The Doctor's Office

I walk into the little waiting room and begin to hear the lightest strains of music coming from somewhere, piped in like I've only otherwise heard in American elevators, but much softer, while 8 pairs of eyes, of ages ranging from pre-K to post-retirement, raise up at the same time to give me the once over.  And, again, simultaneously, after a few seconds of scrutiny, they all lower, back to their books, magazines and iPhones.  

I'm not quite sure what to do next, because there is no available seating left, save for the white plastic stacking chairs just the right size for 3-year-olds.  Should I just stand there, pick up a French children's book and wait for one of the prior waiting room tenants to vacate?  Or, am I even in the right place, since I've never been to either this doctor's office or to any other doctor's office in Paris?  

Hmm, there seem to be far too many children's toys, books and furniture, bringing back memories of my children's pediatrician's office in New York, and look, there are two sniffling and coughing kids.  Yup, I must be in the wrong office.

I go back outside, check the door's address and the doctor's name.  Nope, this is the name and the address I was given by my friend who is a patient.  He suggested I just show up in the morning, corner the doc and tell him I was "sent by Joe."  I knew this wouldn't fly in Manhattan, but when in Paris...

However, two patients came and went and I began to learn the drill.  First, there is no receptionist.  The doctor opens his examining room/office door, directly into the waiting room, releases the prior patient with a hand shake, nods at the next patient (whose name, I suppose, is on an agenda somewhere in that office) who stands up and shakes the doctor's hand (yes, I imagined all the bacterial permutations of these serial handshakes), enters the examining room and closes the door.  It all takes about 20 seconds.

Second (and most importantly), each time a new patient walks into the full waiting room, all eyes raise from their iPhones, etc., so that the owners of each pair of eyes can politely respond to the new patient's greeting of "bonjour madame" "bonjour monsieur" to every other patient in the little room.  

Wonderful, I already made faux pas #1 - I had muttered no "bonjours;" rather, I had hurriedly turned tail to go look at the front door, and then had the audacity to return a second time without even an effort to rectify my first rude entrance, clearing up any possible confusion that my first impoliteness was in error.

There was a second problem.  There didn't seem to be time in this quick dance of the opening and closing doors to insert my introduction that "Joe sent me."  I thought that, well, perhaps at the noon hour (2 hours from that moment), the flood of newcomers would die down and I'd be alone in that waiting room and could then get the attention I deserved.  (what a chicken, and what a fantasy)

So after two sets of handshakes, I hopped up, New York style, placed myself between the rising patient who had received the MD nod, and ran up to MD with my "Joe sent me," to which MD responded with "huh?" in front of the whole waiting room.  Damn, I knew that would happen!  I turned red, repeated, and he smoothly whipped out his iPhone and replied that he had no appointments for today, could I come back next Tuesday ...which would be four days from now.  Sigh.  I was suffering; that's why I decided the doc visit was going to be today.  Yes, I know this is also not necessarily possible in New York either.  In any case, I did not want to suffer and worry through the weekend and I was going to be persistent.  I'd been sick for over a week with this cold+whatever it was.

I ended up getting an actual appointment (courtesy of same friend Joe, whose name has been changed because "Joe sent me" is so much fun to write) at the end of today, Friday, with another doc in the same neighborhood.  The drill was same, and this time, I knew to lift up my own eyes and mutter a "bonjour" to each new patient who entered the waiting room.  I was a pro!

The doc came out and gave ME the nod.  Wow, pro move #2!  I entered, did the hand shake and reminded myself to wash my hands right after the appointment and touch nothing near my face in the meantime.

We went first to his desk, where he asked me to describe my problems, and I responded with my best pre-rehearsed lines using words I'd looked up in Larousse as I waited in the waiting room.  Pro move #3!  He understood me and he smoothly directed me over to the examining table at the end of the room.  He did the usual doctor stuff with little lights into nose and ears and mouth, and the all-important feeling for swollen glands in the neck. 

It seems I have a bad sinus infection, which is a first for me and explains why I had no idea why I was exhausted, couldn't sleep, lost my voice, had a constant headache, runny nose, chills and sore throat for over a week.

  

We smiled and chatted about Obamacare in French, while he wrote my three prescriptions (for what, I had no idea, but I nodded a lot), and filled out an insurance form for me to submit to my US insurer.  The French have a great deal of respect for forms.  He assured me that, unlike in the US, the medical profession in France is very content.

