Being Parisian

I have lived in Paris for almost 6 months now. No, my French isn’t much better (thanks English speaking tourists), and no, I don’t have a dog. But I feel like I am still qualified to give anyone interested “Parisian Lessons.” This is different than French lessons. This is how to BE Parisian. In 5 steps:

Step One: Dress

Here in Paris, you must always be fashionable. If you’re a teenager, the typical Parisian uniform is skinny jeans (dark denim, black, or grey), long shirt, scarf, leather jacket and Converses. If you’re over 20, substitute boots for the Converses. Teenage boys wear the same thing as teenage girls (making them rather hard to tell apart at times since neither of them have a chest of any sort). Over 20 boys, substitute a long sleeved button down with a sports coat and loafers and you’re set.

This is the same uniform that can be used in every situation: grocery shopping, errands, biking to work, dinner, clubbing – you name it.

If it is raining, you can choose from one of the following options: a) umbrella, b) leather jacket, c) Burbury trench coat, d) angry scowl that scares the rain away (see step 5 for further instructions).

Even when running you must either a) have all the latest and greatest gortex gear complete with i-pod pocket and brand new asics, or b) be dressed like you’re about to go to work in a polo and khaki pants.

Step Two: Size

Girls: In order to be Parisian, you must not have larger than a B cup. From the time you reach puberty to when you die. This includes pregnant women and old, fat gypsy.

Boys: You can’t weigh over 130 lbs – no matter how tall you are. The emaciated look is in. In order to accomplish this, you must stop eating. Despite being in the land of good food, and GREAT cheese, you must never eat. Smoking cigarettes to cut the craving is fine. But you must never actually consume the food. You can walk by a patisserie and give it a disdainful glare, but you must never show weakness on your slow road to a size 0.

Step Three: Places

True Parisians must never be seen at “touristy” sights until after dark, or if there is alcohol included. This is why you will never find a Parisian at the Louvre – it closes before it gets dark.

If you must be seen at a restaurant or near food, you must find one that does not offer a menu in English.

Step Four: Volume

Parisians do not yell. They do not laugh loudly (or really at all). They cannot be heard in a crowd. My laugh: not allowed. The high pitched, squealing, hyperventilating noise is generally frowned upon - or in more serious cases, shushed by a friendly local Parisian.

Step Five: Attitude

Smiling = not allowed. I’ve been working on my Parisian glare. Its not an easy look to get down. It’s a cross between “I’m bored”, “So what”, and “You are nothing”. Accomplished correctly, it forces everyone around you to realize that YOU are IMPORTANT and TOO BUSY to notice ANYTHING. It also makes dogs cower into submission and the sun shine a special light on your path. For you are OBVIOUSLY a TRUE PARISIAN.

So... I'm working on following these steps. I wear brown boots and black skinny jeans. I hate going to the Louvre. But unfortunately, I will always be a blonde, smiling Texas girl who loves bread and cheese and talking too loudly on the Metro. C'est la vie.

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Luis & Monet's Garden

Meet Luis.

And Luis mascot - the random kangaroo.  

Bottom line:  I finally got a bike.  It is the most wonderful thing that has happened to me.  A) I have stopped riding the metro completely.  I ride my bike all over Paris (yay googlemaps), and I even ride up the hill to Montmartre.  Road bikes are the best thing ever... even though this one needs some minor surgery (you may notice that the handlebars are facing the wrong way).  But I will say that it allows me to see more of the city.  (Not to mention Luis already has a secret admirer... she's a precious bike named Magenta who parks next to her sometimes at the shop.  Magenta even left Luis a love note one day... via her crazy owner, Billy.)  

Meet Jackson and Paul.  

We had a picnic on the Pont des Arts.  Behind the bike is the Louvre.  It was beautiful, but still a little cold.  I'm waiting for next week and it should be perfect picnic-ing weather.
I also went to Monet's Gardens a couple weeks ago with Paul, Devin, and Adam.  I cannot explain how beautiful the flowers were.  These pictures do not do them justice.
This was his Japanese style garden.  All the flowers are grouped by color - Monet's idea.  Not the Japanese's idea.
Some of his famous water lilies.

I definitely see a similarity (the photo below, I took last summer at the Orangerie - this is one of Monet's panels in his water lily series.)

Devin and Adam are taking some inspiration from the gardens in drawings of their own.

The other half of the garden was very traditional - and had every color of tulip I could possibly imagine including dark, DARK purple which looked almost black.

This was the house itself.  Inside were reproductions of Monet's most famous works including a lot of the Japanese art that he was also inspired by and collected.  After the death of his children who took care of his estate, all the original pieces  were taken back to Paris and put in either the Orangerie, the Orsay, or the Marmatton.

So... that was my trip.  

Van gets here in 3 days.  BAH!  I'm calling his time here the "Food Tour of Paris."  We're just going to cruise Paris based on where our next meal is taking place.

And I've started reading a book called Shantaram by Gregory David Roberts.  If you're looking for something to read, look no further.  Its a almost true story about the author who escapes from a maximum security prison in Australia and flees to India where he falls in love with the people and the city and ends up becoming a gun runner for the Indian mafia.  Does it really get much better than that?!  Read it.  Don't think about it.  Just do it.

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