HOME. IS IT A PLACE?
I THINK IT'S MOSTLY ... PEOPLE.
On Friday night I got to meet more of Simon’s friends. And they all came bearing gifts!
Antoine and his girlfriend Aurelie brought us four different fancy olive oils, Sami and his wife, Berlta, brought us an enormous and gorgeous bouquet, and a book for me, Jérôme and Yohana brought wine and went in on more magnum bottles of champagne when the night was winding down (but we wanted to wind it up!), Roba came with three huge and delicious flan cakes, and Natacha and Mark came looking uber chic (she was dressed in head to toe Chanel looking like a model!) with a chilled bottle of bubbles.
May the party begin!
We were in mixed company – not everyone knew one another well – but as Simon predicted, by the end of the night .. all of us were exchanging numbers and arranging plans to get together again soon. (Like moi, Simon loves to … and is good at… hosting and connecting people.)
Two weeks ago I had accidentally invited Natasha and Mark over for this night – forgetting that it was the night Simon had already planned for his dinner with other friends. Instead of confusing it all and rescheduling with them, we thought. Great! The more the merrier! Add them to the table! This brought our number to 10. (Sidebar and important detail: we have 6 chairs at our dining table.)
One week ago we decided to invite Roba too. She is another friend of Simon’s who isn’t really associated with the group, but who lives under Natasha and Mark and who we thought would add spice and laughter to our party. She accepted! And she did bring the added flare to the group. Bringing our number to 11. (Reminder: we still only have 6 chairs at our dining table.)
And minutes before we were to pop the first cork of our magnum bottle of champagne – we received a text that Roba was bringing her dear friend Marian (who Simon and I both loved meeting at Roba’s birthday lunch a few months ago). Great! Bringing our final count to a round and perfect dozen. It was tight, it was cozy, it was THE group!
We unpacked all (miraculously… six! Thank god!) of the folded chairs tucked behind Simon’s armoire, we brought out his collapsible table under the bed (perfect! Additional 3 places), and squeezed in another place setting at the end of the table. It all fit like a glove! We all had plenty to eat and had the liveliest of nights. And at the tail end… we cut the flan cakes, put my stewed candied strawberries for color on the table, lit as many mini candles as we could find, and sang happy birthday to Antoine. (A birthday that I’m pretty sure was the month before. Ha! But we’ll use any excuse to pop another bottle of champagne and make an occasion even more special with candles and song!)
PAGE-TURNER AND CACKLES
I can NOT put down A Year in the Merde, the book that Sami and his wife gave me. And the cackles?! Oh my god! I mean, if you’ve been looking for me lately… just listen out for the eruption of cacks and I’m sure to be found. This book is hilariously written. I’m obsessed. In fact, I plan to buy a case and distribute them to all of my friends and family this Christmas. It will be an up close and personal glimpse of what a first year in France is like, after committing to move here. I would lend out my copy when I finish, but I’m finding myself (doing what I do with ALL my favorite books) writing all over it and highlighting sentences that have me in stitches. Mostly… because I have 100% experienced the same thing this writer explains … like “I shook their hands and instantly forgot their names'' or “the waiter came back and tucked a bill under our little condiment set. He said something that I didn’t understand, and went away.” Kills me! Haha. I could have written it!
Sami and his wife, Berlta, gave it to me because Berlta also moved to France without knowing the language. On top of it, she also didn’t know English! Double hard! She made it mandatory for Sami to speak only with her en Français to learn faster. Before they came to this agreement, Sami said it was the most emotional year of his wife’s life. (I was hoping Simon was in earshot so to hear that there was someone else who too broke out in tears for no good reason .. anytime, all the time… her first year. But, no such luck. He was in the kitchen tending to our delicious duck.)
Sami went on to say that she stuck to his hip like glue for two years. She interrupted with “I wouldn’t let him leave me for a second.” Sami added “I couldn’t. She needed me to translate everything.” He told me that “Berlta cried one night and said ‘you are no longer allowed to speak to me unless it’s in French.’ She was desperate. So, I took it seriously. It became very hard for her because I never broke. When she would start to speak Turkish (that was their common language) and would say she was tired. I would say back ‘I don’t understand Turkish. I only understand French’.” Ahhhhh! Drill Sergeant is how he referred to himself during this time. How difficult that must have been for them both! Yet worth it! Now, past those hellish first years, she is speaking fluently and they are happy as clams.