He then asked for 50 euros, handed me my prescriptions, walked me to the door, shook my hand once again, smiled in the direction of the next patient, and I went to wash my hands before I left the building.

Le Centenaire

Spontaneity - I've become such a big fan.  

I usually travel throughout the city of Paris with three essentials:

1.  My Pass Navigo, which lets me ride around in the Paris métro and buses all day long, if that's what I desire or need to do, which seems like constantly.

2.  An umbrella.

3.  My Paris "plan pratique" (the detailed Paris map in booklet form, which is a must for even a weekend here - they're sold at news kiosques, tabacs and bookstores). 

Recently one afternoon, I forgot #2.  I stepped out of the métro looking for a store that turned out to be closed for lunch (so the handwritten note taped to the inside of the door read) and then felt the rain start pelting me.  Of course - when you forget the umbrella, it rains.  Universal truth.

It was lunchtime, so the note said.  I turned in a quick circle to find someplace to find a little lunch of my own so that I could stop again at the shop after whatever turned out to be the shop owner's unspecified lunch hour(s).

Right next door, I found a spot.  Using my radar for food quality, I saw that it was completely packed.  In fact, when I walked inside, even the bar was full.  That's usually this solo diner's quick refuge from waiting for an open table.  However, after a 3-minute wait, I got the perfect spot, at a tiny table nestled in the corner alongside a window.  

I reviewed the blackboard menu and decided it was the perfect day to try the coq-au-vin, a dish I can't recall ever ordering.

If it had been evening and I didn't have work to do that afternoon, that wine glass would been full of a nice red.

The coq au vin was as good as it looks in the photo, very "vin-y" (In fact, I really didn't need more vin in the wine glass).

This is a nice and very local option if you're in the 11th, around the trendy Oberkampf neighborhood.  The link below has more photos of the bistrot and a nice description of its long history, if you want to practice your French reading skills!

Le Centenaire

104 rue Amelot

75011 Paris

08 99 96 56 47

Métro: Filles du Calvaire or Oberkampf

After my belly was full and it had stopped raining, I went back to the shop, which was still closed!  Ah, Paris...

On Leaves and Fall

This is how I will remember Fall 2012 in Paris.

It's been so dark and wet, and the only colors that show through the gray are the gold, yellow and brown from these wet leaves.

It's typically not very windy in Paris and so these perfectly-shaped leaves cling to their trees until they just can't hang on any longer, and then drift to the sidewalk, to rest there for ...well, they're still there.

I enjoy these pops of color; they're my sunshine on these gray and extremely short days...

... as long as I don't slip on them.

Buying a Bed in Paris

It almost sounds like the title of a French comedy.  And it has its farcical moments, bien sûr.  Here are some of the things I've learned through my recent experience shopping for a bed in Paris.

1.  Do a little research online, just in order to find out the component parts of a bed, where you might be able to purchase one, what the price range seems to be (hint - higher than in the US) and what things are called in French. 

2.  The average French bed comes with the mattress (matelas, pronounced mah-tuh-lah) and something called a sommiel (pronounced so-mee-ay).  It's not a box spring exactly, but it goes in the same position as a box spring.  You don't have to buy the sommiel, and it's sold separately from the mattress.  Some people use only the mattress, either alone or in a platform setting.

3.  One must also consider les pieds (like it sounds, the feet).  These are squat round wooden posts that the mattress and sommiel stand on to raise them off the ground (in lieu of that ugly metal frame with wheels that American bed salesmen get a few extra bucks for).  Again, the pieds are not necessary, but sometimes they come with the set.  You choose color and height (my salesman recommended the taller height because it would be better for under-bed storage; right he was!).

3.  French beds seem to be very, very soft, even when called firm (presumably because if you want something really hard, you'd sleep on a Japanese-style bed, which are quite popular in Europe).  If you want a firm western-style bed, you really have to try them out.  And generally, the firmer you want the bed, the more it's going to cost if you want a bit of softness on the top layer of it.  

4.  Speaking of which, they call the feeling at the top of the mattress the "accueil" (welcome/greeting/reception).  That took a while to figure out, as the salesman kept saying it each time I would lie down on a mattress model to try it out!

