Wedding Bells at the Mairie

Shortly after our arrival here in January,  we invited our neighbors in for "un verre" to introduce ourselves. The building has only four residential units, the remaining tenants being commercial businesses. To our delight, all the neighbors came to our little soirée, and we discovered we are quite an international group:  Lorenzo (the dashing), who lives next to us on the 5th floor, is from Sicily. Below us on the 4th floor, Alexis, Christine, and their three children are a Moroccan-French family -- Alexis is from a Moroccan Berber family, Christine is French. Ingrid and Olivier, who live in the other 4th floor apartment, are both French.

After about an hour of pleasant chit chat, Olivier and Ingrid whispered shyly to each other, then Olivier announced that they had just become engaged and would marry in early April. I was flattered and honored that they chose our little gathering to share this happy news, and we all toasted them with much enthusiasm.

A few weeks later, we received an invitation to the wedding. Again, we were touched to be included and marked our calendars for April 2nd.

Needless to say, when you get married in France, there are strict protocols that must be followed. To begin with, no matter what kind of religious ceremony you might choose (or not), a civil ceremony at the local mairie (town hall) is required in order for the marriage to be legal, and this ceremony must take place first.

So it was that yesterday, April 2nd at 12 noon, under sunny spring skies, we made our way to our local Mairie du 2e Arrondissement on the rue de la Banque to attend the civil ceremony of Ingrid and Olivier.

The downstairs lobby quickly filled with friends and family from near and far. At first we knew no-one, but shook hands with one and all anyway, explaining we were the neighbors from the 5th floor. "Et je suis le ton-ton d'Olivier", one charming elderly gentleman said by way of introduction ("I am Olivier's Grandpa"!). Whoever said the French are not a warm and welcoming people!

I was happy to spot our neighbor Christine and her two daughters, Milena and Nais. In honor of the occasion, Milena wore a sparkling princess tiara!

The tall, handsome groom made his way through the guests, and, when it was time, led the way upstairs into the "salle"

Together with the other guests, we took our seats on red velvet benches in a grand room, with lighted chandeliers, ornate gilded ceiling and elaborate painted wall panels.

Along with Oliver and his Best Man, we all awaited the arrival of the bride. Ah, voilà!

Ingrid made her entrance on her father's arm, to smiles of joy from everyone. Like Oliver, she is tall and elegant, and wore a simple, slim white frock, topped with a short, black lacy bolero jacket, a black velvet choker, long long, dangling glass earrings and delicate lace-patterned half-gloves. She carried a pretty bouquet of pink roses.

After all the paperwork was checked and double-checked, it was time to get down to the business at hand. Monsieur Jacques Boutault, the mayor of the 2nd Arrondissement, took his place behind the high bench, and called the room to order. Smiling, he welcomed us all and invited us to be seated as he had a few words to share before the "official" ceremony began.

Wrapping the words "liberté, égalité, fraternité" into a metaphorical framework for a successful marriage, he delivered a delightful 15-minute homily. Perhaps he repeats the same remarks to every couple who come before him to be married, but to me, he managed to make it seem absolutely personal to Olivier and Ingrid only. I was impressed!

The legal requirements took less than one minute. In response to the question: "do you, Olivier... wish to marry....." and "do you, Ingrid...wish to marry..."  and with both answering, promptly and firmly, "oui",  M. Boutault officially announced them legally married according to the laws of the State.

To loud cheers and a hearty round of applause, the young couple embraced....

...exchanged rings...

...signed the register and received their official "certificat de mariage"...

...and emerged onto rue de la Banque as newly-weds! By this time, Milena has given Ingrid her princess tiara to wear.


A short stroll through the 2nd arrondissement brought us back to 95 rue Réaumur, where a lovely reception took place in Olivier and Ingrid's flat on the 4th floor. Thankfully, the repairs to the lift were finally completed Thursday afternoon, making the trip up a lot easier!



Along with our little band of neighbors, we raised our glasses to wish good health, long life, joy and prosperity to the young couple. We were so delighted to be witness to this happy day!

Meanwhile, the warm, spring sun continued to shine down and from the balcony we could just spy the Place des Victoires down the street, with its newly restored statue of Louis XIV, and, in the distance, the gleaming dome of Les Invalides.







Who doesn't love this city?

À bientôt!

Seeking Pearls...

