EARLY EGG HUNT

HANGING UPSIDE DOWN, PUZZLES & BLOOMS

This week I kept to myself a lot and really enjoyed that. I forget how much I like to do solo things in this city. Is there such a thing as an extravert introvert? I’m split down the middle at most times. And when split in the introverted part – I have been enjoying a new book that Miranda lent me – “When in French.”

It’s about a fellow Carolinian (like yours truly. Although she’s from the Northern one) who married a French guy while living in England. At first, it felt like a fair trade: her language, his continent. Yet, they now are in Geneva where she doesn’t understand anything (no English spoken) other than the dire need to learn French. I have a feeling they will wind up in France.. But for now, she is in the thick of it and it’s hilariously relatable. Learning a new language and adapting to a whole new culture after you’re already fully baked as your own human, in your language, your routines, your humor, your comfort foods, your cultural shorthands, — yet just like that, you elect to start from scratch in a new country and with that decision comes infancy and the terrible-twos kind of tantrums when you don’t know how to express yourself in this new language! 

I crack it open every chance I get — when I’m not busy cracking open my beautiful journal that I got for my birthday from Vivian (it’s breaking in so beautifully), where I write all of my French Leçons from my Learning French with Alexa course that I’m simply j’obsessed with! (not a French word. Alexa would kill me!)

This week we’ve been spending lots of time near the Pantheon soaking in those rays and reading When in French in français.

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May the Easter EGG hunt commence

This week I was on a hunt for sure! An Easter Egg Hunt for the best of all, Cadbury Eggs. You would think I could find them anywhere given that Easter is next weekend. Right?

Think again. This is where cultural shorthand (or rather, cultural normalcies) come into play. I was thinking like an American, assuming whatever I wanted would be at my fingertips.  

Mais, non. I’m not in Kansas anymore (America) where mega supermarkets, even pharmacies, stockpile these delicious bags of sugar coated chocolate yumminess. I was going to need to hunt. So I did. 

I walked the entire city in search. I’m talking… from my island all the way to Gare Montparnasse, where it appeared there was a Marks & Spencer (longtime British retailer) – which, by the way, take note before you trek out there too –  no longer exists in Paris. It showed up as open on Google Maps, and when I got there, I even saw the M & S sign lit up! I was thrilled until I walked in and realized it had turned into a Monoprix. And Monoprix, for the record, does not carry my specific - needed at Easter time - Cadbury eggs.  

In an effort to divide and conquer. I had all of my trusted American foodie friends on the hunt with me — sending addresses left and right of American Groceries. My favorite one (the name is everything, and talk about cultural shorthand), The Real McCoy, near the Eiffel Tower. I didn’t make it over but I’m pretty sure, I heard that they sell Duke’s mayo (SC cultural fridge staple). So I’ll be en route there soon - come summa time when I’m craving a tomato sammie.

And then, serendipity struck. I found myself wandering a random little street near Jardin du Luxembourg, when something colorful caught my eye in the window of Q & K Confiserie. There they were. The eggs. I kid you not. Solid chocolate, candy-coated Cadbury Mini Eggs that have been on the brain. I bought 1 lb (ish) and 10 cream filled eggs for good measure. I couldn’t resist!

It wasn’t until I was being wrung up that I realized that this was one of those shops your mom used to warn you about – "keep your hands in your pockets!" Because everything looks delicious, and everything is expensive.  Some 40€ later (that’s right, can you handle it? That was for mass-branded chocolate. Ha. Not even the fancy ones), I was happy. The cashier gave me a mini one to enjoy on my walk home. Easter hunt success!

Ok. confession. I was having to look for these eggs because I have (placing my hands over my eyes as I type this bit) already eaten nearly all of the ones that my mother just brought me a few weeks ago. But how was I supposed to resist? Is that possible? I have approximately 10 mini eggs left in the bag, that I will 100% be calling dessert tonight. She smuggled them over here so that this year I could make bird nests sweet dessert treats - what some of you know as haystacks at Christmas. Butterscotch, dried Chinese noodles, peanut butter yumminess. They are a must at our house this time of year. And in the center? Mini Cadbury eggs - no other brand will do. Which I have now!

SIDEBAR: Do any of you remember The London Candy Company on Bleeker Street in NYC? I had déjà vu when I was in Q & K. Because years ago TLCC saved my life too when in the same predicament. It’s closed now. RIP.

