Lost in Translation: Conversations with Madame M

I received an email from my friend "Madame M" last week inviting me to tea and commenting on my blog. She is one of my few french friends who understands enough english to enjoy reading it, and I always appreciate her perspective. I was anticipating our rendez-vous as I wanted to clarify a cultural misunderstanding, something lost in translation (as is wont to happen). I mentioned in a previous entry the lack of conveniences here that are commonly found in the United States, such as garbage disposals. Not only have I never seen one installed in any kitchen in France, the french have never even heard of such a thing! How can this be? She had written informing me as to why. She explained that there were garbage disposals in Paris at one time, but because of a problem with terrorists their use was discouraged. Apparantly the terrorists were planting bombs in them......now pause for a moment and imagine the visual: Workmen dressed as plumbers arrive to install your brand new garbage disposal (perhaps you are rennovating your kitchen). You suspect nothing unusual as you avert your eyes from the obligatory exposed butt crack. You sign the invoice, write the check, the men depart. You enter the kitchen eager to test your new gadget. You flip the switch and - KABOOM! I was confused, were the victims diplomats? It seemed odd, until I read further. She went on to say that after the garbage disposal ban, parisians were obliged to carry their garbage home with them because the clear plastic bags offered on the streets are always full. That's when I understood - to her a "garbage disposal" was a trash bin! I couldn't blame her, it does make sense. I suppressed the urge to clarify the misunderstanding by return mail, opting instead to have a laugh together in person. Finally the afternoon of our tea party arrived. She offered crépes and chocolat chaud, and we sat down to chat. When the subject of my blog was broached I explained my confusion as I read her explanation of exploding garbage disposals and the nationwide ban. She interrupted to insist it was true, terrorists had been planting bombs in garbage disposals all over town and it had become a real safety issue. And she didn't understand what I found so funny about it! I launched into a detailed description of what americans call a garbage disposal, complete with sound effects and a sales pitch of their finer points. She was unimpressed. We argued about water treatment issues (which had nothing to do with it, but that's the french way), noise issues, and in the end she didn't accept the concept at all -which is also the french way. In the end we shared no laughter on the subject, after all there is nothing very amusing about exploding poubelle! Excusé moi.

Expat Survival Challenge: Day Deux

After blogging, tweeting, and logging off to join the world of eye to eye personal contact yesterday, I had a thoughtful conversation with friends about the recent disaster in Haiti. Why does it always seem to take a tragedy to remind us how fortunate we are? The reality that 80% of Haitians live on no more than $2.00 a day, and over 50% on $1.00 (or less) boggles the mind, but has served to reinforce my resolve to waste less and to do more! I began my personal "Expat Survival Challenge" today by organizing my pantry and taking stock of what I had onhand. I discovered quite alot there really, couscous and polenta, rice, beans, and pasta, and there were plenty of staples in the frigo as well. I pondered how I was going to calculate my real savings during this challenge, do I add money I didn't spend but wanted to into the "saved" column? Do I simply add the cost of everything I consume item by item, and do I begin with new purchases and forget the price of what I have already in the cupboard? All this ruminating was making me hungry and thoughts of my daily pain au chocolat were dancing through my mind. I began rummaging through my coins, picking through the 5 and 10 centimes pieces that seem to always be in abundance, gathering together one euro, the cost of my daily snack. As I regarded the coins in my open palm, preparing for my habitual walk to the boulangerie, I remembered this was what many people had to exist on for the entire day! This was a game for me, a neccesary one to be sure, but still a game. I could easily afford a pain au chocolat, today and tomorrow. But what if I had cookies instead, with my afternoon tea? What if I put the euro I would have spent in a seperate little tin, to aid in calculating what I saved being frugal? Then it hit me-perhaps I could make a small impact if I donated half of what I saved! It isn't much for an island so devastated, so in dire need, but it's all the raindrops collectively that fills the bucket. I put the water on for a cup and arranged the cookies on a plate. I rummaged around for an old tea tin I had saved for a previously unknown purpose and dropped the centimes in, replacing the lid and jiggling the coins around, enjoying its music with a sense of contentment. It was the first step on a long journey to leave old habits behind and walk a new path, a more Ormanesque way of approaching financial stability married with a sense of commitment to something far more important than myself . I am excited to discover how much I will save in my little tea tin in the coming weeks and months.

