Adventures of a French Man and His Petite Californienne in the North East

I already had a whole day's worth of adventure this morning, Sunday, the day after Christmas.

There is a blizzard coming.  The media sure has hyped it up to be a doozy, a heart attack snow storm that will dump 2 feet of snow on Boston.  Sam dreaded being snowed in and stranded with us old people when he has friends to hang out with in soggy California, so he rescheduled his evening flight with a layover in Baltimore to 6:25 this friggin' freezin' morning.  Which means having to leave the house at 4:30 am.  I think part of me really wanted him to be stranded in the snow with his loving mudda because I couldn't get my ass out of the house until 5 am, then we hit every damn red light on Massachusetts Avenue and found a bordella of a mess at the airport early Sunday morning, the day after christmas, a day you would think everyone would be at the malls bargain hunting.   I could feel Sam's anger mounting at each red light, and hear him thinking: I'm going to miss my flight and have to spend another day in this dreadful place.   When we finally got to the airport at 5:50, it was clear that either he or his luggage was not going to get on that plane.  If only I could have dragged myself out of my cozy warm bed 10 minutes earlier, I lamented.   After forced kisses and hugs, he dashed to Southwest to check in while I sat paralyzed in my electrically heated car seat.  Dare I move from in front of terminal E where I waited until 6:25 to call Sam to see if by chance, everything worked out just fine.    No answer, oh good, he made it.  Sigh of relief...not so soon.  He called back...oh no..thats not a good sign.    "My luggage is going to LA but I missed the gate by 10 minutes, I'll call you back"  Oh shit!  now what.  All the flights are booked until the afternoon which will most likely be canceled, what is he going to figure out?  Sweet talk the flight attendants?  Well maybe...ring, ring, "I got on the plane to Chicago, it leaves now, call you in Chicago."  Huge relief, Chicago is better that Baltimore because the storm is coming from there.  But will he make it LA?  I had to wait nervously until he arrived in Chicago for the answer.

Meanwhile, Marc and I raced to be first in line at Home Depot this morning, not for after christmas shopping, but to get a new snow plow because a huge snow storm is coming and there ain't no way  he can shuffle snow and me, well I'm from California, what do I know about what to do in a snowstorm except stay warm by a fire and pour hot chocolate :)  We were about 10th in line waiting in the cold before the doors open.  The mad rush to get snow supplies.  I just never witnessed this before.  Marc made a bee line for the pre-assembled snow-blowers to stake out his claim.  I went to the manager's desk and asked how to buy a snow blower.   I was second in line,  the man in first place wanted Marc's blower, so he got it.  I was next so I told Marc to pick the biggest, most expensive, bells and whistles snow beast.  He did and he was the envy of all the manly lumber jacks at Home Depot.     Hmmm, this thing weighs a ton, how will we ever get it home?    Since we spent well over the required minimum  we got to use their delivery truck for FREE!!!!!  Going slowly around curves with a snow blower that is not roped down in a pickup truck is not this french man's forte.    Once home, Marc pawks the caw, I mean truck,  in front of the house and proceeds to lift the freezing metal ramps out of the back of the truck, lowering it down to the ground in an almost 90 degree angle, he then jumps in the pickup to position the snow blower to drive it down the ramp.  How,  I wonder, is he going to maneuver the snow blower down the impossibly sloped ramp when he weighs 1/10 of it and he has a bad shoulder...hmmm. think think think.   Wait, I have a bright, California idea!  Get back in the truck and drive it down the steep snow covered driveway.  That way, the angle of the ramp will be more leveraged.   I knew he was thinking I am more than just looks and a great peice of a--.  Once he got the monster of a truck down the driveway, the ramps formed a more conducive angle.  Marc climbed back into the truck and proceeded to turn the snow blower on so he could drive it down the ramp.  At this point I imagined the snow blower lurching forward dragging Marc behind it and both of them crashing to smitherines.   Wait!!! I screamed, you can't do it that way!!!  You need to be standing on the ground, each of us on either side of the ramp, we'll hold the handle bars and  balance the snow blower on its wheels and roll it slowly down the ramp. Jus like that..Hey,  I am not just all looks!  In this manner, we got the snow blower very easily off the truck,  why didn't they explain how to do this back at Home Depot?  Couldn't they tell we are French and Californian!!   We only got an hour free so it was time to bring the truck back.  Marc got behind the wheel and wir-wir-wir,  the tires sped but the truck didn't move.  It was skidding on the ice that had already formed in the driveway.  Marc pulled this way and that way, backing up an inch, turning the wheels, moving forward an inch only to get stuck over and over.   Oh shit, so much for my brilliant ideas.  How were we going to get the truck out of the driveway without burning the rubber off the tires or crashing into the colonial age stone wall.   I kept running around to each side of the truck not knowing what to do next.   I know... do we have any anti freeze to pour on the ground?     Marc braved against the sliding and slipping dully and finally maneuvered crisscross back and forth up the driveway and freed the monster, he emerged victorious and was back on his way, until he realized he left his keys for his car behind. 

