LAUNDRY DAY IN BURANO

True to its reputation, April unfolded in a perfectly predictable way: completely unpredictable. Everybody knows the old French saying: En avril, ne te découvre pas d’un fil. All month long, the weather was all over the map. We experienced temperatures high enough to fool us into thinking that July had arrived. We were stunned by a freaky freezing episode that lasted three full nights and pretty much wiped out vineyards and orchards all over France. In between those two extremes, we endured many days of la grisaille where a grey veil seems to envelop the whole countryside and everything looks desaturated, dormant, and dull.

Venetian lagoon, October 2019

Contrary to public perception la grisaille is not reserved to Paris or Limoges, a city that has been (affectionately?) dubbed France’s chamber pot… But, let’s face it, some places manage to impress even under the dreariest of conditions. Burano is one of them. When I need color in my day, I head out to my photo archives and zero in on October 2019.  

Arriving in Burano

We left Venice on a Sunday morning and hopped on the vaporetto at Fondamente Nuove. The sun was having the hardest time piercing through the ominous clouds hanging over the lagoon. The air was cool and salty and misty: I was glad to wear a windbreaker and couldn’t help leaning outside on the small deck to fill my eyes with the shimmering beauty of the water. The Campanile di San Marco slowly disappeared from the horizon. After a 45-minute ride, we reached the island of Burano. As we approached the embarcadero, dark nuages above us seemed ready to burst and I feared the worst.

The not-so-grand canal in Burano

Like everybody else on the waterbus, we disembarked and followed a very narrow street lined with shops selling beautiful lace and not too tacky souvenirs. It led to a small canal and that’s when my eyes popped up. The juxtaposition of colors on the facades looked like the product of an exuberant child let loose with tubes of acrylic paint. 

Red and green: Christmassy?

And some Pepto-Bismol pink, too

Leaving the “main” street behind, I ducked into narrow alleys leading to small squares where my colorful discoveries continued. Away from stores, restaurants, and ice cream shops, the vivid walls of local fishermen’s homes were unfolding like an endless rainbow. 

Fun, fun, fun

Painting the walls of these row houses in different colors is a way to define the boundaries of each home. Supposedly, the bright colors help fishermen find their own house during foggy weather (or perhaps after a few shots of grappa?) 

A touch more muted

And some pastels

Burano still feels like a true fisherman’s island: although the population of the island is decreasing, 450 fishermen are still active members of a cooperative. The bulk of their catch is sold at the Rialto fish market in Venice. 

These houses sit on a tiny strip of land between the sea and the canal

Burano could not have become famous for its lace without the fishermen’s wives: their skills in making and repairing fishing nets easily translated into lacemaking. In the 15thand 16thcenturies, Burano lace was highly prized all over Europe. Then King Louis XIV ordered an import ban on Burano lace and set up la Manufacture Royale des dentelles françaises.     

Not just tablecloths and napkins, my friends!

It was quite apparent that the locals had more faith in their weather than I did. While I spent the whole day expecting rain, they thought it was safe to hang their laundry to dry. Many did just that.

How many bath towels? How many people?

Perhaps Sunday is indeed laundry day in Burano. Clotheslines with pulleys were set up in front of second-story windows or in diminutive backyards. Some even stretched across small squares, from one house to the other.

Sharing a line with the neighbor across the square

Could it double as a volley ball court?

Each drying load had a story to tell about the men, women, and children who used those clothes: pants and shirts, sheets and towels. It was also a reminder that our convenient clothes dryers are still hard to find (and fit) in most European cities.

Long pants and short jeans

Who wants to count socks?

I meandered in and out of tiny streets where hanging clothes and the occasional bicycle were the only signs of life. Perhaps it was nap time for the fishermen; perhaps there was a good soccer game on TV. 

Staking my territory

I like that faded blue

I finally returned to the main square and its leaning bell tower. Back to civilization, the cafés, and the shops. I saw a lot of clothes there too, but they were hanging on mannequins, behind the shop windows. Waiting for new stories to be written. 

Lovely Burano even when the paint gets washed out by the salty air and the Acqua Alta

Vocabulary
En avril, ne te découvre pas d’un fil: In April, do not take off one thread (of your clothing)
La grisaille: grey skies
Le nuage: cloud
La dentelle: lace

Heading to Paris instead of Burano? My book is perfect to help you plan your trip. Or to reminisce when you can’t cross the pond… Buy a copy of Moments Parfaits in Paris: I'll mail you (from France) a signed bookmark in an envelope bearing this collectible Trésors de Notre-Dame stamp!

À BICYCLETTE

During the recent transportation strikes, a significant contingent of commuters dusted off their bicyclettes and rode them to the office. It was especially the case for those living around Paris since they heavily depend on public transportation.

There is always a bike attached to the Fontaine de la Croix-du-Trahoir, 1st arr. Or so it seems.

Have bike and fishing pole, will travel.

