Labor Day

Labor Day has a lot of significance around here: not as a national holiday, but rather as the trigger for la rentrée -- Back to School. In our house, it means even more than that, since it's the anniversary for, well, being in labor. At all three of the schools Gigi has attended, her birthday has actually fallen on the first day of school. Luckily, this is a child who likes school. In fact, this year, after her first day of middle school, she runs out to me and declares enthusiastically, "Today is the best day of my life!"

Well, it marks exactly ten years since one of the best days of my life, which is the day we went to the hospital to have the son we were expecting and came out instead with a bald, chubby, big-eyed girl. A decade later, she has grown into this lovely little lady seen below in the hall of her new school on orientation morning ("Take the picture quick! This is so embarrassing!") and then on her way to her first full day of school on her birthday. Conveniently, the first full day is spent on a class-bonding field trip. She tells me she prefers school to being on vacation. Happy birthday, indeed!

 

Pippa returns to her elementary school, on the world's greatest walk-to-school. Since she is in an entirely new class this year, however, she sits shyly to the side before the starting bell rings. But she comes out as enthusiastic as her sister, with a full list of all her new best friends. So, I guess I don't need to worry about her at school, either.

 

Gigi's choice for this year's birthday dinner, which we celebrate the weekend before, is at Happy Nouilles (Noodles), a hole-in-the-wall Chinese restaurant in the 3rd arrondissement, near metro Arts & Metiers. We discovered it when we randomly walked by it months ago, and the girls were attracted to the guy actually hand-pulling noodles in the window. Though we had had only mediocre-at-best Chinese food in Paris up till that point and were pessimistic, we gave it a try. The place is filled -- staff and diners -- with Mandarin Chinese speakers, and it surpassed all expectations. The dumplings even rival (Sacrilege Alert!) San Francisco's.

 

 

 

On the way to birthday noodles, we discover a tiny storefront called Stanz that sells excellent bagels (described accurately by the owner as being chewier than a Montreal bagel, and less chewy than a New York bagel) and one called Berko that sells, frankly, the best cupcakes I've ever tasted. It could just be because I haven't had cupcakes in years. Or it could be because they're delicious. Naturally, on the actual day of her birthday, I buy us Berko cupcakes to celebrate.

 

 

If you're wondering why, for her 10th birthday, there are nine cupcakes on the plate, a number which divides unevenly among the four of us, it's because that's the biggest box they sell, at about 23€. Possibly because it would bankrupt somebody to buy a whole dozen. One of her birthday presents is everything needed to make mini-cupcakes, including a Berko cookbook. Which means we get to enjoy birthday cupcakes, round two, a few days later.

 

 

 

Back to School also means I can finally get Back to Work. It's the first time in two months I haven't spent basically all day, every day, with the girls. I'm not complaining, mind you, but being with them does make it hard to get any work done. So having them back in school is something of a respite, and it means I can start writing again more regularly.

 

 

Nimrod & Schmuck

OK, it's not quite Nimrod, but does anybody else get a kick out of the names of these two lovely Parisian cafés?

 

 

Where France Hasn't Happened Yet

Moving on from the Loire, we spend the next few days of our vacation back in the Dordogne, the scene of our first French vacation last year. Even in the long weekend we spent here, we did not get to see or do what we wanted and we had left out pretty significant activities -- such as seeing anything prehistoric.

For our tour through prehistory, when the French language, nation, croissants, and penchant for lovely lingerie are still far, far in the future, we actually don't go to Lascaux but rather to Font de Gaume. This is because Lascaux was so rapidly and intensely damaged by all the tourists (even careful, considerate tourists have to exhale and emit body heat, both of which damage the paintings) that they had to close it off. Instead, when visitors go to Lascaux, it is to an elaborately and painstakingly reproduced artificial cave called Lascaux II. And though I, personally, want to see Lascaux in addition to Font de Gaume, I am rapidly and loudly outvoted by my own caveman and knuckle-dragging children. If you want to see Lascaux and happen to live near Chicago, go check out Lascaux III at the Field Museum through September. I think this is brilliant: Since Lascaux II is already a reproduction, why not ship the concept overseas? This may be your only chance. And even though it's a reproduction, the process of recreating the cave has proved intensely educational, and it's a way of letting people see it without destroying what's left of the original.

