The time to discover that you really wish you were more fluent in French is not when you're in a beauty salon. Exposed roots may be in style somewhere, but it's not here. French women take the care of their hair just as seriously as they do their food. Scratch that. They are MUCH MORE serious about their hair.
Hair styles and cuts here, from what I've observed are simple. The Bob, (not like Dorothy Hamill's cut) in different forms, is still very popular. In this hot and humid weather lately, women with long hair have been putting it up in a nonchalant twist or a casual ponytail. Gratefully I don't see them constantly playing with their long hair, tossing it around, or god forbid, running their fingers through it while at the grocery store.
They're into simple here, simple makeup, simple hair styles. Not for them is a morning routine of washing, drying and burning one's hair with a hot roller set. (Which probably explains why when I was searching for a curling rod, I found just one in all of this part of Paris.)
What they do not like is frizzy hair. With the heat and the humidity this summer, the French woman wages war against the dreaded frizz.
Moving to Paris was taking a chance. Getting my hair done for the first time in a Paris hair salon was an act of bravery. But "color" is easily understood, especially when your roots are as wide as the Champs d'Elysees.
The salon I went to had a stylist who spoke some English and was fluent in pantomime. She apologized about her lack of vocabulary. I said I'd never be able to speak French as well as she already spoke English, but my pantomime was very good too. Mireille told me nowadays, people must learn English if they want to get ahead.
I was helped into my fashionable disposable gown and offered the beverage of my choice. Color, wash, condition, wash, Keratin magic applied, iron, wash...I lost track of the steps and the procedure. My head has never been treated with such tenderness-my scalp was massaged to the state where I was really just putty in Mireille's hands.
I've had my hair ironed straight before, but not to the point where it changed the color and smelled like shrimp tempura. Other clients at the salon were obviously interested in what was being done to my hair, while surreptitiously looking for the fire exits. Medusa herself never caused such concern.
Four hours later, (almost as long as a French dinner) the roots had been dispelled and I had a color that can be described as delicious. My hair resembled a Dior mink coat-sleek, shiny and soft. And almost as expensive.
But it was the first time a Parisian hair stylist has done my hair. And I was pampered by the entire staff, cosseted by the salon owner, and smiled at by the other clients.
To a round of "oh la la's", I paid my bill (my own "oh la la" moment) and Mirielle handed me her business card. As I was leaving, she smiled at me, and in perfect English said, "Thank you for trusting me."
Thursday, August 8, 2013
Wednesday, July 31, 2013
Small Things Matter
The refrigerator I had in my dorm room has found a new life as the permanent resident in our Paris kitchen. Its small size almost demands that I shop for groceries on a daily basis.
So I haul out my aerodynamic shopping cart, uncool as it may be to pull one of those. I don't care. It carries a lot of things over the bumpy cobble stone roads I have to walk.
It's overcast this morning as I roll my cart along. I'm going to the closest market where the staff are Indian and speak French and English fluently.
Here's a photo of the cheese section. It's just 1/4th the size of the selection.
I maintained self control. We already have 8 different kinds of cheese in our refrigerator.
Checkout time: Every sales clerk I've encountered at a grocery store sits on a stool at their register. You unload your own purchases. When you're given your total, almost always you're asked if you have exact change or change? When my total is 38.75 euros and I hand the clerk two 20 euro bills I don't expect to be asked for the exact change. I do know the currency and can give her the exact change but I don't have it this morning, desolee.
And then I pack my own groceries in my non-chic rolling cart and head out the door.
Maybe I'm the only woman pushing a shopping cart who stops dead in her tracks to admire something and take a photo of it.
Then I pass the statue of Benjamin Franklin I see every day.
So I haul out my aerodynamic shopping cart, uncool as it may be to pull one of those. I don't care. It carries a lot of things over the bumpy cobble stone roads I have to walk.
It's overcast this morning as I roll my cart along. I'm going to the closest market where the staff are Indian and speak French and English fluently.
Here's a photo of the cheese section. It's just 1/4th the size of the selection.