A recent segment on French news suggested that a substantial number of them continue to use their bikes even though the métro, RER, and buses are now running normally. For some, it’s a convenient way to schedule some exercise in their daily routine. Others simply enjoy their newfound independence.

Thankfully, it didn’t snow in Paris during the transportation strike!

A bicycle on rue Crémieux, years before the colorful street was “discovered” by Instagrammers

Independence, indeed. Everybody remembers their first bicycle, the apprehension and elation of les petites roues coming off, and the feeling of freedom when mom and dad say you can ride to grandma’s house all by yourself. Your bicycle becomes your most treasured possession until you’re old enough to drive a moped (France) or a car (USA.)

Parked by the marché aux fleurs, on Ile de la Cité

Draisiennes at Musée des Arts et Métiers

French inventors had a creative hand in the development of the bicycle. Although German baron Karl von Drais introduced the first two-wheeler (a.k.a. la draisienne) in 1817, it was only operated by kicking against the street. Through the 19th century, patents filed by Mercier, Michaud or Lallement, added pedals, crank drives, and brakes so the vehicle continued to evolve. Many of those early designs are on display at the often overlooked Musée des Arts et Métiers. Peugeot started selling their first bikes in 1886, Dunlop invented the tire in 1888, and Michelin filed his inner-tube patent in 1891. All this ushered a bicycle Golden Age.

Bike and boats, canal de la Villette.

Parked on rue Ronsard, below the Sacré-Coeur. Fancy saddle bags!

The first cycling competition was held in 1868 in Saint-Cloud. In 1869, one hundred racers competed in the Paris-Rouen race. Bordeaux-Paris and Paris-Brest-Paris started in 1891. Le Tour de France was created in 1903 and remains the premier race in the world.

A bike family on impasse Canart, 12th arr.

Taking a break in front of la Maison des Canaux, 19th arr.

Recreational cycling has always been a popular activity in France. On any given Sunday, you’re very likely to spot groups of friends riding their vélos de course. I was on the front lines of the “folding bike” craze during my early teens. Out in the countryside, we often see couples and families (and luggage!) riding touring bikes. Several of our neighbors cleverly purchased electric bikes: baby boomers love to conquer our hilly terrain with a little help…

Vélib’ station on rue Quincampoix, 3rd arr.

Inspired by the Dutch bicycle rental/sharing model, the city of Paris introduced Vélib’ in 2007 and the grey bikes quickly became ubiquitous. The operator and color scheme changed in 2018 but the transition was chaotic. The system currently includes 20,000 bicycles distributed over 1,100 stations.

BFF in Sarlat

A bike and a bridge, San Francisco

Going through my photo collection, I was surprised that so many of my pictures included bicycles and I’m sharing some of them with you today. I do think they make interesting props whether in Paris, in the countryside, or abroad.

Dry-cleaning delivery in New York

A love letter to Jacqueline in Chicago

Minty bike in Burano

Bicultural bike on rue du Grand Prieuré, 11th arr.

Most of all, bicycles are signs of human presence and activity. Sometimes, they even have stories to tell…

Bike retirement home?

Vocabulary
La bicyclette: bicycle
Les petites roues: lit. small wheels; training wheels
Le vélo de course: racing bike; ten-speed bike

COURTYARDS OF MILAN

My first visit to Milan lasted a mere fifteen hours and seven of them were spent in the seediest hotel I’ve ever walked into. For thirty years, Milan conjured up memories of questionable bed sheets, fantastic pasta, and a private moment with a masterpiece.

Cloister at Santa Maria delle Grazie

Arriving at the stern Milan Central station on a late afternoon of October 1988, my friend Raegan and I flagged a cab and rode to Santa Maria delle Grazie with only fifteen minutes to spare before the church closing time. We quickly dropped off our luggage at the entrance and walked into the convent’s refectory. In the middle of a huge restoration effort, the fresco on the back wall dominated the large dining hall: Leonardo’s The Last Supper was looming over us and another three or four visitors. It’s crazy to think that we just waltzed in and had the place virtually to ourselves: nowadays restricted timed tickets sell out months in advance.

Tickets are required to enter the refectory and view The Last Supper; the church itself and the cloister are open for free.

Three decades later, we decided to return to Milan for a proper visit. We opted not to secure tickets to The Last Supper, probably for fear of diluting our original emotions, but we did take the subway to reach the church neighborhood as it seemed to be lined with older buildings that opened onto lovely courtyards.

Your typical Milanese courtyard…

Not too shabby either

I am a sucker for courtyards. When I stroll the streets of Paris and notice a resident punching numbers on a digicode, I always pause and steal a peek inside the door. Sometimes, I even walk in to experience a quiet moment in the big city. Most of these cours intérieures belong to private apartment buildings but, once you’ve passed through the porte cochère, you can usually explore at your leisure.

Love the wrought iron gates!

Stately

Milan is a bit different in that respect. The large inconspicuous street doors are often left open but lead to wrought iron gates that don’t allow you to walk into the courtyards themselves.

