A Graduation ( First posted on thebarefootfoodie.org on 17 Oct 2014 )

CHRONICLES OF PARIS

June 30th - the day has come. All our bags are packed, we're ready to go. G, the hubby, will be attending a course in Fontainebleau for the month of July; I am tagging along, with the kids, D and A in tow. Both of them, ecstactic, because they won't be attending school for the next 5 weeks. I am filled with anticipation for this opportunity to experience and soak up the guilty pleasures of walking the streets of Paris to eat, shop and pander to the inner culture vulture.

Touched down early next morning. Home was to be a cosy house in a quiet suburb called Bois le Roi. 40 minutes of train travel takes us directly to Gare de Lyon in Paris.

D-Day Revisited

A short weekend getaway to Normandy, before G starts his course. It is a long drive of more than 800 km to revisit history on the sands of the D-day beaches. Littered along this stretch are towns, churches, memorials, museums and cemetries which stand as solemn reminders of the battles fought and lives lost. D, who takes a keen interest in World War II events, eagerly soaked it all in. The cemetries bore crosses, stars of David, and uniformed tombstones with inscriptions of those who died fighting for a cause they may or may not have believed in. There were tens of thousands, with the youngest among them being eighteen and barely out of their mothers' apron strings.

Survival Tips

Most days, it would be the three of us catching the train to Gare de Lyon in Paris on weekdays while G goes to school. There is one basic rule - be alert at all times, do not stand out as a gawking tourist, blend in with the locals, don't be an easy target.

Googling for clues on how the locals dress came up with some interesting results. For starters, French women do not dress in baggy, shapeless pullovers or trainers. They would also not be caught carrying a back-pack, but a big ( still trendy ) handbag which is roomy enough to pack in a book, water-bottle, picnic lunch, camera, make-up, i-phone, personal organiser, and any other essentials. I took note and promptly bought myself such a bag, in Paris.

Also, French women do not wear track shoes to protect their dainty feet from all that walking on cobbled streets which would otherwise not be too kind to heels. Instead, most of them seem to be shod in cute-looking thong sandals or ballerina flats. I got myself a pair of those as well. Kitted and fitted, I was ready to hit the streets of Paris with D and A. By the way, the back-pack rule did not apply to the kids so they each carried their own, which also had room enough for guide books, raincoats, brolly, and emergency cash - just in case.

I have yet to come across petty thieves who target children's backpacks.

There are queues everyway - for tickets and admission to places of interest. In the height of summer, they become unbearable. The smart visitor to Paris does her homework on the keyboard and books tickets online in advance, prints out the e-tickets, and coolly strolls in through a separate entrance while the rest of the motley crowd swelters in the heat waiting to buy tickets.

There are websites in French and websites in English. You pay a penalty in higher ticket fees through the English website and an even higher penalty by waiting in line to pay at the ticket counters. 

Take the Eurodisney tickets for instance - they cost me $29 Euro on the French website, with a bonus of returning for a second visit after 7 days, compared to $59 Euro at the ticket counter, with no return visit. The same was true with Parc Asterix - $29 Euro for booking in French, $39 Euro for booking in English.

Saturday Morning at the Flea Market

After getting out of the Metro station, D, A and I stood there, looking quite lost. There were no directions pointing to the Market. After days of needless trudging and chalking up extra kilometres on hard cobblestone, we did not venture to try to grope our way there. An old lady with a twinkle in her eyes came up to us and spoke to us in English. She asked whether we were going to the Market. Yes, we said emphatically. She pointed out there was a bus that could take us all the way and that she was also waiting for the same bus. It turned out she was of Russian origin but had been living in Paris since she was a child. She was 82 years old, and has seen two world wars. She said she ran a stall at the Market every week just to mingle with the crowd and it did not matter whether she sold anything. It was amusing that while we were waiting for the bus, another tourist came up to her and asked her if she knew the way to the Market. This time, she did not mention the bus but directed the tourist to go on foot - a good 10 to 15 minutes of walking I could do without! Now, that was cheeky, and boy, were we glad it was not at our expense.

