Sharp Photo

As soon as I hear the bell ringing, I rush to the window to see what this guy is doing. At just a glance, I instinctively know he's an affûteur -- a knife sharpener.

My knives have been dull for a good half year, and just yesterday I finally stopped procrastinating and brought them in to the sharpener. So this morning, when I see him walking on the street below, I'm distressed that I don't have any knives to give him; then I realize we have one old, cheap, chopping knife that came with the apartment that barely cuts butter. So I run down with it (yes, running with knives) in my pajamas, with my camera. It's 5€ to sharpen a knife I don't use or care about, and it's worth every penny just to get the photos. Note that he's powering the wheel with his feet on wooden paddles.

 

I suspect some of these old professions won't be around much longer, so it feels good to get my knife sharpened in the streets while I still can. For more about these old professions dying out in France, check out the story at A Year in Fromage, which I write back in May; however, I've had to update it with this morning's encounter with the knife sharpener. The fact that I catch up with the knife sharpener -- by accident -- in just the right spot to photograph him with Notre Dame in the background just tickles me.

Hula-la in Paris

Perhaps hula's not your thing. And perhaps you're even wondering why I'm talking about it on a blog from Paris. But that's just the way I roll. To find out more, check out Hula-la at A Year in Fromage. And a small bonus for you here, these are photos you won't find over there.

 

  

Princess of the Theater

If you haven't yet, you can read all about Gigi's professional theater debut (and about the origins of some French theater traditions) at the gorgeous Théâtre du Châtelet, which is itself something of a star in Paris. In an update since publishing the story at A Year in Fromage, she tells me, "It's surprising how many actors in the cast are gay." I find this very, very funny. And not surprising at all. But then again, she's ten, and it's her first theater experience.

In other entertaining King & I news, here's a hysterical clip from the Matrix of her castmate, star of the show, Lambert Wilson. So f***'in French:

Banana and Bunny

I've written before about the kinds of things I see every day that, well, you probably don't (unless you, too, live by the pedestrian performance bridge in central Paris). I've been wanting to update it and publish it over at A Year in Fromage, but it's tough because every time I think I'm finished, I come across something else to add. Well, finally, I decided I've seen it all and posted it a few days ago, only to have this appear on the bridge today:

 

 

The beauty of a blog is that I can edit even after publishing, so I must admit that I've gone to my post and updated it. Click here for full story and accompanying cheese which, believe me, is a cheese you don't see, or taste, everyday (thank God), even if you live in central Paris.

The Eurovision Factor

Drumroll please...It's time for the 59th annual Eurovision contest: the Europe-wide hunt for the best, newest, freshest, and undoubtedly cheesiest new song and performer from each country. We have Eurovision to thank (or blame) for ABBA (1974, Sweden, "Waterloo") and Céline Dion (1988, for the song "Ne Partez Pas Sans Moi", representing Switzerland despite being Canadian. I call shenanigans). It's like the Oscars, the X Factor, the Olympics, and the Miss America pageant all rolled together, with more fog machines and floor lighting and almost no commercial breaks (God, I love Europe sometimes!).

 

 

If you're feeling at all fabulous, festive, morbidly curious, or feel the need to see identical twins, dairy maidens, teeter totters, ice skating, Matlese country singers, and/or transvestites. you really need to see the videos and read the scoop at A Year in Fromage.

 

Puppet Regime

Is Obama a puppet? According to the French Guignols de l'Info -- News Puppets -- he sure is. It's funny stuff, and the French have been skewering us, themselves, and just about everybody else in the world for twenty years in this way. See more at A Year in Fromage.

No-Names

There's a French comedy movie called Le Prénom that takes place entirely in a living room, after one of the brothers says that he's naming his new baby "Adolf". There are some names you won't hear in France -- read about it at A Year in Fromage.

Bubble Trouble

In case you were wondering, Bubble Tea -- those sweet Chinese tapioca drinks -- are taking over Paris, too. Well, anyplace there's Chinese food nearby and in many tourist spots where there's likely to be Chinese tourists. The girls love their Bubble Tea, as you can tell at the New Year's Parade in Paris' Chinatown. It was their favorite part of the event. In fact, they look like an ad for Bubble Tea. "Bubble Tea! It's Bubblicious!"

 

It's a packed crowd, but the girls are small enough to squeeze in at the front. I give Gigi the camera, and see whether she's inherited the Kodak gene. Turns out, she has! Here are some parts of the Chinese New Year's Parade that are colorful, and interesting. But not as great as Bubble Tea:

 

 

 

 

 

Gong Hey Fat Choy! Happy New Year! And may it be filled with bubbles.