Wow!

Many examples of coffered wooden ceilings, too.

The fer forgé is truly remarkable: those gates are both strong and delicate, practical and artistic, intricate and decorative.

I love the shadow of the gate, too!

So many courtyards, so little time…

Beyond the gates, courtyards are usually framed by columns and marble is lavishly used. As is typical of European cities that were built before construction materials could easily transit by train or trucks, local quarries supplied the stone. In the case of Northern Italy, it is marble: white, pink, red, blue-grey, black…

Care for some marble?

So elegant!

While I was not surprised that the Duomo (cathedral) would be completely built of marble, I did not expect to see so much of it used in “regular” housing: the charming interior courtyards I photographed were not hidden behind the facades of fancy historic palazzos.

Marble floor detail

Carving and sculpting marble also produces chips: they are recycled to compose mosaic-like flooring that often graces the entrances.

Wouldn’t you like to take classes in such a serene environment?

Palm trees!

A Milanese courtyard typically features stone fountains, exotic trees, trimmed bushes, and colorful flowers either in dirt or in pots, all arranged in an orderly fashion. It’s an elegant look but not overly formal.

When the gate is open…

Occasionally, it looks more like an English-style garden where the vegetation is free to “do its thing” without too much human coercion.

I hope you didn’t miss all the fancy light fixtures…

Courtyards have been a staple of Milanese architecture since the Renaissance and I imagine that, at one point, horses and their noble riders passed through the colonnades and quenched their thirst at the fountains. Nowadays, metal gates permit entrance only to bicycles and pedestrians. It makes these secluded places even more secret, enticing, peaceful, and photogenic than their Parisian counterparts.

So, which one was your favorite?

Vocabulary
Le digicode: electronic door lock with a numerical code
La cour intérieure: enclosed courtyard
La porte cochère: carriage entrance
Le fer forgé: wrought iron

A STROLL IN THE LUXEMBOURG GARDENS

During my short stay in Paris last week, I popped into the Luxembourg gardens for a couple of hours. I always seem to return to that location as it conjures up so many great memories of my student days. It’s arguably the favorite park of Parisians and visitors. It’s easy to understand why: a stately 17th-century palace, the spectacular Medicis fountain, serene gardens in the French and English styles, a large pond usually dotted with remote-controlled toy sailboats, and plenty of green metal chairs that invite long reading sessions in the sun or in the shade. Marionnettes, donkey rides, and pétanque courts are a bonus.

The Luxembourg palace is where the French Senate sits

The metal fences that surround the gardens and the palace are often used to display photographic exhibits; the gardens regularly serve as the setting for art installations. For me, the gardens themselves are always the show, no matter the season. On that warm and sunny September day, they were glorious. One often hears a picture is worth a thousand words: I’ll let my photos do the talking.

Mosaïc-like patterns

Medicis fountain

No boats today

Garden chairs: until 1974, you had to pay to sit…

Explosion of colors

Saint-Sulpice towers in the background

Quiet time

Parting shot. Fabulous dahlias.

I hope you enjoyed the stroll. Make sure to include the Luxembourg gardens every time you visit Paris!

VENI, VIDI, VAN GOGH

My first encounter with Van Gogh goes back to my young philatelist days. I started collecting les timbres in the late 60s. My collection had no particular focus and my approach was opportunistic: find an envelope with a pretty image, cut out the top right corner, soak and remove the stamp, let dry. Of course, bigger was better and I was always on the lookout for large commemoratives. La Poste regularly issued stamps in their Série touristique and I was especially fond of them: those miniature gravures took me to Le Mont Saint-Michel, Carcassonne, and Bort-les-Orgues long before I was old enough to visit the actual locations on my own.

My second favorite category was fine arts. Not so much because I was enamored with paintings but because these stamps were always oversized and they just looked stunning in my red album. A couple of school friends were collectionneurs as well and we traded our duplicates. I got my first timbre artistique from Laurent: it was La Baigneuse by Dominique Ingres. Van Gogh didn’t enter my collection until 1979 when the Post Office issued L’Eglise d’Auvers sur Oise. What a shock! I had never seen such a luminous stamp. It simply popped from the album page and made all other paintings look bland.

A visit to the musée d’Orsay in 1988 was a revelation: twenty-four of his paintings, in one room, bathed in natural light. I was transfixed by the richness of his colors, the depth of his blues in particular. I stared at Starry Night, a painting so powerful that I felt pulled into the deep water of the Rhône river.

A trip to Arles in 2017 cemented my appreciation for his works. My friend Raegan and I walked in Vincent’s footsteps, searching for the exact locations that he painted during two of his most prolific years.

