A British expat in Paris

New Year's Resolutions

noreply@blogger.com (Nicole) — Sun, 01 Jan 2012 12:22:00 +0000

So, New Year's Resolutions, do you make them?

I generally make halfhearted ones, that I know I won't keep. But this year, I'm going to try hard!

I am going to be healthier - January is in the nature of an experiment, with no alcohol, no cigarettes and more vegetables and exercise.

I'm going to dig out my Couch-to-5K podcasts and start working through those again. I'm going to wake up earlier, so I have time to do this before work, which should mean that I sleep earlier and better,

I'm not giving up coffee, ever. But if the above works out well in January, I'm going to phase in a more paleo-type diet in February, with more meat and vegetables, and much less - almost no - dairy and grains. (February has the bonus of being a short month, which will help as experiments go.)

I'm planning to post here more regularly, and also to make regular posts on my jewellery blog. I'd like to take part in a Year of Jewellery type scheme, where you make at least one new piece a week.

I'm also considering a slightly less hectic writing schedule than NaNo, and doing 100k in 100 days. That has the bonus of being long enough to actually produce finished work, and I can work on the various pieces I've got started.

That seems more than enough to be getting on with. What are your New Year's Resolutions? I can't be the only one making them!

Driving and Paris

noreply@blogger.com (Nicole) — Mon, 21 Nov 2011 17:42:00 +0000

(Twice in one week, don't you feel loved? I wouldn't get used to it just yet. Things are bound to get manic again soon.)

I don't know what the road accident rate is like in Paris. I assume pretty high. (I'd look it up, but, well, I've had 3 hours sleep and I'm not really feeling like doing any actual research right now. I'm sure you'll cope.)

It is, however, a miracle that it isn't higher. Today I have nearly been run over by 2 motorbikes and 1 car, and I was on the pavement each time. This is largely because motorbikes - and bicycles, for that matter - don't seem to make a difference between such concepts as "road" and "pavement", except that the latter usually has less vehicles on it, so you can drive faster.

The car, in a staggering display of logic combined with inspiration, decided that while the one-way system was important enough to respect, it couldn't apply if you reversed up the road. So, on reaching a crossroads near my house and finding he couldn't turn left like he wanted, he turned right, driving over the curb and nearly hitting me standing on the pavement near the zebra crossing and then proceeded to reverse up the one-way street at full speed. This, naturally, couldn't possibly cause any accidents or even vaguely infringe on the law, because his car was facing the right direction.

I weep for humanity.

Europe, the EU and the Eurozone...

noreply@blogger.com (Nicole) — Sun, 20 Nov 2011 12:59:00 +0000

(Hello. It's been a while, hasn't it? I'll try to fill you in later, in case anyone's around still who cares...)

Today, though, I would like to be all pedagogic and explain something that I've seen being conflated repeatedly. (Not by any of you, remaining devoted readers, who are obviously brilliant. But others.)

Europe is the continent. It includes all the countries on the continent. It sometimes includes Turkey and usually includes Russia. (For Eurovision purposes, it seems to also include Israel, but that's clearly an unusual definition. Ignore it.) Notwithstanding the presence of sea, I would also include countries like the UK, Ireland and Iceland as part of Europe. (I realise those well-versed in geography might disagree. But they've probably had a nervous breakdown at my total inability to comprehend geography by now and left, so I'm comfortable saying the UK is part of Europe.)

The EU is the European Union. It has 27 member states. These are all part of Europe (per my happy and inclusive definition above, anyway) - but not all countries in Europe are part of the EU. (I'm half planning a lengthy explanation of the EU and its institutions at some point. If I haven't managed to bore everyone around me to death by then, that should finish everyone off.)

The Eurozone (or Euro Area as its also known) is made up of 17 of the EU countries. All the countries in the Eurozone are part of the EU, but not all EU countries are part of the Eurozone. Notable examples of EU countries that aren't in the EU are the UK and Denmark. Greece still is, at least at the time of writing.

I am now confident that this is clear to all, and expect to see no more confusion of these terms. Anywhere. By anyone. Because Google can direct them here and then they can understand all...

Lille - Day 2

noreply@blogger.com (Nicole) — Sun, 07 Aug 2011 09:39:00 +0000

The next day, of course, it rained. Nonetheless, intrepid explorers that we are, we decided to go out and See The Sights. Well, see Roubaix, anyway. Roubaix is part of the Lille Metropolitan area, and whilst a town in its own right, acts a bit like a suburb of Lille itself. (I can't imagine living there and never visiting the big city, though I'm sure there are those that do.) It's on a metro line from Lille, so off we went.

It's not the prettiest town in the world. Not without its charms, to be sure - though the cafe we stopped in wasn't really one of them. Possibly the only place left in France where people are allowed to smoke inside (fine enforcement clearly isn't a priority in Roubaix), and run by a very nice woman who nonetheless looked like a meth addict. Still, they served coffee, which was all we needed. They even served it twice, when I knocked the first lot all over the table, the floor, and myself. Who knew there was so much liquid in an expresso?

The Mairie is a very imposing building, looming above the square where the metro stops

We walked, in the rain, around Roubaix. Roubaix is famous for its art galleries and textile heritage, and it is the site of not one, but two outlet villages for buying designer clothes cheaply. It also has a museum in the site of an old workers' swimming pool - water has been left in - which has a glorious stained glass window.

