Catch Up and Oles in Paris

It's been a week since I last wrote. So sorry. It's strange but I really am "busy" while I'm here. I like it. It makes it feel like home.

Alas, I'll start with the weekend. Friday night was my night with my drea friend from Argentina, Silas. One of his best friends (also Argentinian) joined us. It was a meal of rice and foie gras stuffed quail. For dessert a delightfil apple tarte. Then there was music and dancing. Things got silly as we listened to Rossini's "meow" aria- an aria in which to women sing back and forth to each other... only in meows. We tried among the three of us, and we succeeded fro about 20 minutes, to speak only in meows. It was a lively evening and a precious time with Silas.

Saturday and Sunday it seemed that I did nothing but eat. Ratatouille, Mussels, Lasagna, Fresh Fruit, Macarons, Esgargot and Lamb... that's not even all of the food I tasted and ate. Holy shit. Needless to say, I have returned to nomal gastronomic intake and my meals have been delightfully simple since the feasting.

On Sunday afternoon a close friend of mine from St. Olaf arrived here in Paris to spend a few days in the city with me. I loved showing her around to my favorite places and spending evenings cooking, talking and enjoying wine. Time has passed so much quicker with someone else around, and it makes me more aware of my surroundings strangely enough. Perhaps I have become almost wholly introspective since my time in Paris and seeking the company of others serves to rejoin me with an outside world.

Kate and I "did" Paris- and so efficiently! We went to the gardens at Versailles, picknicked under the Tour Eiffel, shopped in Opéra, went to a poetry reading at Shakespeare and Co. (more on that to come) and smoked cigarillos on the Quai St. Michel.

The poetry reading at Shakespeare and Co. was a British poet reading from his introspective work combined with guitar lusic and drawings by his younger brother. We had the best seats in the house. The creaking, leaning bookshelves stacked to the ceiling rose above our heads and a thunderstorm and downpour clattered and spittered on the roof. It was a wholly satisfying experience, and KB and I lingered long enough to talk to the author about his work, and he sincerely asked us about ours and to send him samples of writing. I personally intend to and have felt very inspired to write since the reading.

Paris looks beautiful in almost every light, and today as the grey-blue light camein through the windows I whispered my temporary farewell to my city. Leaving the apartment and going out into the street a violent wind swept up behind me, as if my city is telling me to go- to leave and explore. I leave with KB to go to Lille and then Brussels. it is time to put on my backpack again and look to the horizon. KB asks me if I'm sad- sad to leave. I reply, somewhat to my surprise, that no, I am not sad. In fact, I'm content, in almost every way.

Silas KB and I had drinks last night in a café and both of them commented on how much I've grown and changed. In many ways, I am the same as I always have been- tehre are the quirks no amount of time can erase. But looking back over the time I've spent with these friends and the phases of life I've experienced therein, I can see how my life is both mapped by my solitude, in cities abroad or home, and in loving company with my dearest friends.

I return to America in six days. I am neither sad nor happy. I just am. It's a state I wouldn't have understood a month ago, or even last week. It is like enlightenment and hox Buddhist teachers often say that it cannot be described- you simply know it, yet cannot express it beyond yourself, because there is no longer confined self. There is only you and the universe looking at one another. I'm not enlightened, at least I don't think I am. Bhodisatvhas haven't appeared to accompany me to the Western Paradise, but I feel a peace inside me that is new and sweet, yet something I feel has always been there, waiting to be discovered.

Versailles, Place de Madeleine, and notes from a tiny apartment in the XXéme

I had a royal day yesterday. I woke up and decided to go to Versailles (to be completely honest I considered it before hand but I wanted the effect of waking up and just going- I literally planned nothing aside from asking for the right train). It was a gorgeous day in the French countryside south of Paris. A bit overcast, but warm spring air touched everything and made the stones of the Chateau toasty and inviting. I sat by several ponds throughout the day and contemplated the green water and floating swans aimlessly. Tourists of all kinds were on the train and on the gournds. I utilized three of my fluent languages to help at leave five tourists get on the right train at the Tour Eiffel RER train station. I felt très international.

