Can you say Zahners?

How strange it is that immediately after Natalie came and visited me in my city, another American friend showed up not long after. I'm hoping this is a general trend and by the end of next week you will all be chilling with me in the new park I discovered the other day, completely by accident:

Leave it to me to find an immense English garden
in the middle of France.

So as I was saying, Nick Zahn came to Paris this week. Much like Natalie, he was here for other reasons--des petites vacances avant qu'il went to Vienna to visit the host family he lived with when he studied there in High School. Must admit, I was a little nervous about the whole hanging out with people I haven't really talked to in years thing, but I don't know, maybe it's the Montmartre air, but the minute I stepped off that metro last Monday we were chummy again.

I met first of all his roommate Allison, who is quite lovely, and then I demanded a sandwich. We got them from a corner shop just down the block from the Moulin Rouge, and when the young guy behind the counter found out I was a student and not a tourist he not only started up a little conversation, he did not get angry when I had no idea what he was saying and just stumbled along making a fool of myself. See, as my french comprehension skills improve, I've gone from just saying "eh?" and "je ne comprends pas" to understanding most of what they're saying. So, in fits of courage I usually refuse to admit I don't know what's going on, and instead I now just repeat their questions back to them.

Example:

French Person: Est-ce que vous... blah blah French... ce matin? (Do you ..... this morning?)

Me: Pardon? Est-ce je veux quelque chose ce matin? (Excuse me? Do I want something this morning?)

French Person: Est-ce-que-vous-voulez-UN-BOISSON-avec-le-croissant-ce-matin??? (Do you want a beverage with your croissant this morning?)

Me: Non, merci.

Now compare this to the conversations I had before...

French Person: Est-ce que vous... blah blah French... ce matin?

Me: EH? Quoi? Desolee. Je ne comprends p....

French Person: ... *sigh* *eye rolle* You Want DRINK??

Me: Non... merci...

See, if you give up and just say je ne comprends pas to these people, they'll not only stop speaking French to you and switch to English, they'll usually be kind of rude. But if you just say most of what they just said back in their faces without actually answering the question, they'll be not only more inclined to repeat themselves again more slowly and in French, they'll also probably be too confused to do anything else. Meh, it's an improvement.

Of course, I should add that this nice french man behind the counter was not only not rude, he was definitely hitting on me, even after I spat his questions back in his face. Something about wanting to talk to me parce que le jour est joli et vous etes jolie. Ah, France.

So, sandwiches in hand, we walked the only way one walks in Montmartre, that is, up. It looked like I knew where I was going, but really I was just following the elevation. We passed Le Moulin de la Galette en route, and I think Renoir did some false advertising or something because it did not look at all like the way he painted it:

Still, 'twas cute.

We eventually we made it to the stairs at the foot of the Sacre Coeur... I don't think I need to tell you all again just how much I love this place. It was better this time though, warmer.. more chilled out. I was with 2 people this time, and smokers too so we just fit right in, plopped ourselves down in the middle of the crowd and let the sun warm our faces as we looked out over the city. And sure enough, cute musician who doesn't know the words to the English songs he sings was there too. Life was good.


Eventually we let the momentum take us down the hill and back to the metro. We got off at Chatalet (it's fun to play tour guide), and walked along the river for a while alternating between those book-and-map-and-trinket vendors all along the bank and the pet shops. Seriously, there is a two block stretch on the right bank just west of Point Neuf where almost all the stores are garden stores spilling flowers all over the street... and in between those are the pet stores. Not unhealthy, poorly treated piles of sad animals you can't save pet stores, healthy, happy, Parisian pet stores. Some of them even had chickens. One of them had bunny rabbits, and I really really wanted one. Can you say happy place?

The goal, of course, was to get to Notre Dame. I had to show my baby off. We sat outside in the square for a while--smoking, waiting for people to finish going to the bathroom, and staring at cute French boys (actually, this had been the activity of choice all morning). At one point Nick was telling me some story but then his words were drowned out by the sound of the bells. When they calmed a bit I said to him what became the quote of the day: remember that time our conversation was interrupted by the bells of Notre Dame?

Well Do You?

We walked through the church, and I enjoyed seeing the look on Zahn's face as he made his way... he agrees with me that there is something special about this church, other than the obvious it being the cathedral of Notre Dame de Paris. Not too much happened after that. I took them over to Shakespeare's and we toured it briefly listening for attractive non-American English accents instead of books, and then walked down the Blvd. St. Michel to Cluny-La Sorbonne where I boarded the metro. Overall, a surprisingly amazing afternoon.

When I got back to the 17eme I was just in time for my own dinner party. Madame was out of town for the evening, and so I invited (with her permission!) Jen and Jenn over to the apartment to make food and sit around in an apartment not infested with Madames. Living in someone else's house wears on you, obviously, especially when you've been living on your own in your own tiny apartment for years and years. My Madame may cook for me and bring me candy and ask me how my day was, but she also peels my avacadoes for me in front of company. She takes the spoon out of my hand and stirs my hot chocolate for me when she thinks I'm doing it wrong. She makes me postpone my walk for 15 minutes so she can sit me down at my desk and make sure I buy a ticket to the opera that afternoon. She's sweet, but a little tough to bear, and Jen and Jen's Madames aren't much better. Suffice it to say that it was a very chill evening with music, kitchen messes, and a bottle of 5 euro wine (the good stuff) that was gone in an hour.

