Picnic 2 2006

Zeus, Indra, Teshuba, Mother Nature [insert other preferred weather deity here] were all with us last night (along with Bacchus, Lakshmi, Vacuna, etc.)

While it poured rain in Montmartre around 7:30 pm, at the Eiffel Tower we were settling in for a gorgeous sunset accompanied by a glass of rosé champagne (my current favorite: Besserat de Bellefon, Cuvée des Moines Brut Rosé, on sale right now at your neighborhood Nicolas for less than 24 euros whereas normally it goes for close to 30).

This picnic wins the record for late finishes: the last 12 of us finally left at almost 3:00 am.
Merci, grazie, thanks to the 40+ guests who came and contributed to the fantastic time had by all!!

The daring dozen that stayed into the wee hours enjoying the first real break in the canicule and the Eiffel Tower at 2 am.

Life is just one big picnic

I have to admit that I’m rather proud of myself for having come up with the idea of my group picnics back in July 2000. The original one was held to usher in my new career as a freelance translator. I held it on a Saturday afternoon, starting around 3 pm. About 40 people came to help me rejoice in my departure from Cheuvreux, and we drank about 40 bottles of champagne over the course of the 7 ½ hour celebration. (This is not an exaggeration, neither in terms of bubbly consumption nor party duration.)
At that first picnic, I made the error of preparing all the food myself, which detracted somewhat from my enjoyment since it is clearly no small task to provide fresh food for 40 people in an outdoor setting a kilometre from your kitchen. I also made the mistake of scheduling it in the afternoon, when the park cops are still on their beat. First they forced us to move from the Champ de Mars to a tiny nearby park, and later they came back and busted up the very lively (thanks to the aforementioned champagne) croquet game we were playing (under the pretext that “ball games” in the park are against the law because they are bad for the grass… you can have 40 people sitting on blankets crushing the grass, but not a few small metal hoops pushed into it!! whatever. In my tipsy state, I confronted the flics, appealing to their patriotism with the example of the French Resistance, who broke the laws during WWII because the laws were evil and encouraged them to see this law in a similar vein. Needless to say, they did not appreciate my logic and luckily someone separated us before I received a citation).
Over the next few years, I organized another couple of picnics on a smaller scale and in more sober fashion in various Parisian parks or locations, but never on a recurring or formal basis. But the summer of 2003, forever engraved in French memories as “LA canicule” when the thermometer soared to record highs and the elderly dropped like flies, it was too darn hot to stay inside to eat. So, I started picnicking on a regular basis on the Champ de Mars after nightfall, to beat the heat on the surprisingly cool grass. The following summer I decided to share this pleasure with my Parisian friends and acquaintances.
These picnics solve the problem of my not being able to host dinners or parties in my miniscule apartment, and I am so pleased with their rousing success.
Generally, 30 to 60 of us gather around 8:00 pm on the fresh expanse of green near the Eiffel Tower and enjoy the sunset, the twinkling tower lights, and the array of food and drink (although I always provide the basics – plates, cups, forks, knives, napkins, etc. – now I only make enough food to feed around 20 and bring several bottles of wine and water. The guests all contribute some food to share and something to drink, and there’s always more than enough to go around). Sometimes there is good mingling and mixing among the attendees and sometimes everyone stays put in the conversation circle they formed upon arriving. In previous years, we were one of a few bold groups picnicking on the grass (it is of course, strictly forbidden, hence our expulsion to the petit parc in 2000. In the evenings, though, the authorities show great indulgence and tolerance by turning a blind eye if they happen to be present.. at least for now…unfortunately the increasing number of copycats are often not as well behaved as we are and some leave behind masses of litter, which could end up jeopardizing our fun in future summers). Nowadays, I have to arrive extra early to stake out precious space, as by 10 pm there are literally hundreds of picnickers and no more room. (See photos below from the May & August 2005 gatherings)


We often stay until 1 am or so, although there is always a mass exodus around half past midnight for those who need to catch the last metro.
If you happen to be in town this Saturday, July 22, come along and join us!