...pearls of barley, that is, although pearls of wisdom are always welcome and often needed! One day last week, as I was lounging around, resting my sore back, I spotted what seemed like an interesting recipe in The Guardian: Lamb Stew with Pearl Barley. Now, I love lamb in any shape or form, and this was a new recipe to me. One look at the photo, and I immediately began salivating. Yum!

Scanning the ingredients, I was pretty sure I could find everything at our local branch of the U-Marché on the rue Montorgeuil.

What held me back, though, was the fact that our elevator has been broken for almost three weeks now, so, due to the back problem, I've not been all that eager to go down, and then back up, six flights of stairs.


However, with Matthew at my side (to carry the shopping bag!), and with recipe in hand, I decided to give it a go.

At the U-Marché we had no trouble finding the neck of lamb, the carrots, turnips, celery, leeks and onions. My pencil checked off each ingredient as we went along, until all that remained was the pearl barley (orge pérlée).

We stopped in front of the "grains" shelf and looked around. Hmm. Thai rice, Basmati rice, Jasmine rice, Arborio rice, wild rice, three-grained rice, long grained rice, short-grained rice, even dear old Uncle Ben's rice! We found cous-cous in various flavors, several choices of lentils, and a big sack of kernels of corn. But no pearl barley.




Clearly we had a problem, because this was the key ingredient. What to do. Well, here in France, when you can't find something, then you find someone to help you find it. And this is where you run into a most endearing trait of life in this country.

Matthew went off in search of assistance, returning a few minutes later with two members of the staff, both women. We explained what we were looking for. They looked puzzled. "What are you cooking, Madame?" "Un ragout d'agneau," I replied, showing them the recipe. There then followed a lengthy conversation about how delicious lamb stew is! I translated the ingredients, going down the list. They nodded at each one, until we got to pearl barley. "Orge pérlée," we repeated. Ah, now they understood. They scoured the shelves again, finding only another row of rice at the very bottom.

Well, perhaps I could substitute rice for the barley I suggested. They shook their heads emphatically. No no, Madame, that wouldn't work because this one was the wrong shape, that one was too soft, those others wouldn't have the right texture, etc.

They must have spent close to fifteen minutes discussing the problem with us, as if they had all the time in the world, and our search for pearl barley was the most important thing they could be doing at that particular moment. This is not unusual here. No matter what kind of store you're in, you almost always have to wait to get help. Sometimes the lines in the post office can be incredibly long, for instance. But once it's "your turn", then you hold center stage for as long as you need to solve your problem. For visitors, and especially Americans, it definitely requires an adjustment to be patient when you're waiting, but none of the locals complain because at the end of the day, you will have your turn!!

We thanked the two women for their time and efforts, wished them "bonne journée" and turned to go to the checkout. Before we left the market, one of them suggested we try the Moroccan Spice Store further down the street.

Matthew headed down to the bottom of rue Montorgeuil, where this delightful Marrakesh emporium offers nuts and fruits and fresh spices. And there...right inside the entrance...front and center...

...stood a large bin of "d'orge pérlée!" Eureka! Matthew explained to the proprietor that we'd been up at the U-Marché, and had just about given up when they had suggested we try his store. "Ah, yes, we all know each other here on rue Montorgeuil," he said measuring out half a kilo. "If it's not enough," he went on, "come on back, we're open until 11 pm."

Luckily, it was more than enough. I went to work in the kitchen, and before long, delicious aromas permeated throughout the flat. At dinner that evening we sat down to sample this new dish. What can I say, it was utterly delicious. Perhaps made even more so, by the sweet memories of the friendly, helpful merchants on the rue Montorgeuil.

BON APPETIT!

À bientôt!

Le Marché aux Puces

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When people here talk about going to the flea market, it's usually assumed they mean the sprawling "marché aux puces" at the northern end of Paris, by the Porte de Clignancourt. Established as a fixed market at this site in the 1880s, it followed centuries when the city was filled with  roving groups of rag-and-bone men and women. Also known as "pêcheurs de lune" (moonlight fishermen), these scavengers would poke through the city at night, looking for abandoned treasures which they would re-sell at local markets.

Today, this marché aux puces stretches over 17 acres, comprises several buildings and hundreds of outdoor stalls, boasts 2500 dealers, and attracts well over 100,000 visitors every weekend - a daunting prospect, which is probably why it's been years since we've gone up there!