Sidenote. Since Simon wasn’t in earshot then, but is in eyeshot now reading this. Let me say… Sweetie, I am soooooo thankful that you will let me (in fact, encourage me) to have a break and speak English sometimes. I would go crazy otherwise. Thank you!
LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT
Sami and Berlta’s story is a lot like Simon and mine, AND another new friend, who I met this week, Pat and her husband Oliver’s. Love at first sight.
On Sunday, after I pretended to take WAY too long getting ready for my friend's brunch so that I didn’t have to help clean the kitchen from our second dinner party of the weekend with Margot and Stand. (Simon catches me doing this often. Ha!), I headed to Jenni’s apartment. She was hosting a Paris Chapter “salon” (Ah! I used to host Salons at my apartment in Charleston all the time. I miss them SO much. Was thrilled to be included.)
The topic on this particular day was “ transition” and “finding HOME when you’re far away from it.” I knew I needed to hear it! I needed to hear tips on how people have done it, how people plan to do it, how people are cracking the code to do it, and how people are feeling a part of this culture that is so foreign to us all. It was an incredible 3 hours and during a solid 1hr of them, my new friend, Pat, shared all about her relationship with her French husband, Oliver. “It was love at first sight!”
She was drawn to him the first time she saw him. (I can relate to that. Simon and I were moths to a flame!) She shared how neither of them spoke the other’s language and that when they had their first conversation they had a translator (common friend). What?!!
She told us how challenging it (still) is at times. Especially because she is a communicator. Her job is counseling. She said that she is a deep talker and likes to express herself through conversation and words. And, now? She said “I am forced to speak - heart. I am forced to, instead of words, even though his English is so much better than my French… so we could speak that. I am forced to see him through actions and get to know him through his expressions when I do something for him or he does something for me. Sometimes, no words at all are used. Just a look. And it’s magnetic and enough.” She went on to tell our table that it has been the biggest gift and the biggest challenge of her life. Because words are how we have all been taught to connect with people. But what’s one to do when that way isn’t a possible way?
Instead they “ (we) just see each other.” She beamed when she said this. Precious!
She, along with the other 10 ladies at this brunch, all gushed about France – Paris specifically. They all said that they …
“Feel more feminine here” (Every birthday since I popped out of the womb was bathed in pink, I wore clippy cloopy shoes daily until my mother finally gave me permission to wear the real things… high heels, and I was voted “most prissy” in highschool. I can assure you, I have never not known what being feminine feels like – Paris or no Paris.), they…
“Dress up just for the hell of it here” (I wore a velvet tuxedo jacket the first “casual Friday” I ever worked at American Express – I’ve never not used ummm any occasion to dress over the top), they…
“Have stopped wearing bras” (My old boss, when she called to offer me a Director position at CLS had to say “but AC, you have to promise to wear a bra! This is a buttoned-up-crowd.” – So, eh, I’ve never not known a good braless outfit), and finally they…
“Eat bread and butter anytime they want.” (Ok! This one got me – I definitely didn’t give myself freedom to eat that good ol 'salty brick that was always halfway melted on my mom’s counter at home (because it’s habitually 80° in SC) BUTTER).
In short, I listened as next to everyone talked about how much they just adored it here in Paris and that their HOME, they are finding out, was the PLACE in which they lived.
I had a hard time with that phrase. Because I believe… HOME is also PEOPLE (and smells). I crave my PEOPLE more than I crave “home.” And probably because I have been bouncing from home to home, relocating from city to city, and moving from apartment to apartment since childhood. Therefore, I don’t really feel totally connected to a place per se as “HOME.”
Home here in Paris is Simon. Home in SC is the beach, having coffee with my mama and Joe on the porch, it's the evening golf course or beach strolls with my pops, it’s the excitement I feel when I see miller, boggs, b, and bm. Home is when I smell sunscreen in the sea air (anywhere in the world). Home is when I’m sitting with my friends belly laughing and sharing memories. Home is… basically… when I’m happy, feeling safe and secure, feeling welcomed and with people who see me and that I LOVE.
Home is … Love at First Sight! Because you just know you’ve arrived there the second you see it!
SIDEBAR: I am so lucky that unlike Oliver, Simon spoke English with me from the beginning. And even though last night we spoke french and he corrected me and laughed with me when I read him parts of my “French for Dummies” book (best thing I ever bought from the book sale at CLS .. before I knew I was moving to France I may add) – I thought ‘how on earth do people get to “know” one another if they don’t speak ONE mutual language?’
