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.

Belleville

I've been scoping out new neighborhoods in Paris - new for me, at least - beyond the well-trod historic and museum-filled center - where I'm told the "vrai parisien" lives.  Because a novel I'm currently reading is set in Belleville (a neighborhood in the northeastern part of Paris) in the post-World War II years, I decided it was time to check out the Parc de Belleville, which is situated on one side of a hill, facing towards Paris' center and, as could be expected, has wonderful views of the city.  

It's not a very big park and not much of place for a run (unless you're into hill work, which I'm definitely not); it's rather more for a slow stroll, and preferably downhill rather than up.  It's also lovely, of course, for a picnic or reading a book or taking in the rare Paris sun.

The best way to start, then, is to take the métro to the Pyrénées station.  Coming out of the métro, head in the downhill direction and turn left on rue Piat.  It's just a bit further down that street, also downhill.  

The walk itself through the park is lovely and leisurely because the path winds and turns down the hill with views so spectacular that you can't help stopping to gaze into the distance to try to pinpoint landmarks.

As for the neighborhood itself, it is much like it was in those post-war years - a melting pot of newcomers to France.  At the same time, though, it has become very popular with younger Parisians who are seeking affordable apartments and so are turning it into one of the more trendy parts of town, as has been occurring through much of the northeastern quadrant of Paris in recent years.

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. 

No Debate

I just fell asleep during watched the French Presidential debate; it is the only one between the two final candidates before election day next Sunday.  Hey, I'm entitled.  I'm coming down with a cold, it's raining and chilly, and, besides, trying to understand all that political rhetoric in French is épuisant (exhausting).

So, to wake me up, I just had to look at these beautiful creatures I photographed the other (sunny) day at Pain de Sucre.

I was in such a rush as I walked by, I only had time to take the pictures.  What an odd priority, I know.  And, then again, I have to admit, I hadn't yet been tempted to try a Parisian guimauve (marshmallow) until I saw those.  

There's no debate that I have to go back and try them.  At least I don't have to choose between them (or, in fact, between the Presidential candidates here).

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.

Oldest Tree in Paris

Probably not the Number One reason people come to Paris - to find its oldest tree.  Nor to locate the little park in which that tree has lived and thrived for over 400 years, with a lot of support from concrete crutches.  

But maybe for its picture-perfect view of Notre-Dame?  Definitely worth it as a place to rest the weary feet and munch a sandwich or patisserie and enjoy the view, feeling very far from the crowd. 

I discovered this location, Square René Viviani, because one of my classes is in a building adjacent to the park and I usually have an hour break during to which to have lunch there.  So I've also discovered that this tiny park has free wifi, along with the plentiful benches, marvelous view, quiet calm AND the oldest tree in Paris.  

For the story about the tree, Wikipedia does it better than I would.  It's quite something to imagine all the events of Paris history this tree has lived through.

The square is also just across the street from Shakespeare & Co., the well-known English-language bookstore. 

Square René Viviani

located on the other side of Pont au Double 

(south from Notre-Dame, on the Left Bank)