...and a jump back!

After spending the month of November with my friend Erica in her home stay on the Right Bank, I am back in the Latin Quarter in my very own studio...finally! The housing search has been by far the most stressful part of my stay here in Paris, so a few weeks ago I made a much belated decision to consult a housing agency rather than wading through the unreliable, muddled and somewhat sketchy waters of Craigslist. So here I am, settling into my little home. All my favorite places from a few months ago are still totally accessible (the Jardin des Plantes, the market at Place Monge, my poissonerie), but now I also have a new part of the neighborhood to explore. Photos to come...

Thanksgiving in Paris and a return to blogging

As I've become a bit lax on the blogging front lately, I decided Thanksgiving was as good a time as any to recommit to the activity. Many friends from home, in asking how I celebrated the holiday from abroad, have wondered if French people show any interest in the Thanksgiving traditions. Well, the answer is no. The American day of thanks is essentially nonexistent here in Paris (alas, Christmas season has already been in full swing for a month.) Thankfully, I managed to have a very lovely Thanksgiving nonetheless. I was invited to dinner by an American friend whose family lives in Paris. The entire experience was à la française, to say the least, with the meal beginning at 9:30 pm, the turkey replaced by duck, the complete absence of anything pumpkin and the oh-so-French after dinner digestif. But the lovely array of food included stuffing, cranberry sauce and potatoes, so I'm not complaining.

It turns out many American Thanksgiving classics are readily available at a small grocery store called, you guessed it, Thanksgiving, so it's not too late for me to kick my pumpkin craving after all. The store sells quintessentially American goods (think Jif peanut butter, Philadelphia cream cheese, and yes, Libby canned pumpkin) at not-so-American prices. But hey, sometimes the holiday season calls for a splurge.

A jump across the Seine

For those of you who don't know, I've moved! As of this weekend, I am no longer living in my adorable apartment in the Latin Quarter, as I've switched over to the Right Bank and shacked up with my friend Erica in her home stay by Parc Monceau. It's a beautiful (and huge!) apartment in the chic Villiers area of Paris, and Erica's host mom was kind enough to rent me one of her many empty rooms (did I mention the apartment is huge?) for the time being.

Yes, just like the last apartment, this one is also temporary. Turns out finding a permanent place to live in this city is - how should I say this? - really freakin' hard. So I'll be staying here until I can finally find a home of my own. The details of my apartment search saga are complicated, boring and stereotypically French, but if you're interested, ask and I shall tell...

Stuff Parisians Like

Browsing through the site "Stuff Parisians Like" (which is likely the inspired French knock-off of the ever-popular American "Stuff White People Like"), I realized there are a whole lot of generalizations that people can make about Parisians - about the way they look, eat, talk and generally go about exuding an unmistakable air of Parisian-ness. To add to the site's somewhat impressive list, some of my own:

1) High heels. Parisians (well, Parisian women) love their talons. Whether it's in boots, pumps or terrifyingly fashionable designer heels (does looking at these make anyone else feel nauseous?), les femmes françaises seem totally at ease traversing the city streets with their feet a few inches off the ground. Whether it's a mark of style, power, or sexuality doesn't really make a difference. To me, it's all about looking (and feeling) confident.

2) Staring at strangers. There is no taboo in Paris about blatant and shameless staring. It's as if no one's maman ever bothered to nudge them to politely look away. ("Staring is rude, sweetie.") In fact, two of the city's most significant cultural institutions are essentially structured around the practice of people-watching. First off, the corner café, whose outdoors chairs are always positioned side-by-side to face the street. (If this is not so, it is likely not an authentic café.) And secondly, the métro, whose close quarters encourage, if not require, stranger-to-stranger eye contact. Perhaps this is why so many women wear heels - you never know when you're being watched (and judged.) In fact, you almost certainly always are.

Flirting with the fish man

One of my favorite things about living in Paris (or in any city, for that matter) is becoming a part of a neighborhood, or, in other words, creating a safe space against the chaotic and anonymous city life. And as I've mentioned, my current neighborhood in the Latin Quarter has enough local charm to go around. But it's the simple stuff, like knowing where to go to do my laundry, withdraw cash from the ATM or buy vegetables, that makes it feel like home.

And recently, it's been knowing where to go to buy my fish. As part of my recent commitment to cooking, I have begun to buy fresh fish at the poissonerie on rue Monge. The first time I went in, I bought swordfish (called espadon in French). A few days later, heading back for salmon, the fish man quickly recognized me and asked if I was back for more espadon. A week later, his memory was doubly impressive. Espadon ou saumon? he asked, with a neighborly smile. At that moment, I felt right at home in my little neck of the woods.

Hidden treasures on a Sunday stroll

Ok, so maybe they're not quite "hidden," but somehow Paris always seems to surprise me with it's nooks and crannies. This past weekend, with my visiting partner-in-crime Jared (at his best, see left), I walked more of the Right Bank than I ever have before. Though we started in my neighborhood in the Latin Quarter, we made our way across the river into the Marais, and then continued through the 10th arrondissement, a somewhat undiscovered (to me, at least) slice of the city that has a character all its own. During our long walk, we came across two very special spots:

1) The Marché des Enfants Rouges. Yes, that does translate to the "Market of Red Children," apparently so named for a nearby 17th-century school where the children wore red uniforms. More importantly, however, is the fact that it is the oldest food market in Paris, somewhat hidden from view on a quaint street in the Marais, and that it is a spectacle of all things delicious. It is a covered market, lined not only with stalls of fresh produce and meats but also with vendors selling freshly prepared plates of hot food. Jared and I waited in line for 20 minutes at the "bio" stall for a plate of chicken, rice and grilled veggies.

