Gardens, pah!

So the Jardin des Plantes might sound wonderful. Its trees are more manicured than a Parisienne's fingernails, garden beds budding with flowers and trees with blossoms but in the case of rain, or in the case of sun, you will leave with dirty, dirty shoes.



When it's wet the gravel kicks up onto your shoes and dries in spots. When it's dry shoes are simply coated overall in dust. Yes, there is something romantic about promenading around this Jardin, or any of the others for that matter. Just don't wear your best shoes while so doing.

The eating room

Today we stumbled upon a lovely little cafe in the 5e open every day of the week (something of a rarity round here). It's called La Salle A Manger at 138 rue Mouffetard (M Censier Dauberton). Here's a picture of the little square it faces.



And today was warm enough to sit outside. The coffee was your typical Parisian coffee, long but not bitter and served in a mini bowl. The special cake of the day was cheesecake, which the French call "cheesecake", it's so cute. And indeed it was special, deliciously smooth with a rich mouthfeel, I regretted finishing it. In fact everything was lovely. The passers-by, the cool teenagers, older men in trenchcoats and even our waiter in a paisley shirt. The blossoms on the trees are coming out, the weather is turning and the cafe was reasonably priced. David and I sat scribbling in our notebooks. What more does one need?

Merci-er

Parisians can't just say a phrase. They put an "er" on the end of everything which initially makes it sound as if they're starting on a new sentence when they're in fact just finishing the old one. Everything is transformed, "bonjour" becomes "bonjour-er", "comment t'allez vous-er" and so on ad infinitum. In part I think it comes from the way in which Parisians speak. The accent and banter is so fluid and flowing that one cannot finish so simply at the end of a word or phrase.

But it is the quickest way to tell Parisians from other French people, and it's my way of trying to sound more local-er.

Those shoes

Two items define the fashion of Parisian women more than anything else. Longchamp nylon bags and, as aforementioned, converse. I have caved to peer pressure, and the demands of being a waitress, for the latter.

In my defence these were on sale in a shop on my street.



There is no defence for this photo, however, other than David's suggestion that I strike a pose and since the purchase of my cape, I've been hanging out with superheros for whom it is normal to look like this.

Manifestations

The word for protest in French is "manifestation" which, it seems to me, is interesting in itself. The other day we ran into this manifestation by the Petit Palais.



Generally the gist was they were annoyed at Sarkozy. On the whole (watch out, here comes a generalisation) French seem more politicised than Australians who are generally an apathetic bunch. I met someone at a party who admitted to voting for Sarkozy because she genuinely hoped he would try to reform the country and be more open and disciplined as he promised. Sadly that did not happen.




Nearby our house was this graffiti. It's pretty rude in French meaning something like piss off bastard, or worse. This is something Sarkozy said to a farmer he met who refused to shake his hand. Sarkozy did not think anyone was listening but of course the video ended up on youtube.

Even the law about not smoking cigarettes inside is taken not just as a law against an action but concerning a national character. An American I met recently said the French will talk about sex all day long but don't bring up religion or politics. In fact I've found the French forthcoming on both topics. And it's an interesting dialogue indeed.

Alice turns 23

Here is a sampling of the sweet things which filled my birthday which included a visit to Laduree and a chocolate mousse, custard, brownie raspberry cake-crum cake.







And here are some photos of Alice's new handbag from a small shop in the Marais (but in the 3rd), the designer is Blush-b-lush. Thanks Mum and Dad - although I know Dad will hate it.









In the background of the last one you can see the breakfast dishes which David hasn't done yet! Tut, tut. Oh well, off to work.

Guimauve

BOULANGERIE BASICS Episode 1.

Fascinated by this impressive display in a Marais bakery,



we decided to give mint a try. Thanks to the French writing, which I still find indecipherable, I asked for "gee-moo-ve" instead of "gui-moo-ve" but the shop assistant kindly corrected me and fetched the requested article.

When we took it home and cut it up, it looked like this.



