Ever wished you could have an Hermès bag? You can!

 

Follow these links to download one of these nine models of the "Kelly" bag.

 

Print, cut out, color (or not).

 

Left to right, from top to bottom:

The Nathalie / The Laura / The Clémence

The Marine / The Fleur / The François

The Fleur2 / The Capucine / The Papier

 

Amusez-vous bien !

 

Despite my lifelong francophilia, I haven't traveled widely in France, and I don't know its regions nearly as well as I would like. Travel is just a luxury I can't afford. But I've found a site that allows you to plan real or fantasy road trips anywhere in France, without having to know anything more than the general area you want to visit.

 

This is the deal. You enter a region from a drop-down list, choose a linear trip with starting and ending cities, or a circular trip within a region. You pick dates. You click a button. And YourTour presents you with a mapped route that includes sites of interest, a daily itinerary, places to stay, and the total estimated cost. Too cool for words! And you can customize it too. And they'll be adding other European countries soon. (I can't wait for Italy. My mom has gotten it into her head that she needs to do a multi-city tour of Italy in 2011...)

 

This is part of the first day of my two-week fantasy trip to Poitou-Charentes (Ségolène Royal's region):

 

 

This app has great potential: teachers can use it in the classroom and have their students prepare and present reports based on their trips. Travel pros can use it as a guideline for tours they might want to offer. Regular people like you and me can fantasize to our hearts' content and learn while we're at it. I will be playing with this a lot.

 

Now go and visit France!

 

The French government wants the world not to be intimidated by French food and dining. So they thought it would be a nice idea to treat the world (19 countries) to wine and cheese parties on June 4th, 2009. They're forking over 2.1 million bucks to do it, too.

 

Is that not the wildest thing you have ever heard? And the coolest?

 

Of course, it could also be seen as a passive aggressive move in response to Bush's 300% increase on the import tariffs for Roquefort which, by the way, Obama still hasn't lifted. Come on. A guy who gets his arugula at Whole Foods must appreciate Roquefort...

 

But who cares? What are you waiting for? Apply now! It won't cost you a thing.

 

And you could even win a trip to France!

I started taking French in California in the 7th grade (age 12). My first teacher was Mrs. Yoshonis, an American with very big hair who wore a dress every single day. I distinctly remember sitting in her classroom and pointing to the flag saying "Voilà le drapeau," and being incredibly excited when the French club went to Chez Michel for dinner; it was terribly exotic to go to a French restaurant... Mme Yoshonis was lovely.

 

Then we moved to Guam, and my teacher for the next two years (8th and 9th grades) was Mme Cheeley. She was a Frenchwoman; elegant and beautiful. She looked a lot like Ségolène Royal, in fact, though with a tan. I was fascinated by her. She was the first real French person I'd ever met...

 

In 10th grade (at 15) I had to skip French! (Parents divorced, all hell broke loose, they put me in a lousy high school that didn't have 4th-year French.) When I was in 11th grade, we moved to Hawaii, and I found myself in another school that didn't go past 3rd-year French. But Mme Woodrum was more than happy to make me the 4th-year (and 5th-year) class. I sat in with the 3rd-year kids, but she designed an advanced program just for me and let me help with the class.

 

This was 30 years ago! And I am still exchanging an annual catch-up letter with Mme Woodrum at Christmas... (She was very happy to learn I'd moved to Paris and started Francophilia.)

 

Madame Woodrum is special. She's one of those teachers who leave a lasting impression on your life. I hope you have had at least one of those.

 

Madame also taught Spanish and Hawaiian. At lunchtime, she taught hula dancing to the Hula Club. My friends and I hung out in her classroom at lunch, listened to the Hawaiian music and watched the show. I asked her if she could do the can can and she said yes. She told us about her university studies at Middlebury, and how all the French students were in the same dorm and weren't allowed to speak anything but French. She filled our heads with visions of Paris and châteaux and Frenchmen who pinch bottoms in elevators if you don't watch out.

 

Because my parents had just gotten divorced, I went from being a straight-A student to having C's and Ds and worse. I skipped school and went to the beach. A lot. But I never skipped French. And I kept my A in French. My passion and my passionate teacher were lifelines when I was lost at sea. Gradually I found my way back, but who knows what might have happened if it hadn't been for Madame.

 

I am forever in her debt.

