Pearl: The Adventures of an American Academic in Paris

Thursday night

Today was... satisfactory. It is 9:45, still light out, cool and windy (nearly raining but not quite), and I just finished another great dinner. This time, beef with shallots, steamed haricots verts, goat cheese, and wild strawberries. With a couple of squares of dark chocolate with orange flavor. Yum. And a new bottle of wine, a white Bordeaux. All good. The wireless keeps skipping in and out--very frustrating--but otherwise everything is fine.

Pearl

A Bus Named... Huh?

"They told me to take a street-car named Desire,
and transfer to one called Cemeteries,
and ride six blocks and get off at—Elysian Fields!"

With these immortal words, Blanche DuBois explains how she got to her sister Stella(Stella! Stella! Stella for star!)'s rickety old flat, thus entering literary greatness. I found this picture from my N'Orleans visit last November:

Next stop, Elysian Fields....

Imagine if Williams had had Blanche say, "They told me to take a big yellow bus, correct change only, route #55 to Elysian Fields... pull the cord to stop, exit the rear only, no standing forward of the red line."

Or, "I have always depended on the kindness of strangers... Could you make change for a dollar?"

Or "They told me to take a big yellow bus named Desire, and transfer to the one called Cemeteries, and get off at Elysian Fields... why oh why did no one tell me there was a direct route?"

On the other hand, a bus to Elysian Fields? Sounds so much easier than the traditional method...

Pearl

La douche

You asked for it. Here are the pix of the shower/bathtub stall.

Shower stall/bathtub

Shower stall with my feet in it, just for perspective

Movable shower head, about 2' over my head

Sink as wide as shower/tub

Now "bathtub" for an eight-year-old, not me, unless I want to take a bath crunched up like a pretzel. It's deep enough, just not long enough... sounds weird, yes?

There's nothing to hang onto, either, which feeds my fear of falling, cracking my head open, and bleeding to death naked in Paris, undiscovered until the body starts to smell. And then carted out, still naked, by gendarmes or the Parisian CSI techies. Which is better than dying the same way in DFW, but still. And the shower curtain plays grab-ass with me every moment, which is ick because it is cold and slick/slimy. And these are way brighter than the semi-murk that exists when the shower curtain is pulled closed. 

But the hot water is endless and the pressure is excellent, so I am only semi-whining. Maybe I'll come to see something socially redeeming and lovable about the shower curtain instead of only its pervy side.

Pearl

Dinner chez moi

I cooked last night--which is good, since I bought an armload of groceries. Made a delicious dinner of chicken breasts with green olives, lemons, shallots, and white wine. Also ate goat cheese rounds (cheap goat cheese, not the real thing). For dessert, dark chocolate squares and French apricots. Also drank most of the bottle of not-cheap wine I bought... it was very good.
Chicken: melt 2 Tbsp olive oil and 1 Tbsp butter in large skillet. Slice 3 shallots thin, slice 4 thin lemon slices off one end of a healthy-size lemon. Sprinkle 2 chicken breasts (no bone) with salt, pepper, and cumin (yum!), then pound flat. Put shallots, lemon, and chicken into pan with olive oil and butter; cook 5 minutes each side or until done (clear juices). Remove chicken to plate. In skillet, add chopped green olives (any kind; about 12-16, depending on size), juice of the rest of the lemon, and 1/4-1/2 c. white wine. Let the mixture cook and reduce for 5-10 minutes, until it is thick. Then return chicken to pan, heat through, and serve. I sprinkled a little extra cumin in the pan: I LOVE cumin and can't quite get enough.
This is an adaptation from another recipe, using pork tenderloin slices (substituted chicken breasts), capers (substituted green olives), and lemons, shallots, and white wine.
Final result: yum!
I've actually drunk most of the bottle of wine--a delicious Sancerre--as well as used it for cooking. The apricots are perfect: firm, ripe, and with a peach-like blush on them. Very sweet, unlike the apricots we get in the states, which are more tart.
That's two perfect meals today. The chevre salad was delightful, with four toast sections and four warmed goat-cheese slices, each one spread with a little olive oil and fines herbes. The salad dressing was surprisingly tasteless, but the salad itself was filled with carrotes rapees (shredded carrots) and black olives. Not bad. And the wine, and the coffee--real coffee, dammit, not the thin brew Americans like... real coffee.
But I am a goat-cheese salad junkie: I'll be eating it everywhere, to compare.
Pearl  

Successful Tuesday!

