Time Flies...

FRENCH VERSION:

Monsieur/madame,

You shouldn't be reading these blogs so frequently and then getting on my case about not writing. And you should also know that those geniuses at Blogger did something so that I couldn't get into my blogs for at least a month. What service they provide for an account that is free, pffffffffffffff.

Anyway, I have to go eat some cheese now and maybe a coffee eclair to calm my nerves.

I send you my deepest regrets, and sincere cordial wishes for a lovely day,

Dya

AMERICAN VERSION:

Dear Readers,

I apologize for not posting for many months. I'm getting flack about it, and rightly so! Thank you for keeping on me to write. I've been remiss, and I also haven't been able to get into my Blogger accounts. It seems to be working now, but it did take me a while to log in again today, so please bear with me. Hopefully, we'll work the technical challenges out.

Blessings,

Dya

It's a New Year!

As I wrote on my Mama Dya's World blog, I'm really glad the year 2007 is almost over. I've had major postpartum depression due to chronic lack of sleep for the past six months and living in Paris hasn't helped matters.

On this blog, I've written mostly about the side of Paris that I love. I've perhaps been remiss in sharing a fuller picture of what it is like for me to live here. This will change.

I love this city, there are no and, buts, or anything else about that. It's not the city I have a hard time with, it's a lot of the people who live in it. Not all of them, and certainly there are many lovely people around me, especially in our building and the shops around us.

But boy, some days are tough. For example, I'm not used to having to apologize when someone else runs into me. My husband is from Normandy, and he doesn't necessarily have an easier time living here than I do.

But Paris is where I live, for now. It's my village and this is what I will write about. Paris: the good, the bad and the Parisians.

Bonne Annee and here's to blogging more frequently in this new year of 2008!

From Our Window

Oh, how I do love looking out our window. Tonight, as I was closing our shudders, I noticed a man hovering in the street. He kept on covertly leaning to the left peeking into the alley. It was such odd behavior, I was fascinated. Then I noticed a big, yellow golden retriever squatting above the cobblestones.

I laughed out loud. It was so obvious that the man was letting his dog do his big business alone so that he wouldn't have to pick up after him.

When the dog was done, he pranced over to his master, and they both got into a snazzy, silver Audi TT.

If I were in a more wicked mood, I could have jotted down the license plate number...but the thought alone that this man was trying to hide in plain view was enough of a treat for this peeping tom.

Techno Pride

Living between Place de la Republique and Bastille, we get our (un)fair share of demonstrations. Over the years we've witnessed thousands of marchers stomping their feet and shouting at the top of their lungs for many worthy (at least in their opinion) causes.

This year, though, we've been spoiled. For some reason, it has been very quiet, that is, until yesterday. The parade that marched down our boulevard made up for the long silence.

I was warned by the owner of the organic store that the demonstration that was going to stomp down our boulevard would get very loud and that 40,000 earplugs were handed out. My friend at the crepe stand told me it was the gay pride parade.

So, though I knew what was coming, I was surprised that the walls were quaking and the earth was shaking, and when we stepped out on the street, we were blasted with techno music.


I couldn't understand who decided that gayness had to be deeply enmeshed with techno-ness. Though if that's what it takes to help people be open minded towards the subject, I guess then it is a positive marketing tool, albeit it to future-very-deaf people.


But then I looked at the very young crowd (median age being about 15) that cluttered the street, as well as the recycling containers and bus stops, and I thought to myself that this is the weirdest gay pride parade that I've ever seen.

And then today, I was told by my well-informed hubby that it wasn't the gay pride parade but the techno parade. Aha. My friend misinformed me and it colored my perception of the events.

But never mind, the award for most daring dancer goes to this kid. He rocked his world freely, wildly and managed to keep his feet firmly planted on the recycle bin, without nary a helping hand from his friend who watched his back.





Now if I could be so brave and shake my booty like that 10 feet off the ground.

Break from Blog Redesign

I'm reverting back to the colors set by the Blogger template to give us all a break before I try another color.

Most of you who commented (either on the blog or in private) liked the medium-gray background, as did I, but I couldn't get the letters to be the red that I wanted them to be, and though I liked the pink with the gray, it clashed with the photos.

So breathe deeply, enjoy the blankness of the white, before I change to something new when the mood strikes.

Where am I?

Terminal A at Charles-de-Gaulle airport does not usually inspire my shutterbug finger, but upon a recent trip I discovered...(two beats for dramatic pause)...the parking lot.