Bon Appétit Part 3: The Expat Survival Challenge

I arrived in Paris three years ago all bushy tailed and full of american optimism, ready to take on the world. I had a small savings which I knew would go fast (and that I really should be keeping for my rapidy approaching old age), and a few ideas about e-commerce. I must admit, I have never been one to hold on to money, in fact I consider myself sort of a vessel that cash passes through as easily as a river flows downstream. I also tend to have a problem with the concept of a budget, if I have one euro in my pocket I will spend two! It is with great alarm that I have been reviewing my accounts of late. I know there are ways I can save money by changing my eating habits, after nearly 30 years of marriage I have been completely disinterested in cooking for myself or anyone else! I prefer my favorite sushi bar, a pizza from La Trattoria, or exploring the bistros of Paris. Food is the Number One drain on my personal economy, or rather how I choose to spend my food budget. I have already been playing a little game of dinner out for 10 euro or less, however to survive "Expat Island" I must make some major lifestyle changes. The challenge becomes how well can I eat, and for how little? I refuse to do the Ramen thing, and I am not a coupon girl (I don't think I have even seen a coupon mailer since I've been in France) and Lord knows I love my daily pain au chocolat! Being new at this budget thing, I am not even sure what my weekly food budget is or what it should be. I estimate I currently spend an average of 40 euro per week at the grocer on staples, another 40-50 dining out, 10 euro at the bakery, 10 at the butcher, maybe another 10 on incidentals. I am even more painfully aware of the numbers having recently learned most Haitians live on less than 2 dollars per day. How much money can I save and still eat as I like? I invite you to follow my progress via updates on this blog and on Twitter (bonbondeparis). I hope my personal challenge will be both inspirational and helpful to others, and we can all have some fun in the process. Bon Appétit!

Bon Appétit: Part Deux

The choices for dining in Paris can be overwhelming. With thousands of restaurants in the city, dozens of guidebooks the proprietaires pay to advertise in, and the dreaded tourist traps waiting to lure the innocent, your hard earned dollar is easily frittered away. It is the same for parisians, one must choose wisely! I would like to recommend a few of my favorite places to you. From moderately priced to a special occasion, I have never been disappointed. For Italian comfort home cooking, and the best "mafia cake" in Paris visit Mario and Maria at La Trattoria. Located in the 15th arrondissment, it is a 5 minute walk from metro ligne 12, arret "Convention", address: 155 rue de la Convention. Open for dinner from 7:00 p.m. until 10:30 p.m monday through saturday, closed sunday. The pizza "margherita" is divine, 9 euro for a medium size pie. It is customary in France for each person to order their own pizza, (but it is possible to share). The average cost for a generous main course meal is 12.50 euro, the house red is good, and you MUST have the tiramisu for dessert! The decor is warm and homey, casual, and unpretentious. No reservation neccesary, takeout available. 