You can see it from the outside here - but sadly, it was closed when we went, so no photos from the inside. (People finding this post through Google, you may wish to note that La Piscine museum in Roubaix is only open in the afternoon.) We'll go back one day...

The sticky labels left by visitors outside formed a pretty collage:

This was spray painted onto a wall near the museum, and appears to be the last photo I took that day. This is presumably because the rain got much worse as the day went on.

We did call in at the outlet village to see if there was anything we wanted to buy - aside from a new pair of jeans that I needed, there wasn't. Disappointing. The rain was getting heavier at this point, so we decided to call it a day and get the tram back to Lille for lunch.

By the time we arrived in Lille, the rain was horrendous. We walked around getting soaked while we found somewhere to eat - we ended up at the lovely Arriere Pays, which serve a huge variety of tartines (open-faced sandwiches, I think they might be called elsewhere), and salted-butter caramel crepes. Which were awesome. Paul, in a fit of insanity, decided to try the local liqueur, genievre. There is a reason that this particular drink hasn't achieved national or international success; it's fucking horrendous. Tastes like anti-freeze, on a good day. I'm unconvinced that you could mix it with anything that would disguise the horror that is this drink. Don't be fooled by its harmless appearance, it is Evil Incarnate.

Having managed to survive the horror, we went back to the hotel to drink champagne and wait for the rain to stop.

The rain, being Lille, steadfastly refused to stop. So we bravely set out, regardless. We sheltered in The Northern Ferret (Le Furet du Nord, I think it sounds better in English) and bought a couple of DVDs and a notebook. We also saw some fine examples of Northern cookbooks (30 ways to cook with carambars, 30 recipes featuring biscuits...)

Following this, we traipsed through the rain til we found somewhere for dinner. It was an estaminet, a traditional Northern French/Belgian cafe, basically, which definitely played up the traditional aspect. It served all sorts of iconic Northern French food, mostly featuring marouilles, beer, or a combination of the two. I had Welsh, which is cheese on toast with beer, cheese and cream. And chips, obviously. (I managed about a quarter of it before feeling like I might die.) Paul had carbonnade, which is meat in a beer stew sauce thing (which was much nicer than my cheesey heart-attack on a plate).

It is, however, in desserts that the North really came into its own. Despite the rain, we both decided on icecreams - a unique combination of speculoos/chicoree/condensed milk flavours for me, and a similarly unusual licorice/carambar/glacier mint (Betisse de Cambrai) mix for Paul (his came with sweeties on top. Still slightly jealous.) There was a pleasing variety of speculoos flavoured options - not only speculoos icecream (which haagen daas also sell, by the way - awesome in a box), but speculoos mousse, and speculoos creme brulee (which I very, very nearly went for). There is also a speculoos flavoured liqueur, which in my mind is sort of like speculoos flavoured baileys - how amazing would that be? You can apparently buy it online. (Speculoos, for those foreign people who haven't had the pleasure, is originally a biscuit - kind of a mix between ginger and cinnamon flavoured. It is brilliant. Often served with coffees here. I think it's Belgian.)

After this, we rolled back to the hotel, through the rain that hadn't let up at all. My clothes still hadn't dried by the time we left Lille the next day.

Day 3 continues in another post...

Lille for the weekend

noreply@blogger.com (Nicole) — Sat, 06 Aug 2011 07:55:00 +0000

So, I've been promising you a post on Lille. Never let it be said I don't deliver... In fact, I may even split this into two posts, possibly even 3, given the number of photos I have for the first day.

The weekend after 14 July, we went to Lille on the first part of our extended Grand Tour. (Later highlights will include Rome and Prague, amongst others.) We had an awesome time. The north of France has a bit of a bad reputation, so I wasn't expecting great things, but Lille is beautiful, friendly, accessible - I'd move there, if it weren't for the fact that I'd die of a heart attack within a week because all of the food is so, so calorie dense. High-calorie meals (beer-soaked bread with toasted cheese on top, surrounded by a cheese, cream and beer sauce, for example) probably made sense when everyone in the region was working in textile mills and the like. Not so much these days...

Knowing my inability to remember things for long, and the likelihood of me actually getting around to writing this blog post any time soon, I actually did make notes at the end of our trip on the things we'd seen and done. Sitting in a cafe near the station, scribbling away in my new notebook, surrounded by beer and smelly cheese. (Marouilles. It should be licenced. It *stinks* and tastes much like it smells, but greasier.) So, we might end up with a slightly more coherent account of our trip than would normally be the case.

We arrived on a sunny afternoon, on the TGV from Paris. Lille is only an hour or so away from Paris by TGV, and a similar distance from Brussels and London. House prices should be much more expensive than they are there - they probably will be, soon. Walking through town, we passed a huge cathedral:

We walked in the sunshine to our hotel - we were staying in a self-contained flat with kitchen and bathroom (Cosy's), which was a brilliant idea. Even though we never actually used the kitchen facilities, it was lovely to have a proper fridge for once, and the option of cooking, if we'd been so inclined. For longer trips, I can see it being a godsend - there's only so much cheese-on-things you can eat... The hotel was a little bit outside the centre of town, towards the castle and the zoo, and it was in a lovely leafy avenue near a university. We will be going back, I'm sure.

