JUST WHEN I THOUGHT IT WASN'T POSSIBLE

... PARIS BECAME MORE BEAUTIFUL

Nov 22, 2024

Just when I thought that Paris couldn’t get any more beautiful, she snows!

Yesterday morning, I woke up to what sounded like a rainstorm pounding on my roof. But when I glanced up at the skylight above my bed, I realized — nope, it was snow! Without hesitation, I rushed downstairs, tossed my socks on the heater (yes, I do this regularly to make them nice and toasty before they go on my feet), and picked out the coziest outfit I could find — only a full fur AND wool cape would suffice for this kind of occasion. Snow day! (From the neck down, I looked like I was ready for a day in the Upper East Side; from the neck up, it was all Brooklyn bedhead.)

After dusting off my all American LL Bean snow wellies - that have only seen the light of day (who are we kidding? There is really no light during the winter days here in France, but you get the drift) since this time last year when I wore them on a hike through Sentier Découverte De La Dune Parabolique - I laced them up and was ready to face the silence outside.

Isn’t it funny how the snow brings that out? Quiet streets. I don’t know whether it’s because there is an actual blanket (of snow) buffering us and our fellow pedestrians on the sidewalks, or whether it’s because we all have something covering our ears to keep them warm that blocks the noise, or whether we’re all stunned into a smiley speechlessness when we are met with such a gorgeous snow-glob of a day as yesterday. Whatever it is, silence is the loudest sensation during a snow day, am I right?

I made my way to my latest obsession, Pharmacie Monge Notre Dame, to pick up only the best Minois for my sweet chic babies, Smith and Jimmy. On the way there, I stumbled upon a hidden gem: the Arènes de Lutèce. I couldn’t believe my eyes. It looked like an ancient amphitheater, nestled right in the middle of a city block, surrounded by apartment buildings—and I was the only one there. I stood alone in the center, below the stadium seating, watching the snow fall all around me, feeling the sharp chill on my face as I grinned from ear to ear, both freezing and elated.

FRIEND DATES

A week ago today I got to have lunch with my Margot at Echizen. The second we locked eyes on the street we started to giggle. We had the best time! I wish I had snapped her photo, so as to memorize how to get the look she was sporting. A suede and shearling coat with a red bandana was as far as I got – effortlessly chic!

After lunch I sped home to have another giggle fit with my sister. We have a weekly call with our family company and then after, it never fails, Miller calls me and we get to laughing. It’s been such a nice treat for us. I think sometimes distance makes the heart grow fonder, but so does working on a project together. And these calls have created such a fun hour for us following our business-call with our sweet fellow board members. J’adore!

I too this week had giggle fits with the NATs (noodle around towners) at Vieng Siam. Where funny enough, none of us ordered noodles at all. And Elizabeth was able to join this time. We are all Americans, all living in Paris, all loving steamy bowls of Thai food apparently (we all licked our plates clean), and we are all sorting out visa issues with the French Government! One of us is married to a Frenchman, has a French baby and still can’t get approved for citizenship. One, has an American and an Italian (European) passport and still can’t get the right approval for an updated French visa (the day after we had dinner was going to be her 3rd time going to city hall. After she left, we got news that they have requested yet another appointment with her before all is said and done. What a headache!). One, is ready to apply for citizenship but the process is so nuanced it is causing paralysis. And moi? Still no word! I have decided to give it up. Of course my hope is that it will come through. Alas, I have decided to let it go. If it is meant to be, it will be. And if not, I will sort it out when the time comes. But for now, I am enjoying all my friend giggle dates!

And, last Sunday morning, I met Laura and Miranda at Derrière for an all you can eat buffet. Wait one solid minute!!! Was I in America? Nope! Still en France! I knew this because I spied bulot and mounds of rillettes (two very French foods). It was delicious and very filling. (I couldn’t eat a morsel of food for the rest of the day after that!) The giggles helped digest and burn those croissant calories!

THE ART WORLD

Don’t worry, this week wasn’t just filled with over eating and giggling. There was some culture thrown into the mix too! On deck first, Pollock at the Picasso Museum. I met Jean, my new friend from the Time Left dinner, there on Sunday afternoon for a tour of one of my all time favorite artists. (I think I feel connected to Jackson Pollock since we both called Springs, NY, home for a period of time). It was remarkable! In fact, it always is when you go see one artist's work from beginning to end of career. I remember seeing a Nicolas de Staël exhibit the first week I had moved to Paris last year and felt the same way. Wowed at the progression of his talent. It’s cool to see an exhibition with just said artist’s work — the different stages and inspirations in real-time. Jadore!