The Chateau is undergoing restoration, and some of it was completed. The front gates of the palace have all been re-guilded with bright gold and the rion work has been polished and painted. It looked new. Brand new. I imagine that this is what the palace looked like when it was completed by Louis XIV. There are details on the Chateau itself (guildings on windows and roof lines ect.) that have yet to be completed, but I know the palace will look incredible just from the small section that had been finished.

I passed the lines to go into the Chateau and made a B-line for the gardens. To be honest, I find the Chateau interesting, even exquisite, but it seems strange experiencing such a monumental work of architecture alone. I can't turn to someone inside in the hall of mirrors and gush about the Braoque interior, nor can I comment on the silk tapestries and intruicite mouldings in the royal bed chambers, or point to a friend's reflextion in the flawless parquet floors. I can do none of this because I am alone at Versailles. It doesn't make me unhappy, but I did wish there was a friend there to share it with me.

In any case, I passed the day contentedly on my own. After a fabulous lunch in the small "village" (which used to be the stables) in a renovated café (stable interior gone gourmet- yea or 'neigh'?) I sauntered to the bycicle rental and chcked out a bike with a handsome basket perched on the front. I felt very "Sound of Music". I was dressed in all black and felt very elegant perched on my bycicle floating past lines of trees, ponds, fields... the extent of the palce grounds is staggering. After two hours of riding, photo taking and getting splashed by a snot nosed brat in a passing boat (I called him a "meanie" (in french) and he giggled in that way that naughty children do when they are completely satisfied with themselves)I settled into another café for a half an hour to enjoy raspberry juice and to catch my breath. The sun shone brightly and in the late afternoon the bustle of the café mixed with the sounds of singing birds gave me such peace. I never 'want' to leave Versalles. It is a place unto itself. Incomparable. Nothing else like it exists.

This morning I awoke after a thorough night of sleep to hop onto the metro and get out at a stop I hadn't yet done this trip. I chose Medeleine- a ritzy quartiér near the Place de Concordes. I found my third CHANEL boutique there and went inside. Each boutique has many of the same things in it, yet I always feel like I'm going into a gallery or museum. I always feel like I'm letting somone down when I turn down assistence from one of the boutique workers. In my head I think "Why NOT try on that gown? Will they know that you don't have 17,000 euros?... well..." Instead I reach out every so often to touch details of the clothes and smell the leather of the purses.

This trip in Paris is less and less about CHANEL. I imagined it would be so. The realizations I'm now having of my beloved Paris are reality- not shocking, upsetting reality, but an adult, intelligent mature reality. My love for Paris will never go away. This city is special, even in the most banal of its details. There is a life force here that attracts and entrances me. Yet I am actually proud to say that I no longer see Paris exactly the way I did as a naive 14 year old meeting her first love for the first time. Paris still takes my breath away, yet it is more measured and steady. No longer am I dizzy in the lights and in love with each street, but rather I look at Paris and see something old and perhaps wise.

I understand why the French are so proud. If anything the most constant of French things is their traditions- even tradition of thought. History is important and this city boasts of it- breathes it. Perhaps these traditions, truly borderline compulsions are misread and misunderstood in the greater picture of the world, but in this little paved stone world they all make sense. This is why I love Paris. It is not a logic that can be written or divulged, it is a logic that one can only taste in the bread and wine, smell in the air filled with the scent of the river and cigarette smoke, see on the flower laden tombs of icons loved and passed, and feel in the embrace of the deep city hum... from the bottom of the deepest metro line to the top of the Tour Eiffel...

Evil Chicken

a slight hitch in the trip- the only on thus far- and also a word from the wise and experienced traveler and eater:


Yes, Paris is the center of delicious food and incomparable pastries, yet one must always be wary. Oh! evil chicken in a corner bistro near Le Marais... you anger and crush me...