I was so taken by these gorgeous "A"s it took me a moment to realize they are an overtly subliminal message to help parking lot attendees remember where they have parked their cars.

Blog Redesign

I'm finding that often museum walls are some shade of gray or red, and so in honor of the French esthetics, I'm going to be giving those colors a try on this blog. And so for the month of September (or unless I'm impatient to change sooner), I'll start with a medium shade of gray.

Please let me know what you think.

Chock-Full of Color

It's not always easy living in Paris with the gray skies and the grumpy Parisians.

But how can I be depressed for too long when I walk along one of my favorite streets, Rue Vieille du Temple, in the Marais and I stumble across a bakery (Boulangerie Malineau) with the most color cookies I've ever seen?

Where am I?

Though I speak to my French husband in French, a lot of my life is in English.

I read mostly in English, I speak to my son in English, I have many English-speaking friends, I write in English.

At times I am so submerged in English-dom, as I am now sitting at my computer, that I forget where I am. Then I hear the chatter of voices outside our apartment. I pause from what I am doing and think to myself, "Oh, listen, they are speaking French, how odd!"

Then I remember where I am, and I start to laugh. I'm the one who's actually "odd", and then I revel in the fact that I am living in Paris.

What were They Thinking?

Just last week, the Hubby, the Baby and I sat in a sweet little park next to Notre Dame. We were deeply involved in watching a woman covered in pigeons as she fed them, only to be interrupted by an English wedding party.

I forgot about the Pigeon Lady when I saw the bride and groom stand under one of the rose arches for pictures.

I turned to my Hubby and said, "Why are they taking the photos from that angle?" You see, Notre Dame was behind the people taking the pictures, not behind the bride and groom.

This bugged me and I inched closer and closer to the well-dressed folks.

The Hubby followed me and very gently said, "You don't have to save everyone."

Pffff. He's right. So I did the only logical thing...I took the picture myself.

Setting Sun

I walk the same Paris city streets regularly. As I do so, I try to let the unexpected catch my attention, as well as enjoy the familiar that still fills my heart with joy.

But I do wonder. Will I stop seeing the beauty around me, in the way that we stop looking at the paintings or posters that hang in our homes? Will I begin to take this beautiful city for granted?

Thankfully it doesn't take much to snap me out of my musings. Just a turn or lifting of the head at just the right moment, and there it is, that connection with the here and now in all its perfection.

Walking home from a stroll along the Seine recently, skirting the Hotel de Ville from the back, I noticed the setting sun catching the yellow of the Metro "M", making it seem partially lit up.

Above Paris

Though I hate to admit it, I'm a couch potato. Living in Los Angeles for 12 years, where you drive everywhere, didn't help matters. Paris, on the other hand, has accomplished something that no other city has been able to do; I have actually become a walker.

Even so, when the weather is gray, as it has been most of the summer, my spuds-nature rears its head and I just want to lounge around the house in my sweats. Thus when my friend Merja asked me to join her on an adventure that I had wanted to go on for a while, I came up with a million excuses not to climb Notre Dame and see Paris from its bell towers.

Thankfully, I didn't whine to her and ended up having the time of my life, ranking the experience up there with climbing Uluru in Australia.

These photos were taken on the first level below the two towers.

(Famous Gargolye)


(Sacre Coeur is on the hill)


(Prefecture de Police and the Palais de Justice, Hitler ordered both to be bombed, as well as Notre Dame)


(The Eiffel Tower and La Defense Financial District)

(The steeple is the Sainte Chapelle)













These were taken from the top of the left tower (right tower if you are looking at the Cathedral).





(View of Ile Saint Louis and the gardens behind Notre Dame)


It was wonderful to see Paris from a whole new perspective.

Paris Nudges Me Awake

After a long night interrupted countless times by my restless mind, as well as my baby's cries, I fell asleep for our morning nap with his soft foot on my nose.

I awoke too soon to clomping in the street and a baby lying in my arms. I tried settling back into sleep but I couldn't help wonder if I had heard a horse trotting down the small street below our window.

I had visions of a lost Cavalerie de la Garde Républicaine soldier, in his elegant black jacket and shiny gold helmet topped by a bright red crest with a horse tail jutting out of it, riding his horse, which left a huge pile of dung for pedestrians and cars to negotiate.

But a woman's laughter pierced the fantasy, I turned my head, looked at my baby's soft, sleeping face, his mouth slightly ajar revealing hints of his very white upper teeth, two of seven, and his breath soft and rhythmic, as his fingers twitched gently.

