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.