01 48 28 87 86. Minimum english spoken. Chez Janou 2 rue Roger Verlomme (near Bastille and the Place du Vosges) reservations recommended, 01 42 72 28 41. Popular with parisians and the international set alike, it is crowded every night from 8:30 until 11:00. Noisy and chaotic, it is a typical bistro complete with tiny tables crowded together and plenty of posters that pass for decor on the walls. The staff is friendly, all speak decent english, and are literally running three hours a night. They have the best olives I have ever had in my life, served as appetizer to keep the savages at bay, and if you like mussels, Chez Janou is the place to have them! The moules gratinée and spinach salad with warm goat cheese (salad epinard avec chévre chaud) are excellent starters for sharing, and I always enjoy the entrecote (delicious here). When it is time for dessert, chocolate mousse is offered in a ginormous bowl, you take as much as you please with an equally large spoon.....decadent! The average main course is 17 euro, 9 for entrées. BAM bar à manger the cuisine here is upscale but not pretentious, well thought out and executed, and the menu varies constantly. This is one place I recommend the prix-fixte menu. The chef offers an entrée, plat, and dessert for 30 euro per person, wine not included. I usually have a glass of the house Bordeaux, (verre de vin rouge) which is quite nice, at 5 euro. Located in Chatelet, the neighborhood is lively and fun. The address: 13 rue des Lavandières Ste. Opportune, metro Chatelet. Reservations recommended: 01 42 21 01 72. The friendly owners and staff speak english fluently. Open for dinner at 8 p.m. Le Petite Pontoise very delicious, very intimate, reservations a must! The foie gras with dates is to die (but I've promised to swear off foie gras), the lamb chops OMG.....a fabulous wine list, friendly and well trained staff. If you have one special meal in Paris, have it at Le Petite Pontoise. The ambience is country french gentleman-quiet money, but Madame welcomes you with a smile when you present yourself with dignity. After dinner, treat yourself to a walk along the sparkling river Seine toward the cathedral Notre Dame, just a stones throw away. Located at 9 rue Pontoise, metro Maubert Mutualité. 01 43 29 25 20. What to avoid: As previously mentioned, I have made a number of bad choices during my tenure as an expat in Paris. In "Bon Appétit" (part one) I discussed the pitfalls of the tourist trap cafés, but here are a few more examples of where not to eat. Chain restaurants are worldwide, a plague of mediocrity and predictibility. Let's face it, they're just plain bad! In Paris I would avoid Leon de Brussels (with their giant plastic bedpan shell depositorys and funky fish), Pizza Pino (really bad food and exploited immigrant workers), the Indiana Bar and Grill (when in France don't go for Texmex), and McDonalds because it's, well, McDonalds. Chéz Clemènt has good mashed potatoes, but I can see no other reason to dine there. The Hippopotamus has two things going for it, they actually grasp the concept of grilling a steak over a flame (instead of the traditional frying pan method), and their coctails pack a wollop! Other than that it is ordinary and expensive. The entrecote at Chez Janou is far better. Spend your vacation dollars wisely on the best food possible, and Bon Appétit!