I have never been so sick in my entire life.

Glad it's over. I am still recovering and feel very tired and weak after vomitting for 8 hours.

Even so, yesterday was not a total loss. I stumbled upon the historic home of the great Victor Hugo (such stumblings happen every day in this city- I recently discovered that Edith Piaf began her career in this quartiér!!!) and I also found an amazing bookstore in the Jewish quarter. I plan on returning to purchase something ere I leave.

All in all, the week has begun roughly. Alas, with such an active weekend it's understandable. Today I'll stay close to my apartment lest I need to collapse into nap, and nice, simple food is the course for today.

This little American in Paris shall prevail...

The Coast- Normandie and Bretagne

There are several elements to the northern coastal regions of France. There may be more than I discovered this weekend on my trip to Mont St. Michel and coastal Bretagne, but that which follows is what I now know:

Sea- cool Atlantic waters with warm winds....

Stone- worn away with time and waves, the stone of the coast is always wet and mossy. The stairs of Mont St. Michel, the monastery, event he base of this little village are all dependent on stone. Smoothe and sturdy. The stones on the coast of Normandie and Bretagne have worn away centuries of time. Covered in algea and salt, the rocks off the coast of Bretage are savage and beautiful. Tangible by sight and even more so by touch. Juxtopposed with golden sand the longstanding pillars and planes uder the sea are exposed with low tide when we can truly take in their beauty.

Salt- one cannot visit the coast without smelling, tasting or seeing salt. It's in the air you breathe, it settles on your skin and into each strand of hair. The wind carries it and each bite of food you taste has salt in it. Not to an excess, but in a maner of subtle and constant taste. My favorite quickly became the raw salt crystals infused with seawead. Sprinkle it on an oyster or over poisson gratiné (fish gratin) or even two or three grains on the tip of your tongue and the richness is understood.

Oysters- the richest I've yet tasted. Grown in little farms on the coast, the little portable house creatures are a favorite in Cancale, a small town on the coast in Bretagne. I am not a fan, personally, but I believe that if you have the opportunity to experience something rare and beautiful, there should be risks taken, especially for food. The worst that can happen is that you won't like the taste. (Unless you have food allergies, which I do. In any case, knowing these limitations helps and finding room in between, well, that's the fun part).

I am with Aurélie's parents in a restaurant in Cancale. We order fish and oysters- "les fruits du mer" (fruits of the sea) in this coastal area. I hesitantly take the oyster into my hand and poke its little body with my fork. A squeeve of lemon and a small dash of salt, I lift the shell towards my mouth and 'squiff squiff' (that's the sound I make when I slurp oysters) into my mouth. A burst of rich flavor paired with stinging citron, I chew and swallow the little morsel boldly. A pause. "Do you like it?" Aurélie's parents ask enthusiastically, hoping for a positive response. I reply that, yes, I like it. But I also explain that it is incredibly rish for my mouth. It is delicious and I am pleased.

Butter- the sister of salt. Butter in Bretagne is salted with the large grains of raw salt crystal. Soft yellow color- real butter. "I can't believe real butter is this good". That kind of butter. Add warm ciabatta... well, you know the rest.

Cider- the folk in Normandie and Bretagne have fluched red cheeks. Why? They like their distilled liquor. Cider. Made from the apples in Normandie. I believe they get the apples drunk and then squeeze them into bottles. I sampled a very very very small serving and my throat was on fire. That stuff is for studs only. Or the the people of the coast. In any case, I don't think I'd 'keep up' on a night out with them.

I missed the ocean. It was a good trip to take to escape from "city life". It was hard to leave it too. In any case, I felt refreshed and happy. Climbing the stairs of an ancient moestary (founded in the 10th century!) and seeing landscapes that have kept up with time itself, I felt very alive and all at once seperated from any sadness of the world. One must descend from these places- we cannot remain on the mountain top. Even so, to glance at heaven from a high place was a joy for the heart.