Anyway, after settling in to the hotel and making sure everything worked, we went to the Grand Place for beer (when in Lille...) and to the rue de Gand for dinner. The Grand Place in Lille, and the surrounding streets and buildings, is beautiful. (Smells slightly of drains, at least when we went, but beautiful.)

The rue de Gand is a good place to go to if you're in Lille - it's got all sorts of bars and restaurants in it, and it's near a park. It's also near a pub called the Queen's Head. We didn't go in, fearing the worst - but walking towards it from the centre of town, you could be forgiven for thinking you'd somehow walked into an English town centre:

The Queen's Head is on Belgian People road.

There is also a pub opposite the Queen's Head that I don't appear to have photographed, which is called Le Petit Barbu d'Anvers. Which I think translates as The Small Bearded Man from Antwerp. But probably doesn't - amuses me anyway.

We had an apero in a bar opposite the most aptly named gay bar - "Coming Out" - and then wandered up the street to see what the various restaurants had to offer. At the top we turned round and wandered back.

We settled on a restaurant called Au Vieux Louis, about halfway up rue de Gand, which does an incredible panfried duck breast in honey with garlic potatoes (god they were good), steak frites, and an amazing chocolate fondant in vanilla custard. With a melty middle. It was bliss on a plate.

We walked back through the centre of town, as the sun was low in the sky and everything was so pretty. I reckon I could live there.

Floods! Drama!

noreply@blogger.com (Nicole) — Fri, 05 Aug 2011 19:18:00 +0000

People, I have abandoned you. I almost feel sorry about it. I still have - and will write this weekend, promise - a post on Lille to put up. And something about a group of mad people who came to visit us last week, where I went up the Eiffel Tower.

[Post interrupted while I attempt to fix minor domestic emergency. See, this is why you don't get posts from me. Life keeps getting in the way.]

Anyway, for now, you will have to be content with the tale of the storm that has flooded Paris. Practically a monsoon. (Though just possibly shorter - monsoons tend to last longer than half an hour, I understand. Otherwise EXACTLY THE SAME, though.)

There I was, leaving work and heading to the pub. (The Frog says hi, jelly people, if you're reading this. Or would if it could talk, being a building and all.) The sky had been getting steadily greyer all afternoon. By the time I left the Metro, it was almost black. I made it to the door before the rain started. Having found my husband and got drinks, we watched as the sky got darker and darker. Soon after, the rain started. Sheets of it. Torrents. And every time we looked up, it got worse. Passers-by gave up with umbrellas. People under cafe awnings moved inside because the splash-back as the rain hit the pavement was soaking them. Smokers huddled in doorways, looking morose. (That last is fairly normal, actually, thinking about it. Smokers in doorways always look morose, no matter the weather. But I digress...) As it was still going, we had another drink. It continued to pour. And then, as if by magic, the sun came out. One second, pissing it down. Next second, bright sunshine and blue sky and aside from the flooded streets, overrun gutters and soaking pavements, as if nothing had happened.

Until we got to St Lazare. Which is not as waterproof as the architects no doubt hoped it would be.

Luckily, we didn't need to cross that. There were a lot of people standing around amusing me as they tried to work out the driest way to cross the new lake that corridor had turned into - and that was one of the corridors you were allowed to go down. Several had been closed to the public because they were too flooded.

There, aren't you glad you bothered to read this? I've written 400 words on the rain. That was totally worth your time. (Hey, I *know* I never said this was going to be an interesting blog!) Lille might be better, though that, too, features a lot of rain. It's been a wet summer...

ETA: those of you reading this in an RSS reader may have seen that the original title mentioned recorders. This is because French supermarkets apparently sell recorders (you know, the children's instruments - are they called the same in American?) - we were buying food on the way home and noticed them with the back to school supplies. It struck me as odd, and I meant to write about it. But forgot til I pressed post. So then I deleted mention of it from the title. But realised that RSS readers probably show the original title. So I thought I should explain...

The Senat

noreply@blogger.com (Nicole) — Sun, 17 Jul 2011 20:05:00 +0000

Ages ago, I promised a write up of my trip round the Senat. I hadn't forgotten, dear readers (all 3 of you) who are obviously hanging on my every word.

That said, my trip round the Senat was now several weeks ago, and I've lost the handy thingy they gave out at the end with information. So, this may be a slightly more skant version of the blog post I had been intending to write. I know this disappoints you. I'm sorry. (Or, I would be sorry, but I've just come back from holiday, so I don't actually care. But I can pretend, just for you. Yes, I will share the photos and write that up too - maybe even this very evening, if you're lucky. You probably won't be.)

Anyway, the Senat. It's the upper chamber of the French legislature. There are... 340? members. (Their website tells me 343 - I think I was close enough.) And they have the job of scrutinising legislation passed by the lower house, the Assemblee Nationale, and amending it if they think it necessary. Any amendments have to be agreed by the Assemblee Nationale, and, when both houses are in agreement, it goes to the President to sign. (He can't actually refuse, though he technically has the power to do so, I think. What he can do if he hates it is sign it into law, but not implement it - not set an activation date, if you will.)

This is much the same as the process in the UK, for those of you interested - the big practical difference between the Senat and the House of Lords is that the Senat has a clock which limits the amount of time each person is allowed to speak. The Senator proposing amendments can speak for 3 minutes; each person after that has 5 minutes each to put their point across. And there's a big digital red clock counting down as they talk.

