An American in Paris

So here I am at the Moulin for Christmas. We will be heading to Audrey's mother's house for Christmas, but we are having lunch first. Bear in mind that of course all conversation is in French and, while I am getting better all the time, I cannot discuss things at a particularly deep level. Also this is the first Christmas that Papa's boyfriend is a physical entity (me) and I am doing my best to keep up good appearances and not to rock the boat in any way. So, in the middle of the meal Audrey turns to me and, with the family attentatively listening asks, " So, Edward, do you believe in God?" WTF!!  What do I do with that? In the best of times this is a loaded question. Do I say what I really think and discuss the whole religious machine and whereas I may believe there is something out there, I cannot subscribe to adding fuel to that foul machine? In French?? Do I go with an easy yes or no? If so, do I say yes because it may be easy? No because it may be mor...

Here we are, just a few days before Christmas. Most of us have done our shopping and baked the cookies. Perhaps food shopping for the big day is pending but the shopping lists are probably close to complete. I have left Paris for Helmut's family's family manse, the Mill, or l e Moulin as they call it in French. A lovely home with lots of land, a stream and the mechanism of the original mill (the mill stones are long gone, but the family can redirect the water to the mechanism and it actually works!) Of course, they have a real tree. Here, though, no one worries about watering the trees ("Why?" Asked Helmut). I love a real tree even though I never had one until I moved out of the house and into my own apartment. One thing they do have that is very German, but is part of their family's tradition is real candles on the tree. Yep. With actual flames. In my mind it seems like a really bad combo: a live,dry tree with small flames on it. Yes, you watch it, but things ha...

So, I got a lot of interest in the cookie story (go to  Shaving the Yak  to read that post) and wanted to know how they turned out. So, here are some lessons I learned. The Oven Just because you can do mathematical calculations, doesn't mean you can change cooking instructions from fahrenheit to celsius easily. The recipe calls for a 375F oven. So, I pull out my trusty web browser and type "375 fahrenheit to celsius." Trusty Google tells me it is 190.556 celsius. Fair enough. But the oven goes in 25 degree increments. So, my first try is to set the oven to 200 and reduce the cooking time. This one cookie (I am smart enough to try them one at a time) is a charred briquet glued to the cookie sheet. OK, so, I try 175 degrees and keep the cooking time about the same. This time, a brown briquet glued to the cookie sheet. Hrmph. Obviously I need to keep reducing the temperature, but also I need to address the sticking problem. I tried greasing the sheet the way my mother did...

I am not a fan of brunch. It usually seems like a marketing ploy of restaurants or a way to serve food when they would rather be closed. The food is at best mediocre, the service non-existent and people can't seem to get enough, so it is always crowded. So, I was a bit nervous going to La Buvette today. This is a winebar on Rue Saint Maur that is no bigger than some living rooms. The "kitchen" is what they can do behind the bar. I love this place for an aperitif or to buy a bottle of wine. The wine is always interesting and the food bits are always delicious. But brunch? It was one of the smartest, most delicious and memorable meals I have had in a long time. We sat down at a table no bigger than a cutting board (although we had an ample area along the window for drinks and plates). The owner and hostess, Camille, asked us for drinks and explained what was on the menu that day (no choices, you get what they got). On the table was bread, jam and water. As Camille got ...

As I mentioned in an earlier post, I am planning to make chocolate chip cookies for Christmas here in Paris. Very American, chocolatey, how can I go wrong? "And," I think, "I have always made everything from scratch, so I will have no problems getting my ingredients." I even think I have put in some safeguards and bought some items in NYC, just to be sure. Baking soda? Check. Baking powder? check. The oven is celsius, but armed with a browser and Google, I'm good to go, right?Here are the ingredients: flour (all purpose), baking soda, salt, unsalted butter, granulated sugar, brown sugar, corn syrup, egg yolk milk vanilla extract, chocolate chips. My first inkling that things may not be as easy was the chocolate chips. I was planning on buying them, but Helmut told me the chips can easily be found in Paris ("of course they are.") and he was right. BUT... they are tiny. If I used these, they would melt, and would turn the cookie into a chocolate cook...

