HERE I AM!
I'M BACK AGAIN AND IT FEELS LIKE CHRISTMAS!
I took a few months off from writing because AC to the B was setting up her new Parisian HOME and LIFE.
But I’m back now and feel so excited to share all the things – all the time.
DISCLAIMER
For all the English teachers out there (Grandmama… close your eyes!) – beware! There are unnecessarily long, way too detailed, extra wordy run-on sentences that are polluting this entire EN ROUTE. Read at your own risk.
HOME LIFE — “WELCOME TO FRANCE”
I believe that I left you all last when I was en route to the bank to get my French account – which I got. Instantly. I’ve heard that this doesn’t happen easily for expats. And since it did for me – you know what I’m about to spell out. GREENLIGHT.
I then went on to find an apartment in Le Marais. I’m not an expert yet — alas, to me, this neighborhood feels like the West Village of NYC, or Notting Hill of London, or Harleston Village of Charleston. In short – it’s chic and precious!
I got approved for the furnished apartment within a day. Another feat! I’ve heard this also doesn’t happen easily for anyone — Parisians and expats alike. Again, I achieved the impossible. Dare I say … another GREENLIGHT?! With this avenue of greens though, I knew red lights were bound to be close. And wow were they! I made myself and Simon miserable with my att.i.tude for weeks after getting the keys to my new home because it ummmmmm … Where do I begin?
It didn’t have a WORKING TOILETTE or HEAT initially. The freezer was left with old meat that had been thawed (so spoiled) due to the electricity being turned off and then refrozen (so stuck to the freezer drawers) when the electricity was turned back on. I wasn’t given mailbox keys. The agency was incompetent to help me get a necessary basement key for getting internet (a weird situation but evidentially everyone (except moi) in Paris knows you need this for access??). I found a used a you know what under my bed - because it had not been cleaned. NASTY. Shall I continue??? I went crazy!
Oh! And the vacuum didn’t work. So, sweet (also clean maniac) Simon, brought his on his motorbike to me for the night of the “deep clean".”
“Welcome to France” was the phrase that all of my friends kept saying to me (Simon most of all) when things like the above would happen. No one I called (my rental agency or plumber alike) took time or the severity of the situations into account to move at a rapid pace. Mind blowing! In the USA, if you don't make the customer/client happy. Or ummmm don’t do your job. You get fired. Period. Not here.
Whatever.
Feat after feat has made me appreciate where I am now in this new city of mine. I figured everything out, cleaned all the nasty &%*$ and now, love my place.
I needed to have found my apartment ASAP though because (insert every excited emoji there is right here and in BOLD!) my mama was jumping the pond (for the first time ever in her life!) to see her French bébé. I needed a place for her to rest her head (and let’s be real honest – to play in. She and I live to piddle together at home. This includes, but isn’t limited to – rearranging the furniture (possibly 45 times in an hour), baking (umpteen) Orange Coffee Cakes for our Christmas tradition, making lists for stocking the fridge, cleaning, and lounge-gabbing in our PJs until it’s a wee bit too late in the morning – Oops. Almost 12pm one day, etc.
She and I had a ball! One of my highlights was when Simon hosted us and his lovely sister in law, Maureen, at his home for Raclette (a cheesy French winter dish). My mama practically licked her plate. She could NOT stop smiling (and making noises. She literally moans after every bite she takes with any food. But on this night?! She was practically humming a tune! Her way of saying yummmmmmy!)
While she was here, we rode on the Seine, we memorized the layout of Paris, we walked to the Eiffel Tower, the Arc de Triomphe, we had several hot chocolates, and ate all the foie gras. We shopped for food that she smuggled back into the states for Joe and we hugged. A lot. (I miss this the most. We double kiss here in France. But hugs. Ah! I live for those!) I showed her all over… IKEA … ooop. I mean Paris. (But really though, we memorized that layout too.)
FÊTE
School started in November. LOVE LOVE LOVE it! I started with semi-intensive courses for the first two months. And then in January I dove in. I am in intensive courses now and hooked! I just purchased another semester for February.
Then it was Thanksgiving, where I cooked a decadent American spread for nine of Simon’s best friends, and read a toast – in French. Simon toasted me too – in French. I didn’t fully understand his words at that point yet, since I had just started school, but I did catch one phrase where I recognized every word: “chaque jour avec toi est meilleure et meilleure” … “everyday with you is better and better” – the whole table harmoniously swooned. As I did.
