Paris Patterns #2

Paris is a constant kaleidoscope. Of course there is the magnificence of  the 'capital-a' Art, grand architecture, and masterful sculpture; but there is also the adrenaline rush of people-watching, le lèche-vitrines (window shopping), patterns, and 'small-a' art everywhere.

In homage to small-a Parisian art, here are more Paris Patterns.
This time more linear, angular.


Lattice-weave mosaics on a doorway of a residence near Vavin in the 6e arrondissement.


Screws and nails on display at the Marché aux puces at Vanves.


Ceiling at the Sainte Chappelle.


Exterior mosaic of a café on boulevard St. Germain in the 7e.




Windows of an office building at Montparnasse.

Markets of Paris

There are SOO many guide books to Paris.  We've seen 'em all.  N'est-ce pas?

So when I picked up Markets of Paris, in my jaded I-already-know-Paris frame of mind, I didn't have great expectations.

Boy, was I wrong!  Capital-W wrong.

This is a gem of a guide to Paris.

First of all, it is organized in the way that any guide to Paris should be, which is by arrondissement.  Second, it is more than just a guide to the open air food markets in Paris, but rather includes all shopping centers that you could want to visit, from la Grande Epicerie to the Marché aux Timbres and exquisite covered marketplaces such as Galerie Vivienne, and all my other favorite passages couverts.


Oh, did I mention that it is a gem?

It's a gem!

For example, rather than try to have the book serve as a map, the authors recommend the best map book, Paris Pratique, to use in conjunction with the book.  So true!  I never have been able to properly navigate  Paris without a couple of handy guides:  one is never enough.  And, at about 6 by 6 inches, Markets of Paris is petite enough to carry in your bag, but chock-full of information to keep you busy reading while you wait for the RATP bus to take you to your next destination.  It's a big book in a little book's hide.  This and Paris Pratique are all you need.

The book has so much practical information, including even a list of "Helpful Books, Blogs, and Websites" to visit to enrich your Paris market experience -- all of which I heartily endorse.


From small organic food markets to popular flea markets, bargains to luxe, the markets  and material covered in this book make it a definite keeper.

I can't wait to return to Paris this summer and use it as my guide.

Michelin heads to the burbs

Famous French tire-and restaurant-guide company Michelin is packing its bags and moving out of Paris.

Not far, but to nearby lovely Boulogne, according to the spokesperson for Michelin.  The company's HQ is still in Clemont-Ferrand; but, since its inception in 1889 it's always had a Paris office. First avenue Pereire, then in 1967 the company purchased the building at 46 avenue de Breteuil in the 7e arrondissement.

No more!   Michelin has just sold the building to an insurance company for 110 million euros.

I love Boulogne.  But it must be a jolt for one of France's most iconic companies to exit from avenue de Breteuil, one of the classiest neighborhoods in Paris.

Bibendum will learn to drive to work, no doubt.

Image via lalsace.fr

Les zizis de Paris

The moment I happened upon the book Les Zizis de Paris, several years ago, I was smitten.  Not because of the subject per se (though what's not to love?!), but because I delighted in imagining a similar book in an Anglo-Saxon museum bookshop.  Maybe there is one and I just don't know about it, but I'm not holding my breath.  As a culture, I think, we Americans in general are just more disposed to be prudish/woo-hoo about such matters, as opposed to dealing with the subject matter with an appreciative nod and a wink.

Zizi is the French equivalent of wee-wee,  or weenie or what-have-you.  I find it quite adorable as a name for male parts.

I found this charming and entertaining photography book in a museum store of one of the museums of the city of Paris.  Not hidden hush-hush in a brown wrapper in a corner, but prominently displayed with other guides to Paris.  And indeed, it is a pictorial guide to male nude public statues.  What?  Oh yes, of course I bought it!

So, big deal.  It's Art.  No fig leaves.  It's France.  It's the human body.  Deal with it.  Enjoy it.

But I did get a chuckle out of the juxtaposition of the accompanying standard web language on the website for the book...

Bringing Up Bebe: A Conversation with Pamela Druckerman

Like many Americans who move to France, I have always been surprised to observe the differences in behavior between French and American kids. Seeing a 9-year-old confidently take the RATP bus alone to her music lesson. A 4 year old patiently guarding her baby brother in the stroller at the front of the store while their mom dashed for once forgotten item at the back of the Monoprix. Kids sitting at dinner tables, engaging in conversation.

So you can imagine my delight when I saw that Bringing Up Bébé had just been published. I had met author Pamela Druckerman at the American Library in Paris a few years ago. And we've kept up a bit since then. I was delighted when she was able find time for me to interview her. I just had to know more about the creation of this latest tour de force in deciphering the differences between French and American cultures.




Polly-Vous Francais: You write about so many wonderful epiphanies in Bringing Up Bébé. Was there one "aha!" moment in particular that stands out? A personal favorite?