The other difference is that the Minister in the Senat doesn't have to actually explain *why* s/he disagrees with the proposed amendments - s/he can just say "I think that's a bad idea." or "Disagree" and sit down. Those of you who have seen debates in the UK Parliament will know that this does not happen there. These both sound like excellent ideas to me, and ones that should be adopted forthwith!

The building (The Palais de Luxembourg) used to belong to Marie de Medici who had it built in 1615 as a modest country home for herself and her son, Louis XIII. It was variously occupied by counts and other important people (Napoleon took it as his residence when he was First Consul of France), and during the War, it served as the headquarters for the Luftwaffe. (There are, I should add, more useful details than my scattered memory can provide on Wikipedia.)

And now, the pretty bits. Photos from the tour, mostly uncaptioned because I couldn't remember what they were if I tried...

Picture on the ceiling

These pictures are painted on leather, if I remember rightly...

Napoleon's throne:

This is the same pattern as you will see on the underneath of the Arc de Triomphe, and is reflected in the carpet on the stairs at the Senat (taken in groups of 4 steps - it's very clever...)

You, too, can go on tours round the Senat - you can certainly go and listen to them debating law if you're so inclined, by handing in your ID at reception and going and sitting very, very quietly in the visitors' gallery. The Senat website has more details on visits if you're interested, and it has a virtual tour, too.

Happy 14 Juillet!

noreply@blogger.com (Nicole) — Thu, 14 Jul 2011 08:30:00 +0000

Bastille Day, to those of us from the UK and presumably other Anglophone countries, but the French call it 14 juillet, and so should we...

I'm currently watching (on telly) the military parade up the Champs Elysees - their theme is "Overseas" this year, I think, focusing on France's overseas Departments and Territories. They've painted the Champs Elysees so it makes the bleu-blanc-rouge of the tricolore - I'm very impressed by that. Later, there will be planes flying over with coloured smoke (yeah, technical term, that, hush...) and it will all be very pretty.

Once I've finished my coffee (the main reason, obviously, that we're not at the parade in person - that and we'd never, ever see anything if we were - the view on the tv is much better), we might go for a wander in the sunshine, and we'll probably end up at the Champ de Mars this evening for a free concert in front of the Eiffel Tower and then a huge fireworks display. I think that might be a nice way to spend the evening...

So, happy republican day France, chequered history though you have with your monarchy. Happy celebration of your overseas territories, complicated past that you have with them and your ex-colonies. And thank you for painting your roads to amuse me, for giving me a day off, and for giving me the chance to watch most of Cabinet sitting looking deeply pained and trying to hide it faced with this opera singing. Vive la France!

ETA: My husband has shattered my illusions, telling me that they haven't really painted the Champs, and it's all technological trickery on the part of the TV. This upsets me, and I'm not entirely sure I believe him, but he's usually right about these things. I am hereby unimpressed with the people who painted the Champs Elysees, because they didn't. Lazy bastards.

Technorati code

noreply@blogger.com (Nicole) — Mon, 11 Jul 2011 19:41:00 +0000

This isn't anything interesting. Technorati require me to make a post with the code 2ERH75CDMW9W in it, so they know I'm me.

So, this is that.

Told you it wasn't interesting.

Carnaval Tropical de Paris 2011

noreply@blogger.com (Nicole) — Sat, 09 Jul 2011 10:36:00 +0000

Last week was the Carnaval Tropical de Paris, a mixture of anti-slavery commemoration and all-out party. 2011 marks its 10th anniversary. Normally held in the Nation area, this year, they took to the Champs Elysees, and it was brilliant.

Not as noisy or, quite, as packed as Notting Hill, I found the whole thing much more enjoyable. But then, I had pushed my way to the front of the crowd, which undoubtedly helped... My view wasn't as good as that of the rich people looking out of their Champs Elysees flat, and the guys who had climbed onto the window ledges of the bank along the route probably had a good view too, but mine was pretty good!

The sun shone, the people danced, it was a good day.

Happy 4th of July!

noreply@blogger.com (Nicole) — Mon, 04 Jul 2011 18:29:00 +0000

See, Americans, never let it be said I don't love you dearly... I hope you're all having an awesome day celebrating your Independence Day (that *is* what today celebrates, no?) and having BBQs and drinking beer and watching fireworks and everything else that Hollywood tells me you all do religiously on the 4th of July!

I even have (recycled) fireworks for you - enjoy!

What other things do you guys do that Hollywood doesn't tell me about? Are there any interesting local traditions involving setting things on fire? I like local traditions that involve setting things (though not people, it should go without saying) on fire...

Conflans and Herblay

noreply@blogger.com (Nicole) — Sun, 03 Jul 2011 20:09:00 +0000

Yesterday, we went on An Adventure.

Well, ok, a daytrip. But it was to somewhere new, and it was lovely. I was extra-sold on the idea of bungee-jumping ponies, which we sadly missed because they weren't around when we arrived in town. (For all those who may be about to ask me if it's not more likely that there were ponies and bungee-jumping in the same town, rather than so closely linked, hush. You are not to ruin my dreams.)

Conflans is a small town about 45 minutes outside the centre of Paris. The train leaves from St Lazare, and costs about €4.50 each way, ish. There are two stations - we went to the more central one, Conflans-St Honorine but there is apparently another that you may wish to explore.