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LET’S HANG

This week I did my first ropes class that I can remember. It felt familiar - and yet I can’t put my finger on where I would have hung from a wall, upside down, anywhere but NYC - and both of my studios there offered no such class. Alas, I was a pro! (I mean everyone is. All you have to do is trust the ropes). I loved it!

We were instructed how to get in the rope, how to tie our blankets around our hips so that we didn’t bruise from the ropes, and how to turn graceful upside down - where some of us hung for 30+ mins. At the end of class Shane, our enthusiastic and playful yoga teacher, had us all lie on the floor with our legs up the wall. My most favorite pose! This is when it all went down, or up, depending on what part of the story you’re following. As I reached behind me to get the extra bolster in arms length, placing it on my flat feet in the air as an added weight to my legs (if you know, you know… feels amazing!!!!), Shane came over with disapproval. He removed my bulky (not so heavy) “weight” and announced to the class that “AC would like extra weight?” I assumed he would find me a sandbag or something… mais non. (To paint the full picture of him, he’s a bird. He laughs sporadically as he is giving instructions, then randomly he switches tone and sternly tells people to stop talking (this one happened today) when they are busy sorting out the pose, he spontaneously will pop up into a handstand as he instructs the next pose he’d like us to move in to, he pays close attention to everyone in the class and gives adjustments that make you a little nervous that he will pull something out. He never does. He is the ultimate yogi. And with all that, he is one of the best teachers I have ever had. I love him!) So… after he walked around for a minute and returned to me with nothing. He took the ropes that were nailed into the wall above me and hanging above my feet. He grabbed them and then looked down at me (remember, I am lying down on the floor) and said “do you know what’s coming?” I said “yes” because I thought he would have taken my feet and made stirrups out of the rope. Mais, non!!!!! Instead, he jumped on the wall like a spider monkey, then proceeded to STAND - full body weight (he’s rather light actually - I’m guessing 100 lbs soaking wet) on my feet!!!!! STANDING. He then was bouncing a bit, doing squats, looking at me upside down and continually asking “ca va? Ac? Ca va?” as he and the class was erupting in giggles. I was in a full body sweat. His squats on my feet continued and finally he bounced right off spanking my feet as if they had done a good job. 

Funniest experience I have ever had in yoga. Until TODAY…

I hustled to yoga today, after my coffee with Jaci at what’s becoming our regular watering hole, Café du Clown, where our buddy (massive dog) was the welcome committee again and gave us each licks as we locked our bikes. She is one of the loves of my life here à Paris! So grateful to our mutual friend, John, who set us up (and we learned last week that we also have Hadley Wiggins in common. Our precious friend – both connected to her at different times and in different places of our life. Me, NYC, and through Hadley’s husband Daniele from Ralph Lauren. And Jaci, from her summers in Martha’s Vineyard. Hadley was her son’s summer camp counselor, I learned. Presh! Oh how the world continues to shrink for me! It’s the BEST.) So, I wanted to soak up every min with Jaci. When my alarm rang though for the second time I had “snoozed” it, I decided to bolt over to Rasa for class.

When I walked in late - that invited a loud “mais NON” from Shane. So he had me up front. The very first pose we went into (forward fold - hands under feet) he came behind me and told me to plant my hands firmly on the ground. Then proceeded to lift my legs until I was flying. Well, in a handstand. Felt amazing! And so unexpected. He held me there until everyone came out 5+ minutes.

I’m telling you! If you live in Paris. GO to his class. He is a riot and doesn’t just do those kinds of things to me. He is playing with the entire group. Pushing us to go for things we don’t think are possible. He talked a lot about inversions this week - clearly - and I had forgotten how much good it does me (us all) to get upside down for a minute, or 30, everyday.

Sidebar: Sarah, a best friend of mine from Charleston, and who we used to tease that we were roommates since we lived in apartments directly beside one another, would go swinging on the swing-set in the playground beside our house almost nightly. She would swing so hard that she would purposely flip upside down for a second when up at her highest hight. I started to do it too when I lived there and good lord! Head rush! Thrill!

This past week on the mat, or rather, on the ropes, gave me the same incredible exhilaration. Childlike!

