Paris: C'est La Vie

C'est la vie. 
That's life. 
And that, my friends, is the motto of the Parisians.

Have you ever experienced the pure bliss of observing the way Parisians talk, walk, laugh, eat and live? 
On the metro and walks along the Seine, by spending time with locals and trying to understand them, and from the tables of quaint boulangeries in St. Germain, I have watched many a Parisian come and go.

When a Parisian drinks wine, he doesn't pour it down his throat. He indulges all his senses to smell it, scrutinise it, delight in it. 
One evening during a loud dinner at a popular restaurant, I caught a glimpse of two locals opening a bottle of red. As if on cue they stopped talking and watched in a respectful reverie as the ruby contents spilled into their glasses. When they took their first sip it was as if the noise surrounding them had quietened to a whisper, allowing them three seconds of savouring silence. Peace in the midst of pandemonium.

Bread is consumed with gusto, the crunchy baguettes broken by hand and plastered with butter. On the way to mouths, crumbling pieces are often taken on a detour through the air as a point is being emphasised. The French speak as much with their facial expressions as with their hands, their conversations lined with movement and emotion.

Bread, cheese, chocolates, cakes and cooked meals are troublingly tasty, yet the French look amazing - a fact confirmed by a study from the Daily Mail. 
This might explain how four of my Dutch colleagues got stuck in an elevator in a Paris hotel by exceeding the weight limit. After ringing alarms, blinking lights and high-pitched yells from the flustered receptionist, a few (possibly awkward) moments were spent inside the confined space to calculate, perhaps a trifle too late, the allowed average weight per person. It came to a mere 70 kilograms.

Delicious Dishes

The French like slow mornings, and streets and offices are graveyards before 9 am. An hour is set aside each day for lunch laced with tranquil talking, and coffee breaks at the bustling coffee stations are essential to a workday. 
"Work hard, play hard" is the French's motto and it is made categorically clear that you will not find anyone in the office during the month of August when all will be enjoying a four-week summer holiday.

Parisians love Paris. Parisians love France. 
They enjoy the city as much as any of the wide-eyed tourists and will list a million things for you to do and see in their beautiful city.
One of the first sentences I was taught by a colleague was: "C'est beau la France." Beautiful France. 
The sentence bounced back-and forth between our mouths like a tennis ball at the Roland Garros until I could pounced "beau" in a satisfactory manner. 
"C'est beau la France. C'est beau la Paris."

When I attempted sliding the corners of my perfectly pronounced "beau" like a puzzle piece into my new home in the Netherlands, I was stopped short.
"What are you doing?" my colleague demanded with an appalled look. "C'est beau la Paris!" he declared.
"Have you ever been to Maastricht?" I asked hotly, defending my new hometown with vigor.
He smiled and shook his head, as if the thought alone was preposterous. "Look," he waved his hands, "you don't have to date a hundred people to find true love. When you find it, you know it. C'est beau la Paris."
And that was that, clear and simple.

In Paris, things are straightforward, transparent, simple. You say it as it is and you take things as they come. 
When an ache started scratching at my throat, I mentioned (not complained, mentioned) to a colleague that I might be catching a cold. He looked at me with a clear expression and replied with a shrug: "That's life."
No benevolent words wrapped cautiously in tissue-papered empathy. Just clear, exposed fact. It was refreshingly austere.
The next day, my cold was gone.
C'est la vie. 
That's s life. And life is good in beautiful Paris.

C'est la vie on the Seine

La Beau Paris

Paris: How to Learn French

These days I feel as though I'm standing with one foot in the Netherlands and one foot in France. I am constantly travelling between these two counties and while I'm loving every second, juggling two new unknowns does add a certain level of complexity to everyday life. It is therefore no wonder really, that I feel frozen in an indecisive vacuum between two languages: Dutch and French.
Just call me Belgium (and throw in a few chocolates while you're at it).

Home #1: Maastricht, The Netherlands

Home #2: Paris, France

When I arrived at our French office two months ago, I realised with a jolt that I could not understand a single word of the free-flowing conversation surrounding me. Because after you have casually thrown around a few "Bonjours", whatever else you have been taught in French class a gazillion years ago (introducing your family members and ordering apples from the market) is really of no interest to the grave gentlemen around the boardroom table.

Long gone were the days where my friends and I happily took turns ordering "Quatre. Vin. Chaud. S'il. Vous. Plait" at the ski-slopes of Chamonix and danced with delight, as much at the spicey gluhwein thrust into our gloved hands as the fact that we could speak la language. As I took my seat at the boardroom table it dawned on me that gluhwein was alas not consumed during business hours, in the summer, in quantities of four. My hopes to dazzle my French peers faded like a departing metro train into an underground tunnel.

