museum / Paris / travel / LEAVE A COMMENT / 18

Le Boulanger des Invalides Jocteur

Le Boulanger des Invalides Jocteur

Le Boulanger des Invalides Jocteur

Le Boulanger des Invalides Jocteur

Le Boulanger des Invalides Jocteur

Le Boulanger des Invalides Jocteur

Le Boulanger des Invalides Jocteur

One of my favorite spots in Paris was this darling boulangerie, Le Boulanger des Invalides Jocteur. I stumbled upon by chance my third day (a Saturday) in the city, as I was going to buy peonies, and it quickly became my Saturday morning go-to. I took my Saturday traditions in Paris very seriously. Located in the 7eme, a block from the Musée Rodin and directly across the street from the Saint François-Xavier metro station on the M13 line (which left from my metro stop, making it was a straight shot), this little bakery and café is without a doubt the cheeriest, most delightful place I found in Paris. Painted bubblegum pink and staffed by a stable of beautiful French men, it was the perfect spot to grab a table and read in the mornings over a big cup of Mariage Frères tea and a brioche tartine or an eclair praline. Pralines in Paris are always candied with pink sugar, so even the food matched the decor of Le Boulander des Invalides Jocteur. They make all of their pains et patisseries on-site, and I’m not being hyperbolic when I say their brioche is the best I’ve ever eaten. The ceiling is painted with a fresco of angels and clouds, there’s always sweet music playing, and it felt truly local; people would stop in to say hello to the waiters, shake hands, kiss both cheeks, ask how things were going. I like to think I became somewhat of a regular, too.

They do a good take-away business for lunch, since there is a high school across the street (side note: Parisian high school girls dress better than I do!), and while I only ate there for breakfast (if you can call an eclair at 10:30am ‘breakfast’), their pizza slices and quiches looked delicious. Next time!

Le Boulanger des Invalides Jocteur, 14 Avenue de Villars, 75007 / metro M13 Saint-François-Xavier

July 3, 2014 / art / photo / Paris / travel / LEAVE A COMMENT / 24

So About That Novel…

My desk

I have been writing this novel now since somewhere around August of 2012. (Pause here for wide-eyed disbelief that time moves so terrifyingly quickly.) To recap: a private sales representative steals 14 paintings from Sotheby’s in Paris, and the story unfolds around each painting, focusing on the relationship between four main characters. (I think. Fourteen is proving to be a lot of paintings). Between August of 2012 and April 2014, before I left for Paris, I had managed to write roughly 44k words, making slow but steady progress, mostly on Sundays, the only day of the week I really had to devote to the task. 87 weeks, 44k. In the eight weeks I spent in Paris, where I had every day of the week at my disposal –every day was Sunday!–I wrote another 30k. My goal going into this trip was to double my word count, and I might well have, had I not slacked off near the end of June. There were certain days that were devoted entirely to doing anything and everything except writing, like walking and eating and reading and museum-hopping, a fact for which I will not feel guilty, I will not feel guilty, I will not feel guilty. A combination of PERFECT weather and the siren call of those charming Parisian streets and the smell of delicious bread products wafting from literally every direction everywhere I went all the time ohmygodgivemeabaguette, made it nearly impossible to sit inside at my desk. So I’d take my notebook and head out, and often I never pulled it out of my bag. “I’ll write tomorrow!” turned into “I’ll write when it’s rainy and I don’t mind staying in!” which meant that the three straight weeks of glorious, mid-60s temperatures and clear blue skies Paris had in June saw little to no pen-to-paper or fingers-to-keyboard action.

One more time, with feeling: I will not feel guilty.

Could I have pushed myself to write more? Of course. I could’ve locked myself in my apartment and not gone to Ladurée, like, fifteen times. But sometimes finding a balance doesn’t mean that everything gets an equal share. The balance that worked for me towards the end skewed less in favor or writing, and more in favor of soaking up Paris. And while I might not have been as diligent as I was for the first half of the trip with writing substantial amounts every single day, I know for a fact that Paris worked its magic on me and that the trip was (of course) a success. Seeing the street where my main character lives, attending auctions at Sotheby’s, absorbing the specific sounds and rhythms of daily life in Paris –what the call button on the bus sounds like, the rip of paper at the fromagerie as they wrap up a block of cheese, the throaty way they pronounce their ‘r’s–and playing Anthropologist and observing Parisians in their natural habitat was integral to the writing process. I wasn’t just eating all of the buttery carbs the city had to offer, I was eating all of the buttery carbs the city had to offer in the name of book research.

