We had an unusually quiet Christmas this year - no parties, no guests from out of town, just us and the two kids. Quite relaxing, especially since both kids have been at the Centre do Loisirs most days. We thought of keeping them home and sleeping in, particularly since most school days we wake up in the dark, even though it is almost 8 o'clock. But when we do keep them home they usually become bored by 10 o'clock. They have much more fun at the Centre with their friends and the planned Sorties.
We did though take a day and finally renew E's passport which has been expired for six months. Five years passes fast, and she now has a passport that looks like her, rather than the one with a six-week-old-baby-with-eyes-closed-picture, that over the years bore has come to bear little resemblance to the little girl she has become.
Security at the US embassy has become tighter than the airport. My husband unfortunately brought his laptop. No laptops are allowed, so it seems. And since both parents must sign the child's passport we were in a quandary. The security guards suggested we leave it at a nearby cafe or store (since they refused to hold on to it). Luckily there was some sort of event across the street, so we left it at their coat check. What sort of event? I have no idea - particularly since it was 10AM. But it worked. But before we could enter, we were thoroughly searched. They confiscated our watches, cell phones, belts, change, my compact, chewing gum, and put it in a ziplock freezer bag, to be collected when we were done. Basically all the refuse on the bottom of my bag (next time I will remember to clean my bag).
Several hours later - and a thorough interrogation (of us and our daughter - who doesn't speak much), we left. We walked past the Grand Roue up to the Place Madeleine for lunch. After lunch we went window shopping on the Faubourg St Honore. We went briefly into the Prada store. There was a "private sale": 40% off. I tried on a black wool coat with a ruffle down the center. With the discount, still too expensive. I admired several bags and then we left. We had lunch at what I can only describe as a French Diner: busy, cheap French food, and waiters in white aprons.
The next day, lodged in the branches of our too large xmas tree, was a shiny, large blue and gold envelope. I didn't notice it the entire evening, so J finally had to point it out to me. Or I had noticed it at one point, but was distracted (probably by a screaming/crying child) and forgot about it. My very generous husband had noticed me salivating in the Prada store, and had gotten me a substantial gift card for...Prada! Just what I wanted..but perhaps too much, too decadent? Especially given the economic times, it seemed a little obscene. And especially, since just that day, we had gone to the Knoll store and purchased my dream dining room table: a white, marble, tulip table. I am more frugal (cautious) but J talked me into it - "it is an investment", he reasoned. Perhaps. We had (thankfully) a good year, but we also tend to forget to save. Next year, next year, that is my/our resolution.
Not to say that I felt so guilty, that I didn't go out the very next day and use up my entire gift card in 20 minutes. I planned on waiting but couldn't. I made it to 11Am, then hopped on the subway to the Franklin Roosevelt stop and the Avenue Montaigne. I needed the larger, more extravagant, Prada store, to fully savor the decadent, frivolity.
Next year we will economise. We will be frugal. But it was a great treat. Since the kids were born, I have foregone such indulgence and have forgot how fun a little luxury can be.
Sunday, December 28, 2008
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Obama, Race and Gender
I have been frankly obsessed with the news since the U.S. election. I have been watching not only the French news, but also American news podcasts and reading all the major papers and journals online. I cannot turn the T.V. - or internet off. I am still so overwhelmed.
There has been much talk about the effect the Obama election will have in France (and Europe). Diversity just doesn't exist in French politics. Except for Sarkozy's appointment (notably Rama Yade and Rachida Dati) there are few non-white or women in the highest levels of French government. This is due in large part to France's inability to acknowledge a multi-cultural nation (which it is!) Again, we are all French first. However, this unwillingness to address race or ethnicity means that discrimination continues relentlessly. This is fueled by the peculiar French tradition of requiring a picture or age or ethnicity on one's C.V. (as if name alone was not enough to alert the racist/sexist police). It is time France started taking account of the level of participation of ethnic minorities. Of course, the case in Germany is much more egregious, but that is another story.
We live in a diverse neighborhood. Which I am thankful for. There are signs on our Mairie and the local schools that proclaim their solidarité with students and parents which are "sans-papiers" - meaning without official residency (or in the jargon of the states, illegal immigrants). We are legal residents of France and pay an extraordinary amount of taxes (upwards of 40%). And we do so gladly, especially for the services we receive. But my partner is still harassed (as he was in his trips to Germany and London) because he does not look French. I am never stopped by the police. I am white and thus pass for French (or "European")
And this is what concerns me. This is not personal (or maybe somewhat). I have always considered myself to be a strident feminist (and still am), but now I have a window on what it means to be racially discriminated against. Obviously my children are "biracial". This is not something I considered them to be or labeled them as, as I certainly did not view my husband to be a "minority". But as Althusser has demonstrated, it is not one's self-construction or self - identity that is in play but that of the "other" (what they call you or name you).
In the States, at least today (it certainly was not the case when I was in High School and Vietnamese refugees came by the thousands to Orange County) to be Asian is a "positive" stereotype (clean, hardworking, etc). My partner, when we lived in NY, was always very defensive against these "positive" stereotypes (and quite often was abrasive and obnoxious in return). In Paris we live in an immigrant neighborhood, specifically a Chinese working class neighborhood.
I look at my children and I see two little, gorgeous kids with very distinct characters. I do not see gender. I do not see race. The issue of gender has provoked me incessantly and I have been defensive and combative (but this is another post). Race has been something I have not really considered until recently. My children have been innocently and not so innocently been asked if they are "Chinoise". Because to be "Chinoise" is to be lesser. My oldest daughter has adamantly denied to her friends that she is "Chinoise". She has even made fun of those who are "Chinois" in order to distance herself from what she believes is undesirable. She has professed her love for blond hair "princesses". Needless to say this has left me dismayed. Lately this racial bias has been somewhat diminished. I have tried to instill in her (and her younger sister) a different view. When she talks about the "Chinois", I reply, "look at your father", "look at your sister", "look at your cousin" - they are all beautiful and yet look different. Lately, this has changed and my eldest has begun to proudly proclaim her ability to speak Chinese (which, thankfully is being taught at her school).
What is funny is that she has never thought of herself as Asian - just French or American. And what is even funnier is she isn't Chinoise (but really close enough). But what it has taught me is that regardless of how one views oneself others will always have a say (often detrimental). I have lived my whole life with the question of gender as a defining factor (not for myself but for others) and now I know the implications of race (not for us but for others). President-elect Barack Obama gives us hope, as a French friend of mine said, "Il changera la visage de pouvoir". Hopefully he will change the unstated standard that white is good, beautiful and intelligent. It is not - and I have two great examples.
