TOO OR TOUT? THAT IS THE QUESTION
“Too long” – Was how one of my friend’s described my EN ROUTEs from over the summer. I took it as a complement. But, not at first, of course. At first that statement stung! But as I am starting to write them again … I remembered what my dear Mamee (grandmother) would say “Dah-lin. (southern for darling) Why use five words? When 25 words will do?” She loved to talk and loved a good detail! And since I’m back in France, and therefore deep diving once again into the French vocabulary – hanging on every syllable when spoken to, I’ve picked up on the pronunciation “too” being used, well, partout (everywhere)! [e.g.: “tu” – you ; "à bientôt" – see you soon; “tous le jours” – everyday. Let’s be frank… “too” many more examples to count!]
In short, or rather, “too long” – The French, and my Mamee, love “too” or “tout” much of everything. So, in an attempt to fit into this new culture and to honor my Mamee, I will keep my EN ROUTES too long for now!
Happy reading…
EN ROUTE — PARIS BOUND
My mother drove me to the airport on Wednesday, October 4th. When we arrived we had planned to dine together before I went through security. [Note to anyone traveling from the International Delta Terminal in ATL – there are no options, other than an indoor convenient store, to eat. Avoid at all costs!]
Stage left – Norman. Norman had been flirting with the couple before us in the check in line, and I was thrilled when they walked on to security just in time for us to be paired with an agent. When we got to Norman’s counter I told him what a joy he was to watch and thanked him for being so kind to all of us passengers. Traveling internationally can be very stressful - meeting a Norman along the way eases the experience.
As I threw compliments his way, I also practically threw my arm out loading my bag onto the scale. 53lbs! Ahhhhh the limit is 50lbs! I know this will come across as cheap of me. But I don’t care! I, under no circumstances, think a $100 fee for 3lbs over the bag weight limit is worth it. To avoid this, I had already prepared myself that if this was the case and I was going to be charged, I would succumb to removing pieces from my bag. Wearing my fur under my winter coat and jazz it up with velvet gloves (I mean, if I’m going to looking like Zsa Zsa Gabor, I may as well dress the full part, eh?!). But Norman… he pulled my first GREENLIGHT of the trip. He tagged my slightly overweight bag as “heavy” and winked at me – no charge.
Norman then also gave my mother a GREENLIGHT when she asked him where we could have a final meal together before I departed. He looked around and knew we didn’t have any choices. He then promptly asked for her license and then… wait for it… wait for it… gave her a security clearance pass to enter the airport!!! I have NOT heard of this happening since Sept 11th. When we told him so and asked how he could grant this? He said “I can certainly do this. People don’t use their common sense anymore. I trust mine. And trust you, Harriette. I trust you two need this final mother-daughter farewell.” I LOVED this response and LOVED that I got my Rarrie (our family nickname for my mama) for a few bonus hours.
After our meal, she started to choke up saying goodbye. Everytime this would happen, Rarrie would switch the subject. I hadn’t (and don’t think I really have even now) let it sink in that I have moved away from my home country and my mama! Even at my ripe old (ahem. I mean my very youthful) age – when I stump my toe, or burn my hand, or have a fever… “I want my mama!” So she was going to be the hardest to say goodbye to.
Once we both hugged (I’m talkin’ full body embrace for no less than 3 solid minutes) for the final time and I walked to my tram, and she to her exit, (turning around every chance we got to make sure that the other was still in sight) I let myself lose it. I sobbed the entire way to my gate – called Simon for calming and reassurance, Fiona for a laugh and insight, and my Pops for an I love you. All was calm again.
Landing – I spotted the most handsome French man! Simon had made his way to the airport to pick me up. As I ran to him (let’s be honest… struggle-jogged with four bags in tow) he said “you haven’t changed!” Simon and I have FaceTimed 2-3 times per day since I left France in July (and he came to visit … more on that in an upcoming EN ROUTE) – but there’s nothing like the real in-person thing. He hadn’t changed either! Still super handsome, impeccably dressed in dark blue and white (très French), and wearing a permagrin. Like me. Le même!
JET LAG IS REAL
I seem to always forget how real it can be until I’m actually here on European soil and am made to stay up the entire day. I snuck in two siestas the first day I landed and slept through the night. Simon had been running fever the week prior to me coming and therefore he was up – or rather – down for taking naps too.