While in Paris last month, Rick and I made a point of booking tickets to “Van Gogh: La nuit étoilée” at L’Atelier des Lumières, an immersive experience that runs through December 2019. Located in the 11th arrondissement, it is situated on the site of the former Fonderie du Chemin-Vert, a factory that started casting metal in 1835. The location had not been occupied since 2000; Bruno Monnier came up with the project of converting the space into a center for numeric arts. The first show opened in 2018 and was devoted to Gustav Klimt.

To say that Van Gogh: La nuit étoilée is a projection of the artist’s works on the interior walls of a building is inadequate. This is very different from the vacation slide shows we all endured in our parents’ living room during the 70s! To produce the exhibit, thousands of tableaux –and some of Vincent’s letters to his brother Theo– were digitized at a very high resolution. The images are set in motion to complement an inspired musical score that includes classical and modern pieces from Vivaldi to Miles Davis, from Mozart to Nina Simone. More than one hundred video projectors are used to broadcast the program on the walls and the floor of the Atelier; it’s custom-made to take advantage of the various surfaces, the angles of the walls, and the roundness of the pillars.

Each visual and musical sequence truly immerse you into Van Gogh’s universe: ten chronological scenes illustrate his painting style and technique, showcase his favorite subjects, and transport the viewers to his famous locales: Montmartre, Arles, Saint-Remy, Auvers. The images dissolve into each other and seem to be animated. Yet, the sequencing is not too speedy: it’s still possible to appreciate the richness of a given painting –and its details– but on a much larger scale than in a museum viewing. The photos on this post don’t do justice to the exhibit: they are just meant to convey the ambition of the show and the feeling of the space. I found the whole installation to be truly spectacular, almost magical. Planning a trip to Paris this year? I highly recommend you make time for Van Gogh: La nuit étoilée and plunge into the deep blue waters of the Rhône river.

Here are a few useful tips if you decide to go to L’Atelier des Lumières.

• Besides Van Gogh, the current exhibit features two other immersions: Japon Rêvé (excellent) and Verse, which made me feel like I was witnessing the Big Bang or traveling in space. All three programs are shown successively in the main hall; the whole experience lasts one hour.

• This show runs through December 31, 2019. Admission is limited and you must book your ticket online. The online calendar shows available days and time slots.

• Time slots are on the half-hour: depending on your scheduling, the program (for you) might start either with Van Gogh or with Japan/Verse.

• I don’t know whether all time slots sell out but there might be fewer spectators during the lunch hour or at the tail end of the day. There are nocturnes on Friday and Saturday nights. Predictably, weekends sell out faster.

• The place didn’t feel crowded to me or, at least, the crowds didn’t interfere with my viewing pleasure. There is a sitting area in the mezzanine and some circular benches scattered in the room. Many people chose to sit or even lie down on the floor; some preferred to stand but were considerate not to do so in front of those who were sitting down. You can wander around but the projected images are seamlessly repeated in different areas: you will not be missing anything if you just stay put in a particular spot. I didn’t feel there was one bad seat in the house, just slightly different perspectives due to the various shapes of the surfaces.

• Non-flash photography is authorized but I would recommend that you just allow yourself to take in the whole experience and not be distracted. If you absolutely want to take photographs, my suggestion is to stay for a “second round” as the whole program repeats on the hour and you will not get kicked out if you stay for a second viewing.

• Save some time for the gift shop: the selection and the quality of the items are worthy of the top museums I’ve visited.

L’Atelier des Lumières
38 rue Saint Maur
75011 Paris

Vocabulary

Le timbre: stamp
La Poste: French post office
La Série touristique: touristique series
Le collectionneur: collector
Le timbre artistique: fine arts stamp
La Baigneuse: Female Nude, Bather
L’Eglise d’Auvers sur Oise: Church at Auvers
Le tableau: painting

CHASSE-ROUES

I had seen them forever. They were part of the scenery but, quite honestly, I never paid attention to them while I roamed the streets of Paris as a student.

The former Banque de France building on place du Général Catroux

Hôtel particulier d’Almeyras, rue des Francs-Bourgeois

When my sister relocated from the banlieue to southern France seventeen years ago, I had no choice but to look for places to stay in Paris proper: hotels at first, apartments or Airbnb later on if the trip lasted more than four days. In retrospect, it was a blessing in disguise: spending more time in the capital, especially at night, gave me more opportunities to take note of architectural details instead of just rushing to the next appointment.

Rue Réaumur

Courtyard entrance, rue du Faubourg Saint-Honoré

Short chasse-roues, tall caryatids on boulevard Saint-Germain

A bit of good advice when strolling in Paris is to look en haut: roofs, balconies, mascarons, the Eiffel Tower silhouette, a glimpse of Montmartre provide endless excitement. Another good suggestion is to look en bas and not just because Fifi might have left a petit cadeau for you on the trottoir. Throughout the city, I found the old doors enchanting and started to take an inordinate amount of photos to document their variety of style, color, and hardware.

Entrance to Monnaie de Paris, quai de Conti

Courtyard entrance in the 12th arrondissement

Going through my pictures, I noticed that many doors were flanked by low structures made of stone or metal. I had no idea what they were. Research ensued. Pretty soon I was not only photographing doors but also chasse-roues.

