So this week has been a lot about the apartment hunt. Chasing down apartments, checking out new areas of Paris, trying to figure out if it might make more sense to buy a place than rent. So, in a word, not super interesting or photogenic.
What’s been keeping me a bit sane, though, has been getting together with new friends. Last night, Dani and I had a lovely dinner at Le Potager du Marais, a vegan restaurant that I suggested since Dani is vegetarian. France can be challenging for vegetarians since restaurants do tend to be meat-forward, although fortunately the French are also very into their cheeses and eggs. The French obsession with dairy products, whether it’s cheese or cream or butter or yogurt, is just mind-blowing. I swear half the supermarket is dedicated to dairy products. I mean, of course, outside the wine section.
Today I went on a VR experience of the Notre Dame Cathedral with my new friends Trish and Denise. Since the fire in 2019, the cathedral has been closed as they work to rebuild it. So through the VR experience, it was very cool to see the neighborhood as it was when the cathedral was first built, hemmed in by half-timbered houses, and then see how they built the wooden structure supporting the roof originally and how they’re restoring it now. Looking forward to seeing the cathedral again IRL when they open it again next year (fingers crossed!).
Afterward, we went to a cafe for a glass or two of wine…
And one of the things that’s been a little rough about the apartment hunt is trying to figure out the lay of the landscape and get my bearings. Do I actually have any shot at renting an apartment, or should I shift my focus to buying a place? I’m so used to figuring this stuff out on my own, and I think this is one of those times when I might actually need to ask for help to figure this shit out.
A few days ago, my Seattle friend Libby shared a New York Times article about a Kehinde Wiley show that was opening in Paris. While she was aboard a fisheries research ship off the coast of Alaska. You may recall Kehinde Wiley as he painted Barack Obama’s official presidential portrait. Later that evening I spotted this.
Because in Paris, they publicize the shit out of art openings. Clearly the universe was sending me a sign.
So a day later, when my new friend Dani from Meetup suggested we check out a museum on Saturday, I lobbed the Kehinde Wiley show, and she was totally up for it.
The show is at the Musee du Quai Branly, which is right next to the Eiffel. So just to prove that I am like really truly actually in Paris, I took this selfie on the way there.
And then this is the entrance to the museum, or at least to the garden that surrounds the museum…
I mean I’ve been to Paris SO many times, and I had no idea about the Musee du Quai Branly. And it’s not like it’s in some remote corner of Paris. It’s freaking right next to the Eiffel Tower! And the building and the garden were really cool. Definitely recommend. Sorry I didn’t take photos of the museum itself and the gardens!
But here’s what I know you were really waiting for, the Kehinde Wiley. These are portraits of current and former presidents of African nations, and okay, they weren’t all floral like some of these, but these were the ones I really grooved on.
And so, why is that I have to come to Paris to see really cool art by an American artist? Actually, a lot of the contemporary art that I’ve seen in Paris is by American artists. Which goes back to the question…
Dani actually lived in Ghana for a couple years and has travelled to other countries on the continent and so was able to give some color commentary on a number of the presidents whose portraits we were looking at, which was awesome. The one in the upper left is the president of Ghana. And he has been president a few times. Each time, he steps down after his term hoping to be able to pass the torch. And then it hasn’t worked out well. And so he steps in again to make things better.
After the museum, Dani and I went to a Pakistani restaurant for lunch. It’s funny, when I’ve been here on vacation, I’ve been pretty militant about trying to eat as much French food as I can in the two weeks I have. But now that I’m here (hopefully) indefinitely, I feel maybe I can branch out a bit.
After lunch, we headed our separate ways. I took a bus to an area down along the southern edge of Paris near the Porte d’Orléans to check out a neighborhood where an apartment I’m interested in is located.
Yesterday I went to an area called the Batignolles to check out the neighborhood for another apartment. I’d never been to either area in all my fifteen visits, and I’d thought I knew Paris pretty well, but apparently not so much.
While I’d wanted to like the Batignolles neighborhood, I mean it had a wonderful food street with produce markets, cheese shops, butchers, fish markets, chocolate shops, etc., I just wasn’t quite feeling it.
But the neighborhood around the Porte d’Orléans was lovely. It had all the lovely food markets, and it also felt relaxed, and friendly.