There has been much talk about the effect the Obama election will have in France (and Europe). Diversity just doesn't exist in French politics. Except for Sarkozy's appointment (notably Rama Yade and Rachida Dati) there are few non-white or women in the highest levels of French government. This is due in large part to France's inability to acknowledge a multi-cultural nation (which it is!) Again, we are all French first. However, this unwillingness to address race or ethnicity means that discrimination continues relentlessly. This is fueled by the peculiar French tradition of requiring a picture or age or ethnicity on one's C.V. (as if name alone was not enough to alert the racist/sexist police). It is time France started taking account of the level of participation of ethnic minorities. Of course, the case in Germany is much more egregious, but that is another story.
We live in a diverse neighborhood. Which I am thankful for. There are signs on our Mairie and the local schools that proclaim their solidarité with students and parents which are "sans-papiers" - meaning without official residency (or in the jargon of the states, illegal immigrants). We are legal residents of France and pay an extraordinary amount of taxes (upwards of 40%). And we do so gladly, especially for the services we receive. But my partner is still harassed (as he was in his trips to Germany and London) because he does not look French. I am never stopped by the police. I am white and thus pass for French (or "European")
And this is what concerns me. This is not personal (or maybe somewhat). I have always considered myself to be a strident feminist (and still am), but now I have a window on what it means to be racially discriminated against. Obviously my children are "biracial". This is not something I considered them to be or labeled them as, as I certainly did not view my husband to be a "minority". But as Althusser has demonstrated, it is not one's self-construction or self - identity that is in play but that of the "other" (what they call you or name you).
In the States, at least today (it certainly was not the case when I was in High School and Vietnamese refugees came by the thousands to Orange County) to be Asian is a "positive" stereotype (clean, hardworking, etc). My partner, when we lived in NY, was always very defensive against these "positive" stereotypes (and quite often was abrasive and obnoxious in return). In Paris we live in an immigrant neighborhood, specifically a Chinese working class neighborhood.
I look at my children and I see two little, gorgeous kids with very distinct characters. I do not see gender. I do not see race. The issue of gender has provoked me incessantly and I have been defensive and combative (but this is another post). Race has been something I have not really considered until recently. My children have been innocently and not so innocently been asked if they are "Chinoise". Because to be "Chinoise" is to be lesser. My oldest daughter has adamantly denied to her friends that she is "Chinoise". She has even made fun of those who are "Chinois" in order to distance herself from what she believes is undesirable. She has professed her love for blond hair "princesses". Needless to say this has left me dismayed. Lately this racial bias has been somewhat diminished. I have tried to instill in her (and her younger sister) a different view. When she talks about the "Chinois", I reply, "look at your father", "look at your sister", "look at your cousin" - they are all beautiful and yet look different. Lately, this has changed and my eldest has begun to proudly proclaim her ability to speak Chinese (which, thankfully is being taught at her school).
What is funny is that she has never thought of herself as Asian - just French or American. And what is even funnier is she isn't Chinoise (but really close enough). But what it has taught me is that regardless of how one views oneself others will always have a say (often detrimental). I have lived my whole life with the question of gender as a defining factor (not for myself but for others) and now I know the implications of race (not for us but for others). President-elect Barack Obama gives us hope, as a French friend of mine said, "Il changera la visage de pouvoir". Hopefully he will change the unstated standard that white is good, beautiful and intelligent. It is not - and I have two great examples.
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
Obama Wins!
I am so pleased. It was a long night. We went to bed around midnight before the election results were in. My youngest daughter had a fever and was up every couple of hours. Normally, this would make for a taxing night, but I welcomed it last night as it gave me the chance to check the internet on and off (after administering doliprane and milk/water). I was pretty certain and hopeful that Obama would win but also fearful that he would not.
I didn't have much chance to watch the morning news before the school run, but was astonished at how excited the French reporters were (one gentleman was barely able to contain himself). I was even more astonished to hear some of the American interviewees respond in French.
Obama has been on the front page of journals and newspapers in France for months. The African community has been especially excited and rooting for him. Obama changes the look of power. In France where racism doesn't officially exist or is discounted (everyone is French first and there is no such thing as affirmative action), racism is more covert and insidious. Obama challenges the underlying perceptions of what power can look like.
Truly historic! Let's hope he picks a diverse cabinet of progressive men AND women.
I am so pleased. It was a long night. We went to bed around midnight before the election results were in. My youngest daughter had a fever and was up every couple of hours. Normally, this would make for a taxing night, but I welcomed it last night as it gave me the chance to check the internet on and off (after administering doliprane and milk/water). I was pretty certain and hopeful that Obama would win but also fearful that he would not.
I didn't have much chance to watch the morning news before the school run, but was astonished at how excited the French reporters were (one gentleman was barely able to contain himself). I was even more astonished to hear some of the American interviewees respond in French.
Obama has been on the front page of journals and newspapers in France for months. The African community has been especially excited and rooting for him. Obama changes the look of power. In France where racism doesn't officially exist or is discounted (everyone is French first and there is no such thing as affirmative action), racism is more covert and insidious. Obama challenges the underlying perceptions of what power can look like.
Truly historic! Let's hope he picks a diverse cabinet of progressive men AND women.
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
French women DO dress better
I am sorry to say this but it is true...French women DO dress better than American women.. Well, maybe I should clarify and narrow my comparison: Parisienne women dress better than New York women. I realize this is entirely subjective and, frankly, is not something I would have thought or said ten or fifteen years ago.
My first extended stay in Paris was about fifteen years ago. I was disappointed by French fashion: all the women were so conservative in their beige cashmere sweaters, non-descript jeans, Gucci-esque loafers, and horrible, horrible, little Hermès (or Hermès-like) scarves tied around their necks. Oh - and the abundance of, little, "tasteful", gold, jewelry: itsy bitsy earrings and tiny, dainty watches. It was all so boring and overdetermined. So unlike NY in the 90's, where downtown at least, women were a little more adventuresome and outrageous.
Admittedly, I haven't been in NYC in almost three years so my comparison is not exactly based on first hand observation. I have had to rely on Bill Cunningham's photo reports in the NY Times (the comparison between his NYC essay and Paris essay is enlightening) and other sightings of Americans in Paris (I know, not really fair). My guiding example, though, has been the difference between Anna Wintour and Carine Roitfeld. It seems that sometime in the last decade American women have come to represent the establishment and French women the slightly unkempt iconoclast upstarts
Money perhaps is the problem. Too much money and too many logos. American women (with money, that is) look overdressed, too clean, and too put together. Trying too hard, as they say. And those with limited resources, don't seem to take an interest. Fashion is, I know, superficial. But one has to buy clothes, so why not buy pretty clothes. The problem is also American women want to be (too) comfortable -Sweats and tennis shoes as street wear? French women never (well, almost - always some qualification is necessary) wear gym clothes (even if "trendy" and brand spanking new) on the street. Nor do they wear big, ugly, gym shoes.
I am gladdened every morning, watching French women making their morning commute: women of all ages, on bikes, vespas, motorcylcles, or walking to the metro wearing real clothes (mini skirts, jeans, leather pants) with real shoes (preferably high heels). It makes me happy to see these women (mostly whippet thin, alas) stomping (or careening) down the street. And they always, always, look comfortable.