Then I remembered this sweet memory of SQT + me at the beginning…
Way back, this time last year, when Simon’s English wasn’t where it is today and my French definitely wasn’t where I am today – we both had this radiating smile. Connection. I remember him picking me up on his motorbike the first time he brought me back to his home to cook. And us both being so quiet and so “excervous” (excited + nervous), but smiling and shaking a wee bit the whole time. I remember the way he looked when he’d see me come out of that HUGE door on my street. I remember that he was wearing white jeans and a fitted blue blazer. I remember that he had already bought all of the groceries so that when we got home he could immediately open a bottle of wine, let me sit in the kitchen sipping, while he got to work. I remember that we saw one another even though we didn't fully understand each other. And the best part — when there are less words clouding the air… you get to just relish in the visual, the smells, and the sounds. I have detailed memories of our Summer due to this. It was … love at first, and second, and third, and now 351st sight! Wordless … just, HOME.
The language barrier is real (as I have ranted about on next to every occasion that I’m given a soap box to stand on) but often – connection is realer.
DATES AND DODGING RAINDROPS
After the brunch I went on a long bike ride – it was beautiful out but I knew I smelled rain. This actually has become one of my HOME smells now that I live in Paris – where it hasn’t failed to rain at some point nearly every day since October.
Before the storm came, I peddled over to the Batignolles neighborhood. It’s close to Simon’s and my apartment and a place I want to discover more of. I love it! I made a maze through the streets and wound up arriving back at our apartment just before I heard thunder.
Simon was at his friend, Danny’s, this afternoon for a BBQ on their gorgeous and huge terrace – so I snuck in a nap. I wish I had had enough energy to make it there with them, alas… the last two nights we had tucked in at 4am and 2am after our guests had left… so, this lady needed to recharge. When I got up – pillow creases pressed deep in my face – I put on my sneaks and was heading for the door when Simon came in. He too made a quick change and off we went for a long stroll over to Montmartre. We walked around the brick wall of Montmartre Cemetery, through the hilly streets, and up a mountain of stairs. When we reached the top we promptly decided to get a beer and ironically saw the “perfect” two seats in the sun down the stairs at this bar. Worth the hike up and down – for nothing else… than the people watching!
Over our beers, we caught some rays and caught up on his time with Danny and their friends who I’ll get time with at his wedding in Germany in July. I shared stories about my family that I hadn’t told him before, and then? You can guess it! We got caught in another misty rain. (Ah! La barbe! A new phrase that i’ve learned this week. It means, “what a pain!”) But lucky us, two seats were open under the only umbrella that was truly covering a table. We went, we stayed dry, we moved back to our sunny table after the rain passed, finished our beers, and strolled back home where we made an incredible lemon, caper, cream, and spinach pasta with the olive oil from Antoine (this one was basil infused. Delicious!)
Monday I got to have a one on one date with Selden at Buvette. We were the first ones in the door for the dinner service at 7:15pm, and the last ones to leave for closing (we had to be asked twice) at 11:45pm. It was the best 4.5 hours. We laughed hard, had too much wine, and ate the yummiest meal (ironically one of the dishes was the same dish Simon made for our first dinner party of the weekend: duck confit parmentier. Only difference. Simon’s is better! He adds an Asian flare to his and let me tell ya… it's a crowd pleaser!). When we got our bill we both laughed. It was €42 each. In the US – a main plate, two shared veggies, a bottle of wine, and two added glasses at the end of the meal, would have looked more like double the price!
A similar song was sung at the brunch I talked about on Sunday. They also ALL talked about how…
“Living in France is 3xs less expensive than it is (in some places) living in the states. Rent, cars, gas, prices of groceries etc.” (No rebuttal here. This statement is true!)
I met Miranda for coffee at SoHo House the next morning, after I ran for an hour in the gym (another rainy morning - I was forced to resist the urge of making sport outside) to sweat out the wine. She had just returned from an event for her client’s in Cannes. At the event, she said that a graffiti piece, by the famed Kenny Scharf, had been auctioned for… wait for it… wait for it… $900k. AND, that the Vespa that he graffiti-ed also went for an astonishing tag… $75k. (The scooter was only worth $7k before he touched it. Kills me!). She got to be there while he painted it and see the man at work – what a dream she lives! She also got a private Cher concert! I mean… not really. But, yeah she did! She texted me while she was “waiting for Cher to finish her rehearsal so I can get a photo signed for the auction.” I’m like… wait.. what?! “You’re having a private concert by the Goddess of Pop?!” Did I mention? Miranda lives a … Dream life! (Funny enough, after waiting, and I’m sure singing along to “If I Could Turn Back Time,” the photo never got signed that night. Ha!)