5.  You can buy beds online.  There appear to be at least a couple of reputable companies, but since I didn't use one, I will not name names.  They are easily found with an internet search.  However, an American friend who has lived here for years prefers the online option and avoiding the department stores.

6.  I was told by consumer and salesman alike that the reason French beds are so much more expensive than U.S. beds is that French people make a big investment in a bed and keep it far longer than in the U.S.  I still don't follow the relevance, but perhaps without the economies of scale, they have to charge more for each one they sell?

7.  I bought mine in one of the grands magasins (department stores).  I got lucky and landed in Paris right at the start of the big fall sales.  (I didn't know there was such a thing, since there's only supposed to be two big sale periods throughout the country, but this was not called a sale and, thus, I suppose it was not one, even though prices were reduced 30-50%.)  Each brand was offering a few beds on sale promotion.

8.  In a department store, the bed department is manned (peopled?) by a sales rep who is affiliated only with one brand.  If you want to compare among brands, do it on your own.  You won't get comparison information from the salesperson, as you bounce among however many sales people as equals the number of brands you're choosing among.  This may be why they're so expensive.  It seemed that stationed next to every six beds or so, there was another salesperson at a tiny desk. 

9.  Beds come in so many sizes!  It's important to write down the exact dimensions of your bed, and also how deep it is, because bed linens likewise come in as many sizes!  For example, there's a bed measuring 140x190 centimeters and other measuring 140x200 centimeters.  Really?  A ten-centimeter difference?  Yes, really.  And ditto the sheets and comforter covers.

10.  When the bed is delivered to you, the pieds get screwed into the bottom of the sommiel.  Then, the delivery people check both sides of the mattress carefully before "installing" it, because the mattress will have a winter side and a summer side, presumably each topped by a fabric appropriate to the season and having the secondary benefit of promoting a semi-annual flip of the mattress by the user.

11.  Unlike in New York City, when the delivery is scheduled, you're given a range of hours (of about 3 hours) by the store.  That morning or the night before, you get a call telling you exactly when to expect them to arrive.  Amazing, especially since they actually arrived right on time!  And there was no delivery fee!  I don't know if that's common or not, or if was related to the sale or the particular store involved.  Either way, I'm not complaining.

12.  Bed linens are interesting, too.  There are square pillows and rectangular pillows (also of varying sizes), made of many different levels of down, down and feathers, feathers only, or synthetic (not so different from in the U.S.).  As for sheets, flat sheets are rarely used and not as easy to find as fitted sheets.  That is because the traditional comforter (couette) usually gets covered with a comforter cover and, thus, it seems that there is no need for the top sheet.  It is a lot easier to make the bed in the morning, for sure, especially with the fish tail of extra fabric at the bottom of the comforter cover which gets tucked into the bottom end of the bed under the mattress in order to hold it into place.  What genius!

I decided it was worth all the effort and every euro spent!  My sleep is crucial to me, and I can say I am a contented consumer thus far.  Zzzzzzzzz......

Wifi in Paris (and other good things to know)

Now that my days in Paris are winding down, all too quickly, I am reminded of a few things I've learned since spending about 7 months here.  I hope these little bits of information can be useful to all!  Of course, many are highly opinionated and reflect my personal taste and experiences, so take it for what it's worth (which is entirely up to you to decide).

Today's post covers Wi-Fi in Paris.

Free wifi (pronounced wee-fee) is available in more places than you imagine, so go ahead and bring the ipad or smartphone, even if you're going to turn off the data and cell service, including roaming, which you really MUST remember to do (do it on the airplane before you land in Paris so you don't forget), or you'll get a big surprise with your phone bill when you return.  

And by "free," I do not mean "Free," which is a cell service provider in France and is most certainly not free (as in gratuit).  So, when you see "free" pop up on your available wifi networks, that's not the one to select.  

Some no-cost wifi options are:

1.  Paris city parks.  All of them, large or small, if they are Paris parks, offer free wifi through the Orange network (that's the network's name, Orange).  Easy to access.  You'll have to sign in on a screen that pops up and type in your name and email address information, and click that you agree to their terms, but it is free and automatic.  This doesn't include the Luxembourg Gardens, because it isn't a Paris city park (it's the garden of the French Sénat, so it's French property, not Paris property, not that that's a good reason to not offer wifi, but trust me, they don't).