First day we walked to the butcher – after having beers on the street – and selected the most beautiful bœuf. I don’t know how it happened but I didn’t have my appetite yet. Those of you who know me best, know that I have a strict no eating airplane food policy (that I 100% break when the individual packets of Lotus Biscoff cookies are being passed out after the Captain turns the seatbelt sign off. If you’re curious… yes! THE only reason I am a lifer on Delta is ahhhhhh because of these cookies). Making this “too” long, but airplane food isn’t my cup of tea - so I hadn’t eaten for 20ish plus hours - and when I did. Simon wanted my first bit to be incroyable! It was! homemade onglet de bœuf.
Friday, my first full day in Paris was beautiful. 75° and sunny. I borrowed Simon’s bike and gave it a spin for hours! Riding through my old neighborhood to reach the Seine, crossing on Pont Alexandre III, biking next to the Eiffel Tower, and then climbing up to the tip of Paris to reach his Tennis Club just in time for his match to finish and us to dine. We sat outside, and I met one of his best friends, Daniel. I had met Daniel over FaceTime many weeks ago, but again… better in person!
That afternoon, Simon on his motorbike and I on his peddle bike, he led the way through the winding streets and pointed in the direction of his neighborhood. He sped home to shower and I took my time admiring everything on my bike ride! I reached his apartment in the nick of time. We hopped in a cab and raced to Musée d’art Moderne de Paris for the Nicolas de Staël exhibition. Simon loves this painter, so had booked us tickets weeks ago when learning of the show! And, honestly, as I roamed the rooms packed with his art I too fell hard for his work.
Unbeknownst to us the museum closed at 6pm. That gave us one hour from our 5pm reservation time to see umpteen pieces and speed read their descriptions. Sure enough at 10’till the speakers came on to announce times up! You should have heard the uproar – Simon being the loudest “Non! It’s too short!” This went on for the full ten minutes that we made our way through the rest of the exhibition. I thought it was too short too. But really – I think the French’s 7th sense is to complain – so they all wanted a reason to tap in, and boy did they. By the time we reached the exit. It was like they had all come to a standstill in protest. They had stopped admiring the work and were just standing in the gallery out of spite! Ha!
En route home on foot we physically ran into one of his long time friends, Paola. He had also run into another friend of his at the exhibition hours before. As I have mentioned in a past EN ROUTE – Paris est un petit monde! Small world!
We dined at his best Italian restaurant Ristorante Napoletano, where he was practically famous! Even the chef, Toni, came out to speak to him and meet me.
PREMIER WEEK
This marks the first full week I have been in my new city. And I am in LOVE. I can’t get over the freedom that is to be found when you do something out of the norm and take a leap. That doesn’t mean that it’s all croissants and roses over here (although both are devine!), it means that I am habitually “excervous” (excited + nervous at the same time). Jitter squeals and all – I am doing it!
Saturday, Simon took me for a drive outside of the city for a picnic. We reached Chantilly an hour plus later. THE most picturesque town I’ve seen yet (I know! I know! I live in Paris. The top of the top in picturesque – but I said… town, by god). As a surprise to both of us, we had arrived on horse race day!
Sitting in a field just across from the starting line, with our blanket spread, wine poured, pâté en croûte consumed, we were able to watch horse race after horse race as if they were performing just for us. It was superb! We finished our meal with a cold taste of the best Vodka (I’m usually more of a bourbon girl .. but wow) that Simon had brought back from his recent Poland trip. It tasted like butterscotch. The perfect digestif to our meal and aperitif to our siesta that immediately followed. C’est la vie!
My “25 words will do” Mamee used to also live by this saying - that she kept framed in her bedroom as if she needed the daily reminder - “How beautiful it is to do nothing all day and then rest after.” In this Chantilly moment, I thought… exactement, Mamee!
We were woken probably some 5 races later by tourists who had actually come to watch the race from where we were perched. Funny how they had the entire field to watch from and yet chose to stand directly in front of our blanket – droves of them. Wild! We woke and watched too. Cheering just as loud as they did. (#3, my horse, brought it home for the win! Just sayin’)
We tidied our space and then made our way to Château de Chantilly where we immediately headed up the rear in the cue for glace avec Chantilly creme. Simon told me that this area was famous for inventing what we Americans know as whipped cream. Chantilly Creme - delicious!!
