An American Dog in Paris – Part III (“Trois”)

The Parisian lifestyle is one that we’re all quickly becoming quite fond of: leisurely lunches at a sidewalk café, flexible schedules that adjust to the weather (it’s a sunny day=no museums), and permission to savor life in its simplicity. To be honest, we’ve only been inside one church so far, and we haven’t been into a museum yet. Neither of us have ever been to a European city and not immediately started hitting the big, well-known cultural attractions. Instead of going inside the Louvre, we’ve been walking through it’s vast courtyards every morning. And we discovered it while it’s empty of people, empty of the throngs of tourists that usually swarm all over it’s famous nooks and crannies. I love seeing the courtyard free of people, just us and our little Pali trekking through, awed by the statues, the history, and the can-you-believe-we-have-this-all-to-ourselvesness.

Pali at the Louvre.

I’d like to think that we’d have taken this approach with or without Pali—that was one of our goals, to just be in the city, no agendas, no checklist of monuments and cathedrals that we had to see, but I don’t know if we would have resisted the temptation to join all of the other tourists at the famous sites. With Pali (avec un chien), we’re compelled to do things differently this time. She isn’t allowed inside museums or churches, and, not wanting to leave her alone until she feels more at home here, we’ve just been opting for excursions where she is welcome. This city favors small dogs (pooches in a bag can go on the metro or buses, while dogs Pali’s size are only allowed on the RER, a fast and efficient train that links the suburbs with the city center, but has fewer stops by far than the Metro), so we walk a lot, discovering the city in a way we never did before when we relied on the Metro. My husband is enjoying this new style. “I never understood the layout of the city and how all of the neighborhoods are connected,” he said yesterday as we explored the 7th arrondissement, our new home until the end of the month. “Now that we’re walking more I feel like I know the city so much better.”

We walk all over the city.

Every other day at a minimum we have to find an area for Pali to run in off-leash abandon; hence our trips to the edges of the city where tourists rarely tred. This quest led us to Bois de Boulogne, the largest park in Paris, and a former royal hunting reserve which was transformed along with the rest of Paris into it’s current design in the early 1800s by Baron Haussmann, Napoleon’s civic planner. “Bois” means “woods” or “forest,” and we were pleasantly surprised to find that they really are a woods---a lovely, dark and deep woods with winding paths to get lost on. Pali came upon a series of canals, with, yet again, ducks! We heard a splash, the flapping of wings, and loud quaking sounds I’d swear were duck curses. Then we came around the corner and saw her in hot pursuit of several Mallards. Luckily it was a small pond this time, so she came back quickly, mighty pleased with herself. We later saw many French dogs jumping in and out of these canals, so she wasn’t too out of form.

More ducks at Bois de Boulogne.

I also had an encounter of sorts with a French woman walking her large Afghan hound. (As an aside, I’ve yet to see a mutt here—maybe they’re not the French way? We’ve only seen purebred after purebred.) She was chatting away on her mobile while he romped around and played with Pali. Right in front of all of us he took care of business right in the middle of a sidewalk in a meadow where children were playing tag. She looked at it dismissively and kept walking. Now, my husband can attest that dog guardians who don’t pick up after their dogs enrage me. If I witness something similar at home, I will say something. I tried to say something to her, but only got as far as “Madam! Madam!” My voice getting louder and more belligerent. She finally looked over, still talking on her cell phone. I pointed to the pile and to her dog. “Le Chien. Le Chien,” trying to gesture with a baggie. Of course, that fluent French simply means “The dog. The dog”—not exactly the firm, be-a-responsible-dog-owner-now message that I wished to communicate. I’m afraid my French is barely passable to exchange pleasantries with the grocery clerk and falls far short of “Lady, your dog just took a dump in the middle of the road. Are you planning to pick that up?” 

She walked down one of those lovely forest paths I was talking about earlier, and I ended up picking up after her very large Afghan hound.

Besides that encounter though, we’ve been having great interactions with the locals. Yesterday we moved into our home exchange apartment in the 7th arrondissement, right around the corner from the Eiffel tower (we had been renting an apartment for a few days until our exchange started). We love it. I finally feel like we’re at home.  We were able to meet our exchange partners before the exchange started, and knowig that they are lovely people whom we'd like to be friends with even under normal circumstances helped us feel at home in their house.

Yesterday afternoon we had a two-hour lunch at a little Italian café around the corner (Gusto Italia at 199 Rue de Grenelle if you're ever near the Eiffel Tower). The waitress helped us with our French and steered us to the best vegetarian lasagna I’ve ever had—roasted artichokes, carrots, and zucchini with a sauce that tasted like an ancient family secret--it was fantastic. The neighboring business owner came out to pet Pali and then brought her a water dish.