'Tis the season and Christmas has us by the throat. It is December 15th and I have not begun shopping. That is not as dire as it may sound. I don't have anyone in the states with whom I exchange gifts, so it is just the small group of people here in France. Helmut and I may take a trip together so we have promised no other gifts. That really leaves Helmut's kids (Corto, Ludwig, Anastasia and Stoyan (Anastasia's boyfriend)) and Audrey, the mother. Oh, and then there is the hostess for Christmas... and her mother.... I think I need to get started. Christmas is going to be an odd affair this year. Not only will I be with Helmut and his family, but we will be at Audrey's mother's house. With her not-very-gay-friendly (or so I am told) husband. I do understand that this will be an uneasy Christmas for Helmut's family, maybe more than he does. As you may recall, Helmut "came out" to his children in August, when I had lunch with the "kids" (t...

So, I have returned to Paris. This time feels different, since I took a one-way ticket. New York now recedes into the background and the reality of being in Paris takes on a more concrete form. It all feels a bit more real, a bit more mundane. I continue to work to find my "place" here. I joined a French amateur choir here. For the first time in 20 years, I am singing, which would seem to be fairly important. It hasn't hit me that way yet. We will see, but I am enjoying it. I am looking for work more strenuously. I had a good interview and will have a second interview. I spoke to my financial advisor and if I don't find work, I still should be OK financially. Nice to hear. It does seem a bit more monumental this time, as my home base is now Paris, not NYC. It does put more pressure on me (of course this is just me doing this to myself). Needing to find friends, something to do with my days. Up until now, it did not seem important, but now, it suddenly does. Of cou...

I am back in NYC for about 10 days and it is messing with my brain. It does not feel quite right. Yes, it is familiar; yes, I know where things are and yes, I speak the language. But something is off. It is as if I am in a "Twilight Zone" episode and I am leading two lives. When I am in Paris, I have a lover/partner and have a circle of people I know and contact. I am starting something new and there are new places to explore daily. I have a language to master and the joys/frustrations of creating a new life. New York is part of my past and also a place I can reach out to any time in my head. I am moving ahead with a future. But being back in NYC right now I am questioning if that life exists. Really? Paris? Speaking French every day? New non-English speaking people? I don't know... sounds like a fantasy. And yet, I know it is there, I ping Helmut daily. He is real in both worlds. But the rest? I am not sure. Of course, this NYC life that I am back in isn't quit...

Thanksgiving is the most American of holidays. Looking at it from outside it is kind of a strange holiday: everyone travels for days across the country to eat exactly the same meal. And everyone wants their mother's stuffing. This year, I am in Paris and will not be celebrating. Strangely this is not the first time I will not be celebrating and every time I have not celebrated it, Paris has been involved. Jim, my ex, has never really cared for the holiday so for about five years, every thanksgiving we went to Paris. The first time we went was right after the attacks on NYC on September 11, 2001. It was very cold. I remember anyone who thought we were Americans talked with us and said how deeply they were sorry that had happened. It was very sweet to have that much outpouring of support from strangers and touching to know that the world was with us in those dark days. Don't get me wrong, thanksgiving is one of my favorite holidays. It doesn't have the family pressure for m...

I think everyone can agree that Paris is a beautiful city and part of the reason is the planning of the city. Haussmann, a city planner, renovated Paris in the mid 1800s . There is a slight negative side of this in that there is a sameness to the architecture: most buildings are the same color and about the same height (4-5 stories). Some of the beauty of NYC is the mish-mash of styles creating something unique. In Paris, though, there are also hidden gems you cannot see from the street. You will see entrances all over Paris for the apartments above the street but access to these, unlike New York, is not a key but a keypad. So, if you are having people over, you can just send them your keypad number and they can get off the street and to your apartment door. Not a bad system. I am told the number changes about once a year. My neighbourhood (or quartier ) used to be workshops for skilled workers. What is amazing is that beyond the big door to the apartment... Is a court...