Smokers in Cafés

Up to this point I think I've kept the content of my blog tactfully positive. Not tonight.

Smokers: No. It's not okay for you to hold your cigarette, though stylishly, right next to me. Your smoke gets in my eyes, my hair, and most importantly my nostrils. You'd think they'd make a law about this or something... oh wait! They did! Even though you're in an outside terrace, let's be polite, shall we? I'm sorry I don't love nicotine (no I'm not) and I'm also sorry I'm not as cool as you (... I'm not as cool as you, but I don't care) but I would prefer to keep my lungs pretty and pink. Also, I like breathing. It's kind of important.

Angelina's and Rue Cambon

At last- my chocolate love of a lifetime consumated in the old chocolaterie of Paris. Angelina's. I arrive and choose a table where I can look out into the mirror and mural lined salon. Sharply dressed waiters bring porceline bowls and cups to customers. I order the most sinful- the specialité- Africaine hot chocolate. Melted milk chocolate in little caraffe, accompanied by a little dish of fresh whipped cream. The liquid pours slowly into my cup. I take the spoon and stir in my whipped cream. A little drop of stray chocolate sits balanced on the spout of the caraffe. I rescue it with the tip of my finger and bring it to my lips. It is the smoothest chocolate I've ever tasted. To eat chocolate is delightful; to drink it is simply decadent. My belly already feels full after two or three sips. I can't finish it. I shouldn't finish it.

The chocolate tastes like the happiness of a child when given a treat. It is thick and soft and the color is pure.

I don't finish my chocolate cup. It's really impossible. Perhaps if I ate nothing for a day or two, I could go to Angelina's and finish it. But no. I can't, and I'm glad. The chocolate left in cup and caraffe seems fitting for such a salon. The polite portion taken; the decedant leftover remains as a symbol of its worth. My tongue will miss you, Angelina.



After leaving chocolate bliss, I set out to find CHANEL's original boutique. I stumbled happily upon rue Cambon and eagerly traversed the street. I began searching for the boutique. I pass 18 rue Cambon. A little further. Then 21. Nearly there. I find it at last. A well dressed man opens the door as I walk into the most beautiful boutique I've ever seen.

They were kinder here. I wandered and looked at everything. Everything. I even tried on a necklace. It looked beautiful. I felt proud that I had been brave enough to ask. I felt less excluded here, yet I also felt like I was in an art gallery. It truly took my breath away.

At last, Coco, we meet in person.

Nicole

The other evening I met a fabulous French woman in a Brasserie near my apartment. I was still having trouble sleeping so I went out to the café for a little glass of kir before bedtime to relax. I sat alone under the awning of the smoke-filled street side café. A woman next to me also gazed out into the night, cigarette in hand and half-filled glass of wine. As I arrived I asked her if she was saving the place next to her for someone, and she replied no. I squeezed in between the crowded tables, bumping her boot once or twice. In this way our conversation began.

She was preparing to leave when she turned to me and asked why I was all alone and if I was waiting for somebody. I replied no, I was simply relaxing and enjoying the evening. She heard the little hint of an accent that still remains in my spoken french and asked where I was from. She then offered to sit with me for a while if I cared for the company. This is how I met Nicole.

I shared my love story for Paris as she beamed proudly at the mention of her beloved city. She shared her life and history- jewish, musician, loving mother of three, adopted and familiar with the catastrophes of life. Despite her troubled history of love and heartbreak, she seemed to me to be one of the strongest women I'd ever met. She'd grown up in this quartier and spoke of its rich history- Edith Piaf began her career a mere few blocks away, the cemetery Pere LaChaise with its lineup of star-studded graves... and through each of these she weaved her passion for Paris- a passion I understood and felt. Over this eternal love, we bonded.