Paris has regained its glamour. Young mothers, senior citizens, working women -all are dressed up in the latest fashion (or knockoff). Those who can't afford the latest Dior herringbone shift or Louboutin pumps, still look fantastic in their Zara or even Monoprix vêtements.
Stereotypes are of course limited. But French women (and men) enjoy dressing up everyday regardless of age or resources. And they do it with ease and singularity.
American women instead seem to either wear a "uniform", want to be overly comfortable, or alight upon the same exact trend. The effect is grown women dressing like adolescents, boring clothes, or being too perfectly put together. And always too clean. As Roitfeld proves, there is nothing wrong with dirty hair as long as you are wearing a fabulous outfit that uniquely suits you. And high heels, please!
My first extended stay in Paris was about fifteen years ago. I was disappointed by French fashion: all the women were so conservative in their beige cashmere sweaters, non-descript jeans, Gucci-esque loafers, and horrible, horrible, little Hermès (or Hermès-like) scarves tied around their necks. Oh - and the abundance of, little, "tasteful", gold, jewelry: itsy bitsy earrings and tiny, dainty watches. It was all so boring and overdetermined. So unlike NY in the 90's, where downtown at least, women were a little more adventuresome and outrageous.
Admittedly, I haven't been in NYC in almost three years so my comparison is not exactly based on first hand observation. I have had to rely on Bill Cunningham's photo reports in the NY Times (the comparison between his NYC essay and Paris essay is enlightening) and other sightings of Americans in Paris (I know, not really fair). My guiding example, though, has been the difference between Anna Wintour and Carine Roitfeld. It seems that sometime in the last decade American women have come to represent the establishment and French women the slightly unkempt iconoclast upstarts
Money perhaps is the problem. Too much money and too many logos. American women (with money, that is) look overdressed, too clean, and too put together. Trying too hard, as they say. And those with limited resources, don't seem to take an interest. Fashion is, I know, superficial. But one has to buy clothes, so why not buy pretty clothes. The problem is also American women want to be (too) comfortable -Sweats and tennis shoes as street wear? French women never (well, almost - always some qualification is necessary) wear gym clothes (even if "trendy" and brand spanking new) on the street. Nor do they wear big, ugly, gym shoes.
I am gladdened every morning, watching French women making their morning commute: women of all ages, on bikes, vespas, motorcylcles, or walking to the metro wearing real clothes (mini skirts, jeans, leather pants) with real shoes (preferably high heels). It makes me happy to see these women (mostly whippet thin, alas) stomping (or careening) down the street. And they always, always, look comfortable.
Paris has regained its glamour. Young mothers, senior citizens, working women -all are dressed up in the latest fashion (or knockoff). Those who can't afford the latest Dior herringbone shift or Louboutin pumps, still look fantastic in their Zara or even Monoprix vêtements.
Stereotypes are of course limited. But French women (and men) enjoy dressing up everyday regardless of age or resources. And they do it with ease and singularity.
American women instead seem to either wear a "uniform", want to be overly comfortable, or alight upon the same exact trend. The effect is grown women dressing like adolescents, boring clothes, or being too perfectly put together. And always too clean. As Roitfeld proves, there is nothing wrong with dirty hair as long as you are wearing a fabulous outfit that uniquely suits you. And high heels, please!
Monday, October 20, 2008
Barack Obama - Yes!
I have been following the election closely for the past year, and it looks like it is going to happen - Obama is going to win! The last debate and Colin Powell's endorsement yesterday seem to have clinched it.
We left the states partly for political reasons, and at the time, what I considered social and cultural reasons (and now I just consider political). After living in France for the last four years, I understand the importance of economic rights as well as political and how they are inextricably linked. It is impossible to have equality or justice without ecomomic rights. Yes, that means socialism. Although Obama has not gone as far as to advocate socialism (a dirty word) in Amercian politics he has at least insisted on, to an extent, universal health care and pre-K education.
Some of the really stupid cultural debates in the states are the direct effect of outdated economic policies. Take the ridiculous "mommy wars". The so-called mommy wars have been cast as a debate that revolves around personal choice, moral and familial values, class, etc. But really it is economic. Women are being pitted against women over their "choices". Which is really the greatest misnomer perpetuated to keep women (and men) from demanding access to affordable or free childcare. When we lived in New York, childcare was impossible unless one had tons of money - fifteen dollars an hour was the going rate. And technically illegal, since it was cash under the table. Nursery schools were private and applications filled out years in advance. The limited amount of spaces (and the expense) make these institutions open to charges of elitism (which they are). Expensive, private nannies and private nursery schools are the real cause of the "mommy wars" not personal choice or values.
In France, women (whether one works or not) have real choices: affordable state sponsored "nannys", full-time daycare, part-time daycare. One pays according to one's income. If one chooses to stay home and care for one's infant, the state pays the parent!
School for children is mandatory at age 6. However, most children start at the age of 2 or three. One simply goes to the local mairie and signs up for the local school (we have three schools within a ten block radius and multiple nursery schools). It is free except for lunches, after school care, and holiday outings for which one pays, again, according to their means. And for lunch the kids are served real food: cod fish, couscous, roast chicken, beets, haricots verts, cheese, fruit. During the summer our kids went on different excursions almost everday: museums, parks, paris plage, the pool. This expense and devotion to every child's well-being and education is considered to be a right, not a luxury, and certainly not the personal choice of the parents but the responsibility of the state.
I was so happy to hear Obama state that Health Care is a "right" in the last debate. Tellingly McCain answered that it was a "responsibility" - and claimed that Obama wanted the States to become like Canada or Englaind (i.e., "Socialist). Would that be so bad? The lack of universal health care in the states is not only appalling it is morally wrong. The U.S. is listed at 29th in infant mortality rates, age expectancy has steadily declined, and treatment rather than prevention has become the norm. To pretend that emergency rooms provide universal health care is ridiculous.
And a propos McCain's comments that North Koreans are three inches shorter than their southern neighbors because of their political system (and thus economic disadvantage), I at first laughed. What the hell is he talking about now, I wondered. It turns out that he was referring to recent studies on height and its correlation to the health of a country. In the New Yorker there was an article on the height and history (height is not genetic but rather cultural). Funnily enough, the article pointed out that compared to other developed countries, it is Americans who are becoming relatively shorter. One can blame lack of prenatal care, early childhood, diet, etc.
And to return to Powell's endorsement. I was thrilled he made the point that one shouldn't have to answer the charge that Obama is a Muslim with, no he is a Christian (which he is), but with, why does it matter? One can be a Muslim and be president of the U.S. And contrary to the popular American belief, all Muslims are not terrorists.