Bon Appétit!

With the value of the dollar being weak against the euro, it is important not to waste your budget on bad food aimed at the unsuspecting tourist. Paris without a doubt is an expensive place to visit, but if you know what to look for and what to avoid you can eat well on a dime. Having lived here three years and visited many times before that, I can tell you I have made a number of culinary mistakes, bad restaurant choices in moments of post shopping desperation, my body and mind weak with hunger and fatigue. Here are a few tips that will stretch your travel dollar as well as guide your taste buds on a trip to nirvana! To fully embrace and enjoy the french experience, one must first locate the best boulangerie your neighborhood has to offer. Employ all of your senses, but especially your sense of smell. The best bakeries smell heavenly, like your grandmothers kitchen after she just baked an apple pie-with a touch of homemade bread and butter thrown in for good measure. There will no doubt be several boulangeries near you, but they are not all created equal! Try them all and decide for yourself which you prefer, then settle in to the french way of walking to get your morning croissant or pain au raisin, pick up dessert for later, and experience the mainstay of Parisian life; the "sandwich mixte". With a thin slice of ham (jambon) and cheese (frommage) nestled inside a crusty baguette and sweetened with butter, it is the perfect afternoon pick me up, and cheap! A sandwich mixte will cost you 5 euro or less. If your hotel offers a refrigerator and a coffeemaker, so much the better, put them to use and avoid the hotel breakfast which can cost anywhere from 7. 50 to 20.00 euro per person. Your morning croissant from the boulangerie will cost you about 1 euro each. Luscious desserts, what the french do best really, can be sampled for 2.50 to 3.00 euro (in the restaurant you will pay 5.00 to 7.00 euro). Parisians lunch anywhere from noon until 2:30, and many restaurants close between 3 p.m. and 7:00. It is then fashionable to take a drink around 5, but to dine before 8 is trés vulgaire. Enter the tourist trap! Nestled in the many mazes of narrow corridors between Notre Dame and the Boulevard St. Germain, they are the ultimate afternoon bait and switch. Always open, the greeter welcomes the weary sightseer with a broad smile, a basic grasp of the english language, and a prix-fixte menu that offers what appears to be a generous three course meal for the low, low price of 10 euro! You are tired and hungry, and have been at the Louvre all day, and this brightly painted sign with a big one-zero promising moules gratinée, poulet roti (rotisserie chicken), and your choice of mousse chocolat or tarte du jour is all you can see. The thing is, it's now 3:15 and the 10 euro menu is served only until 2:30! The waiter is glad to point to the fine print on the pretty sign: "menu à midi", and direct your attention to the next set of choices: salade avec saumon fumé, entrecote (the roughest, toughest steak you will ever attempt to chew and digest), and for dessert, your choice of mousse chocolat or tarte du jour. 16.95. With a drink, 20.50. Or, you can have the crab and avocado salad, (the same) rotisserie chicken, sarlat style potatoes (sliced thin and fried, garlicky and greasy), and for dessert, you guessed it! Mousse chocolat or tarte du jour. 19.95. With a drink, 23.50. These establishments are a dime a dozen, serving food ranging from mediocre to lousy, and are easily identified by the proprietaire standing in the doorway grinning at you with open arms and attempting eye contact. They usually have colorful, professionally painted signage-often in english-with the 10 euro menu prominantly displayed, and are clustered together in the more touristic locations. I avoid them like the plague, and I suggest you do the same. If I know I am going to be out for a long afternoon, I always have a sandwich mixte in my backpack-and some chocolate, yummy! There are many neighborhood "farmers" markets around Paris, usually on tuesday, thursday, and saturday mornings until 2 in the afternoon. Fresh produce, flowers, artisan sausage and rustic cheeses can be found for sale, and it is a good alternative to café lunching. Pack your backpack with an assortment of traditional french delicacies, find a quiet spot in one of Paris' many jardins, and voila! You are experiencing one of lifes Grand Plasirs for less than 20 euro. Don't hesitiate to visit the little cheese shops, wine caves, tea merchants, and chocolatiers you will happen upon as you explore the city. The merchants are happy to help you, especially if you greet them with a "Bonjour Madame/Monsieur! Parlez-vous anglais?" Having a stash onhand will save you a fortune in bar and restaurant tabs, two people having café and dessert at the restaurant will add 20 euro to le addition. On the other hand, after strolling back arm in arm through the streets of Paris, making a cup of tea and sitting on the bed sharing a chocolate....who knows what might happen? In "Bon Appétit, Part Deux" I will share with you some of my favorite places to have dinner. From 13.50 euro per person to 50.00 euro per, I have never been disappointed. Also in "Part Deux", more places to avoid.