2) The Canal Saint Martin. And you thought the Seine was the only body of water running through Paris? Wrong. Along the banks of this canal in the 10th arronidissement are charming cafés, wine bars and shops. The area feels offbeat, artsy and slightly forgotten - Jared described it as "bobo" (bourgeois bohemian.) All that aside, the highlight for me was the glass of chardonnay and piece of chocolate cake I ordered at one of the cafés on rue Dieu (and yes, it was heavenly - pun intended.)

New fruits for the New Year

The primary difference between Rosh Hashanah in the United States and Rosh Hashanah in France? Fruit. When I was invited to Friday night dinner by a generous Jewish couple from the American synagogue in Paris, I didn't realize I was in for an education in every fruit known to man from ripe juicy figs to large, seeded green grapes. After all, in the States, we pretty much stick to apples and honey.

But, guess what? Pomegranate seeds go well with honey, too! And so do dates, figs, grapes, cactus (watch out for the prickles!), and jujubes...yes, jujubes. Most of these fruits are native to North Africa, and because a majority of French Jews are of North African origin, they've made their way into Rosh Hashanah ritual. They are each dipped in honey and eaten one by one, with a prayer recited for each, before the main meal is served. Quite an education in French Jewish culture, not to mention obscure fruit vocabulary. L'shanah tovah!

Growing pains

Living in France is a great opportunity for cultural, intellectual and social growth. But this growth comes along with more than a few aches and pains that are largely attributable to the country's notoriously complex bureaucracy. Any American who has lived in France for an extended period of time can tell you stories about the long lines and grouchy fonctionnaires that awaited them when they went to get their carte de séjour, the document that most long-term visitors are required to obtain upon their arrival. (Not to worry, I'll have mine once I present an original copy of my birth certificate along with about 100 other documents - and even then, who really knows.)

The other constant thorn is my side is the apartment search. Paris is no dream town for those of us trying to live on a budget, particularly when it comes to the housing market. It's a constant push and pull between the size of the apartment and its location. So what's better: a (relatively) spacious two-bedroom place surrounded by Chinese food restaurants on the outskirts of town, or a cramped one-bedroom with no oven and a mini-fridge that is just steps away from cafés, bars and charming cobblestone streets? You tell me. Either way, it's going to be hard to leave my little haven in the Latin Quarter (see photos above).

An amazing account from a Times journalist

For those of you who don't know, my job here in Paris consists largely of selling rights to publications around the world to use content from The New York Times. (This is, I have finally figured out, the definition of syndication!) While the work does not really afford much opportunity for me to do my own writing, it does allow me to deal directly with the writing of others - and some pretty amazing writing, in many cases, considering it is the writing of Times journalists and bloggers.

Point being: I figured I would post here when I come across particularly remarkable pieces, even though I am sure many of you are avid readers of The New York Times anyway and do not really need my help. But if you by any chance have not read war reporter Stephen Farrell's recent post on his blog, "At War," it is a must-read. It is a riveting account of his near-death experience in Afghanistan and a sober, humanizing reminder of why we need journalists in war zones - and why it is such a tragedy that they must be there in the first place.

Three good things

I am fortunate to be living for the month of September in one of the most charming neighborhoods in Paris, on a quaint pedestrian passageway that is flanked on both ends by lively, café-filled streets. My apartment is located in the 5th arrondissement, known as the Latin Quarter, which is regarded as the city's intellectual center, having been home historically to many famous literary and philosophical minds - and today to its large student population. While I admit I've had less time to explore than I would like (I spend my days in front a computer in the office), I have discovered three wonderful things about my quartier:

1) The market in Place Monge. Several times a week, vendors of produce, poultry, flowers, fish, cheese and charcuterie flock to the square that is just minutes away from my apartment. This past Sunday, feeling a bit too amateur for the fish or meat stalls, I opted instead for fresh fruits and vegetables and some eggs (see above photo.)

2) Morning runs in the Jardin des Plantes. Imagine this: in less time than it took me to walk from 303 to Pottruck, I can make my way over to the beautiful and expansive botanical gardens that are a focal point of my neighborhood . Needless to say, I have found my morning running spot.

3) Warm evenings in the Place de Contrescarpe. This lovely square at the head of the rue Mouffetard has got to be one of the most pleasant places in the city for a late summer evening drink. Cafés with outdoor tables line the square on all sides - lively, intimate and so French it's almost a cliché.

Welcome!

Welcome to my blog, La Vie en Prose! I have just arrived in Paris, the beautiful and awe-inspiring (but, to be fair, sometimes gray and chilly) city where I will be spending the next ten months. This page will chronicle the moments - both big and small, good and bad - that shape my time here. It will also allow me, through sharing stories, photographs and links, to feel closer to friends and family back home. Please read and comment!