From the station, which wins a prize for establishments with the most stereotypical outside-a-train-station names (see photo), we walked into town and found the mairie.

Prize-winners:

Mairie:

We then followed the mutant feet up the hill. The very steep hill, I should emphasise.

Having wondered if I might die on the way, I was surprised to arrive at the musee de la batellerie (which is something to do with boats). It was closed, being lunchtime, obviously, but there was a giant boat sticking out of the wall to let you know where you were.

The museum used to be a priory, and the grounds of the priory are now a very pretty public park. The building itself is seriously run down and in need of repairs, though it was clearly lovely when it was built.

From there, we went to the church (which was opposite, naturally - don't you love how French towns are laid out the same?)

The church, similarly, was in need of repair. As it was actually covered in scaffolding, one can assume that it's a more desperate case... Despite a promising exterior (underneath the scaffolding) and a long history, the inside was a bit disappointingly bare. The Eglise Saint-Maclou was built in the 11th century, and after the Revolution, it was rededicated to Sainte Honorine, whose relics were moved in, in about 1800. (The website tells me that Saints Samson and Margeurite also have relics in the building. I wonder if it's a timeshare type deal.) The age explains the smallness, I guess - it just struck me as a bit bare. A couple of nice paintings and stained glass windows, but that's about it. Perhaps it will look better once the refurb is complete.

The other major historical monument is the Tour Montjoie. Built by Matthew de Beaumont in the 11th century, this 15m tall stone donjon replaced the original wooden version. It's understandably somewhat weathered now, but it's remarkably well-preserved given its age, apparently. (A restoration project in 1979-1980 probably didn't hurt.)

From there, we walked down through the old town to the port.

Conflans is a town with a long maritime history (can you call it that if it's rivers?) and is currently hosting an outdoor photography exhibition showing boats through the ages. It's also home to possibly France's biggest collection of house-boats. Many of these have clearly not been moved in decades, and probably couldn't now if you wanted them to. Laundry dries in the sunshine, plants grow on boat-top gardens, mountains and mountains of junk grow over time. These are the most settled theoretically-mobile homes I've ever seen.

Jacques is a boat that has been specially refurbed by one of the local neighbourhood organisations (I think) - doesn't he look all smart?

After this, we walked along the Seine towards Herblay. Two things amused me - the number of beautiful flowers, and the variety of mailboxes we found. Most of the permenantly moored boats had their own special green boxes, like in this picture:

Except this guy, who has the only US mailbox I've ever seen:

For comparison, normal French mailboxes in towns look like:

Flowers:

We stopped for lunch along the way, at a really friendly little place called Les Gourmandises, which does a fabulous 3 course menu for €20. The most important part of this was, of course, dessert:

After lunch, we continued our way along the riverside to Herblay. The bus service round these parts is a little erratic:

I did think, when we finally arrived at the edge of Herblay, that the council might want to work on their welcome message:

The flowers were better though, and in actual pots and everything:

We carried on walking alongside the river, large parts of which were closed to traffic, so it was lovely and quiet.

We saw the river:

Fishermen:

Ducks:

A home for tiny waterside gnomes:

And then we were in the middle of town. Sort of. One of the interesting things about Herblay (which I wasn't allowed to go on, because it was late by this point, but I'm promised we can go back) is that it still runs a ferry across the river to an island where plants for Paris' public gardens are... incubated? Whatever the plant-version is. And, at weekends, people can use the ferry, for free, as part of some local rights of passage that have existed since medieval times. I want to exercise my medieval rights!

The book told us of a shortcut to the church in Herblay, from which one can apparently get a brilliant view of the river sweeping majestically below you. Note that, if you are doing this too, Impasse du Val is so called for a reason, and that walking *past* an Impasse is not the same as walking *up* it.

Having retraced our steps, we found the actual place we should have turned off a little further up the hill. The book neglected to mention how steep the winding steps were to get up to the church, so I shall kindly do that for you. They are, quite. (Not as bad as the first hill in Conflans, though, I think.)

When we arrived, panting and sweaty (ok, just me, whatever) at the top of the hill, I was a little surprised to find ourselves in the middle of a wedding party. Trying to avoid their wedding pictures, we snuck around the edge of the churchyard, saw a pretty graveyard, but I couldn't see any views I'd describe as majestic. Perhaps I'm spoilt. The following was the best of the bunch:

We made our way back down the hill to the train station, where they had a big blue sign telling us where we were, and some teeny bright orange plants:

From Herblay, we got the train back to Saint Lazare, and home. My legs were sore this morning, but I am looking forward to going back again over the summer.

Battle of the Somme

noreply@blogger.com (Nicole) — Sat, 02 Jul 2011 18:18:00 +0000

Yesterday marked the 95th anniversary of the beginning of the Battle of the Somme. One of the bloodiest military operations ever recorded, the Battle of the Somme lasted from 1 July 1916 to 18 November 1916. More than 1 million soldiers were killed. It has become synonymous with slaughter.

On the first day alone, more than 19,000 British soldiers were killed, more than 35,000 were wounded, more than 2000 were missing in action and 585 were taken prisoner. It was, to say the least, not a good day for the British. Things did not improve significantly over the entire course of the campaign. By the end, the British had gained a mere 2 miles of territory and lost 420,000 men to do so.

