A Chalet and Rain: Something's Wrong There

One would think, or at least hope, that if one spent time in a chalet in the mountains next to a ski resort, it would snow.

There was certainly plenty OF snow -- being everywhere -- but I am not kidding when I say it rained almost constantly Monday and Tuesday, the days during which I was there. Being out in the snow while it is raining is not the most pleasant experience in the world. Nevertheless, Monday afternoon, I decided it was necessary.

The reason it was necessary was this: I was at the chalet with a new French friend, who extremely kindly invited me to join her family there for a few days. The thing is, she has a younger brother and a younger sister, plus in the group was a little cousin, and the three of them would NOT stop arguing. More than that, the little cousin somehow managed to get chicken pox and would not stop crying. In a very small chalet, with no real room to escape, I can assure you that the noise, along with the sniping, was getting on my nerves -- I was always polite about it, I'll have you know, and so I suggested to my friend, Margaux, that we disappear.

So we went for a walk, that took us up and around, down into the snow to make angels, here and there, to a lake but not on it, as the ice was a little mushy from the rain, a random tiny church that is only open on tuesdays in July and August -- go figure -- and then finally back to the chalet. We were completely soaked by that time, but at least it was nice to get out for awhile. We needed it for that night, I can tell you that.

The next day was better, because mostly we weren't in the chalet. The morning we made snowmen and I endeavored to make the perfect snowman and then decorated it with only natural things, like sticks and pine branches etc. Of course it started raining less than an hour afterwards, so there you go. It's probably all gone now. In the afternoon we went sledding, which was great fun, if not extremely wet, because it was raining quite hard by then and didn't stop all afternoon.

The little cousin was getting better and the kids had all decided I was the cat's pajamas, so I somehow ended up entertaining all of them before dinner. I think the easiest way to get them to stop fighting -- though they tried often to restart -- is to just tell them it's not that serious. They kept sniping over the paper airplanes I'd made, and I just said, it's just an airplane, forget it. I never took anyone's side, so naturally they all assumed I was on their side. Works like a charm.

One thing always good, though, was the food. I ate for about four straight days -- breakfast of bread and crepes, full lunches, three course dinners, a hell of a lot of chocolate, cheese, some roasted chestnuts, you name it we had it. It was wonderful.

Wednesday we headed to Strasbourg, which was great fun. In the morning we actually made a stop to the pasta production factory where Margaux's dad works and took a tour -- got to see the whole process from start to finish, which was actually really, really cool. Then on to Strasbourg, which is a beautiful little city. Old, especially Petit France. I get the sense that it sleeps all year long and comes alive for the holidays, especially at night.

As it gets dark, the lights turn on -- and there are lights everywhere. Windows, streets, the little huts selling trinkets, ornaments, food, whatever it is. There is vin chaud and hot chocolate everywhere, gingerbread and bretzels, people -- essentially, Christmas. The town lives for this time of year, and I get the feeling that they're proud of it.

The cathedral, by the way, is utterly spectacular. Huge, gothic, built with the reddish stone of the countryside, it's extremely impressing. Inside tapestries are hung everywhere, there is a huge astrological clock, and of course a nativity scene. It was fairly dark, but still beautiful.

All in all, it was a great change of pace for me, and I'm very happy I went, even with all the sniping and crying ( which, to be fair, got better after Monday). I'm back in Paris now for the holidays and spent about four hours today at the coiffeur getting my hair done -- it was expensive, but I'm happy to report that after years of wanting it, I am now platinum blonde. Yahoo.

Bisous à tous.

Come on, Siegfried, emote! : An afternoon at the ballet

A lesson in false advertising: "Premier rang" being at the same level as the "first balcony", "en face de la scène" (in front of the stage). Actually, not: premier rang tickets, 10 euros but bought for 50, are at the very top level and on the side. False advertising, I tell you. I suppose it's my karma check for having essentially bought black market scalper tickets to Swan Lake at the Paris Opera, but I have no regrets -- there were NO tickets at the last minute, not one. Scalper or nothin'.

Thankfully, however, there were some random French people on the stage yakking about something - whatever it was, I'm sure it was important - and the girl checking tickets got bored and left her post -- just long enough for my friend and I to bust ass around and sneak into the only empty seats in the section. We checked later -- 55 euros the place. Muhahaha.

So this was the Rudolph Nuryev version of Swan Lake, danced by the best ballet dancers in Paris. It was beautiful. Sometimes actually moving -- but those moments were rare.

Ballets -- original ones, that is -- never cease to amaze me at their fluffiness. The entire first act is composed of a bunch of people onstage in fancy outfits cavorting about. The premise is that they're invited to the birthday party of Prince Siegfried. And that's it. They're just there, saying hello. The girls are trying to interest Siegfried, who is either really sleepy, really bored, or just really limpid. At least, he was in my production. He liked to wander around with his hand on his chest deferring to people.

And then there's a random trio with a few solos, for no other apparent reason than to showcase a few dancers. All the ladies disappear to change into swans, and the guys have some dude time, as long as you can call dude time prancing about in pinwheels on stage. And we wonder where the stereotypes come from?! My god.

