Thankful

It’s good to be thankful every day. Well, as one of those saps who believes that life is a gift, I think so anyway.

But with today being the official holiday of giving thanks, let me count my blessings:

• That I am here in Paris. That I’ve been here for 20 months, living a dream life. And that in two more months, I will return to my friends and family in New York.
• That I am healthy. Every once in awhile when I’m super tired or achy, sapped of energy and strength, life just feels so much harder and darker. Thank goodness I typically have good energy and tip-top health.
• That I am surrounded by some of the best food in the world and that I appreciate it. I feel sorry for people with food allergies. And anorexics. Really.
• That my experience here in Paris has been made richer by truly extraordinary friends. Really, really blessed with the best friends in the world!
• That my job has not only been stable, but really fun and fulfilling, in these less-than-certain times.
• That I’m in good spirits.
• That at least I have some wine and cheese waiting for at the end of the day, since turkey and pumpkin pie will be conspicuously absent.

Walking home from work tonight

I took the scenic route.

I braved the masses on the Champs-Élysées, but took advantage in slightly milder temperatures, to admire the Christmas lights.

And the moon over the Crillon.

Even the Christmas markets. Which aren’t very charming. Unless you like churros geantes, frites and…cupcakes.



Moi? I like the Grand Roue.

Even better, I like Place Vendome.

With the creeping, shimmering lights, it’s even more magical than ever.

Oui. Pure magique.

Go vegan, go Paris!

Here I’ve been, doing my own little Vegan Monday thing (er, um, okay, I was a little errant the last couple weeks) only to find out that vegans are coming out of the woodwork in this lovely meat-eating city!

Mark it on your calendar, mes amis: next Sunday is Paris’ second annual Vegan Day.

And one of the major sponsors is The Gentle Gourmet, a seasonal-organic-vegan kitchen-B&B-cooking school. Genius, no? That’s going on the list of must-dos. In the meantime, I’m back on track...

Morning
Coffee & soy milk
A sweet-tart Granny Smith apple

Afternoon
Veggie Tangine – perfect for this awful, damp weather
A couple of bananas

Evening
Peanuts
Roasted sweet potato, carrots and parsnips
A clementine

The cost of feeling good

I am sitting, typing in my exercise gear as today was The Day. The day, after four months of having let my gym membership lapse, and probably just as many pounds around the middle, I was going to suck it up and pay the 230 euro for a one-month membership back at my beloved gym.

I had put off renewing for so long because of the inflated cost. As a testament to how little I comprehended the dollar-euro exchange my first year here, I blithely handed over the 1400 last summer to join Klay. Even now, after the calculations, I don’t regret it. It’s a super gym: brand new, modern, clean, a sauna, hamman and small pool, exercise and weight equipment… yoga. I loved it.

When I inquired about my re-sign options at the end of July, I was told it was 1000 for six months, 650 for three months and 280 for a month’s membership. Zut! That’s alotta centimes.

I rationalized I could do extra Velb’ing for a couple months. Plus, it being summer, I was traveling a bit. Why have a pricey gym membership when you’re not going to go to the gym? I figured I’d splurge on the three-month membership in September. Or October.

Well, here it is, the end of November, and I finally decided my body and my psyche would be so happy to be back in downward dog. To take a quick sauna from time to time. To feel strong again.

So I set my alarm and trotted over to the gym with 230 euro. On the way, I realized, merde, was it 280?? Would I still splurge for 280? Was it worth it? You see, I can be so carefree with money on some things (shoes, bags, fancy hotels) and so cheap with others (makeup, transportation, and, apparently, gym memberships).

Oui, I’d do it! I deserved it! I would feel so good, back in an exercise regime!

But apparently the prices have augmenter. One month, in fact, costs 350 euro.

“Trois cent cinquante??” I asked. Twice. Just to make sure I was doing the translation and the math right. I was.

So I trotted back out into the misty morning. By my crude calculations, 350 euro could get me:

• Month upon month of Velib rides
• A fabulous Lululemon ensemble and some new baskets
• Five or six great dinners in the next month
• A round of 10 champagne cocktails at the Ritz
• A night at, say, the Regent Grand Hotel in Bordeaux or the Savoy in London
• A cut and highlights, and a massage or facial
• One Christian Louboutin shoe
• An LV makeup bag (which, oui, I also want)

What would you do with 350 euro? Cough it up in the name of physical health and mental sanity? Or put it towards an extra special treat?

Royal gates of Paris

French phrase of the day: se mettre en valeur

Def: to make the most of yourself

I'm reading the lovely Almost French—left for me by the even lovelier Emily. Almost as much as hearing about someone else's memories of arriving in and adjusting to life in Paris, I love picking up a phrase or two. This one's a keeper.

Adding it up

I intended to be a little more modest in my food and booze consumption after last week’s blitz-binge in New York. But alas, it was a busy week in Paris. I got around.

There was dinner at Chartier at Kasia and Cynthia…


… And drinks at Le Pompon with Rachel and Sarah. (I’ll trust you all that this is worthy of its “new hot spot” title.)

Jo and I met for a mid-week, pre-work breakfast.

And then I hopped down to for a (relatively healthy) lunch at Artcurial.

Thursday night, Mel and I joined every other Parisian keen to celebrate Beaujolais Nouveau. But Le Garde-Robe was too crowded so be bailed and had heaping bowls of pad thai at Livingstone.

This morning, I couldn't help myself: Praluline from Pralus.

And this weekend’s agenda? Angelina and Jeanne A.

God, I love Paris.

Happy. Sad. Schitzo!

I’m panicking a little. The end is happening too fast.

I said goodbye to Erica when she left for Italy last month. I said goodbye to Cynthia, who’s taking off for LA this week. And now Rachel, who’s spending the last six weeks of the year in Germany.

I suddenly don’t have any more free weekends. My landlord let me know he has a tenant who wants to move in January 10. And they’ve hired a new writer to replace me at work.

Replaceable! I’m replaceable!

Yes, I’ve always known Paris wasn’t forever. I came over with a six-month contract, renewed for another nine months and then, oh alright, I’ll stick around for another six months. Until December 31, 2010. But now, with less than two months to go, I’m already feeling sad and weepy.

What am I going to do without the Velibs? The smell of the bread baking at the boulangeries? The markets and fromageries, my treehouse, the little side streets? Where will I get my macaron fixes?

There are all the museums, patisseries and restaurants I have yet to try. The views I haven’t seen yet. There are weekend (Bordeaux!) and day trips (Deauville!) and extended holidays (Copenhagen! Berlin!) I wanted to take.

I haven’t built a proper French wardrobe, mastered the language (ha, not even close), figured out how to successfully flirt or developed any French cooking skills.

I still don’t own anything by Louis Vuitton.

I am so looking forward to going home. This, I know and feel in my bones and heart. But I also don’t want this to end. I have built a wonderful life here. I have overcome obstacles and dealt with challenges (not always gracefully); I have learned about a foreign culture and myself; I have grown and I have had so. much. fun.

Paris has been amazing. I know I have been living my dream and I am eternally grateful for that. I only hope new dreams will arise and the bliss I feel in this city will be found elsewhere in my future.