 

 

 

Game Theory

I've talked about Ticket to Ride, a board game about trains around Europe. But that's just the tip of it. We're big into family game time, especially on cold, rainy winter weekends, and we especially love games that tie in thematically with our lives here.

Memoire de France is a memory-match game with special places around France, including many Paris spots we know and love -- one of which we can see from our window, and exactly half of which we can walk to in five minutes or less:

 

To read about more great French- and European-themed games, check out the post at A Year in Fromage.

Cheesing It Up/ Hamming It Up

In case you haven't signed up yet for A Year in Fromage or haven't remembered to check it out lately, I just thought I'd give you some of the latest cheese highlights of my life. My life has become very, very cheesy indeed:

Where can you buy French cheese outside of France? I've researched some of the best spots in some of the big cities, but you all need to help each other out by adding on your own favorite cheese-store sources in the comments.

How can you be polite about your cheese course? Well, first of all, don't chew with your mouth open. But for more cheese-specific advice, check out the posting.

And what are the most beautiful cheeses in my opinion?

As for these "letters home" from my Family by the Seine, I just wanted to let you know that I've recently crossed over 30,000 views, which actually feels quite satisfying as I sit here typing and overlooking the gray river on a dreary, rainy day.

We are back, safely and happily, from a wonderful trip in Senegal. When we arrived home, my brother and sister-in-law were already installed in our apartment, and we're enjoying their visit quite a lot -- the only downside being that with my brother here, I find myself with very few leftovers to use for my lunch the next day. Except for cheese. Even my brother couldn't finish the massive cheese platter.

It may be a few weeks till I get to filter through the 2000 or so pictures I took in Africa and write up our adventure, but in the meantime, you can sign up at Family in Senegal so that you'll automatically receive the stories once they're posted. But here's a little teaser: Anthony and I were fully jealous of our own daughters, even as we were having the experience with them. We just kept saying to each other, "This is nothing like any New Year's Eve party I ever got to go to as a kid..."

 

 

Work of Art

Gigi has a most unusual extracurricular activity this fall. And I mean most unusual. She has been cast as Ann Lee, a Japanese manga character come to life, for a piece of performance art in a major exhibit at the Palais de Tokyo, the world-class contemporary art museum of Paris. She and seven others were chosen  from 160 girls at the audition, by the artist himself, Tino Sehgal, who calls the kind of interactive performance art he creates "constructed situations."

 

 

photo from http://www.phaidon.com/agenda/art/articles/2013/may/08/tino-sehgal-reanimates-manga-character-at-frieze/

 

Gigi is the youngest among the girls, and she performs the solo piece he created in either English or French, depending on her audience, three times a week, for two-three hours at a time...

 

To read more, and to see photos of Pippa's high-end modeling job, and to check out the cheese I've selected to accompany this story, click here.

A Year in Fromage

After almost two years of imagining, planning, procrastinating, and -- occasionally -- self-doubting, I have launched my one-year, daily writing project called A Year in Fromage, which looks at life in France, one stinky cheese at a time. Check it out! Sign up to follow it daily! Pass it on to your contacts who love cheese or France (or both)!

In fact, I'm two days into the cheese-a-day project by now. Only 363 more to go! If you've already tried to sign up for the e-mails but couldn't figure it out, I do want to tell you that I figured out (ha! of course Anthony figured out) the technical glitch on the site, and now you can, indeed, sign up to follow by e-mail. For today's post, enjoy both a story, and a cheese, that really stinks.

Loyal readers of this blog may recognize today's story, from one of my earliest days in France, but much of the material on that site will also be new. I'm trying to figure out how to reconcile the two blogs I've got going. This is what I've come up with for the moment:

I'm going to continue writing in this blog the stories and observations that are more personal. Also, I'll try to give you a nod over to the most recent all-new postings at A Year in Fromage. However, even for the re-purposed posts you may already have seen, they will have added cheese elements, so there's always something new there.

I once said I felt like I was working 4 full-time jobs: parent, travel agent, writer, and administrator of the small business I was running from afar in San Francisco. Well, that business -- a French-immersion preschool -- has since closed (to my great relief, frankly) and I'm now down to "just" 3 full time jobs. In reality, it means I actually get to spend much more time writing, which I love. I've had one piece and photography published in the Wall Street Journal and have just turned in another that will be published soon. I've been working on some creative projects, including A Year in Fromage. So, I hope you enjoy both blogs!