But in all seriousness, the novel is taking shape; a new shape, in some parts, but it’s all making sense and I think I am in a really good spot now going forward. The entire process is so beautiful, was even more beautiful in, and because of, Paris. I’ve relaxed into the story in much the same way I relaxed into Paris. I’m excited to keep writing with those eight weeks under my belt, because I know that experience isn’t even close to done giving me inspiration and direction yet.

Mostly, I want to give myself a little pat on the back for writing 75k words. I’ve never written that much on the same project or story, and it feels momentous. It feels real.

July 2, 2014 / life / dog / LEAVE A COMMENT / 20

Je Reviens

La Tour Eiffel

La Tour Eiffel

I.
I’m not good with goodbyes, so let’s just say, “I’ll see you soon, Paris.” Maybe again this year, but definitely next year either way, and hopefully one day forever.

II.
I have a list of things to write about: the ways in which this trip changed me, the things I learned, the things I would do differently, the things I wouldn’t change for all the money in the world; hundreds more photos to share with you from two completely full 32gb memory cards; and two suitcases packed to the brim with things I swore fit on the way over here (omg why did I pack six black turtlenecks and thirteen dresses?).

III.
I have a list of things I am going to miss desperately about Paris. But in trying to focus on the positive, a list of things I am excited to return to in America: 1. DONUTS (Donuts here, when you can find them, are €2/ea and I’m sorry, are not actually donuts like the ones you get at Dunkin. My taste is so high class). 2. Absorbent paper towels. 3. Drawstring trash bags. 4. People who know how to share a sidewalk properly. 5. Obviously Jamal and Fitz. 6. But seriously, donuts.

IV.
I might never have two months alone in Paris again, but I’ll always have these two months in Paris alone. That counts for something.

V.
I don’t want to talk about it.

June 30, 2014 / art / photo / Paris / travel / LEAVE A COMMENT / 22

Top of the Arc

From the top of the Arc de Triomphe

Montmartre on the hill, from the top of the Arc de Triomphe

Shadow of the Arc

From the top of the Arc de Triomphe

Cotton candy clouds

From the top of the Arc de Triomphe

The night before Jamal arrived, I decided it was too beautiful a night to stay inside, but, having already eaten, I was sort of at a loss for what to do. I know that sounds crazy, given that I’m in Paris and therefore have a million different options when it comes to how to fill my time, chief amongst them is just walking around. I usually walk down to the Pont du Carrousel, between the Louvre and Saint-Germain, or up to Sacré Cœur and around Montmartre in the evenings if my legs are feeling twitchy for a good amble. But on this night, I realized the spectacular sunset we were no doubt in store for would be best seen from the Arc. For €9,50 and two hundred and eighty four winding stairs, you get to experience the breathtaking view from the top of the Arc de Triomphe.

You might be wondering, “Why didn’t you wait until Jamal got there so he could experience it too, you heartless wench?” Well, fun fact about Jamal: he is terrified of heights! A story: when we came to Paris in 2012, we drunkenly decided to go to the top of the Eiffel Tower after dinner one night, not taking into account my fear of elevators and his fear of heights. It could not have been more ridiculous. “Get me off this elevator, get me off this elevator, open the doors, open the doors, ohmygodokay I’M OUT SWEET FREEDOM.” “I want to get back on the elevator, I want to get back on the elevator, ohmygod DON’T GO NEAR THE ERIN WHAT ARE YOU DOING.” So I thought, in the interest of not traumatizing my dear sweet fiancé, this was an adventure I could best take on solo. So I went, and I got to the top after 9pm (9pm!! That is how bright it was!) and stayed there, gawking from all sides, for close to two hours. It is surprisingly chilly up there, and while there were of course a bunch of tourists, there were a lot less than I expected, and only once or twice did I have to awkwardly duck as someone was selfie-ing with one of those retractable monopods kids these days use to get A Premium Selfie Angle. I left at around 10:45 and took the bus back home, and I regretted not staying until 11 to watch La Tour sparkle (I made up for that on the summer solstice, though).