I miss breakfast. I have always been a person who loves the meal. Growing up we rarely went out, but always had "breakfast" food: cereal (most weekdays), toaster waffles, real waffles, pancakes, coffeecake, oatmeal, cream of wheat. We would never slight the meal. It was "important." NEVER brunch. Saturdays and Sundays were special breakfast days since we would always have eggs and bacon/ pork roll (a New Jersey breakfast meat) . Without fail, we would wake up with (mostly) my Dad (but sometimes my Mom) making eggs and the breakfast meat. It was special in the house. Sundays were extra special. After church we made two stops. First, to the tobacco shop, where we would buy the Sunday paper (New York News, Asbury Park Press) and we kids would be allowed one candy bar, which we would consume after breakfast. The second stop was the bakery where we would get rolls. Saturdays we relied on toast, but Sundays we would have the rolls. I loved the bread warm, so I would be ...

I went to a soirée last night with 9 people in total, all Parisians except me. The purpose of the event was the birthday of Pascal, brother of the hostess, Christine. I look forward to and dread these events. I love the fact that I will be surrounded by people speaking French, but there is always the issue of how do I contribute to the conversation. I have had very little chance to do that because the conversation takes off and leaves me in the dust. French is a bit different than English. I think that as we converse in English, we form the ideas as we go. This keeps the pace a bit easy. The French seem to formulate the ideas in their heads and feverishly try to regurgitate the ideas as quickly as they can, hardly stopping for breath. The speed makes it very difficult to understand what they are saying, especially women. I am unsure why the difference between the sexes, but it is definitely there. When I arrived, I saw one person I knew: Genevieve whom I had met when I first came t...

It is an interesting phenomenon to speak a language every day that is not your native tongue. I have studied French for a number of years: rwo years in high school, a year and a half in college, numerous weekend immersions and most recently, 6 weeks at the Alliance Française in Paris. I do enjoy doing it, don't get me wrong, but it can be a frustrating experience. At best I would rank myself at the intermediate level. There are times the language is flowing and I think things are going well. I have a number of friends with whom I only speak French. It is very rewarding to think I have mastered a language enough (is it ever enough?) to communicate and even throw in a joke or two. Then I think I have said something profound or insightful and I receive blank looks in return. Then, since I have already said this, I need to find another way to say it so they understand. Usually I water down what I was saying just to get them to understand something. Some things just don't trans...

Both NYC and Paris depend heavily on the underground train systems. I could not get along without either system. Strangely, I had rarely been on the Métro in Paris before my trip here in May, partially because most of the tourist attractions are centrally located, or (like the Eiffel tower) far enough to warrant a taxi. When I came here in August to go to the Alliance Française, I used the Métro every day to get to school. The systems while both having their own quirks, both function amazingly well. Given the shape of Manhattan, the Subway paths are fairly simple. They go north and south with some trains (like the N and R or the Shuttle) going diagonally or east/west. In NYC you use your Metro pass card to get in and then you can transfer between buses and subways as you need for that ride. Given the history of the MTA and that each line used to be privately owned, the lines rarely cross and transfers are limited. New to NYC (and only on select lines right now) is the ability to see...

A very French concept: cinq à sept or in English a "five to seven." This refers to the time you spend with your mistress or perhaps second-level significant-other. It is perfectly admissible to miss an unimportant meeting at work with the excuse, "Sorry, I have a five to seven." Late for dinner? Sorry, my five to seven ran over. Drinks after work? Sorry, I have a five to seven. I do like the fact it is all out in the open. Of course I doubt you can use this with your wife or partner. But this is France, after all; maybe you can.

The way women are treated has changed dramatically in my lifetime. I was born in 1956 and my memories date from about 1962. At that time, the standard gender roles were in place and women were the homemakers. It was unusual in my hometown for a woman to have a job outside the home. Of course, then came the 60s and 70s and the US female population demanded changes that have changed how we view and treat women. In NYC, I have found that women are, for the most part, treated similarly to men. Some of the niceties of the past era are gone or at least greatly diminished. You can hold a door open for a woman or pull out a chair, but you may get a strange look or told that she can do it for herself. I spoke to Helmut about how women are treated in Paris and he tells me that women here universally will appreciate the niceties and are, to some women, expected when going out socially or romantically. He tells me that while women have advanced and are paid similarly to men (maybe 10% less), the...