Oh, and Sam got to Chicago just fine and had to fly standby for the next flight to Los Angeles, luckily he got on the very next flight and he is on his way home, just in time for the next Laker game. 

The rest of the day will be doing what we do best...cuddling by the fire, eating cheese fondue and chicken soup, and sipping a crisp Savoie.

Charming Parisians

Parisians can be so charming, in fact, if you are pleasant with them, they will charm the pants off you.   Tonight we went to a pharmacy to get some stuff for Marc`s shoulder which has been hurting him for weeks now.   I love the Pharmacies here in France, you can find natural herbal remedies for everything, even creams that make you lose weight.   French women never go to the gym, they just put creme on their thighs; I love that.   The Pharmaciste; a cute petite blonde, was showing Marc all the herbal anti-inflamation medications and joint support formulas; stuff you can only find in a Health Food Store in the States; never a Pharmacy.  Marc is always at ease and jokes around and flirts with everyone as he was with this cute petite blonde.  I was attempting to speak french to confirm my knowledge of what she was saying since I know about the use of herbs and holistic meds, I`m not sure which one of us charmed her more, but when we checked out she put handfuls and handfuls of product samples in our bag.  Skin care lotions; anti wrinkle creams; hand creams,   we needed a bigger bag.  I thanked her profusely and then we giggled and tried on all the perfumes on our way out of the store; she came over to me and handed me a present, a full size jar of anti-wrinkle cream!   I was floored; not so much by her kindness but I just couldn`t help wondering if she was trying to tell me something...Salope!

Later we went for dinner at Marc`s favorite restaurant, Le Balon de Ternes.  He loves the large platter of oysters; shrimp; mussels; snails, all raw..yum...I had a choucroute and a moulton chocolate cake for dessert.  Sipping wine and giggling like insolent school children in a fancy restaurant; Marc kept trying to guess which waiter flirted with me the time I was there alone, telling me how beautiful were my eyes and my smile... and did I have to leave now...and he will wait for me to return...oh I love France...I was only semi-ammused at the time  thinking he probably told this to every lady dining alone but as we left the restaurant, the same waiter stopped in front of me and said bonsoir, I almost fell over as Marc called me "Salope!"

Women are always falling over Marc and making goo goo eyes at him.  At the real estate rental office,  he had 3 women giggling their asses off.  The accountant was a young country girl who could barely talk...and her teeth were aweful.  Her boss said it was the first time she was in a meeting with a client, I guess they usually keep her behind the desk.  She was gushy toward Marc, she sat very close to him and giggled at everything he said.  I raised my eyebrow a couple of times, and when she offered her card to Marc, her boss stopped her and said that wasn`t necessary, the Salope!