Then, Monday night, I was due to go to the 90s trivia and totally bailed. The crowd was growing bigger and bigger over the text chain and I just couldn’t. Again, more on my late night weekend after this that warranted several stay-at-home-and-do- not-drink nights this past week. So, I forwent that, and instead, went to an early rainy very interesting art walk in the 18th with Leah. I met her around 5pm downstairs of her apartment. She gave me an umbrella and then pulled out the digital map on her phone so that we could start hunting for the “galleries.”

I love this concept so much! In fact, Charleston would host these art walks monthly (or was it bi-weekly my fellow Charlestonians? I can’t remember it’s been so long ago.) Wine would be served (same here at a few) and the gallerists would be circling about their space filling in each person with similar facts about the pieces on display (same here. Only these words were in French). Leah and I successfully made it to four of the galleries (because, welcome to France, it wasn’t made to be easy. They would have an address listed on the digital map, yet no “how to” get in, no signs, no nothing. By the grace of God we stumbled into all of the homes of the artists by way of sneaking into the buildings when other residents were entering. Ha. It was a wild night!)

One of the studios had a dead giveaway that it was actually the artist’s home - as to get to the different collection, you had to walk past a bed and into the bathroom where the urinal was set up as an easel for one of the artist’s masterpieces. I was dead!

I love art, of course, but I had more fun looking at all the homes. Our final spot was at Quentin Morain’s apartment. He was Malcolm Gladwell’s doppelgänger both in looks and talent. He had the most beautiful iron work, and I’d say deemed the most successful in the tour. As everything I spotted had a red dot (SOLD) beside them.

PASS THE BUTTER PLEASE

I learned this week about the butter wall at Le Bon Marché. So, after scooting to my old stomping grounds, L'Alliance Française, to print off my necessary travel documents for my visa situation and upcoming trip home, I took the 4 min bike ride down to the supermarket of dreams! It was all I could do not to stay all the livelong day in this wonderland of food.

After following my girlfriend, Ariel’s, directions on who to follow to find the infamous Butter Wall, I loaded up. A full $130 worth (!) of pure fat glorious French butter from Brittany. Since my brother in law read about my butter tasting experience a few months ago, he has been trés jealous. So as a treat to him and the rest of the family, I decided to bring the tasting to the US of A. I bought them ALL. And you may ask yourself, how will she ever get these through customs? I asked the same thing. But, I am happy to report that at Le Bon Marché they vacuum seal. So, as I type, I have them all tucked safely in my freezer until the morning of my departure, where I have an alarm set to pull them out and tuck them in my suitcase. I will put them directly into the fridge when I land and then, wrap them up in beautiful paper (everyone is getting a different flavor) and give them out for our tasting pleasure before the big guy comes down the chimney on Xmas Eve night!

HEY, DON’T I KNOW YOU?

This past week, as I was leaving lunch, a lovely woman stopped me. “How do I know you? Are you American?” she asked. I leaned down to respond, trying to keep it brief in the middle of a bustling restaurant (picture a fast-paced NYC diner—tables packed close together, condiments shared, you know the drill). Then, out of nowhere, she said, “Wait! Were you in Cannes this summer for a birthday party?” I certainly was, I thought, though that weekend remains a blur. I’d gotten some unexpected news on the train as I was pulling into the station, and in an effort not to derail my plans (pun intended), I tried to channel my best Jackie O composure for the next three days there. So, when she mentioned Cannes, it all came back to me and I laughed internally. I thought, good lord. Did we have a conversation? Did I try speaking French with her? Did I smile? Did I make her laugh? Was I too quiet? How does she remember me? Was it positive? Was it negative? I couldn’t remember anything. In the end, I decided to take it as a compliment. I made an impression — whether good or bad. Although, I think it must have been good for her to have spoken. C’est la vie!

And… This very thing happened to me almost three weeks ago too.

While dining at La Palette, the man sitting across from me on my left suddenly said, “Please forgive me for staring, but I know you! We must have met before.” He didn’t look familiar at all—still doesn’t—but he kept going. “Are you from New York? Where did you work?” He explained that he had overheard Vivian (this was when she was visiting) talking about New York and a photo shoot she was on in Paris, and from that, he ruled out the possibility that I was famous (which, I’ll admit, was a bit of a blow to my ego). He said, “Once I heard you talking about regular things, I figured I could talk to you. Before that, I didn’t want to be the jackass who approached a famous person and said, ‘I think I know you.’” Ok. I was flattered again, of course.

I told him I’d worked at American Express for many years, and he looked at his wife with complete astonishment. He had just flown back to Paris that day from the American Express offices in London. He had worked there too. That was it, we both knew! That was our connection.

