Promenade Plantee

When Brianne arrived, I kind of dragged her on some not so typical touristy events. The first was a Promenade Plantee with my photography club (the 2nd and probably more exciting adventure was in the Bois de Boulogne - my next post I promise). The promenade plantee is a 1.5km walkway known as the Viaduc des Arts. Back in 1859, this walkway was part of the Paris Strasbourg Railway Company and was an elevated railroad track from the Place de la Bastille to the eastern outskirts of Paris. In the 1980s the City started to question what to do with the old railroad tracks ... and in 1994 it was turned into a promenade plantee. I took a ridiculous amount of photos - hence photography club, but I tried to pick out my favorites ... mostly flowers :) Hope you enjoy!

I Don't Think We're in Paris Anymore ...

During Julie's visit we went to La Mosquee de Paris, it was a very interesting and different experience to say the least ... it was kind of like we traveled to Morocco for a couple hours. As we entered into the hamman, we were transported into the 1920s era of hammans (steam baths). In addition to the entrance of the hamman, we chose a package that included a gommage, massage, and mint tea. It was a lot of manhandling and nudity for my prudish self - I think I have seen enough boobies to last a lifetime! Although, it is definitely an experience I recommend, however, next time I will send my visitors to the hamman solo. Afterwards, all greased up and relaxed we indulged ourselves with a delicious Moroccan meal. Here are some pictures of the outside of the Mosquee and the restaurant area (obviously, you are not allowed to take pictures of the hamman).

How to Become Parisian in One Hour

On my birthday Julie, JB and I, went to a one man comedy show by Olivier Giraud called How to Become Parisian in One Hour. If you are ever in Paris, I definitely recommend that you check out the show. Currently, the show is every Tuesday & Wednesday at 20:30, at the Theater de la main d'or. Until then, here are some pointers from the show.

First and foremost, to be Parisian you must look super depressed and on the verge of suicide ... Life in Paris with miserable Parisians is just completely unbearable! (I think I'm a little oblivious to this overall depressive attitude around me as I'm still in awe of living in one of the most beautiful cities in the world. French people have a perception of Americans as always being HAPPY and SMILING, and I think I definitely satisfy that stereotype ... anyways, I rather be known as always happy over miserable and depressed.)

When at a restaurant it is important to understand that all waiters are miserable and pissed off because they have been waiting tables for their entire lives. Do not expect them to do much ... if you want to know the special of the day - read the board! Taxi drivers are just miserable old waiters; so don't expect any friendly conversation. To be a true Parisian, when taking a taxicab in Paris, if the bill is 9.90 hand the taxi driver 10 euros and wait for the change.

When shopping, don't say hello when you enter into a store, nobody cares about your presence and the same applies when leaving - no need to say goodbye. If you want everyone to know you are not a Parisian (or that you are an American tourist) than make sure to smile and say hello/goodbye. At the same time, do not ask the sales person for any help, they are not interested in being of any assistance. If you try something on, leave everything in a pile on the floor, it's the sales person job to clean up and put everything away.

Most importantly, to be a Parisian on the subway, again, you must look depressed and suicidal. Once you enter into the subway, find a seat, pick a point on the floor and stare at it for your entire journey all while maintaining your depressed expression. No matter what, do not give up your seat, not even for a pregnant lady - "you play you pay".

A Case of American Gluttony

Julie's arrival was celebrated with le plateau de fromage. As the server prepared our table for the cheese plate, he remarked that the plate was big. "Big" was a complete understatement! When the cheese plate arrived, Julie and I burst into laughter because we had enough cheese to feed a tiny army. Seriously, I have never seen such a humongous cheese plate in my life. They say French portions are small; I guess not when it comes to cheese.

My first thought was shit, what did we order ... I may not be able to afford this MASSIVE cheese plate, but, then the gourmandise set in and we started to enjoy. Once we realized that we weren't even going to make a dent in this cheese plate, we started wondering how we could bring all this cheese home with us, as we had enough cheese to last the week. A little embarrassed that the French may snub their nose at our request for a doggy bag, we debated different ways we could take all of this cheese home... umm, napkin & Julie's handbag?