l'amour

Disclaimer: all names were changed to protect the guilty. Dating after divorce takes a bit of getting used to, especially when there are decades between the first time around and the second. The rules have changed, the methodology opening a virtual world of possibilities, and if one is to adjust to this "Brave New World" one must be open to experiencing what's happening now. Enter dating websites. Unsure of the the idea at first, I explored the possibility with several single (female) friends. They assured me it was the way things are done in the 21st century, so upon my arrival in Paris I threw my hat in the ring. I was amazed, within 24 hours of posting my profile I had over a dozen responses! As I sifted through the messages, I found I could organize them into three categories: "Cubs", "Married Men", and "Dick Pictures". I shall address the first category first using the most current vocabulary available; "Cubs". Giovanni was 28, from Rome, and had sparkling dark eyes and a mischievious smile. We met for a drink in a typical Parisian café on a drizzly grey afternoon. He had adorable droplets of rain on his cheeks and eyelashes as he arrived on his scooter. Vested waiters scurried about serving tiny cups of liquid nitrogen to Parisians eager for an afternoon pick me up, and we ordered ours with a "tarte aux pommes". We sat smiling at each other tentatively as we searched each others eyes for answers to questions yet unasked, to motives possibly hidden. We had the usual preliminary conversation, "Where are you from?", "What brings you to Paris?", and "What do you do?" (Brilliant, I know, but it all has to begin somewhere.) He said he worked for an import/export olive oil company based in Rome. I didn't believe him for a second, but he was certainly cute as we engaged in the french tradition of flirting over drinks. He was scrupulously unshaven with the cliché dimpled cheeks and rumpled hair of an Abercrombie model, and ambiguously meterosexual. Did I mention he had a scooter? I was in cougar heaven as we motored through rush hour traffic toward his favorite Italian bistro. He pointed out various landmarks as we passed by, the Tour St. Jacques, Hotel de Ville, and Notre Dame. Of course I knew them all, but it mattered not, I smiled and drank it all in - the fresh heady scent of a city washed by rain, the sight of Notre Dame looming before us, the adrenaline rush of danger as we manuvered through traffic like a snake weaves it way through the jungle. Giovanni made a sharp right turn between two large automobiles and accelerated up a narrow, deserted alleyway. I shut my eyes when I heard the clarion call of an angry motorist sounding his horn, but we were safely up the street in no time, and I laughed in relief as he found a place to park. I have found when I travel, the most interesting places are found off the beaten path. This is especially true in Paris, one must never forget to look through doorways and up alleyways, the most texture is to be found underneath the slick veneer of tourist attractions and remodeled 19th century buildings! This cozy little restaurant was so far off the beaten path I have yet to find it again, or perhaps it was the magic of the moment, like one of those mysterious places in a P.L. Travers novel, that exists in a parallel universe one moves through as needed. He held my hand as we walked toward the door, and a very short, very plump, and very loud woman in an apron opened it to greet us. Giovanni respectfully kissed her cheeks and she led us to a small table, papered with disposable red and white checks and fitted with wine glasses. Gio was a seasoned Roman warrior going in for the kill. The weapon of choice for the evening: Chianti and pasta. Really, really good pasta. Like your Italian friends mamas pasta. A formidable choice of offense, (little did he know I was a seasoned veteran of this tactic.) We had fun flirting as we twirled pasta and drank too much wine, but he miscalculated when he ordered the giant dessert. It was creamy and light and chocolatey, and as we shared it we both entered the point of no return - or what I like to call "Thanksgiving full". Madame had to force us verbally to leave as we sat like Jabba the Hut at our table, absorbed in a state of semi-conscious-post-Italian-comfort-food-bliss. There is only one remedy, we took an after dinner stroll arm in arm through the labryinth of streets that is Paris, stopping to kiss from time to time. He was stealth, persistant yet patient. I was doing my best Sophia Loren - strong, flirtatious, confident, sensual. (Or so I hoped.) I had shaved my legs, I had protection in my purse, and an Italian Stallion in my arms! Soon we found ourselves by the river. The clouds had cleared enough for the moon to shine her reflective light upon the water, the current strong enough to create the beautiful light show unique to Paris..... Unfortunately, darling Gio (who had earlier attempted to ply me with alcohol and ended up drinking most of it himself) proved yet again the perils of being a cougar. One must know one's limits, myself included. He sat down suddenly with a plunk, right on the sidewalk, nearly taking me down with him! He looked up at me with a stupid grin-then a frown, he was going to be sick. I said my goodnights and turned, and doing my best Sophia Loren, (or so I hoped) walked confidently toward the metro St. Michel and headed home, leaving my little cub to do what he had to and to ponder the moral of the story. Being this: Dating Rule #1: Don't drink and date!