Magic

Strolling along in front of Notre Dame with friends who were visiting Paris last night, we enjoyed the warm evening, the classical guitarist and then, when the odor of gasoline assaulted our senses, we walked over to the fire twirlers with great anticipation.

We were hoping they were the same ones we had seen recently. When I saw that they were, I knew something special was about to happen. But even so, when it did, I stood in awe, wonder and bliss.



When I walked away, I was changed by the power of this magical moment and I was truly, deeply content.

Gray to Sunny

Have you ever been unhappy in a situation or place? Then things look up and you don't know what to do with yourself?

It has been a gray, gray, gray summer and I've been down, down, down. I love Paris, the architecture of the city, the river Seine, the gorgeous esthetics that surround me in the simplest of places and spaces, but when the sky is as gray as the Parisians themselves, especially in the summer when I expect sunshine, it's even a little too much for generally-upbeat me.

I've been seriously contemplating moving to a sunnier place and then last Monday, I woke up, sure it was going to be another gray day. I folded back the shutters and found, to my shock, a crisp, blue sky.

It was so unexpected and so troubling, I immediately took a picture of it. I was elated and hesitant. I woke up sure that I was going to complain about the grayness again, and then didn't know what to do with myself when I saw that the situation had changed and there was no need to complain. I had gotten used to complaining and now had to change my way of being.

But then I thought to myself, Could it be real? Could it last? How long would it last?

It took walking to the park with my son and sitting on a bench for an hour for me to ease out of the discomfort of the beautiful sky into the bliss of the glorious day.

The Sounds of Paris

While nursing my baby at home with the windows open to let in a breeze and the drawn curtains casting a lavender hue on the white ceiling, I heard the sing-song of a saxophone and a dog barking intermittently.

Publicity

There are people who are offended by the advertising billboards in the metros. I -- generally -- don't mind them. They keep me occupied while I wait for the trains, and sometimes they even make my heart pitter-patter.

This happens time and time again when I see ads for exhibits at the Louvre and other museums. Since I don't read the Pariscope to find out when exhibits happen, I find out by the advertising in the subway. This is how I found out about the Jules Bastien-Lepage exhibit at the Musee d'Orsay. Bastien-Lepage painted one of my all-time favorite paintings, Joan of Arc, which hangs in the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City.

And better yet, when I take a picture of them, I'm thrilled by the esthetics not only of the ad, but the tiles around the ad, and then the people that happen to walk into the frame (both photographic and billboard).

What Year is It Anyway?

It is said that if you want to get anything out of life, you have to go after it. But sometimes, life truly comes to you in wonderful and unexpected ways: you just have to turn your head a little bit.

Recently, I heard the tinkling of music coming down our street. I knew what it was and rushed to the window, only to be greeted with a smile even before I tossed down a coin.

That's one of the things I love the most about Paris. It gives you inklings of what it was like to live in another time.

That is one of its greatest charms: though it is a modern city, some things haven't changed. It is a place where there is still room for the small-town bakers and butchers, the cafes that don't rush you even if you order just the tiniest cup of coffee, and the rare organ grinders.

Out the Window

For several weeks, I've heard occasional meowing in the street. At first I thought it came from the cat who lives across from us, up one story and one building over. But I was wrong. The sound came from below our window, not above it.

So when I heard the plaintiff wail again today, I bolted to the window and saw a man bending over and squishing a cat between his knees.

At first I thought it was the Village Idiot, but when the man released the animal, who was wearing a leash, I realized that I was witness to a cute, young man out walking his cat.

I guess the man took a 'squish-the-cat break' right below our apartment, and then they both took a 'rest-our-butts break' on our car.


With it's leopard spots, it's perfectly placed paws, its perky ears, its green eyes, and it's curiously wide-eyed expression, this must be one of the most beautiful cats I've ever seen.



Who needs television, when you've got life right outside your window?

Election Night 2007

Today 86% of the French have cast their vote in the second round of their country's presidential elections. True democracy has decreed Nicolas Sarkozy as the winner by 53% (all numbers as yet to be confirmed).


And Segolene Royal the loser.



Once again analysts will spend much of their brain power trying to figure out what went wrong. And once again, I say look to the advertising campaign (the two photos are as is, untouched by computer enhancement).

Mr. Sarkozy's poster was defaced by others. The state of Ms. Royal's was done to her by her own people. Her poster was seen glued into corrugated iron construction barriers all around the Marais.

And that was a week after I yelled out our living room window at some of her people who were gluing posters on the wall of an apartment building that is constantly defaced by graffiti.