Express Yourself

Remember that photo challenge from way back featuring the head of Karl Marx? It represented the tip of the iceberg in terms of the hottest street art trend in Paris: stenciled texts and images on the pavement and on walls.

Often it's about spreading ambiguous slogans, like these two found on the Rue du Faubourg du Temple just after the May 1st festivities. If you have any idea what they mean, let me know.


There's no ambiguity in the following stencil portraits. On the left, a psychadelically framed Salvador Dali is captioned as saying, "The word 'graffiti' must remain a shitty word, an insult to the spiritually constipated." In the center - well, did they really need to identify Beethoven? I mean, come on! And on the right, Konny Steding is a street artist who seems to specialize in stencil.


Finally, stencil art can get political, re-purposeful, and philosophical. Gaza was a hot topic long before Israeli commandos zip-lined onto Turkish boats in June. This color wheel covers a sewer grate, and the tag on the right reads, "Sometimes I tell myself that in creating man, God overestimated his abilities, just a little."


This is all well and good, but I'm still convinced that the best street art is that which aspires to sincere expression, rather than "art." We stumbled across this exemplar in our very own courtyard.

Street stencil artists, rejoice. The future is in good hands.

Farewell Picnic Fare

With three days left before our departure, we wanted to throw one more picnic for anyone who couldn't make it to the farewell pot we'd had in the courtyard. Unfortunately the weather did not cooperate, and at the last minute we had to move our picnic indoors. But no matter - everyone who came still had a great time, and (most importantly) we ate really well. The picnic gave us one last excuse to share some of our favorite cheese and sliced meats with our friends.

It was while shopping for another picnic - with Becky and Gladis - that Maggie discovered rosette saucisson (front and center), a dry, "rose"-shaped sausage that can be sliced thin and that goes perfect on a baguette even without condiments. When I went to the charcuterie to pick some up for our indoor farewell picnic, I was asked whether I wanted regular rosette or rosette à l'ancienne (front left). Indecisive, I took both, thinking it'd be fun to do a taste test. It was. On the right, there's some basic sliced ham, perfect with melon but delicious without, too. This charcuterie was all well and good, but paled in comparison to the cheeses we served.

From left to right, a long blanc, which is a soft goat cheese; tête de moine, a hard cheese that's shaved into a flower shape; and cantal, a raw milk cheese from the Massif Central region. This collection represents much of what we learned about designing a cheese plate during our year in France: balance cheeses that are hard and soft, that come from goats, cows, and sheeps; whose origins are in different regions; and that come in diverse shapes and colors. Clearly we did a much better job diversifying our cheese plate than we did with our charcuterie plate.

We're particularly excited to have learned about tête de moine (thanks to Mark, Jeanice, and Amelia!), which even the other customers at the fromagerie (cheese store) didn't know about when I requested it. The cheese comes in a large wheel, and to shave it, you need a wood base with a spike that holds the cheese while it's being turned, and then a sharp knife and good technique to produce the flower. When we return to France, we're investing in a tête de moine shaver and becoming really, really good friends with our local cheesemonger.

Fête de Départ/Nos Voisins Formidables

Plus qu'un coucher de soleil sur la Seine, plus que le parfum des potagers dans le Parc des Buttes Chaumont, plus que tout autre aspect de la vie quotidienne à Paris, si une chose nous manquera lorsqu'on revient aux Etats-Unis, ce sera le chaleureux amitié de nos voisins, dont quelques sont devenus des plus proches amis.

Comme si nos voisins voulaient nous faire repenser notre décision à rentrer, hier après-midi ils nous ont fait une grande fête de départ. La fête, qui prenait la forme d'un pot géant (d'après les apéros géants qui agaçent tellement les gouvernements des villes françaises), convenait parfaitement à la symmetrie de notre séjour, Maggie et moi ayant fait la connaissance de nos voisins à un premier pot en septembre.