June 27, 2014 / art / photo / Paris / travel / LEAVE A COMMENT / 27

La Bascule

La Bascule

La Bascule

La Bascule

La Bascule

La Bascule

La Bascule

La Bascule

I realized the only other restaurant I’ve written about so far on this trip was Le Bonaparte, and that was only to share how disappointing (though pretty!) it was. I hesitate to do a “Paris Guide” since the internet is saturated with them at this point, but if you ever find yourself in Montmartre around 5pm in need of a drink, you need (repeat: vous avez besoin!) to go to La Bascule. A small, corner bar with a tapas menu and walls of wine bottles, Jamal and I found ourselves here three nights in a row for their killer happy hour specials. The bartenders are exceedingly nice, there is always decent music, the ambiance is perfect, and it is somehow never too crowded to grab a stool and hang out for an hour or two. Jamal fell in love with the curry green olives they bring you to snack on, and I fell hard for their perfect piña colada. I know, a piña colada in Paris? Trust me on this one. We’ve also had their fresh margaritas and mojitos, for which they hand-crush ice and muddle fresh mint and strawberries.

How cute is that cheeky rosé poster? The slogan of the French republic is “Liberté, Egalité, Fraternité,” but I much prefer this version. The original tile floors and chandelier are such sumptuous details you’d never find in a bar in the states.

The vibe of La Bascule is hip without being pretentious, and is so local that we saw the same cast of characters every night we went. I’ve even stopped in for a €3 glass of rosé on my own just to sit by the open windows and write. On our first trip, a girl at the (teensy) bar next to us handed the bartender her credit card to pay, and Jamal and I noticed it was from the same bank we both use. Turns out, she was a fellow Pennsylvanian! What are the odds? You heard it here first: Pennsylvanians love La Bascule.

La Bascule, 24 Rue Durantin, Montmartre 75018 / Happy Hour 5-8pm daily / Wine €3, Beer €4, Cocktails €5

June 25, 2014 / art / photo / Paris / travel / LEAVE A COMMENT / 24

An Afternoon in Rouen

Rouen

Notre-Dame of Rouen Cathedral

Notre-Dame of Rouen Cathedral

Rouen

Old postcards, flea market

Old postcards, flea market

Before we made it to Honfleur, we stopped for a few hours in Rouen, seeing as it was on the way on the A13. In theory, it’s on the way on the A13, that is. In actuality, we got horribly lost both entering and exiting Rouen, since the town is divided into two halves, much like Paris, with the Seine cutting right through it. That’s right, the Seine. The same Seine that flows through Paris snakes its way all the up north to the coast and into the English Channel at Le Havre. Rouen is bigger than Honfleur, but has the same sort of feel to it–the same architecture, crooked houses, quaint shops and restaurants. We pulled in to a parking garage at around 11am and were on the road again by 1pm, leaving us just enough time to wander the immediate downtown, including visiting the Rouen Cathedral (which has an AMAZING light show that we weren’t able to catch. Next time!), having quiche and a tarte au citron at an outdoor café, and stumbling upon a huge farmer’s market and flea market rolled into one.

The market was such a treat. In addition to stands of farm-fresh eggs and milk, fresh produce, and meats, there were hundreds of vendors selling antique furniture and old books and bits and bobs. We browsed the old boxes of postcards and letters, and I sincerely regret not buying any. We bought a tea-scented bar of handmade provincial soap, and as we were strolling up one aisle, we both said, “Do you smell that? It smells like a strawberry candle or something.” No no. Turns out, it was a stand selling actual strawberries, emanating the strongest, most luscious scent from the fresh berries piled in baskets on the table. We didn’t buy any of those, either, and we both regret that, too.

We were in Rouen long enough just to get our feet wet, and as we were driving out of town we both agreed we have to come back one day.