I used to say that if I got to choose my last meal, it would be primarily composed of Brie (plus a few perfectly ripe kiwis and a bean burrito). But since I got here, I've changed my tune. The artisan fromager (Chèvres de St. Vrain) at our market (Place Maubert, Saturdays and Tuesdays) sells a Roquefort that can't even be classified as food. It's practically sex. Ingesting it results in a decidedly When Harry Met Sally and Meg and the pie in the deli moment. But real. Good thing you can't witness it. And the cheese guy, Nicloas, is adorable (say it in French). He's hunky and wholesome and rugged and boyish. If you picture him holding a baby goat you'll buckle at the knees. Total Far From the Madding Crowd action. Saturdays and Tuesdays, girls.

 

But I digress. The US government, in its infinite wisdom, has decided to punish the European Union because the EU won't import their vile, hormone-riddled beef. As part of the punishment, the US has tripled the import tariffs on Roquefort. Poor Nicolas! Quick! Rush out and buy some Roquefort, no matter where you are! Help protect the artisans fromagers from the unjust retribution of the evil corporate country.

 

The French government would really like you to come here for your Roquefort, though. Pretty much everyone knows that France is the number one tourist destination in the world (82 million visitors in 2007). But apparently the French tourism authority thought the country needed to freshen up its image because, though it's the most popular destination, it doesn't rake in the most tourist buckage.

 

So last month, France unveiled a new campaign-Rendez-vous en France-to encourage tourism to France. They also designed a logo to go with their marketing campaign. What do you think?

I think it's kinda lame. Trite. Wimpy. But get this:

An earlier version of the logo was more anatomically obvious. It featured Marianne's naked breasts, joined by the "R" and "A." That one was vetoed in June, however, apparently deemed a bit too seductive for the foreign tourist market. (Source)

Too bad! That, and the inevitable scandal, would have been more fun.

 

But even the G-rated version of the logo is not as bad as the logo that was just busted out for the new auto entrepreneur agency, which was recently created to make it easier for French people to start small businesses. Obviously the result of an intra-office logo contest...

 

 

OK, let's interpret this image. Is this a spermatozoa? Does this logo imply that it's as easy as all that to create a company? It makes more sense than seeing it as a balloon. How dorky is that smiley face? Your thoughts?

 

You know, France is renowned in the world for its artistic sensibility. Somebody's getting lazy. But at least they still do cheese right.

I am experiencing some francophile rage and indignation and a deep sense of loss. I'll share. Of course.

 

It started with Franklin D. Roosevelt. The Paris métro station, that is, and my absolute favorite. I rarely had cause to take the 1 line as far as that, and when I did, I kept telling myself that I would hop off and take some pictures next time. I live here. Plenty of time, right?

 

Wrong. One day a few months ago, I rolled into FDR and, to my horror, it had been stripped. It sat there cold and naked and shivering. The station had been betrayed and violated. I felt betrayed and violated. Those bastards.

 

Fortunately, other people did take pictures...

 

 

Love that font. (We're into fonts.) Love the orange with the semi-opaque glass and the shiny metal. Love the seat separators. Love the design.

 

 

Now, I'm sure plenty of people thought the FDR station was an abomination when it was created because of its incongruity with the older stations. (Many, including me, thought that of the pyramid at the Louvre and the Beaubourg, although I've changed my tune on the pyramid.) The FDR station was done in the distinct style of a specific era. I know enough to recognize its specialness, and guess that it's from the post WWII era, but I don't know enough design history to say more than that. Maybe you do? In any case, I love that look. (It would make a fabulous kitchen, wouldn't it?)

 

Ever since I got here, two and a half years ago, journalists and talking heads have been whining about how Paris has become "a museum city." (No shit, Sherlock. Why do you think you get more tourists here than any other city in the world?) And your point is?

 

Over the last few months, I've been taking the métro more than usual and noticing more and more naked stations... Then, not long ago, I started seeing these posters appear in the stations...

 

 

...promising a métro that is "simpler, brighter, more beautiful, and new."

 

NOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!

 

Do you think tourists come here for spiffy, shiny, generic new métro stations? Non, merci. Shiny and new and generic we have plenty of (at least where I come from).

 

The city of Paris is like Jeanne Moreau. Old. Yes, old. To use a euphemism would be an insult. Paris and Jeanne don't need to worry about their wrinkles because they are both still gorgeous. Mesmerizing. They exude a powerful, irresistible, animal sexual/sensual attraction. Paris is more than a moveable feast. It's an orgy.

 

I say leave it alone.