We guessed that it had something in common with marshmallows and were right. This is the French version. The texture is utterly strange, evaporates in your mouth, or between your fingers if you squish it. On the tongue it is airy and sugary with a hint of slime but is overall quite pleasant. The exterior has a fine coating of sugar which provides something of a texture contrast. I think I would but it again, in part for the curiosity of how mandarin is transliterated into marshmallow, and to have the pleasure of saying its name... guimauve.

Here's where you'll find the bakery:

View Larger Map">Boulangerie Malineau,

Oh la la

Yes, the French really do use this phrase and across an impressive array of situations.

There is the "oh laaa laaa" said with a knowing tone which indicates drama, disapproval or annoyance.

"Oh-la-la" said quickly on the exhale can be the conclusion to a dwindling sentence, indicating perhaps resignation, acceptance or simply rounding out a point.

There can be the "ooh la la" of pleasure at something unexpected and enjoyable, perhaps to a particularly appetising meal or maybe even a work of art.

And these are just the beginning. It seems Parisians enjoy using sounds instead of words in many instances to communicate anything from length to quality to judgements on an important issue. It's beyond verlan, or slang but counts for meaningful articles of conversation in and of itself. Once recognised, it's much easier to understand the locals, that really it's gibberish and one shouldn't worry so much about words, gestures and sounds are just as effective.

Hella

We found, in a respectable right bank bookshop, this one of Joseph Heller's lesser known works, Catch 23.

Soiree

Lesson one from the first party I went to in Paris. Despite what my high school French teacher said, it is not called a "boum". It is a "soiree". This little faux pas garnered some roaring laughter from my interlocutor.

Lesson two is that parties everywhere are the same, everyone gets on a lot better after a few drinks.

Lesson three is educated Parisiens speak much better English than I can speak French and will only tolerate my French to tell me "it's cute".

Lesson four is that raw cauliflower counts as a reasonable party nibble.

Lesson five is that the last metro is at 2am so either get ready to leave at 1.30 or be ready to hang out till 5.

The other Paris

It is one month to the day since we arrived, it feels like six. We went to Chinatown to stock up on those ingredients so readily available in Australia like curry paste and coconut milk. On the metro, line 7 gets you there, the caucasians are in the minority and the languages spoken range from Arabic to Mandarin to Spanish.

In Chinatown itself, women speaking Mandarin greet each other in the French way. McDonalds is next to Asian groceries and the streets look like this.







The architecture is different since Chinatown is on the border of the suburbs so permission can be granted for taller, and in many cases more ugly, buildings. The area houses a lot of poorer migrants, we saw some people stealing from a charity bin. Although maybe it's not stealing if they need it.

The cherry blossoms are coming out and at 18c today it felt rather spring-y.



I like this part of the city where the shop assistants speak to one another in one language and the white customers like me in another. The immersion in the culture of another part of the world while still definitely in Paris is refreshing. And the food is so cheap. Here's a sample of some of the things we purchased including Ginger lollies from Indonesia, "Italian" Tomato paste and curry paste from Thailand.



Just finally, we saw this sign outside a pharmacy. It looked to me a lot like a snake in a martini glass, or is that just my vivid imagination?

The bank

People had warned me that banking in France is difficult but I was determined to disprove them. So I looked on the web, saw a page on the HSBC website suggesting they were keen to set up accounts, even short term ones, for travellers. So I phoned the enquiry line, answered some questions and arranged an interview. Despite the questions on the phone and taking along the required documents, the consultant told me there was no chance of my opening an account with them. At minimum I would need a letter of recommendation from one of their current clients as well as a contract of employment stating that I would be employed "indefinitely". All this in French because, despite the assurances of the woman on the phone, the consultant did not speak English.

I will keep you updated on my further attempts.

Live music scene

Tonight, after dinner we went for a little walk across Ile de la Cite. Took some photos of Notre Dame at night. It's far more pleasant than in the day time and in the photos I like the way the sky looks somewhat apocalyptic.



Earlier in the evening there had been some horns playing on our street, although we couldn't see them out the window, and we had made various guesses as to their purpose, We ran into the troupe on Pont St Louis. Their group included woodwind and brass sections as well as percussion and some dancers. As they played, they hopped about, passers by stopped to listen and cheer, but they seemed to have their own entourage as well.