A Shoppers Dream

I had a great time today with my new friend Bèatrice, the lady whose house I broke into last week. She took me to the Marchè aux Puces; the flea market.   It was so much fun browsing all the hundreds of stalls of antiques, furniture, art, silver, porcelain, vintage clothing and chanel and Louis Vuitton handbags.  Oh, how I wish I didn`t spend almost $2000 to fix her door, sigh... 

Bèatrice is very knowledgable about what century the antiques come from whether Louis XIV, XV, or XVI, something about the curvature of the legs, hmmm; and what`s real or fake.       You have to be very careful when you buy something because a lot of the vendors jack up the prices for innocent Americans who come and spend a lot of money on stuff that they don`t really know about,  like moi, you must always know the value of something you want to buy; then make an offer and be willing to walk away;  never never pay the stated price.  We were looking at a jewelry case filled with what appeared to be vintage Chanel jewelry, she told me they were very good fakes, the salesperson was not amused.  But they were good fakes at reasonable prices.   The next stall had the real deal and the prices were much higher.  It was so helpful to have her as my guide.  She introduced me to her trusted vendors who I will definitely return to;  it was really an education for me.

I did find a beautiful set of 10 perfect Limoges serving plates with matching cake plate from one of Bèatrice`s favorite vendors, the plates are red and white with exquisite gold flowers painted on them and the price was very reasonable at 200 euros.  I might take Marc back with me to get the set if he likes it too :)  I did buy a perfume bottle for 25 euros;  I looked on the Internet to see if it is anything of value and I think its a Baccarat.  Its not signed but it is numbered and many of the old ones are like that.  If it is a Baccarat then its worth over $400; at least its a nice copy.  Here is a picture of the one I found online  http://thumbs1.ebaystatic.com/m/mVu-mRBRufcYPMTis9JbGlA/140.jpg   

I can`t wait to go back there, I could spend the whole day and not even see everything.    

Hammaming in Paris

I like the pace in the South of France where they kiss you twice on each cheek, not just once, because they have the time.   Paris is more hectic and after 2 weeks of intense french classes, getting up early and rushing around in the metro, I needed a break.  I got myself over to the Hammam and discovered a retreat from the hustle and bustle of daily life. 

A hammam is a traditional bath from Northern Africa where everyone goes for steam baths, massage and relaxation.  Unlike going to a spa, a hamman is accessible to all and going regularly is a beautiful tradition and something we can try to incorporate into our own busy lives.   Too many of us are so busy being busy and taking care of everything that we forget to take some time out for ourselves.  No wonder the french have adopted this traditon.  While french women work and take good care of their familes, they also find time for themselves.

I entered the hammam and found myself transported to Morroco.  The beautiful moorish architecture evoked mystery and the exotic.    The staff was very friendly and spoke some English so it was easy to understand.  I was given a locker, a scrubbing mit and black soap made from ash and very good for your skin.  After disrobing, and showering, I headed for the baths and took a series of hot steam and hot sauna baths, alternating with a rest on warmed mosaic tiles,  I was beginning to feel very good.  After a swim in the indoor pool, my name was called for a scrubbing treatment.  The woman gave me a good rub down with the scrubbing mit and my skin glistened and tingled;  It was very invigorating.  Next I had a massage with argan oil which smells very nutty and is very nourishing for the skin.  By now I was deliriously happy, I took one last steam bath to let the oil penetrate my skin and then relaxed in the tea room.  I lay down on mats and pillows and sipped mint tea.  I actually fell asleep for a while,  when I awoke it was time to eat a delicous tagine with chicken and cous cous.   After 4 hours of bliss, I was ready to take on the world, but rather I decided to keep this sense of peace with me;  I thought: is it really necessary to rush for the metro when the next train will be there in 4 minutes?

Je Suis Vraiment Conne, aka, I Am Really a Schmuck

Also titled "How to make friends in Paris"

After a long and tiring week, relearning french grammar and running all around Paris to get cell phone and internet service and buy a new matress (which is yet another amusing story).  I was so looking forward to a comfortable night`s sleep and sleeping in for the first day in weeks.   Oh, mais non, on ne peut pas faire ca;  Not happening.