The Dog Days of Summer

Thanks to powerful fans in my apartment aimed directly at me at all times, I’m riding out the latest heat wave in France much better than the last great canicule (« la canicule » the word to designate the hottest part of summer, is now used to mean heat wave too). From Wikipedia: “The term itself was coined by the ancient Romans, who called these days caniculares dies (days of the dogs) after the constellation of Canis Major (big dog) within which Sirius (α Canis Majoris) is found. As the hottest and most humid days of summer generally coincided with the period where Sirius rose/set with the sun, they believed that heat from Sirius was increasing the heat of the sun.”
Anyhoo, thus far, this heat wave has been reasonable compared to 2003.
But the folks back home in Texas or Arizona should consider this: today’s forecast calls for a high of 36°C. That’s 96.8°F for those of you not on the metric system. We’ll call it 97° to have a rounded numeral. 97° not counting the humidity or the searing city pavement that continues to reflect heat up into my apartment well past midnight. You may scoff, as temperatures in the Lone Star state or AZ are well above 100°F these days. But here’s the crux of the matter: 97°F and no a/c. The temperature inside my apartment hasn’t gone below 80°F in days (that’s in the middle of the night. Most of the time, it’s about 85°F). And there’s no place to go to escape, as people here are superstitious of drafts (as in airflow, not as in military conscription) and air conditioning, so even in places that you would think would provide relief (movie theatres, shopping malls) you don’t get any (relief that is). The one place that feels good is my grocery store’s refrigerated section, so I’ve been taking my time picking out yoghurt lately.
Think about it. And go give your air conditioning unit (which is probably contributing to global warming and increasing the frequency of these terrible heat waves!!) a big hug.

Cultural Differences, round 2

How do fairy tales end in English? “And they lived happily ever after.” How do they end in French? “Ils se marièrent et eurent beaucoup d'enfants.” (literal translation: they got married and had lots of kids) Somehow, in my mind, having lots of kids is not necessarily the logical equivalent of living happily ever after... as a translator, this brings up an interesting issue: most of the fairy tales present in US culture were written by Europeans, so it would appear that an English-speaking translator at some point in history made the choice of translating “they got married and had lots of kids” as “and they lived happily ever after.” Why they would do this is an fascinating question, but not one that I’ll go into here and now…

The World Cup Coke commercial that I referred to in a previous post: a cartoon (the French love animation, particularly “BDs” or bandes dessinées, adult “comic books” that are taken very seriously here) where we see a series of various unlikely couples listening to or watching one of France’s games (unlikely, as in a cactus and a balloon, for example). The last of these apparently “mismatched” couples is… a husband and wife… They are lying in bed, watching the game on TV. France scores, and ecstatic, the husband leaps out of bed and starts doing a victory dance in his boxers. He is promptly joined by the wife’s lover, who ‑ unable to contain his enthusiasm ‑ leaps out of the closet, where he apparently has been hiding since hubbie came home. After a brief exchange of “what the hell?” looks, they continue celebrating the goal, dancing around together. Check it out on Coke’s French website; http://secure.coca-cola.fr/index.jsp
Could such a commercial exist in the US? Hello? The company that wanted to teach the world to sing, in perfect harmony? That asks us to have a Coke and a smile?
I get into this discussion frequently with the French. Many mistakenly believe that I am saying that there is less infidelity in the US than in France. This is not what I am saying. All I am saying is that I think that infidelity is considered acceptable and “normal” behavior in France. It obviously happens in the US, too, perhaps just as often as in France, but in US culture, cheating is looked down upon and generally condemned. It almost always results in break-ups/divorce. It’s something to be ashamed of, kept taboo, not flaunted and vaunted or simply accepted as the norm as it is here. The only American couple that I have ever heard of surviving infidelity is the Clintons, and I think strident political motivation is the only glue holding that one together. Infidelity is not considered acceptable or routine in the US. I’m not saying this is right or wrong or that Americans are better people. I’m just pointing out my perception of a cultural difference. I can provide numerous examples of how this normalcy/acceptance is portrayed in French culture, especially in advertising... a mind-boggling number of ads where someone is having to sneak out of the house because the legitimate spouse or live-in has returned or one partner is shown covering up their cheating in one form or another… Or how about the name of a leading dry cleaning chain? 5 à Sec. It’s a play on words. A “5 à 7” is a euphemism for having an affair (usually implying a man seeing his mistress right after work, at 5 pm, before heading home to the wife at 7…) Countless more examples exist in garden variety French TV, films and music. Obviously, there are also plenty of movies/books/TV shows in the US that address the issue of infidelity, and songs as well (who doesn’t love “Me and Mrs. Jones”?) but again my point is HOW infidelity is portrayed. Mrs. Jones has to be “extra careful” while Madame Untel wouldn’t necessarily have to exercise the same discretion… This leads to two reasons as to why I say that Jérôme is not typically French (and why I love him so much): 1) fidelity is of utmost importance to him, he has never cheated on anyone and would never tolerate anyone cheating on him; 2) he is the only French person I’ve ever met that hates BDs too.