2.  Starbucks and McDonald's.  Do not, under any circumstances, think I am recommending their food and beverage products when you visit Paris; you have enough of it in the US and you'll see it everywhere here, too.  However, if you must, you must.  But you needn't.  You can simply walk in, pull out your iphone, catch the wifi network which automatically appears, download your emails and walk out.  Maybe that's not good consumer behavior, but you'll probably buy a coffee at least once doing that, so that's more than might otherwise occur, and I assume that's why they offer the wifi for free.  By the way, Starbucks is also a good place to hang out with your computer for long periods of time if you are more comfortable being somewhere you can be assured that no one will come up to you and ask in a language you might not understand if you want something else, or where someone will sit down next to you and begin smoking (unless you're outside, and then that happens at every café).

3.  And speaking of cafés, many of them (but by no means all), have free wifi.  If they do, probably there's a little sticker affixed to, or next to, the front door that indicates "WIFI" in some logo.  However, if they do, they all will require a password, which means you have to ask for it.  [Asking isn't hard, even if you don't speak French - smile, point at the smartphone, and say "wee-fee?"  If the reply is "oui," continue smiling and pointing to the smartphone and say "code?"]  About half the time in my experience, the server has no idea the place even has wifi, until the café's proprietor then appears and tells me the code, or tells me that, yes, they have wifi but it has never worked, shrugs and moves on.  You do get used to not exactly being able to have wifi access even when you think you're going to, and in fact, I still see more people with books and newspapers in front of their eyeballs at cafés than electronic gadgetry.  But it's a way to begin to develop and distinguish your favorite morning or afternoon coffee places, if you know you'll be able to pick up some email messages when you stop there.

4.  Your hotel.  If you want free wifi in a Paris hotel, rest assured, it's not a sure thing.  It seems that the more expensive the hotel, the more likely you're also going to have to pay for wifi.  The 2- and 3-star places I've stayed here all offered wifi for free, but sometimes not in the room - only in the lobby.  The best thing to do is check with the hotel before you reserve.  But there is no reason you need to expect to pay 10 euros or more per day for wifi when so many Paris hotels do offer it for no charge.  Also, most often it won't work without a pass code, and the front desk can give it to you.  Those codes often change each day for some odd reason and you have to ask every day for a new one.

Changing the Air

As I write this morning, I manage to avoid a few minutes (hours?) of hitting the books to study for my final exams tomorrow (oral - 15 minutes) and Saturday (written - 3 hours!!).  

My French classes at the Sorbonne Cours de Civilisation Française just ended yesterday, marking for me a full academic year of studying French as a living language right in the heart of academic Paris.  It's been a dream come true, in fact, much more than that, as I could have hardly dreamed up the pleasures, challenges and surprises this experience has brought to me.  My life has changed as a result and, probably more importantly, my perspectives on life, on my life, that is.

Of course, I expected many things, such as new food, new surroundings and challenges in communication on a daily basis, for just a few examples.  But the sweetest pleasures have been the nuanced cultural differences I'd hardly have known about in my American life.  There are too many to list or briefly describe - perhaps someday a book on that, but one that arose each and every class day made me smile, for no particular reason, just because it was so obviously different and occurred in every classroom, without fail.

The change of air.

Upon arriving to class, I always found the window(s) wide open.  In winter, that meant the room was many degrees colder than the hallway and the door to the class often hard to push open because of the pressure against it from the wind rushing into the open window.  In rain and humidity, a bit of a damp, rainforest-like presence, unusual for an indoor sensation but equally refreshing in its own way, would greet my entrance.

And then, once the professor has arrived, the windows are quickly shut, to return the temperature to the appropriate indoor range and to permit the students to remove coats and sweaters and begin work.

This marks every class change.  Is it for health reasons, perhaps to rid the air of accumulated aerial residue of the dozens of students who enter and exit every couple of hours throughout the day?  Perhaps.  I have no idea.

I have grown to appreciate the practice, and I have found myself doing the same every time I arrive back "home" in Paris.  I fling open the two French doors to the air, no matter the temperature, no matter the precipitation, for a few minutes of what the French professors called "changing the air."

In addition to my conscious efforts to learn something here, namely, the French language, I realize I'm learning unconsciously, too.  These things, small as they may be, continue to open my eyes to a different world.  And for that, I continue to be enormously grateful.

