A Day in Gay Paris

Ignoring the laundry, today was a great day. I woke up and went for a run along the Seine. It is surreal to jog along a river in a city that is so rich in history. I mean, the building I live in was built in 1630 - one hundred and forty six years before the U.S. declared independence from the Brits (who happen to be all over Paris in August). I just feel so lucky and blessed to be here and intend to not take it for granted for one minute. How can I when this is what I see every time I walk out the front door of my building:

After grocery shopping and laundry, Brad and I ate at a delicious bistro called Le Comptoir, which is usually standing room only to wait for a table. However, we didn't go until 2 p.m. so we were able to get right in. Good thing we weren't starving because the waiters were stereotypically not interested in us in the least. We took everything in stride as only ex-pats can do and enjoyed the scenery and second-hand smoke. The food they brought us was absolutely delicious. Brad's cochon de lait (suckling pig) was the winner until they brought out this awesomeness, and I forgot that the waiters had been ignoring me all afternoon.

Tarte aux Pommes

After such an indulgent lunch, a long walk down St. Germain des Pres was in order. Although, I must admit that we walked straight to Paris's oldest and most famous department store in search not for the lastest fashion, but for the luxurious food hall that it has. La Grande Epicerie is across the street from Le Bon Marche and it does not disappoint. Among all the French delicacies you can find none other than Dr. Pepper and boxed Mac & Cheese. And while I haven't ingested either of those things in about ten years, for some reason it brings me some solace and comfort to know that I can get them if I really want them - a little piece of home!

U.S. and Canadian Aisle:

What do you get for 18 Euro and 2 hours?

CLEAN LAUNDRY!

And for those of you trying to do the math, you're not wrong. 2 loads of laundry cost $25.82.

That's B with all our clean laundry crammed into the laundry bag on the way home...

God Bless Gelato

Why is Gelato the best thing ever?
See photo below...

We are ancient

So, B and I just got back from an evening out. One of our stops was at a pub called Le Dix (10) in the Odeon neighborhood. Now, Brad and I know that we live near the Sorbonne on the left bank and are surrounded by young, hip French college kids. However, we had no idea how ancient they thought we were until we stepped into Le Dix. As we descended into a centuries old cellar, thanking God that the French miraculously banned smoking in bars and restaurants, we were met with a couple tables of very young, 18-20ish hip French kids in clothes Americans won't even dream of for at least two years. An old Frenchman who looked like Hemingway came to take our order - the requisite Heinekens. I swear that a hush came over the few young, hip French kids that were there when they heard our order, but surely I was mistaken.

Wrong.

After about 20 more minutes of being there, the room was FILLED with an array of the aforementioned young, hip French people who only drank the house Sangria which "Monsieur Hemingway" poured from a ladle he dipped into what I can only describe as a wooden bucket and then sloshed into a pitcher, threw in a spoon and slammed down the needed number of glasses at each table.

Suddenly, looking around, 3 things became increasingly obvious:

1. B and I are ANCIENT compared to the young, hip French kids
2. We totally have no idea what to order at Le Dix (which is obviously the sketchy Sangria from a wooden bucket)
3. Everyone else there was staring at the "old, American Heineken drinkers" and getting a good French laugh in...

Bags

Getting to France - Lessons in Airline Inefficiency

Upon arrival at DFW airport with four huge bags (one full of only shoes) and two carry-ons, I was certain that I would have to pay a hefty fee for it all. Although between my husband and me, the amount of baggage was within nameless airline's limit, there was no way it was within the allotted weight. So, I was resigned to pay a ridiculous fee because, hey, let's face it - I was impressed that I could get all my stuff into that amount of luggage in the first place. I mean, I am moving to the FASHION CAPITAL OF THE WORLD, people.

Oddly, the fact that it was taking us a while to man the self-service check-in stations did not fluster me, but instead my usually calm husband, B, who seemed sure that we were going to miss our flight. Maybe it had to do with the fact that there is no curb-side check in for international flights and lugging the six pieces of luggage up the stairs was no easy feat, I'm not sure. What I do know is that a few minutes later when nameless airline employee told B that he wasn't sure he was the same person in the photo because he looks so much heavier in it than he is now, I thought he might spontaneously combust.

From there, things snowballed. Two of the bags were grossly overweight and instead of just paying for it, the nameless airline employee insisted that right there on the floor in front of an entire angry waiting mob I should just try to rearrange things between all the suitcases. Well, that's just perfect. I am in a low riding juicy suit from college and everyone can see my underwear as I bend over and furiously throw random things from one perfectly packed suitcase to another until randomly without weighing it nameless airline employee decides I've embarrassed myself enough and tells me everything is now equally distributed and we only owe him $50! Then he tells us to take the six bags 15 gates down to the security area to drop them off. 15 gates. Awesome. Husband-who-is-convinced-we-will-miss-flight is completely about to unwind and I can still feel the death stares coming from the people behind us in line. Off we go, 15 gates down and then 15 back to our departure gate. Luckily, we made it on time so that we could sit in front of a screaming baby for 4 hours to Boston.

Who knew we would be begging for the screaming baby on the flight to France instead of the two people who sat behind us on an overnight flight and decided to keep their lights on and discuss such interesting topics as theatre, philosophy and graduate school at a very high decibel? It was when they began to discuss post-Katrina New Orleans that I almost lost it and screamed, "I will go post-Katrina New Orleans crime on your a-- if you don't shut up." But alas, I just shot them the death stare I had learned from the people behind us in line at DFW.

Many sleepless hours later, we landed in La Belle France, made it to our tiny abode and fell fast asleep to the sound of silence.