Week 8: "The most surreal night in Boulogne so far"

This week saw both winter and a gunman come to Paris. Winter proved to be the more problematic of the two, when our heating decided to go kaput. This inevitably led to awkward, broken conversations of French between me and the plumber who came to save us from our igloo. At one point, he pointed to the work surface, full of bread, and asked to be passed something I didn’t quite catch. Seeing as he was pointing vaguely in the direction of the bread-board, I passed it to him, confused us to why that would help him fix the pipe…he guffawed heartily, taking the roll of kitchen paper for himself. That was more logical. When he plumber comrade turned up, I could hear him retelling the story and having a good old chuckle at my French ineptitude.

Just stumbled across this after the Quai Branly museum

If my French was laughable, then so was Jeremy’s English in our conversation class on Thursday. We were working on his pronunciation, and he spend about 10 minutes trying to grasp the difference in vowel sounds between ‘beach’ and ‘bitch’  (‘beeeeeech’ and ‘beeeeeech’) by saying them both repeatedly. Sophie found it highly amusing.

Friday night was perhaps the most surreal night I’ve spent in Boulogne so far. I went to the local swimming pool for AQUABIKING. Essentially a spinning class underwater, I spent an hour pedalling along to music provided by a DJ, under the disco-lights that had been especially installed for the night. In between the two classes I did, there was a pool-side buffet (?!) to refuel. Fun, but strange.

I had another new experience on Saturday, when Sophie and I went to a latte art workshop at Café Lomi. The café hosts one barista who won a world championship in Latte Art (who knew that existed?!), and really cares about its coffee, exporting beans from around the world and grinding them before your eyes. Sophie and I both struggled a bit in our latte art attempts, with her spilling it and my ‘heart’ looking like a snowstorm. But we both managed to create ‘mignon’/cute hearts in the end.

Attempt 1 and Attempt 2

On Sunday, Rosanna, Rachel, Hazel and I hit up the Champs Elysée Christmas market and saw the Christmas lights, which were officially switched on on Thursday. The market is full of hand-made crafts, an ice-skating rink, and endless amounts of over-priced food stalls. Rosanna and I stumbled upon two abandoned cups of Vin Chaud, in the exclusive Champs Elysée Village de Noel plastic cups – so, of course, in the spirit of Christmas, we poured away the probably weed-in drink and took the cups as souvenirs.  The lights themselves were really futuristic, and looked like the Champs Elysee was mid-transformation into a spaceship. Still, it feels like the festive season has come alive in Paris! 

In preparation for Chanukah and this week’s Chanukah party, I also spent a substantial amount of my weekend decorating the flat. Time well spent cutting up newspaper, I think.

Rachel and I found the Kosher supermarkets in Boulogne!

Week 6: "I am 45 fish"

This week I went back to school after a 2-week Vacances Toussaint. A highlight of the working week was one student who told me, when learning about pets, “I am 45 fish”. All the schools of the département also had a practise “Mise à l'abri”, which is an invacuation, a confinement in the school in case of outside risks. Apparently, there is a huge risk of tsunamis and hurricanes in suburban Paris – or at least the Seine flooding. 

Any excuse for cake

On Wednesday, we went to Le Café des Chats, having reserved a highly in-demand table a few weeks ago. Very much what it says on the tin, the recently opened café has about a dozen cats sleeping and prowling around, for clients to pet in between slurping their drinks. On the tables, there’s even a ‘cat menu’ (not for eating) with a profile for each of the cats, including their personalities. We all found ourselves very drowsy by the end of our afternoon, thanks to the combination of snoozing cats, the warmly-lit, underground stone cellar café-space and hot drinks. However relaxed I was, I couldn’t help but notice the cats seemed fairly disgruntled at the perpetual, insistent petting by little children, when all they wanted to do was have a decent nap… 

A cat tree

Hanging bags of spices; a reprioritisation
of the senses in 'visual' art

After the Cat Café, I had a wander around the Centre Pompidou, and the contemporary art exhibition on its upper floors. To get there, there are escalators which ascend in plastic tunnels outside the building itself, and given that the Pompidou is centrally-located in Paris, they provide stunning views of the city.

Centre Pompidou

On Friday afternoon, Alice and I met Nathalie. Nathalie used to be a French language assistant in Northern Ireland, so not only does she know everything about what’s hot in Boulogne, and have perfect English, but she also understands what it’s like to be a language assistant abroad. We chatted in French at Paul in Les Passages, the Boulogne shopping centre; FINALLY, a place where you can go for a coffee without being expected to have a full meal, and not being allowed to otherwise take up a table in the restaurant, which has so far been very hard to come by here!

I also discovered THE BEST THING YET on my way through Les Passages; PIANO STAIRS. If you’ve ever seen that Simpsons episode where Homer finds the giant floor piano in the shopping centre and annoys all the shoppers, then you’ll have a pretty accurate image of me frolicking on these piano stairs, where each step plays a different note. 

Piano 

This week also saw some pro-activity for project Steph Learns French. Firstly, I started an English/French conversation exchange with my downstairs neighbour, Jeremy (one of said twins of a previous entry). I also signed up for a local, weekly French grammar course. To be put into the right class level, I had to do a test in “Orthographie, Grammaire et Conjugasion”. It boded well that I didn’t even know what “orthographie” meant…(spelling). Despite the intimidating realisation that I hadn’t studied French grammar in more than 3 years, it was disproportionately satisfying to see the test being marked. For the first time since school, there were objectively right or wrong answers and a comprehensible mark scheme (which didn’t include criteria such as“creativity”, like the Cambridge English mark-scheme.) 