 

Maybe the city government thinks they're doing Parisians a favor. After all, a responsible government should put the needs and wants of its citizenry before those of tourists... (But then again, when tourism accounts for a massive chunk of your GDP, you gotta keep that in mind too.) I do actually see lots of advertising for a company called IMMONEUF. Evidently there is quite a market for the Paris equivalent of tract homes and brand-spanking new apartment buildings. I can't imagine who in their right mind would choose that over the delectable parquet-moulures-cheminée (wood floors, crown molding, fireplace).

 

I'm afraid what's happening here is that the City of Paris is tossing all the vintage Chanel out of the Parisian closet and replacing it with Isaac Mizrahi for Target... I'm honestly worried that the renovations they are undertaking today might end up as generic, artistically insignificant and lacking in personality as most of today's websites are. Coming from a place where lowered standards, homogenization and expediency are the norm, I dread seeing it happen here.

 

I still have hope, however, that the French flair for style and design, their attention to the tiniest aesthetic detail, their pride in their unique and extraordinary capital will prevail. Will the new métro stations be a pure delight to behold? Or will they simply be utilitarian public transport spaces...

 

I'll keep you posted.

 

I recommend global moxie's great post on the same, sad topic. I stumbled across it when I was looking for some info on the design of the FDR station. Nice to know I'm not alone.

 

When faced with a layover in an airport this is my general routine: browsing the paperbacks and magazines (rarely buying), checking out the tacky souvenirs (especially the fridge magnets just in case there's a really kitschy one I need), buying something to munch on, usually M&Ms or pretzels, and either a Coke or a bottle of water to drink. All of this takes approximately 30 minutes, at which point I've exhausted all the entertainment options, so I settle down in the bar or at the gate for the duration.

 

The French, ever conscious of quality of life issues and firm believers in the pleasure principle, know that traveling and layovers suck. So last winter, they offered free UV light therapy to passengers traveling through the capital's airports to lift their spirits and ease their pain.

This summer, they thought it would be nice to offer free dance lessons to travelers at Orly and Charles De Gaulle, the two Paris airports:

Summertime passengers can use their wait time at the airport to learn any one of 15 dances offered by the airport's resident trainers from "L'Ecole des Vacances," including Afro Jazz, Disco, Hip Hop, Mambo, Modern Jazz, Rock & Roll, Salsa, Samba, Tango, Cha-Cha and more. Music and trainer instructions are broadcast through cordless headsets so as to minimize the disturbance to other passengers, and lessons last 10 to 15 minutes each.

How cool is that?

 

 

Via Springwise.

A few weeks ago, a journalist from Public Sénat, the French equivalent of C-SPAN, contacted me through my blog to ask if she could interview me for her program Parlons blogs. She wanted to talk to an American expat blogger living in Paris.

 

Never having been interviewed on TV before, I jumped at the chance!

 

 

You can find the the full story and pictures of the crew in action on my blog or click the image below to watch the show (I come in at about the six-minute mark of the 11-minute show--I literally got five minutes of "fame"!)

 

 

 

 

Did you know that there's a café in Paris that used to be a favorite hang of Thomas Jefferson's? And that another regular at the same café was Voltaire?

 

Test your knowledge of the secrets of the City of Lights by taking this quiz on the National Geographic site! 

 

Guys (and ladies shopping for them), I'm writing this to tell you that in Paris, the rue de Turenne in the Marais is where you need to go to find a high-quality man's shirt. Many of the shops on this street also carry women's styles.

 

My son in California is turning 23 this month and I needed to get him a shirt. It's a tradition I've started; getting him a nice, funky "date shirt" from Paris every year. He likes his shirts a little on the wild side, but on this street you can get everything from formal wear to classic and conservative to full-fledged fun. My son almost got the red one in the picture below at Instant Coton (which had a very nice selection in a wide range of styles for men and women), but I ended up going with a multi-colored shirt with vertical stripes at another store.

 

 

There are a couple of key terms you should know when buying a man's shirt (une chemise). "Cintrée" means tight fitting, and "ajustée" means somewhat tailored, a little less tight fitting than a "cintrée. A regular cut is "normale." My son got "ajustée."

 

As I was vacillating between two striped shirts at that other store, the charming young man who was helping me volunteered that the shirt with the narrower stripes was "younger." So my decision was made. My hipster son would be getting the skinny stripes.

 

You'll find Instant Coton at 101 rue de Turenne, in the 3rd arrondissement of Paris.

In French, the word foire (fair) can be used figuratively to describe a chaotic scene. I asked my husband and my girlfriend (both Parisian) if they'd go with me to the Foire de Paris, a huge annual trade show, and they both basically said "pas possible." They claimed it was always a madhouse and you'd have to be insane to go there.

