Paris No More, formerly Paris Encore

Here I am.

Not much to say about France. Now that I'm not there anymore, it doesn't interest me nearly as much. I've stopped browsing through French-themed cookbooks and travelogues at the neighborhood bookstores. I haven't responded emails from my Parisian friends and former students. I haven't been keeping up with my French tutorial CD. I haven't been listening to French radio. I haven't joined the Alliance Francaise in Berkeley or SF. The only Francophile thing I've done is rent Eric Roehmer's "A Tale of Springtime" and "A Tale of Summer." I watched the first one - but found the middle-aged male love interest (and his comb-over) so repulsive that it was difficult to watch his verbal seduction of the heroine. I returned the second video without even watching it.

I still think Paris is a great city. Amazing to visit and a wonderful place to live. And San Francisco definitely appeals to me less than it used to because I can't help comparing it to Paris. But now when S. talks about buying an apt. in Paris or moving back there temporarily, part of me feels like I've done that before (twice) and that I don't need to do it again. Another lesser part of me feels like I'm not brave enough to do it all again - to be an outsider, to struggle with the language and customs, to make new friends, and to job search (and interview) in French.

I worked very hard on Monday and Tuesday. I was rushing to meet a deadline - trying not to use up all the hours that had been allocated for the project. I left a bit early on Tuesday and was picked up by L. and E. who were both in town for business. We had drinks and apps at Slanted Door, which has moved to the Ferry Building and has great views of the bay and the best veggie spring rolls I've ever had with the possible exception of the ones L. makes at home. We took a walk down to Pier 33 to Butterfly, another restaurant that has moved from the Mission to Embarcadero. It has great views too and the menu looks interesting. The crowd looked a lot more bourgeois though.

We picked up S. back at the office and went to EOS in Cole Valley for dinner. It's an asian fusion small plates restaurant. The food was quite inventive and very flavorful. We shared the "warm Valrhona Chocolate Cardamon Souffle Cake" for dessert. (I'm sure I've mentioned Valrhona chocolate here before. It is very good French chocolate. We frequented the Valrhona shop in Galeries Lafayette - my favorite, the delicious little praline pigs. They always gave lots of free samples.) Our waiter looked like Keanu Reeves. The only disappointment was that I wanted a real cocktail and all they had was wine and sakitinis. Otherwise, a completely delightful experience.

Unfortunately L. was flying away the next morning. But E. had business in the East Bay so she came by the house Wednesday night. I'd been home alone all day and feeling pretty down (post-project letdown?), so I was very happy to see her. We went for Mexican at Cactus. I was virtuous and had a salad with dressing on the side. It had jicama in it, but nothing else particularly exciting. It was fun having E. in our neighborhood, although I felt a bit homesick after she left. There's so much happening at home that we're missing out on.

I was home again on Thursday. Ran some errands. Took a walk. But mostly I felt a bit sad. Drove into the city to see D., F. and M. I'd already seen F. and M. last Thursday and Friday night, respectively, but I hadn't seen D. in ages. He looked great and seemed to be doing well. S. joined us too. We met in this dive-y Tenderloin/Union Square bar with an owl theme. Owls everywhere. I finally had that cocktail, but since I was driving, just one. Everyone else had several beers and I stayed a bit longer than I really wanted to. That familiar feeling - being the only one who isn't buzzed. It's a drag.

I spent quite a bit of time with my sister yesterday. I took her for tacos at her favorite *authentic* taqueria (as opposed to the yuppie places in Rockridge). Then we picked up Al., brought him to his appointment, and picked A2. up from nursery school. We went to my house for a while and my sister looked at mysterious plants that have popped up in our newly planted vegetable garden. She said that they are from seeds in the compost and are probably watermelon or squash plants. I tuned in the classical station so that A2. could dance on my bed while watching herself in the full-length mirror. And then we picked Al. up from his appointment and went to the bookstore and then to the frozen yogurt shop. All afternoon our conversation was rather careful. We were both very aware of the argument we'd had Sunday night and we both realized that we couldn't afford to be angry at each other.

The day with the kids tired me out so we stayed home Friday night.

On Saturday morning I went out for coffee and made a new friend, J., who it turns out I have a lot in common with. Then I went to the Farmer's Market and bought some peaches, cherries, & vegetables. I usually buy a dozen roses at the flower stand (two weeks ago, very fragant sterling silver roses, last week pale apricot roses.) But this time I bought stargazer lillies, calla lillies, delphiniums, and some other white blossoms I didn't catch the name of. Since our anniversary is on Thursday, I was trying to recreate the flowers at our wedding, but I was disappointed that I couldn't find any white roses or peonies.

We both worked in the garden yesterday. I deadheaded and composted roses while S. mowed the lawn and weeded. Later we walked over to College Ave and stopped in at "Scout" and "Maison D'Etre" - two shops that are filled with French knick knacks and housewares. I spotted my colorful flatware in Maison D'Etre for nearly twice what it goes for in Paris. I also saw scarfs that look just like the ones S. made the whole family for Christmas a couple of years ago selling for $150.

We went to the supermarket to stock up on coffee. We got French Roast, of course. And then I spotted white roses at Market Halls so I got a few for my bouquet.

Went to see Super Size Me last night. It was definitely thought-provoking and very entertaining. But as S. pointed out, the filmmaker ignored one the most important factors in the obesity debate - class. And surely being from West Virginia, one of the poorer states in the country, he can't be unaware of the difference that economics makes in this issue. Also, his girlfriend is a vegan personal chef. I'm sure that no poor or working class people are hiring her to prepare healthy meals for them.

The film goes on and on about how fat America has become and there are lots of those horrifying shots of obese people waddling around. (I always think of how these poor people must feel about being filmed for these shots.) The movie featured an heir to the Baskin Robbins fortune who has turned into a health food advocate and warns people that they shouldn't eat ice cream. (He blames ice cream for killing several relatives). But after the movie, we walked by Fenton's Ice Cream Shop. It was packed, with a line going out the door, and I couldn't help but notice that there wasn't a single fat person anywhere in sight.

Today we went to Walnut Creek. We were going to do a hike, but all we found was a sunny paved path. It was really hot and I wasn't feeling well, so we only walked for about 45 minutes. We happened upon another Farmer's Market. We bought a lot of strawberries and cherries. Then we wandered a bit around the town, which is a very strange place. It is pretty much a big, upscale outdoors mall with fountains and elaborate landscaping. One block features a huge Pottery Barn, a gigantic Williams Sonoma, and an enormous Restoration Hardware, one after another. On some days, a place like this would appeal to me in some way, but I was in no mood for it today.

We went to a few open houses within a couple of blocks of our sublet this afternoon. It is still hard for me understand how tiny little bungalows on postage stamp-sized lots in a city with terrible public schools, a gang problem, and a murder rate twice that of the much bigger city across the bridge, can be on the market for $650,000. Still, we did see a cute place with beautiful inlay wood floors, a lemon tree out the kitchen window, lots of built-ins/period details, a big front porch, beautiful landscaping, and just a couple of blocks from College Ave, that really did seem like a nice place to live. Most of the people looking seemed to be young couples, early 30s or 20s. I found myself wondering where they got the money.

Came home. S. made some blackened tofu. I made some rice with some of the veggie from the farmers market: spinach, sugar snap peas, and brocolli. This is too much detail. I'm bored just writing this. I'm going to bed.

As I mentioned in my last post, I don't consciously miss France all that much. For one thing, the weather here is unbelievable. We had a very long, very chilly, very grey Parisian winter. We've been here for 20 days and every single day has been warm and sunny.

Some people would miss the food, but I never particularly liked French food. The produce here is amazing. I actually enjoy grocery shopping here - I discover some new fruit or vegetable almost every day. And there's so much organic produce. Also, restaurants here are *much more* vegetarian-friendly. In fact, Northern California is probably the best place in the world to be a vegetarian, restaurant-wise.

The other thing I love here is the nature. Just walking around my neighborhood I feel like I'm in a (sub)tropical paradise. There are palm trees and calla lillies and lots of roses in the backyard. And just yesterday I noticed a fig tree and a lemon tree back there too.

I had a perfect San Francisco day yesterday. My friend L from Boston called and after chatting for a while, asked me if I wanted to get lunch. I had no idea he was in town.

We went to Slanted Door in the renovated Ferry Building. Great views of the bay, great food. As we waited for our table, we wandered around a bit. It is a foodie's dream - artisan cheese shops, olive oil tastings, speciality chocolate shops, a gelato stand, several bakeries, definitely plenty of French references. A baker called Miette (crumb), a restaurant called Lulu's Petite, another called Mistral Rotisserie Provencale, kitchen stores named Culinaire and Sur La Table.

Afterwards we drove around the Marin Headlands. I love this area. In one direction, there's nothing but green hills and sea. It seems as though you are hundred miles away from civilization. In the other direction, there's a magnificent view of the Golden Gate Bridge and the city. L paid $5 to drive back over the bridge and we headed to Golden Gate Park. We walked through the botantical gardens, admired the beautiful roses,

Crepevine
Loves Me, Loves Me Not

I'm not in Paris anymore. I don't miss it all that much. At least not consciously. But last night I dreamt I was riding a bike through the streets of San Francisco presenting a monologue (to myself, to an invisible camera?) called "Why San Francisco isn't Paris." And then I saw a TV in a store window playing a made-for-TV movie starring Richard Thomas a.k.a. John Boy of Waltons fame. He was in Paris, gazing at a nighttime view of Sacre Coeur. For some reason looking at him looking at Montmartre made me sob. Strange.

Day 2 - Pittsburg, PA to Effingham, IL, 535 miles

Finally beginning to see signs of spring. It was in the 70s today. The grass was very green in Ohio. And the shorter trees are showing green buds.

Day 1 - Pittsfield to Pittsburg, 545 miles

No sign of spring until we arrived in Pittsburg. Magnolias and forsythia are blossoming here.

Had dinner at an upscale fusion Carribean restaurant on 'the strip.' It was so trendy that I actually felt uncomfortable in my black Columbia jacket - the one I had to send home from Paris because I felt so underdressed everytime I wore it. We got lucky - it had been voted the best vegetarian restaurant in the city. It isn't vegetarian, but had a whole veggie section.

Vogue
Intrusive
French - amuse bouche
Church
Friendly

The futile wait for spring will continue tomorrow in the Northeast, a region that seems to have become a wasteland for any sort of sustained warmth and tranquility.

The week from hell is over and I've survived, but just barely. Somewhere in the middle of it, I got very sick and feverish and couldn't even keep down multivitamin fruit juice. It was too late to find replacements, so I just taught on an empty stomach while fighting alternating chills and fever for two days. I never get sick like that, so it kinda freaked me out. But I feel absolutely fine now.

I picked my parents up at Charles de Gaulle airport this morning. My train was delayed because of a suspicious package found at the Gare du Nord. Stressful. Paris is a rather tense city at the moment. We're on "red" alert. (Steve pointed out that it would be much more French to call it "bordeaux" or "framboise.") So far we've received threats from two different terrorist groups: AZF - who says they'll blow up ten different targets on France's rail system as well as three "symbolic sites," unless the French government pays a large ransom. And then there's the "Servants of Allah" who plan to "plunge France into terror" in the wake of Chirac's stand on the wearing of headscarfs in public schools.

Overnight, all the trash bins in the metro were screwed shut. Those that couldn't be modified were simply ripped off the wall. All week the metro has had delays due to suspicious packages. Every 5 minutes there's someone on the loudspeaker reminding us all to be vigilant. I'm not usually very vigilant on the metro. In fact, I often nap on the metro. Amazing that I've never been robbed.

Anyway, I dragged my poor parents through the Paris public transportation system. The RER and then two metro trains. They would have been much happier taking a cab. They are staying for 4 days and they brought 4 bags. (Though to be fair, they left some extra rooms to take home a few thing for us.)

They finally arrived at their hotel. I'd picked it out for them because it was near our apartment and I was worried they might not like it. The room was quite small as was comically illustrated when the porter tripped over my father and landed on the bed when my dad was trying to give him a tip. I tried to imagine who would pay $466 (the posted rate) a night for this little room.

We wandered around the Marais. We stopped at a cafe and then had lunch at Dix on our old street. (St. Croix de la Bretonnerrie). I managed to lock myself in the bathroom. There's no handle from the inside and it opens in. This is the second time this has happened to me in this restaurant. Finally the bartender had to "rescue me." Then we headed to BHV to buy my dad some shoelaces and to browse around the toy section. My dad promised one of the women in his office to bring her back a French man, so he picked up a couple of little figurines - one of a French peasant and one of a French prince. My parents got really excited about the stuffed animals. French stuffed animals are extremely cute.

Then my parents went back to their tiny room for a nap. I went to the market to buy some flowers for us and them. After, Steve was tired so I went alone to meet my parents for dinner. We didn't go far - just to a ordinary bistro near the Bastille. I was worried the food might not be good, but they ordered salades composees and a croque monsieur and thought they were fantastic. I just sipped a kir peche. I was still full from lunch. When I went to pay the bill, the waiter backed me into a corner and offered me coffee, dessert, and a kiss. I smiled gamely but said no to all three while trying to escape.

We wandered a bit around the Bastille. We looked in at the open kitchens at Beaufinger where kitchen workers were artistically arranging large quantities of shellfish on platters of ice and seaweed. Eventually one of the guys came out and pretending to try to steal my mother's umbrella. It was funny while it was happening, though it doesn't make much sense now.

Mom spied a pretty bag in the window of Dallayou. I agreed with her that it was nice and so dad insisted on buying one for each of us. The saleswoman took the time to show us all the features of the bag before wrapping it up very nicely.

On the way back to the hotel Dad spotted a hip little wine bar with red walls and soft lighting. It turned out to be a slightly funny choice since they were playing New york jazz and serving California wine. My dad struck up conversations with the bartender and the chic Parsienne sitting near us. They both spoke English very well. And we had a great time.

How sad that having my parents visit makes me realize that I really need to get out more.

After cancelling our trip to Corsica, we decided to go to Provence. In other words, we forfeited non-refundable roundtrip train tickets to Marseille in order to rent a car and drive almost as far south as Marseille. So instead of taking a 3 hour train trip to Marseille, we spent 7+ hours driving to Aix-en-Provence, which is about 20 minutes north of Marseille.

We drove all over Provence and apart from some small village carnivals, it was most definitely the off-season. If Arles and Avignon were nearly empty, I can only guess that Corsica would have been completely deserted. We saw almost none of what Provence is most famous for - lavender fields in bloom, the sunflowers that inspired Van Gogh, the famous Provencal sunshine. The fields of lavender were brown and dessicated, as were the endless vineyards. And it was grey every day.

I'd love to write about it, but I don't have the time. The next few days promise to be insanely busy. I have to write a progress report for each of my students and I honestly have no idea what to say about most of them. There are so many that I barely know some of their names.

"Coming back from America involved an acceptance of that which prehaps separates some parents from some childless people: the realisation that to be a good parent means you can't always do want you want. And more than that, to be a whole person means sometimes the selfish urges to be a rolling stone who gathers no moss have to be subliminated to the deeper biological urge to be close to your progeny and do the right thing by a small and loved human being." - The Loneliness of the long-distance dad, Martin Deeson, The Guardian.

Donna Hay
Deborah Warner's PowerBook - Fiona Shaw, Saffron Burrows
Change - James Prochaska
Lauren Slater
Ginny Graves Walking and Talking - Terri Hengesh, Keith Johnsgard
La Vallee Luxury Shopping Outlet Agnes B, Anne Fontaine
Bensimon, Burbery, Furla, Bus- CityRama lavaleevillage.com
Trellick towers
Pierre Hermes Rue Bonaparte

Decor Braserrie
Le Boeuf sur le Toit - art deco - 34 rue du colisee
Julien sixteen rue du faubourg saint denis tenth artnouveau

Place de furstemberg - saint germain des pres
colette twothirteen rue st. honore
cafe charbon oneohnine oberkampf
cafe flore
chez prune 36 rue beaurepaire tenth-breakfast
web bar 32 rue de picardie, 3rd
sabbia rosa
cafe richelieu-louvre
music- les sept lezards ten rue des rosier
notions - 8 rue des francs bourgeouis 3rd
9th floor Samaritaine
Souvenirs-La Tuile a loup 35 rue Daubenton, 5th
La Butte aux Cailles

Here I am. We've just moved again. (Before and after our Italy trip.) We've been in six different apartments in Paris over the last 10 months. I feel like I've left a piece of myself behind in each of them. I can't think of the English word for it, but I feel very destabilisée.

So after a 7 hour train ride from Milan, I rushed right over the school last night to teach my Monday night class. And today was another packed, running in the metro, no time to eat day. I got home tonight to our new apartment at 9:20. The place is freezing. There's no food in the refrigerator. There's a huge pile of dirty laundry. Our stuff is scattered everywhere and I have no idea where to put it all, especially since the people we are renting from have left a lot of their stuff here. I don't know where my English teaching books and folders are. I have an insanely busy day tomorrow. I can't deal with all this right now.

I was surprised that Steve wasn't here since he hadn't mentioned any plans. I just called him. He's at his buddy's place and he sounds like he's been drinking. I'm truly happy that Steve has found himself a group of English-speaking friends. (A while back I was complaining that he didn't make the effort to meet new people.) But I have to admit that finding out that he's spent the evening at the pub or passed the day playing video games and drinking beer while I've been working makes me a bit crazy. The latest news was that he and his buddies were planning a mid-week trip to Sweden. Sweden for god's sake.

So I'm feeling a bit annoyed that he's not here at the moment. And it is completely unfair but that's just how I feel.

I'm also feeling completely overwhelmed at the thought of returning to Boston for a week to reorganize all our stuff and to pack for an unspecified amount of time in California. And after five cross-country trips, I have no desire to do it again. Especially right now. But I'm probably going to. I think Steve wants to do the usual kitschy roadtrip stuff, but I have zero interest in that at this point. I just want to get us, our stuff, and our car over there. I'm so tired of being a tourist. And I'm so sick of moving.

I haven't been blogging. Although I've given notice, I still have to work through next month. And I've got a lot of classes this semester.

When I'm not working, I've been traveling. Two weeks ago it was Nice and the southernmost coast of the Rivera. Last weekend, the Emerald Coast and the Rose Granite Coast of northern Brittany. This weekend Venice and Milan. I know I'm very lucky to be able to see all these places, but it all feels very rushed. Also, I'm so busy with my classes during the week and so busy trying to see everything on the weekends that I end up feeling completely exhausted.

I've been to Venice once before - in college. It was a rainy, gloomy day. I wasn't terribly impressed, but I was also alone and probably lonely and feeling rather melancholy. I associate Venice with death - and not just because of "Death in Venice" - which I barely remember. There's also Millie's slow death in her "The Wings of the Dove" and Ian McEwan's very disturbing "The Company of Strangers" - which I read just a few months ago.

We are leaving Paris at the end of next month.

I've given my notice at both my schools. They were really nice about it, but it was clear that I was placing one of the schools in quite a bind.

Last night we found a new apartment for next month. It is near the Cirque D'Hiver, a short walk from the Marais. The woman who lives there does something in the music business. When we visited, someone was editing a music video for a Canadian artist with Final Cut Pro in the living room. Her boyfriend draws technical specifications for lingerie.

I'm feeling pretty depressed at the prospect of being jobless again soon. I did a search for "technical writer" in San Francisco on Monster.com. I couldn't find a *single* job. I just found an article about tech writing jobs being "offshore outsourced" to Ireland or India. "In India, a technical writer, trained in the Queen's English, makes $12 an hour, compared to his or her US counterpart doing the same job, at $40 an hour." Maybe it is a blessing in disguise...I'm not at all sure that I want to work as a tech writer anyway. But then the question becomes what am I going to do?

I've been asking myself this question for almost a decade now.

I also did a keyword search on "French." Not terribly surprising, but like most of the skills (and degrees) I've acquired, speaking fluent French has almost no value in the US job market.

I'm really afraid of being out of work for an extended period of time. I can't stop worrying about it. I'm getting into a downward spiral of negative thought.