Postcards from Paris: {Vespas and Velibs}

I've often wondered;
What color would I have if I were to own a vespa?
Walking the rues where a number of Vespas are either parked near cafes or driven on by the lucky owners who ride them. I have taken notice of the variety of colors that Vespas could potentially come in. Black seems classic, but almost too classic. Touching more on "boring" than my character would allow. Yellow is pretty friendly, red automatically seems faster, green seems intellectual, there is a pleasing sea-foam color I have made a note of, but I've come to decide on this rather comforting tone of cream: like the shade of natural vanilla ice cream.
It's true that Vespas aren't French, but seeing them scattered throughout Paris, looking so handsome, it seems they certainly are warmly welcomed. I'd happily welcome one myself into ownership, but for financial reasons, in any case, one could settle for a Velib. Unfortunately, they do not come in different colors, and they are not motorized, but they do have a basket and a bell, and require a healthy work-out. I have spoken with several Parisians who are all in agreement with the Velib system.
From Metro Rides to walking, Vespas to Velibs. It doesn't matter how one gets around in Paris, just as long one gets around.






Bisous,
Reba

Postcards from Paris: {Metro Rides}

It's true I can afford some better portraits of the metro.
But my concept on the subject just surfaced, and I must share along it with the stored images in my database.
I much prefer getting by on my feet, but I do rather enjoy riding the metro in the mornings. There is a certain scent in the tunnel during the beginning hours of the day. I had never really paid attention to the scent due to either that common distraction of people watching, or paying too much attention trying to figure out which line and which stop to get to my destination. I must admit, there are quite often occasions when some stops smell particularly terrible. I think the key is to start early, when the perfume is fresh.
Now that I've familiarized myself with the different routes and the overall system, I can take the time to smell the metro.

Some other observations regarding the subject:
-I like waiting at Place de Clichy off of line 13 because there is always classical music playing. One of my favorite nocturnes by Chopin was our soundtrack one evening, and I thought to myself, how sophisticated it all seems waiting for the metro.
-I like line 2, when the crowd seems pleasant, and not too sketchy. It can be hit or miss with the passengers on this particular line, but I really enjoy looking out the window from Jaures through Barbes-Rochechoart. The time passes so much quicker when there is an actual view compared to the typical view of the dark tunnels in between the florescent-lit stops.
-I also enjoy line 6, once it surfaces from the ground at Passy and crosses over the Seine to reveal a perfect picture of the Eiffel Tower. The tourists always seem to gasp aloud with joy, and the Parisians just continue reading their newspapers. I like the excitement, because I still feel it every time.

Though there are a number of negatives with the metro, I try to get past those because after all, the metro is an essential element to life in Paris.
Bisous,
Reba

Postcards from Paris: {Darling, Sweety, Dear, Honey}

All endearing names to call the one you love.
And it really is quite a delight. Growing up, on my family's southern California property was a large, quite over sized honeysuckle bush. I couldn't say how many bundles of honeysuckle blossoms my brothers and innocently indulged in, yet I believe we did a bee's work on a regular basis.

Aside from nostalgia, and the fact that the honeysuckle nectar was not actual honey, I hold on to the childhood memory and the appreciation for delicious honey.

From the French perspective, like a good wine or cheese; good honey takes time. The process and the many small elements can differentiate between one type of honey an another, all depending on things such as specific blossoms and region. Savannah, Georgia, where The Paris Market resides, has a wonderful source of delicious honey, The Savannah Bee Company. Considering my distance from Savannah, Georgia it was a pleasure coming across this little honey store in Paris. With all types of honey lined up on the shelves, my sweet-tooth surfaced.

My decision was finalized: clover honey with assorted nuts. As a result to this discovery, I look forward to my day beginning with a healthy bit of fromage blanc and a darling, sweet serving of my dear honey.



Bisous,
Reba

Postcards from Paris: {Dubbed Actors}

Okay, okay. So initially one may think: "Dog Day Afternoon??! What has that have anything to do with Paris?!"
And to answer that, not much of anything.
Set in Brooklyn, the entire movie is spoken in English. That is, unless the movie is bought in France. In that case, the entire movie can easily be switched to French just by a right click of my mouse and a scroll down. It really is a strange thing; Al Pacino's tough, anxious, somewhat nasally voice quickly transforms into a deeper tone, and his native English-speaking mouth is slightly off with the French coming out. All of the actors have this in common. Not only in this movie, but in all the American movies I've been watching dubbed in French.

It's been a common phrase of advice:
COMPLETE IMMERSION
-Avoid making friends with Americans or any English-speaking people
-Listen to French music
-Watch French films

It makes sense just to dive in deep with a new language, but at the time being I happen to have a handful of Americans who are good company.
I do have downloaded on my iPod a collection of music from Serge Gainsbourg, Edith Piaf, Josephine Baker, Yves Montand, and Brigitte Bardot.
And with a mixture of wonderful French films and movies with dubbed actors, funny as their mouths may seem...
I feel as though I am making some progress.