Comme vous voyez, il y avait beaucoup à manger, et les invités en ont apporté même plus après que cette photo a été prise. Une quiche, une tarte salée, des chips, du vin, du cidre, du coca, des cookies americains, de la bruschetta, des hors d'oeuvres, nous n'en avons pas arreté de manger pendant cinq heures. Nos voisins et amis sont arrivés et partis en vagues, et finalement le pot a compté vers une vigntaine de personnes, dont plusieurs que nous n'avions jamais rencontrées, et dont plusieurs autres que nous connaissons depuis le troisième jour de notre séjour.


Fantômette ne voulait pas laisser passer une opportunité de dire au revoir à Panda (son enemie mortelle), et non plus presque tous les enfants des batîments B et C.


Pour nous convaincre de revenir bientôt et souvent, nos voisins nous ont donné deux grands cadeaux: ils vont planter et cultiver un chêne à notre honneur, et pendant que nous attendons qu'il grandisse assez pour nous abriter quand il fait chaud, Maggie et moi dégusterons un panier plein de mets raffinés et friandises de Fauchon.

Ça va sans dire que ces cadeaux nous ont vivement touché et même éblouit tant que nous trouvions à peine les mots pour remercier tout le monde.

Et c'est pourquoi nous avons écrit ce post en français - pour mieux remercier nos voisins. En fin de compte, vous nous avez donné un cadeau plus précieux qu'on ne s'attendait: une année pleine de nouvelles expériences, de joie, de sympathie et de camaraderie. Vous serez tous les bienvenus chez nous, et nous espèrons vous revoir aussi bientôt que possible.

The Chinese Strike Back

One of our neighbors pointed out recently that anyone who likes can figure out the code to open the porte cochère - the heavy wooden door that separates our apartment complex's courtyards from the street.

Sure, the order isn't obvious, but there are only so many combinations . . . This is a serious problem, and I plan to start pressing all the buttons every time I pass the door, until they all achieve the same sheen as the four buttons that count.

Much worse than the numbers being worn, though, is the fact that someone has written the exact code nearby - in Chinese.

That's messed up. Apparently the same deal applies to the keypad that allows entry into our building.

And again, the code is written just above, in Chinese.

This could be a way for the Chinese-speaking inhabitants of our building to make visitors feel welcome. Or it could be a subtle way of getting back at the conseil syndical (Coop/Condo board) of the building complex for forbidding spitting in the hallways. My vote is for the latter hypothesis. Either way, the conseil syndical should see the writing on the wall(s) and change these door codes!

Bippers and Zébras

On our way up the stairs to our apartment last week, we noticed this announcement, taped to the wall:


Without going through the trouble of translating the whole thing, it's basically about automating the heavy wooden doors (porte cochère) that allow entry into the apartment complex from the street. It used to be you had to pull your car up, get out, open the doors, get back in your car, drive through, then close the doors behind you. Now, all you'll have to do is press a button to open and close the doors from the comfort of your own vehicle.

There were two things we learned from this announcement. The first was that in French, a garage-door opener is called a "bipper."

Bipper is one of those French words that comes from an English word but that adopts a French phonetic spelling based on the English pronunciation. Bipper pronounced à la française is pronounced the same as "Beeper" in English. It's just that "bipper" looks a lot funnier, no matter which language is your native one. (I can't think of any other words in French that look even remotely like it.)

The other thing we learned from the announcement is a second meaning of the word, "zébre."

Yup - it means stripes, whether they're on the eponymous animal or marking a spot where you might get clobbered by automatic doors if you're not paying attention. The word is also used to describe crosswalks, which makes sense.

Too bad we don't have a car, otherwise we could use our bipper to open doors that swing gently open over black-and-yellow zébras. Maybe next time.

Panda's Other Nemesis

If Maggie and I have learned one thing from blogging, it's that the internet people like cats. With that in mind, meet Maya.