After slurping down this creme dream, we did the forbidden! We went into the woods as there were no loos in sight. I kept watch for him and he for me. Only when I decided to finally have the courage to do it … Simon laughed after, saying as he was keeping watch, he spotted a “toilettes this way” sign only about six more strides ahead! I could have made it and avoided fighting the brush for privacy. Oh, well … C’est la vie!
DESPERATE TIMES CALL FOR DESPERATE MEASURES
Simon has his arms fully extended. He is measuring the rope that is attached to his harness around his waist. The window is wide open, his upstairs neighbor is draping the other end of the rope around his body and I am steadily pointing the camera at the situation. I have Simon’s brother, Matthieu, a recreational climber, on a video call instructing each move. Simon is about to repel down the side of his building to enter his apartment!!!!
That morning, on our 6.5mile run (yes, if you’re curious, “too long” would fit perfectly in this scenario for me. Simon was having to yell words of encouragement to keep me on his tail) – the key managed to slip out of his pocket. We only realized this as we reached his apartment after running nearly every bridge, park, and street in paris. We didn’t waste a second. When the reality hit us (only one key), we did an about-face and retraced every step we had just run – scanning inch by inch in search for a tiny shiny key amongst the sea of populating-by-the-second tourist filled streets. It took us HOURS. And sadly, to no avail! (I did find a key oddly enough on our search. Alas, it was not Simon’s.)
Reaching home for the second time we noticed that Simon’s window was open on his terrace - and lo and behold, so was his upstairs neighbor’s! GREENLIGHT (well, for Simon anyway. For me, it was a CAUTION LIGHT!)
After the fire station said “NO” to helping us (Simon had asked them to ride by and extend their ladder on the street so that he didn’t have to ummm RISK HIS LIFE), Simon called his brother, mentioned above, who is the avid climber. At 6pm – we were on Matthieu’s doorstep being talked through what rope goes in what hole, how tight it should be, and with which hand to hold etc. (First of Simon’s family members who I was meeting and ahhhhh I was in spandex with ahhhh Fast and French branded blue, white and red knee high socks on as a joke for Simon and me. Ring the alarm! This was not the first impression I was going for. #AmericaninParis. All jokes aside. It was a great and hilarious first meeting.)
Finally, the time was here. Simon suited up and went down. Seconds later (At that point I had moved to the floor to help the upstairs neighbor's duty of being the belayer - holding the rope with both hands with him to steady Simon’s repel. Wanting to cry, while the neighbor’s roommate was still holding Matthieu on the VideoCall to talk Simon through anything he needed in real time) the rope went slack. The neighbor and I, responsible for holding the rope, both teared up – it was like time stood still for that one second. Until we heard “c’est bon!” Simon Spiderman Quiret had done the impossible! He was IN his apartment. We all embraced – the poor neighbor was more shook up than I was. Simon’s life was in his hands - and we congratulated Spiderman!
ÎLE SAINT LOUIS
Monday started out with coffee on Simon’s terrace. I practiced my French all morning so by the time I got into the taxi EN ROUTE to my NEW apartment on Île Saint Louis, I would be able to speak solidly. I was very proud of my effort. I didn’t use my notebook or switch to english once and il comprend tout!
I LOVE it here! It’s a studio and perfect. It’s a friend of a friend’s place so it feels, naturally, more like home. Simon came over to help me load in my luggage and then left me to “piddle” all the livelong day in my new apartment. We had beers that night after his work at La Brasserie de l'Isle Saint-Louis and dinner at Chez Julien. Oh! And as a celebration, we ended with a nightcap espresso martini at Le Lutétia.
Tuesday was a big day! I saw Miranda (who… WILDLY enough… I had already run into the day Simon and I were searching for his key! Hummm you know what’s coming. Paris est un petit monde pour moi aussi!) for coffee at Judy Market and a walk in Jardin du Luxembourg.