A room with a view

No wonder I like being a student again, when this is the view from my phonetics classroom window...

Online learning doesn't have a case, by comparison. 

May 1 - Lilies and Labor

Odd combination that it may appear, it is even odder (to me) in practice.  Today was my first May 1 in France.  It was a public holiday - May Day: La Fête du Muguet, La Fête du Travail.  It is a day to campaign for and celebrate workers rights.  It is also an occasion to present lily-of-the-valley or dog rose flowers to friends and loved ones.

The two have nothing to do with each other (as far as I can tell), but because it was a perfectly gorgeous day, and because of the upcoming Presidential Election here next Sunday, May 6, it was the perfect storm of manifestations (political marches), large public speeches by the candidates (as well as the candidates who didn't even make the cut after the first round), and the gifts of a sprig of lily-of-the-valley, which seemed to be carried around by everyone.

The story goes as follows:  King Charles IX of France was presented with lily-of-the-valley flowers on May 1, 1561. He liked the gift and decided to present lily-of-the-valley flowers to the ladies of his court each year on May 1. Around 1900, men started to present a bouquet to women to express their affection. The flowers are given between close friends and family members these days.

Some images of my May 1 in Paris:

 A little street music.

 A little afternoon wine to watch the march go by.

 Street sales of the flowers, which are permitted without license on only May 1.

 Posters for Presidential candidates and their "meetings" (use of the English word to describe rallies).

 Certain political leanings are manifested through the use of strategic vandalism.

Full evidence of spring, neither requiring the buckets of lily-of-the-valley or political speeches or parades.  But in Paris, on May 1, they all happen together.

This flaky life

Today's bit of sunshine has been brought to me by a transatlantic flight from New York to Paris yesterday, as well as some cooperative weather on the Paris side.

Flaky not only describes the pastry in the picture, but sometimes reflects my bewildered jet-lagged state after doing one of these back-and-forths between France and the U.S.  The "Why am I doing this?" question comes to the surface and I'm then too tired to fight it or respond intelligently to it.  So I shrug it off until I get a full night's sleep.

And then I step outside, take a run in the Luxembourg Gardens, buy one of these babies...

... and know.

First Hints of Paris Spring

Today's 60-degree sunny weather not only felt like spring might really be within reach, but these branches along the Seine confirmed it with their bright green blossoms.

The days are getting longer, too - sunset near 7pm - and once daylight savings time (or heure d'été, literally summer time) starts here on March 25, the long well-lit evenings will begin  - and don't we need it!

Everything

Here's a fun game I was playing with myself as I walked the aisles of BHV for the first time a couple of days ago:  "Do they have ____?"  I would think of an item, then check out the wall placard on each floor of the grand magasin (department store) on the Rue de Rivoli just behind the Hôtel de Ville of Paris, to see if I could track down its location in the store.  And, voilà!  It would be there - clothes hangers, wall paint, towels, Chantelle lingerie, door signs to label bathrooms for men or women, electric power tools, cooking supplies, alarm systems, lamps, school supplies, handbags, dinner plates, makeup, sushi.  Yes, sushi - shoppers get hungry, right?

There wasn't a thing I could think of that this place didn't carry.  It was a Saturday and a sale day, and the whole world seemed to be there, too.  BHV, short for Bazar de l'Hôtel de Ville, is pronounced "bay-ash-vay" and everyone who lives here for any length of time knows this store, although it is less known to tourists.  

It is pretty close to being central Paris's answer to Sear's and Target.  There are other places to obtain many of these items but they are not as centrally located or all in one store.  Besides, when you ask someone where to find "X," that thing you cannot think of where to possibly locate, the answer invariably comes back, "BHV will have it."

And that's what happened to me.  For some reason, I've been losing buttons lately.  Two coats and a blouse.  It was finally time to try to locate buttons!  Good grief.  I tried first in retouches,  clothing repair shops/tailors.  Nope; I just got blank stares and the Gallic shrug.  Unlike in New York, I guess if you show up without the actual button you want to have sown on the garment, you are asking for too much to think that they might either have a bowl full of stray buttons or a recommendation of where you can buy one.  What I was thinking was that they'd be able to direct me to Paris's button district, assuming that it might be like New York in that way.  There's not a button you can't find in New York; it may take a hunt through a few tiny shops,  mainly in the Garment District but even on the Upper East Side (like Tender Buttons), but that's all part of the hunt, and the reward is an exact match.