We're not allowed to photograph inside the cave, for obvious reasons of preservation, so here are some pics taken from the internet. In real life, in the semi-darkness, the lines and shapes are not quite this clear. As you can imagine, this is not a big hit with the younger half of our family. Truth be told, it's not exactly the most exciting thing for Anthony and me, either, but we do try to impress on the children that seeing a 15,000 year old painting is pretty much a once-in-a-lifetime thing and rather mind-boggling. But yes, we admit, kind of boring.

 

photos from: https://sites.google.com/site/venturestoneageart/caves/font-de-gaume

In all fairness to the children and their patience levels, we should mention that in order to see Font de Gaume, we are online by 8:25am. Tickets go on sale at 9:30, and even after getting up early and waiting an hour, we still get the last four available for the day (and even then they had to kindly let us use the one remaining 3pm ticket along with the three remaining 11am tickets in order to get our whole family on one tour). Numbers shrink constantly, and at this point, the cave lets in only 80 people per day -- no advance reservations possible.

 

We also see the troglodyte village of La Madeleine, which is where the Magdalenian era gets its name. It's part cave dwellings, part medieval village, all built under a cliff. Last year, we saw this from our canoe on the Vézère river, and I now feel deeply satisfied to have finally visited it. Even if the kids find it -- you guessed it -- boring.

And to finish our tour of caves (though not all on one actual day, because that would be parenting suicide), we head way out to the Gouffre de Padirac. This is a cave of the stalactite/stalagmite variety, but so big that we get to ride in what is essentially an underground gondola for nearly a kilometer round trip. Plus we hike up and down stairs. So many stairs. It is a truly stunning place, a cave that dwarfs all others I've seen, and Anthony and I are kind of shocked that it's never been used as a movie location. Even Gigi immediately says how she feels like Indiana Jones inside here.

It is around 90m to the ceiling in most places, with about 9m of rock separating the cave top and the ground above. The formations are truly incredible, and most grow about 1mm per century. So to see the 75m high, 3m wide column is, not to over-use the word, again mind-boggling. To the grown-ups. And not completely boring to the children, either -- hallelujah!

  

No, don't adjust your screen. The size and dimness of the place makes photography near impossible -- and it's not even allowed once you're on the boat ride and touring the best of the rooms. It's so massive that flash would do nothing. And I don't have a tripod with me (I actually have the opposite of a tripod; I have active young children rushing and shoving by me). So again, for better photos, I have to turn to the trusty internet:

 Photos from: http://larevenchedelaquiche.vraiforum.com/t3020-Le-Gouffre-de-Padirac.htm; http://www.colonnes.com/en/actu.php; http://www.rocamadour.com/fr/38/6/6/PCU3143CDT460001/sit/detail/decouvertes-patrimoine/visites/Gouffre-de-Padirac/PADIRAC/;http://www.francematin.info/Le-Gouffre-de-Padirac-se-met-a-l-heure-du-Telethon_a23165.html; http://servirlepublic.fr/epl-a-la-une/667/semitour-perigord--un-reseau-dinterets-touristiques; http://servirlepublic.fr/epl-a-la-une/667/semitour-perigord--un-reseau-dinterets-touristiques;

 

 

Your Planning Guide

As a Follow-up to Your Packing List, I give you Your Planning Guide. My couster also writes:

"I am interested in doing some great art pilgrimage, but I am not sure how to gauge the suggestion to take a full day to go to Versailles. Worth it? Better to spend the day stuffing my face in a café somewhere? Just trying to get my bearings so I can start to consider if I actually have specific things I'd like to do in mind or not. It's hard to tell sometimes: Somewhat reputable NYC tourist travel sites suggest things like 'go to Chinatown'...which makes some sense if you're from, oh, Oshkosh or BoFo (which, in my world, would be in Nebraska), but less so if you're from SF. I also dug up a few other things. If you get a moment, feel free to read them, laugh, scream in righteous indignation, or praise them. It'll give me a better sense of what's in store."   