Later on we saw them progressing west along the river. It was a pleasure.

FOUND

They said it couldn't be but we found it! Genuine coffee in Paris. Fresh roasted, toffee-like-crema and properly frothed milk. I present, La Cafeotheque.



The storefront sells freshly roasted beans from around the world and the petit salon out the back converts them into liquid pleasure. An amiable Chilean barista used the 'cafe du jour' - which today was Peruvian - to make my ristretto, yes he had heard the word before. He described it as a "refreshing" grind, a thinner pour with delicate aroma and wonderfully smooth mouth-feel. Indeed it was a highly pleasurable experience. We also tried the Colombian which was more conventional, dark but still flavoursome and dynamic as only freshly roasted coffee can be.



The prices depend on whether you drink at the bar or in an arm chair but the coffees all come with caramelised biscuits, it was certainly not one of the more expensive establishments which we have visited and we will no doubt return shortly. Despite being opposite Ile St Louis (just by Pont Marie on the right bank) it was not over-run with tourists and apparently hosts sporadic live music nights in the back.

We found it in the first instance by smelling the roasting coffee as we walked past. The moral being, follow your nose.

The great Laduree debate

What is a Paris blog without a post on Laduree? The answer is a disdainful Parisian rien.

From their website comes this image of their delightful delicacies.



I admit that I have not tried all of the Paris macaroon makers but I can profess that Laduree's macaroons are sublime. The Diva is a small, vibrantly magenta explosion of flavour and an absolute sensation. The orange flower water is dainty and delectable (describing food makes me slip into alliteration, apologies).

While the storefront in the second is indeed grand it is terribly busy. Try the slightly more tucked away shop on rue Bonaparte in the sixth, here's a shot of their tea room.



Admittedly it's expensive, coffee is cheaper than tea and I probably wouldn't choose this venue for a meal but for an afternoon nibble it is sublime. And to me, the macaroons are worth every centime.

The Refectory

So I have posted previously about a little cafe in the 10e (near Oberkampf, M Richard Lenoir) called Refectoire but was previously too abashed to take out my camera. Here's some shots from our little brunch this morning.



This can be roughly translated as
"Conversation Topics
Do you like the ocean?
Do you like your mother?
Do you love?
Do you like the table?
Do you like the wine?
Do you want to make love in five minutes?"

You can only read this from one seat in the restaurant as it's written on the back of a pillar.

The table setting is very cute. On Sundays you can order a brunch from 20euros which is enough to fill the stomach for a whole day and it is served in little bowls on a tray like in a school canteen, except the quality is great.

And here's David... writing. Note the gigantic light bulb going off just to the right of his head! They allow us to write for hours without complaint. Not to mention the free Wifi access.

Favourite bookshops

It took me three weeks or so but I have determined which are my favourite bookshops in Paris now. Conveniently they are around the corner from one another. (M Odeon)
View Larger Map and both are second hand which is useful considering budgetary constraints.

In no particular order:

Berkeley Books



This seemingly small shop has a wonderful selection, fiction sections for hardcover/trade paperbacks and A format with first editions and all the important authors scattered throughout. The order of the books is refreshing considering some other second hand bookshops visited and the quality is high. The prices are perhaps more expensive that in Sydney, for instance, with a small format paperback costing around 6euros but books generally are expensive here so the price does not seem unreasonable.

And they swap or buy your old books, in case it comes to that. The owner/operator is a grizzled American man with a fittingly white beard. My biggest concern was leaving with less than five books.

The San Francisco Book Company



A fellow customer's question revealed that the owner of Berkeley Books was a former partner in the San Francisco Book company - the storefront of Abe books in Paris. I would like to know that story.

This shop is slightly smaller but has similar quality and you can easily find classics, contemporary favourites, poetry and criticism as well as sci-fi, if you're into that sort of thing. Again, this shop does trades or buys books and a paperback is roughly 6euros.

While Villiage Voice is a pleasure and your Shakespeare and Co sells some second hand books, the traveller mostly can't afford the indulgence of uncut pages, metaphorically speaking, so these are a delightful option.