Life's too short to play it safe
Since most of us are at home on this Memorial Day, I thought I would share some quick videos from my trip to Paris and Copenhagen. I took these a few days ago.
#1
Shopping at a market in the suburbs of Paris.
#2
A typical French metro with accordion player and a view of the Eiffel Tower on my way to The American Library in Paris.
#3
Happy Danes dancing on the pedestrian street in Copenhagen, A gold statue of a real person, and biking is a way of life in Denmark.
Everything in Paris is a mixture of style, luxury, perfume, great food and cigarette smokers.
There is of course history in each building and the department store, Galleries Lafayette (more photos) is no exception.
Purchased in 1896, the beautiful glass and steel dome was designed by architect, Georges Chedanne and his pupil Ferdinand Chanut and finished in 1912.
Only in Paris will you find a museum that covers the history of perfume. I discovered the “Musée du Parfum” also known as the Fragonard Musée du Parfum. This museum was created in 1983 by the Fragonard perfume company within a Napoleon III town-house (built 1860.) I was not allowed to take photos inside the museum, however, here is a photo of the orgue à parfum (perfume organ) with tiers of ingredient bottles arranged around a balance used to mix fragrances.
The museum sells perfumes and is located close to the Place de L’Opéra.
As you can see, we’re wearing winter coats in May 2013.
And finally the beautiful upscale store “Printemps.” I have never seen so many Chinese tourists buying Luis Vuitton, Chanel and other luxury goods. At the Chanel store, a rope blocked the entrance, and the women were only allowed to go in two at a time. The look of anticipation on their faces reminded me of kids waiting for their favorite ride at Disneyland. I heard it’s the same at Harrods in London.
Do you like shopping at luxury stores? I don’t feel comfortable in this type of environment.
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Passengers are sleeping, coughing and sneezing around me. I’m hoping the plane’s ventilation system isn’t spreading the germs to my area. This is not a time to get sick, not when I’m doing my first book signing in Paris.
I’m writing this blog post at 35,000 feet over Kansas City, traveling at a speed of 699 miles per hour. We have 7:52 hours left until we reach Charles de Gaulle airport and most of the passengers are asleep, after a choice of Moroccan chicken or Boeuf Bourguinon for lunch. The flight takes 11 hours from Los Angles to Paris, and I enjoy flying on Air Tahiti Nui, where the flight attendants wear Tahitian dresses with a flower in their hair.
I’m comfortable in my aisle seat watching a French movie, Mince Alors!, with its double entendre title: Becoming Thin, and What a bummer! The theme is about the stigma attached to being overweight in France, (a big no-no) and is tackled in typical, outspoken French style.
I’ve always been fascinated by the cultural differences between the French and the British, and enjoy the posts written by my French blogger friend, Muriel Demarcus, who is so adept at pointing these out with humor. I take it one step further and compare the French way of addressing certain issues with the American way. Even if you don’t understand French, I’m sure you’ll get the gist of the movie trailer below.
Nina, a 30-year-old wife, accepts to enroll in a one-month weight loss program in the French Alps, a gift offered by her French husband. Nina works in a modeling agency alongside her husband and is by French standards overweight. Her suave husband, with an eye for other women, hands her a gift certificate to attend a weight loss farm, while he takes off to Munich with his skinny assistant.
“You’ll have time since we’re not busy at work right now,” he says, handing her the certificate.
When Nina has her first appointment with the doctor at the health clinic, she says, “My husband likes skinny women, make me skinny doctor.”
“I want you to be healthy, and to loose weight for yourself, not for someone else,” the doctor replies.
“I don’t have time; I’m here to get results. I don’t care what you do, but I want results.”
I watched the movie in French to brush up on my conversational skills, and to immerse myself in the French way of life. There were certain scenes that made me squirm, such as when Nina says she has about five kilos to loose, and her mother-in-law says, “more like 20 kilos.”