Fond Memories

At the office I continuously fretted about not being able to find the bathroom through the maze of office cubicles. My concerns were completely unwarranted of course, since I could not for the life of me find a water cooler, vending machine or tap. I needed to learn French before I suffered from dehydration, or worse; mutism.

Voila: My Guide to Learning French was born.

Setting the Scene

Imagine finding yourself in a different country: 
Different place, different modes of transport, different weather, people, time zones, currency, fashion and food.

Now take away your ability to communicate in your first language. 
If it is Afrikaans, bury that accent in a deep, dark place - especially those harsh g's and r's that will cause the French to offer you a throat lozenge with a pained expression.

Take away the ability to communicate in your back-up, always present, everyone-can-speak-it-and-at-the-very-least-understand-it language. English is not on the 101 things the French like A Million things the French like list. 

Pronouncing the "r"

Completely dispose of the way you pronounce a proper English/American "r". You will not be able to pronounce 90% of French names, and consequently come across as an offensive foreigner, if you nostalgically cling to that "r".

If you are Afrikaans-speaking and used to "brei", dig back deep to the age of 2 when you pronounced "rooi ribbok ram" as "ggg-ooi ggg-ibbok ggg-am", which left your parents in a frenzied state of worry and your siblings howling with laughter at your speech defect. 
Forget every expensive speech lesson you have consequently taken and use that "ggg" sound instead of an "r".

The Ideal 3-Step Plan

Write down your ideal, optimistic plan of how you will learn French. 
Mine looked like this:

1. Take French lessons.
2. Listen to French music.
3. Bask in the ambiance of the French that is being spoken and soak it up.

Now, snap back to reality. 
Scrutinise your work and social calender for the next year and honestly ask yourself if you will be able to fit in extensive (and expensive) French lessons twice a week. Search the internet to see if you can indeed learn a new language by simply listening to it (I'll save you the time: You can't).

The Realistic 10-Step Plan

Revise your ideal plan to a realistic, workable plan.
My new plan consisted of:

1. Take French lessons.
2. Listen to French music.
3. Bask in the ambiance of the French that is being spoken around me and soak it up.

1. Use a French dictionary. Reading the words out loud is almost as entertaining as reading a Marian Keyes novel.
2. Read French newspapers. Refer to nr 1.
3. Read signs on the metro. Refer to nr 1.
4. Listen to random people's conversations. Refer to nr 1.
5. Listen to colleagues' conversations. Refer to nr 1. Or use Google Translate to avoid paging frantically while whispering the word to yourself in a demented manner.
6. Order food in French. Warning: Only attempt if you don't have a sensitive stomach.
7. Remember at least 1 new French word per day.
8. Use post-its and label items at home in French.
9. Think out loud... In French. Although I usually get stuck after "J'ai faim".
10. Get a French boyfriend. According to reliable sources this is the best way to learn French expressions (and kissing).

Metro Station Reading

One French word per day might not seem like much, but after a year I am hoping to go wild and boldly ask for directions to the bathroom.

Bonne chance! To all of us. 
But especially to the French who will have to endure us struggling, garbling, annoyingly persistent foreigners who want to learn their beautiful language.

Disclaimer: 
The possibility does exists that, in the future, the title of this blog post might be altered to "How NOT to Learn French".

Paris: Sauntering along the Seine

Because there is so much to do in Paris, I am dedicating one more blog post to the sights of the city. Ok maybe two more...

When the sun is out and the flowery scent of spring fills the air, a walk along the Seine is the perfect way to spend a Saturday. 
During a weekend in April, the sun shone bright in the indigo sky and I decided to start my journey at the Arc de Triomphe and walk along the Champs Elysees, from where I planned to saunter along the Seine and soak up the spring rays.

Of course, (sunny sky) looks can be very deceiving in Europe and I had not yet taken two strides when I started fumbling around in my bag for my hat, scarf and gloves. The wind was freezing!

The streets were dotted with tourists and at the Arc de Triomphe I had to fight my way through a crowd of Chinese tourists to get a view of the 50 m high arch, which was built in honour of Napoleon. This area in Paris is called Etoile, because the twelve straight avenues that meet at the Arc du Triomphe resembles the form of - you guessed it - a star.

The Champs Elysees is the line that connects the Arc de Triomphe perfectly with Cleopatra's Needle and the smaller Arc de Triomphe du Carrousel, situated at the Louvre. Both arches were designed in 1806, but the construction of the smaller Arc de Triomphe du Carrousel took two years, while the Arc de Triomphe d'Etoile was only completed 28 years later. 