On Saturday night, I had hoped to see Il Etait Temps (About Time). However, upon arriving at the cinema, it turned out that the film was already fully booked (with Rosanna and Hazel already inside, with tickets). So, instead of seeing the cute romantic comedy, Rachel and I found ourselves watching Gravity. Turns out, sci-fi space thrillers are not generically interchangeable with romcoms. I was NOT emotionally prepared for the intensity of the next 90 minutes. After about half an hour, I genuinely wanted to leave the cinema, as I couldn’t stand the constant stress the film heaped upon me, fully-immersed in 3D space. As a cinematic experience, it was incredible; I’ve never seen anything like it before. I say ‘seen’ when actually, I spent a good 50% of the film with my fingers in my ears, eyes screwed shut.

On Sunday, I visited the Shoah Memorial in Le Marais. In the evening, Rosanna, Rachel and I went to see “The 1975”, although none of us wanted to leave the little bistro where we’d had dinner just as the live jazz started in order to make it to the gig in time.

Salon du Chocolat

On Saturday, I went to Salon du Chocolat, an extravagant celebratory exhibition of all things chocolate, the biggest event dedicated to chocolate and cocoa in the world. Where else would I be on a November Saturday?! 

The ground floor was dedicated to sweet treats/confectionery, and I saw more macarons in that one room than I’d ever seen before. There was also an amateur cooking competition on a central platform, where I think the chefs I saw were making banana cheesecake. There were hundreds of vendors, selling everything scrummy from huge wheels of nougat to chocolate tea; the chocolate orange tea smelled divine. 

Going upstairs, I was met by 2 giant chocolate fountains. It was on this floor, the chocolate floor that I started to get my 13 euro tickets-worth back in freebies: chocolate (luxury pieces, bars, and ganache), chocolate liqueur, Bailey’s chocolate, chocolate spread…

The most impressive things I saw at the expo were all different forms of chocol-art (if this isn’t already a patented term, it should be). There was a strip of stalls from Salon du Chocolat Seoul, where one chocol-artist was displayed hand-painted plant pots made of chocolate. Another was displaying an ethereal butterfly chocolate dress. A separate part of the exhibition was a display of chocolate fashion, rows of chocolate-made dresses, blending two crafts Paris does best – chocolate and fashion. 

The entire exhibition area, in fact, was scattered with chocolate-visuals, a reminder that chocolate is not only a treat for the tummy but the eyes too. There was a 4m high chocolate monument, an illuminated fair-ground carousel carrying macaron pyramids and treasure chests of chocolate, chocolate wine glasses, not to mention the casual giant chocolate aeroplane centre-piece. 

All around were live demonstrations by the chocolatiers of their respective stalls, which meant a lot of melted chocolate bubbling away all around me. Special mention goes to the chocolate spread stand, which had pipes of flowing chocolate spread which I basically drank from…I asked if it was like Nutella, and the chocolatier looked fairly offended, told me there was more than 3 hazelnuts in his product, and that it stayed in its runny, gloopy consistency for 6 MONTHS. It took all my self-restraint not to buy a pot… But I did walk back past several more times in the afternoon to make the most of the taster-spoonfuls. 

In attempt to make the day somewhat educational and not 100% indulgent, I went to CHOCOLATE LECTURES (this counts doubly because they were obviously in French). The first was about a Vietmanese brand of chocolate, and the second about a charity protecting cocoa plantation workers in Cote D’Ivoire, the biggest exporter of cocoa beans in the world (see – educated).

'Alloween!

Halloween in France is very much a non-event, pushed only by shops trying cash in on the American-exported holiday. However, as Brits in France, we threw our own Halloween party and invited everyone we knew in Boulogne/Paris – totalling about 20. Our French neighbour invited a group of his friends, meaning that there were ACTUAL REAL FRENCH PEOPLE at our party. 

Beware of the Boggart!

However, their costumes reflected how the French don’t really ‘get’ Halloween. The (literary) theme chosen for our party was ‘BOGGART BASH’; you had to come as what your Boggart would turn in to after it sprang from the wardrobe and you had shrieked ‘RIDIKILOUS’ at it. Essentially something that TERRIFIES you, but made to look a little silly.

For anyone that knows me even remotely well, or anyone who has just had the slightly awkward experience of trying to cook a meal for me, it will come as no surprise to you that I didn’t have to think twice about my costume: SAUCE. More specifically, ketchup, that spawn-of-Satan-sauce. To make it a little rire-dicilous (pun credit to Natalie), I made Heinz Ketchup that little bit ‘saucy’ with the addition of my entirely not-culturally-offensive-or-stereotyping moustache.

Saucyyyy

From butterflies to badgers, a questionable Elvis to an early-morning self-portrait, it was apparent that us English had mastered the theme, and had been perfecting our costume-skills for the last three or four years of our lives a.k.a. university. The French however came in afro wigs and oversized glasses, and ski clothes. “As-tu peur de faire du skiing” – “Non, je l’adore!” (« Are you afraid of skiing ? » - « No, I love it ».) They hadn’t quite got the whole scary ‘Halloween’ thang…

From one point of confusion to another: twins. It transpires that in the flat beneath me lives a set of twins, both of whom were at the party (and who bought another set of twins with them. Must’ve met at twin camp).Thing is, I’ve lived here a month. And I’ve just realised. Now, I’m beginning to question whether it has been more than just the language barrier that has made stairwells conversations a little strange.

Sophie's carved peppers

It may have lacked the raucousness of Halloween formal, and Sophie may have had to carve peppers instead of pumpkins due to a notable citrouil-dearth, but I still managed to have a spooktacular Halloween in Paris!