Old stone chasse-roue on place des Vosges; the example on the left is reinforced with a wide metal band.

A lonely stone chasse-roue on rue de Turenne

A fancier stone chasse-roue on rue François Miron.

Chasse-roues are not a new invention. They might not be as old as the wheel itself but, apparently, they could be found in antique times as soon as horse-drawn carriages were used. Their primary function was to protect the corner of a wall or a door: wheels and wheel hubs could easily scrape and dig into stone or wood.

A simple metal arc

The “boule” design

Hypotenuse…

Classic design on rue Custine

Another old design on rue de Charonne

Amazing what a good coat of paint will do! Blue on Blue, rue de Cambrai

Looking good on Blvd de Courcelles

You will find chasse-roues in every neighborhood of the city. They come in many shapes and two main materials. Stone was favored in medieval and Renaissance times but many different cast-iron designs were installed during the Haussmannian transformation of Paris.

Lion and Griffin

Rue du Faubourg -Saint-Antoine

Conic

Double snail, boulevard de Courcelles

Minimalist on Ile Saint-Louis

When automobiles replaced fiacres, chasse-roues did not serve a purpose anymore. In fact, they became a bit indésirables but they were unusually difficult to remove: most of them were left in situ. Which suits me just fine. We can all admire vestiges of another time and briefly transport ourselves to the 18th century. Just imagine a capricious horse hauling a gilded carrosse, the right back wheel hitting the guard stone, and someone shouting “sacrebleu” while the occupants readjust their fancy wigs…

Color coordination, rue de Trévise

Rue Tronchet. where Kim Kardashian was robbed. Chasse-roues cannot prevent all damages…

Ancient and worn out, rue Vieille-du-Temple

You may also enjoy reading about door knockers, bistro chairs, and shutters.

Vocabulary

Le chasse-roue: guard stone
La banlieue: the suburbs
En haut: up
Le mascaron: stone figurehead
En bas: down
Le petit cadeau: small gift
Le trottoir: sidewalk
Le chasse-roue: guard stone
Le fiacre: horse-drawn carriage for hire
Indesirable: undesirable, unwelcome
Le carrosse: a fancy horse-drawn carriage, completely enclosed

A COUNTRY CHRISTMAS

Things tend to be simpler in rural France. Take Christmas, for instance. I certainly didn’t expect the Christmas illuminations in our area to rival those in Paris but I was a tiny bit underwhelmed at first.

Christmas tree in Payrignac

Payrignac, our village of 700 souls, took the safe route: a good size tree in front of the Saint Agapit church; another one near the war memorial; three deer cutouts (particle board?) strung with lights by the lake; an illuminated Joyeuses Fêtes sign hung on the front of the primary school; an étoile filante of light bulbs decorating the side of the City Hall. Yep, I think that was about it.

Christmas decor in Gourdon. Fail…

Gourdon itself is 4 km away; the third largest city of the département, it boasts (!) a population of 4,500. Apparently, the extensive renovation of the tour de ville made a serious dent in the city budget this year. When we first discovered the huge Christmas Balls hanging by the City Hall, the Post Office and the Tribunal, we figured they had been purchased when Macron was a toddler. Granted they looked a little better at night but, really, whoever thought this was a good idea?

Music kiosk in Gourdon at dusk

On the other hand, the music kiosk and the garden around it received a more appealing treatment. My guess is that the same lights can easily be used again for Bastille Day; let’s just kill two (holiday) birds with one stone.

Un Certain Regard, my favorite boutique for home decor

Good thing the little boutiques on the above-mentioned tour de ville did their part to dress up the streets in a classy way.

En Vie de Femme, a clever name for women jewelry and accessories

Floral shop and the new “upgraded” sidewalks

And, yes, the renovations made the sidewalks larger, more level and less treacherous, especially when strolling at night. Which, incidentally, occurs shortly after 5 pm these days.

Fishnet trees at the supermarket. No tree lots in sight around here.

I just don’t think the French are as “fussy” as Americans when it comes to Christmas decorations. Very few people hang lights outside their homes: I’m sure energy costs are a factor. Most folks set up a tree in their house but nobody seems to have issues with purchasing a conifer completely wrapped in netting. My mother-in-law, who always insists on perfect symmetry, would tomber dans les pommes at the mere thought of buying a tree sight unseen. Oh, and an enterprising person could perhaps start a business selling tree skirts. Just saying…

Papillotes! So many choices…

Let’s face it: for the French, Christmas is all about the food. It starts around November 20 when the supermarkets overflow with friandises. Mind you, candies are just as much for adults as for children: marrons glacés, calissons d’Aix, papillotes, candied fruits, nougat, stuffed prunes, etc. compete with an incredibly large selection of chocolates. The boxes were piled above eye level and I felt I was navigating through a maze of delicious sweets.