The Normandy Experience

If you are planning a vacation in France I highly recommend taking the time to visit the sacred beaches of Normandy, or as they are known to the french the "Plages débarquement". A few hours drive from Paris, it is a point of pilgrimage for many veterans who have returned to pay homage to their fallen comrades or other reasons known only to them. They are a mélange of personalities and nationalities, as the Allied Forces who invaded Normandy on D-Day were Canadians, Austrailians, Brits and Americans among others. The long stretch of coastline from "Gold" and "Juno" beaches near Caen to"Utah" and "Omaha", the final resting place of over 10,000 American soldiers, has the energy of thousands of spectres-the screams of dying men in their youth seems to echo faintly in the sea air. One can imagine warships in the ocean beyond the breaking surf as one scans the blue horizon, and as one hikes up the grassy knolls of Omaha beach an abandoned German bunker brings to reality the suicide mission of advancing toward an enemy well entrenched. It is a sobering and emotional place to visit-one must be prepared to shed a tear! We happened upon a group of British veterans who, with their wives, were touring the Sacred Beaches that day. There was a chaplain who had accompanied them as they laid wreaths at the memorials erected at each of the plages débarquement, and prayed over the souls lost during the bloody battle that turned the ocean red. The women thoughtfully arrived with handfuls of red rose petals which they ceremoniously scattered in the incoming tide to signify the blood let by those who made the ultimate sacrifice for freedom. They were neatly dressed in navy blue blazers adorned with a special crest on the breast pocket, issued by the Crown to honor the spouses of veterans as is the custom in England. (It was a three kleenex moment.) The cemetary and memorial park at Omaha Beach is peaceful, beautiful, and thoughtfully planned. The more than 10,000 pristine white marble crosses-or Stars of David for the Jewish troops-extend as far as the eye can see and are nestled quietly in a park guarded by tall pines. Each state in the union is represented as you walk through row after row, reading the name of each individual, imagining their families and their lives back home in Kansas or Arizona or Tennessee. Sometimes one happens upon an unmarked grave, the body buried there unidentifyable but the sacrifice not forgotton. There is a stunning neo-classical sculpture welcoming the visitor at the point of entry, and a reflecting pool calm and serene as are the entire grounds. There is a museum worth experiencing, the highlight being a short film comprised of photographs accompanied by a narration of letters written by soldiers who would ultimately die on the beaches of France, heartbreakingly optimistic words of love to wives and mothers waiting far away at home and praying for their safe return. (another 3-4 kleenex affair-in fact I recommend having a mini pack of mouchoirs on hand for each person traveling in your group!) The experience is unforgetable, a must for history buffs and anyone who has an appreciation for those who serve in the military. And that's not all, Normandy is rich in history and beauty, and the medieval villages of Bayeux and Honfleur offer a breath of fresh air after an emotional afternoon at the Plages débarquement. The drive is pleasant as you wind through emerald green farmland and little villages, each possesing an ambiance uniquely it's own. I invite you to join me as I visit the Calvados region of Normandy in my next blog entitled, "The Normandy Experience, Part Deux". Bonne Journée!

The Normandy Experience Part Deux

If you have seen the Tour de France on television you have undoubtedly enjoyed a birdseye view of the beauty that is the french countryside. From imposing chateaus to medieval fortresses, rolling farmland to the Alps, there is much to experience. Normandy is rich in history, the scene of many a battle through the centuries for control of her plentiful resources. The land is fertile and the ocean provides fisherman with a decent living. Her seasonal offerings of mussels and huitres (oysters) are renowned throughout France and can be found packed in ice inside wooden crates at little markets and restaurants throughout Paris during the winter months. The Calvados region of Normandy is famous for her cidres, both apple and pear. It is here you will discover a little gem called Honfleur. Admittedly touristic but picturesque and charming, it's center is a maze of narrow cobblestone streets winding around art galleries, souvenir shops, and fairytale dwellings adorned with exposed beams in the medieval style. Windowboxes overflow with geraniums, and there are mysterious alleyways that invite exploration. Cidre is definately the product du jour, there are cidre bars where you drink from special cidre bowls, cidre caves (shops), cidre kitsch, and during the harvest months a cidre festival. Being an ocean village, it's churches are dedicated to the seaman and there is a wonderful maritime museum not far from the Hotel de Ville. An inlet of ocean has found it's way to the center of town, and it is here fishing and pleasure boats are moored in repose, their masts reflected in the glassy water. Restaurants line the left bank feeding hungry tourists delicious fresh fruits de mer, and I must say it was there I had the best mussels ever! The locals are friendly as is usual in this part of France, and if you are aware you will discover a suprise or two. I have fallen in love with Honfleur and hope to return soon with my paintbox and an appetite. Located somewhere between Honfleur and the Plages débarquement is Bayeux, home of the legendary Bayeux Tapestry (tapisserie), the 1,000 year old embroidered histoire of William the Conqueror and the Battle of Hastings. Peaceful and sunny, this ancient ville also boasts a 12th century gothic cathedral which is as worth visiting as Notre Dame de Paris. If not for the acquisition of the famous tapisserie Bayeux would likely be passed by, unregarded by the traveling tourist. It would be a pity however, to be in the neighborhood without treating yourself to the trésors du Bayeux; the cathedral Notre Dame and the Bayeux Tapestry. May I also recommend the reader Google "Bayeux" if planning a visit, as it is rich in the medieval history of feudal Europe. Then have a walkabout and imagine yourself trodding the same cobblestone streets as a people who called her home more than a millenium before!