Later that day I had lunch with Mel, my Aussie friend who I met (similar to my friend Sarah) also in the SoHo sauna. We dined for hours and sat in the glass garden so we felt like we were outside – even though above us we could see another torrential downpour of a day. While we ate, the COO of SoHo was there – we had a birdseye view and watched as dish, after dish, after dish, was brought to him to taste and take note. I know I said Miranda has the dream life!! But his wasn’t looking too shabby either!
Tuesday night was one of the worst nights of my life. Ok, maybe a bit of an exaggeration. But the Bridget Bardot series ended. I mean… Doesn’t netflix know? We subscribers are bingers now – because they trained us to be over COVID. So, give the people what they want! And that goes something like this: Multiple seasons that are streamable at once so that we don’t feel disappointed. EVER. Please and thank you.
Nevermind – I found another French series that I am now completely obsessed with. The Billionaire, the Butler, & the Boyfriend. The inside story (and all REAL audio caught on tape) of Liliane Bettencourt – the French heiress and principal shareholder of L’Oréal. She was a socialite, doormat to François-Marie Banier (photographer, scam artist, friend to the stars, AKA… whoever’s rich) who finagled ummm brace yourselves… $970 million from her, a cold mama who said once “I love Françoise, because she’s my daughter,” and the ummmm richest woman in the world. At the time of her death she had a fortune to the tune of $44+ billion.
ANNIE BE SHOPPIN’
On Wednesday, I went from my apartment to Astier de Villatte, then to Arioso, then to Bensimon, then I took myself on a round about walk through the streets of Saint Germain, then to lunch with Jane (she was on the phone, but still, we had a my lunch (and her coffee) date) to eat sardines and have a glass of wine at La Palette, then I hopped over to Izipizi, then back over the Seine to Foie Gras Luxe, over to A. Simon, then to Le Floor to meet Simon for an afternoon tea and smooch. Finally I arrived home, drenched, to deliver all the goods and go back out for more.
I’m coming to the US and brining goodies! Can’t say what I got at all these places – as many of the readers are recipients. But needless to say – I had a ball. Felt like Christmas!
FIN DE SEMAINE
The weather is finally starting to clear up – just in time for a jaunt out to Ponthoile for Simon’s nephew-godson’s first communion. I’m not Catholic, but I have full intentions of sneaking up there for a blessing, a wafer, and a sip of sweet church wine with the rest of those partaking in the holy sacrament. Ha! Shhhhh. I’m pretty sure this is 100% against the Pope’s rules… but… when in Rome! Or… rather, when in Mass, eh?!
Last night I was invited back over to Jenni’s for another “deep questions” dinner with her and her close Paris friend group. We had a ball. Laughed hard as the night progressed and we all felt comfy with one another. She and I too had a love at first sight moment. She shared the story with the group… that we had met in January at a dinner. She said she felt a strong connection to me. So, before I left, she ran over to grab my number. She then admitted that she doesn't do that with just anyone. So! Maybe… that’s a sign I’m on the path to find my people here!
I am counting down to when I will be back in the US and can finally thaw out. Yesterday, the rain brought a drop in temperature to 51°. I learned SC reached 98°. I plan to be a lizard, and bake in the sun and warmth, all the livelong days while visiting!
I have made myself the best agenda while in Charleston and could not feel more excited to get my eyes on, and arms around, some of my favorite people in the world who live there! Then, off to the beach with family, then Richmond – where I will NOT be putting Jimmy Vick Gill down (my pride and joy of a godson), and finally off to NYC where I’ll be stuffing my carry on full of bagels before I’m Paris bound again.
While I’m there, I can’t wait to do what Simon did with me while we were separated for those few months while I was getting my Visa. FaceTime meet his friends! This time – he’ll be on the other side of the screen meeting all of mine!
Until next En Route – when I will be sending it from the Stateside – xxo ac
Loved meeting you on Sunday, and I love reading how our love story touched you! ❤️