It was rather late last night when I returned home from shabbat dinner with Marc`s cousins, Victor and Ariene and their sons who are in university and remind me of Jonathan and Sam, very studious and on their way to becoming doctors and lawyers.

When I got home, it was dark and I was tired and all the buildings in the gated residence looked alike.  In fact, it didn`t phase me a bit when my key pass didn`t open the door to the building.    Luckily, so I thought, there was a woman in the lobby who opened the door for me and the two of us complained briefly about how nothing ever works in France.  I felt very grateful she was there to help me out, what would I do at that hour if I couldn`t get into MY building?  I went up to the 5th floor, as usual and put my key in the lock.    It didn`t go in very easily.  I took it out, thinking, maybe I was on the wrong floor and went back to the elevator.  Nope, I was on the correct floor.  I went back to the door and pushed my key inside the lock when I heard a voice coming from inside the apartment.   This is when I started to panic.  The door opened and a very scared and irrate woman appeared.  It was then when I realized I was in the wrong building.  She callled me all kinds of very impolite names while trying to dislodge my key, to no avail, it would not retreat.  I could not believe this was happening.   What was I to do?  I imagined sleeping on the streets in Paris until Marc arrived.

I apologized profusely, in french, explaining that I don`t live here, I was only visiting from the US for a few weeks and since it was late and dark and all the buildings look the same, I was disoriented and made a mistake.    Apparently, she realized this could happen to anyone and her demeanor softened.  In fact she melted.   She decided to call a 24 hour locksmith,  he would arrive in a half hour.   She invited me in  to sit down and offered me a drink.   I felt terrible for the error and promised to pay for any damages, wondering to myself,  how much would it cost and hoping they would take a credit card.   The woman was very nice,  as we enjoyed un petit degistif (a stiff brandy)  she told me she lived alone as she was a widow for 3 years.  She became afraid when she heard me at her door, knowing it couldn`t have been one of her sons whom she was not expecting and she apologized profusely for her previous name calling.  

Her name is Beatrice, same as my mother`s.  She is 60 years old and still very elegant and beautiful.  We discussed economics, politics, family life, love and how there are good things and bad things in life, all in french, of course.  Beatrice is quite conservative in many of her views, a practicing Catholic, very polite and proper and she says "Merde" alot which made her all right by me.  She is in favor of Sarkozy changing the age for retirees in France to 62, its a question of math which the french do not wish to consider and she doesn`t care about his love life.   She is not as enthusiastic about Obama anymore.  She is very proud of her heritage.  Her mother is of nobility and her father was a diplomat.  She is worldly and cultured and she complimented me on my ability to speak and understand french.   I thoroughly enjoyed our discussions and we laughed at how our paths very strangely crossed.

Finally, the locksmith arrived.  He was very grave about the situation.  He had to break the lock, break my key and replace everything incuding MY door, too.   It would be very expensive and he couldn`t possibly do it that evening, which was now early in the morning.    Luckily I remembered that Marc left a spare key with conscierge so I only needed to have  Beatrice`s door restored but the concierge was not there until 7am, so I was stranded,  I imagined sleeping in the hallway cold and cramped.  Beatrice insisted that I spend the night in her home.   Can you imagine if I happened to place my key in a mean man`s lock, oh I`d hate to think of it.    I was obliged to accept her gracious offer.  But what else could be done.  Just how expensive would this be? Beatrice demanded of the locksmith.  Over 1300 Euros.  It was an outrage.  What injustice.  To take advantage of a older woman and an American was a crime, she argued on my behalf.   They knocked off 10% and required only a 300 Euro deposit instead of the usual 50%.  It was still aweful.  And he didn`t take a credit card.   I only had 60 Euros on me.  How was I going to get that sum of cash at that hour.    He drove me to 3 different ATM machines, none of them worked, not even for 100 Euros, which by this time he would have gladly accepted.  Finally I thought to call my bank, luckily it was open and I asked them to raise the cash limit.  Finally I got my money and gave it to the locksmith.  