 

So I went. Guess that makes me crazy.

 

I went early, on the next-to-last day of the fair (the 11th of May), and it was easy to get to by métro. I got there and it was nothing like what they'd described. There were a few people here and there at the start, and it was a little more crowded when I left, but not a foire by any stretch of the imagination.

 

Maybe that's because most of the other visitors, being French, were in different exhibit halls. I, being an expat and a francophile, went to the Terres de France et d'Europe exhibit, and I'm so glad I did. Many of the exhibitors were true artisans d'art, an official designation that they are only awarded after years of study and/or experience at a craft. I had a chance to chat with several artists and artisans that day: leather, clothing, glass, and jewelry designers, painters, graphic artists, and more. They were all passionate about the inherent value and importance of handmade art, and dismayed at the slow extinction of traditional methods and true artisans due to globalization and mass production.

 

When you hear the word "artisan" you probably picture a quaint little French person hand painting birds on ceramic plates. But make no mistake, many of these artisans make very modern and stunning creations using ancient methods.

 

One of the jewelry designers I spoke with was Serge Breton. He told me it took him eight years to learn how to work with the metal and glass he uses to create his jewelry. When we were talking about the decline of artisanal production, he pointed out that he was about to retire and had only trained one apprentice in his long career.

 

Serge Breton's costume jewelry is exceptional. In his studio, he designs each piece, plates it in gold or silver, and then adds the crowning touch: Venetian glass. His designs are based on the art and design of various places and periods in medieval and Renaissance Europe, giving them a look that works whether you're into Goth and alternative rock or going to a cocktail party with a bunch of 40-something friends. Since there's a bit of both in me, I fell in love with his jewelry.

 

 

So, next year, when it's Foire de Paris time, don't hesitate to go. And, when you're shopping in France or online, do what you can to support the true artisans d'art. They're a dying breed.

One of Paris's best kept secrets is hidden in plain sight right in the middle of one of the busiest tourist areas of the Latin Quarter.

 

The Pâtisserie Sud Tunisien is on rue de la Harpe. You can see the little blue and white corner building from the crosswalk that crosses the boulevard Saint Germain right at the Cluny métro stop (at the intersection of bd St. Michel).

 

 

What's so special about it? If you look in the window, you see nothing but a dizzying display of exotic pastries. The pastries are delicious. But if you go inside, you can get The Best Tuna Sandwich on the Planet. Evidently it's legendary and its reputation is growing by word of mouth. A friend of mine is always running into people who've had The Sandwich. I think it's only a matter of time till this little Tunisian bakery is the most popular place in Paris.

 

This particular kind of North African sandwich is called a pain bagnat. It's served in a little round loaf filled with tuna, boiled potatoes, hard-boiled eggs, pickly things, some crisp medium-hot chilis (similar to serranos), a couple of olives, and a delicious hot sauce called harissa (you have to ask for that).

 

If you're out and about, it's a perfect quick and hearty meal and it's only 3.50!

Last November (2007) Eurostar launched an ad campaign to promote its new faster Chunnel trains. Part of the campaign was the site www.getalittleparis.com, which plays light-heartedly on the stereotypically frigid British/French relations with an animated, interactive battle of the icons.

 

I'm mentioning this site because it's giggle-worthy and I thought you might want to share it with the young francophiles (or anglophiles) in your life!

 

Here's a screenshot:

The basic idea is that you select an icon from each side of the Channel, click the train, and watch the battle that ensues. My favorite is the croissant and the double-decker bus... Play with your sound on!

Amusez-vous bien !

My husband discovered a simple, fun and addictive French word association game called GROMO on the Libération website.

 

The first thing I thought was that it would be a GREAT game for intermediate and advanced French students.

 

You start by clicking the Jouer button and a word is displayed. Let's say the word is "vacances." Then you have a minute to type in the field above the word all the words you can think of that might be related to "vacances" like plage, été, voile, etc. As you type each word, it appears on the screen with a score. You want the highest scoring words. What determines each word's score is how frequently it appears with the prompt word in search engine searches (the more common the word, the higher the score).

 

When your minute is up, you are given your ranking.

 

It's completely free, but you can register and win credits in Euros, but I don't know what they can be used towards.

 

Have fun!

 

 

Just thought I'd share this New York Times article A Guide to the French. Handle with Care by Elaine Sciolino, a NYT Paris correspondent who's been living there for five and a half years. She's leaving Paris and decided to share her insights with the rest of us! An entertaining article.

