Your Friday night French Ro-Com Part 11: "Mr. Low-key"

To stroll the streets of Paris on a warm summer night, after a satisfying meal and a bottle of Bordeaux, hand in hand with a beautiful man is the ultimate parisian experience. It had been a fabulous birthday thus far; dining at an exclusive restaurant with a reputation for the best foie gras in Paris, being officially and blatantly dissed by our waiter, and exploring the various musical options offered in the streets during the annual Fete de le Musique. Both Low and I were enjoying the warm glow of a good wine buzz as we slowly made our way back toward the Place de Vosges (and his hotel). An all girl Grunge band caught our attention, somehow the vocals didn't sound as hard in french! The bass player was a tall, lanky lesbian sporting a head shaven totally bald save for a skullcap of hair moussed to stick out in every direction from the crown of her head. "Now that's something you don't see everyday!" I discreetly whispered in Low's ear. "Fabulous!" he answered, as was his habitud. We moved on to discover a Reggae band, and a sea of dredlocks that reminded me of wall to wall shag carpet fiber from the 70's. There was a familiar aroma in the air, at once pungent and sweet, and the audience here was mellow as they swayed to the rythym of the islands. Cannabis is highly frowned upon here, but for the Fete de le Musique all is forgiven - for this night and this night only! After groovin' to a classic Bob Marley tune we moved on, our hearts filled with nostalgia. We laughed as we swapped stories of smoking our first joint back in the day, and Low was nearly creamed by a bicyclist as we briefly stepped off the curb to avoid a group of students sitting crosslegged on the sidewalk passing a bottle. It was an accident of timing; the guy on the bike zigging to avoid a young family towing a toddler, Low zagging to avoid the hippies. "Oh my God!" I exclaimed, "are you all right?" The cyclist was yelling angrily something that sounded like "What do you think you are doing you idiot, are you trying to kill me?!" (in french, so I can only surmise), and I was laughing inappropriately and uncontrollably as I always do in moments of crisis. Luckily, the french don't hold on to their anger for long, they yell and blow their horns and move on. Now we were even, having both been dissed by a parisian that night! "Fabulous!" he smiled as I pointed this out, then "I feel like I'm in the middle of a Woody Allen movie, set in Paris!" "Am I your Louise Lasser?" I joked. "No, you're my Scarlett Johannsen" he purred, and gave me a sweet little kiss. (5 bonus points) He was impressed that I remembered Louise Lasser however, and we compared notes on "Mary Hartman, Mary Hartman" as we continued our journey through the '70's and the Marais. A German oompah band was competing for airspace with a french rapper with a bad amplifier and a Mr. Microphone, and we pondered the possibilities of a marraige between the opposing forces. Sort of a tuba beat box. Suddenly I realized we had arrived at the Place de Vosges, having arrived by a side street I hadn't used before. We strolled through the place, and I explained to Low that we were walking where jousting tournaments were held in medieval times, over 800 years ago! But tonight there were no sounds of horses hoofs pounding the soil as they charged their opponents, instead a choir of 20 or 30 men and women singing acapella. We were steps away from the Pavilion de le Reine, where he was staying for the weekend. We stopped to listen to the choir, and he put his arm around my waist, giving me a little squeeze. "Happy Birthday" he cooed, and kissed me tenderly. "So..." he smiled shyly, lowering his gaze. "So..." I repeated (hoping for birthday sex). "Would you like to stay with me tonight?" He was tentative, as if I might refuse. He had, after all, racked up quite a number of bonus points since I met him! He had been a gentleman and was adorable, coming to Paris from London twice just to take me out, which made me feel pretty special. I answered with a long, seductive kiss that left no need for words, and we strolled arm in arm through the beautiful hidden courtyard of his hotel and into the lobby. "Bonsoir, monsieur!" The smaller "boutique" hotels always require you to leave yor key at the desk, and a charming young parisienne greeted us, offering an antique looking key attached to a giant gold tassel. "Je vous en prie" she answered to our "Merci", then "Bonne Soirée!"

Your Friday night French Ro-Com Part 5: "Mr. Low-key"