Along with Fantômette, Maya stalks the courtyards of our apartment complex, tempting Panda with her scent and, once every long while, drawing Panda into a terrifying stand-off that could only end in violence and tragedy:

I like Fantômette just fine, but Maya freaks me out a little. Also I'm not sure whether "Maya" is the correct spelling, since it could also be "Maïa" or "Maja", depending on the native language and orthographic training of the people who named her. What I am sure about is that Maya is a cat with a plan, and that plan probably involves Panda's demise, followed shortly by that of her owners . . .

Panda's Nemesis

His name is Fantômette (meaning little ghost), and he tortures Panda with the mere suggestion of his presence.



Because of Fantômette, Panda sprints down the stairs every time we go for a walk, anticipating the opportunity to catch a glimpse of this strange creature. At the end of the walk, as we're about to reenter the courtyard, she pulls and pulls as hard as she can, and every once in a while she's rewarded with the sight of Fantômette scampering across the concrete in search of shelter.

In addition to torturing Panda, Fantômette likes scooters and basking in the sun.



He's nothing but friendly to us, but boy oh boy does he hate Panda, who only wants to be friends. Poor Panda.

Our Apartment/Impregnable Fortress

Katie and Darryl left this morning after a lovely week-long visit, and now we turn to preparing for our next visitors, who arrive Monday. (Just in case my dissertation adviser is reading this: Yes, I am still researching out the wazoo. In fact, I may have just had my most productive week yet. Maggie does a good job of keeping me on top of things. No matter how many visitors we have, I'm still on track to finish this thing by . . . well . . . sometime around June 2012 or June 2013.)

It seems like every one of our visitors has noticed one thing in particular about our apartment: the door. As you can see below, it is a very secure door. Technically there's only one keyhole, and the same mechanism locks the door in five separate places. And then there's the security latch, which we use at night, just for kicks.

We're not sure why our door needs to be so secure. Anyone who wants to get in at night first has to know the code to get through the porte cochère or outside door, which lets you into the first courtyard. Then at all times of day there's the door to our building, for which you need a different code. And finally, the outside of our apartment door has no doorknob - there's nothing to jimmy or turn, other than the single keyhole that operates the single five-lock mechanism. If one managed to reproduce the key (which would be no small feat - we had to go to five serruriers (keysmiths) before we could find someone with the right technology) it wouldn't matter if we'd closed the door without locking it, or locked it in five places, since you could easily unlock everything yourself. The only thing these locks seem to defend against is an extremely forceful, direct assault with a medieval battering ram. But if they tried that, we'd pour boiling oil and shoot flaming arrows all over the attackers. 

In the end, our door is just as perplexing to us as to our visitors. And it's not exceptional by French standards. So add our door's quadruply-redundant security to the growing list of things that we don't get, but that we don't mind, because it's all part of the charm of Parisian life.

Maggie Did Not Approve This Post

I couldn't relegate this to a comment on her last post. This is pretty much what Maggie did all week:

Panda could not have been happier.

To Spit, Or Not To Spit

The day we arrived in Paris, one of the things about our apartment building that surprised me most was the printed sign on the right, posted at the bottom of our stairwell:

It reads, "Forbidden to smoke and to spit in the stairs." I can only assume it's translated into Chinese underneath. (Can anyone confirm?)

The handwritten note on the left is related to an incident Maggie had yesterday afternoon. A neighbor rang the doorbell (the doorbell is becoming a real problem) and when Maggie opened the door to the middle-aged woman, she accused Maggie of having let Panda run around in the stairwell off-leash, and then accused Panda of peeing in the 4th-floor hallway. Maggie protested as best she could, but nothing she could say would convince the woman. Panda, surprised and offended, said nothing. (Becky, who was on the phone with Maggie at the time, is our witness.)

On her way to babysit later in the day, Maggie noticed that someone had posted this note, which reads, "The owner of the dog that peed on the 4th floor is invited to clean up the mess." So delightfully passive. And apparently the French love underlining things in their chastisements/complaints/directions!