Coming Home

No, it's not what you're thinking. We're just back from a fall vacation to sunny Spain, and upon our arrival we see the obligatory airport sign that says "Bienvenue à Paris," but we think it should just say "Welcome Home." It certainly feels like we've come home, and I feel it more strongly than ever. Driving through the streets of Paris, it feels familiar, comfortable, and just as much like "home" as any place else to me. We've been here over two years, and I love all the things that have become a normal part of my life: the rippling waters of the Seine from my desk, our neighborhood markets, the view of Notre Dame, the leaves turning yellow along the quai, fresh croissants from the boulangerie, the walk to the metro stop through medieval streets, my dance class, tea with friends, and even -- slightly, affectionately -- the way our water heater occasionally conks out for no known reason while someone's in the middle of a shower (the sound of the scream sends us with matches to reignite the pilot light).

I have to say that I feel more at home in Paris than anyplace else I've ever lived, with the exception of San Francisco. Even having spent around six years in Tokyo in my twenties, I never felt like that was home in the same way. That's understandable, perhaps, given the linguistic, cultural, and racial barriers, and also because I was there when I was young and single. Here, I've got a real family life, and friends and community through schools, activities, work, and neighborhood.

Home is where the heart is, where the family is, and where the comfortable pillow is. Vacations to exotic places are wonderful, but it's also nice coming back to our simple ole' home by the Seine.

First Rule of Book Club

Gigi and I have put together a book club with the girls from the Native English section in her grade. Of the thirteen girls, six come to the first organizational meeting. These are all theoretically native English speakers (though in truth, most are bilingual children who've grown up in France, and probably only Gigi would claim English as her first and strongest language), so it never occurs to me to put much of an explanation about what a book club is. Just another example of how very American I am.

Nearly everybody shows up with some books they like, that they could recommend and swap with each other, but I don't think any of them understood that a book club is a place where you discuss a book that you have all pre-read. What amuses/amazes me even more is that the parents themselves didn't understand the concept of a book club. Despite coming in blind, the first one was a raging success, and there are at least two new girls joining in for the first actual book discussion in about a month's time. It may have helped that one of the girls brought homemade cupcakes. The girls have picked from among their own favorites for their first few books:

  

 

My own San Francisco book club ladies and American friends and family (nearly all of whom have been in book clubs) will share in my amazement over the concept of not knowing what a book club is. There are many things that I am vaguely embarrassed to export to the rest of the world -- McDonald's, violent films, and Miley Cyrus spring to mind -- but I must say that if Gigi and I can introduce a bunch of her new friends and their families to the idea of book club, I'd be mighty proud.

You know a Paris Mom's book club (fewer cupcakes, more wine) can't be far behind....

 

Where the Streets Have Old Names

Paris is so old that some of the streets were named before they were even, well, really streets. Especially in our section of the city, which is the oldest bit, many of the roads were named simply out of a tradition that grew from whatever distinguishing feature the locals noticed as long as a thousand years ago.

This one, for example, which is officially the narrowest street in Paris (you can touch both walls with your outstretched hands) could barely fit a person on horseback, let alone any sort of motorized vehicle.

 

 

It's called "Street of the Cat Who Fishes" because of the cat who fished in the Seine at the end of the block, back when there were still lots of fish in the Seine and before there was a busy four lane road to cross.

Or this one:

 

"Street of the Mule's Footseps" is in the Marais, where nowadays one sees boutiques, tourists, Bobo-chic Parisians, and plenty of cars, but no mules.

I like this one not only for being a name that's evocative of years gone by, but also because it's just so long. Imagine trying to fit that into the squares of an official document.

It translates as "Street of the Market of the White Coats." I wonder if the market sold only white coats? That seems rather limited.

In modern times, there are of course some streets named for famous people. But in France, these wouldn't just be generals and presidents, but also philosophers, artists, writers, and composers. My personal favorite is the 4th arrondissement's Rue de Nicolas Flamel -- not just a character in the Harry Potter series, but an honest-to-goodness Parisian alchemist and philanthropist who lived from 1330-1418 (unless, of course, he really did create the immortality-inducing Philosopher's Stone, as legend claims, in which case his end date is in dispute).

But perhaps my favorite street name in all of Paris:

 

This means, literally, "Street of the Bad Boys" -- you know, the kind of boys who would put stickers on a street sign and graffiti the wall.

 

 

 

All Aboard the Penmanship

If you're American, then like me, you probably remember learning how to write your cursive letters in 3rd grade. That's what they do in California public schools still today, to a lesser degree. But in some US states, they no longer teach cursive at all; according to a recent article that went out on the AP wire, 45 states are considering standards that don't require cursive at all.

Well, in France, it starts in kindergarten (Grande Section) -- and remember that children are younger here in each grade, since the cutoff is Dec 31 (with no redshirting, or voluntary holding back of the younger children). That means that children go into kindergarten as young as 4 years and 9 months, and during that school year, they are expected learn some cursive, certainly at least enough to write their own names. By the end of 1st grade (called CP), they are writing exclusively in cursive for their assignments.