What could be more romantic than sitting on the steps of the Palais Garnier alongside teenagers, tourists, and pigeons (the latter trawling for snacks), on a beautiful sunday afternoon engaged in blatant PDA ? It's an experience - uniquely french - that everyone should have at least once a lifetime. I was vaguely aware of a middle aged couple from America smiling at us, he raising his camera to capture the quintessential parisian moment, and we gave him the money shot! Smiling into each others eyes, Low pulled me into a warm embrace, and I nestled into his shoulder. A toddler chased a trio of pigeons away from a half eaten cookie, and he knelt down and sampled it for himself before his mother (who was horrified) could head him off at the pass. We laughed as he cried during the vigorous decontamination of his tongue....life was good. "Are you hungry?" inquired my date. "I'm famished!" I exclaimed, "I think I ran out of gas about a half hour ago". "What do you feel like having for dinner?" Low asked, "Since you live here, I'll let you choose. Do you have a favorite restaurant?" (a whopping 10 bonus points!) "Oooh, I know just the place, Chéz Janou!" I suggested, "it's a bit of a zoo, in the sense that it is always very busy, but that's because the food is so good. But it's very unpretentious, and the wait staff is friendly. The moules gratinée is to die!" "Fabulous" said Low, "Where is it? Should we get a cab?" "We can take the metro right here, line 8 will take us to Bastille, et voila!" I offered. I am so accustomed to using public transportation, it's so easy (and above all cheap), I don't even give it a second thought. "No, I don't feel like taking the metro, we'll catch a taxi" he insisted. I didn't argue, and we walked hand in hand toward the nearest taxi stand to queue up and hope a few extra drivers were on duty - Sunday being one of those days it is next to impossible to find a cab. But when you have a hot date like Low, it's a pleasure to wait! Chéz Janou was crowded as usual when we arrived. (Note to self: enter their phone number into cell for reservations on the fly.) We had only 10 minutes to wait, and Low snagged the one remaining barstool and offered it up (5 points). Chéz Janou has inarguabley the best olives in the universe, and we munched contentedly on this perfect appetizer before being shown to our table. We shared the moules, a delicious spinach salad with goat cheese and grapefruit, (salade epinard avec pamplemousse et chévre), and for dessert a generous serving of their famous house mousse au chocolat. OMG! The waiter brings a giant bowl of chocolate heaven - big enough to swim in - offers you a sizeable platter and a huge spoon with which to take as much as you desire.....stick a fork in me - I'm done! Joking, I asked the waiter to just leave the bowl, and he did! Low laughed as the waiter walked away, playing along with my farce. "Are you going to eat all of that?" he grinned. "No, you're going to help" I said, and with a straight face, dished him up a teeny tiny portion. "Thanks, it's so good of you to share!" He took the plate I offered, and with his pinky scooped the mousse off the plate and into his mouth. "Hmmmm, delicious! Waiter, check please!" We laughed and I dove into the bowl, serving a generous portion for us to share as we chatted and took in the chaos that is Chéz Janou. It had been a great day, and I was looking forward to going to the theatre with him the next weekend. But the way he was looking into my eyes, I knew there was a decision looming before us - and it was all mine. Low was staying in a hotel at Place du Vosges, just two blocks away. I was either going to get on the metro after dinner, or not. Did I want to stay? Oh yes! I felt comfortable with Low, he was easy to talk to and funny - and adorable. But most of all, a gentleman. I faced the cunundrum every woman has; to play by the "rules" and wait (for date number six? marraige? a ring on it?) or succumb to the pleasures of the flesh and "cowgirl up"! Not helping matters was the mélange of boyish charm, Bordeaux, and a huge bowl of chocolate mousse. Add the fact that I am not looking for a husband, and you have devils brew! Oh la la. I knew deep down Low would have more respect for me if we waited, plus a little anticipation goes a long way......on the other hand I didn't want to leave him, I wanted to lie in his arms all night. We strolled slowly toward our final destination, not wanting the night to end. As we neared the moment when we must decide whether to zig toward Place du Vosges or zag toward the metro, my heart was pounding furiously. Did I a.) demurely kiss Low goodnight and get on the metro, b.) go with him to his hotel and ride him like the wild stallion he is, OR c.) this is way TMI - Too Much Information Find out next week on your Friday night French Ro-Com, right here at Bonbon de Paris!

Your Friday night French Ro-Com Part 4: "Mr. Low-key"