The Somme and the trauma it instilled in the men who fought there led to some of the most graphic of the war poems, written by poets like Sassoon and Owen. A couple of the ones I find more memorable, and most moving, are:

ANTHEM FOR DOOMED YOUTH by Wilfred Owen

What passing-bells for these who die as cattle?
---Only the monstrous anger of the guns.
Only the stuttering rifles' rapid rattle
Can patter out their hasty orisons.
No mockeries now for them; no prayers nor bells;
Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs,---
The shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells;
And bugles calling for them from sad shires.

What candles may be held to speed them all?
Not in the hands of boys but in their eyes
Shall shine the holy glimmers of goodbyes.
The pallor of girls' brows shall be their pall;
Their flowers the tenderness of patient minds,
And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds.

DULCE ET DECORUM EST by Wilfred Owen

Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of tired, outstripped Five-Nines that dropped behind.

Gas! Gas! Quick, boys!---An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling,
And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime...
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.

In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.

If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,---
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.

Contemporary society may have considered Owen mad; with the light of hindsight, his looks like the only sensible reaction to the insanity he witnessed. His poetry vividly evokes the horror of war. It's a shame we seem to have largely forgotten it, as we've moved to more high-tech types of warfare that allow us to distance ourselves from exploding limbs in far-flung countries. We should remember, if only so we never have to live through a battle like the Somme again.

Happy Canada Day!

noreply@blogger.com (Nicole) — Fri, 01 Jul 2011 19:44:00 +0000

I'm not sure if I have any Canadians reading this, but in case I do, Happy Canada Day to you! (I've just found out it's Canada Day. Hence the late post. Sorry!) I assume this involves beer, fireworks and possibly maple syrup.

If it doesn't, do tell - the comparison with Bastille Day coming up will be interesting!

Last weekend in the sunshine

noreply@blogger.com (Nicole) — Fri, 01 Jul 2011 18:57:00 +0000

Last weekend was gloriously hot, before the horrendous heat that was Monday. I'm going to try and forget about Monday, it was just unpleasant. My office isn't airconditioned, and that's all we need say about that...

The weekend was lovely though, and I walked through Paris taking random photos, many of which are flowers in the jardin des Tuileries. I think (maybe) that mousing over the pictures should give you some information about where they were taken. If it doesn't work, and you really care, let me know and I might caption them.

I ended the day eating icecream in the Jardin de Luxembourg. (Which, coincidentally, backs onto the Senat. Which is where I went for a tour today, and photos will follow if my phone worked properly...)

Flying ants

noreply@blogger.com (Nicole) — Sat, 25 Jun 2011 15:18:00 +0000

Did I ever tell you guys how much I hate flying ants? Well, I do. A lot. Guess what's everywhere around my house today? Hate them. So. Much.

The rest of the day has been good - I have Done Shopping, and bought dresses and jeans and stuff. I may do More Shopping later this afternoon, depending on whether I can be bothered to leave the house.

I have also seen a friend's new flat (Lovely. So jealous.) and been to a BBQ. I could go to the park this afternoon. I should do laundry and food shopping. I'll let you know which one wins...

Blah day

noreply@blogger.com (Nicole) — Tue, 21 Jun 2011 17:03:00 +0000

Today's been a rubbish day.

It started badly, when I knocked my coffee flying reaching to turn the bloody alarm off this morning. Made worse when I spilt its replacement down my sleeve by trying to drink and walk down the street at the same time. At which time, I also discovered I've buggered my ankle up, and now can barely walk.

Work's been a series of blah non-events, interspersed with stress and frantic activity. I feel like I've achieved nothing useful today.

Then, it's Fete de la musique. While I'm not a musical person at the best of times, the main way this has impacted on my life is that apparently, everyone else in Paris is. And they all need to use my metro line to get wherever it is they're going. I had to let 6 trains go past before I could get on one, which was so packed I could barely breathe. Leaving the train soaked in sweat, I find that they're setting up a drum set (or whatever the technical term is) at the end of my road, so that will be fun later.

And my husband's run away back to the UK so I can't even bitch to him about it.

And the bread I bought to have with/as dinner is stale.

I am considering retiring to my bed and refusing to leave it until things have improved. I may be some time.

Round up of my week

noreply@blogger.com (Nicole) — Sat, 18 Jun 2011 15:18:00 +0000

Because I know you're all just dying to know... (And because I have the memory of a sick goldfish, and if I don't take a note of it, I'll forget.)

It's been a busy week:

Monday was a bank holiday, and it seems oh so long ago.
Tuesday was making up for Monday having been a day off but otherwise a normal day at work.
Wednesday there was a big work event (I still have blisters from having to wear heels and dress up. I need new shoes. And new clothes.)
Thursday was manic. I think I was at my desk for a total of about ten minutes. A friend was up from Nice, so we had lunch. (Yes, manic work patterns are tempered by the sanctity of the lunch break in France.)
Friday we had leaving drinks for a friend at work, followed by dinner with a variety of artists - mostly from Nottingham. Which was awesome, if a little random.

Now, it's pissing it down - it's been alternating absolutely heaving with rain with periods of bright sunshine and blue skies today. Schizophrenic weather. But I feel all virtuous and grown up and rich, having done my tax return for 2010-11 already. Not only did my teeny jewellery business actually make a teeny profit last year (which has, of course, already been spent - on Eddie Izzard, amongst other things) but the tax people owe me much money. Which means I can have my new laptop earlier than I thought! Success!