Lastly, McCain's sneering reference to Obama's tax plan as one which aims "to spread the wealth", it just doesn't resonate. Presumably he hoped it would have the same effect as Bush Sr's "read my lips, no new taxes" or Reagan's "trickle down theory", but obviously it hasn't. Isn't it time to "spread the wealth" a little, especially as the gap between rich and poor has become increasingly obscene? How can one object to an increase in taxes on incomes over 250K or on corporations? Spread the Wealth, I say...
I guess it is obvious who I am voting for. I too am "electrified" by the possiblity of an Obama presidency. We might just consider moving back to the States.
We left the states partly for political reasons, and at the time, what I considered social and cultural reasons (and now I just consider political). After living in France for the last four years, I understand the importance of economic rights as well as political and how they are inextricably linked. It is impossible to have equality or justice without ecomomic rights. Yes, that means socialism. Although Obama has not gone as far as to advocate socialism (a dirty word) in Amercian politics he has at least insisted on, to an extent, universal health care and pre-K education.
Some of the really stupid cultural debates in the states are the direct effect of outdated economic policies. Take the ridiculous "mommy wars". The so-called mommy wars have been cast as a debate that revolves around personal choice, moral and familial values, class, etc. But really it is economic. Women are being pitted against women over their "choices". Which is really the greatest misnomer perpetuated to keep women (and men) from demanding access to affordable or free childcare. When we lived in New York, childcare was impossible unless one had tons of money - fifteen dollars an hour was the going rate. And technically illegal, since it was cash under the table. Nursery schools were private and applications filled out years in advance. The limited amount of spaces (and the expense) make these institutions open to charges of elitism (which they are). Expensive, private nannies and private nursery schools are the real cause of the "mommy wars" not personal choice or values.
In France, women (whether one works or not) have real choices: affordable state sponsored "nannys", full-time daycare, part-time daycare. One pays according to one's income. If one chooses to stay home and care for one's infant, the state pays the parent!
School for children is mandatory at age 6. However, most children start at the age of 2 or three. One simply goes to the local mairie and signs up for the local school (we have three schools within a ten block radius and multiple nursery schools). It is free except for lunches, after school care, and holiday outings for which one pays, again, according to their means. And for lunch the kids are served real food: cod fish, couscous, roast chicken, beets, haricots verts, cheese, fruit. During the summer our kids went on different excursions almost everday: museums, parks, paris plage, the pool. This expense and devotion to every child's well-being and education is considered to be a right, not a luxury, and certainly not the personal choice of the parents but the responsibility of the state.
I was so happy to hear Obama state that Health Care is a "right" in the last debate. Tellingly McCain answered that it was a "responsibility" - and claimed that Obama wanted the States to become like Canada or Englaind (i.e., "Socialist). Would that be so bad? The lack of universal health care in the states is not only appalling it is morally wrong. The U.S. is listed at 29th in infant mortality rates, age expectancy has steadily declined, and treatment rather than prevention has become the norm. To pretend that emergency rooms provide universal health care is ridiculous.
And a propos McCain's comments that North Koreans are three inches shorter than their southern neighbors because of their political system (and thus economic disadvantage), I at first laughed. What the hell is he talking about now, I wondered. It turns out that he was referring to recent studies on height and its correlation to the health of a country. In the New Yorker there was an article on the height and history (height is not genetic but rather cultural). Funnily enough, the article pointed out that compared to other developed countries, it is Americans who are becoming relatively shorter. One can blame lack of prenatal care, early childhood, diet, etc.
And to return to Powell's endorsement. I was thrilled he made the point that one shouldn't have to answer the charge that Obama is a Muslim with, no he is a Christian (which he is), but with, why does it matter? One can be a Muslim and be president of the U.S. And contrary to the popular American belief, all Muslims are not terrorists.
Lastly, McCain's sneering reference to Obama's tax plan as one which aims "to spread the wealth", it just doesn't resonate. Presumably he hoped it would have the same effect as Bush Sr's "read my lips, no new taxes" or Reagan's "trickle down theory", but obviously it hasn't. Isn't it time to "spread the wealth" a little, especially as the gap between rich and poor has become increasingly obscene? How can one object to an increase in taxes on incomes over 250K or on corporations? Spread the Wealth, I say...
I guess it is obvious who I am voting for. I too am "electrified" by the possiblity of an Obama presidency. We might just consider moving back to the States.
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
Art in Paris
Saturday night we went to the opening of the 104 (le CentQuatre). Or at least tried to. CentQuatre is the new multimedia art exhibition hall in the 19th arrondissement. It used to be the old city morgue and has been transformed into a gigantic space with dozens of ateliers and exhibition spaces (and if I am not mistaken was a couple of weeks ago the site for the Martin Margiela fashion show).
It was easy to find CentQuatre (a ten minute walk from the metro) - just follow the crowds. When we reached rue d'Aubervilliers, it became apparent that gaining entry would be a problem. Hundreds of people were corralled behind ropes on the sidewalk in front of the building but the huge glass doors were shut. Hundreds of others were in the street and on the sidewalk opposite. Through the glass you could see people inside but apparently they were filled to capacity. Occasionally the doors would open just a crack and let in a few people. The elderly couple standing next to us speculated who they were letting in. Probably the Mayor, she said to my husband. And the press. TV personalities most likely, her husband interjected. Politicians, she said. And on and on. What was clear was that we were most likely not getting in. So we decided to leave and come back another time.
We walked down to the Canal d'Ourcq towards the Stalingrad station. The weather was unseasonlly warm so we sat down at an outdoor café. We ordered a house bottle of Bordeaux, tarte au chevre and steak au poivre et frites. Simple and cheap. Not the evening we anticipated but much better than being crushed by crowds of people.
I don't mind (at least not always) the crowd one walks through daily in the city, but not the mass of people gathering for an event (or the subway during rush hour). I much prefer smaller, quieter affairs. During the summer a former colleague's friend took us to an opeining at the Passage de Retz in the Marais: a group show based loosely on the theme of insomnia. A very civilized event. Sangria and Soft drinks were served along with barrels of oranges and figs. The show was uneven but had a couple of pieces from two my favorite French artists: Sophie Calle and Anette Messenger. And I think I saw Viktor and Rolf...
Anyhow, I would like to return to le CentQuatre after some of the hype dies down. And we are planning a trip to the Jeff Koons exhibit in the Palace de Versailles this weekend with the kids. I hope they can behave...
It was easy to find CentQuatre (a ten minute walk from the metro) - just follow the crowds. When we reached rue d'Aubervilliers, it became apparent that gaining entry would be a problem. Hundreds of people were corralled behind ropes on the sidewalk in front of the building but the huge glass doors were shut. Hundreds of others were in the street and on the sidewalk opposite. Through the glass you could see people inside but apparently they were filled to capacity. Occasionally the doors would open just a crack and let in a few people. The elderly couple standing next to us speculated who they were letting in. Probably the Mayor, she said to my husband. And the press. TV personalities most likely, her husband interjected. Politicians, she said. And on and on. What was clear was that we were most likely not getting in. So we decided to leave and come back another time.