Sometimes I feel like I have taken a step backwards, but it is not my fault. NYC is known, at least in these circles, to be very much attuned to service. I can get almost anything delivered to my door. Paris is not up to this at this point. Perhaps one day, but now, there are still things you need to do yourself. The solution is to pay someone to do the manual labor. For instance, laundry. I have not done laundry from quite a number of years. In NYC, I call, have them pick up the bag and laundry and they deliver last weeks' laundry on hangars (for shirts) or folded and organized (for underwear, socks and sheets). Here, we are back to the do-it-yourself laundry. Now, I collect the laundry and carry it to the laundromat. Then (stop me if you know this) you sort the laundry into the appropriate types (whites, colors, delicates) and put each in a separate machine. Now the laundromats in NYC have attendants and you can get change or address issues with them. The ones in Paris are to...

Wine is very important in France and, from what I have witnessed, a part of Paris social life. New Yorkers share a bottle of wine or have a glass together, or even a cocktail, but there is something a bit more about sharing wine in Paris. It is first of all, much more prevalent. In NYC, I will sometimes have one glass of wine. If two others at the table want wine, we may discuss getting a bottle. Rarely have I gone through more than a bottle. In Paris, if two people want wine, it is almost automatic that you get a bottle. If more than two people are at the table, there is a strong likelihood you will be getting more than one bottle. It is less of a special occasion in Paris. Not that it is not special, but it is more part of the meal than something "special." Never ordinary. When the wine is poured, there is a special moment where we all toast. This is like in NYC, but not. In NYC, when you are all served, we hold up the glasses and everyone moves them to the center, mak...

I saw this building on my way to the Viaduc des Arts , which is the precursor to the NYC high Line. It is a police station From the Viaduc  These figures are a bit bizarre but I really like them. The holes in their backs are a bit disturbing.

Parisians are ALWAYS late. I think New Yorkers run the gamut, but Parisians are late. They always have a good reason: traffic, the weather, kept at work, the Métro, the dog, the kids, garbage truck. But late. I am in a period of adjusting to this. My tendency is to be on-time. I call it the German in me. Helmut, who was born in Germany, is Parisian now and so I am alone in this bit of frustration. For the most part, people are 15 to 30 minutes late but for some it can be a bit extreme. For instance, meeting my friend Laure means scheduling a 1/2 hour (at least) for this arrival time. I want to emphasize, this is my issue, not Paris'. BUT There are extreme cases. One time Helmut and I were supposed to meet someone for dinner at (let's say) 8 (16h). She called and was going to be late. About an hour and a half after our original meeting time, we left for dinner. She knew where we would be, so she could meet us. At this point I had my doubts if she was going to come at all....

Like in NYC, traffic can be bad in Paris. The streets are narrow and modern cars are wide. In NYC there are the wider avenues and crosstown streets. Paris has a few wider streets but not a lot. Americans love their cars; New Yorkers tolerate them as a luxury item. Parisians I think have no time for cars at all. I have been told that car insurance used to not cover any accident at the famous traffic circle, the Arc de Triomphe. You drive there, you are on your own. What I find truly amazing, though, is the patience of drivers in Paris (notice I did not say Parisian drivers, since I think most of these are out-of-towers). In NYC if drivers get caught behind a slow car, delivery vehicle or garbage truck, you will hear a symphony of car horns blaring(not that it does any good). Not here. Since Paris does not pride itself on never sleeping, garbage trucks need to do their thing during working hours, but you cannot get around them because of the street width. The drivers here seem to un...

For those who have never studied French, French numbers are an absolute nightmare. I have been studying them now since high school and I have never been able to master them. You may be wondering what trouble I can possibly have here, let me tell you what the issue is. In every other language I know, you have your numbers from 1 to 10. Then each group of 10 after, has a repeating number based on that digit in the ten's place that has some relation to the original 1 to 10 (like "twenty" based on two or "fifty" based on five) and then you repeat the number 1 to 10. For instance, the number 37 has the "thirty" in the tens place (based on "three") and we then say the seven in the one's place, with the final number pronounced "thirty seven." Same in German (although they say the last number first) and Italian. The teens are always a bit odd, but everything else follows suit. The French decided long ago that no one would ever need ...