Hens, capons, and turkeys. Tiny turkeys. Tasty turkeys… These holiday birds average 6-8 pounds.

By mid-December, the pastry aisles were filled with traditional Yule logs and the frozen section with bûches glacées. Smoked salmon, huîtres, scallops, lobster, escargots, and foie gras are perennial favorites for a first course, or second, or third. The plat de résistance always generates lively debates: in the old days, goose used to be very popular in the area but the current bird of choice seems to be capon.

Ho, Ho, Ho! Santa checks out our medieval streets.

Of course, Santa made a few appearances. I first spotted him in the rue du Majou. The trip from the Pôle Nord was so long, he needed to layover and replenish his toy supply in Germany.

An athletic Santa. The Mediterranean diet is really paying off!

I saw him again rope climbing into a window in the old part of town and had to marvel at how fit he looked. We now have the unequivocal proof that duck fat and red wine are good for your health.

All aboard!

Santa and one of his elves also offered rides around town in a classic horse-drawn wagon. I guess the reindeers needed a break.

Rick photobombs the Marché de Noël in Sarlat

I have a love-and-hate relationship with Sarlat: while thoroughly impressed by its architecture, I feel the old town has become too commercial. Nevertheless, we decided to visit the Marché de Noël, the second-largest in Nouvelle-Aquitaine (I imagine Bordeaux takes the top honor.) I made a point of going on a Tuesday afternoon, before school break, hoping it would not be too crowded. It turned out to be a good plan as we were able to cruise through the 70 chalets in record time.

Guernica in Sarlat. Dali’s The Persistence of Memory and works by Miró, Goya, and Velázquez were hung on the sycamores. Well, reproductions..

This year’s theme was Spain: I suppose Christmas is not thematic enough. Some products were made locally (donkey milk soaps, mohair shawls, wooden toys) and a few came from the country-that-shall-not-be-named.

Medieval beer. Some things get better given longer (with apologies to Abbot Ale…)

Vin chaud. It warms you up on a cold afternoon.

Actually, the whole thing seemed to be a good excuse for people to hang out, eat, and enjoy an adult beverage. In addition to empañadas, tapas, chorizo, Serrano ham or churros, one could also order oysters, frog legs, escargots, porcini soup, foie gras burgers, crêpes, waffles, roasted chestnuts, and more delicious foods, to be washed down with wine, medieval beer, or vin chaud. Just a notch above what the food court offers at your local mall.

Christmas decor at Mom’s retirement home

Last weekend, we headed out to Grenade-sur-Garonne to spend Christmas with my sister and her family. We picked up Mom at the retirement home where she is currently staying and I was quite impressed with the way they had decorated the facility, inside and out. She found a present in her room when we drove her back: a lovely collier de perles. I have no idea what Santa brought to the male residents.

I’m using this photo of Moulin de Planiol (a B&B a few miles away) for my Bonne Année cards this year

I hope your Christmas was as delicious as mine. I have to say that it was very, very nice to have unrestricted access to the variety of wonderful food that France produces at this time of the year. As we are leaving 2018 behind, I want to wish you a Happy New Year and thank you for all your encouragement as I transition to living in my native country again. There are many new adventures I want to share with you and I appreciate your following my musings. Let’s toast the new year: I wish 2019 is filled with perfect moments for all of us!

Vocabulary
Joyeuses Fêtes: Happy Holidays
L’étoile filante (f): shooting star
Le tour de ville: lit. city tour; in this case, it refers to the boulevard that encircles the medieval town, where the moat used to be.
Le Tribunal: courthouse
Tomber dans les pommes: to faint; lit. to fall into the apples
La friandise: sweet, candy
Le marron glacé: candied chestnut
Le calisson: a specialty from Aix-en-Provence that combines ground almond and candied melon, shaped like a diamond.
La papillote: a specialty from Lyon where a chocolate bouchée is double-wrapped; the first paper wrappper is printed with a quote, the outside wrapper is made of foil with frilly ends.
La bûche glacée: a frozen Yule log, mostly made of ice cream, lighter than the traditional bûche pâtissière.
L’huître (f): oyster
Le plat de résistance: main course (the dish that will allow you to resist until the next meal)
Le Pôle Nord: North Pole
Le vin chaud: warm mulled wine
Le collier de perles: pearl necklace

LA DEUCHE

Modesto –the California city where I lived before moving back to France three months ago– is the epitome of car culture in the USA. Native son George Lucas immortalized Friday night cruising in his 1973 movie American Graffiti. If you recall, a famous French car is featured in the film: a young Richard Dreyfuss steps out of an old Citroën 2 CV.

A patriotic specimen. Check out the roll-back roof.

I doubt I’m the only one who had a love affair with this iconic car. It was Dad’s first car when my parents ditched their Vespa and bought their Deux Chevaux about the time I was born. Truth be told: this car left an indelible imprint on three generations of French people.