Photos of Paris during a sunny phase this afternoon:

The Emperor's Baguette

noreply@blogger.com (Nicole) — Tue, 14 Jun 2011 17:52:00 +0000

Yes, I am fully aware of the innuendo implicit in la baguette de l'Empereur (The Emperor's Wand *nudge**nudge**wink**wink*) But that is genuinely the name of the bread I bought today.

I assumed that the woman in the bakery this evening was just correcting a mistake in the name of the bread I wanted (a common occurence, given the variation in some types of French bread is very slight, occasionally only discernible to the baker themselves, seems to me) when I tried to order a baguette à la tradition this evening.

"No,no, Madame, this is the Emperor's baguette," she says, somewhat dramatically.

"Ah, I'm sorry." It looks like a baguette à la tradition to me. "I'll take it anyway."

She duly wraps it in a special blue Emperor's Baguette bag - at which point I notice the corresponding sash the poor woman is having to wear. I pay whatever extortionate price a baguette à la tradition with extra fancy naming commands (€1.20, if you're really interested) and take my freshly baked, warm baguette and wait for my change.

She produces, declaiming dramatically into the cupboard under the counter, a spoon. Apparently, if one is to eat the Emperor's Baguette, one must have jam. And if one is having jam, one must have a jam spoon. Et voilà. I am now the proud owner of a jam spoon. And an Emperor's Baguette to have with dinner. (Chorizo, white bean and tomato stew, in case you're interested. I knew you would be.)

Pictures, just because it entertains me greatly, and this is my blog:

L'amour est dans le pre

noreply@blogger.com (Nicole) — Mon, 13 Jun 2011 18:11:00 +0000

Those of you who read my Nice blog may remember my enthusiasm (roundly mocked by pretty much everyone) for L'Amour est dans le pre - a programme about the meeting of minds (or not) between farmers who frankly lack any sort of social skills and the somewhat similarly insane city dwellers who apparently like the idea of going out with them.

Tonight is the first episode of, I think, a new series! It is either that, or a "What are they doing now" special - either is good.

Those of you in France should watch M6 in about 40 minutes. The rest of you will have to live without that pleasure, though I may decide to write more about it once it's over. And, of course, if it's a series, I shall happily keep you updated as True Wuv progresses in rural France.

(The other highlight of my TV week is the recent discovery that TF1 shows House in English. They sound wrong in French - though not as wrong as the French Simpsons, which is truly a crime against humanity.)

If I have timed things right, my dinner should be ready soon - I am having leek, carrot and sweet potato soup with freshly baked baguette. I am starving. (I know you all wanted to know that.)

ETA: It's a new series! Sweet! (Also, dinner was good.)

Photos of Paris

noreply@blogger.com (Nicole) — Sat, 11 Jun 2011 13:42:00 +0000

For my own amusement, I've been looking back at photos I've taken in the past of Paris. Some are in black and white, some are in colour, but these are some of the photos I liked best:

I can move again!

noreply@blogger.com (Nicole) — Mon, 06 Jun 2011 15:27:00 +0000

Osteopaths are genius. This one cracked my spine, scared me by nearly breaking my neck, and fixed all the pain and weirdness when I walk.

If I wake up paralysed tomorrow, I reserve the right to take all this back and sue her for everything she's got (which, judging by the price she charged me, will be significant!) - but for this afternoon, it's bliss. My neck turns and everything! And I have no more pins and needles in my arm and hand! Amazing!

Catch up on my day (boring, but it's my blog, so hush...)

noreply@blogger.com (Nicole) — Sun, 05 Jun 2011 18:51:00 +0000

Today was a ridiculously lazy day today, it was bliss. I sat in the park reading in the sunshine all afternoon! (Bill Bryson's Neither Here Nor There, in case you were wondering...)

I had meant to do more energetic and cultural things - today is the first Sunday of the month, on which lots of Paris museums which normally charge an entrance fee let everyone in for free. (Like the Louvre and the Musee d'Orsay, amongst others.) But I've done my back in and it hurts when I move (or sit down, or lie down or stand still, but mostly when I walk), so sitting in the park was about all I'm up to at the moment - I'm hoping to find an osteopath tomorrow who will work a miracle.

And I can smell dinner now - it's been cooking for ages (beef tomato and potato stew) and I'm starving, so I am unilaterally deciding it must be ready. Have a good week!

(I have photos of baby ducks that I might upload if I can get my phone to function properly. I've been putting off dealing with the horror that is French mobile phone buying so far, but it's getting silly now. Must be brave and go to the phone shop...)

Versailles

noreply@blogger.com (Nicole) — Sat, 04 Jun 2011 10:24:00 +0000

My sister-in-law has been visiting this week, which provided the perfect excuse to go to Versailles on Thursday (a public holiday here in France, to celebrate the Ascension of Jesus - link goes to Wikipedia, in case you, too, were wondering what on earth the Ascension of Jesus was...).

We went out to Versailles, fully intending to look round the Palace. As did about eleventy-three billion other people. Unlike them, we didn't waste our day standing in a queue in the blazing sunshine, but decided to go straight to the gardens and have a look round. On weekends and public holidays in the summer (at least, this year), you have to pay to see the gardens, because they play music and the fountains dance to the music, so says the slightly misleading blurb. Charge was €8 per adult, with reductions for children, students, unemployed people, etc. (It appears they forgot to tell the tour companies they'd changed the policy this year, though - some very unhappy tour guides at the gates trying to buy tickets!)