I awoke to a beautiful cloudless summer morning, and as I gazed out the window at the gold dome of Les Invalides gleaming in the sunlight I was still pondering what to wear on my first "official" date with Low. I knew he had a penchant for walking, so the most comfortable shoes possible were in order. Trouble is, the most comfortable shoes aren't often the cutest, in fact when one can accomplish being extremely comfortable and ultra chic at the same time it is a coup d'éclat - right girls? Plus, in Paris anything can happen weather wise. It can be bright and sunny one moment and before you know it, gale force winds are blowing rainclouds your way! Tropical style thunderstorms are not at all unusual in summer, so I had to be prepared for anything while remaining stylish and comfortable. Oh la la! I decided to phone him to see what he had in mind for the day before making my decision. "Good morning cherie, did you sleep well?" Low sounded cheerful and ready to take on the day. "Do you still want to meet for lunch?" he queried, "and maybe a little walk around town?" (I knew it! The scales were tipping toward jeans and tennies). "I'd like that" I purred, "where shall we meet?" As it happened he was staying near Bastille, not far from where we had our chance encounter the night before. "There is a great little café called "Les Pharohes" at the Place de Bastille" he suggested, "they have the best jambon et frommage sandwiches, my favorite! I love a cup of coffee with ham and cheese on a baguette, it's fabulous!" I happen to agree, (if you switch the coffee for a cola) so we firmed up our plans and rang off. Our conversation did little to resolve my wardrobe crisis however, but first things first - time for a shower and a "brazilian"! The Place de Bastille is quite large, with several sorties in the metro to choose from. The circumference around the Rond Point can take 10 minutes or more to traverse on foot, and I hoped the "meeney-miney-moe" method was on my side as I made my choice. I was already a little late. As luck would have it, "moe" came through and I found the café easily, and as I approached I could see by the smile on Low's face my tardiness was still within the realm of the adorable. He stood to greet me (5 bonus points) and we kissed cheek to cheek, the typical french hello. He was savvy, he had arrived early enough to choose the best table complete with an excellent view, just enough shade, as well as potted plants nearby acting as a buffer from the crowded sidewalk. The lunch crowd was just beginning to arrive as we ordered our sandwiches, and we chatted easily as we watched the "Bou-bo" work the pavement. Noon on Sunday at Bastille is a sight to behold. Young, muscular boys in skin tight tees and a 3 day beard swagger confidently like cocks in a hen house. Beautiful, tanned women in casual chic and the right sunglasses run their fingers through perfectly tousled hair as they smoke a cigarette and command complete attention. Forget poodles - Jack Russell terriers are the dog du jour! You can literally smell the money in the air as the scene plays out before your eyes. Fortified by lunch and a healthy dose of people watching we began a leisurely stroll through the streets of the Marais. One of the only neighborhoods whose shopkeepers open on Sunday, we explored a few galleries and boutiques, and shared a delicious piece of baklava from one of many traditional Jewish delicatessens. "I have to go to London tomorrow" Low announced, quite out of the blue. "I'm working on a project there." He explained he was directing a stage production, but true to his nature was very "low key" about it, and didn't offer too many details. "Do you like musicals?" he asked. Is a bear Catholic? Does the Pope... (well you know). "Of course! I love musicals!" "Would you like to go to the theatre next sunday?" he offered, "I thought I would come back to Paris for the weekend and take you to a matinée." It was a show I had always wanted to see, and I didn't hesitate to accept his invitation. Smiling, he gave me a little kiss and we continued our walk through Paris hand in hand, ending up at the Opera Garnier somehow. Low bought two bottles of cold water from an (unlicensed) street vendor and we sat on the steps of the opera house with the tourists and the teenagers to rest our feet and watch the world go by, in true french style! We kissed on the steps as huge double decker tour buses ambled by and amateur photographers on vacation captured our PDA for posterity. I felt like a real parisienne that day, being kissed openly by one's lover in Paris is a rite of passage! But our date wasn't over yet.....join me next week for your Friday night French Ro-Com and see what happened next!

Victor Hugo: Author, Poet, Statesman

On my list of 'things to do' was to pay a visit to the Maison de Victor Hugo. Located in the Marais, on the southeast corner of the historic Place du Vosges, you will find the interesting yet somewhat sparse apartment of this great luminary of the 19th century. Best known to the world as the author of Notre Dame de Paris (The Hunchback of Notre Dame, as it is known in english) and Les Misérables, I was suprised to discover he was also a poet as well as a prolific artist, producing some 4,000 drawings in his lifetime! Born in 1802 to parents of differing mindset-his mother was a Catholic-Royalist, his father was a general in Napoleons army, he ultimately rejected his catholic education and became a champion of Republicanism and Freethought. He was also a humanist, later in life he convinced Queen Victoria to spare the lives of six Irish who were convicted of terrorism and sentenced to death, and influenced the removal of the death penalty from the constitutions of Geneva, Portugal, and Colombia. He served in the Senate and National Assembly, and was a founding member of the Association Littéraire et Artistique Internationale, which led to the Berne Convention for the Protection of Literary and Artistic Works (copyright law). His famous novel Notre Dame de Paris was so popular it shamed city administrators into restoring the famous chapel which had fallen into disrepair, and he was instrumental in saving from destruction the ancient Roman ruins at the Place du Monge, which had been discovered during a redevelopment project taking place in the neighborhood. Over 100 operas were influenced by his work including Verdi's Rigoletto, Donizetti's Lucrezia Borgia, and Ponchielli's La Gioconda. His drawings were admired by Van Gogh and Delacroix, the latter once saying that if he had decided to become a painter he would have outshone the artists of their century. He was not spared his share of tragedy however, his beloved daughter Leopoldine drowned in the river Seine at Villequier at the tender age of 19, being dragged under by the voluminous folds of her skirt. He heard the news while vacationing with his mistress, reading it in a newspaper whilst at a café. He is said to have never recovered, and set his grief to poetry. Highly regarded in his day, on the occasion of his 80th birthday a parade was given in his honour that was the largest and most magnificent parade in the history of France. Laid to rest in the Panthéon, he shares a crypt with luminaries Alexandre Dumas and Emile Zola. You can visit the Maison de Victor Hugo tuesday through sunday from 10am until 6pm free of charge. Closed mondays and holidays. Victor Hugo, Renassaince man!