1) Among the various recommended five-day itineraries she sends me (examples one, two, and three here), one has her visiting the Louvre, the Musee d'Orsay, and l'Orangerie in one day. I would barely recommend this in one week, unless you really, really love art museums. And do not have children traveling with you. The Louvre alone could take a whole day, and you still would only see a fraction. If you've never done any of them, I recommend the d'Orsay, simply because the Impressionist collection is such a jaw-dropper and so enjoyable (not the kind where you pretend to enjoy staring at your 127th Virgin and Baby painting because you feel like you're getting educated, but the kind where it is actually pleasurable). If you happen to be here on the first Sunday of any month, most museums are free.

 

 

2) Do you want to go to the Eiffel Tower? Be prepared for crowds, and lines, unless you can go at a low-traffic time, which is mid-week, not on a school holiday, first thing in the morning, and ideally in the dead of winter. The crowds will be lighter then for sure. Get a reservation ahead of time, and know that "walking up" only means walking up to the 2nd floor; everybody gets an elevator to the top from there. It is fine to walk up, even with children. My seventy-something year old parents just did it, too.
 

3) Do you want to go to Versailles? You don't need reservations, but expect crowds. It's certainly worth doing, especially on a day nice enough to enjoy the gardens, Marie Antoinette's hamlet (her pretend peasant village), and maybe even boat rides on the lake. But is it a must-see? No, and it does take a whole day. The problem is that almost everything in Paris falls in this category -- fabulous but not a must. Because of that, I say, don't try to pack everything in your five days. Just do the things that appeal to you most and leave time for just wandering around. And eating.

4) An alternative to Versailles, in my opinion, if you can't spare a whole day: the more convenient and less crowded Palais Garnier, also called Opéra, which has English-language tours on Wednesdays and Saturdays (reservations needed). Or just go for an unguided visit nearly any day.

4) My advice on planning, in short. Some medieval Paris, at least one great art museum, a cemetery, some cafe time, churches, a tower (Eiffel and/or Notre Dame and/or top of Arc de Triomphe), boat ride or walk along the Seine, shopping, ride a metro, Sacré Coeur from the outside, Sainte Chapelle and/or Conciergerie, les Invalides, maybe underground sewer tour or catacombs, and something truly opulent like Versailles or Opéra. But not all of it at once.

Jewish Easter Fish Mouse

Pippa's teacher asks, "Would you come in for English class to talk about Pâques (Easter)?"

I clarify. "Pâque Juive?" Directly translated this means "Jewish Easter" and it's how they say Passover in French. Pâques comes from the root Pasques, as in Paschal Lamb, and the Hebrew word for Passover sounds a lot like it and shares linguistic roots: "Pesach".

But as we can clearly deduce from this sign in the Jewish quarter of the Marais where Micky's Deli has proudly been in business since the year 5755, Passover came before Easter. So shouldn't they be called "Pâques" (Passover) and "Christian Pâques" (Easter)?

By coincidence, my parents are visiting us in Paris over Passover. I frankly don't have time to make a huge Sedar meal, since the girls are in gymnastics till 7pm most nights, so we bring home a pre-roasted chicken, and I throw together the following, pathetic Sedar plate.

Nearly everything is wrong with this: Our bitter herbs are wilted cilantro; the egg is uncooked; the charoses is just a couple raw ingredents (apples and nuts); the horseradish is actually mustard; and the lamb shank is a chicken wishbone. But at least it's on a plate. In San Francisco, I used to make up a Sedar sombrero with a pewter souvenir brought back from Mexico.

It's so wrong, I feel like I should cry out "April Fool's!" when I serve it, though if you remember, here I would say "April Fish!" The fact is that all the holidays are all mixed up this year, and adding to the confusion is that the Spring Ahead time change happens in France on Easter morning. Passover overlaps Easter, and April Fish day falls on Easter Monday -- which is the day off here in honor of Easter. French people work and go to school (yes, even Catholic school) on Good Friday, so it's not so good, after all.

I am able to find real matzah at the grocery store. Here's a game for you: One of these things is not like the other. Which one is it?