There is one fountain that runs all day, which does indeed dance to the music and it's delightful. The other fountains are turned off for parts of the day, to save water. For the benefit of the reader who might be intending to visit, the big fountains run from 11:00 to 12:00 in the morning, with some of the smaller fountains running from 11:15 to 11:454, and then in the afternoon they all run from 15:30 to 18:00 in the afternoon, with the exception of the giant fountain to the right of the park, which only runs from 17:20-17:30.

This is important to know, so that you don't turn up at 12:00, needing to leave by 16:00. (Guess who did that?) On the other hand, if you were to have time constraints like us, it's not wasted money - the gardens are beautiful, and the fountains are gorgeous as works of art, even without the water running. We spent the whole day wandering around in the sunshine, looking at the various styles of garden (and judging them and their creators harshly, of course - some of them frankly were just not up to scratch ;-) ) and the amount of work that had gone into designing them, and clearly still went into maintaining them. Plus there was icecream.

Practical details before the photos, for those who find this page by googling "How do I get to Versaille from Paris" and the like:

Versailles is about 45 minutes outside of Paris, and you get there by getting an RER C train out to Versailles Rive Gauche. It is probably worth getting a return ticket (aller-retour), to avoid hvaing to queue at the other end to use one of the two un-broken ticket machines. (We didn't. We should have.) It costs €3.05 each way, per person. We got on the RER C at Invalides, but you can also get it from Champs de Mars, where the Eiffel Tower is, or Notre Dame, where the cathedral is. It is basically the most tourist-focused train line I've ever seen, but in a good way. (Apart from the accordion players who target it mercilessly. Please, please don't give them money. It only encourages them, and they shouldn't be there - the RATP do run auditions and give busking licences to proper musicians, to play in the metro and RER system - the guys on trains don't have them. They're just begging, and while you only have to see them once in your trip and so may think they're quaint and cute, those of us who live here have to put up with them all. the. time. Not so cute. And they vary wildly in talent. *shudder* Oh, do they vary.)

Once you get to Versailles-Rive Gauche (Versailles-Rive Droite is where the actual town of Versailles is, from memory - it's been a while since I was there, but it seemed a pleasant enough place to go, with slightly less tourists), you will have no trouble working out where to go, because there will be a million other people going in the same direction. In case, by some miracle, there aren't, come out of the station, cross the road, and turn right up the street. At the end of that block, look left. You should see a giant golden palace with some huge rusted steel curved pillars in front of it, hard to miss.

There are various people along the way advertising tickets for sale - these are ticket agencies, and it is up to you as to whether you join a queue there to buy a ticket from them, or join a queue at the Palace and buy a ticket there. The agencies cost more, but will presumably offer you some added benefits like a guided tour and the like. You will, in either event, have to queue to get in the Palace anyway (which is where we decided to abandon the going-inside part of the plan, having seen the size of the queue) - one slightly frazzled looking English-speaking woman standing in a very, very long queue said hopefully "it's moving quite quickly!" - I can only think she hadn't seen how far she had left to go... I hope she liked it once she got in!

Having decided that we weren't keen on spending the next couple of hours in a queue in the midday sun, we went straight to the gardens. Your normal Chateau de Versailles ticket will not get you into the gardens on weekends or public holidays - you will have to buy a separate ticket, or make sure you specify when you buy your palace tickets that you want one for the gardens too. It will cost an additional €8. Keep your ticket, because if you wander out of the palace grounds (say, down to the big lake at the bottom of the gardens, for a picnic lunch - I recommend this) you will need it to get back in.

And that's enough babbling from me, I think - pretty pictures follow, some with water, some without.

(I like ducks. That's why there are lots of pictures of them on this blog. Their lives are either very, very boring, or they're very stupid, so things are endlessly fascinating to them. Given that soggy bread seems to be a delicacy, I'm leaning towards the latter.)

Eddie Izzard in Paris

noreply@blogger.com (Nicole) — Thu, 02 Jun 2011 19:17:00 +0000

Jazz trumpeting chickens with banana skin lips, dinosaur churches and tyrannosaurus rex playing the ukelele.

We went to see Eddie Izzard yesterday, performing in French in glorious Boulevard de Sex, as he so aptly called it, in a small theatre with a whole bunch of French people, exploring the nature of god and the history of humanity. I've never seen him performing live before, let alone in French, and I was a bit concerned that either his or my French wouldn't be up to it, but it was an awesome, hilarious show. Bits of it, as you see from the start of this post, will stay with me for a long time - I'm glad I went, will go to see Izzard again (and was impressed with his French) and urge you all to go see him if he's in your town, too. (Whether he's performing in English or French.)

So, the details for those of you who want to go see him, possibly rashly taking my advice:

You have until 2 July 2011 to see him doing his show "Stripped" at the Theatre De Dix Heures (36 Boulevard de Clichy, 75018 Paris). Tickets cost €24 each, and the show is from 7pm until about 8pm (ish). FNAC has details in French and a way to buy tickets here.

FNAC also tells me that Izzard will be at La Cigale on 2 July at 8:45pm, if that works better for anyone finding this through Google...