I want to live in the city this video creates . I do in my mind. http://www.ufunk.net/videos/paris-new-york/ In fact, it made me a bit teary looking at this. In a good way.

There are some Americans who have the ridiculous notion that French people don't bathe and use perfume to cover any unwanted smells. There is absolutely no basis for this in reality; Parisians take very good care of themselves and bathe as often as any American. I think this may be left over from the end of the second World War when there was probably a water shortage. What is notable, and this is in Europe in general, is the lack of a shower curtain. In the US, we all use shower curtains, keeping the water in the tub (there are other repercussions to this; see Psycho ). I have only seen one of these once in Europe. I am not sure if this is a privacy thing or not. The French bathrooms I have been in all have shower capabilities, you just need an extra ability to keep the water in the tub area. This completely escapes me. No matter how hard I try, by the time I am done there is water everywhere in the bathroom. This may not be a problem for some, and yes it does eventually dry, bu...

One of my main goals is to get more comfortable with the French language. I have studied French on and off since high school, but textbook French is different than the living-in-Paris kind. For instance, as a tourist, you can pat yourself on the back for ordering the wine in an accent that doesn't make the waiter change into English automatically. It is quite another thing when faced with a bank manager on the other end of a cell phone call telling you something about your account. So, this summer I enrolled at the Alliance Française in Paris for 6 weeks. For those of you who don't know, The Alliance Française is a government-sponsored school whose sole purpose is to promote the French language around the world. There are branches around the world and one in NYC. Strangely, when I took a placement test in NYC, I was in the beginning of the advanced class; in Paris, the end of the beginners. I had normal classes there, but as part of the package I signed up for, I had 3 one-h...

Taxis in our two great cities work quite differently. In NYC, you raise your hand and a magic yellow chariot stops and you get in. You tell your driver where you want to you and he has to take you there. You pay with either a credit card or cash and the chariot disappears. If you are coming in via bus, train or plane, you wait courteously on a taxi line and get into the next taxi when it is your turn. In Paris, it is another thing entirely. You can hail one on the street, but the chances are not very good, since taxis are supposed to wait at a taxi stand. This system, while saving gas, does not have the convenience factor built-in to the NYC system. It also is stacked against those who don't know the city very well. At some taxi stands, I have never seen any cars at all. You probably think that this seems minor but there are some glitches here. Paris is a bit more flexible on process. One time Helmut and I were coming in late via train and we were in the taxi line. After about ...

A Coffee (Café) is what the US calls an espresso. It is part of the culture here in Paris. When in doubt, have a coffee. Like salt and pepper, coffee and cigarettes are the inevitable pairing. Tired of walking around? Stop in at a café and have a café. It has evolved, though, into specificity you would not expect. For example, if you like the more watered-down American coffee, you can order a café americain . You can have milk in your coffee, but it must be at breakfast. If you go to a café and you want milk in your coffee, you would expect that a café au lait would do the trick, but unless you want a soup bowl of coffee, better order a café creme (or for short, a creme ). These soup bowls I think are going out of favor recently. I have never seen a Frenchman order or drink one and even restaurants have opted to go with the creme version when the other is ordered. Having milk in your coffee at any other meal is kind of like ordering Cheerios after your steak dinner. You can get i...

I am all for doing what we can to save the environment and the French are behind this as well. There is recycling in every home and on the street there are kiosks to recycle glass bottles (think wine). While in class over the summer at the Alliance Française, I came across something that was literally unbelievable. In fact, I had the teacher replay the video we were watching because I thought I could not possibly have understood it properly. Please understand that I am not making this up. It seems that after dinner, if you have food left over, instead of storing it in the refrigerator, you take a photo and put the picture on the web. Then, others can look at your leftovers and if they like what they see, they can come to your house and pick it up. Think about that. I can't picture myself on either side of this equation. I am now done with my Tai chen chicken. Let me take a picture of this and hope a stranger comes to my door to pick up these leftovers! or I'm hungry. ...