After I had tried three retouches without any luck, I turned to a friend who's lived here a while and asked where the tiny button shops were.  She replied, "Why a tiny shop?"  I had to explain that it wasn't the size of the shop that was important; rather, it was those New York button boutiques I was thinking of when I asked.  She shook her head and said "BHV!"

BHV did indeed have buttons.  It had none of the charm of button hunting in New York (not that I'm either a pro at this or have any desire to be, I just was tired of the cold drafts from the missing button locations on those two coats).  I quickly found two close-enough matches (who's really going to notice, right?) and got into the checkout line for my 3.90 euro purchase, alongside the customers with slightly larger items in their baskets - like floor lamps, pillows and house paint.

Du Pain

This has a been a small but repeated news item recently.  95% of the French eat bread at least once a day, according to the reported study.  Even such a seemingly high percentage still reflects a huge reduction in quantity consumed per person (130 grams versus 600 grams) from the beginning of the 20th century.  

This is, of course, part of one of life's great mysteries - why Parisians are not fat. 

I, on the other hand, feel like simply gawking at the marvels on display in the boulangerie and patisserie windows adds pounds, but perhaps that is just a national plot against foreigners. 

Yes, I indulge once in a while.  And I will admit to consuming my share of daily bread, too.   Life's short, after all!  But that still doesn't answer the question of the fat versus not-fat populations on either side of the Atlantic.

Upon giving it great thought at an outdoor café table as the early spring sunlight dissipates into evening, I'm going to stick with my belief that the answer is red wine.

Rush hour on the Paris Métro

Without a second thought about it, I wanted to take this seatmate on the métro home with me.

 Not sure the fellow sitting across felt the same.

Oscars and Césars

It's that time of year in America and in France - not yet the Presidential elections, but those are gaining speed, too.  No, it's the film awards - tonight in Paris and Sunday night in LA.

Unfortunately, I don't get to see the Oscars this year and, like everyone in France, I'm rooting for "The Artist."  I guess I'll have to find out in the papers, like those this morning, whose front pages are all covering the film awards.

It's a nice change from "la présidentielle," as the Presidential election is referred to in French.

Paris Addresses

I arrived home the other day and found a catalogue from a local retailer at the base of my door.  Here's the address (with the name blacked out to protect a prior tenant's privacy):

No apartment numbers are used so the addresses need to be descriptive.  This one says "First floor, left door, red stairway."

I never really noticed that my stairway is red.  And what happens if the landlord paints the hallway another color?  A change of address?

Paris Deep Freeze

 

The poor fellow in that last photo is a little how I felt, arriving back in Paris after over two weeks of practically Caribbean-like weather in New York.  OK, so now it really feels like winter is  supposed to feel but my body is in shock; at last look, it was witnessing confused cherry blossoms around the Central Park Reservoir in their premature stages of development, two months too early.

The Parisians are apparently so unaccustomed to this that the frozen fountain (above) is still burbling water into that unintentional ice sculpture.  Ah, art!

It's all the television news is talking about here, other than the upcoming presidential elections in both France and the US.  Gee, I wonder why we don't give as much time to the French elections over in the US.  How many people in the US know who's running in France?  But I do love listening to the French newscasters pronounce "Gingrich;" those hard 'g's' are quite a mouthful.

By the way, that dusting of snow is about as much as Paris gets, I'm told.  Good thing, because no one removes it and I slipped on sidewalk ice a couple of times today and let loose a few choice English-language words and phrases.  

So much for blending in.

Discount Pharmacy in Paris

I love shopping at the beautiful pharmacies in Paris (at least the wandering through part of it).  It has an organized calm and ambience that no number of Duane Reades in New York ever will.  

But the prices!  Zuts alors!

The other day, I was walking by this one, and saw so many women in there that my shopping radar told me it was not an ordinary pharmacy.  I joined the crowd and asked a shopper in line.  The answer I got was that this place is well-known in Paris because it has a huge selection, hugely discounted.  Or at least that's what I understood of the quickly spoken French.

In any case, I shopped and found it to be true.  For example, the Vichy brand body lotion I like in Paris costs 13 euros everywhere else.  Here, it was 8 euros. 