Then Christmas with Simon’s family (J’adore! I had to pinch myself/and face a few times throughout the weekend - A. for blood flow (temperature was numbingly cold and the wind was there to stay! And B. because my face was stuck in a permagrin mode. The traditions and ambience was surreal – I felt so welcomed, at home, and full… in heart and stomach. We ate everything!).
We rang in the new year in Bretagne (where we stayed with Simon’s dear friends and ummmmm ate five star meals at home EVERY meal – tout le fruit de mer, lobster that was torched with crème fraîche, the most delicious and large longustein, caviar, scallops, foie gras. You name a decadent dish. We ate it!
Oh! and we cruised around in a vintage Citroen that was practically brand new. Jean Luke, our host, used to work in the automotive industry. He LOVES his cars!
The weekend was a dream.
IN OTHER NEWS …
I crashed, ooops, I mean attended a masquerade party in my RRL tuxedo smoking jacket - that had been begging for a night out on the town - at a famous Architectural Designer’s apartment with Matt, my friend from Charleston who came in town for a few nights, and my soon to be (fingers crossed and breath held) bestie, Cyril (who is a professional ballet dancer at the Paris Opera!).
The wildest thing happened that night! So buckle up. At this random textile-royalty invite-only soirée that Matt snuck me into, not only did I root through my swag bag (that was probably not intended for a crasher to take) at the end of the event, I shhhhh only took the posh face cream that was inside (I know! I hate people like me when I work events). I also spotted a guy who asked me out last summer in Jardin du Palais Royal!! Can you handle it? Why was he there?! I thought he had told me he was a journalist?! Ahhhh. Paris! It’s the smallest world. It was wildly awkward because we kept looking at one another trying to place where we knew each other from (kinda like what you do when you see someone famous and you think it’s them, but aren’t 100% sure, so you’re trying not to look… but you can’t stop staring!!! Yep. It was like that.) I called on my dormant avoidant personality type to take over. She made me proud.. and did. He and I didn’t speak – I left promptly after (with my face cream in tow).
MORE…
I attended a dinner with Jenni Dawes (thank you Heather for the introduction!), where I met the most incredible woman (and took my most incredible new friend, Sarah, who you all met back in the summer. She is the one who I met in the sauna at SoHo house, and the one who took a leap and signed a three year lease for her Paris apartment without a job here! She’s an inspiration to me, and also a ladyboss. Because, as of December, she landed herself a position at YSL!). Speaking of how I met Sarah… I met another new friend in that same sauna at SoHo last week – We have plans soon.
I have made friends!!! I hosted my first dinner party at my home with Miranda, Elizabeth, and Jillian. I had coffee dates with Maureen, Justine, and David. (Sidebar, when I went to meet David, I had accidentally gone to the wrong café – so while he kindly took a taxi to me, and I waited, an old NYC friend of mine – who now lives in LA, so the odds are slim that we’d ever see one another again – literally bumped into me while asking the waiter for a table. GREENLIGHT.)
Continuing… I started working out again (I mean come-on, those croissants are going to dissolve from my derrière themselves!). I passed my French Medical exam so that I could stay in the country. Whoop! I managed to get Simon addicted to Ozark (he has recently asked me if we have to be together to watch it. Ha. Binge watching TV?! My Americanisum is definitely rubbing off on him). I got to play with a bébé Margaux. And speaking of that name… I actually bought earrings from an adult Margot, who sells the coolest vintage jewelry (and who I am also actively trying to recruit to be my friend!). I got locked out of my apartment and hired a locksmith speaking french. I deep cleaned my (beyond filthy) apartment – making my first (of many) trips to the MonoPrix (our Target) to buy out their cleaning supply aisle.
And finally, I accepted the greatest role of all time. I will soon officially be the GODMOTHER to the most precious boodle on the planet named Jimmy Vick Gill. (Shhhhh don’t say anything to him, but his Marraine (godmother en francais) is already stocking up on French bébé clothes. He may or may not (but totally, 100%, without a question, will) be the chicest bébé in Richmond daycare.
LONDON
I popped over to London last weekend to visit “Erika from America'' (that’s the tag line that she went by when she lived in the UK for those six years - so that everyone would remember her name. Even without this tag EVERYONE remembers Erika — she’s the best), and geez did it do my heart good to get my arms around a long time friend – to laugh, eat all the things, wake up to spa, and ice bath! Yep! You’re girl stayed submerged for a full… wait for it, wait for it… eight… seconds.