Blessed be St Georges

Just got back from what has now become an annual tradition (3 years in a row), my long weekend with Emmanuelle’s family in St Georges de Didonne, a charming little beach town near Royans (just north of Bordeaux).
I adore spending time with Emmanuelle and her family. They could be right out of 1950s television, they are so ideal. Really, one of the healthiest and happiest families I’ve ever met. I wish that everyone I know could have such a loving, generous family. And boy, her mom can cook!!!! (from L to R: Anne-Laure, the youngest, Marie-Christine, Emmanuelle)
My favorite things to do there (not in any particular order, although this list pretty much follows the sequence of each day): 1) take early morning walks on the beach, where there’s only ever a few fisherman, a couple of serious joggers and a scattering of dog-lovers who want to give their pets a swim (normally dogs are not allowed on the beach, sadly…but at this time of day, there’s no one around to spoil their fun and they provide some laugh-out loud moments playing with the waves) and watch the sun come up over the pines.
(You can click on the photo to get a better view of my canine friend.)
2) eat (did I mention that Marie-Christine, Emmanuelle’s mom, is a fabulous cook?). 3) hang out at apéritif and mealtimes with the fun extended family (her aunts, uncles, cousins, etc.) 4) ride the bike to the colorful local market to get provisions for yet another unforgettable meal. 5) eat (did I mention that Michel, her dad, also whips up a mouth-watering ratatouille or tapenade in addition to wicked cocktails?) 6) nap after lunch on a lounger in the backyard, under the pines. 7) soak up the sun in the early evening beach sessions, when the crowds have left but it is still hot enough to savor a cool dip in the water. 8) dine on the terrace, with the sun setting over the pines.

9) enjoy the stimulating, always interesting conversation at the table (accompanied by the delicious wines chosen by Michel). 10) read until midnight or so to digest the fantastic meal just consumed and sleep the sound sleep of the vacationing just…to wake up the next morning and start all over again… I’m already looking forward to next summer!!!

Cultural differences

I’m writing this blog entry on the train from Lausanne to Paris (note to self: next time keep camera at seat to take pictures of gorgeous scenery outside. This train definitely has one of the most beautiful routes I’ve ever traveled. Breathtaking, from bucolic green pastures in Switzerland to the magnificent forests of the Jura to the rolling hills of Burgundy... I highly recommend it.) Besides catching up on my sleep, what has weighed most on my mind during this almost 4-hour trip are the cultural differences between the US and Europe in general, France in particular. Witness my choice of travel: the TGV. It’s clean, it’s fast, it’s on time, it’s so much easier and convenient than flying. (I’m also writing this from 1st class, which in addition to having a socket so that I can actually plug my laptop in, for some crazy reason is picking up a WiFi connection too, although I haven’t been able to actually access the internet from it…) Did I mention how inexpensive this mode of travel is too? For a mere 65 bucks, I’m safely ensconced in an extremely comfy seat and Sheba gets to hang out next to me (in his carrier of course). How much would EasyJet (the European equivalent of Southwest Airlines) charge for an equivalent flight? And how far in advance would I have had to get to the airport, check my bag, line up for the cattle call to get a seat, *no* first class, wait for my bag upon arrival etc. etc. Jérôme and I pulled up to the train station just 20 minutes ahead of my departure and I felt no pressure, no rush, no stress. Smooth sailing, so to speak.
The first time I was living in France in 1991, the French were very proud of the fact that Texas had just decided to purchase some TGVs to improve intrastate travel (the French model having beat out the Japanese and the Germans). The Texas TGV was supposed to link San Antonio, Austin, Dallas and Houston if memory serves… anyhoo, of course Southwest lobbied their asses off (by the way, I don’t have anything against Southwest Airlines; in fact, it’s probably my favorite US airline) and some fools managed to convince the dairy farmers that the vibrations from the high-speed trains would be bad for their cows (I’m sure the thousands of cows I’ve passed on this journey alone would be surprised to hear it.) So, in the end, Texas dropped the TGV.
Another difference over here: the importance of the World Cup. The past few weeks, our evenings have pretty much revolved around nothing else. Yet when I lived in the US, I only have a vague souvenir of anyone ever talking about it. And I *love* soccer. I played for 2 years on the Lucky Shamrocks, undefeated in our district. I have great memories from those games, even though admittedly I myself wasn’t very good. And in high school, our soccer team was way better than our football team (I am of course referring to St Stephen’s, and so there are those who would say, “yes, but that’s private school.” Whatever.)
But back to our main story: Italy's win last night is more bitter than a bad espresso. I have to admit, going into the game, I had my misgivings, considering how poorly France played against Portugal to get into this final. But the truth is, after a somewhat sluggish first half, they DOMINATED that game. They came back from halftime (I could write a whole other entry on cultural differences in sports: notice no cheesey half-time show and NO CHEERLEADERS!! although the Coke ad featuring marital infidelity is yet another key cultural topic… there are some very interesting observations to be made on these points, but this is already an extremely long-winded bit so I’ll spare you that today) and ran all over the Ritals. Somehow, they just couldn’t score though, and thus the tragic ending that you are certainly all aware of by now. But I am really proud of the French team for how they played last night, and that is rare (both my pride in French soccer and their playing). They clearly had their mental game together and combined with their physical talents, they were a sight to behold. They were the better team last night and deserved to win.