If you're in, or coming to, Paris, it's worth making note of it if you have a few favorites you have to bring home as gifts.

Citypharma

26 Rue du Four

75006 Paris

 

Winter Tennis

Lucky kids who get to take off Wednesday from school every week!  Those are the young Parisian schoolchildren.  And, not just lucky, they get to play tennis, even in winter, under the rare Parisian sun, in front of the Palais (now the Senat) in the Jardin du Luxembourg.  

And when the students are not using the courts (which are reserved for them on Wednesdays), the adults come out to swing their racquets on the cold days, too, wearing scarves wrapped securely and fashionably around their necks, bien sûr, and even gloves (I cannot be sure what that does to their quality of play, but at least they get out there, year-round, it seems.)

'Tis the Season, Edgy Paris Version

I saw this being painted by this team of artists(?) on a wall along the Canal Saint-Martin, a neighborhood of Paris in which it appears that graffiti is prized as an art form, or a representation of individual expression, or something like that.  Anyway, it (graffiti, that is) seems to be everywhere in this quartier.

If the mural is self-explanatory, do let me know, because I have no idea.  It's a fun neighborhood (more about it in another post), so I guess I better go back there to see it finished.

Anyway, ho-ho-ho!

Monoprix

On the everyday end of the food shopping scale in Paris, meaning the type of store carrying all the basic needs (kind of like a Target or Walmart, minus the scale of those stores), is Monoprix.  I know there are other options somewhat larger or smaller (such as Carrefour, 8 à Huit and the little Monops), but the Monoprix at Boulevard Saint Germain and Rue de Rennes is my neighborhood big supermarket, and a very nice one, notwithstanding the gripes I'd read or heard before I arrived.  

with Saint-Germain-des-Prés just across the street

I actually look forward to shopping here.  At first, it was just fun (and frustrating) figuring out what was what inside the products' packaging (mistakes were made - paper towel packaging is similar to toilet paper roll packaging).  It's easier now; for example, I know that I have to get fruit and veggies weighed and price-labeled BEFORE I get to the check-out counter!  But the contrasts are still numerous and there's always something new to find out, try or buy.

First off, where else in a grocery store can you buy so many types of wines, many priced under 5 euros?  (Oops, the photo is of "les whiskies" - oh well, you get the idea - full service wine and liquor.)

 And get to taste a sample of pastis while you shop?

As in all French supermarkets, there are a million yogurts, of course, taking up two dairy aisles, and then another dairy aisle for all the other dairy items (not including the non-refrigerated milk which hangs out by the water aisle).  And what a great idea that is -  I haven't had milk go bad at all here!  PS - "nonfat" is "écremé," and it not impossible to find in a grocery store; however, forget about it in a café.  There, you just get the "stupid American" look from the otherwise very nice bartender.

The fresh cheeses and patés, fresh fruits and vegetables are pretty impressive, too, with prices about as reasonable as you're going to find in that part of Paris.  And the guy behind the counter is a hoot (he offered to pose for my pictures, for a small fee).

But, really, what's with the Philadelphia Cream Cheese fetish?  We need to taste samples of it?  I don't think so.

All the world is there on a Friday after work hours, the checkout lines are long but move quickly, and the cashiers are the only ugly part of the experience (and, yes, I'm stereotyping here).  

 

You bag your own items, preferably in your own sacks, but the cashier will part with a plastic bag or two if you look pathetic, and then you get the "stupid American" look back.  And the worst is yet to come - if you don't bag your items quickly enough to get them off the counter, the cashier will just halt  the entire process and not commence checking out the customer behind you, and then you're getting the evil eye from the entire checkout line!  So, I've learned - start bagging immediately, even before you've paid.  Whew.

But if you have free time while you're waiting to check out, there's always the TV monitor hanging from the ceiling, offering specials, the weather and, most importantly, today's horoscope.

Practically speaking, for a visitor to Paris, definitely stopping at a Monoprix (or any grocery store) is a must-do.  First is the cultural experience (see above).  And second, you can pick up sandwiches, water, wine, fruit, croissants, chocolates, picnic supplies, etc. (whether the picnic is in your hotel room, a park or as you stroll), and save a lot of euros on the basics, which can then be spent on something else in Paris.  It won't be hard to figure out what to spend them on.