We visited after I registered for school! This time I am very very excited and feel much more prepared. Alliance Française de Paris is the BEST (we have a chapter in Charleston too that I went to many times over the course of the last year and a half). I only spoke French to the concierge signing me up – he was so impressed that he said “you seem to be higher than a beginner. I’ll send you a placement test.” I was so proud! I confessed to Simon last night that during the oral part of the online exam, after saying my name, where I'm from, where I live now, what I love/like, what sports I play, what jobs I've had… basically using “tout” word I know in French! I asked in english to please be put in beginners. I’m not ready for a higher level yet - he laughed and reminded me how much progress I'm making!
This evening I got to explore the Island, stock my kitchen, walk to the market for Rhillette (not nearly as good as the Rhillette in Ponthoile, and buy a demi baguette from the boulangerie. I sat on the Seine – opposite side from my apartment – and admired where I was while talking to my bestie Jane. Someone! Pinch me!
Wednesday, Simon was invited to Amour Vivant and asked me to accompany. It was an exhibition featuring designers and architects who are focused on sustainable products. His friend, Helen, was putting it on. And here again, Simon knew so many people. Paris reminds me so so much of NYC. Down to this party. It was hosted in an abandoned building (very hipster Brooklyn) and yet chic attendance and service (very upscale Manhattan). We drank flute after flute of natural sparkling wine (tart, almost cider flavor, that I love!), mingled with his friends and the vendors who were happy to share that most of their designs were produced by way of shells, nuts, coral, egg crates… you name it! And after, we popped over to The Hoxton Hotel for snacks and beers. This was a special night!
Waking up the next morning to an unexpected monsoon (Wait just one minute!! Was I still in Charleston? This unpredictable weather was causing flashbacks!) – made me laugh. I had used valuable packing space in my (only) two checked bags to have my two pair of wellies, two rain jackets and one umbrella. All for this very weather. Yet, on the day I needed it, I was miles away from retrieving any of it! Quick, someone, press play on Alanis Morsette’s most famous tune and crank up the volume!
After it came to a cool mist, I set out for la banque. Mission – French Bank Account appointment. I had thought this would be an easy process, yet I’m learning the French way. Lots and lots AND LOTS of steps before the flow is in place. The day before I had gone to the LCL (a bank that is well known for working with Americans) close to my Île Saint Louis home – thinking this would be the most convenient. Yet once I was there and they asked where I lived, I remembered that my Visa is linked to my friend’s address NOT this apartment that I’m renting by way of side paying a friend. Therefore, they said I was at the wrong location. I needed to be closer to my (visa) address. I went along with it and took their advice to jaunt up to Champs-Élysées – where they sent me next. Yet, they then told me at this branch that I needed to go to an even closer one to my (visa) address. So I set out. On this gray morning I covered no less than a half of paris. But I finally found the right location with the right concierge – Amira. She was incroyable! So patient with me. She took her time even though there was one very cranky French lady behind me getting fussy under her breath. Uttering words like “Americans” and “Anglaise.” Haha American’s … we’re just in the way!
Didn’t bother moi. Because as of next Wednesday, I will be a full blown bank account recipient (I got my appointment!!!!) and fall in line with being cranky “too” when others take up my valuable time at MY BANK!
FLOW
I’m off now to take my first Yoga class now at HEM. A studio that (GREENLIGHT!) teaches Ashtanga – my practice and a studio that is usually hard to come by.
This first week has been full of newness. As I suspected it would be. I’ve found myself very tired with all the starts/meetings/logistic and with that, I have found that I am doing something that is against all of my Achiever Type Enneagram tendencies.. I am allowing myself to ease into Parisian life slowly. Still achieving but not feeling rushed or pressured to get it all done in record speed as I usually do.
Miranda gave me comfort while we visited the other day. She told me that when she first moved to Paris, some six years ago, she too remembers being tired for several weeks. We both think it’s because when you’re leading up to a move.. Especially when there’s an ocean-jump involved… you feel like you have to run several back to back marathons to get there. Naturally, as you would be after a race, you need rest to start again.
I am so happy to be here! Looking forward to setting up a proper home, learning the language, hosting friends visiting (including one, Elise, who is EN ROUTE as I type), meeting new friends, and roaming the streets with a croissant in mouth… oop, I mean in hand!
Thank you all for being EN ROUTE avec moi – even if at times, they’re “too long!”
Au revoir, for now! Xx