 

If you said the piece of cardboard, you are wrong. Clearly, the cardboard and the matzah are one and the same thing. They look similar and taste identical. Even Anthony -- who, along with me, is so frugal about not wasting food you would think we had lived through the Great Depression -- encourages me to throw out the 95% of the matzah that remains untouched. My Jewish parents eat croissants and baguettes all through their Passover visit. My mom reasons, "I'm not going to Paris and passing up French bread to eat matzah."

 

On the day before Easter (Christian Easter, that is), we have a family movie day and watch The Rise of the Guardians in which Easter is, appropriately enough, "tomorrow." More perfectly, it stars the Tooth Fairy, including a French Tooth Mouse ("from the European division", as the Fairy says). This is especially à propos because Pippa lost her 8th tooth. So we are visited this year by both the Tooth Mouse and the Easter Bunny. This is a little mixed-up, since we assume the Bunny visits us instead of the Flying Bells since we are American, yet we readily agree that her tooth is collected in France by a Mouse, not a Fairy.

 

 

If you are worried about the possible overcrowding chez nous (what if the Mouse, the Fairy, the Bunny, and the Bells all show up at the same time?!), you should know that several years ago on Christmas Eve, we were successfully visited on Christmas Eve by the Tooth Fairy, Tinkerbell, and Santa Claus. We wondered if there was some sort of magical air traffic controller over our house that night because all went smoothly.

 

In case you are wondering, Pippa's teacher does not actually want me to talk about Passover to the kids but, rather, American Easter traditions. Which is too bad, because I have a lot of matzah I could bring in for them to taste.

The Bells! The Bells!

Quasimodo's not here to ring them in, but we are....Notre Dame's new bells. We are lucky enough to see them before they are installed in the towers.

 

They exhibit them for a few weeks in the nave of the cathedral. Each bell is decorated uniquely and named for a different saint. Because of perspective, it's hard to tell in the photo above, but the bells we see first are much smaller than the ones closest to the altar.

 

 

 

  

Jean-Marie, whose note is "la #3" weighs in at 782kg or 1724lbs.
Maurice, "sol #3", at 1011kg or 2229lbs.
Benoit-Joseph, "fa #3", 1309kg or 2886lbs. 
Etienne, "fa 3", 1494kg or 3294lbs. 
Marcel, "re #3", 1925kg or 4244lbs. 
Denis, "do #3", 2502kg or 5516lbs.
Anne-Genevieve, "ti" (called "si" in French), 3477kg or 7665lbs.
Gabriel, "la #2", 4152kg or 9156lbs.
Marie, "sol #2", 6023kg or 13,278lbs -- nearly seven tons. 
I assume # actually means "sharp" and not "number", but I don't know what 2 and 3 mean. Some of my more musical friends could answer that, so here's the information in its original state to interpret.

The beautiful new bells are replacing these old clangers that have been in the tower since the Revolution, when Quasimodo's bells were melted down.

In theory, the new bells are meant to have a purer, higher-quality sound, in keeping with the prestige of the cathedral in which they are placed, and to be able to chime out actual tunes. The reality, however, is disappointing. On the first day they are to ring -- the weekend before Easter -- we stand outside on our balcony at the appointed hour of 17h (which is 5pm to you and me), and we hear.....nothing.

The old bells could be heard loud and clear throughout the neighborhood, so we assume either we have the time wrong, or they are having some sort of ceremony first and will ring them later. We find out from one friend that they do, indeed ring at 5pm, and she is out front with the throngs to hear them. Faintly. Another friend is in the garden of Notre Dame at 5pm and can barely make them out. And now all of Paris is spouting a scientific theory I came up with years ago -- and for which I have been soundly mocked: Sound is uni-directional.

I guess we'll barely notice at all when the bells go quiet for the three days before Easter to mourn Jesus' crucifiction. (As the story goes, these are the three days during which the bells "fly" to Rome to be re-baptised and then, on their "flight" home, magically drop chocolate eggs for the French children to find. No bunnies here!) Then, I guess we'll barely notice at all when they start ringing again on Easter to joyously announce Jesus' resurrection. Maybe I'm wrong, and Notre Dame has just been holding back so that the Easter ringing can be a real doozy. I certainly hope so. If not, I personally am going to spend this Easter mourning the loss of the chiming bells and wishing for the resurrection of those old tons of metal from the scrap heap.