Arc de Triomphe d'Etoile

Arc de Triomphe du Carrousel

After a few stops, to intermittently gawk at the Parisian way of parking (commonly referred to as "vandalism" in other parts of the world) and taking stock of my fingers to ensure I hadn't lost one to frostbite, I reached the Seine. Displays of books, paintings and postcards lined the streets and everyone seemed to be out and about enjoying the clear, albeit chilly, day.

La Seine

I sauntered across Love Lock Bridge, where couples go to declare their everlasting love for each other by fastening a lock with their names to the bridge and dropping the key into the depths of the Seine; thereby forever locking their love in the City of Love.
It's an incredibly romantic gesture, but I was quite intrigued when I spotted a combination lock among the glistening metal. A one-night stand perhaps?

Love Lock Bridge

I meandered over to the Shakespeare and Co across from the Notre Dame and stopped dead in my tracks in front of the window. There, through the window of the old bookstore in Paris, Nelson Mandela himself peered out at me from amongst the books. Well, from the cover of a book at least.

But it might as well have been him in person, because whenever you see something close to your heart and home in a foreign country, it makes you want to drag a random stranger towards it and shout in a crazed fashion: "Look! He is South African! And I am South African! And I have a friend who shares a birthday with him on 18 July." (This you add just to show off your awesome friends and date-storing capabilities). "And now we're both here in Paris! Isn't that amazing!?" Then you would add a local South African word like "Lekker" or "Shozaloza" just to emphasise your point.

I didn't shout and point, of course.
Because I might have been locked up by La Police and forbidden to go within a mile of the Shakespeare and Co bookshop. And I was curious to browse and see the interior, which was fantastically authentic with murky reading corners and creaking shelves (delightful) and stairways (disconcerting).

Shakespeare and Co

Next to the bookstore, Square Rene Viviani bustled with children and couples. The day had finally awoken to the realisation that it was in fact supposed to be spring, and a warm breeze wrapped itself around the small garden.

Square Rene-Viviani

There I enjoyed lunch in the shade of a tree and was only interrupted when French tourists approached me to ask "a Parisian" for directions.
"I'm a South African!" I hollered. And just to emphasise my point: "Eish!"

Paris: A Weekend Visit

One sunny Friday afternoon in October 2012, some of my dearest friends and I packed the car after work to trade the hustle and bustle of Jozi for a girls weekend in Parys. Parys on the Vaal, that is.

Parys is a treasure of a town, quietly tucked away in the Freestate but perfectly situated for a break from the Joburg city life. 

You have to wonder, however, if the German surveyor who was reminded of Paris, the capital metropolis of France, when he dupped the small town on the Vaal, had the epiphany in the early hours of the morning. Possibly during a lunar eclipse, a Paulaner Weissbier draught jovially clutched in each hand. 
Because Parys on the Vaal and Paris on the Seine are worlds apart (excuse the pun).

Parys and Paris

Nonetheless, Parys is a picturesque break-away town and our girls weekend was full of scrumptious meals at the local restaurants, cocktails next to the Vaal and lots of laughs. We explored the numerous antique stores and promises were made to return early in 2013 with bigger wallets and a Venter sleepwaentjie or two, much to the delight of the antique store tannies of Parys.

Painting Parys Red

Savouring a glass of red wine and peering out over the dark waters of the Vaal in October last year, I never would have guessed that I will be sipping "un verre de vin rouge" during a weekend visit to Paris. On the Seine, that is.

However, six months after our Parys expedition, I unexpectedly found myself in Europe at the same time as friends from home who travelled to Paris on holiday. Therefore I jumped at the chance (and onto a train) to visit the city for the weekend. 

Friday after work I drove to Liege to catch the train to Paris via Brussel-Zuid and was immediately notified that my car had crossed the Netherlands-Belgium border when the "Uit" road signs changed to "Sortie". The smooth and shiny highway of minutes before, instantly started to resemble the M1 in Joburg South, much to my alarm as my French vocabulary had not yet progressed to recognise warning signs such as "Watch out for the mammoth potholes!"

Here's a tip when travelling to or through Brussels: Brussel-Zuid and Bruxelles-Midi are one and the same station. It might not sound like much of a tip, but believe me, it is. 
Especially when, someday, you find yourself on a high-speed train, suitcase eagerly clutched in one hand and train ticket in the other, and you realise with impending unease that Brussels has not one, but three train stations: Noord, Centraal, and Zuid. 
And your ticket states in bold lettering that you have exactly three minutes to get to your next train at Bruxelles-Midi station. 