As we were debating requesting more bread, the owner came and asked us if we were done with the cheese plate as others are waiting for it. WHAT!?! Oops!!!! :) Completely embarrassed, we burst out into laughter for a good ten minutes. I think we almost peed in our pants. The best part is that since we believed that this cheese was all ours, we didn't necessarily treat the cheese appropriately - oops. Part of us questioned whether the cheese was taken away from us because the owner thought we were eating too much ... he he he. I'm sure a not so friendly American comment was made behind our backs. Oh well, I will obviously not be returning to Les Deux Stations bistro populaire anytime soon.

Moral of the story, when you order le plateau de fromage in France, you serve yourself a portion of the cheese and then return the platter to the server. Only if we had remembered that gluttony is a sinful American trait maybe we would have saved ourselves from embarrassment.

For your viewing pleasure and a good laugh at Julie's and my expense, here is a photo of le plateau de fromage.

Fete de Ganesh

I have a mini obsession with all things Indian. I have bribed a few friends for Indian recipes and own ever spice needed to cook a classic Indian meal. Most of all, I secretly want a Hindu wedding. So when I heard about the Fete de Ganesh I knew it was something I could not miss! Three subway lines and 37 minutes later, I entered a section of Paris that was transformed into a mini India, for at least the next couple of hours.

Ganesh, one of the most widely celebrated Hindu deities, is the Remover of Obstacles and the Lord of Beginnings. Every year the Indian and Sri Lanka Tamil community celebrate Ganesh in the streets of Paris. Lucky Me! The event was three hours long and included coconut smashing, mini fires, and plenty of dancing. I took about 300 photos!

Ortel is a mobile company, so this is just advertising but I liked the costume.

Some Yolk & Oil

Generally, I am not a fan of mayonnaise I may even despise it. Sometimes I can't even get past the smell of it, so generally I avoid anything that looks saturated with mayonnaise. I remember a night out when a somewhat tipsy friend of mine decided to make toast and mayonnaise as a snack (or maybe it was miracle whip - even worse) I wanted to puke.

The other night at dinner with some American visitors of mine, I found myself eating mayonnaise with bread ... Sacre Bleu! Actually, the three of us were eating bread with mayonnaise while we were waiting for our meals. As most culinary inventions, it was an accident, we didn't realize it was mayonnaise at first.

Historically, mayonnaise originated in Spain but the French popularized it. There is fresh mayonnaise everywhere and it beats anything in a jar - sorry Hellmann's. Even the food processors come with a special blade for making mayonnaise. Now, I don't foresee that I will be eating bread and mayonnaise going forward but I have a newfound respect for the condiment. So for fun, I decided to make my own homemade mayonnaise.

Homemade Mayonnaise

1 egg yolk (must be extremely fresh)

dijon mustard

a mild vegetable oil

lemon juice

sea salt

Back to the 80s

My dreaded haircut. I must first disclaim that I have had a fear of hairdressers ever since the second grade when I went to get a trim and walked out of the salon looking like a little boy. I think it took me a good decade before ever entering another hair salon again. Through the years I have improved, however, I am still extremely wary. A couple of years ago when I was in Madrid, I was brave enough to get my hair cut and I don't speak a word of Spanish, but I still managed with hand gestures and all to get a great haircut. So how hard can it be in Paris when I can actually speak the language?

When I asked the salon if they had someone who cut curly hair well, I was told anyone who knows how to cut hair could cut curly hair. I tried to explain in my broken French that from my past experience that was not always the case. When I asked about low lights (which I have done numerous times in US) I received a look like I might be crazy and was told that it would be pointless to do such a process. Instead of explaining that low lights add depth and volume I decided to compromise to just a single color treatment a tad darker than my normal color. For my hair, a trim with some long layers and framed around my face, simple.

Pretty much my whole experience was spent at the sink, which lead to days of neck pain. Weird, yes, but when in Rome ... It wasn't until the next day when I was complaining of my neck pain did my mother inform me that, that was not the norm. Luckily, a trim was just a trim but for some reason I didn't get any long layers.

I asked for my hair to be styled frise (curly) not straight. Oh my, I can't even explain what they did but I walked out of the salon looking like I stepped out of a 1980s music video with a huge afro and the frizziest hair ever. Seriously! Oh, and the color was far from a tad darker I could join the Addams Family. Immediately, my hair went into its traditional bun. Next time, I think I might be better off going back to Madrid.