For us, a much more appealing flea market is the Marché au Vanves, which can be found (every Saturday and Sunday) at the absolute opposite end of the city, right by the Porte de Vanves, an easy metro or bus ride out to the 14th arrondissement.

Here, among 200 traders, you'll find a wonderfully eclectic collection of objects and curiosities, most of them reasonably priced, and most of them portable, although delivery of larger items can be arranged.

The sun was shining this morning --  there was even a faint sound of bird song! --  so we took ourselves down to the Avenue Marc Sangnier, and spent a happy couple of hours, strolling slowly along the two streets that comprise this flea market.

Some visitors like to browse the bookstalls or the cd/dvd stalls, hoping to find bargains, or, perhaps, pirated new movie releases...

...while others might pore over the extensive array of woodworking tools. I can imagine several West Marin folk hanging out here!

One of my favorite stalls sells only buttons...regular, ordinary-looking buttons, a dozen or more to the card...

...or exotic, jewel-like buttons, sold by the piece. They almost look like candy!

This stall gets Matthew's total attention; an old movie projector in its original box, with an accompanying selection of what looks to be 8mm home movies. At this point in its life, it's become a piece of sculpture, begging for an honored place of display.

If you need some refreshment as you go along, this good woman will sell you hot chocolate or coffee from her caddy of flasks which she wheels through the market, along with a tray of baked goodies.

As always, I am drawn to anything having to do with natural history, whether it's gaping shark teeth, grinning at me...

...or a sad looking heron, lost amidst barstools and flower vases!

The stallholders tend to sit by their vehicles, pretending not to be all that interested in anything but their newspaper, but, somehow, they're right at your elbow if you examine any object for more than a few seconds. I particularly liked the "saintly" figure standing guard behind this merchant -- Joan of Arc, perhaps?

Towards the end of the first street, this stall caught my eye as having so many stories to tell. Who are those people in the photographs and drawings? Who wore that lace-edged cap? What treasures were hidden in the little wooden box?

When you reach the cross-street of Avenue Georges Lafenstre, a cheerful fellow belts out tunes on his "box piano", whilst behind him,
someone is roasting chestnuts.

For us, one of great pleasures of going to the Marché au Vanves is that we can take the #95 bus home, and enjoy a pretty complete tour of many iconic views of Paris, including this archway to the Tuileries, across from the Louvre!

Back home, we admire the treasures we found this morning: a  caned chair from the 30s or 40s, which goes very nicely with my desk from the 50s...

...and these charming dessert forks, also from the 30s or 40s -- the perfect accompaniment to the Napoleon dessert plates we bought on a previous visit to the Marché au Vanves.

Who knows what we'll find next week....

À bientôt!

'Allo, Paris Calling (redux)

If you were following this blog last year, you'll remember that when it came time to make my radio recordings for KWMR, I was able to convert a tiny linen cupboard into a perfect hideaway "booth". Our current flat, alas, has no such convenient space. There's only one cupboard in the entire place, with barely room to hang a couple of coats. Certainly no room for recording equipment. Time to put our heads together with nephew Sean to come up with a solution!

With windows that run the entire length of one side of the flat, there was only one possible area to consider -- the interior hallway, just to the left of the front door, presently home to a coat rack and a Cuban film poster.

Hmmm. If there was a way to create an enclosed nook somewhere there, I just might be in business.

Off I went on my infamous trip to Ikea (see blog The Right of Return), where I found a narrow, white drop front desk.

At home, after Matthew put in a few hours of herculean assembly efforts, this little "pip of a rig" tucked itself discreetly into the corner, next to the coat rack, barely visible to anyone.

All that remained was to order a light-weight, shoji screen, drape the spare bed quilt over it and the coat closet door, open up the drop front desk, connect my computer to my Mbox, go to ProTools, create a new session ...

...and, voilà! I'm off and running. "Good morning, and welcome to Turning Pages at Nature's Pace...."

You can check out the results tomorrow, Monday, 10 am PST at www.kwmr.org

Best of all, the whole thing takes less than five minutes to set up and, once I'm done, it's folded and put away as quickly and as neatly as The Great Walled City of Xan!

Meanwhile, out in the Parc Vincennes, where Matthew frequently bikes, daffodils are bursting out everywhere.

Spring is tip-toeing around the corner!

À bientôt!