Performance anxiety

Now that I finally made the leap to start a blog, suddenly I feel immense pressure to be entertaining which instantly makes me freeze up and have nothing interesting to say at all…
My idea was that a blog would be a better way to keep in contact with friends and family since I don’t always have the wristpower to email everyone after all the translating typing and since Swisscom is exorbitantly expensive. Although the Swiss brag about the web having been invented here, they are incredibly behind in terms of ADSL/unbundling/free internet phoning etc. so chatting on the phone as much as I’m used to is now out of the question. And, Skype hasn’t caught on everywhere yet for reasons that bewilder me… hello, free calling anywhere in the world!?!? Get yourselves some headsets/mikes people!!!
http://www.skype.com/
So here’s the latest news:
Somehow I twisted my neck/upper back muscles a couple of days ago and am only comfortable lying down flat on my back or standing under a hot shower. This is not fun. I was supposed to go to the animal shelter for the first time yesterday to start my great new volunteer gig of walking homeless dogs (thanks, Mom, for that fantastic idea!) but couldn’t make it because of the pain. I dread that this is what it means to get old: sudden, inexplicable physical problems that hurt like the dickens.
I’m currently od’ing on ibuprofen because the Swiss pharmacists are so uptight (in Paris I could have gone into my local pharmacy, pleaded my case and batted my eyelashes and walked out with prescription-strength painkillers, but here the pharmacist just listened with moderate sympathy and then sold me Advil. A disadvantage of moving out of the most hypochondriac country in the world into one that follows rules like only Germanic peoples can…)
But don’t get me wrong, that is one of the advantages of living here too. There is no crime, people are very respectful of one another (I have only come across 1 piece of dog poop on the sidewalks since February, a refreshing change from France and the crottes partout!) and there is an overwhelming sense of peace and safety that is very relaxing. Although Lausanne isn’t as clean as other Swiss cities I’ve visited, compared to Paris it is spotless.
We just had another fabulous weekend in the Beaujolais with Antoine, and Jérôme’s parents and surrogate father, Gérard, came to BBQ with us and watch France miraculously beat Brazil. The photo is of the chateau where we stayed, one of our absolute favorite gîtes.
I’ll be heading back to Paris next week to make my annual trip with Emmanuelle to her family’s house on the Atlantic coast, a place and people I adore. Then I’ll be in Paris for several weeks in a row, and Jérôme and Antoine will be joining me there on July 29 for a week. I hope to organize another picnic with all my friends while I’m there and do some much-needed work on the apartment, and of course, catch up with all my Parisian pals.
The workers from Ikea are here again to finish putting up our armoires so cross your fingers that they get it right this time! Our love nest here is slowly but surely getting settled in and I hope to be able to receive guests here soon!

The Blog Bandwagon

For years I refused to get a cell phone because I thought they were totally obnoxious and I was probably the last person in the so-called civilized world to finally succumb to that trend (and of course now, can't imagine my life without my beautiful little Samsung number that I adore) but I didn't have any such a priori about blogs although I never thought I would have one... and now that I'm bored and lonely in Lausanne since I don't know anyone here except Jérôme, it was either this or have a baby...
so welcome to my blog!!