 

SuperFrenchie, a Frenchman living in the US, who singlehandedly wages war against French bashing and the perpetuation of French stereotypes, had a thing or two to say in response to the NYT article: equally entertaining. Plus he's probably a more reliable source (being actually French and all).

 

Enjoy! 

March 20th, 2008 is La Journée internationale de la francophonie, a celebration of francophone cultures that people all over the world participate in every year.

 

This week, French and francophile organizations everywhere are offering special events such as film festivals and socials. Contact your local Alliance Française, French-American Chamber of Commerce, or other organizations to see what Frenchy stuff is going on in your town! 

 

The Organisation internationale de la francophonie is a non-governmental international body that supports francophone cultures worldwide. Countries can join as members or observers; I think you'd be surprised at some of the participating countries. I'm so glad that the governments of some countries where French is not an official language are members or observers simply because they recognize the importance of sustaining the culture of their francophone populations.

 

But guess which country with native francophone populations whose languages are endangered and the protection of which should be a high priority, is NOT a member or observer of the OIF?

 

The USA, of course.

 

American Francophiles unite! Maybe we should start a letter-writing campaign to Congress and get the US to join the OIF. Or we can find out what kind of activism CODOFIL does and see if we can work with them. We could help save Louisiana's francophone heritage! 

 

Take a look at the OIF site and see what the French-speaking world really looks like. One of the organization's services is funding of projects that promote francophone cultures. If you're a student, check out the Agence universitaire de la francophonie, which offers grants to college students.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

For those of you interested in improving your French, you'll be glad to know that the University of Montréal has become the first francophone university to join iTunes U, where you can get free educational podcasts.

 

You don't need an iPod to play them! They can be played on your computer.

 

Content can be downloaded free of charge, anywhere, anytime, for replay via Macs, PCs, iPods or other digital media players. UdeM materials will be updated on a weekly basis. Star professors will innovate by recording and posting their best lectures, while the UdeM's centre for international studies (CERIUM) will upload its popular lectures for wider public access.

 

Access the podcasts here: http://itunesu.umontreal.ca

 

More on this story here:

http://www.newswire.ca/en/releases/archive/January2008/10/c7872.html

 

Check the Francophilia Links page for more links to French audio and video resources!

 

The French call a piece of candy a bonbon. It means "good good." Among the things in life that are good good:

• an entire day spent with a friend who's in Paris for the first time since you moved there


• a lunch of hot curry, cool rice pudding with cardamom, and hot espresso


• an after-lunch stroll through seedy Pigalle


• wild raspberry tea in a cozy Paris apartment on a cold, gray afternoon


• delicious conversation


• exquisite chocolate bonbons

Not just any old bonbons either. Yesterday, my friend turned me on to a French national treasure-two, in fact: À l'étoile d'or, a magical chocolaterie-confiserie, and its proprietress, Madame Denise Acabo, a wacky little old lady who dresses like a French school girl (and has since she was a French schoolgirl).

 

When we got there, she was behind the register literally slurping up chocolate pudding with sprinkles on top and enjoying the hell out of it. She told us she cannot go a day without chocolate.

In this display case are handmade, artisanal chocolates from all over France. Madame Acabo gave us a guided tour of the case, effusively providing colorful commentary on the tiny works of edible art as she hand picked a selection for us.

The rest of the shop contains more of the same plus chocolate in many forms from all over the world.

At that moment, I wanted to recant all my rants about having to go to 25 stores to make a single meal in a day. I was suffused with gratitude that France does so much to protect small businesses (but I could have just been high on chocolate fumes).

Experience a piece of the real Paris:

 

À l'étoile d'or
30 rue Pierre Fontaine
Paris, 9th

It's my second fall in Paris! And my favorite month of the year here. There is something about the light, the colors, the crisp air...

I love to walk around in November. After that it gets a little too nippy for a SoCal girl. I took a walk in the Marais yesterday afternoon and was captivated by the faces under these balconies. Where I come from, looking up at balconies is not something you bother doing. They're generally pretty dismal. Who needs to look at more spider plants? But here, even the most basic cast iron rail can be extraordinary.

I've been here for a year and a half and I still look up when I take a stroll. I think I always will.

Here is this year's November in Paris photo. Will you just look at that sky?

Here's a treat: I just found this site - Spirit of Paris - which has some great Paris pictures.

This is about about crêpes and muffins of the stud variety. I'm warning you, I did just finish a chocolate crêpe that was floating in Grand Marnier.

If you live in Paris (or visit) and are female, stick around; you'll be glad you did.