She offered to dine with me- and so we ordered. I partook of the delightful poached pear in warm chocolate, and she of the cheese plate (which she kindly shared). Another kir for me, a glass of red wine for her. The evening lingered on. I enjoyed every moment of the conversation and food. Slowly, I chewed my sweet pear andlet the flavors sink into each tastebud. When she offered me some of her Camembert, I took a piece and contemplated the creaminess as long as I could before swallowing. She told me of "old Paris"- what she called "the real Paris". Belleville, Pigalle, Montmartre- she knew them all as they had been. I told her I wished I could see them as they were. She explained that Paris has changed so much. I agree with her. The youth of Paris, she explained, don't see it with the same eyes as the previous generation. The city is changing everyday. Even the Paris I knew eight years ago seems somewhat distant. Now MacDonalds, KFC and Starbucks are becomong as common as the lovely aged Brasseries lining the old streets. It makes me sad yet there is nothing I can do.

The conversation turns personal when Nicole asks if I have a boyfriend. I reply, sadly, no. Yet she encourages me not to be sad. Her life story of love, rejection and triumph through music make my heartbreaks feel petty and immature. She explains in such understandable terms that life brings both good and bad- a cliché message, yet somehow far more truthful when said in French. Walking out of the cafe after we finish and we exchange numbers. I never hear from her again, and when I call I receive a text message back that says I dialed the wrong number. Even so, when Nicole and I said our goodbyes and embraced, I felt as if I were saying farewell to a long-acquainted soul. In Nicole I see much of myself- a spirit that is constantly young and old in unison. I tell her how I am happy to be young and in Paris. This, she says, is what matters. I think people like Nicole will be young forever.

Dungeons and Dragons with a Side of Sushi

This trip has already held some interesting new experiences for me. I've spent a lot of time with my friend Aurélie and her boyfriend Oliver at their apartment. We've cooked together, watched some TV and now we have made sushi and played Dungeons and Dragons together. I didn't know they were into it until they asked me if I had ever played. Until yesterday, I had not. But now, oh now, I am a Ranger Elf with expert agility and wicked archery skills. I didn't really understand quite how the game is played, though in my defense it was all of the magic swords and enchanted gauntlet vocabulary but in French.

We also made awesome sushi two days ago. Delicious indeed, I ate many pieces as we spent the evening with another couple, a Canadian (Quebeqois) and African (of a country I can't recall) respectively. I had another embarassing French moment (even though I've spoken the language for twelve years, I still make stupid mistakes, Such is language)- The Canadian's girlfriend was named 'Jolie' (which means 'pretty') so when she introduced herself I thought she said 'Hello, you are pretty' (instead of 'hi my name is Jolie'- yes these phrases CAN sound the same in rapid French) and thus I replied giggling 'You are too!'...

All in all it really is just a matter of being comfortable with mistakes and comfortable with yourself. I'm finding my place in the city. Not in the sense of finding my way around- that is the easy part. What I mean is that this city moves differently than a city in the United States. It's incredibly busy, yet the French know very well how to stop and relax. It was actually physically hard for me to sit for more than a half hour in a café (and I succeeded- I stayed for over an hour!) or even to just sit down from time to time! This city is teaching me to slow down. A lot. Not in the sense of the deep south slow down, but rather the way one can still move but savor things more deeply, even the banal or obnoxious things. Sirens. I kind of hate them, but at three in the morning I'm a little comforted to hear it. Paris has literally caused me to let my hair down, and it's good for me. For two months after college I felt like I was waiting for something (well, in a sense I was watiting to be here) but now, in the same situation as I was when I letf home- jobless and financially limited, and depressed. I find a new vigor to life, even when I'm slowing down. Granted, it IS the place. Paris. It's special. But I see now the side of reality in Paris, one without the goal of tourism or school- simply being here and being in the state I am in my life. It's very good.

This city isn't perfect. I used to let mysellf think it was. Now I see it as still my beloved, but with it's dingy details revealed I love it more still. It is a love I hope to preserve for a lifetime, and I hope to see the rest of the world and its inhabitants this way as well. Such are the hopes of an artist.