Bisous,
Reba

Postcards from Paris: {Bals Croises de la Baronne}

There is sand along the quai of the Seine river, sun umbrellas are pitched up, lawn chairs are sprawled about, and those Parisiens left in the city, along with the smiling tourists, are sprucing up their golden tans. I am too far behind with my pale complexion to consider catching up in public. Rather I’ve taken advantage of Bals Croises de la Baronne. From July 20th until the 20th of August those who are happy on their feet have the opportunity to dance a variety of steps with partners who may or may not know what they themselves are doing. I was fortunate to fall into the arms of leaders who had been dancing all of their lives, and were gracious with their flatteries: “You dance so well.” Pfft! I would then laugh and make sure to loosen my legs to a mailable state and allow then to follow the leader. It’s always a good result, a sense of accomplishment to work up a healthy sweat just by laughing and spinning about. One older man in particular, who my friend and I gathered, was prone to pick the younger girls took his role as dance instructor quite professionally and with our awkward steps he would reassure us that it is only but a manner of, “une deux, une deux, une deux”


Something to consider if one’s night seems undecided:
Lundi: World Guinguette
Mardi: Tango
Mercredi: Rock-Swing-RN’B
Jeudi: Musette
Vendredi: Caribéen
Samedi: Danses XIX et Grand Bal
Dimanche: Country



Bisous,
Reba

Postcards from Paris: {Cirque d'hiver}

It seems as though I am on some sort of roll with these entertainment posts; From Jules Cheret's performance posters, the carnival in the Tuileries, and now the Cirque d'hiver. Perhaps I crave to be excitedly entertained.

I have relocated myself once again, hence the lack of posts, and as I was exploring my temporary new neighborhood I walked through the Friday morning market off rue Oberkampf to eventually come across this oval polygon building: the Cirque d'hiver, Winter Circus.

Not completely a foreign stature, as I have come across it before, yet with the architectural elements and the colored background motifs, I not only wanted to photograph this building, I wanted to know it's history. What draws me most is that yellow background. Along with the red that embellishes the top of the building, I find it to be an entirely appropriate combination of two simple, primary colors in the midst of the Parisian monochromatic palette; and it causes the wondering thought of, "now, what's this building?" A Parisian take on the red and white striped tent, what else would it host, but a circus show!



Bisous,
Reba

Postcards from Paris: {Children at the Fairground}

Peeking from above the perfectly trimmed treetops in Le Jardin des Tuileries, a summer contribution to the scenery, a Ferris wheel along with booths of cotton candy, crepes, ice cream. There are stands adorned with lights, set up with backgrounds of toys and stuffed animals. A clown waiting for children to come to him and tell him what animals to create from his array of colorful, long balloons. A carousel sits rather calmly, with it's top-crowned horse.

The fairground in the afternoon was a little lonely, but I can imagine once the sun sets, and the strung lights are beaming, with the scent of fresh spun cotton candy in the air, and the carnival music at it's climatic level; the lines will be booming, some would wish that it wasn't so crowded and others would feel like they are part of the excitement, and feel invigorated.

While living in Georgia, when the country fair came into town I was determined to seize the moment: eat too much cotton candy and stand in the longest of lines to ride the Ferris wheel.

I hope the Parisians do just that this evening in Les Jardin des Tuileries, bellies full of pink-spun sugar and arms full of tacky, yet memorable oversized stuffed animals.

Bisous,
Reba

Postcards from Paris: {Jules Cheret}

Something about his posters makes me wish I was wearing red or had on a hat or my hair in a full Victorian-era bun sitting on the top of my head.
I got stalled one day recently in this bookshop off the Canal Saint Martin. There was this beautiful red-silk covered book sitting on the shelf. It was heavy weighted and filled with page after page of intriguing rough sketches and fully colored illustrations. There were drawings of circus performers and lovely dressed women. Jules Cheret is the creator of these marvelous poster creation. "Jules, Jules, Jules...Cheret" I kept chanting silently in my head so that I would remember his name. Jules, a name that reminds me of a whimsical, quirky man much like the Jules in Jules et Jim
I returned to my flat to rely on wikipedia, and there was his photograph; side profiled and a full, curled-ended mustache. Happy with my research, I went out to stroll some more. Walking along rue Rivoli, there those posters were again! And much to my surprise, I discovered an entire exhibition on "Jules, Jules, Jules Cheret"
Such a delight!





I wish I was around when such posters were a common source of advertisement.
Bisous,
Reba

Postcards from Paris: {Une fête de la pluie}

It's been raining all afternoon. Buckets. It honestly looks as though my apartment has been relocated right underneath a waterfall. My roof gutter is spilling over, and the streets are flooded. Umbrellas would hardly suffice.
But, today is a special day for France. It is La Fete Nationale, Bastille Day.
Fireworks are set to burst and leave glitter in the sky this evening, oh but the rain. I assumed the celebrations would be rained out so I took to napping away my afternoon.
I woke up to a bright ray of sunlight beaming into my window and children laughing in the streets. I look out my window, the sky is blue, the clouds are white, and combined with the red from the terra cotta chimneys, ever so settle, I am feeling some French patricism beginning to surface.



Another occasion to wear red, white, and blue; mais c'est bleu, blanc, et rouge!
Happy Bastille Day, La fête nationale du 14 juillet!
Bisous,
Reba

Postcards from Paris: {Soldes, Under the Glass Ceiling}

It isn't as though I have either money nor space to buy things. My bookshelves and kitchen cabinets are now storage for some of my clothing. I have an array of different colors and styles of shoes which are lined up underneath my couch/bed. I have three lovely scented perfumes to choose from, depending on my mood what I will wear when the day, or evening begins. My purses are plentiful, also displayed on the bookshelves; and my amount of books and DVDs are adequate considering I am living in Paris for an unsure amount of time.
Material possessions are not the source of happiness, they are just nice to have. Plus, there is a shallow sense of comfort knowing that if one sailor-striped shirt just isn't working, I have a couple of others to choose from.
With all of that as an introduction, it's SOLDES time here in Paris. Meaning, major sales everywhere.
Being in the situation I am currently in, I strolled a few blocks to the Galeries LaFayette, not to accommodate more "things," but to stand underneath this marvel of a ceilling...




And to score some sample perfumes.
Bisous,
Reba