Clearly, the perfect choice for a wedding: note the tulle flower at the top of the antenna.

The concept and design originated in 1938 but production in earnest only started ten years later; the car would be produced until 1990. In order to appeal to the masses (and sell more tires since Michelin had just bought Citroën…) engineers were charged to develop a Toute Petite Voiture that would sit four passengers, reach a top speed of 60 km/h (about 37 miles per hour) and burn only 3 liters of gas to cover 100 km (equivalent to 78 miles per gallon.) The cahier des charges for the suspension specified that a basket of eggs transported through a plowed field would not turn into a messy omelet. We must salute marketing genius when we see it: the car has always been extremely popular in rural areas.

I saw this one at a vide-grenier; not for sale, though.

Indeed, you will not see many 2 CV on the streets of Paris nowadays: since 2016, vehicles manufactured before 1997 have been deemed very polluants and City Hall has banned their use within the city limits unless they are registered as voitures de collection or are used for sightseeing tours, a very popular activity in the capital. But in my (current) neck of the woods, I still encounter 2 CV on a daily basis. On a bright February day ten years ago, I even saw a truffle-hunting pig stepping out of the back of a 2 CV camionnette!

There is a spiffy Charleston model in the light grey/dark grey combination that’s often parked across from the lycée. Other color combinations for the Charleston included the classic black/Delage red (it looks maroon) and a rare yellow/black model.

The car is immediately recognizable because the overall design was barely modified through its four decades of production: same rounded shape, flip-up windows, and roll-back roof. One noticeable change: the original butterfly doors were eventually replaced with a less “suicidal” set up… And the engine eventually reached a whopping 602 ccs versus 375 ccs on the very first model. A little more than 5 million units were produced worldwide. The 2 CV is so well loved that car clubs were founded in its honor: of course, they organize car shows and help owners find parts.

Over the years, I’ve noticed a one-of-a-kind 2 CV often parked at Carrefour or Intermarché. The car is mostly dark green but has gone through several paint “upgrades:” on a photo I took in 2014, the front fender on the passenger side was cream instead of black.

Many old 2 CV end up being “personalized.” Sometimes the farmer just wants to replace a rusted fender on its utilitarian vehicle. Sometimes an aficionado yearns to make his car unique through customized paint jobs or accessories.

A bright green 2 CV sits on my neighbor’s property, less than 300 feet from my office. It would need a lot of TLC to hit the asphalt!

A well-traveled 2 CV. I wonder whether it actually visited all the countries featured on its flags.

Customized hood ornament. Perfect!

Michel Robillart, a professional woodworker, made the news last year with his wooden 2 CV. Photo credit: Guillaume Souvant/AFP.

If you’re truly a fan, like Michel Robillard, you spend 6 years of your life building a 2 CV out of various fruit woods. And it runs!

Old 2 CV never die!

Some fun links to explore:

The Citroën Official Website features lots of photos and even sounds of the beloved 2 CV

This INA short film shows how the 2 CV is the perfect vehicle to take on a picnic

If you are a Netflix subscriber, check out this episode (C4:E4) of Comedians in Cars having Coffee where Jerry Seinfeld and Gad Elmaleh drive a vintage 2 CV in the streets of New York.

Vocabulary

La Deuche (or Deudeuche): nickname for the 2 CV
Deux Chevaux: lit. Two Horses; what the initials 2 CV stand for, in reference to the (fiscal) two horsepower engine
Toute Petite Voiture: Very Little Car
Le cahier des charges: lit. notebook of responsibilities; specifications
Polluant: polluting
Voiture de collection: collector’s car, vintage car
Camionnette: van; in this case, the back seat of the 2 CV was removed to increase cargo capacity.
Le lycée: high school  

MY LAST SUPPER

For the foreseeable future, I will not have the pleasure of cooking in my own kitchen. For at least eight months, if all goes well. When you’re contemplating a house renovation in France, tiny details (like schedule) do not apply. First of all, nothing happens in August. Sometimes, the weather doesn’t cooperate and the masons are running three months late. Other times, the woodworker has a back injury and can’t work on your staircase for a while. Merde happens.

Rick and I were organizing the house before the movers came in and it dawned on me this would be the last dinner I would make in my own house, right here, in California. So many good meals started in that kitchen. So many fun parties spilled into the patio, the dining room, and the living room. They all originated between this familiar stove, fridge, sink, and countertops. Last Saturday, there was no time to celebrate “the big move” with a big memorable meal. Just the two of us, dusty and sweaty after a long day of work. It ended up being pork chops and sautéed zucchini. Simple, pleasurable but not Instagram worthy.

Sunday: don’t even ask. It was a Burger King night.