Arrivée à Paris

Bojour de Paris, my friends. Yes the City of Lights and I are happy to be back together again. Arriving here was as strange as seeing a friend from long ago, even though I never knew Paris in such a cold month. Now, yes I went to college in Minnesota, but we didn't spend our time outdoors for longer than 10 minutes if possible. 30 degrees in a city with windy streets can be quite overwhelming, even for so,eone familiar with the unrelenting prarie winters.

My arrival:

After a grueling 9 hour flight on which I got a total of 2 hours of sleep (and also... I watched 'New Moon', and I am ashamed. BUT it was on a plane. I have no other excuse) I arrived totally exhausted but excited in Paris CDG. After whisking through passport control and finding my way to the RER train platform, I sat on the rumbling train waiting to arrive in the city.

I met my very good friend Aurélie at her office. She works for the Senat building RIGHT next to Luxumbourg Gardens. She gave me a remarkable tour of the building and I even got to see some things that tourists don't get to visit. I took many pictures all of which I will post when I come home and reunite with convenient electronic access.

The apartment:

Leqving the Senat we took the metro to the 20émé (20th district) where the apartment I'm using is. The scent of aged urine, cigarette smoke and 'metro rot smell' (it's really not the worst metro I've been in, but some stations are worse than others) filled the air as we waited and then shot through the intestinal system of Paris at high speeds. All of this seemed to happy so quickly and before I realized it, we were at the apartment building. I was hardly surprised by how small it was. Cozy is the proper word. A small red couch that pulls out as a bed, ikea minimalist closet, teeny kitchen complete with a tall table and stolls, and a bathroom made for one person to stand in. Also, the ceiling is falling off in the bathroom. A piece fell into the shower (luckily I had JUST gotten out) last night. It's a perfect little space for me. My two bright windows look out at the other building across from mine (a more attractive building, but I'd rather look at an attractive building than be inside one and look at a plain building). Again, it's perfect and I love every quirk.

After seeing the apartment, Aurélie showed me around the neighborhood. We stopped in a bakery where I had an incredible tarte with egg, tomato, zuccini and cheese. Apparently I was starving because I ate the tarte like I hadn't eaten anything in days. Also, my tastebuds were excited by the new and wonderful mix of flavors. And finally, I xas high on adrenaleine and doing almost anything to keep it up. Snarfing down tartes in a glutunous manner was one way I chose to do this.

Encounter #1 with CHANEL:

two days ago I took the metro to Opéra, arguably the most expensive quartiér in Paris, to look around and enjoy myself. Opéra is of course the place where the world famous Opéra Garnier is found (also the 'stage' for the well-known 'Phantome de L'Opéra')as well as some of my favorite architecture in the whole city. Each building has flowing rows of wraught iron balconies and towering marble buildings. It is also the home of 'Les Printemps', a high-end fashion 'gallery' where all of the world's best designers can be found. Naturally I gravitated towards EACH of the CHANEL boutiques (jewelry, handbags/accesories, clothing, ect.). I felt like the ragged Cinderella in her tattered clothes next to the exquisite diamonds and endless chains of pearls. I reached out gingerly to touch the seems of a black tweed jacket. I basked in the art. Before leaving 'Printemps' I bought a sigle macaron (as seen in Marie Antoinette) in the flavor of rose petals from the famous little café in the store called 'Ladurée' (I highly recommend the experience if you like clothes, pretty things, or cookies of many diffferent colors). There was this whole promotional display for the new 'Alice in Wonderland', complete with a giant tea table where you can take tea like Alice and eat macarons to your heart's desire. I didn't ask how much it would cost to have this experience. I noted the slough of Japanese tourists and thougt of better uses for my supply of Euros. Perhaps I'll recreate the experience when I come home.