We walked down to the Canal d'Ourcq towards the Stalingrad station. The weather was unseasonlly warm so we sat down at an outdoor café. We ordered a house bottle of Bordeaux, tarte au chevre and steak au poivre et frites. Simple and cheap. Not the evening we anticipated but much better than being crushed by crowds of people.
I don't mind (at least not always) the crowd one walks through daily in the city, but not the mass of people gathering for an event (or the subway during rush hour). I much prefer smaller, quieter affairs. During the summer a former colleague's friend took us to an opeining at the Passage de Retz in the Marais: a group show based loosely on the theme of insomnia. A very civilized event. Sangria and Soft drinks were served along with barrels of oranges and figs. The show was uneven but had a couple of pieces from two my favorite French artists: Sophie Calle and Anette Messenger. And I think I saw Viktor and Rolf...
Anyhow, I would like to return to le CentQuatre after some of the hype dies down. And we are planning a trip to the Jeff Koons exhibit in the Palace de Versailles this weekend with the kids. I hope they can behave...
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
The Vacation
I started this blog to keep a diary of sorts of our life in Paris. I, of course, have been woefully neglectful. Certainly it is customary to take a month or two vacation in France, but four months is a bit much. Not that we were on vacation. So I guess the title is a misnomer.
O. joined her sister at the école maternelle and both of them are delighted. They are finally in the same school which makes it easier for everyone. I have reapplied to my doctorate program (I guess one can't just take a few years off and return without procedure) and J has continued to work at a frantic pace to pay our taxes.
I have also begun to take French classes three nights a week. I have been relying on past education (university and Sorbonne, fifteen years ago) and daily interactions. My French is okay and I get by, but it is really time to perfect it. I chose to attend courses given by the Mairie since it is a ten minute walk and cheap. I like that the students are diverse (I don't think there is one other American in the class which makes for a bizarre array of accents). I don't like the bureaucracy: getting into the class was chaotic and stress ridden. And after two classes, it seems to be going rather slowly. We shall see.
One of the best things about the course (besides three evenings without the kids) is the walk there. At 6 in the evening the streets in this area of the quartier are packed and the sidewalks impossible to negotiate at a fast pace (which can be frustrating if late, but amusing if one has time). The short walk is a hyper condensed microcosm of the diverse, gritty - and fashionable - Paris I love. I have been taking the same route: down one of the small, paved, alley sized streets, filled with independent design-artist studios and whole sale clothing outlets to Chateau d'Eau, where the outsized, gothic Mairie sits. A block past the Maire, Chateau d'Eau becomes filled with beauty supply shops and African hair salons - errant hair extensions float through the air or lay matted on the sidewalk. My neighbor told me that the concentration of hair salons in this area is quite natural and logical. Since this area was traditionally the theatre district (and still is to an extent), there was a need for wig-makers. Obviously there is not much demand for wigs in the modern theatre so the former shops became salons. I don't know if his explanation is apocryphal or not. It strikes me that it might be - though there is certain poetry to this tale it doesn't seem logical. Why would wigmakers turn to African hair extensions? Were the wigmakers African?
But I digress. In any case the abundance of salons creates a crazy, marketplace, energy: people hawking grilled corn, fresh popcorn, roasted chestnuts, cafés filled with people drinking tiny espressos, barkers passing out fliers. This three block area has not only become a mini African community but also a place to by beauty supplies. A couple of weeks ago I noticed that a MAC store just opened up here. Strange place for a MAC store (though there is a Sephora just down the way), I thought (though I was personally and selfishly happy). I wondered whether it was a sign of increasing gentrification or the recognition of new, potential market.
AS you continue down Chateau d'Eau, one passes Faubourg St. Denis. Very quickly, one has entered Little India, This street too is very, very crowded. Indian restaurants, grocery stores, cafés, and throngs of people shopping and sitting at cafés drinking Indian beer and Turkish coffee. This street is a destination not only for Indian food and fresh produce but amongst French chefs (and amateurs) for the place to get exotic ingredients and hard to find spices.
Once you past Faubourg St. Denis, Chateau d'eau, narrows and becomes the rue des petits ecuries. Vélib (the city bike project) has been without a doubt a success in Paris. It has been so popular that sometimes it is difficult to find a bike at a given station. And the city continues to install more and more Vélib stations (some less than 50m apart) throughout the city. But on the rue petits ecuries the bikes seem to have another other than transportation. They have become impromptu outdoor barstools, and the baskets, tables for food and drink. Each time I walk past there are ten to twenty men (and they are all men) sitting on the row of bikes, drinking and eating in the early evening.
The walk home is quieter and less amusing. The streets have emptied, though still quite a few people are still in the cafés. But the atmosphere is more subdued and less carnivalesque.
I feel lucky to live in such a diverse neighborhood.
O. joined her sister at the école maternelle and both of them are delighted. They are finally in the same school which makes it easier for everyone. I have reapplied to my doctorate program (I guess one can't just take a few years off and return without procedure) and J has continued to work at a frantic pace to pay our taxes.
I have also begun to take French classes three nights a week. I have been relying on past education (university and Sorbonne, fifteen years ago) and daily interactions. My French is okay and I get by, but it is really time to perfect it. I chose to attend courses given by the Mairie since it is a ten minute walk and cheap. I like that the students are diverse (I don't think there is one other American in the class which makes for a bizarre array of accents). I don't like the bureaucracy: getting into the class was chaotic and stress ridden. And after two classes, it seems to be going rather slowly. We shall see.
One of the best things about the course (besides three evenings without the kids) is the walk there. At 6 in the evening the streets in this area of the quartier are packed and the sidewalks impossible to negotiate at a fast pace (which can be frustrating if late, but amusing if one has time). The short walk is a hyper condensed microcosm of the diverse, gritty - and fashionable - Paris I love. I have been taking the same route: down one of the small, paved, alley sized streets, filled with independent design-artist studios and whole sale clothing outlets to Chateau d'Eau, where the outsized, gothic Mairie sits. A block past the Maire, Chateau d'Eau becomes filled with beauty supply shops and African hair salons - errant hair extensions float through the air or lay matted on the sidewalk. My neighbor told me that the concentration of hair salons in this area is quite natural and logical. Since this area was traditionally the theatre district (and still is to an extent), there was a need for wig-makers. Obviously there is not much demand for wigs in the modern theatre so the former shops became salons. I don't know if his explanation is apocryphal or not. It strikes me that it might be - though there is certain poetry to this tale it doesn't seem logical. Why would wigmakers turn to African hair extensions? Were the wigmakers African?