She gave us a useful tip -take the bus instead of the metro in order to see the real Paris, not to mention the much needed respite for our aching feet. Suddenly the light dawned upon me - why didn't I do this earlier? After all, we had the season Navigo pass that gave us full access to all forms of transport. We live and learn...

The Flea Market was an interesting diversion, with a wide array of knick-knacks and bric-a-bracs. The people were there to look and satify their curiosities, but few were buying. Nobody seemed to mind. There was an air of laissez-faire all round, a lazy, carefree ambling along a maze of passages. Dizzy, delectable, delightful.

What's Free and What's Not

Watch out for the magic word "gratuit" which means, happily, no Euros required. However, be aware that even when you see this indicated for some of the public museums, it only refers to the permanent exhibitions and not the temporary ones.

Toilets are not free in railway stations and some shopping malls. They cost $0.50 Euro per entry. The only consolation for paying that "hefty" sum ( compared to our 10 cents entry ) is that these toilets are usually well-maintained and clean. You can find free toilets at museums and restaurants ( after all, you have already paid for their other services )

D and A, being well-schooled in the art of watching way too many hustler programmes on BBC channels, began to form some ideas of their own. They figured that you can make a tidy sum by setting up a table and chair outside a toilet and start charging for entry. Nice try!

Waiters will ask you what you would like to drink after you have placed orders for a meal. If you say "water", they will ask you whether you'd like it " still" or "sparkling", for which you would have to foot a couple of Euros either way. Here's the other essential word to know - "carafe d'eau"- otherwise known as water in a carafe, which comes free, together with the waiter's knowing recognition that you are not the unsuspecting tourist but an insider.

An Afternoon at UNESCO

Thumbing through the guide-book, I chanced upon the UNESCO building. According to the guide-book, admission is free during specified hours. The three of us found our way there and walked around it twice, looking for the entrance. There was a guard-house which was locked. Undeterred, we waited and loitered outside. Minutes later, I spotted two men in uniform and asked if we could go inside. We did.

A stout, homely lady was manning the reception. I asked whether we could visit the exhibitions. She showed me a flyer in French and said in English that I have to make prior arrangements for a guided group tour. Equally determined, I pointed to the same brochure which stated that individual visits to the exhibitions are permitted without any conditions. Reluctantly, she issued passes to let us through.

There was an exhibition of various forms of art depicting unity of the African nations. Whilst browsing at the artwork, a statuesque African lady dressed to the nines suddenly appeared with a photographer and remarked that a photo with us would make a nice contrast. Indeed - she scored with her heels and garb, alongside a diminutive Asia in her walking shoes and shabby jeans perfect for a museum visit, with two equally diminutive children. I have seen better days for a photoshoot! Anyway, give the woman her PR credits.

French Food, Cafes and People Watching

There is no such thing as a quick sit-down lunch. If you do not have half the afternoon to spare, you are better off grabbing a hard roll and eating it on the go, or if you prefer, find a spot in a park. The French prefer the sunnier spots in which to bask, bake and sun-tan. Guess who are the spoilers of the picturesque picnic scene with their umbrellas and floppy hats!

Back to cafes and restaurants. In a more casual set-up, premium seats are outside, where small round tables are lined up neatly in a row and chairs are arranged side by side behind them, all facing the promenade or the pedestrian streets. The French take pleasure in watching the world go by while sipping their expresso or having a meal; while the rest of the world take equal pleasure in watching the French watch them go by. People-watching as a past-time has been elevated to cult status here in Paris.

The French love their cheese, wine, olive oil and mustard. Invariably, much of what you'd order from an unintelligible French menu would contain dishes prepared with all or at least some of these ingredients. In certain quarters of Paris, many Italian restaurants have sprouted to lend some healthy competition to French cuisine. For many tourists on a tight to moderate budget, and reeling from the currency conversion to the formidable Euro, the deciding factor would be the cost of a "plat du jour" which comprises an appetizer, a main course and a dessert. 10 Euro would be a good starting point.