I maintained self control. We already have 8 different kinds of cheese in our refrigerator.
Checkout time: Every sales clerk I've encountered at a grocery store sits on a stool at their register. You unload your own purchases. When you're given your total, almost always you're asked if you have exact change or change? When my total is 38.75 euros and I hand the clerk two 20 euro bills I don't expect to be asked for the exact change. I do know the currency and can give her the exact change but I don't have it this morning, desolee.
And then I pack my own groceries in my non-chic rolling cart and head out the door.
Maybe I'm the only woman pushing a shopping cart who stops dead in her tracks to admire something and take a photo of it.
Then I pass the statue of Benjamin Franklin I see every day.
I'm shopping for my groceries. In Paris. And I feel at home here.
Tuesday, July 30, 2013
Doing it All Can't be Done
I'm glad I have an iPhone and can take advantage of its camera because I dislike lugging a big camera around.
I confess that don't really like taking photographs.
1) Whatever I'd like to photograph has already been done, and by professionals.
2) Whenever I take a photo of something, I always feel "removed" from it. Something is between me and my actual experience.
But I do buy some postcards because
1) somebody caught whatever the subject was, better than I could
2) and they may have a more interesting angle
3) and they're likely not to have throngs of camera toting tourists clogging up the scene.
On some trips I just don't have the time to sit and do a thorough entry. I WANT TO BE IN THE EXPERIENCE, not just recording it. So I'll glue a favorite postcard, write down a few facts and my impressions and then do a very quick sketch.
That's how I feel like I really saw and experienced something.
Le Chat Noir-seen everywhere and on everything.
I love it.
I confess that don't really like taking photographs.
1) Whatever I'd like to photograph has already been done, and by professionals.
2) Whenever I take a photo of something, I always feel "removed" from it. Something is between me and my actual experience.
But I do buy some postcards because
1) somebody caught whatever the subject was, better than I could
2) and they may have a more interesting angle
3) and they're likely not to have throngs of camera toting tourists clogging up the scene.
On some trips I just don't have the time to sit and do a thorough entry. I WANT TO BE IN THE EXPERIENCE, not just recording it. So I'll glue a favorite postcard, write down a few facts and my impressions and then do a very quick sketch.
That's how I feel like I really saw and experienced something.
I love it.
Living in a Foreign Country is for the Courageous!
Some people who get to live in a foreign country don't feel comfortable there. They seek out places that other Americans live, eat only in American restaurants (really!) and don't bother to learn the language. I don't get that. Why not just stay home?
Anyone who has lived overseas has challenges. The language, the customs, the currency, etc. It's one thing to be a tourist, yet another to be an expat, muddling through the day.
Every day I'm challenged and I take it as a dare to get through it.
Last night my challenge was to figure out how to operate the gas stove without torching our flat. (We have an electric range at home. I can't remember when I last had gas. A stove, you know.)
I admit it. I've been here almost 2 weeks and have not cooked a single meal until last night. I finally decide to, and I'm faced with a cook top that demands translation.
"Not intuitively obvious" as my dear husband says.
I take it as a sign that I shouldn't cook while living here in Paris.
Anyone who has lived overseas has challenges. The language, the customs, the currency, etc. It's one thing to be a tourist, yet another to be an expat, muddling through the day.
Every day I'm challenged and I take it as a dare to get through it.
Last night my challenge was to figure out how to operate the gas stove without torching our flat. (We have an electric range at home. I can't remember when I last had gas. A stove, you know.)
I admit it. I've been here almost 2 weeks and have not cooked a single meal until last night. I finally decide to, and I'm faced with a cook top that demands translation.
"Not intuitively obvious" as my dear husband says.
I take it as a sign that I shouldn't cook while living here in Paris.
Monday, July 29, 2013
Driving in Paris
There is so much to see here in Paris! There are so many things to do here! It may sound sentimental but there are moments here that actually my eyes leak a little.
Yesterday we picked up my niece and her boyfriend and did a road trip outside of the city. (Lucky kids are doing work study here in Paris.)