I returned to chez Beatrice.  She waited for me by the elevator, worried about me because I was gone for so long.  She appologized to not have a proper spare bedroom as she was doing some renovations and had just a futon.  She offered me her own bed.  Of course I could not accept, she was too kind, cèst normal, she insisted.  She made me a bed on the futon, gave me pajamas to wear, handed me a towel for the bathroom and even tried to find me a new toothbrush.  She was really lovely.  But, I didn`t sleep very well.  I had a brand new matress that I was so looking forward to sleeping on, I was feeling sorry for myself and at the same time I was so grateful for Beatrice.  She is truly une mere de la monde; a mother of the world.    I awoke early, ready to confront the day.  Beatrice was up just after me, making us coffee, fresh squeezed orange juice, toast, honey, confiture.   She called the conscierge for me and explained everything so I could retrieve my key.  During breakfast in her beautiful updated kitchen, we talked more about love and life.  She really misses her husband and she began to cry.  I told her she is still very beautiful, "oh no", she said, "I used to be, but now; wrinkles" as she raised the skin on her face besides, men her age are ugly, she likes them young and handsome and virile.  We compared our cultures around money and the use of time and how opposite and extreme are the differences.  How Americans obsess over money and French obsess over taking time for time and  somewhere in the middle lies the answer.   We talked about how Americans move their residence more often than the French.  Her chateau in the high Loire Valley has been in her family since the 17th century but her siblings want to sell it with all the antiques and paintings.  Its just a question of money for them but to her its something so much more and she is trying to figure out a way to buy them out so she can pass it on to her children and grandchildren.  The same thing happened to Marc`s uncle when his brother pressed for the sale of the family country home, sadness still surrounds this topic.

I went to the conscierge to get my key and to the bank to get the balance I owed the locksmith.  It felt good to turn the key and enter our apartment. I took a long hot shower to let some of the mounting tension subside.  It had been quite an ordeal.  Finally the locksmith returned after forgeting some of the parts, quel con.  I went back to chez Beatrice and waited for them to finish.   The lock is very high security and very expensive to replace, thank god I didn`t have to change our lock too.   It took 2 lock specialists 3 hours to take the door apart and replace the parts, all because I stuck my key in the wrong lock.   I paid them and they left.  Beatrice invited me to stay for lunch and to eat every meal therafter at her house because I probably just spent all the money I had.   She invited me to see a film with her on Tuesday night, we`ll take the metro together.  She invited me to call her if I ever need anything or want to walk around Paris or go to a museum and to let her know when the next time we are in town.  Its truly amazing how I made a very good friend in Paris, nobility, no less.  And who said the Parisians are rude.

Student Encore

Today was the first day of my french classes at the Alliance Francaise.  I was one of 3 Americans in a class of 20.  There are students of all ages from all over the world.  An attorney from England, a rugby player from Scotland, young college students from Holland, a woman thorasic doctor from Brazil on vacation for a week.  I guess she couldn`t just lie on the beach.  Another Brazilian getting his doctorate in history.   Another from South Korea and Australia.  One of the American`s is a pilot for Southwest airlines, he doesn`t fly to France but he needed a challenge.    Tomorrow I`ll be in another class because, I, me, Alecia, can speak better french then any of them.   TEEHEE.

I knew I was becoming French when I had to wait in line to change my class.  Of course my teacher, lovely as she was, didn`t sign my student card recommending that I be moved to a different class.  This precipitated me standing in 3 different lines in order to make the change official because I needed a signature from a real professor.  I have been observing the french and how they do not wait in lines.  So I decided to do the same.  I feel bad for practicing my new identity on unsuspecting internationals but oh well, you gotta start somewhere.  I maneuvered myself to the front of the line and sat down for the prof`s coveted signature.  A woman came up to me demanding in broken french that she was waiting longer.  I pretended not to understand  her and the teacher told her to go sit down and wait.  The teacher smiled very proudly at how quickly I was catching on as she wisked me through very quickly and it was then official.