Shopping

Unless you are obsessed with a certain label with initials or have more cash than style, Paris is not quite the shopper's paradise one would envisage. Many boutiques do not believe in stocking up in various sizes. If you are extremely petite or well-endowed with excesses, do not expect to take home that sassy blouse sitting on the mannequin!

On a brighter note, July is the month for summer sales and if you do bother to pick and rummage through hangerloads of clothing, you may get lucky! It is fascinating to observe well-dressed Parisians doing the same - some traits are universal - like grovelling, literally, for a good bargain.

One time, I was at Gare de Lyon, wearing a blouse that was "bought at a steal ", walking briskly along the platforms to catch a connecting train. From a distance, there she was, coming towards me, wearing that same, unmistakable blouse. For a split second, our eyes met, and we quickly looked and walked away, each making the same mental note not to ever, ever wear that blouse again until the next summer sale. There is, unfortunately, no exclusivity in mass produced sale items.

We were pretty satisfied with our purchase of 3 Eiffel Tower key chains for 1 Euro at a shop, so we returned to the same shop the following week to buy another set of 3 key chains. Not bad a bargain, or so I'd thought. On our last week, I visited the Eiffel Tower with G, D and A during G's one and only free week-day throughout his stay. Vendors of Eiffel Tower key chains were everywhere. One approached me and I held out my hand with 5 fingers outstretched. I became the proud owner of 5 key chains for 1 Euro. Soon after, we passed another vendor who was offering 6 key chains, without even having to haggle.

Fashion Sense ( or not )

French women are in love with lingerie and they flaunt it ( I mean the bra straps ). I have never seen such a staggering array of (lacy) bra straps that peek out of racer-back tops, halter-necks and even tube dresses. Coming from a culture where such appearances rank with visible panty lines and unshaved arm pits as wardrobe malfunctions/fashion faux pas, I have progressed to a level of taking a new interest in a closer scrutiny of bra straps. Conclusion - lacy bras good, granny bras never! At least I know now the French seldom go braless.

Among the few Asians I have encountered, there is a strong preference for shorts worn over black tights ( sometimes lacy ones ) and high heels. The heels I can understand, to compensate for a certain vertical inadequacy, but not tights and shorts to accentuate shorter stumps generally used for getting from place to place. It makes a statement all right, flattering or otherwise.

Then there are the other ethnic groups that delight in super-tight clothing, big accessories, flaunting not so lacy bra straps.

Clothes should make the man ( or woman ). It has been an age-old adage that clothes are intended to be worn to hide a multitude of imperfections. Not any more.

In the cryptic words of D, " Paris is like watching TV, you just sit down and watch the world go by." A most colourful world indeed!

Going Green

France is a green nation. It even has a representation in its government. You'd hardly ever see a plastic bag distributed in supermarkets, "bio" labels are everywhere, recycling bins are diligently utilised. Even Ronald Macdonald has converted from its signature red to green!

Big changes begin with the smallest individual. Inspired to make a difference to our planet, I made a mental note of bringing my ecologically approved shopping bag for my groceries when I am back home in Singapore.

(Footnote - Back home in Singapore, I've gone shopping for groceries 3 times in the past week and returned with plastic bags.)

Reflections of Cathedrals

Built in ages past, with  stain-glassed windows, Paris itself has too many to be named. Two comes to mind - the Notre Dame and the Sacre Coeur. Gothic in structure, decorated with gargoyles, there is a solemn dignity and a sense of awe when you enter the cathedrals through their massive wooden doors - you marvel at the handiwork of artisans and craftsmen who have laboured with pride. All are masterpieces of architecture, in their own distinct manner.

Occasionally, you stumble upon a cathedral where mass is being conducted. You hear the priest speaking in an unknown language, accompanied by the soft, sweet strains of the pipe organ. There are people in worship, seated in their aisles. In stark contrast, others from far and near are wandering about, in cold voyeurism, intruding on that moment of sacred intimacy. Otherwise, many cathedrals stay empty, but for the numerous visitors that come through their doors, to gape at the splendour, but not to have an encounter with the Divine.