New Yorkers accept everyone. You can arrive on day one and, if you say you are a New Yorker, people believe you. In Paris, if you haven't been here for 4 generations, you better not say you are a Parisian. There is a loophole. You can say you are an adopted Parisian (Parisian adopté). So, as a Parisian adopté, you need some essentials: a phone, a place to live and a bank account. Most important of these is the bank account. In New York, I think credit cards are more important. You can get by on one and pay for just about everything. In Paris, very few people have credit cards in that way. Instead, they rely on debit cards, and they are much more secure. Every establishment has a portable wifi machine at checkout, or at a restaurant they bring to you. They put in the amount you are to pay in manually, you put in your card (with a CHIP that US citizens do not have, more on that later) and you type in your 4-digit code and press Enter. If accepted, the machine prints our your receip...

Everyone in Paris smokes. EVERYONE! It is kind of bizarre for me. Think back to the movies taking place in the 1960s. That kind of smoking. First thing in the morning, mid morning smoke, of course after every meal, at intermission, before bed. Everyone seems to have a 5 year plan to quit because they don't want to be "that old person who smokes," Yet, I don't think anyone will every do this. Sure, they have all the warnings about smoking on the packs. They even have really ugly pictures of people deformed by smoking. I think some people when in the Tabac (Tobacco shop) ask for another pack if the pictures are too gruesome. But they sure do buy them! Getting cigarettes is also a type of outing and a way some people get some fresh air. Helmut doesn't buy a carton, but goes out once a day or so to get the cigarettes. They do have the vapor cigarettes ( vapeur ), those faux cigarettes that have water vapor instead of smoke. For some reason, they are not allowed to...

In New York we have many great restaurants and certainly some lovely dessert places. There is really no comparison though to the number and quality of the bakeries here in Paris. No matter where you are, a patisserie (sweet) or boulangerie (bread) is very close by. There are some that do not bake on premises but the ones that do, depending on the time of day, will have that heavenly smell of baking bread. Even the ones that do not (and the French have a distain for these) the bread is simply wonderful.  Strangely, you can buy American-style sandwich bread but I have never seen anyone buy it. I hope I never do.  When making something like stuffing or bread pudding, you are asked quite often for day-old bread. I realize now that this is just a concept in the States. With French bread, it is as if there is a magic spell that lasts just about 24 hours. After that, it is so hard you can hammer nails with it.  As many people before me have stated, this is absolutely something t...

It is kind of strange to me how similar life is in Paris compared to New York. Both are cities that are very urban. Both have inhabitants who are mostly pedestrians, use public transit, especially the Metro/Subway, socialize in public (as opposed to private homes). Each city is the most important in the respective country and is a cultural center. I think the most important similarity of the two is the pride of place for the citizens. Each is VERY proud of their city and could not imagine living anywhere else. Having made it in that city, there is very little idea of moving back to wherever they came from. We made it here! Also, strangely, there is also the fact that people who live in other parts of the country hate the people in these cities. And the citizens don't care, in fact are proud of the fact. Now, instead of going to the Met (opera), I go to l'Opèra. Instead of going to the Met Museum, I go to the Louvre. I still go to the stores in the neighborhood for groceries, ...

So, how did this happen? Let's just say that 2013 was a bitch of a year. Before this, I had a good job, a good relationship of 15 years, friends, an amazing apartment (1400 sq ft on the upper west side of Manhattan), three loving cats. A very nice, comfortable life. Then the year starts. I got pneumonia, then cancer (6 weeks of radiation and chemo: a bitch, but I am fine now), lost my job, my mother and my relationship. Friends I had for 15 years "sided" with my ex (really? how old are we?) and they are gone. It all seemed to happen at once. I thought of it like a cleansing bonfire. At every step, I thought, "OK, what next?" and let it all happen. At the end, the only thing left was my apartment. Then, in May of this year, my friend, Paul G., called me and told me he was doing an apartment exchange in Paris (one of my favorite cities in the world) and he invited me to come along. I jumped at the chance. Why not? 6 weeks in a city I love, in a great season (s...