We quickly started talking about the people we had both worked with there. And to my surprise, he remembered the infamous Ed Gilligan—down to the date of his death! I was floored. I thought I might be the only one in Paris who still remembered my boss and that tragedy. I shared that I’d been the first to get the call at the Amex Tower when Ed died on the plane from Tokyo. It was such a strange, serendipitous connection with a complete stranger. We didn’t end up sharing information — which nearly killed me (as a connector), but I figured I will run into them again. They live half here and half in NYC. It’s only natural that it will happen again.

And now… I will bring it back to the butter wall.

As I was picking out flavors, a woman approached me and asked if I could help her. The moment she spoke, I recognized her accent — my people! It turned out she and her husband (I never caught their names. I felt we were just meant to share this brief, sweet moment in the Le Bon Marché grocery store and leave it at that) were from Myrtle Beach! They lived on 84th Avenue. Wait, what?! My dad lives on 38th, my mom grew up on 48th, and my grandparents' last home was on 79th. I was floored! A small and perfect meet cute.

And a fun anecdote…

As I rounded the corner to pay and have my butter wrapped up, I passed by the États-Unis section of the store. (Reminder: This place has every type of food from countries all over the world—it's truly amazing.) Right next to the handmade, sun-dried, pasta from the Italy section, I spotted an entire shelf of CANDY. What country was this? USA. Ah, the American reputation! If you don’t laugh, you’ll cry. Reese’s Cups, anyone?

LATE NIGHTS AND BOUCHE ROUGE

And finally, last weekend—oh, what a weekend! The kind of late nights that make you question your age and wonder, "Who do I think I am?" But it was totally worth it. On Friday night, I went to my first Friendsgiving of the season, and let me tell you, it was an absolute riot. The best night ever.

Walking into Sarah’s gorgeous apartment in the 8th, I was welcomed by her closest friends, a diverse group she’s gathered here from all over the world. We were a true melting pot of cultures — Egyptian, Syrian, Brazilian, Italian, Lebanese, French, and American (c’est moi!). And the food was a melting pot of its own: homemade Italian lasagna, American sweet potatoes topped with marshmallow fluff (is it really sweet potato casserole without it?), French smoked salmon blinis, charcuterie, and an Equinox Cake by famed chef Cyril Lignac for dessert! It was a night full of laughter, good food, and unforgettable company.

Sarah is truly one of a kind. As we went around the room, sharing what we were thankful for and the lessons we'd learned over the past year (an American tradition over this holiday), the common thread was a deep gratitude for friendship and the support we’ve found living far from home. None of us had lived in our home countries this past year—even the French girl had spent time in the U.S. And you could feel the love we all had for our host, Sarah, who had brought us together.

When it was my turn to share, I express how thankful I was for the beauty of my view. They were all gorgeous! I was surrounded by people radiating warmth, positivity and BEAUTY… what a gift! I am truly grateful.

Later in the evening, Sarah and I couldn’t stop giggling when her beau, Joe, arrived. He had us in stitches with his stories about art dealers and how he thought destroyed art should be expensive. We laughed so hard—probably helped along by the wine. It was one of those parties where your drink is constantly topped off, so you lose track of how much you've had. That is, until you go to the bathroom, look in the mirror, and see your mouth stained maroon from red wine, which is when you decide it’s time to cut yourself off. The best kind of party, really.

That night! What a night! I was surrounded by a group of soon-to-be powerhouses in Paris, who were all about 10 years younger than me. My Annie Hall outfit might have given away my age, but in my mind, I’m 21 forever, so hopefully they didn’t notice... especially since I stayed until almost 3am. I'm a young’in! Ha!

Saturday too yielded a late night and giggles. Before that though, it was the best day! The sun came out and so did I after my mini 7hr hibernation. By 11am I was soaking in that vitamin d. At any given point that day, you could have found me at a complete stop and about-facing towards the almighty SUN. When I wasn’t standing still on the streets in this position (I’m quite sure causing wild frustration to those who I was blocking on the street around me) I was getting teas and gabbing with my mother at length about upcoming plans home. Then, getting myself together for an incredible home cooked dinner and another giggly late night celebrating the very close win of France (30) from Australia (29) in the Rugby match.

And now, tonight, I'm heading to the Association of American Women at the American Church for a cocktail party and shopping bazaar with Miranda (who sits on the board #fancyfriends) before I bop over for another home cooked meal and a hopeful Christmas movie showing.

Saturday will be filled with packing and a Friendsgiving before I rest on Sunday for my journey home on Monday!

Until next week.. Xxo ac