I mean, just two examples. As I was walking around, there was a guy riding on his bike, and he suddenly skidded and fell over. The kid in the back started bawling (though fortunately had a helmet on). Instantly, without even a thought, all these people on the street started rushing over to do what they could to help. It was so touching.
And then later, when I stopped for a beer, when the server brought it to me, she asked how I was doing. I mean it was just an ordinary “Comment allez-vous?” but it’s not part of the ordinary interaction you usually have. And there was a genuineness in the question. It was very sweet.
So it was lovely today to discover new things about Paris, and to see a side that I hadn’t known about.
The past week has mainly been about The Hunt. For a permanent apartment. Which I won’t bore you too much with.
First there was compiling about 20-some-odd documents, then drafting a cover letter to the real estate agent (in French), then calling a bunch of real estate agents (like, on the phone!) to arrange viewings. Then submitting my letter and documents to the agent. And then one attempt at negotiations with owners through the real estate agent, which ended up falling through. So I’m a little exhausted from all that.
But I did make it back to the Bastille Market yesterday morning. Maybe I shouldn’t say “But…” — it was probably more of a needed respite from The Hunt. I might have gone a little crazy this time, though.
When I was at the market last week, I remember the chanterelle mushrooms looking so beautiful, so yesterday I looked through the stalls until I found some bright yellow ones. And then I got some figs because they were looking so good. And some carrots and green beans and a leek and cheese raviolis and grated parmesan. And then a duck breast and merguez sausage (in the paper wrappers).
So this is going to be the week of duck and chanterelles!!!
So last night I seared the duck breast, sliced it, and served it with a chanterelle-shallot cream sauce and a lovely Beaujolais wine. (I know you can’t really see the duck breast in the photo, but trust me, it’s in there!)
And tonight I boiled up the cheese raviolis and served them with, you guessed it, a chanterelle-shallot cream sauce and the Beaujolais. 🙂
And then a few lunches from the last few days… First up, the classic ham and butter sandwich with some grapes alongside the Canal Saint-Martin, a few blocks from my apartment.
And then a Salade Mediterranee by the Place de la Republique, apparently some riff on a Salade Niçoise.
And finally, my favorite French salad of all. It seems to have a different name in every restaurant, but always involves three types of duck — always the gizzards, and then usually thinly sliced breast and foie gras.
And then tonight for dessert, because I just remembered the figs as I was looking at the photo of this week’s market haul, I’m having figs drizzled with Ricard pastis liqueur and with a scoop of salted caramel ice cream.
Okay, as much as I love making food from the market, at some point I got a little tired of the fennel. So I felt like I needed something more substantial, some real French food.
So I went to a bar/restaurant in the neighborhood, La Fauvette, the other night.
I’m not sure why I continue to be just a little bit shocked at how inexpensive French food can be in France, even in Paris, but this is what I got for 38 euros (okay, I did also leave a 2-euro tip, which the waiter seemed somewhat surprised by — tipping is not obligatory in France by any means, though waiters in the center of Paris are sort of used to Americans overtipping).
A pint of beer, smoked herring with steamed potatoes, chicken breast in mushroom cream sauce with penne, a carafe of white wine, creme caramel (flan), and Armagnac brandy. And it was delicious. Especially the mushroom cream sauce, I could just lick that up.
I mean, this isn’t fancy food, by any stretch of the imagination, but it was delicious.
I knew I’d have to go back, and tonight I did. I started with salade de gesiers (salad with warm gizzards, probably chicken, possibly duck). Then on to a blanquette de veau with rice. Which was so good! All accompanied by a carafe of rose wine. And then finished with a tiramisu and an Armagnac. All for 31.50 euros. Okay, I left another 2-euro tip, which was probably excessive, but it was so damn good!
I’m really going to have to rein in the tipping, though. It seems a little off-putting to the waiters. 😀
Okay, I swear this blog isn’t just going to be about food, but I mean, it’s France, so it can’t NOT include the food.
Speaking of which, the chanterelle mushrooms (which, oddly enough, the French call girolles) in the markets are just looking amazing, so I’m thinking I’ll have to make something with a chanterelle cream sauce in the near future.
Also, the red kuri squash — which I thought were from Japan, but which the French call potimarrons, which I though was the word for pumpkins, though they’re clearly not — are just everywhere and looking beautiful. So I’m very excited to be able to make my kuri squash gratin once I have a proper kitchen. Which I’m hoping will be sometime soon.