Le Soirée

Paris is a melting pot of cultures, a magnet in Europe of commerce that draws an international business clientle and the promise of a better life for many immigrants. It is a transient city of friendships forged of commonality, professionals with one to three year contracts arrive from around the world and band together as they settle into the routine of everyday life. The expat community in Paris is formidable, with an estimated 100,000 Americans alone calling her home. Some arrived with a short term contract 20 years ago and never left, seduced by the city of lights. Others (like me) went all rogue and opted for the bohemian life of a wannabe artist - usually writer - sometimes english teacher or tour guide, scraping together just enough income to keep the dream alive. Even more put in their time for the company and look forward toward leaving, disenchanted with the omnipressant scowling parisian and lack of common conveniences most of us take for granted. Like garbage disposals (the french have never heard of them) and clothes dryers. Naturally, groups have established themselves over the years and some people have become famous for their soirées, an institution here in France. There is always somebody interesting to talk to, plenty of wine and crummy finger food, and the stray frenchman clued in to the scene trying to score with an "anglaise". Sometimes groups organize and meet in pubs for happy hour to schmooze with friendly aquaintances over a pint or a mojito. Some soirées are held in private homes or hotel lounges and will cost a minimum of 25 euro for entry. My favorite events are picnics on the Pont des Arts where one can find a lively crowd every first night of the full moon. Thermoses filled with hot mulled wine or chocolat chaud keep one braced against the cold during winter, in summer it's a spontaneous banquet of treats offered for sharing as we ponder the moon and drink in the beauty of a million stars sparkling in the river below. It's the perfect setting for romance and the constantly on the make married-man-living-in-France-for-a-year-without-his-wife-and-children. There also exisits a notorious unemployed pseudo-intellectual who makes the rounds looking for a sympathetic woman with an extra chambre and a pantry full of food, but as his reputation preceeds him he arrives amid whispered words of warning, "Watch out for that guy...!" An interesting experience is the club "Suede", an ultra conservative and closely knit group of Swedish ex-pats who meet in a beautiful old building on the rue Rivoli. There is often live jazz enjoyed in the grand salon, a spacious rectangular room lit by traditional Louis XVII sconces and a grand chandelier. Twin fireplaces accented by large gilded mirrors above ornately carved mantlepieces flank each end of the room. The parquet floorboards groan and creak under your step and its music resonates through the room as you make your way toward the limited seating, period pieces upholstered in traditional fabric of the XVIII siecle. Large windows along the south end of the room afford a view of the historic Tuileries, a beautiful park located between the Louvre and the Place du Concorde. The club Suedoise accepts non swedish visitors, but one must have knowledge of: 1) the actual address and location of the secret "porte", 2) the secret digicode for the secret porte, 3) the secret password given to you by a registered dues paying member of the club, and last but not least 4) your name on the reservation list. Visitors donate 6 euro upon cracking the code, red and white wine is offered for a nominal charge at the bar. The expat scene is rather like the singles scene, with the occasional retired married couple thrown in for comfort. It is well established and clannish, one has the sense that everyone in the room has known each other (intimately) for years and new meat is devoured ravenously. It's a comfort zone that many expats never venture out of, claiming the french will never accept an outsider. Taken in moderation it is a great way to meet a wide range of interesting personalities, from volcanologists (yes, I met a 65 year old woman from Argentina who takes samples from live volcanos) to attorneys, IT specialists to teachers, and the stray frenchman trying to score with an anglaise. (I will address the latter in a future blog entitled, "To date or not to date..." in which I will share with my dedicated readers the intimate adventures of a woman in a mid-life crisis. It should prove to be juicy!)