This morning, in protest of the woman's groundless accusation and in the spirit of cheeky helpfulness, I added "or cat or child" to the note, since we should suspect dogs, cats, and children equally in the mystery of the 4th-floor pee-spot.

Technical Difficulties

No water in our building right now. I say this just in case anyone with the ability to do something about it is reading this. Please? Pretty please?

***UPDATE***

Word on the street is that someone had a plumbing problem and had the water to the whole building shut off as a result. What the . . . !?!?

Through Jacob's Eyes

Here at Panda à Paris we are pleased to showcase the debut of one of today's most promising young artists - a photographer who goes by the name of Jacob.

Jacob visited our apartment this weekend as part of his first world tour. The slideshow below represents his interpretation of our living space. Featuring intimate yet abstract close-ups that dramatize prosaic objects, images that seem to peek into hidden spaces, and playful use of light and color, the series depicts a home that is alternately cozy and austere.

This premiere is presented in conjunction with the celebration of Jacob's 4th birthday tomorrow. Happy Birthday, Jacob!

Nap time

Naptime
Originally uploaded by kaiserstein

Panda's favorite time of day is anytime the sun streams in through our apartment windows. Today, that time happened to correspond with laundry time. Luckily we had an extra sheet handy to keep our bed clean while she lounged the day away.

Pot

Today, while heading out to brunch at Charlie Birdy, a hip restaurant in the 15th arrondissement, Louis and I noticed a handwritten note taped to the wall at the entrance to our building. It said, briefly, "Come enjoy drinks and snacks in the garden today at 5:00." Actually, I have no idea what it said exactly - and at first, I thought it said something about drinks with Delphine at 4:30.... My first thought was that some nice, lonely neighbor wanted to meet people and so put up the note. We returned from brunch around 4:45, and I sent Louis out to go meet the lonely neighbor (hey, he could use the conversation practice - and it would be good for neighborly relations if other people knew we were not simply howling dog-owners).

Ten minutes later, Louis called me because it turned out our next-door neighbor was in the garden and he wanted me to officially meet her (and further mend relations). I joined them in the garden (by the time I made it down, two others had also joined the group.)

I don't recall everyone's name, but by the time we left the garden, two hours later, nearly twenty neighbors had joined the fête. In fact, it turns out the note said something about a pot, or, a "drinks party" or "block party." Not altogether uncommon in Paris, apparently, this is something that our neighbors do more often than most! There are four buildings at our address (with a central courtyard and garden) and it appeared that there was representation from every building.

This is a picture taken from our living room window after we left the party - look closely and you can see the colored shirts of our neighbors and maybe even the tables filled with chocolate, tarts, pâté, fresh-picked figs, wine, tea, champagne, and more!

What's more, I may have picked up more babysitting jobs - many of our neighbors have children (cute, French children!) so when they found out I was a potential babysitter, they asked for my "06" - my cell phone - and I was only too happy to oblige.

Cry, Baby, Cry

I know what you've been thinking. "When is Louis going to post better audio of that baby crying in the next room?" Well think no more - here it is.

And another.

There's lots of noise around here, so please don't accuse me of picking on a little girl and her harried parents. Also, I've been practicing clarinet every afternoon for 30-45 minutes right before her bedtime, so now we're really even. (Who knows, maybe it's soothing?)

Housewarming

In French, a housewarming party is called a "pendaison de crémaillère," or literally "hanging of a pothook," a pothook being the iron mechanism that held up the cauldron at varying heights over the fire in French homes before the advent of the oven. (There's a whole discussion of the etymology of the word crémaillère here.) From what I gather, the pothook was the last thing you'd hang in a new home, since it was crucial for cooking. Last thing hung = we're moved in = party time!

We threw our pendaison de crémaillère Sunday afternoon, and while it was a small affair, it definitely signalled the end of moving to France and the beginning of French living. For one thing, we put on quite a spread: two kinds of bread, two kinds of cheese, melon, grapes, sliced apples, LU Petit Ecolier cookies, a bottle of wine, two kinds of chips (I'm not the first to notice that the French love their potato chips!).