My inner clock seems to be having the mood swings of a teenager. Today I slept through the morning. Once I roused myself, I made a quick cup of coffee and shortly after had lunch at the apartment. The same as yesterday, so no need for photos. 🙂
I had the idea that I wanted to walk along the river today. This neighborhood is lovely, and also, it could kind of be anywhere in France. I wanted that feeling of being in Paris. And that, for me, is, yes, seeing the grand monuments, but maybe even more, the Seine.
So I took the Metro down to Bastille and then followed the lower section of the Canal Saint-Martin to where it joins the Seine.
I turned right and walked along the river, crossing onto the Ile Saint-Louis. As I walked, the breeze gusted with the scent of fallen leaves. Then I walked along the southern bank, looking across at the Latin Quarter and catching my first glimpse of the Eiffel Tower, which is always how I really know I’ve actually made it to Paris. And that brought me of course to the backside of the Notre Dame on the Ile de la Cite.
Even though I’m not religious, I feel like I always have to swing by the Notre Dame when I’m in Paris. Architecturally it’s not really that special — I mean there are like a million Gothic churches in France that are also really beautiful. But still, it’s the Notre Dame. And so I have to go.
From there I headed north across the island and one of the bridges toward the Paris city hall, which is maybe just a bit much, but hey. And also to the BHV, the grand department store across the street. Paris is still very much doing department stores, unlike Seattle (thank you, Amazon!).
And from there, back along the river up toward the Louvre. One of the things I love about Paris is the Easter eggs. The things you will never hear about but just happen upon, like this lovely square.
I remember in high school French class my teacher recalling how awestruck she had been at the sheer size of the Louvre. And then years later, when I first went. It’s one thing to hear that it’s just enormous and another thing to experience it for yourself. And it’s amazing to think that it was built for kings and emperors as a palace, as their special province, and now it belongs to the people, to all of us. I love that.
As I took a passageway into the inner courtyard, there was a cellist playing a lovely classical piece. I lingered for a moment to appreciate.
And then the main courtyard of the Louvre. Yes, it’s crowded with tourists, and still it’s so beautiful. There’s a reason why so many people feel the need to go there.
After that I headed across the river down to the Boulevard Saint-Germain to meet up with a Meetup group at a café for drinks. Which was lovely.
And then back to the apartment, a bit of a trek through the Latin Quarter, the Ile de la Cite, the lower Marais, the upper Marais, and finally the 11th (does it have a name?).
I thought about stopping somewhere for a drink or a bite, but it being Friday, everywhere seemed crowded and loud. So I just headed home to feed my cat and make some dinner.
Since it was too late to get a baguette, my plan for salad with a warm goat cheese crouton became salad with poached egg and some cheese whose name I don’t remember (there are several hundred different types of cheese made in France, and I hadn’t heard of this one but it looked interesting). And a glass of white wine from the Gascogne.
And so, at the end of the day, I’m feeling like, yes, I’m in Paris.
Side note: In case you think I’m being super fancy with my wines, the French would probably think so. For everyday drinking, the French lean toward wines in the $4-$7 range, which in France is totally drinkable. I’m drinking wines in the $11-$13 range, which the French would reserve for special occasions, but which I’m thinking is sort of an everyday luxury.
This morning was my first morning in Paris. I had planned to focus on getting my residency permit and the French phone number that I’ll need in order to start applying for apartments. But last night I thought what I really wanted to do was go to the Bastille food market, especially as it only happens twice a week, and Thursday is one of those days.
I woke up quite early and went for a quick stroll around my neighborhood in the 11th arrondissement as it was still too early to start heading to the market.
Around 7 am, I headed out into the light drizzle to stroll down. When I got there, the vendors were still setting up their stalls, even though it was half an hour past the official opening time.
So I wandered through the market. I always like to go through once to see what’s available, what looks good, and then I go through a second time to buy. The market is three or four blocks long and has three aisles, so it took a bit to make my initial survey, and by that time some of the stalls had started opening up.