CHANEL encounter #2 (In the same day!!!):

Walking away from Opéra is yet another expensive quartier. I must say, this one is probably more expensive than Opéra. I stumbled into 'La Place des Concordes' (gorgeous- do take a moment to google it for an image) and to my left was a CHANEL boutique. I trembled with excitement. I hadn't thought to go in, but I asked myself 'why not?'. It was a strange experience, though beautiful still. Apparently this was the boutique for CHANEL in Paris specializing in diamonds!!!! It was amazing! Even so, I couldn't help but feel the scornful looks of the patrons and staff. 'What is she doing here?' their expressions seemed to say. I will admit that while the boutique and its diamonds were exquisite, I felt out of place. I felt somewhat sullen, but I tried to remember that CHANEL herself was once very poor. Would she appreciate my bold entrance into a world that is not mine but one I adore? I'd like to think she would. If not, I appreciate the juxtaposition, and I'm glad I can peek into the beautiful satin boxes of places I don't belong and enjoy them without shame.

MIDNIGHT MUSINGS AND A PARTING GIFT

It's half past one and I can't sleep yet. I downed two cups of coffee earlier to get my system all jacked up so I can adjust to another time zone. The hope is that I'll collapse from total exhaustion and sleep deprivation once I board my plane tomorrow around noon. Am I doing it the hard way? Probably. Even so, I hope to wake up as I land in Paris and walk off the plane with my backpack and french-ready brain into my beloved city.

Before leaving tonight, my family and I went out for dinner as a celebration of the trip to come. Delicious- of course I ordered the french item on the menu- filet mignon- and ate my chocolate decadence cake like it was whole grain toast, washing it all down with a dark roasted coffee. To be accurate to my cultural predilections, I should have ordered an espresso, yet I think that in the coming month I'll grow relentlessly addicted to them anyhow. Why jump in the water before it's time?

I ran into a dear friend at the restaurant who is a long-time Francophile and Paris enthusiast. I told him about my trip about a month ago. As a gift for my departure he handed me a Tiffany & Co. box which held a bracelet he made for his mother after his first trip to Paris when he was 19. The bracelet has a coin from each country he visited during that first trip to Europe when he was young. His mother died a few years ago, and the reception of something so precious gave way to sweet emotion and appreciation. "It's for luck and safety" my friend told me. I kissed him and told him I would wear it proudly on my trip. I hadn't planned on bringing jewelry for the obvious reason of security, but the jingling coins of this totally unique and inspiring bracelet merit the risk of bling.

Thank you, Brad. I love you dearly.

T-1 Day to Departure

As I prepare to make my trans-atlantic flight to Paris I think about the things I’ll feel when I arrive. I will arrive in the morning, the time when Paris has the best light streaming through each avenue and back street. Markets will be set up, coffee poured, and traffic shall hum in its constant muttering drone. I’ll arrive in the 20eme arrondisment near the cemetery Pere lachhaise- the resting place of Oscar Wilde, Frédéric Chopin, Maria Callas, Max Ernst and Moliere. Quite the celebrity line-up along with hundreds of other French people who were probably also celebrities in France- for instance, Honeré de Balzac. This neighborhood is one I have yet to explore in Paris- delightful new territory to discover and new favorite places to find. Each little neighborhood in Paris has it’s hidden treasures- a corner bakery, hidden alley bookstore or vintage pearl shop. I look forward to spending three weeks with this place.

My trip is not solely one of Parisian content. I plan to make a trip to Versailles and possibly to the southern small village of Grasse to explore the jasmine gardens where the flowers for º5 are cultivated. After three weeks in France, I will be taking a short trip to Belgium, Holland and Germany respectively with a good friend from St. Olaf College. Fortunately for me she speaks fluent German and will be the language guide through these decisively non-French regions (though Brussels will be both- we’ll share the load in that city).

My clothes are packed into my backpack (oh little backpack! I utilize your 3,000 sq inches ever so neatly!), my passport it out and ready and my tiny toiletries are stuffed into a plastic bag for the trans-atlantic journey. All that remains are goodbyes and last minute checks for forgotten necessities. When next you hear from me it will be from across an ocean. Until then- bisous (kisses).