But I digress. In any case the abundance of salons creates a crazy, marketplace, energy: people hawking grilled corn, fresh popcorn, roasted chestnuts, cafés filled with people drinking tiny espressos, barkers passing out fliers. This three block area has not only become a mini African community but also a place to by beauty supplies. A couple of weeks ago I noticed that a MAC store just opened up here. Strange place for a MAC store (though there is a Sephora just down the way), I thought (though I was personally and selfishly happy). I wondered whether it was a sign of increasing gentrification or the recognition of new, potential market.
AS you continue down Chateau d'Eau, one passes Faubourg St. Denis. Very quickly, one has entered Little India, This street too is very, very crowded. Indian restaurants, grocery stores, cafés, and throngs of people shopping and sitting at cafés drinking Indian beer and Turkish coffee. This street is a destination not only for Indian food and fresh produce but amongst French chefs (and amateurs) for the place to get exotic ingredients and hard to find spices.
Once you past Faubourg St. Denis, Chateau d'eau, narrows and becomes the rue des petits ecuries. Vélib (the city bike project) has been without a doubt a success in Paris. It has been so popular that sometimes it is difficult to find a bike at a given station. And the city continues to install more and more Vélib stations (some less than 50m apart) throughout the city. But on the rue petits ecuries the bikes seem to have another other than transportation. They have become impromptu outdoor barstools, and the baskets, tables for food and drink. Each time I walk past there are ten to twenty men (and they are all men) sitting on the row of bikes, drinking and eating in the early evening.
The walk home is quieter and less amusing. The streets have emptied, though still quite a few people are still in the cafés. But the atmosphere is more subdued and less carnivalesque.
I feel lucky to live in such a diverse neighborhood.
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
The Long Weekend
It is Wednesday and I am just recovering from the weekend. For an introvert (such as myself) an overload of social obligations can be draining. It began Thursday evening with an after school party to celebrate the beginning of summer at O's school. It was held in the courtyard of the preschool. Since I am not much of a baker or cook, my contribution was a tarte aux framboises and a tarte aux fraises bought from the boulangerie. I forgot how awkward it can be standing around making small talk with people you have nothing in common other than your kids go to the same preschool. Do this in a foreign language and it becomes even more painful.
Then Friday night was the Kermesse (the second time I have heard this word, which as I found at means fair, but I suppose more loosely, party) at E's school to celebrate the end of the year. I am not sure why but the French have a penchant for dressing up in costumes (and I don't mean just the children). Almost every (okay, maybe I exaggerate) party I have been invited to, people put on costumes! As in Halloween-like costumes. This party was no exception. Thankfully, both kids were tired and there were so many people (in costumes) we were able to slip out.
There was a crémaillère (another celebratory term I just learned -although more complicated - so let's just say it refers to a housewarming) on Saturday night given by J's former boss and his partner. They just bought an apartment in Les Lilas. The apartment was quite nice: peaceful with unimpeded views on all sides and a huge terrace (a luxury in Paris). And they have great design taste (or at least my taste): iconic, mid-century furniture interspersed with more eclectic pieces. And the terrace! It was filled with almost every imaginable plant/flower.
The food was a real treat and luxury. They had hired an Indian chef to make the appetizers and BBQ - homemade samosas! We didn't get to sample the BBQ though, since we had to leave early (the sitter was waiting). It was a pleasant evening, but still (for me) stressful. It is taxing to meet so many people. And again the language barrier makes it even more so. One can't just rattle off the usual pleasantries. One has to think.
Sunday was another social obligation: the fifth birthday party of E's friend from school. The party took place at the children's science museum in La Villette. It is a great place for the kids and especially for a Sunday afternoon. I made a mental note for the future. After too many hours there (I have a low tolerance for kid-friendly activities: where is the cafe? where are the shops?) I amended my mental note (maybe one visit was enough).
We walked across the Logan's Run-like walkways, past the mirrored Géode (not sure what this is, but it is big and shiny and completes the futuristic vibe) to the nearby park for cake and the opening of presents. The birthday boy's mom made one chocolate cake, two tiramisu (one with raspberrys) and one ginger cake (not to mention the chocolates, cherries, and other snacks). All of this was for only eight children and five adults. Which brings up another thing I have noticed about the French and parties - they are never stingy with the food, and in the case of adult parties, with the champagne or wine. At first, I thought this was just provencal generosity and hospitality but after living in Paris, I realize it is a nation-wide phenomenon. Not that I am complaining.
We were just getting ready to say our good-byes and make our way home (we were thinking of attending a friend's concert on the canal, but doubted we would be up for it), when I realized that O was gone. Gone! She must of walked off, without our noticing. I looked as far as I could in every direction. She was nowhere. Panic. J and I split up and went in opposite directions. The fact that the banks of the canal were not far off was not comforting. Where could a two year old go, so fast? I walked to the South (they say kids usually head south) about one hundred yards, but she was nowhere. How irresponsible, we are, I thought. I walked back towards where our party was and I didn't see either J or O. I really began to panic. I was holding out hope that J had found her. (It didn't help that just a few nights earlier I had watched a movie with Sigourney Weaver in which her four year old daughter is kidnapped while she briefly looks away.)
As I neared our party, I man I didn't know caught my attention: my husband and daughter were looking for me back from where I came. She was found. Two security guards had noticed her walking quite a ways away. They had walked back with her towards our party. J had run into them on the way. How they noticed that she was lost (there are hundreds of little kids running around), I don't know. But I am glad they did, even though they roundly chastised us. Lesson I suppose: watch your kids, because they are really fast.
We were certainly ready for the weekend to end and went straight home.
Then Friday night was the Kermesse (the second time I have heard this word, which as I found at means fair, but I suppose more loosely, party) at E's school to celebrate the end of the year. I am not sure why but the French have a penchant for dressing up in costumes (and I don't mean just the children). Almost every (okay, maybe I exaggerate) party I have been invited to, people put on costumes! As in Halloween-like costumes. This party was no exception. Thankfully, both kids were tired and there were so many people (in costumes) we were able to slip out.
There was a crémaillère (another celebratory term I just learned -although more complicated - so let's just say it refers to a housewarming) on Saturday night given by J's former boss and his partner. They just bought an apartment in Les Lilas. The apartment was quite nice: peaceful with unimpeded views on all sides and a huge terrace (a luxury in Paris). And they have great design taste (or at least my taste): iconic, mid-century furniture interspersed with more eclectic pieces. And the terrace! It was filled with almost every imaginable plant/flower.
The food was a real treat and luxury. They had hired an Indian chef to make the appetizers and BBQ - homemade samosas! We didn't get to sample the BBQ though, since we had to leave early (the sitter was waiting). It was a pleasant evening, but still (for me) stressful. It is taxing to meet so many people. And again the language barrier makes it even more so. One can't just rattle off the usual pleasantries. One has to think.