I've been living here for a year and a half, walking by the cute little crêperie across the street almost daily, and thinking I'd go in one of these days. Creposuk (phonetic spelling of crêpe au sucre) looks more like it belongs in Austin or Santa Cruz or some such artsy, hippie dippy place rather than Paris. Don't you think?

The kids are on vacation and I needed to get them out of the house, so I marched them over to the BHV (a department store). They lurked patiently while I looked at the poster-hanging hardware and stationery and so on, so I decided to reward them with a crêpe. (Good excuse, right?)

There were only a couple of customers, and at the back of the little place, three tall, dark, handsome, athletic young men were standing around talking. I did eventually look at the menu, which is extensive for a crêperie. About 40 different sweet and savory crêpes, all quite substantial and decadent.

Handsome number one came over to take our order and, while we were waiting, I flipped the laminated menu over. It was covered with photos of numbers one through three in what looked like Chippendale's outfits, jumping over hurdles. The Horse Man Team. I love incongruity.

Yes, these three brothers (Matthieu, Julien and Guillaume) started off doing an equestrian show without shirts or horses and now they've gone into the crêpe business.

It turns out handsome number one was Matthieu (below). It was he who served my gooey chocolate crêpe, poured Grand Marnier onto it out of a little silver pitcher, and lit it on fire.

Oh my.

Ladies, that's Creposuk, 27 rue Galande, in the 5th. Métro: Maubert-Mutualité.

Enjoy. Oh, and the crêpes are good too.

The American Association of Teachers of French devotes one week every year to activities designed to highlight various aspects of French culture. Teachers are encouraged to take these activities out of the French classroom into the rest of the school and even the wider community in order to expose and sensitize the unititiated to the wonders of French culture.

 

I'm still exchanging Christmas cards with my high-school French teacher, 28 years after I graduated from high school. Maggie was so much more than a teacher. When I was lost and struggling in school after my parent's divorce, she cared, she kept me afloat, she believed in me. And my French class was an island in a storm, an escape from the turmoil and pain of my daily life at that time, a sanctuary.

 

Lots of our members are French teachers. I've taught French myself, and it was one of the most gratifying jobs I've had. It was wonderful to be able to take what Maggie had given me and pass it on.

 

My favorite teaching story involves a student of mine at a small community college in California. She had studied Spanish for years and even lived in Mexico. She was interested in international business, so she decided to learn French too, and I taught her first two semesters of French. She graduated and transferred to an International Business program (at my alma mater, as it turns out). In the IB program, students have to choose a language and do a double major. And what did she choose? French!

 

We became friends and stayed in touch. A few years later, when I moved to Paris, she was here studying business for her last semester before getting her bachelor's degree. Needless to say, we spent a lot of time together in Paris before she left! Now she's a full-fledged Francophile, and working for a fabulous international company in California. It was wonderful to see her succeed and to know that I might have done a little something to help her get where she is. She's come a long way from "Je m'appelle"!

 

I'd love to hear from you teachers about your most gratifying teaching experiences, your creative projects, your successes!

 

And I'd like to personally thank you all, from the bottom of my heart, for what you do!

Big Bird taught us Merkins how things go together. Bicycle, train, broom, car: one of these things just doesn't belong here! Thanks to Big Bird, we know we can find things that "go together" in their own row, their own section, and sometimes their own store in the US. Clearly the French did not have the benefit of the Grand Oiseau's instruction.

 

Shortly after moving here, I asked my husband where I could get a whisk. He suggested I try what appeared to be a little hardware store: nails, hinges, wood. Unfinished pine furniture (you are now leaving the hardware realm...). Baskets (nowhere near hardware...). I can see baskets and furniture, but not nails. I can see furniture and nails. Furniture could be considered the missing link between nails and baskets but that doesn't mean they all go together in a Big Bird kind of way. As it turns out, there were actually whisks there too. Whisks and baskets, I get. Could baskets be the missing link between whisks and furniture? What do whisks have to do with nails? Nada. Except that they're metal. Big Bird would have a meltdown in Paris. What we have here is the "six degrees of separation" school of organization.

 

Don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining. Treasure hunting in thrift stores is one of my favorite pastimes, so I'm always pleasantly surprised and entertained in these little shops. Especially given the paucity of thrift stores here. But seriously, Toto, we're not in Target anymore. I went back to my "hardware" store shortly after that, hoping to find a rolling pin so I could make a pie. It's one of those things you use maybe once a year but, since you can't find frozen pie crusts here (yes, I admit I'm usually too lazy to make a pie crust), I thought I might actually need it more often than that. Story short, they had 'em...