June 24, 2014 / art / photo / Paris / travel / LEAVE A COMMENT / 24

24 Hours in Honfleur

Port de Honfleur

Port de Honfleur

Honfleur

Rue Eugène Boudin, Honfleur

La Cidrerie, Honfleur

Hotel l'Ecrin, Honfleur

Honfleur

Notre-Dame de Grâce, Honfleur

Honfleur

I don’t know why either of us were surprised, but Honfleur is adorable. We spent exactly 24 hours in this tiny portside town and were charmed at every turn. From the narrow, winding cobblestone streets, to the largest church made out of wood in France, to our boutique hotel and all the drinking and eating in between, I can’t recommend it enough if you come to France. Honfleur is nestled along the water in the Normandy region, about two hours northwest of Paris, making it the perfect weekend getaway. You know, assuming you can brave a Parisian car rental agency, Parisian roads (the Arc de Triomphe circle HAS NO TRAFFIC LIGHTS), French highways, getting lost on French highways, etc. At certain points, it felt like Jamal and I were reenacting this scene from “Clueless.” Oh, and he had an eye infection, too, so add that into the mix.

But he was a champ, and the trip was entirely his doing –from picking a town to reserving the car and the hotel. We stayed in a suite at the Hotel l’Ecrin, and while it was a total splurge, it was worth it just to have a wooden spiral staircase to the bedroom. The service was top-notch and the grounds and shared spaces were gorgeous. There was a pool, and a billiard room, and a spa, none of which we got to try. But that only means that we have to go back one day. We both agreed when we checked in that the hotel would be a beautiful spot for a wedding, and sure enough, when we left on Sunday, there was a reception in the back garden.

Normandy, aside from being the site of a major battle in WWII, is also famous for its production of apple cider and Calvados, an apple brandy, something we definitely got a taste for during our stay. Because Honfleur was spared during the WWII bombings, and later liberated by Allied Forces, there are reminders small and large around the city of the Honfleurais’ gratitude — “Welcome to Our Liberators!” was printed on one gift shop window, as the 70th anniversary of D-Day was the week before we arrived, and there was even a tall monument carved into a thick slab of stone near Notre-Dame de Grâce church. We stopped for drinks along the port, tried (and failed) to make friends with a Golden Retriever who lived at an ice cream stand, ate a lot of cheese, hiked to the tippy top of le Mont-Joli hill to take in the view, and I found my dream home (that last photo)!. Doesn’t it look like something out of Harry Potter? I wanted to move in to that top spire.

For dinner, we had the hotel make reservations at Au Relais des Cyclistes, a wholly unfussy local restaurant just off the main strip along the harbor (another one of Jamal’s finds!), where I had the most delicious vegetable soup (I’m still thinking about it) and a grilled salmon steak. With dessert, my three-course meal was under €14. Or, you know, the price of one plate in Paris.

We were sad to leave and, admittedly, the noise level back in Paris was startling to both of us upon re-entry. The only sounds we heard from our hotel room in Honfleur were the occasional bird or crunch of gravel. I’m a city mouse through and through, but sometimes even city mice need a little break. Thanks, Jamal!

Other Fun Details of Note: French highways have designated toll lanes for credit card payments, in addition to cash and the equivalent of an EZ-Pass. You drive up, swipe your credit card, and go. Take note, America! Also, French radio stations play the most random assortment of music. We heard Pink Floyd, Montell Jordan’s “Get It On Tonight,” salsa, Cœur de Pirate, and lots of indeterminable French. Also also, it took us 1h45m to get from Honfleur to Paris, and another 2hrs to drive through the city, get gas, and drop the car off. We don’t have a car back in Philly, either, but I can’t imagine how people do it in Paris.

June 20, 2014 / art / photo / Paris / travel / LEAVE A COMMENT / 25

Oh, Montmartre

Rue des Abbesses

Rue de l'Abreuvoir

Rue la Vieuville

Rue Audran

Sacre Cœur

Rue Lepic

I love my neighborhood. The energy is infectuous. True, there are so many tourists on the main drag of Rue des Abbesses and all around Sacre Cœur, but on any of the side streets you’ll find absolute quiet, with tiny local bars, quaint houses, and even some grit and graffiti. I love it up here, the little village the hill. The light is gorgeous and the narrow, steep streets are great workout and almost (almost!) justify the nutella crêpes I insist on eating regularly.

Jamal left this morning (SADDEST OF SAD FACES) and while we did a fair amount of wandering around other parts of the city (and country, actually! Photos from our trip to Normandy coming on Friday), we mostly hung out in Montmartre. It’s the best here. But it’s better when he’s here, too.

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June 18, 2014 / art / photo / Paris / travel / LEAVE A COMMENT / 17