I’m not a psychologist, just a curious woman who happens to have lived half her life in Europe, and the other half in the U.S. Although France and the U.S. are both multi-cultural, I do believe it’s possible to identify specific traits relevant to each country.
Take for example young children. I noticed immediately how the French tend to dress their young children as mini-adults, with stylish coats, belts and hats, whereas Americans dress their toddlers as toddlers. Who knows, that might be because I live in southern California, which is more casual than perhaps New York.
In her book, Why French Parents Are Superior, author Pamela Druckerman wrote:
“French toddlers were sitting contentedly in their high chairs, waiting for their food, or eating fish and even vegetables. There was no shrieking or whining. And there was no debris around their tables.”
Druckerman’s statement hit home when a few weeks ago I was standing in line at Peet’s coffee where I noticed a mom and her twin toddlers sitting at a table sharing a muffin. Chunks of muffin went flying, as the twins practiced tossing them, and when she left, the tile resembled a muffin war zone. Did the mother pick up the mess? No.
Druckerman writes,
“Why was it, for example, that in the hundreds of hours I’d clocked at French playgrounds, I’d never seen a child (except my own) throw a temper tantrum? Why didn’t my French friends ever need to rush off the phone because their kids were demanding something? Why hadn’t their living rooms been taken over by teepees and toy kitchens, the way ours had?”
Yes, I do like comparisons, purely from an interest point of view. Debra Ollivier, another author who spends her time in the U.S and France wrote, What French Women Know. I had an opportunity to meet her and read her book.
So, yes, I do believe that French movies are more gutsy in tackling sensitive issues than American movies, and I think it’s different and refreshing.
I shall be posting from Paris this week. I plan to share stories and photos, from Paris and London, where I am doing an event on December 13th.
I am collecting new “My Gutsy Story” submissions for 2013. NOW is the time to submit your own “My Gutsy Story” and get published in our Anthology. Please contact sonia@soniamarsh.com for details.
To submit your own, “My Gutsy Story” you can find all the information, and our sponsors on the “My Gutsy Story” contest page. (VIDEO) Submission guidelines here.
I plan on visiting the Centre Pompidou in Paris, and take the RER (Regional Express Metro) from the suburbs west of Paris to downtown, where I exit at Chatelet-Les Halles. It’s 11:10 a.m., and fortunately there are now seats available on the RER.
It’s a fifteen minute ride and once there, I get side-tracked by what seems to be an underground shopping center. Passengers push and shove in the dark, winding tunnels of this subterranean maze.
Sandwich shops with refrigerated display cases tempt me with their sandwich jambon/fromage, (ham and cheese), pastries, and now American style wraps.
There are clothing stores, even perfume and body lotion stores in these winding hallways offering facials and waxing, on your way to or from work. My mind is focused on a specialty tea shop, with floor to ceiling tea canisters, and a mini tea pot museum.
I stand for a few seconds, confused as to how to get out of this maze. People bump into me when I hesitate; this is not a place to be unsure where you’re heading. You have to be Gutsy in Paris.
I see a Starbucks, and as I wait in line, staring at the menu in French, the woman in front of me orders a Venti Chai. When asked if she wants milk in her Chai she says, “They always put milk in your Chai at Starbucks in New York. You should know that, unless the customer asks for soy milk.” The French Barista turns defensive and throws the change back at the woman. This is Paris after all!
In case you need the restroom at a Paris Starbucks, let me warn you not to throw your receipt in the trash. Keep it handy. Punch the code at the bottom of your receipt on that gray code puncher. (See photo below.) Once inside, the door will lock automatically, don’t panic. Look for the tiny white button next to the door frame and click it. The door should open and you’ll find freedom again.
I find a table in this overcrowded French Starbucks next to two women speaking English. The blond, short-haired woman mentions she’s from Long Beach, California, yet she has a slight French accent. The other woman is Italian, and both of them are complaining about men. Once again I hear the universal theme: “I can’t find a nice man.” I told her to look in the U.S.
Now you know how to get out of a French Starbucks.