Pamela Druckerman: I think it was the moment when a French girlfriend of mine saw my daughter, who couldn’t even stand up on her own at the time, pulling books off our bookshelves (for some reason she always pulled down the travel books - go figure). I hadn’t thought there was anything I could do about this irritating habit of my daughter’s. She couldn’t even talk! But my friend got down on the carpet with my daughter and said, very gently: We don’t do that. We leave the books on the shelves. Then she showed my daughter how to push them back in. To my surprise, my daughter never pulled the books down again. After that, I realized that I could teach my daughter things like that, and she could integrate them. It was a revelation.

PVF: How did you settle on the title? Were there other contenders for the title?

PD: I wanted to call the book Paris is Burping. My editor said what editors say when they are trying to be polite: "Let’s make it a chapter title."

PVF: Nice! I like that one. [Thinking how to translate that title...] And will the book be translated into French? Would you consider returning as a guest on (my favorite French TV show) Le Grand Journal to discuss the differences between French and American parenting?

PD: Yes, the French edition is scheduled for January 2013. Title TBD. Do you handle bookings for Le Grand Journal? :)

PVF: No, but I sat in the audience once. I hope they invite you back for a debate about French/American parenting styles. That would be an entertaining conversation! For example, which of the French parenting methods do you think you've had the hardest time accepting or adopting?

PD: I can't get used to the 5-day field trips for first graders. But I'm going to have to. My daughter starts primaire next year. And though I say “It’s me who decides,” I don’t always automatically believe it. I have to sort of rev up my inner CEO. I’m naturally picky, but I’m not naturally bossy.

PVF: Which was the easiest?

PD: It was cutting out snacks, except for the one in the afternoon. It made the rest of the day flow better. Now when my kids sit down to eat, they're actually hungry.

PVF: Do you think there is a difference between French and American attachment objects (infamous doudous in France, in U.S., blankies or what-have-you)?

PD: I'm not sure. French parents do tend to have long Freudian explanations for why their kids have attachment objects. Whereas American parents would just say the blanket or the stuffed animal is comforting.

PVF: Okay, what about French children and correct posture? Any observations? How about faire la bise?

PD: I didn't look at posture at all (though I’m sitting up straighter as I write this). Please do tell, and I'll get that into the paperback! As for "faire la bise," I probably should have mentioned that too. What are your views?

PVF: Well, I once observed a French friend feeding her 18-month-old in his highchair. She simply cooed "Tiens-toi comme il faut, mon trésor" ("sit up straight, sweetheart") before she would give him the next bite, and it worked like a charm. La bise, of course, will take a whole chapter to discuss: up to what age a child must give a cheek kiss to a visitor, etc. So much to think about! All things considered, if you could start out your own childhood again, would you rather be raised à la française?

PD: I would change nothing at all about my own childhood. And I'm not just saying that because my mother is probably reading this.

Seriously, I think like many American women I wish I had developed a healthier relationship to food early on, instead of a guilt-based one. I wish I had learned how to savor one cookie, instead of needing to eat all eight of them.

PVF: Are there any French movies that might have some examples that illustrate the difference between French and American childhoods? (The Elegance of the Hedgehog comes to mind, but perhaps others)?

PD: On a recent flight to America I watched a wonderful French film called Un Heureux événement about a French couple that meets and has a baby, and how this affects their relationship. At one point during the mother’s pregnancy, she asks the doctor whether it’s okay to swallow semen. The doctor replies: Yes, it’s very nutritious. But of course it shouldn’t be the baby’s only food!

PVF: Hahhaha! Excellent. Okay, er, switching gears here, tell me, where do you write in Paris? Favorite spots? Favorite parks to go avec enfants?

PD: I write at home or at an office that I share with seven French journalists. I'm their token foreigner. I also write in cafes sometimes, though it’s hard to find one with the right combination of laptop friendliness, good coffee, good writing vibe, and a power outlet.

With kids, I love the Tuilleries, which has in-ground trampolines and a very imaginative, sculptural playground. One of the great things about Paris is that there are playgrounds all over the place. There’s usually at least one within walking distance. And there are wonderful film festivals just for kids.

PVF: Do you think that WWAFMD* will become a household mantra?

PD: Well since I had to read that acronym five times before I figured out what it stood for, probably not! I do think a new conventional wisdom about parenting is gradually emerging in America, and that it overlaps in some ways with the French style (date nights, having kids eat more interesting foods, teaching patience…). But whatever the next phase is in America, it's not going to be a carbon copy of French or Chinese or Eskimo parenting. It will be its own house blend.

PVF: Pamela, thanks so much for taking the time to chat. This might seem totally random as a closing question, but I personally think it's related: Do you think French dogs are exceptionally well behaved, too?

PD: How did you know? That's my next book! Though if French dogs were really were so well behaved, they wouldn't leave their poop on the sidewalk.




*What Would A French Mother Do?