A CUP FOR A QUEEN: ANGELINA’S CHOCOLATE

One of the most important spots I’ll stop at in Paris is Angelina’s- the place to go for an amazing cup of hot chocolate in the City of Lights. In addition to hot chocolate fit for only the most elegant of porcelain cups, Angelina’s serves pastries, truffles and chocolate bars with up to 99% cocoa. More on the visit to come...

The Love Affair

ª5 has adorned my wrist for five and a half years now. Such smells as º5 evoke strong memories for me and the golden liquid symbolizes a love affair that began before I even wore perfume. I was seven when I picked up my first french grammar book at a family friend’s house and proceeded to learn the alphabet that night, later reciting it for my family with pronunciation guided by the book in the sheer and sudden possession of francophilia. Very shortly after that I announced my plans to go to Paris... someday. As it turned out I would wait until I was fourteen to fulfill this dream. As a family we went to London and Paris. I was captivated by the city I’d dreamt of. Having taken french lessons starting at age nine after begging for them, several years later in Paris I was the official “translator” for the trip. Needless to say

my french still had a lot of room for improvement, but speaking its words filled me with excitement- as if I had a secret no one else could touch. Though fourteen and gangly, as I ate chevre and drank earthy french wines and smelled the Seine I felt French- I felt home. My hair was short and my brooding pre-teen stare in many pictures taken during the trip felt like the right look for Paris, in addition to a black Calvin Klein dress worn obsessively as a badge of Parisian pride. The spell was complete

º5

During the production and development of º5 Chanel told the creator, Ernest Beaux, that she wanted to make the most expensive perfume in the world. Of the 80 ingredients in the perfume, the secret ingredient is Jasmine. To this day the cultivation of jasmine grown specifically for Chanel º5 continues in the south of France. The quality is monitored to keep it “the best”.

Chanel also chose her bottle with specific intention and meaning. Most perfume bottles in the market at the time were feminine and delicate. The art deco inspired bottle spoke to the arrival of the new feminine identity of CHANEL- one laced with confidence and beauty that is self-assured and powerful. I do believe that, in this way, Coco bottled herself into CHANEL º5 along with the hopes that true beauty would be recognized by the women who wore it and the noses that smelled it.

The Scent of A Woman

I “met” CHANEL somewhere around the age that I began learning and falling in love with french. The glossy sheen of a sultry magazine add for ‘Coco Mademoiselle’ introduced me to the beautiful empire of the french designer. From a velveteen couch a brunette model gazed intently into the frame. She wore a lacy negligé-like dress that pressed to her body, showing off womanly curves and full breasts. At my young age I thought this woman herself was ‘the’ Coco Chanel, yet even though the elegant creature in the picture wasn’t the woman I would later come to idolize it left an impression on me that lasts to this day.

“Off all the human senses, smell is the most perfect” -Chanel

With this image came a dream and a realization: Perfume is an essential part of elegant womanhood. Though I admit the obvious influence of capitalist-consumer driven principles behind this, I’m able to romanticize it still. And the sheer ceremony of spritzing perfume in the morning as the final touch to my person before leaving my house and going out into public is a moment I take pleasure in every day.

A professor I studied with in Paris during the summer before my senior year in high school explained the magic of perfume to me while we waited in the metro together one day. An uncanny place to discuss elegant fragrance, I agree, but her words stuck with me. She explained “Quand j’oublie mon parfum c’est comme il y a quel que chose manqué..”- without her perfume she felt she was missing something. I paused in the humid summer metro-air to sniff lightly- to see if I could detect the Givenchy she just applied to her neck- it was faint, but present. There were many things about my french professor that terrified me- her wild red hair and tattooed eyebrows and the way she made me cry... twice. But though my professor and I may not have been soul mates, after the conversation concerning perfume I felt I understood something about womanhood that didn’t belong to just one culture, though I admit I think the french make the best perfume.