We went on a drive to Reims, the city of Joan of Arc. (I'm used to the English spelling of "Reims" as "Rheims", but when you are in France, I'll side with the natives.)
We had a leisurely lunch (2 1/2 hours) then split up. I spent all my time in the church-Notre Dame du Reims. I took a lot of photos and tried to sketch a stained glass panel I admired. It's mind boggling to think that some kind of place of worship stood here since the 400's A.D. (Yes, that's 400 HUNDRED A.D. Without a "1" in front of that "4".)
My favorite things were the sculptures on the exterior of the church. And the gargoyles and waterspouts were whimsical and scary too.
The day ended with a drive around the Arc de Triomphe. I'd tell you what that looked like but I was busy praying with my eyes closed.
Twelve roads feed into 7 lanes around the Arc. "Lanes" is a subjective term.
You better know what you are doing or you will be going around and around the Arc until you've made a groove in the pavement or run out of petrol. I wouldn't know as I am never going to drive in Paris.
Yesterday we picked up my niece and her boyfriend and did a road trip outside of the city. (Lucky kids are doing work study here in Paris.)
We went on a drive to Reims, the city of Joan of Arc. (I'm used to the English spelling of "Reims" as "Rheims", but when you are in France, I'll side with the natives.)
We had a leisurely lunch (2 1/2 hours) then split up. I spent all my time in the church-Notre Dame du Reims. I took a lot of photos and tried to sketch a stained glass panel I admired. It's mind boggling to think that some kind of place of worship stood here since the 400's A.D. (Yes, that's 400 HUNDRED A.D. Without a "1" in front of that "4".)
My favorite things were the sculptures on the exterior of the church. And the gargoyles and waterspouts were whimsical and scary too.
The day ended with a drive around the Arc de Triomphe. I'd tell you what that looked like but I was busy praying with my eyes closed.
Twelve roads feed into 7 lanes around the Arc. "Lanes" is a subjective term.
You better know what you are doing or you will be going around and around the Arc until you've made a groove in the pavement or run out of petrol. I wouldn't know as I am never going to drive in Paris.
Saturday, July 27, 2013
Best Intentions
I really thought I could blog about our life in Paris on a daily basis. Truthfully, that requires more discipline than I have. I've been exploring our neighborhood by foot (the best way to see it) and eating my way through 400 plus varieties of cheese (purely research).
I am on a daily adventure the minute I step outside our ornate and heavy doors. I love my life here and I'm so grateful for this opportunity.
A few steps from our apartment, we can take the Metro and be anywhere in Paris in a few minutes. While it's convenient, once you get the hang of it, you're underground. Granted, some of the stops are pretty amazing but all the action is above ground.
Today we drove ("we" meaning "my husband") to the huge British book store, W.H. Smith. We opted to do this just to see how bad traffic and parking could be on a Saturday in Paris. Many people are on holiday and away from the city now.
I've seen worse when it comes to traffic while in Boston or LA. As for parking, Mark found a spot just around the corner from the bookstore.
What a visual feast to see the monuments! I was chattering away like a mynah bird as my husband was trying to concentrate on his driving.
We have a lot more exploring to do, whether it's by car, bus or by walking. We'll wait until the temperatures aren't in the 90's to do so.
I am on a daily adventure the minute I step outside our ornate and heavy doors. I love my life here and I'm so grateful for this opportunity.
A few steps from our apartment, we can take the Metro and be anywhere in Paris in a few minutes. While it's convenient, once you get the hang of it, you're underground. Granted, some of the stops are pretty amazing but all the action is above ground.
Today we drove ("we" meaning "my husband") to the huge British book store, W.H. Smith. We opted to do this just to see how bad traffic and parking could be on a Saturday in Paris. Many people are on holiday and away from the city now.
I've seen worse when it comes to traffic while in Boston or LA. As for parking, Mark found a spot just around the corner from the bookstore.
What a visual feast to see the monuments! I was chattering away like a mynah bird as my husband was trying to concentrate on his driving.
We have a lot more exploring to do, whether it's by car, bus or by walking. We'll wait until the temperatures aren't in the 90's to do so.
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