I have to admit, the swan corps was pretty impressive, a hell of a lot of pretty female dancers who do exactly the same thing at the same time. The dancer who did Odette/Odile was really good, though she could have been more evil. Siegfried immediately promises to marry her, le sigh, but hey, you gotta move the story on.

The guy who danced Rothbart, the evil sorcerer, was extraordinary. He had a finish to his movements that was just incredible, a sort of presence and energy on the stage that pretty much everyone else was lacking. The only time that I was interested by what Siegfried was doing onstage was when Rothbart tells him he just promised himself to Odile, not Odette, and you see Odette flapping away in agony.

Siegfried actually brought himself to care about something, and stumbled about on the stage in appropriate agony, which I actually understood. However, once the swans came back and it came time to say goodbye to Odette, he was back to his fluff self -- though she did a pretty good of being agonized.

Okay, there are certain steps you have to do, I understand that. But I thought it would have been entirely possible to endow the exact same movements with a little more...story, a little more emotion. So, here my thought process during the ending scene, when Rothbart drags Odette away:

Man, if I were directing this, this would be so much better. Oh, come on, Siegfried, he's dragging away your girlfriend! Aren't you upset? Why are you still being so polite to let him dance with your girl? Come on, be angry, damn it! Now Rothbart is dancing with you, doesn't that make you angry? You probably want to kill him! That's right, try to kill him! Go ahead, Siegfried, just try to emote!!

Or something like that.

I did, I'll have you know, enjoy myself thoroughly. We got out fairly late and I had a request for a RDV not too long afterwards -- say an hour -- and I REALLY wanted to change clothes. All you have to know is, I was barely 8 minutes late, and I went from the Bastille to Alèsia to the Marais in an hour, including a full change of clothes. That's hard to do, by the way.

My secret?

Running in heels.

I thought as I was doing so, Wow, I have become a true Parisian woman. 

Back to the fun stuff: The soirées in Paris

That's right, I am stepping off my soapbox and getting back to what you really want to read about, which is life in Paris and not my pontifications about learning. So I am obliging.

A small anecdote before we begin: In other words, I complain and mutter. This morning I dragged my ass out of bed at 6 in the morning after my alarm clock went off at 4. It has this terribly chivalrous habit of, if I set it earlier than the previous morning, going off two hours before it's set. i.e., four when I wanted six. I lay there, as I always do, waiting until I can keep my eyes open for five full seconds before I get out of bed, and then thought to check the time. Yep, that's what I thought. I muttered a bit and went back to sleep. Then this morning I had to venture out into the minus four degree weather, although I am, thankfully, speaking in terms of celsius. Either way, not particularly amusing. Then I get to the high school and my students never show up. I could still be in bed. Argh.

In any case. There is a difference, so far as I can tell, between a 'soirée' and just a regular old 'rendez-vous pour prendre une verre' (to meet up for a glass, literally). When somebody says 'soirée', they mean business.

Such as the one I was very kindly invited to on saturday night by my new french friends. It took place on a péniche, in other words a boat, au bord de la Seine, just along the Seine. There are a lot of them, docked just on the side but still on the water. They have restaurants, bars, dance floors, whatever you want. Two or three floors, one being a terrace, though even with their small heaters, there wasn't much going on up there saturday night. Just too damn cold.

Soirées also start very late - 22h30 or after, and most people arrive late. I was on time because I had no idea how long it would take me to get there, but was one of the few. The reason it starts so late is because people have dinner beforehand, and French meals last a long time. When I got there they were just thinking about bringing out the cheese course.

After dinner was finally over, the tables were removed and the band came on. Not rock, really, but dance kind of music. They only sang in English. I have no idea why. I recognized a lot of songs. In any case, with everyone arriving and heading for the bar - champagne, alcool fort (hard liquor), wine, whatever you wanted it was there.

I can't say too much else fascinating about except that you must have to picture this: Notre-Dame is right behind you, the lights of Paris reflecting on the Seine. You dance and drink all night long, and when the boat closes at five a.m. you stumble off for breakfast and then head home, collapsing into bed at seven with the world still spinning madly.

Yeah, it was fun.

But equally as fun is another option, which doesn't last all night, but maybe just a couple hours. This one is much more simple. Find a café after dinner - make sure it's a café and not a restaurant - and sit down with a couple friends (small groups only). Order some cocktails. Smoke, if you care to, puff if you want, mostly it's about the ambience. Either way, the point is to sit down and not go anywhere for about two hours. A couple rounds is plenty to be pleasantly tipsy.

I was out Monday night - yes, I know, monday, but it worked for all of us - with my best friends in the program. we're all americans, but speak in a combination of french and english. We spent over two hours, starting with wine for them and a margarita for me, then cointreaupolitans all around for the next round. This wasn't intellectual. We weren't discussing the secrets of the universe. We were just goofing around, being, for awhile, young. I can tell you that I don't do that very often, and certainly not enough.

So there you go. Cafés, boats, the wonderful thing is that I'm in Paris with great people, and for those moments I don't have to be going anywhere or accomplishing anything. I just have to be where I am, right then.

And, like before, I don't do that often and not nearly enough.