Successful day! So successful, I am broke.

• Found replacement paperback + second book at W.H.Smith, at Concorde stop on Metro #4, my local line. Bonus: cashier spoke to me only in French, not English.
• Ate lunch at my favorite cafe, Au Vieux Chatelet: chevre salade, a glass of Sancerre, and un express'.
  

  Lunch
  Bonus: waiter spoke to me only in French, although hostess did cross over. Fastest service I've ever received there, minimum of sneer... must be passing. Sunny and bright, delightful meal with delightful people-watching and view. I'll go back for roast chicken dinner, for mussels-and-frites dinner.
• Lit a 2euro candle for the Jeanne d'Arc in Notre Dame, successfully avoiding the masses of gypsy women outside.
  

  Obviously... not gypsy women
  Bonus: sneered at stupid tourists who used flash inside, despite specific instructions not to... then felt bad because after all, not my job to judge. Working on Christian attitude.
  
• Splurged on notebooks, folders, and pens at Gibert Jeune but avoided annual planner.
• Picked up body butter at The Body Shop--but they no longer carry my favorite, papaya. Had to make do with new scent of "sweet lemon": we'll see, I say darkly.
• Strolled Boul'Mich to Boulevard St. Germaine past the Danton statue. Since I am reading Hilary Mantel's novel,  A PLACE OF GREATER SAFETY (not the book I left on the plane) and have always wanted to direct DANTON'S DEATH by Buchner, snapped the pix.
  

  Georges-Jacques Danton
• Grocery-shopped at Monoprix in Rue des Rennes, including soap and clothespins, enough for two dinners, a few lunches, and breakfast, although (no surprise) the French don't carry oatmeal. frustrated: lack of ginger, lack of oatmeal, poor quality shallots. Grumped.
• Stopped to purchase white wine at nearby grocery en route home, after I realized I had forgotten it.

Lesson of the day: just because a bottle of wine hangs out with the 2 and 4euro bottles, doesn't mean it costs that little... Surprise! Yowza!

Upside to all: walked from Chatelet to Rue du Bac--excellent exercise. Happier than a pig in slop, to use a Southernism. After all the mendacity, bullshit, and bullying of the past 10 months (mostly by male members of My U), I feel a kind of Zen-like peace and possible forgiveness... no, not really. Just the peace thing. Stopped three times for people asking directions, in French--French people asking me for directions. Wow!

Pearl 

Day Two

It is cold, man! Cold and gray and surprisingly "jacket" weather for June in Paris. Closed one window already... other one stays open!
Yesterday, I got nuthin' done--not just "nothing," but "nuthin.'" Oh, laundry--which was something, with the multiple buttons and lights and whooshing. But no problems. So all is good.
Today, bad errands (only meaning errands-I-had-planned-yesterday, like books and groceries and pens).
Also, I got an interesting email from GPSmycity about doing iPhone apps for that website. Hmm. Walking tours for places I know/live, like Paris and DFW. Check it out.
Pearl

Finally!