If only all Mondays were such a success!

I Fall in Love at the Sacre Coeur

It's Spring in Paris! The sun is shining, a warm wind blows, and I've heard tell that the trees are budding in the Jardin du Luxembourg. I myself spent the warm afternoon on the steps of the Sacre Coeur, my favorite place yet in all of Paris.

Jenn and I went up to Montmartre today to get our hostel international membership cards. Standing in the metro we dug through my pocket dictionary looking for words we might need, so the word of the day is officially adhesion as in carte d'adhesion as in membership card. After walking a bit through some shady neighborhoods, I had to get up the courage to ring the bell and speak in the intercom, which was the only way to get in. But we did get in, and we got our cards, and I felt good for succeeding at something, no matter how small.

After getting our cards we headed toward the Sacre Coeur. Finding it is quite simple, of course. A number of metros go in that direction, and once you get off the train you just walk UP. I seriously underestimated the size and grandeur of this monument. Jenn and I walked around looking for a restaurant for a bit first though, and I got pretty cranky en route. I'm just so tired of going around to restaurant after restaurant after restaurant, all of them with the same menu! I even threw a little temper tantrum, refusing to climb up the famous escaliers de la butte, as in the famous stairs of Montmartre, which are kick-you-in-the-arse steep, without drinking some coffee first, but I had to relent eventually as none of the restaurants around fit our taste. Funny though how those stairs, which have been presented as so Romantic in books and songs and whatever, are upon practical aplication, kind of actually a drag :)

We got to the top, took a few pics of the gargantuan Neo-Byzantine basilica made entirely of white marble, and then we walked through the hippies and tourists back down part of the other side to find food. We soon settled on a little cafe with crepes and sandwiches and all the windows wide open, and then went and got some of the most beautiful and tasty gellato of my life. We took it back to the steps of the Sacre Coeur, and it was there that I became happy.

These Pics are actually from another trip to the Sacre Coeur,

but you get the idea...

From the steps one can see all of the city spread below, which is sprawling and immense. There were many buildings I recognized and much was the familiar Paris in which I live every day, but I felt much more connected up above it all. The steps are wide and open and filled with young people, all of them wearing bright colors and smiles. It made me feel like these were the true Parisians, laughing from above at the city below. In fact, for the first time in Paris I felt out of place not because I wasn't fashionable or entirely put together, but because I wearing too much black. Insert sigh of relief.

What's even better is there was a group of handsome guitar playing young French guys there, and for about an hour and a half I was perfectly content to just sit there smiling and singing along. The funniest part, which I'm still laughing about, is you could really, really tell they learned the English songs phonetically, and I couldn't help but be reminded of my friend Allie, who just makes the words up as she goes along. The music was still good though. Great, even. And the sun was warm, and everyone sat close and were legitimately chill. Honestly, most of them were probably tourists as the musicians spoke in English more than half the time, but I didn't care. It was a perfect melange. It was also a lot like hanging out on the Union Terrace back home, or any other place where young people come to hang out and listen to music. I wanted so freaking much to be part of that group, which made me kind of sad. But it was wonderful all the same. In addition, I fell in love with one of the musicians. Jenn and I decided the reason is we are starved for smiles, and that is what he did all the time.

So, yeah, for an hour and a half or so I hung out on the steps of the Sacre Coeur, falling in love with guitar man and listening to Radiohead, The Doors, Pink Floyd, Oasis, Bob Marley... some great stuff. Then they played "All You Need is Love", and I just about lost it. It was too perfect, and I was torn between being absolutely happy and kind of sad all at once. I wanted my friends to be there, certain ones in particular. I wanted things to be the way I remember they once were, in my idealized imagination, only this time in Montmartre. I wanted to be part of a group. But I also wanted to magically fit in with a new group of friends... something I can't do unless I speak French. Now there's an incentive.

Of course, I didn't mope about. I let myself be happy and sad at the same time, and I told myself to knock it off and enjoy it while it lasted, which pretty much worked. It was too beautiful not to, what with wonderful guitar man doing his best at Thom Yorke's long high notes and an adorable Italian toddler who came and danced next to us, and blew bubbles, and took a bunch of pictures of the musicians all sticking their tounges out. Ah, Paris.

On the way down the hill I was feeling chill and strong, which I love, which is what probably gave me the courage to basically lay the smackdown when one of the infamous bracelet sellers of Montmartre cornered Jenn and tried to get a bracelet on her wrist. I have been warned by fabulous sources that once they get it on you basically have to buy it, so I reached out, grabbed Jenn's arm (I don't think she had heard of their reputation), and said Non, Merci with some serious force. The guy turned around to get me to let go, but I was totally hardcore, clenched jaw, non about it, and so he let us go. It was only an overreaction in my head, and boy it felt good! I am a superhero.

Back on the metro heading home I took out "The Picture of Dorian Grey", I was just to that point at the end when it was too grotesque and fast-paced to put down, and at one point on the train I actually gasped aloud at something ghastly Dorian had done, raising my hand abruptly to my mouth. When I realized what I had done, I looked around for a sec, and there were a couple of people who were almost half-way smiling at me in that "I know how you feel" sort of way. I've said it before and I'll say it again, maybe Paris isn't so tough after all??