What makes it even more challenging for our girls is that they are not always writing their cursive homework with ballpoint pens. Often, they use calligraphy-style pens with ink cartridges and nibs. This is not by choice; it's a school requirement, beginning in the middle of 2nd grade (called CE1).

 

 

The French are very exacting about how cursive is learned and written; thus, there is a very distinctive French penmanship. I can tell French handwriting at a single glance. My own is most definitely American. There are some letters that were taught to me differently than how my daughters learn them. There are other letters where I just do whatever comes fastest and easiest, whether it's "official" cursive or not.

For the letters, the girls' writing looks French, but it's universally legible. For the numbers, however, they have to worry about the fact that their 1s look like American 7s. It's a problem when writing out phone numbers or numbers. Then again, it's all a matter of perspective; they think some of my own letters are bizarre. Notice the differences between the French (top chart) and American (bottom chart) uppercase A, G, H, I, J, N, Q, S, X, and Z, along with the lowercase P and number 1.

 

For people who say kids younger than 3rd grade are too young for cursive, here is an assignment written at age 7 and 1/2 (and yes, the francophones among you will notice many errors, but see how pretty it looks!):

 

My mother, who used to teach at the university level (in the school of education, forming future teachers), said that she was stunned at the block-printing her students would use for essays. Not only did it look childish, it also was slow and laborious. For notetaking, it's a complete disaster.

 

I've always thought that our girls learning cursive is a great thing; I had my own completely unfounded opinion that, like learning to crawl before walking, writing cursive must do something beneficial to the brain. Well, it turns out to be true. There's an interesting article published in Psychology Today about it, and the crux of it says:

In the case of learning cursive writing, the brain develops functional specialization that integrates both sensation, movement control, and thinking. Brain imaging studies reveal that multiple areas of brain become co-activated during learning of cursive writing of pseudo-letters, as opposed to typing or just visual practice.

There is spill-over benefit for thinking skills used in reading and writing. To write legible cursive, fine motor control is needed over the fingers. Students have to pay attention and think about what and how they are doing it. They have to practice. Brain imaging studies show that cursive activates areas of the brain that do not participate in keyboarding.

So, difficult as it is, in our family, we don't curse the cursive. We are 100% on board the penmanship.

Faster than a Bullet

It's a plane! It's a train! Actually, it is a train. And it's not really faster than a bullet. Or even a bullet train. But it is, in fact, very super. It's the train system throughout France, and Europe, and we've made good use of it, especially thanks to our "Carte Enfant +" which is a card we buy in Pippa's name for 70€. It lasts one year, can be re-purchased annually till she's 12, and means that up to four people who travel with her by train get a discount -- minimum 25% and often 50% -- on rides in France. There are other discount tickets available (frequent business traveler, retiree, large family, etc). The prices can be so low, they're shocking.

 

For example, our two hour train ride to Normandy costs me and the girls about 30€. They're not all this cheap, of course, but it's still a great way to travel -- and nearly always cheaper and faster than going by car. Just this summer alone, the girls and I trained to Normandy, Paris, Avignon, Cinque Terre Italy, Florence, night train back from Munich to Paris, Auxerre Burgundy, Joigny Burgundy, Paris, Bretagne, Paris, Aigle Switzerland, and one final trip back to Paris. Anthony flew or trained to meet us and travel with us for various parts of it, but had to work, so we often came through Paris for the weekends he couldn't join us. It was a confusing and utterly exhausting summer, to say the least.

 

 

All that train time means snacks at the train station, snacks on the train, card games, story time, snuggle time, sleep time, video games, and even the occasional (mild) motion sickness.

 

 

While most of our trips are on the high-speed TGV (in general running up to 320kmph or 200mph), our trip to Avignon is on the new Ouigo train. It's equally high-speed, is owned by the national train lines, but is being positioned as the People's Express/Southwest Airlines of French trains in terms of pricing. The downside of the Ouigo is that the "local" station is not actually in Paris but rather a half hour train ride outside of the city at Disneyland, and you have to wait on a long line to check in. It only runs to a few cities, but they are key ones down South. The upside is the price of the tickets: the trains are clean, fast, and comfortable, children cost 5€ each at all times, and my ticket costs 30€ -- for a 3-hour high speed train ride all the way across the country. My ticket would only have cost 10€ if I hadn't been picky about the time and day.

 

As we train around Europe, our girls recognize many of the names from one of our favorite board games. We call it "the Train Game," but its real name in English is "Ticket to Ride," and the French name is "Les Aventuriers du Rail" (Adventurers by Rail).

 

 

After all those train rides, we feel like we really need a vacation from our vacation. But exhausting and exhaustive as our summer travels are, we remain thrilled by how much better it is to travel by train than by plane. Even in 2nd class, we're traveling in style.