What?! You try it and then tell me if you make it longer. It’s $#%ing FREEZING!
The only other time I have ever experienced breath-lost-want-to-scream-frigid-cold like that was when my Pops and I rafted down the Lütschine river in Interlaken, Switzerland. To paint the picture.. We were dressed head to toe in wetsuits (I’m talkin’ feet + head covered too) because ummmm we were about to raft the water that was melting from the whitecaps on the tall mountains above us. FREEZING. Are you shivering reading this like I am typing it? (I just had to go put on socks.) At the end of our raft – when we had reached calm water – our guide told everyone to jump in. I just knew he wasn’t talking to me. Afterall – I was the only girl on the boat. Therefore, too precious to thrust my body into a pool of what would feel like frozen knives going into every square inch of my body. Am I right?! Wrong! The guid came to me and when I explained the reason I had elected not to go in, he said “oh, no – you go.” He then lifted me from the shoulders of my life jacket and plopped me in the glacier water. The kind of cold that makes you forget to breathe.
So eight seconds in a tub of ice surrounded by bougieness – eh, show me the sauna! – I’d rather not.
Ok… back to it. We went to a Soirée with System Olympia, an Italian DJ (who stripped down to her knickers while she spun her tunes. No joke!). We got passed over to be “backstage” hype girls. (No shame. We positioned ourselves in front of the fog machine, whipped our hair back and forth, made eyes with the music managers, and were definitely channeling Monica and Ross Geller at the New Year's Eve televised dance party episode. Alas, just like the Gellers… it was a no go for us. We didn’t make it over the velvet rope).
Before the show – we met up with so many friends of Erika’s. Two of which happened to have been the head chefs at my (and everyone else's) old favorite NYC restaurant, The Fat Radish (RIP). Leading me to another wild small world story: The old owners of The Fat Radish live in Charleston now (and are owners of Basic Kitchen, Fish Camp and Post House) and were two of the first friends I met there. Now, I was sitting in a different country, from the different country that I just moved to, with two people who had worked for two friends of mine. World continues to grow smaller.
Before I took the easiest transportation ever, the Eurostar (we trained under the sea! WILD!), back to Paris, I saw my friend Tess for beers at The Pelican and ate a traditional Sunday Roast at The Ladbroke Arms with Erika, and friends.
CHRISTMAS CAME EARLY
I know I know… we only just had Christmas, but two nights ago I felt as giddy as the time, on an actual Christmas morning, when my mother (excuse me, Santa) once gave Miller and me bikes. (It’s quite a precious story, actually. She hid them in the laundry room and before we were due to get dressed for Christmas lunch with the entire family, she asked Mill and me to put on a load of laundry. We walked back together finding two brand-new sets of two-wheelers! We were late to the family lunch as you can imagine. Couldn’t stop pedaling in our bathrobes.)
I had felt giddy because… I bought a bike!
Paris is finally starting to feel more like home now that I have my own wheels.
Her current name is Arizona, though I'm open to suggestions. My sweet friend, A Southern Chef, has given me a few to consider (and since she’s a baker… naturally the names she has come up with make my mouth water) – Brownie or Moon (short for chocolate moon pie) since she’s brown. I’m on the fence about going French with the name all the way and calling her Chocolatine, or straight up, Pain au Chocolat.
And if you’re wondering. Which I’m quite sure you are definitely not, but I’m in fast-type mode so can’t stop, won’t stop with the run-ons… My cars and bikes alike have always been named. There was Olsmo-Jeep, Goldie, Cinderella, Ebony (who turned into Eboneezer because she acted up so much), and Tina Turner. For my bikes, there was Rusty (short for Rusty Three Speed - the name her mechanic gave her when writing her repair ticket), Olive (my pride and joy, and BibOn business partner for 6 years in NYC until she was hit by a car), Picholine (the name of a French olive ironically since I live in France now. Or, not so ironic actually), Joy Ride who I really only ever called Joy (my Charlston wheels), and now ____ fill in the blank. She’s an Arizona Union bike from Holland so I couldn’t resist snatching her up. She has an American name and (is from) lives in Europe – just like her new mama.
This one was all over the map!
Thank you all for the side-texts asking me to start these up again. I love writing them and find it so fun that ya’ll read them.
Xxo
straight up, Pain au Chocolat. That works. XO