So I arrived yesterday, about 18 hours ago. Finally woke up about 30 minutes ago in this summer's apartment, in the 18th, and realized I was already 3 hours late for my plans. Oh, well. Having a coffee and reorganizing my thoughts/day.
Left current book on plane from Heathrow... never did that before.
But at least I am here. Trip/flight to London was not bad at all (my seatmate congratulated me on how well I slept--okay?), but London was ridiculous. My fault. I decided to spend Saturday in town--because the Paris apartment wouldn't be free until 6.13 afternoon--and Chunnel to Paris on Sunday, so got a hotel near St. Pancras Station before I got my Chunnel ticket (smart!). I don't know London well, but this gave me time to explore, see the town and a play without the students I'll have to tow in July.
Unfortunately LONDON ASSURANCE and all the National shows were closed on Saturday (all weekend, really), but I thought I'd get a ticket to something else.
So: London hotel next to station for Chunnel. Then, all Chunnel tickets were out of my price range. Guess what? I got a cheap ticket flying from, yes, Heathrow to Paris. But had paid for hotel stay.
Cabbed in to London (no choice--I was truly beat)--70 pounds. Hotel in semi-bad section and not ready at 7:30 am--imagine! Spent 90 minutes in seedy Starbucks (thank you, corporate America, and I mean that sincerely right now! otherwise it would have been truly seedy London cuppa shop!). Read. Hotel room open by 9. Crashed for 2 hours. Got up and went to V&A: had lunch, saw fashion exhibit, walked around in a daze until I realized I was semi-stupid/stupor. Got dinner at M&S Simply Food. Tried to buy new book. Internet cafe to let all know I was okay. Tube to hotel, spent couple hours in St Pancras station looking at books (shoulda bought--you'll see) and having a coffee. To hotel, eat, watch TV, and crashed.
Got up and cabbed to Heathrow. Flew to Paris. Cabbed to Paris. Broke, thanks to cab industry and my own pitiful strength. Got to apartment, unpacked, got groceries for dinner and b'fast, ate, read, explored, crashed. Got up in night and figured out gas water heater--now hot water, thank you.
Now: Monday. Almost noon. Paris sounds in windows, all open of course. Grey skies--looks like rain.
Plans were to renew BNF card, go to Gibert Jeune and buy notebooks and postcards, to sit and have a coffee in St. Michel's cafes, to visit Notre Dame, to buy groceries and necessities in Monoprix, to come home and cook, read, make research plans... I'll have to detour to one of the English language bookstores and buy the crap book I was reading--too far in to stop now. Perhaps I'll just keep part of it and get the book (what is most important, after all?) and the groceries, and change my coffee/sitting plans to a different location. Tomorrow can be all business (busyness).
If I visit W.H.Smith I can then walk across and sit in the Tuileries for a bit. Buy a Coke and sit and read--if it doesn't rain. Or easily follow the bookstore up Gibert Jeune (after walking across the Ile de la Cite) and the coffee in a cafe. Then groceries and a Metro ride home. W.H.Smith, Gibert Jeune, Monoprix--not exciting, but Place de la Concorde, walking across the Ile de la Cite, walking up Boul' Mich all sound nice.
Have to finish this coffee first and shower... in world's oddest shower, I think. We'll see.
Pearl  

Black and white tiled spaces

I am an inveterate reader of French decorating magazines. Not sure exactly why I find them so much better than American or British ones--and I will read the UK's HOUSE & GARDEN compulsively--but I do. These below are not all from French sites.

I love back-and-white floor tiles. The look is so clean and elegant. In entries...

Entry hall

 

Entry, too

 

British external tiles

 

In bathrooms...

Hexagonal tiles

 

Harlequin tiling

 

Mostly black

 

Tiny black tiles

In other spaces...

Marrakech tiles

 

Kitchen

The great thing about black-and-white tiles is that any other color can work as a statement when matched with them. Check out the pale blue, green, and taupe accents in these photos. And how strongly the big areas of b-&-w stand out. Gorgeous stuff.

Pearl

This morning

So far, Jack the Cat has spent the morning racketing up and down the stairs, moaning and jabbering. Right now, he is perched on the top of the stairs, his back feet one step down, his front feet on the top and his head resting on top of his paws, staring at me with sick-with-love eyes.

Jack

That'll last for two minutes until I don't a/ open a can of tuna or b/ chase him downstairs.

Then there's just WHOMMMP! flop down on my legs and sleeeeppppppp.

Naptime!

There goes the morning.

Pearl

One week...

and a couple of days to go until I am in Paris.

Suitably, there are stages. Metroplex to NYC. A couple days. NYC to Heathrow. An overnight. Heathrow to Paris.

 

Eiffel Ironwork

And then there I'll be for 3 weeks... right in the heart of Montmartre (even better!). I can feel myself counting down every minute.... the truth is that I am distracted, cranky, and out of sorts. Just waiting to get here (see above). And I four days of errands, three days of travel, four days of family, and "stuff" in between. Everyone must simply be patient...

Pearl