Our new closest grass has a great view.

Last night, in an effort to feel like a real Parisian in our new “home,” I decided to make an onion and cumin with gruyere quiche. Let me emphasize that while I love to cook, I’ve never been much of a baker, but I decided not to buy the pre-made pastry shells in the supermarket in order to be truly authentic. I decided to make the whole quiche from scratch. Under normal circumstances this would have been an undertaking for me, but in a new kitchen--a new kitchen that did not reveal to my thorough searches a measuring cup, a rolling pin, or teaspoons--this was an undertaking the likes of which I’ve rarely tried. The cookbook was written by a Parisian, but it was a version I’d bought in the U.S., so all of the measurements had been translated into the English/Imperial system and were no longer in metric. I kept yelling from the kitchen to Stephen commands like, “Look up how many grams of butter I need if the recipe wants eight tablespoons.” (Note: Their butter does not come in stick form with handy little notches noting the tablespoons like ours does at home.)

Stephen kept walking across the courtyard to the concierge’s apartment to ask to borrow things. He’d look up the words on Sherlock, the translator that comes on our laptops, and write down the basics on a little piece of paper. When I couldn’t find a measuring cup, he came back with the concierge herself. We’d met earlier and had discovered then that she didn’t speak a word of English and our French was barely understandable. Apparently they don’t measure things in cups, they weigh them. So, I tried to figure out how many grams a cup and a half of flour would be. I didn’t know the right words, but when I gestured to the whole mess in the kitchen and said, “Comédie,” she laughed and understood. Some experiences clearly translate easily.

It wasn’t ready until midnight, but it was the best quiche I’ve ever had (Stephen seconds that opinion, but at midnight, after seeing me bang away in the kitchen for four hours, I think he knew he no option but to second that opinion).

Meanwhile, Pali slept on like a true Parisian princess, happily settled into the nook of her new couch, oblivious to the kitchen adventures.

Comments

[Shasta]

Oh you make me want to jump on a plane and join you over there... excellent writing that is captivating and the imaginative. And you're proving that having a dog really keeps you in good shape, huh? Thanks for your informative and fun posts!

[Keren]

I love hearing about your adventures! Keep them coming!

[Maria]

It's wonderful that Pali has afforded you the opportunity to explore on foot an get to know the neighborhood in a different way. I wonder if her doggy nose is in overdrive from all the new smells. Apparently ducks are the same anywhere (hah!). I love the experience with the woman who didn't pick up after her dog. That, too, enrages me! When we walk here, I carry doggy poop bags and I don't even walk with a dog...

[Maria]

It's wonderful that Pali has afforded you the opportunity to explore on foot an get to know the neighborhood in a different way. I wonder if her doggy nose is in overdrive from all the new smells. Apparently ducks are the same anywhere (hah!). I love the experience with the woman who didn't pick up after her dog. That, too, enrages me! When we walk here, I carry doggy poop bags and I don't even walk with a dog...

[Mike Bennie]

I love the way Pali--like my twin 2-year-olds and their 4-year-old sister--complicates your life by forcing you to simplify. Going only where dogs and small children are welcome often means spending more time in places our own souls feel at home. Thanks for the wonderful stories!

[Lew Weinstein]

I loved reading your great description of living the good life in Paris. My wife and I will be there in two weeks, living in the Marais on an exchange for our property in Collioure in the south of France. If you'd like to follow our adventures, just visit http://www.patandlewtravel.wordpress.com

LEW WEINSTEIN

[Lew Weinstein]

I loved reading your great description of living the good life in Paris. My wife and I will be there in two weeks, living in the Marais on an exchange for our property in Collioure in the south of France. If you'd like to follow our adventures, just visit http://www.patandlewtravel.wordpress.com

LEW WEINSTEIN

[Lew Weinstein]

sorry for the double post. maybe some day I'll learn how these computers work.

LEW

[Daneen]

How fun! Enjoy your stay. It's just starting to get hot here.

[Paul Kim]

Interestingly enough, your post about the outskirts of Paris, the woods...intrigued me more than the city itself. Perhaps its the unknown, but I am so much more of a nature lover than anything, and it made me think of some of the French scenery I've seen in cinema. As I love trees, I'd be thrilled to see that side of the place.

Now tack on a nice four-hour quiche while sitting under their branches, dappled lighting setting the mood...and I think I'd have it made. Well, maybe a Parisian female at my side wouldn't be so bad, either. I'm meaning one of those purebreds you're talking about! ;)