Do not, under any circumstances, assume that "Midi" and "Centraal" are the same station. Because they are not. This is just a cunning ploy devised to confuse all travellers who aren't fluent in both French and Dutch. In other words anyone who was not born and raised in Belgium. 

Brussel-Zuid / Bruxelles-Midi Station

Having finally found the correct train at the correct station, I arrived at Paris Nord in no time. 
How wonderful to visit friends from home in the incredible city of Paris! 

The rest of the weekend passed in a wonderful haze of wandering through cafe-lined streets and strolling along the Seine, catching up on the Jozi news, picnicking in the Jardin du Luxembourg, shopping in Rue du Rivoli, drinking cafe creme and eating pain au chocolate and Amarino ice cream.

We explored the odds and ends found at the Puces antique market, gazed at breathtaking Monet paintings at Musee d'Orsay (much to our surprise, the museum was free because we went on a Sunday!), and walked along Promenade Plantee - an elevated garden overlooking the city, dotted with locals going for a run or walking their dogs.

Paris Pleasures

On Sunday afternoon I took the train back to Liege and by 8 pm I was back at home in Maastricht. 
Visiting Paris for the weekend was such an adventure!
So whether you are visiting Fieterjasies antiques on the Vaal or sightseeing on the Seine, a weekend breakaway to Parys/Paris will always be a memorable event when meeting up with friends.

Paris: Slow mornings

After two weeks in France, which consisted of many small, but hair-risingly strong cups of coffee, loads of foreign soft-on-the-ear words, and plenty of people watching, I can safely say that most Parisians are not morning-people. 

On weekends the streets are quiet and empty before 8 am, and even the cafe's along the Champs-Élysées stand bare and desolate in the early-morning rays until people start to trickle in at 10 am. Of course, with the spring sun sailing in the sky until 9 pm, the streets are crowded until way past my bedtime and festive music usually drifts through my window until after midnight.

A Cafe on the Champs-Élysées at 9:30

In the mornings I need at least two cups of coffee and no labour-intensive activities for the first couple of hours, before I start to feel more like a human and less like a puppet without its strings. In Joburg, sitting in my car, sipping on my second cup of coffee and staring at the traffic that snaked into oblivion on the M1 South, was the perfect wake-me-up recipe.

In Paris, though, the coffee required to zap me to life is somewhat of a challenge. Or rather, the milk lacking from the coffee. You see, French coffee is amazingly aromatic, full of flavour and strong - quite surprisingly so, considering that you only get a drop in a cup the size of a thimble. But the French mostly drink their coffee without milk. Therefore, should you specifically ask for "café au lait", you often get "ne pas lait" or milk-powder, which is worse than no milk at all.

Because I cannot count on having my two cups of coffee before the start of the day, the slow-start lifestyle of the French suits me perfectly. 

Working hours at my new company are flexible, but everyone arrives between 9 am and 10 am and often only leaves the office after 6 pm. This seemed very late to me at first, because in Jozi I would rarely leave the office after 5 pm, unless there is a looming deadline. Then, of course, we would all leave before 5 pm the following day. However, if you take into account that the sun only drops from the Parisian sky at 9 pm during the spring, leaving the office at 6 pm is  relatively early and you can still catch plenty of sun-rays after a hard day indoors.

The past week I had to catch the RER to Lognes and when I boarded the train at 8 am, I relished in the silence that engulfed the passengers. Everyone boarded the train in silent respect for the "early hour" and peacefully peered out the windows, read the morning paper or stood with closed eyes (possibly praying that we arrive safely?) for the duration of the journey. I either (tried to) read the paper (i.e. looked at the pictures and tried to form sentences with the words I recognised) or watched the people in their sleep/pray mode.

On the RER

I even managed to find a little corner shop in Paris where I was offered coffee with (real) milk! With a hot cup of coffee, a chocolate croissant and the tranquility of the RER, I was wide awake and ready to face the day when the train pulled into the Lognes station 40 minutes later.

A good thing too, because I had forgotten to ask for directions the previous day and had no idea how to get to the office..

Paris: Sightseeing by Bicycle

What to do and where to start when you are in Paris for the weekend? Why not rent a bicycle and explore the city from the surprisingly comfortable seat of a European bike! The Velib bicycles are available from numerous locations and with over 440 km of cycle paths throughout Paris, it’s the easiest and most affordable way to get around.

On the spur of the moment I decided to book a bicycle group tour with Blue Bike Tours to see the major sights and learn of their history. Luckily there was a (bicycle) seat available and at 2:15pm our tour guide, Hava, met our group at platform 20 at Gare d'Austerlitz. All seven of us received a blue bicycle with a French name and off we pedalled to explore the city.