I feel a different sense of awe, too profound to describe, when I am in worship. This takes place in humbler locations, be it in my own church, at home or any place where I can meet with God. That place lies in the heart.

The good, the bad, the ugly

There is much to be learnt from different cultures. While I gripe about my country being a "fine" one, I can enjoy my meal in a smoke-free environment, and move around in generally clean public places. In Paris, smoking is so common it's probably considered cool to do so. However, it is not cool to throw cigarette butts on the ground to stub them out. Do watch out for stray ones being flicked about. You were never meant to be a landing spot but just don't stand too close to be one.

The ( native) Parisians have an air of relaxed confidence - a je ne sais quoi attitude. Nike did take a leaf out of their books with their tag-line - "Just do it". You seldom find French women immaculately made up, or accessorized, or botoxed. They tend to let it all hang out, with a light touch of mascara or lipstick, if at all, and still manage to look effortlessly and stylishly au naturel. I have a little anti-botox theory after trying out their hard rolls for a quick lunch during my first week of stay. It takes much chewing and grinding of teeth to get through a sandwich roll. By the time you are through with it ( assuming you do ), you will not have the energy nor appetite for anything else, and in the meanwhile, your facial muscles get a great workout. Imagine doing this as a routine - no wonder French women don't get fat and they have great facial structure!

There is a lively scene in metro stations. You will invariably come across their main groups of people - the vendors, the musicians and the beggars. They add to the multi layers of the Parisian landscape.

The vendors would set up stalls with a wide array of fruits and vegetables - a novel place to do your marketing. They would call out to the crowd meandering in and out, but no one seems to be buying.

The musicians make an otherwise mundane train journey more pleasurable. There were several guitarists, violinists, an accordionist, a cellist, a flute player, a string quartet, and even a mini orchestra.

Beggars make their appearance in many forms and guises. Some would be hunched in a corner, others distribute well-written notes in English to commuters. One young man came up to me and asked me if I spoke English. I could have mistaken him for a backpacker. Pleasantly surprised by a kindred spirit speaking in a familiar language, I engaged him. Then he sprung it on me. He asked me for some spare change to buy a sandwich. I asked him " What happened to you?" He explained that he lost his job and ran out of money. Suffice to say, he did not get enough from me to buy that sandwich.

Die-hard shoppers take note - Sundays are not fun days. Shutters for Mango, Massimo Dutt, Desigual, Zara and other to-be-coveted labels are down on a day when they ought to be up! It's a day when pedestrian malls are filled with expectant shopping-hungry tourists with cash to burn and nowhere to go. They do the next best thing - head towards the restaurants which are open though many are not, and drown their disappointment in calories.

As for the French, they stay home, and do bricolage, otherwise known as D-I-Y, or spend quality time with the family. Either way, it does not include retail therapy.

Back Home and thereafter

We left Paris on 31 July and spent the next week in Barcelona ( wait for new blog ). Touched down on home soil on 8 August, in time to do the patriotic bit to watch the live Parade on TV. Watching the familiar skyline emerging from the air, thousands of kilometres above ground and getting a warm, fuzzy feeling inside - yes, it's good to be back.

D and A are back in school, way behind in their academic work and syllabus. They are blessed with caring teachers who spend extra time and effort to bring them up to scratch. Some things are intangible, like a once-in-a lifetime experience of being immersed in a different and altogether fascinating culture, of time spent as a family, of moments of joy, amazement and pleasure, captured and stored as precious memories. On the other hand, they acquired some out- of- the- classroom life skills which will stand them in good stead, like independence, appreciation of a foreign language, mastery of a complicated metro/train system to get around, a quiet confidence, the ability to adapt to new experiences and to welcome them.

G is back at work and as for me, I can't wait to write the next travel journal.....