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WHAT ELSE…

I have also gone for a run, saved someone’s life — ok, just helped them not pass out after their workout, by popping a Ricola in their mouth (only thing I had on me and almost positive it didn’t help AT ALL since there isn’t any sugar in them to spike blood sugar), but as I yelled for help, someone heard me and came barreling around the corner to save the day with a juice. So that counts. And almost saved another life when I texted Selden “are you safe? Your neighborhood looks like it’s up in flames.” She initially texted back “isn’t that just the sunset? Lol.” But then sent me this article — Mais, oui! Luckily the fires wasn’t near her. But if it had been – she’d been saved by moi, aussi!

In other news, I had a date with Fanny and Sammie over lattes from I/O Café at La Bonbonnette on Monday morning – where we attempted to call about my visa – again. Were hung up on – again. Therefore, we gave up - again. The French Government wins. Patience for me, it is!

I walked the tented PAD Paris Design show in Jardin des Tuileries where I saw designs from felt wall sconces that my friend Rachel said, “looks like one of my SCAD projects – only more chic,” c’est vrai!, cushions for chairs that had been fashioned from black egg-crate-foam (the kind that is used to protect fragile shipped items), a suede bar from the 1950s, and countless other obscure fun Jewlery and furniture.

I ate tacos in the 11th with Elizabeth, Justine, and Jillian at El Comal. I went to Zig Zag in the 15th with Miranda, Nico, my favorite parisian boodle, Margaux, and her uncle Thibaut. And will go back there tomorrow night to attend a 40 year old’s birthday – Margaux’s papa, Nico!

And.. I said “yes” to a trip to Corsica, where I will take trains, planes, automobiles… including a ferry to go and come. 

On Sunday I will hop a train to Marseille, where I will then hop an overnight ferry (where we will bunk in a cabin. Can’t wait!) that will take us from the “mainland” to the “island,” then, we will rent a car, explore our way up the island until we reach Le Couvent de Pozzo – a beautiful majestic place that I’ve had my eyes on for a while now thinking of going to Corsica (and greenlight! There is a minimum two-night stay. Alas, we can only stay one night away. Not only was I able to negotiate in getting us just the one night, I too, greenlight!, didn’t even have to ask for early check in. Because ummmmm, the owner, Emmaualle, my penpal now I’d say given all of our email exchanges, wrote in his last email to me that he “would prefer that we check in closer to 9:30am.” YES! Double greenlight! Because we will be stepping off of our overnight ferry at 8:30am and will, I’m pretty sure, want a quality shower and a mini cat nap before we seek out to play on the island. I am so excited! 

The following days we will be in the southern tip of Corsica, where friends are hosting us for the additional three nights. As a token of my appreciation, I wanted to give them something that my family always used to do at our beach house. A puzzle. 

We always had a puzzle out in the sun porch so that those who were bringing babies in from the beach for naptime, or when it started to rain and we had to get off the beach, or when the sun had scorched us enough for the day and we were sipping our first or second beers of the night, we would all start scanning the table and become silent (why do puzzles make you do that – everyone hushes) until a piece was found that fits into the exact right place. Then, a yelp was let out in celebration. And the cycle would begin again. Anyway, I loved this beach house tradition and thought it would be fun – especially since the forecast is calling for – dare I say – rain on some of days we will be there.

For the perfect puzzle, I went to Puzzle Michèle Wilson. Recommended by my friend Cara. Custom made, all cut by hand, and all tres cher. Another “keep your hands in your pocket” kind of shop. I saw one for, no kidding, 1150€. I opted for one of her Paris Maps – which I think is so fitting since we’re all coming from Paris. I think they’ll love it! And I can’t wait to see if they too get very silent and then yelp as my family does during this activity. Is that a cultural shorthand of mine? Or is that international? We’ll see!

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To leave you this week with a laugh and tongue twister …

This week in les leçons de français, I worked on pronunciations. And did my best to get past the fact that most of the letter combinations either sound NOTHING like how they are spelled or have NO sound at all. This was one of the sentences that I was given to practice my “ch” combination - sounds like “sh”:

Les chaussettes de l'archiduchesse sont-elles sèches, archi-sèches?

Which means: Are the Archduchess's socks dry, very dry? Hahaha What are we doing here? Kills me. They get even better than this. Stay tuned.

Until next week, I leave you with images from my petite île, where she is in full BLOOM!

xxo ac