 

Now, granted, they do have specialty stores (shoes, clothing, jewelry, books, toys) like anybody else. Their papétries (stationery and paper goods stores) are delectable, although my inner Big Bird would like to see more practical stuff like office supples along with the charming, yet essentially useless diaries and fountain pens... Their food shops are more specialized than ours (they have separate shops for fish, cheese, butchers, etc.). Although I have seen the poultry guy selling rabbit and I've seen it in butcher shops. I can't get a Big Bird grasp on that logic (Is rabbit with chicken because it's small? Is it with beef because it's red meat? Why isn't it with pork in the charcuterie? It might be actually. I just haven't remembered to look...). Maybe there's just not enough of a market for rabbit-only butchers...

 

There must be some deep-seated psychological difference between our two cultures that is reflected in the different ways we organize things. I just haven't figured out what it is yet. Looks like I have some extrapolating to do. I'll get back to you on that.

 

Maybe.

I was already a Francophile by the time I was eight (at least, that's about when I became aware that I got excited about anything French), but I don't think there's a French bone in my body. The only reason I've been able to come up with for my precocious francophilia is the now obscure animated feature film, Gay Purr-ee (1962). It was televised only once a year (I was born before cable) and watching it was a family ritual and big event. I was already looking forward to it by the time I was five, so I must have started watching it early in my formative years...

 

It's the romantic story of a couple of country cats, Jaune Tom and Mewsette. Jaune Tom loves Mewsette, but she hungers for something more exciting than simple country life and ends up in Paris, where she encounters all kinds of dangers and difficulties. Of course Jaune Tom saves her and they end up living happily ever after back in the country.

 

I was utterly defenseless and impressionable, and the movie seduced me on every level. I caught Mewsette's longing for Paris, and a Francophile was born. I'm sure it didn't hurt that Mewsette's silken, dainty voice was that of Judy Garland, or that Jaune Tom's was done by smooth-as-molasses Robert Goulet. The music is great, there are plenty of abstract backdrops that are über kitsch, and the Paris scenes look just like all those watercolors that every other American owned in the 50s (back when most Americans were Francophiles...).

 

Long before VCRs came along, they stopped showing it on TV, so I didn't see Gay Purr-ee again till almost 30 years later, when it was finally released on video. I watched it again and I think I know why it disappeared into obscurity; the movie is simply too scandalous to be considered appropriate entertainment for children...

 

You see, some slick city cat (Meowrice) found Mewsette wandering around Paris and planned to ship her off as a mail-order bride to some cat in America. So he escorted her to the home of a friend, a lady cat who happened to be a madam (!). This madam cat undertook Mewsette's "finishing" (she needed to smooth those rough bumpkin edges) and Mewsette was pampered in the comfort of the kitty brothel (innocently ignorant) till the time when she would be sent away.

 

Such a shame people are so uptight! I might not be who I am if I'd been born just a few years later... Probably wouldn't have a fleur-de-lys tattoo on my foot (souvenir of New Orleans). Wouldn't have done two and a half degrees in French. Wouldn't be living in Paris. Wouldn't be nearly so fond of Williams-Sonoma. Freaky.

 

Does anybody else remember Gay Purr-ee? Any other memories or opinions about it? I've never met anyone else who remembers it... In any case, you can get it from Amazon!

 

I'd also be very interested to know what made you a Francophile.

I've been looking at the pictures that you all have been putting up! It's been very entertaining. There are some real beauties. Check out briconcella's and MrPickwick's pics.

 

I just want to point out that I uploaded an adorable French bulldog photo. If you're a dog lover, take a look at him! The photo's not great, but the dog was. He got on the métro with his two masters, looked around, and promptly flopped down to relax for the duration, which was about four stops. I love those dogs!

 

But it's poodles I have real a thing for. (I know that 50% of you just gagged and will refuse to read any further. What is it everybody's problem with poodles? They're incredibly smart and beautiful. It's not their fault people give them those stupid haircuts.)

 

I can't help it. It was another early imprint during my formative years. My first dog was a white standard poodle named Coquette. No, my mom wasn't a Francophile. All Americans thought anything French was cool back then. I don't remember Coquette, though. Mom and dad found her a new home after she knocked over my high chair with me in it, trying to get at my Cheerios.

 

Then there was Popsickle, a black toy poodle I had from about the age of five to ten. (Mom was in her camp phase and an art student when she picked that name...) Popsickle didn't live long because she had epilepsy.