I loved the beautiful fruit and vegetable displays. At the fishmongers, I admired the glistening scales on the fresh fish, the prawns and langoustines and sea snails, the mussels and clams and oysters, the fresh scent of the ocean. The diligent white-haired butcher carefully slicing and trimming the cuts of beef. The aroma of roasting sausages and whole chickens as I walked past another butcher’s stand.
I had an idea of making a warm goat cheese salad and also some kind of vegetable soup. So at one produce stall, I got a bulb of fennel, a small zucchini, a bunch of shallots, a leek, a head of oak leaf lettuce, and a couple Rubinette apples. At another, I got parsley, chives and thyme. At another, a half dozen eggs. And then finally a bunch of delicate pale green grapes. All for about 15 euros ($16-17). It felt like a steal.
After that I stopped at an organic grocery for a few more supplies, a butcher for a terrine of shredded chicken breast in lemon aspic and a salade piémontaise — potatoes, ham, hard-boiled eggs and sliced pickles in mayo — and a bakery for a rustic baguette. And that was lunch.
And as I write now, a soup is simmering on the stove with the zucchini, fennel and leek I picked up in the morning, and I’ll garnish it with some crème fraiche and the herbs, and eat it with the baguette and some cheese and a sauvignon blanc from the Loire Valley.
In between, the residency permit and the French phone number got done. And I still got to do one of my very favorite things, shop at the markets and put together some simple but delicious food.
I’m at SeaTac waiting to board the plane. The last six months have been all about squeezing my stuff down to what I can bring on the plane.
Selling my townhouse, getting rid of my furniture, giving all the other things to friends or to Goodwill, throwing away a bunch of stuff I probably should have tossed a long time ago, trying to figure what is really essential, what I’ll really need once I get to Paris. For instance, decided I needed to bring my potato peeler because the French ones are NOT good. And then also of course winding down my job at Microsoft.
I mean there’s also been the tasks of setting things up to live in Paris — getting my long-term stay visa, arranging for an Airbnb when I first arrive, setting up a French bank account (no small task).
And there have been all the things to figure out. How does French healthcare work? What do I have to do to bring the cat? What’s the best way to transfer funds and exchange dollars for euros? What’s the best way to look for an apartment? What documents do I need to apply for an apartment? Can I find real tacos (the actual Mexican kind, not that weird hodgepodge the French call a taco)? So many questions!
But mostly, up until now, it’s felt like it’s been about winnowing, about narrowing, about shrinking everything down to what I can bring on the plane.
And I’m looking forward to the other side, where I can begin creating the next stage of my life.
In ten days, I’ll be moving from Seattle to Paris with two suitcases and a cat.
Paris is a city that, perhaps more than other places, has woven a mystique about itself. And I can’t say that I’m immune to its myth, even after visiting it a dozen or so times over the last thirty years.
But the Paris of glamour, opulence, sophistication isn’t the one I want to focus on, at least not mostly.
I will confess to having bought a bunch of contemporary dance tickets for the 2023-24 season at the Palais Garnier. Which can’t NOT be described as glamorous, opulent, and, perhaps, sophisticated. And also, breathtaking, spectacular, fabulous, mind-blowing.
But that said, some of the things I am most looking forward to are the very everyday pleasures. The simple things.
The coffee and croissant at a neighborhood café, the waiter having just run down the block to the bakery to fetch the croissants and baguettes they will serve for breakfast that day.
The hustle bustle of the twice weekly open-air food market along the boulevard Richard-Lenoir with its greengrocers, fishmongers, cheese sellers, butchers, charcutiers, bakers, and all the rest.
The blue storefront of the queer bookstore on the rue Saint-Ambroise in the 11th, after having moved from the rue Sainte-Croix de la Bretonnerie in the 4th (I’ve gone there on every single visit to Paris).
The little restaurant with the horseshoe bar right by where the bookstore used to be, delicious food and wine for a reasonable price, the epitome of old-school Paris.
A simple picnic in a park or along the river or the canal.
The late-night jazz jams under the stone arches of the subterranean club.
The classical concerts in a gothic church or in the courtyard of what was once a noble’s mansion.
The conversations with the butcher or the cheesemonger or the charcutier about what’s good today and how to serve or prepare it.
I mean, I’m sure I’m idealizing it all a bit. And yet I’m also not. In fact I’m not doing it justice.
But in any case, that’s what I’m looking for. A simple life in Paris.
A Simple Life in Paris 