I can't tell you how much fun it was to visit le fromager, then le caviste (wine store), then la boulangère, and finally le primeur (fruits and veggies), getting advice from each on what to serve and how to serve it. I felt so French!

So in terms of cuisine, we're getting into the swing of things. But our houseparty also marked our first step towards reconnecting with French friends, four of whom attended. Now, we're plugged into the "scene" and already have invites to various get-togethers over the next month.

Khayam and Louis plan future get-togethers

Now that we're all settled, I guess it's time to get started on . . . research?

Drama!

One of the things that worried us most about moving to Paris was the effect the trip would have on Panda's separation anxiety, which we had painstakingly treated throughout last year. We were very careful to leave her a little bit - not too much - as soon as we arrived, and to leave her for shorter and slightly longer periods a few times a day.

Unfortunately, despite all our precautions, Panda relapsed last night. We went out to dinner with a friend-of-a-friend of my mom and her daughter, and when we got back three and a half hours later, we found this note taped to our door:

"Please do not leave your dog to bay at the moon* in your absence. It's unbearable (for your neighbors as well as for your dog . . .)!"

[*That's the translation I found at wordreference.com, we take it to mean that she was whining and howling.]

What's more, as soon as we got to our door, one of our neighbors came out of his apartment to confront us about Panda's howling. He has a three-year-old daughter (which we know, because we listened to her shriek for an hour and a half during dinner the previous night) and Panda made it impossible for her to sleep. The guy said that the next time this happens, he's going to call "les flics," the police. We don't know whether the police respond to domestic disturbances caused by animals, but we'd rather not find out.

So, at least for a little bit, we're back to intensive separation anxiety training. We sit in the stairwell, or right outside the door, or in another room within the apartment with the door closed. We give Panda treats when we leave and take them away when we return. We play the radio and white noise so she doesn't hear noises outside the apartment and so she doesn't feel as alone. And we use the built-in webcams in our computers to monitor her (via Skype) when we're farther away than the stairwell.

Along with retraining Panda to be less devastated when we leave her alone, we're undertaking a public relations campaign in our building, starting with an extremely apologetic letter that we'll post in the stairwell. Given how thin the walls are, and given that we've already heard from three neighbors (#1: the note; #2: guy in next-door apartment, who claimed not to have left the note; #3: neighbor from upstairs with whom we spoke this morning when we were hanging out in the stairwell and who recommended a bark collar!), the audience for our letter is likely large. Here's hoping we can still make friends in our building over the next 9 months.

Chez Panda

WE'RE SO EXCITED!

We found an apartment! For the 9 months we will be living in Paris, you'll be able to find us on Rue de Belleville:

View Belleville in a larger map

Located in the 19th arrondisement, Belleville is close enough to the center of Paris to be convenient but not too close to be out of our price range. [Speaking of the center of Paris, did you hear about the guy who bought a parking spot for $654,000!?]

You can read about Belleville online (this podcast and blog in particular), but the short story is that it's a diverse neighborhood composed of many different immigrant groups (more Chinese, Thai and Vietnamese in the eastern part ("our" part), more North Africans and Arabs in the western part (a few blocks away)). There are tons of great supermarkets with super cheap Asian food, and on the nearby Rue Rebeval are many up-and-coming gourmet restaurants. Many people seem to point out that the area isn't your typical, "picture-perfect" Parisian quartier, but I'm more inclined to see it as a preview of what the future holds (for Paris and elsewhere). And in any case, there are plenty of fine, local boulangeries and patisseries, which is all we really care about.

As for our apartment, it's a recently refurbished one-bedroom with its own private courtyard garden and parking space. Go ahead, check it out!

The red, leather loveseat converts into a single bed, and we'll probably pick up an air mattress so we can host more than one person at a time. We hope you'll come visit!