Sunday was another social obligation: the fifth birthday party of E's friend from school. The party took place at the children's science museum in La Villette. It is a great place for the kids and especially for a Sunday afternoon. I made a mental note for the future. After too many hours there (I have a low tolerance for kid-friendly activities: where is the cafe? where are the shops?) I amended my mental note (maybe one visit was enough).
We walked across the Logan's Run-like walkways, past the mirrored Géode (not sure what this is, but it is big and shiny and completes the futuristic vibe) to the nearby park for cake and the opening of presents. The birthday boy's mom made one chocolate cake, two tiramisu (one with raspberrys) and one ginger cake (not to mention the chocolates, cherries, and other snacks). All of this was for only eight children and five adults. Which brings up another thing I have noticed about the French and parties - they are never stingy with the food, and in the case of adult parties, with the champagne or wine. At first, I thought this was just provencal generosity and hospitality but after living in Paris, I realize it is a nation-wide phenomenon. Not that I am complaining.
We were just getting ready to say our good-byes and make our way home (we were thinking of attending a friend's concert on the canal, but doubted we would be up for it), when I realized that O was gone. Gone! She must of walked off, without our noticing. I looked as far as I could in every direction. She was nowhere. Panic. J and I split up and went in opposite directions. The fact that the banks of the canal were not far off was not comforting. Where could a two year old go, so fast? I walked to the South (they say kids usually head south) about one hundred yards, but she was nowhere. How irresponsible, we are, I thought. I walked back towards where our party was and I didn't see either J or O. I really began to panic. I was holding out hope that J had found her. (It didn't help that just a few nights earlier I had watched a movie with Sigourney Weaver in which her four year old daughter is kidnapped while she briefly looks away.)
As I neared our party, I man I didn't know caught my attention: my husband and daughter were looking for me back from where I came. She was found. Two security guards had noticed her walking quite a ways away. They had walked back with her towards our party. J had run into them on the way. How they noticed that she was lost (there are hundreds of little kids running around), I don't know. But I am glad they did, even though they roundly chastised us. Lesson I suppose: watch your kids, because they are really fast.
We were certainly ready for the weekend to end and went straight home.
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
one year
Today was just like almost every other morning the past year.
I got up at 7:35. Woke the girls up and waited for J to get up a few minutes later. The two kids lie on the sofa and turn on the T.V. J makes coffee and pours two cups - one for me and one for himself (though he rarely ends up drinking it). At 8:10, it is time to dress the girls. It rarely goes smoothly and as usual entails screaming, crying (on the kid's part) and cajoling, threatening (on our end). At 8:20, we are out the door. ( J usually takes the kids to school/daycare in the morning, but for the past couple of weeks I have been doing it.) To get to the street we have to go down one flight of stairs (dramatic, grand, circular), through a door to the 17th century, paved, courtyard, and then out huge, heavy, wooden doors to the street. We live on a small, curved street that is ostensibly closed to thru traffic (except for taxis and delivery trucks) but is always filled with cars in the morning trying to beat traffic on the nearby boulevard. We cross- E and I on foot and O in the stroller - looking out not only for traffic-beating cars, but the dozens of bikes careening our way who theoretically have priority. E's school is just a two minute walk. She is in the moyen section of the ecole maternelle - the equivalent of the last year of preschool in the States (she just turned five and children start school here at two or three). We arrive at 8:25, in time for me to walk her up the stairs into her classroom (those unfortunate enough to arrive after 8:30, must say good bye at the door). I leave by 8:35 and continue on with O (who has been waiting patiently in her stroller in the lobby of the school) to the next drop-off. Since we arrived last year so late in the school year we didn't have many options for preschools. We were lucky that there was still room in one. Unfortunately, it was a thirty minute walk. (in France women enroll their children in daycare while still pregnant). So we began the morning hike - across the Boulevard Magenta, stop at a boulangerie for a pain au chocolat for O and over to the Canal St. Martin. We stop on the bridge to look at the ducks and continue on up the hill towards Belleville. We arrive just after 9. For all my complaining, I love this walk, from one edge of our arrondissement to the other - from the wholesale clothing stores, to the trendy boutiques and cafe/restaurants, to the calm of the canal, to the "second" Chinatown of Paris.
It has been one year since we moved to Paris. We have our routines now. It took - and didn't take - a while. We have at least satisfied the basic requirements of living: home, work, school, taxes. Last May we sublet an apartment near the Republique for six months. This would be our last attempt at making France work. Before this we had been living for two years in the Languedoc (SW region of France). It sounds dream-like to move to the South of France. And we thought it would be. So we sold our loft in the East Village of NYC, packed or sold all of our things, and booked a flight for me, J, and our one year old daughter to Montpellier. Still in the grip of the fantasy we bought a huge, run-down, house. We thought that we could fix up the house, I would write, and J would work via the internet. Three months after we bought the house, we knew it was a mistake. But it was difficult to disentangle ourselves. We had put all our money into the house and it would be difficult to resell. The problem wasn't the Languedoc, it was us. The people were friendly and quirky and the house and landscape beautiful (vineyards for miles) - just like Peter Mayle's book A year in Provence. But I was unhappy and restless. At least J had a job where he got to go to Berlin (a big city!) once a month for a week. I was jealous. I had forgotten after 18 years of living in NYC, that I really do not like small towns. Or even nature. I like cities. I like to walk around anonymously. I like to go to restaurants and bars, and go to museums and go shopping. But mostly I like to walk aimlessly and look at things - as long as it isn't nature (parks though I can enjoy, because I know just beyond the perimeter is civilization).
After two unproductive years (except another baby girl) of wallowing in the country, we made a decision. We would move to Paris. A week after we moved, J got a job in Paris. (Contrary to what we were told, changing one's visa status is not that difficult.) We enrolled E in the neighborhood school. And found a part-time sitter for O. There would be no room for O in daycare until September. Within three months we bought an apartment (our bank was very generous in giving us a bridge loan.) just around the corner from our sublet. We had decided that this was a great neighborhood. Originally we wanted to move to the Marais or Beaubourg, but it was out of our price range. We briefly considered living in Pantin, just outside of Paris proper and a much cheaper alternative. I ruled out the Left Bank - too fossilized and bland. In the end we found a great apartment with character (but almost half the size of NYC one!). I am glad though we moved here instead of the Marais (or Pantin). It is the best of both worlds - central but not many tourists, ethnically diverse (which was important to us) but bobo-ish (so we have lots of cool restaurants and bars). It reminds us in a certain way (hopefully non-nostagically) of the old East Village before it became too gentrified. As for our taxes - not there yet but we did hire an accountant last week to figure out the effects of our new French income.