I thought we were done but Monday night snuck up on us. We worked all day with the great crew that was packing our container. Still so much to do before they would come back the next day. I was exhausted and it was late but fast food two days in a row was not an option for me. I knew there was a bag of frozen shrimp in the freezer, a box of orzo pasta in the pantry, a plastic bottle of lemon juice (bought by Rick because I always use fresh lemons,) half a head of garlic in the terra-cotta pot, and a few sorry springs of parsley from last year’s plant in the herb garden. Oh, and some Pinot Grigio from the wine-in-a-box I use for everyday cooking/drinking. With these few simple ingredients, I whipped up a quick satisfactory dish but still not deserving a mention on Facebook. It was definitely the last meal I would be cooking in the place I called home for twenty-seven years. I can’t even begin to tell you how emotional this realization was.

Instead of posting pedestrian pictures of my last two meals in my current home, I decided to share with you a photo of the “real” Last Supper as I captured it in 1998. My friend Raegan and I were in Munich for a trade show. On a whim, she thought we should ride the train to Milan instead of returning to Paris. It was a memorable trip for several reasons, one of them being that it was Fashion Week and we had no hotel reservation… Before trying to tackle that minor issue, we hailed a cab and headed out to the Basilica di Santa Maria delle Grazie where curators were in the middle of restoring the original colors of Leonardo’s famous fresco: only the right half was cleaned up to reveal the brightness of the original colors.

That Last Supper was definitely more compelling than mine.

Vocabulary
Merde: shit

LES FLEURS

I hooked up in Paris with my friend Raegan last September and she was interested in visiting some the places where I grew up. We took the RER to the suburbs east of Paris and got off at Noisy-Champs. We walked to my parents’ former house –where I lived until I moved to the US– and then to the elementary school I attended when I was 10 years old. We stood at the gate just before noon, where many mothers were waiting to pick up their children. I usually walked home on my own for lunch but Mom would often come to get me at the end of the school day, with a pain au chocolat, un pain aux raisins, or a chausson aux pommes for my goûter. 

Elisabeth, among her flowers

On a whim, I decided to head out to Parmi les Fleurs, a floral shop located a mere 100 meters from the school. It also happens to stand right across from the cemetery, which is always a desirable spot when you are in the floral business. None of my family members are buried there but the florist, Elisabeth, designed my wedding bouquet in 1982. She was one of my sister’s childhood friends. I hadn’t seen her since… well, my wedding. I instantly recognized her: the blond hair gave her away. It was fun to reconnect after all these years. Her shop looked beautiful; it was inviting and uncluttered, a suggestion of how the right floral arrangement can transform your space.

Rue de Babylone, 7th arr.

I don’t routinely draw comparisons between the French and American cultures but I do believe that we –the French– have a special relationship with flowers. Take weddings as an example. In the US, the bride pretty much makes all decisions on flowers (the bouquet and boutonnieres, of course, but also the arrangements that will be displayed at the church, reception, etc.) There is a lot of emphasis on theme, color, and coordination: there is a master plan and interference is not welcomed. When you live in France, you wouldn’t dream of attending a wedding and not sending your own flowers. Same thing for a funeral: it is de rigueur to send flowers, whether you’re able to attend or not. 

Rue Beaubourg, 3rd arr.

And there is Valentine’s, and Mother’s Day, and anniversaries. Even with no special occasion in sight, the French purchase a lot of flowers for their own homes; while growing up, I would often come home and notice that Mom had just bought a bouquet of mimosa, a pot of hyacinths or cyclamens, a bunch of tulips, or a bouquet composé. Just because it looked nice and smelled good.  My grandmother would cut roses, gladiolus, or dahlias from her garden and set them out in a vase on the kitchen table.

Rue Caulaincourt, 18th arr.

Floral shops in Paris are almost –almost– as ubiquitous as pharmacies and pâtisseries. Maybe that gives you an idea of where our priorities lie. When I perused a batch of photos recently, I realized that floral shops tend to be a favorite subject of mine. Maybe I should buy more fresh flowers instead of immortalizing them digitally? Anyway, I’m happy to share some of my favorite pictures of floral shops all over Paris. Sorry, no scratch and sniff yet… 

Rue Condorcet, 9th arr. Check out that mosaic!

Rue Duban in the 16h arr. in posh Passy.

Marché des Enfants Rouges, 3rd arr. with murals to match.

Boulevard Henri IV, 4th arr. Organized by color!

Avenue Ledru-Rolin, 12th arr.

Place du Dr. Félix Lobligeois, 17th arr.

Place de la Madeleine, 8th arr. There are several floral stalls on the eastern side of the church.

Rue des Martyrs, 9th arr. A flower bar...

Rue du Jourdain. 20th arr.

Vocabulary
Le pain au chocolat:  puff pastry (like a croissant) with a chocolate bar in the center
Le pain aux raisins: raisin snail-type pastry
Le chausson aux pommes: lit. a slipper with apples; half-moon shaped puff pastry filled with applesauce
Parmi les fleurs: among the flowers
De rigueur: customary
Le bouquet composé: lit. a composed bouquet of flowers, a floral arrangement
La pâtisserie: pastry shop