 

Then there was Bozo. (I know, this is all very pathetic.) My dad got Bozo for my mom after Popsickle's demise. He was an apricot toy, the runt of the litter, and the last born. Probably had some brain damage because of that. He was the mellowest toy poodle ever; didn't learn to bark or jump up on the couch till he was about two. But he wasn't so retarded that he had no personality. Just enough to give him a lab's temperament. Sweetest little dog I've ever known. When we moved to Guam, he went to live with my mom's aunt because there was a six-month quarantine on Guam and they said fragile little dogs sometimes couldn't handle it. So later, somebody ran over Bozo when backing out of the driveway. (Mom didn't tell me till years later.)

 

(I know! Why do you think I called it Poodle Doom?)

 

Then there was Muffy. (Keep going; this one has a sad beginning, but a happy ending!) So I wanted a poodle of my own. I was "grown up" (21), working, independent, living in Germany. I saw a lady at the grocery store with a cute little mutt that obviously had some poodle in it. I started chatting with her and it turned out she was a groomer. I asked her to let me know if she heard of anyone selling toy poodles. A few months later I got a call from her. She said she was dog sitting for some neighbors in her building who had a toy poodle. She said the dog was horribly neglected and that the man violently abused her. She wanted to know if I would rescue her. I went over there immediately and the poor little thing was a dirty ball of tangled hair and shaking with fear; it broke my heart. But she came to me and she went home with me 15 minutes later. Her name was Nutmeg, but I changed it to Muffy.

 

With the help of the groomer and the vet, I got her all fixed up. Under all that hair was a perfect white toy poodle. I took her with me absolutely everywhere in Germany and France. She was the belle of the ball no matter where we went. Spoiled, pampered, and adored.

 

I won't go into the reasons, but Muffy went to live with my mother-in-law two years later, where she spent the rest of her long life being spoiled, pampered, and adored by Peggy.

 

Since Muffy, I've been poodle-less, with the exception of a few choice vintage ceramic poodles. Three, in fact. One (a red majolica knife rest from the 30s or 40s) lives next to my computer. Picture above and in my photo gallery. (I know you're all dying to see it.)

 

I've been in Paris for almost a year and a half now. There are poodles everywhere (but it seems like there are more Yorkies), but it's not like in the States where you can pet other people's dogs. I get the sense that Parisians would find that uncouth...

 

I've been fighting the urge... I couldn't do it unless I had a poodle sitter for about a month every summer when I go to California... Any takers?

The French have a real problem with the fleur-de-lis. You can't really blame them, given that it's a symbol of the monarchy. They made it quite clear how they felt about that during the Revolution... (And you can't blame them for that either!)

 

The symbol is a slap in the face to their concept of république. It's a rare sight here in France, and the only people who embrace it are a small fringe of monarchists who still cling to their hereditary titles and a nostalgia that isn't theirs to claim.

 

But to North Americans, at least, it's nothing more than a symbol of French culture in general. Every inch of New Orleans is festooned with fleurs-de-lis. The Québecois flag has four of them, white, on royal blue. (Or is that French blue?) One of the "six flags over Texas" was one of three French flags in use in the late 17th century, all of which had fleurs-de-lis on them.

 

(I bet George Bush doesn't know that.)

 

America's love affair with France predates the French revolution. And you can't deny that France's royal history is partly responsible for it being the magical, mythical thing it is in the rest of the world's view. I'm not by any means a royal apologist; I'm just trying to be objective.

 

I keep telling my French husband that our nebulous concept of the symbol they despise is benign and apolitical. But he's still not convinced.

 

When I showed up in Paris with my Williams-Sonoma fleur-de-lis glasses, he got a little nervous. Imagine how he felt about the green and purple fleur-de-lis tattoo on my foot--a small souvenir of New Orleans.

I love Anaïs Nin. Her writing goes from raw to ethereal and back again from one moment to the next. I rarely feel I've been let into an author's head the way I do when I read Nin. And I feel very at home there...

 

Speaking of home, this is one of my favorite passages from Children of the Albatross:

 

...my house will speak for me. My house will tell them I am warm and rich. The house will tell them inside of me there are these rooms of flesh and Chinese lacquer, sea greens to walk through, inside of me there are lighted candles, live fires, shadows, spaces, open doors, shelters and air currents. Inside of me there is color and warmth.

 

My house will speak for me.

 

Most women I know need to create an environment in their homes that reflects who they are. Is it different for men? Does this passage resonate with you?