So we have found our new home (at least for the next few years). It is difficult to say why exactly we left NYC. I think that the reasons were many: cultural, political and maybe just the desire for adventure. Culturally, I think NYC is difficult to negotiate with children. Not that it isn't a great place to raise children (I think cities are a great place for kids to grow up). But after our first daughter was born, it was difficult to find proper daycare or just prohibitively expensive. In Paris (which because of its resources makes childcare more extensive and affordable than the provinces) our costs for full-time care for both kids is around 300 euros. School for children is free beginning at the age of 3. We only pay for lunch, Wednesdays (not a school day) and extra hours. O's daycare is 200 euros a month from 8-6 everyday. This includes lunch, snacks and even diapers. And we pay the highest rate! The most important thing is we don't worry about the kids during the day. Politically, NYC seemed to us less compelling after 9/11: a tragedy that two years later seemed to lead to intolerance. Maybe it was just time to experience something else.
And we did get something out of our two years in the Languedoc (besides a lesson) we got to visit great places. Just an hour from the Spanish border, we often went for weekend drives to Figueres (for shopping) or further to Girona (for a sushi lunch). In the summer we would take a day off and head for the beautiful French beach town, Collioure. After a swim in the bay, with a view of the old fort, we would stop at one of the many seaside cafes and eat fresh, grilled, fish. So we do have some good memories of the time we spent there. But we are so happy to be in Paris.
I got up at 7:35. Woke the girls up and waited for J to get up a few minutes later. The two kids lie on the sofa and turn on the T.V. J makes coffee and pours two cups - one for me and one for himself (though he rarely ends up drinking it). At 8:10, it is time to dress the girls. It rarely goes smoothly and as usual entails screaming, crying (on the kid's part) and cajoling, threatening (on our end). At 8:20, we are out the door. ( J usually takes the kids to school/daycare in the morning, but for the past couple of weeks I have been doing it.) To get to the street we have to go down one flight of stairs (dramatic, grand, circular), through a door to the 17th century, paved, courtyard, and then out huge, heavy, wooden doors to the street. We live on a small, curved street that is ostensibly closed to thru traffic (except for taxis and delivery trucks) but is always filled with cars in the morning trying to beat traffic on the nearby boulevard. We cross- E and I on foot and O in the stroller - looking out not only for traffic-beating cars, but the dozens of bikes careening our way who theoretically have priority. E's school is just a two minute walk. She is in the moyen section of the ecole maternelle - the equivalent of the last year of preschool in the States (she just turned five and children start school here at two or three). We arrive at 8:25, in time for me to walk her up the stairs into her classroom (those unfortunate enough to arrive after 8:30, must say good bye at the door). I leave by 8:35 and continue on with O (who has been waiting patiently in her stroller in the lobby of the school) to the next drop-off. Since we arrived last year so late in the school year we didn't have many options for preschools. We were lucky that there was still room in one. Unfortunately, it was a thirty minute walk. (in France women enroll their children in daycare while still pregnant). So we began the morning hike - across the Boulevard Magenta, stop at a boulangerie for a pain au chocolat for O and over to the Canal St. Martin. We stop on the bridge to look at the ducks and continue on up the hill towards Belleville. We arrive just after 9. For all my complaining, I love this walk, from one edge of our arrondissement to the other - from the wholesale clothing stores, to the trendy boutiques and cafe/restaurants, to the calm of the canal, to the "second" Chinatown of Paris.
It has been one year since we moved to Paris. We have our routines now. It took - and didn't take - a while. We have at least satisfied the basic requirements of living: home, work, school, taxes. Last May we sublet an apartment near the Republique for six months. This would be our last attempt at making France work. Before this we had been living for two years in the Languedoc (SW region of France). It sounds dream-like to move to the South of France. And we thought it would be. So we sold our loft in the East Village of NYC, packed or sold all of our things, and booked a flight for me, J, and our one year old daughter to Montpellier. Still in the grip of the fantasy we bought a huge, run-down, house. We thought that we could fix up the house, I would write, and J would work via the internet. Three months after we bought the house, we knew it was a mistake. But it was difficult to disentangle ourselves. We had put all our money into the house and it would be difficult to resell. The problem wasn't the Languedoc, it was us. The people were friendly and quirky and the house and landscape beautiful (vineyards for miles) - just like Peter Mayle's book A year in Provence. But I was unhappy and restless. At least J had a job where he got to go to Berlin (a big city!) once a month for a week. I was jealous. I had forgotten after 18 years of living in NYC, that I really do not like small towns. Or even nature. I like cities. I like to walk around anonymously. I like to go to restaurants and bars, and go to museums and go shopping. But mostly I like to walk aimlessly and look at things - as long as it isn't nature (parks though I can enjoy, because I know just beyond the perimeter is civilization).
After two unproductive years (except another baby girl) of wallowing in the country, we made a decision. We would move to Paris. A week after we moved, J got a job in Paris. (Contrary to what we were told, changing one's visa status is not that difficult.) We enrolled E in the neighborhood school. And found a part-time sitter for O. There would be no room for O in daycare until September. Within three months we bought an apartment (our bank was very generous in giving us a bridge loan.) just around the corner from our sublet. We had decided that this was a great neighborhood. Originally we wanted to move to the Marais or Beaubourg, but it was out of our price range. We briefly considered living in Pantin, just outside of Paris proper and a much cheaper alternative. I ruled out the Left Bank - too fossilized and bland. In the end we found a great apartment with character (but almost half the size of NYC one!). I am glad though we moved here instead of the Marais (or Pantin). It is the best of both worlds - central but not many tourists, ethnically diverse (which was important to us) but bobo-ish (so we have lots of cool restaurants and bars). It reminds us in a certain way (hopefully non-nostagically) of the old East Village before it became too gentrified. As for our taxes - not there yet but we did hire an accountant last week to figure out the effects of our new French income.
So we have found our new home (at least for the next few years). It is difficult to say why exactly we left NYC. I think that the reasons were many: cultural, political and maybe just the desire for adventure. Culturally, I think NYC is difficult to negotiate with children. Not that it isn't a great place to raise children (I think cities are a great place for kids to grow up). But after our first daughter was born, it was difficult to find proper daycare or just prohibitively expensive. In Paris (which because of its resources makes childcare more extensive and affordable than the provinces) our costs for full-time care for both kids is around 300 euros. School for children is free beginning at the age of 3. We only pay for lunch, Wednesdays (not a school day) and extra hours. O's daycare is 200 euros a month from 8-6 everyday. This includes lunch, snacks and even diapers. And we pay the highest rate! The most important thing is we don't worry about the kids during the day. Politically, NYC seemed to us less compelling after 9/11: a tragedy that two years later seemed to lead to intolerance. Maybe it was just time to experience something else.
And we did get something out of our two years in the Languedoc (besides a lesson) we got to visit great places. Just an hour from the Spanish border, we often went for weekend drives to Figueres (for shopping) or further to Girona (for a sushi lunch). In the summer we would take a day off and head for the beautiful French beach town, Collioure. After a swim in the bay, with a view of the old fort, we would stop at one of the many seaside cafes and eat fresh, grilled, fish. So we do have some good memories of the time we spent there. But we are so happy to be in Paris.
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