The weather was crisp and the wind cold, but the sun shone warmly and the streets were crawling with tourists and locals wanting to make the most of the beautiful day.

Cathédrale Notre Dame

Our first stop was at the Notre Dame de Paris, French for “our lady of Paris”. The Notre Dame, which is currently celebrating its 850^th year, is my favourite building in Paris. I love the grandeur of this church and the impeccable detail of the exterior with the gargoyles glaring down at the onlookers.

Cathédrale Notre Dame

 If you look carefully, you’ll notice that the three arches at the entrance are all different, with the right arch being the original Gothic-style entrance. The original gargoyles are the long-necked ones parallel to the ground, and not the little creatures sitting upright at the corners. The word “gargoyle” comes from the French word gargouille, “throat” in English, and was named as such because of the gargling noises their throats make as water whooshes through it. Yes, besides guarding the church from evil spirits, these gargoyles also serve as waterspouts!

Centre Pompidou

This building you either love or hate. When it comes to building design, I am not a creative, artistic visionary who understand the concepts of space and environment interaction. Therefore, the Pompidou Centre reminds me of a colourful hamster cage (that is in dire need of its weekly spring clean) with tunnels for the hamsters to scurry along on the outside.

However, I was fascinated by the atmosphere surrounding the Pompidou. People flocked to the area in hordes to enjoy the vibey music of street artists, wander through the streets and shops, or lay staring up at the hamsters scuttling around in the Pompidou tunnels. So I took a walk back the following day to where kids played and couples sat hand-in-hand around the pond with the moving sculptures. What a vibe - I loved it! I’ll also be visiting the Pompidou this week for an exhibition, so who knows – maybe the building will worm its way into my heart eventually.

At the pond outside Centre Pompidou

Musée du Louvre

You can spend a whole day in the Louvre and still not get to see everything, but it is definitely worth a visit. I was lucky enough to visit the Louvre back in 2006 and I managed to get a glimpse of the Venus de Milo and Mona Lisa, and yes – I also thought the Mona Lisa would be a lot bigger :)

Musée du Louvre

We cycled past the green Jardin des Tuileries; past numerous joggers out for an afternoon run, past kids playing and people sitting in the shade, reading. Pure bliss.

Cleopatra's Needle

The Paris Needle, a gift from Egypt to France, is located at the Place de la Concorde. Its twin brother is still located at the Luxor Temple in Egypt, because in the 1800's it took years to transport the one 23 m needle to France.

The Place de la Concorde, where Louise XVI and Marie Antoinette were guillotined before the erection of Cleopatra's Needle, is one of two places in Paris where your insurance will have to pay 50% if you are in a car accident - whether you are the guilty party or not. The other, is the Champs Elysees (no surprise there!).

Cleopatra's Needle

La Tour Eiffel

The Eiffel Tower is the most well-known structure in Paris, as well as the tallest (320 m) and most visited. It received the title as the tallest man-made structure in the world in 1889, snatching the title from the Washington Monument, and held it for 41 years (the longest period this title was ever held) until it was given back to the USA for the construction of the Chrysler Building in 1930. The Eiffel Tower also serves a useful purpose and is the host of broadcasting antennas. Interestingly, because of this addition, it is now taller than the Chrysler Building.

At night the whole tower lights up and every half hour the lights dance over the structure in an impressive display.

La Tour Eiffel

L'Hotel des Invalides

We cycled through a park that was jointly occupied by young guys playing soccer and older ones enjoying a game of boules, and came to a halt in front of Les Invalides, where old war veterans were hospitalised. Napoleon's tomb is located under the golden dome, which is painted with 10 kg of actual gold. At night, this building is particular spectacular and its lights can be seen from the famous Pont Alexandre III bridge.

L'Hotel des Invalides

After stopping at a market for lunch, our bicycle tour came to and end - 4 wonderful hours and 18 km later. I will definitely recommend exploring Paris by bike. And, since I was the very first South African to go on a Blue Bike tour, you'll just have to take my word for it :)

Breaking New Grounds

Paris: Chimneys

Bonjour mes amis!

I am in the heart of France, in the beautiful and magnificent city of Paris.

The weather has been lovely this week with crisp mornings and sunny afternoons; therefore I had to fight the crowds to see the spectacular sights that Paris has to offer (more about that later).

One of the many things I adore about Paris and that I find truly unique to the city, is the numerous chimneys sprouting from the buildings. They seem to pop up everywhere and frame the city with a picturesque ambiance.

Here are some pictures from my walks this week: