Madrid continued...

After the flamenco show, we went for churros y chocolate. Probably the best combo in existence. Except the un-authentic ones are much better. The hot chocolate was thick, but due to a thickener of some sort rather than mass amounts of chocolate, and the churros were skinny and not sugared! I found out from Ana later that the fat churros have another name, but they didn't even begin to compare to Mexican churros y chocolate (which is what they serve at Cobras & Matadores for all of you who've gone there with me). So the flavor was disappointing, but just the idea that we were eating hot churros and hot chocolate in a crowded little bar at 1:30 in the morning was quite satisfying.



We managed to drag ourselves out of bed around noon the next day. We took the grand tour, Alain style. A quick jog through Plaza Mayor, a nod and a waive so some famous statues, and the rest of the time for eating. We had bocadillos (which you should try saying out loud right now, because it's fun.) Not as tasty as it is fun to say though. Just ham. On bread. With no butter or oil. Which is kind of the point of a sandwhich in my book.

NOT to worry, we found good Spanish food. Alas, in a tiny bar with no name and piles of sugar packets and cigarette butts littering the floor, a woman and her husband worked side by side, both managing to move deftly around the kitchen without removing their gaze from the tv mounted on the wall behind the customers chairs, clearly for them, not the clients. First they served us up chorizo, pulled from the casing, flattened like a thin hamburger, fried:



Next we had tortilla español which must have had an entire bottle of olive oil in it. Sooo good. Alain befriended the owner and got lots of Spanish practice in. She told us the croquettas were the thing to have, so have them we did. Whipped potatoes mixed with bits of ham breaded and deep fried. Sigh. Alain continued the conversation while I nodded and smiled. I heard the word Paella and was so overcome with longing that I momentarily forgot I was too shy to speak Spanish and asked if she had some. Well, the restaurant wasn't serving it, but she pulled out her lunch box and shared some of her own with us! It wasn't hot, but still delicious. We were there for quite some time eating one thing and then another. Our bill totaled 8 euros 50 cents. And this picture was free. Unfortunately, her husband had fallen asleep in the back and she didn't want to wake him for the photo op.

(oops, we took the picture on Alain's camera. Check back later, I'll try to add it.)

Madrid is a colorful place indeed:



With some cool buildings:



And a lot, a lot, a lot of ham:

Madrid

The hour and a half flight from Paris to Madrid ended up taking from 9am to 4pm, door to door. Alain and I both arrived from our waterlogged countries to perfect not-too-hot-not-too-cold beautiful sunshine in Madrid. Ana, the friend we visited, lives just outside the city center in a cute neighborhood full of clothing and shoe shops, restaurants and a Corta Ingles -- a gigantic mall-like beast where we spent a portion of each day trying to decide which Lomo Alain would return to London with. The closest metro station was actually on her block. Ah, the metro! So consistent, so quiet, so lacking the smell of urine in the staircases. I'm not looking forward to being back on the maybe-it'll-come-maybe-it-won't bus in LA.

Madrid, was, admittedly, a bit empty, like most European cities in August. However, we managed to see two excellent Flamenco shows, eat some good food, and walk a good portion of the city. Night one of flamenco wasn't Paco Peña, but we were about four feet from the stage, rather than four miles. The male dancers like to sport mullets and show off their muffin top bellies, which is somewhat distracting from the beauty of the dance, especially when they spin and their sweat comes flying off of their face to land on your face. Ick. However, one of the singers was totally amazing. His voice was so full and yet so easy on the ear, almost soft. It seemed impossible that it was coming from a little skinny guy we saw afterward wearing baggy jeans and high tops. Two of the women we saw dance were incredible. They weren't young (maybe 35 and 40), and they were quite robust, but so strong and so beautiful in their movements and so powerful in the rythms they stomped and clapped that I was completely mesmerized. Biggest hit of the night with the rest of our party was Alain's sighting of Franka Potente who was sitting at a table not far from us. As usual, I had no idea who she was.

To be continued...

Boggled

It poured down rain all day yesterday in Paris (and is still pouring down rain today). We had to leave the library by a different door due to the flooding outside of the usual exit. Did this keep library patrons away? Of course not! I felt like those poor cafeteria monitors in elementary school when "recess" was held indoors because of the rain. I had a bunch of kids. For a long time. But they were great fun.

These two brothers were with me for hours. The older one read the entire Disney version of Alladin to his brother, in English. With a speech impediment and a French accent. The younger one sat quietly staring off into space for at least 45 minutes while his brother read. I'm not sure he understood a word. I pulled out boggle for the boys to play next. Pretty soon I heard, "In English this time," (the older brother had perhaps lived in the US when he was younger as his English was quite a lot better than the younger.)
"No, French," (said in English.)
"It's better in English."
"I don't care, I'm doing French.
"Okay, you do French and I'll do English," (well, if you know the game boggle, this just won't work for the scoring system.)
Their American mother came in later and they decided to play together in English several times and then in French once for the younger one. The mother sounded great to me in French, but she had to ask how to spell things and some of the meanings. I've always thought how fantastic it would be if I have kids one day for them to be fluent in another language (if only their arguments would be about weather to play boggle in French or English!) but it was the first time I recognized that, like this mother, I would never be as full a part of their world in that language as I would be in English. As Nels would say, "Hmm. That's sad."

I'm off to Madrid this morning. No new entries until next week.

Magic Baguettes

I saw Harry Potter (all in English this time). It's my duty, as a children's librarian. When Cho and Harry kissed, a little three-year-old voice from the back summed it up: "Yuck."

The most entertaining part of the movie, though, was whenever Harry pointed his wand at someone and said, "Expelliarumus" (a spell which relieves the opponent of his wand) the subtitles read, "Sans du baguette." No wonder everyone walks around with "baguettes" here.

Little Miss Sick

It's been pointed out to me by several private commenters (come on guys, be brave, make it look like someone besides Gypsy is reading my blog) that I did not mention what I was sick with. Indeed, I was deathly ill with...an allergy. I was raised not really believing in allergies, so this never occurred to me. But, 3 allergy medications later (actually 2 plus a pain killer), my cough is gone, my throat is better, my chest no longer feels like it is being hugged by a boa constrictor, and I can even breathe through my nose (I'm not sure I've ever been able to do that.)

Doctor visit w/no insurance: 22 euros
total for 3 medications w/ no insurance: 8.5 euros

And a cute doctor who wore high heals with her full skirt and matching shirt and hopped up to sit next to me on the examination table to get a better look into my ear.

Le Metro

Thursday

I was supposed to go to French class and then to work, but I was so sick, we spent most of the day figuring out how to get me to the doctor and then actually getting me there. Gypsy was good to have along a) because she speaks some French and managed to convey all of the necessary information to all involved parties, and b) because I would have put it off until I was dying, which I ALMOST was and now I feel good as new (thanks to all three meds I'm on!). It's nice to have a big sister.

Not long after the doctor, Gypsy had to catch her train to London for her flight out the next morning. The trip went by much too quickly. I could hardly process that she was here before she left. Thinking about the week, I can't believe it was our first trip to Europe together. It all felt so normal. The way it should.

Wednesday

Gypsy showed me the Jardin du Palais Royal which was shops surrounding a gigantic rectangular garden and courtyard with an art installation. The installation consisted of of different height pillars painted white with black stripes. Everyone turned into a kid here and had to stand on top of a pillar and get their picture taken. Amazing. The shops were closed, due to the holiday and it being August, but we had a grand time peeking through the grates and looking in on vintage designer clothes.

We then walked through the center of Paris (Notre Dame de Paris had been cleaned since Gypsy last saw it -- it used to be black, but now is...whitish.) We discovered the cafe that is practically outside my door is quite good. Gypsy had a smoked salmon salad, and I had one with prociutto and a fried egg. The best part, they take the restaurant tickets I get from work to pay for my lunch, but never end up using since I almost always bring food with me.

That night we went to Le Refuge des Fondues, a place Gypsy had been with Shaun six years ago. We drank our wine out of baby bottles and Gypsy did the honor of stepping over the table (everyone sits at one long skinny table) to get to her seat.

Tuesday

Um, I slept until noon. We got out of the house around 2, bought some bread and cheese and figs and went back home to eat them. We then tromped off to the Musee des Arts Decoratifs. We didn't realize that there were different ticket prices for different parts and we saw the furniture when we meant to check out the jewelry. Not to worry, there was a gift shop which was almost a museum itself. After, we went for a delicious, thick hot chocolate at Angelina.

That night Gypsy took me to a belated birthday dinner at Le Comptoir which looked to me exactly how a French restaurant should. There was even a customer wearing cute yellow shoes which was also exactly how I thought it should be. All of my stereotypes fulfilled by the look of the place, I discovered some new things as well. I like fois gras cold after all (so delicious on the green bean salad Gypsy ordered) and I was wary of the rhubarb panna cotta, but it topped the aforementioned crème brûlée.

Monday

After arriving in Paris at 9:30 am, we napped until 3 and then headed out to the Natural History Museum and the Jardin des Plants. I'm not sure what the French signs all said, but the displays were so attractively lit and the building so amazing that I enjoyed it anyway. In the garden there was a menagerie...so, first you see the dead ones, then the live ones.

What really stands out from this day is the crème brûlée we had that night. I don't know how this happened, but a very touristy place near Montmartre had very good food. The waiter made fun of us in as friendly a manner as one can make fun of tourists, going so far as to introduce us by name to his mouse when Gypsy pointed the little guy out as he scurried around our feet.

Sunday

Alain gives us a whirlwind tour of London including breakfast at an old pub, a trip to Brick Lane and the markets there, and a running tour of Camden Market where we saw a lot of weird shops and people (and hats, clearly) and we had hot fresh cinnamon donuts. So good I forgot to take a picture (!)

Saturday

Gypsy suffers a trip to a crowded bar after overnight plane trip. Worth dragging her out as Alain's friends were so very fun to talk to and we discovered delicious falafels.

Gypsy was here.

Well, I am back. Thank you for your patience. I hope you didn't mind the elevator music.

Okay, let's start from the beginning. Remember, "Gypsy is coming?" What I meant was that Gypsy WOULD be coming in a few days. I uh, arrived in London one day too early to meet her. We had to buy new train tickets to get to Paris, which weren't available until Monday morning (instead of Saturday, as planned). And when I say "morning," I mean we left the house 3:45am, mind you. The whole fiasco was due to me not realizing that one cannot arrive somewhere before one has left somewhere else. Luckily, Gypsy's only comment: "I thought we were packing a lot in."

There was an upside though...for me, anyway. We missed our "fanciest dinner ever" which was to be on my birthday (and thank you, by the way, to all of you who sent me birthday emails. It was very very nice to be remembered.) but, I finally made it to a Tango lesson with my ol' partner in dance-related-crime, Alain. It was so much fun. We are pretty much professional now. If I could just hear the beat, we would be anyway.

Since Gypsy and I had a shortened stay in Paris I thought I might as well go ahead and get sick, lest we enjoy those few days too much. To top it all off, it was ascension week or something and everything was closed. We did, however manage to get some good stuff in. (To be cont....)

Gypsy's Coming!

Well, wish us luck. The whirlwind begins today upon Gypsy's arrival. 24 hours of fast and furious London will cover a flamenco show (getting great reviews both for music and the dance), drinks out with Melissa, her boyfriend Ted, and possibly Simon and Cat-O (sorry James, the name really stuck). In the morning we're off to Borough market before we jump on the train to Paris. We'll recover Sunday and Monday as nothing will be open in Paris. Oh, and Tuesday and Wednesday because it's a holiday and nothing will be open in Paris. Nice planning on my part, huh? She may be more efficient at blogging our week, so please check her blog out (I am so off the hook!)

Mmm...

Italians would refuse to believe it. French would turn away in disgust. I have mixed the two cuisines in the most horrid and delicious fashion. For lunch today, fresh goat cheese crottin filled with figs spread atop a chewy baguette soaked in olive oil. For dinner, penne with peperoncini, crème fraîche, parmigiano, and chervil. And, yes, I ate a lot more than that. That was all that was left when I thought to take the picture.

Le Week-end

Did you know fluency in the language of country of residence can actually be a health hazard? For the past month it has been scary, difficult, humiliating, each time I walk into a bakery, a restaurant, a store, an anything. This does not prevent me from patronizing these places, but it slows me down a bit. Not so with my native French-speaker visiting. The past three days while Alain was here were spent testing out every possible bread, dessert, hot chocolate, tea...you name it (exception: we were too traumatized by our first attempt at coffee to try again).

Alain showed up with chewy, delicious, hot bread filled with chocolate from a bakery at Place D'Italie (a 10 minute walk from my house). We proceeded to lunch at the Luxembourg gardens (another 10 minute walk from my house -- did I say my house? I meant my closet). We made a bit of salad of an oak-leaf like lettuce, crunchy green beans, red belle pepper, a very dry, hard goat cheese, and some chewy bread. Dinner: Alain had ravioli with a buttery wine sauce and fois gras (why I ordered the saffron mussels after his loving description of this dish, I will never know.) We were tempted to order the ravioli for our main course as well, but decided on shark and steak instead. The potatoes were lovely with a maple flavor, the shark and steak just okay. As the menu is set up for you to order an appetizer, an entree, and a dessert, we decided the best course of action for next time would be to order the ravioli for all three.

Day two, thanks to Alain's planning and navigation skills, we managed to ride bikes all around town. This seemed to justify the bread with lardons, the orange flower water cake, the hot chocolate with cloves and cinnamon, the chocolate tart, and the roasted chicken. We discovered the most delicious drink for the hot hot day that it was: a smoothy made of passionfruit and milk. And this is all before we went to Ladurée and had Oolong tea with orange blossoms, kouign amann (if I have the name right), which I can't even describe but was good enough to momentarily make me forget the Italian marzipan-like cake mentioned earlier.

Pictured above: Alain, after a few too many good things to eat.

I'm sure we did something besides eat, but I can't quite think of it.

Tour de Paris

My life in Paris just got much, much better. Today I discovered Velib. Okay, I actually discovered Velib when I first arrived (though it's new, so it wasn't running yet) but I finally got brave enough to attempt the directions today. Turns out the have an English option.

What it is, is free, communal bikes! You pick a bike up at one station and drop it off at any other station (there are stations all over). Work just got about 40 minutes closer. And the bikes have baskets on them, so no more dragging my stuff around hanging off of my shoulders giving me cramps. Only down side is the bikes weigh a TON (like, I who was hefting a way-too-big--for-me bike up and down tall train stairs in Swizerland without a hitch, could barely get it up a curb.) All of my pictures will henceforth be a blur as I whizz by the sights.

Tomorrow, Alain comes. Don't be looking for posts until after he leaves on Monday.

Huh.

Eric and Amélie

Eric is a friend of Alain's (and of mine too now, weather he likes it or not), but up until I met him in person the other day, I knew him through photos. He has a camera. Alain does not. They travel together a good deal. So when Alain sends me photos of his trips, they are a bit like the photos of the ceramic garden dwarf in Amélie Poulain. Here is Eric in Madrid. Here is Eric in Stockholm. Here is Eric in...well, you get the picture. He actually lives here in Paris, though he is off on a (nother) trip at the moment. I lucked out and caught him in town one night this week. We ate some deliscious, Italian-style grilled vegetables and laughed about all of the funny things Alain does (like never walk less than full-speed and always throughly researches whatever town he is in for the best coffee, the best cheese and the best desserts, much to the enjoyment of us less reseach-oriented, more consumtion-oriented folk.) After our dinner, we climbed the stairs to Montmartre. He talked, I puffed. After I finished ogling at the view, the building, and the astonishing amount of tourists, he very appropriately took me to the cafe where Amélie worked in the movie and we had hot chocolate.

Zurich Pictures Up

Thanks to an over-the-phone computer tutorial with Linsey, I got my Switzerland photos online. If you're interested in seeing oodles of pictures from my weekend in Zurich, you can see them here. You may want to turn the slide show on a very rapid setting since there are so many pictures, it's almost like a flip book.

2 Months in Paris

Believe it or not by how much time I spend writing on this blog, I have a few new friends here in Paris. I met a little group of people through Zabi, who I rent my apartment from. I had a lovely pic nic with this group of 5 others and myself a few weeks back, but forgot my camera, so I can't show you. I don't know if I learned any French (they all speak excellent English -- arg, jealous), but I heard a lot of French and that was good enough for me. The only language issue came up when they invited me to come with them afterword to the "cinema". And bought tickets to a movie in Chinese (with French subtitles, of course). Had the movie been in Italian, I may have understood a bit. Had it been in French or Spanish, I would have gone just to soak up the language. But uh, reading French and hearing Chinese. Not a chance.

So, Loic (above) and I made up for it the other day and went to an American movie. Who was to know that half of the dialog in Two Days in Paris was in French? And they don't put subtitles on the French part, only the English part, Silly. The movie is about an American guy and French girl who come to Paris. Adam Goldberg was excellent at the I'm-trying-not-to-feel-like-a-complete-idiot-even-though-I-don't-have-any-idea-what-you're-saying. face. So, if any of you want to know what my two months in Paris is like, check it out. The parts in English were funny (though, I was the only one laughing so either they didn't translate very well, or perhaps it just wasn't as funny as I thought.) The parts in French were apparently very funny, but I couldn't really tell you myself.

Lazy Jane

On Saturday I did a Shel Silverstein story time for 9-12 year olds at the library. Nine kids came and the greatest thing is...the parents actually bring the appropriately aged kids to the appropriate programs. There were kids there who I know have young siblings, but the little ones weren't there. Whew. Imagine trying to keep a 2 year old still for an hour of Shel.

The kids were so great though. They all went home being able to recite Lazy Jane.

Lazy,
Lazy,
Lazy,
Lazy,
Lazy,
Lazy,
Jane
wants a drink
of whater so she
waits,
and
waits,
and
waits,
and
waits,
and
waits
for
it
to
rain.

(Lazy Jane is lying here with her mouth open, catching all of the words, but I can't find the picture online.)

I did tell them he wrote songs for Johnny Cash. I did not tell them he drew cartoons for Playboy. I'll let them make that discovery on their own. By the way, those of you with kids...Shel Silverstein's website is great -- coloring sheets, poetry activities, etc.

Today I did the first ever story time in August at the American Library in Paris. They usually stop all programs in August because everyone's on vacation, but I thought there might be a few kids still here with nothing to do. And there were. I had fifteen kids ranging from 2 to 12. They stared at me blankly when I read Don't let the Pigeon Drive the Bus, but laughted at A Friend for Minerva Louise. Next week I'll be bringing a guitar (I found a friend with one) and doing a song time. Finally that music school is coming in handy.