I had to learn about waiting in lines the hard way when I needed to setup internet service.  Each long line I waited in I was told that I was in the wrong place.  Finally its almost my turn in the third store when a very chicly dressed parisienne walks in and stands right in front of me, as if her Chanel outfit gave her the right.  She was half my height so I wasn`t going to let her intimidate me.    I puffed up and informed her `il y a une ligne` (there is a line).  She looked up at me meekly and shrank back to the end of the line.  The person behind me chuckled with a thumbs up sign.  Et Voila.

I`m truly living my dream.   Not only am I in France learning french.   I have a French family here, too.  And they take very good care of me and feed me very well.   And thanks to me, or because of me, they get to see Paris.  As lovely as this place is, when you actually live here, you don`t see any of it.  Yesterday, I went with Marc`s Aunt and   Uncle and cousins to Montmatre like we were tourists.  We all went inside Sacre Coeur Cathedrale for the first time. I can understand that coming from me but not for someone living in Paris for over 50 years.  They truly are lovely and make me feel so at home here and I`m having the time of my life

Marblehead - Grasse Sister City

Its been a few days since I posted because of a lack of internet service so I will recap our few days in Grasse.  We were part of 10 person delegation wined and dined by the mayor of Grasse and his gracious staff to inaugurate the sister city relationship between Marblehead, an artsy New England beach town and one of my favorite towns on the East Coast, with Grasse, the perfume capital of the world in the South of France.  http://www.nicematin.com/article/grasse/marblehead-grasse-lamitie-au-dela-des-oceans

Since Marc is le Parfumeur, he was invited to be a delegate and I got to be apart of this amazing event to honor the relationship between the two cities and Marvin Gilmore, the oldest surviving, black World War II veteran from Cambride, who was part of our eclectic party which also included the French Consul, the President of the Marquis de Lafayette, the select woman/mayor from Marble head, owners of the Landing, a restaurant in Marble head and our friend Myriam Zuber, who I met thru another friend who is Myriam's cousin, at Palermo, of all places.  And so that is how I, the peanut gallery was apart of history in the making this past week. 

After being guests in Grasse, we headed to Juan les Pins for a few days of R & R on the beach.  It was so relaxing to sit on the sand after a swim in the mediterranean.  The town is so nice to visit in September, the weather is perfect, the sea was refreshing and the crowds have all returned home.  Its so nice to call this place home.

Last night I arrived in Paris.  I parted with Marc at the airport and hopped on a bus for the city.  A little unhappy to be alone, but at the same time, very excited to be embarking on my dream to learn french and live in Paris for a month.  I am sorry to report that my first night, I ate dinner at McDonalds, I was feeling homesick and lonely and a Big Mac did the trick, it also gave me indigestion.  This morning, after a good night sleep, I walked down to the outdoor market and started to feel my confidence return.  I bought some beautiful raspberries and peaches, a croissant and a roasted chicken with potatoes for lunch.  Marc has taught me how to order and how to grocery shop so I don't get overwhelmed by 14 types of cream or butter or cheese, but I can head for the best ones and be off.   Back home, I made myself a lovely breakfast of farm fresh eggs, croissant and a perfect of cup of coffee that I am happy to report, I only had to redo once.  Things can be confusing in France and making a coffee is one of those things.  That and figuring out how to open a door, get on the internet and cross the street!   I walked  2 hours to the Alliance Francaise, where my french lessons begin on Monday.  It was a beautiful day, the sun was out, the air a little cooler now that its almost fall.  Tonight I will have dinner with Jean and Jacqueline, Marc's aunt an uncle, a very charming, quinticentially french couple and tomorrow we will have Kol Nidre and then Yom Kippur on Saturday.   I miss Marc, but I am having the time of my life,  I really do feel like Cinderella, only my prince charming is for real and his feet are smaller than mine :)