Le Slip francais

Le slip. No, it's not a slip, which in English could be a lady's silky undergarment under a dress, or an embarrassing fall on a banana peel, or a place to moor your yacht, or a verbal faux-pas.

Le slip. I've always loved the word in French, one of those great faux-amis. And it has (almost) nothing to do with sleep, though it's pronounced that way: le sleep.

Le slip is... Tighty-whities. Briefs. U-Trou. Or, in some cases, a Speedo.

So for some reason this recent ad for le slip Made in France made me smile.

Allez, messieurs! Trade in those boring tighty-whities for some genuine all-cotton bleu-blanc-rouge slips francais.

The folks at Le Slip Francais say, "Our Briefs are Revolutionary!

Making Small Change

This weekend I was with my dear friend Nina at a charming little grocery store on Long Island. As usual, when I was paying, I fumbled in my wallet, dumping the coin-purse part upside down into my cupped hand in order to rid myself of all the dreaded change which weighs down my pocketbook. "I just hate loose change, don't you?" I remarked to Nina.

"Well. Yes....but I guess I'm always afraid of being the jerk at the front of the line whom everyone hates because she's taking up time while she fishes in her wallet for correct change," said Nina.

Ouch. And also, BINGO! Because, in a snap, just like that, I recognized one of the most fundamental differences between living in Paris and living in the U.S.

Small change. Coins.

La petite monnaie.

At first blush, it might seem like a trivial difference, but it runs deep.

For an American living in France, one gets trained in short order, by the shop-owners or whoever is working the cash register, to proffer change so they don't have to depart with their precious supply. ("Vous n'auriez pas les 12 centimes, madame?" they'll ask, when the total is 13.12 euros. And you know that you'll get better service and smiles the next time if you give them the right change.)

Do people in France even keep change jars? Does Coinstar exist in France? I think not. I never saw any. Does anyone ever go in to their local bank branch and ask (instead of for quarters), "I'd like a roll of one-euro coins, please?" The very thought gives me the shivers.

The penny dish by the cash register? Ubiquitous in the U.S., preposterous in France.

Small change, in France, is social gold. Having correct change was how I wooed Madame Tabac to be my pal. It is how I stayed on good terms with the neighborhood epicier and news seller. In the rare moments when I was out of change, I always apologized profusely and was certain to make up for my perceived transgression the next time with pocketsful of change. All shopkeepers were always thrilled to have the right coins given to them. When I didn't have my reading glasses handy, they would even willingly help me count out the correct amount if I held up a cupped handful of coins for them. The tension-relieving was palpable. My boulanger, Robert, even taught me the trick of learning the distinction among euro coins by the edge and shape.

How important is it to have correct change in Paris? Two vivid anecdotes marked me permanently.

1. After one Saturday dinner party in Paris, it being late I decided to take a taxi home. The reluctant driver picked me up -- I was his last fare of the evening -- and we drove from the Champs Elysees to my place in the 7e arrondissement. We arrived at my doorstep and I explained that all I had on me was a 50-euro bill. And you would have thought I had committed highway robbery. I got the most severe tongue-lashing, with expletives, he saying "If I had known you wanted to pay me with a 50-euro bill, I wouldn't have picked you up," and so forth. I apologized profusely, to no avail. Finally, he gave me the change for the 11-euro fare -- change which he had in abundance, it turns out. So his protest and verbal abuse were simply a matter of principle? Big jump on the cultural learning curve. (And, I might add, the only bad experience I've ever had with Paris taxi drivers, who always remain dear to my heart.)

2. At an American performance event in Paris, I was helping as a volunteer to staff the entrance with a fellow expat who had lived in Paris for decades. An American woman arrived and wanted to pay for her discounted 8-euro ticket with a 20-euro bill. We had a well-stocked cash box with lots of change. My fellow American -- American! -- unleashed a tirade. "We can't let you in unless you have the correct change -- no, no, no, that won't work at all!"

I froze. "Um, Tim," I whispered in an aside, "we actually do have enough change in the till to let her pay with a twenty." He wouldn't budge.

The poor woman was about to leave in tears, when along came another American concertgoer who had change to share with her, so we were able to broker a deal. Tim had clearly been living in France too long.

What IS it about making or not making change -- the currency of everyday living -- that makes us who we are?

General anecdote number 3: I walk. A lot. In the U.S., on my walks, I invariably come across coins on the sidewalks and street curbs. Ranging from one penny (which I'll pick up if it's heads up and not in the middle of traffic) to the high-water mark, which was a $10 bill. Average is about 15 cents per one-hour walk. In all of my walks in Paris, I never once saw abandoned change on the pavement. Not once.

Small change is king!

I realized, this weekend, that there is a vestige of the Parisian resident in me that it's not so easy to shake. I still expect the person at the cash register to be appreciative of my ability to give small change.

But -- is it chump change?

And who is the chump?